CHAPTER THREE

Hermione checked into the Ministry of Magic an hour earlier the next morning, waving a cheerful good morning to the receptionist as she walked in. It had rained all night and even now, she could feel the humidity clinging to her tightly-knotted chignon and the sleeves of her blazer. Richard wasn't in yet so she got herself a cup of coffee and sat down at her desk, pulling out the report on Lucius Malfoy's death.

The report, which had been put together by one of the field workers immediately after Malfoy's body was discovered, was detailed and extraordinarily comprehensive - a whopping 167 pages. Apparently, on the day of his death, the three Malfoys had sat down to a lunch of baked chicken, salted slices of tuna, a lettuce salad and garlic chutney, followed by a mango souffle and then black coffee. After that, Lucius Malfoy had retired to his library, as was his custom. He had taken, during the last few years of his life, to reading more and more about his ancestors and the Malfoy lineage, perhaps consoling himself with the long-lost glory the family had once enjoyed. He called one of the House Elves at around three and asked for a cup of coffee, which was brought to him. That was the last anyone saw of Lucius Malfoy.

Narcissa Malfoy napped all afternoon and when she woke up, she went to the library to find her husband. Along with the lace nightgown, she was wearing robes of scarlet velvet which apparently, she wore in place of a dressing gown. She met her son - who was writing letters - on the way and told him to start dressing, because they'd be going to the Avery's for dinner later that night. Then, she made her way up to the library, where she spotted her husband reclining in his favourite armchair. It was only when she drew up with him and spoke that she realized he was dead.

'Dead,' Hermione murmured, thoughtfully.

Flipping through the report, there seemed to be no indication of foul play. A copy of the autopsy report - which had been put together as soon as the body had been taken away - was enclosed. No external influence that led to death, it said. As Richard had pointed out, Lucius Malfoy was past fifty and had been in a good number of battles - along with spending time in Azkaban. She knew she'd have to put together a report for the inquest, just to lend a touch of credibility to the entire operation. But she didn't think she'd be spending much time on it.

She took a sip from the steaming cup and then pulled out a second file. This one was thicker and more worn, as though it had been thumbed through frequently. It was labelled 'Project 786'. She had been through it several times before, but somehow, she found herself flipping through the file whenever she got a minute of spare time. Inside it were all the details of Malfoy's financial transactions, down to the last knut.

She was still perusing the file when she heard a knock on her door and a gingery head poked in.

'You're in early. Please don't tell me you're still on with your Malfoy investigation?'

Hermione slammed shut the file. 'Orson, get in here immediately and shut up. How many times do I have to tell you not to mention the project so loudly?'

The gingery man - who transpired to be tall and gaunt, with black spectacles and dark blue robes - stepped in with a broad grin. He had a small badge on his robes that spelled: 'INVESTIGATIVE RESEARCH: TEMPORARY PASS'.

'You needn't get so het up about this, Herms. No one's in yet anyway, so I don't think anyone overheard.'

'It's bad enough that you know,' Hermione said, crossly, 'Temps aren't supposed to be in the know about confidential projects.'

Orson had joined the IR Dep nine months back as an intern and soon graduated to a temporary researcher. He had been placed under Hermione and they had worked on the Carletto case together, back when it was simply a matter of protocol. He was a good-tempered, enthusiastic researcher and apart from his obnoxious habit of eating candy in the office, Hermione was rather fond of him. She had taken to discussing some of her projects with him, although she made it a point not to divulge too much information.

'I might not be a temp for too long and then your conscience will be cleared, anyway,' Orson said, shutting the door behind him and striding over to her desk. He perched himself on one corner and said, 'Richard called me in yesterday and told me a position might be clearing soon. I'll have to sit through an interview, but it makes sense to gun for it.'

Hermione blinked. 'Orson, that's wonderful! Did Ricky say when?'

Orson shrugged. 'Who knows? But sometime soon, hopefully. So I figured I might as well get familiar with your project while it's still hot.'

Hermione grinned. 'I think we should wait for your clearance before that. When's the interview?'

'In the next few days,' Orson said, vaguely. He dug a box of peppermints out of his pocket and popped one into his mouth. After about a minute of deliberate chewing, he said, 'Want to sit with me this afternoon and go over some key points?'

Hermione was tempted, but she had promised to help Richard draft out a letter to the Malfoys explaining the current position. 'Sorry Orson, but I have a meeting with Ricky. Why don't you sit with Leonie or one of the other subs?'

Orson made a distasteful face. 'I can't stand Leonie. She's too pert. Besides, my mother would have a field day if she knew I was working with a blonde. She calls them the devil's sunshine.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. Orson's mother was a widow, who was permanently ensconced in a wheelchair despite having no apparent physical ailment, and who had rather a skewed view of life. Hermione had met her once - when Orson had wheeled her for a brief trip to the Ministry atrium to see what she called 'those shiny statues' and she had been rather unfavorably impressed. On the other hand, Orson worshipped his mother. His father had died when he was two and his mother and he had been fairly close.

'I'm going to be busy, Orson. I'll sit with you tomorrow evening, if you like. And for heaven's sake, stop eating that peppermint. You smell like a candy factory.'

Orson grinned and display pink-and-white striped teeth, 'Whatever you say, boss. I'll be at my station if you need me.'

The letter came to the Malfoy Manor via a chocolate brown owl that bore the Ministry stamp. Draco felt a chill as soon as he saw it - he knew it couldn't bring good news.

His mother had retired to her bedroom. In the two days following his father's death, she had walked around filled with a cold energy that seemed to stem from nowhere. She had his robes packed in silk-lined trunks and put away in the attic, perhaps for Draco to take down some day. His trinkets - which included a gold-trimmed pipe, his cane, a monocle and a few rings - were packed carefully in velvet and stored in some or the other cupboard. She had gone through his finances as well, and written to Gringotts to have his account transferred to her name. Draco had been briefly worried that she would enquire into his trust fund, but thankfully, she had forgotten all about it.

A secret is a secret, he reminded himself.

They had received the autopsy report right away and the body had been handed over to them as soon as possible. The Malfoys had kept it in the Manor cold room for now, but Draco knew they'd have to bury it the next day.

'Just the two of us,' his mother had said, 'I know he might have wanted a grand funeral, but I don't think I can go through with this.'

Draco had agreed.

He took the envelope from the owl and sent it on its way, before closing his study window and sitting down at the desk. He perused the letter carefully for a few minutes, before folding it and putting it into his paper tray.

Well, he had known there would be repercussions.

He had to discuss this with his mother, he knew. But first, there was someone else he'd have to meet.

Draco pulled on a pair of moss green robes and then asked one of the House Elves to tell his mother he'd gone to the Averys'.