Chapter Four: Princess Jasmine

The next day turned out to be the epitome of an English summer. Clear skies, light but chilly breezes and warm temperatures welcomed James back when he left the Potter's house, and he stopped for a minute to smell the roses. Except the roses were his mother's small jasmines, and the minute was closer to five.

He recognised the scent; it as the same as that which had been left in his apartment, only far stronger and not adulterated by the myriad of other factors. It was purer, too. The smell which had lingered in his flat had been changed slightly, no doubt due to its presence in a perfume.

Sirius had buggered off to go and do something, which under normal circumstances James would assume to be work related, but Sirius had the week off. James would have liked his help, as an extra set of hands was always useful, but he didn't begrudge him his free time. After all, the man did have other friends and a life outside of occasionally helping James with investigations and eating Mrs. Potter's food.

He discreetly took out his wand and glanced around, making sure that no one was watching. While this was a town known for its high proportion of magical inhabitants, James didn't want to accidentally give a Muggle a heart attack. Thankfully, the street was deserted, so with a quick step and spin, James apparated into his apartment.

It, too, was empty. No jasmine perfume hung in the air, no objects had been moved, and the spells which he and Sirius had placed remained intact. No one had been there in the time he was away.

It was a Saturday, which meant that there was a chance that a client would turn up. If it weren't for this, James would have taken the day off to try to investigate further, but business was important and sometimes working on something different kicked his brain into gear. Parallels turned up with startling frequency, something which he never failed to take advantage of.

Strictly speaking, he didn't open until nine, so he still had forty-five minutes before he had to be present. First things first: restock his emergency chocolate supply.

Priorities.

The chocolate store that was on the same street as the fish and chip shop was his preferred venue of choice. It wasn't ridiculously overpriced, but the chocolate was still of high enough quality to merit the shop being called a 'chocolatier'. At least it wasn't pretentious enough to call itself a chocolaterie.

He pushed open the door with a little more swagger than he was currently feeling, but the presence of enough sugar to keep him awake for seventy-two hours – at minimum – restored his spirits. Coffee may be a faster fix, but chocolate tasted better.

He trawled around the small interior, staring at the different types of chocolate lining the walls. His favourite were Jazzies, as they provided ridiculously high amounts of sugar without actually having that much chocolate. Jazzies were coin shaped pieces of chocolate covered with hundreds and thousands, small enough to eat in one bite but containing enough calories to make that one bite a really bad idea unless there was urgent need for an energy boost.

He bought a bag of these, and debated whether or not to buy some chocolate for his mother. He probably should, considering he would be seeing her more often anyway, so he searched among the shelves until finding a stack of Terry's Chocolate Oranges. He took a dark and a milk one, as well as a bag of the shop's own chocolate, before wandering back up to the counter.

"That'll be seven pounds sixty," said the cashier, who was clearly new judging by her nervousness, and the fact that she didn't recognise James.

"How long've you been working here?" he asked, trying to put the girl at ease.

"Four days," she said with a bashful grin. "They were hiring and a friend recommended it to me."

James nodded and took the brown paper bag she offered him. "Not surprised. It's a good place, this one. You're studying up at Brunel?"

She nodded, which was the expected response. A lot of the college students from that university lived or took jobs around here. "Law student."

"And working in a chocolate shop." He laughed and nodded in farewell. "Nice to meet you."

"You too."

He checked his watch and noticed he still had a good half hour, so he ducked into the bookshop to see if they had anything on sale. There was also a back room, which James knew for a fact contained books for the magical community. The bookshop was run by a wizard, after all.

The shop was deserted, and the bell rang loud in the silence. James brushed it off; whoever was meant to be minding the store was probably in a back room or upstairs, or perhaps taking a quick break.

He glanced along the shelves, eyeing the Muggle literature with wary curiousity. He had read a few Muggle books in his life, but he preferred to stick with Wizarding ones. Muggle problems could all be solved with a few little spells, and reading about them only served to remind him of the difference between the two peoples.

He slipped into the back room, which was hidden with a spell similar to that hiding the Leaky Cauldron, the famous pub that hid the way into Diagon Alley. The books in here were often directly useful, even enlightening. He didn't particularly enjoy reading, but some of the non-fiction books shed light on the most intriguing of subjects, like blood laws, old ways of thinking and previous regimes. Other than current affairs, law books and the odd book on politics, James preferred to stick to his magazines. However, magazines weren't going to provide him with the knowledge to impress Lily Evans, so it was time to deal with more serious material.

He spotted an interesting book on the top shelf and tried to reach it, cursing his lack of height. With a sigh, he was about to take out his want to levitate the bloody thing down before a head appeared up the top of the bookshelf.

"Can I help you?" it asked, and James started in surprise. Although it was difficult to see, it looked as though there was a man lying along the top of the shelf. All James could really see from his position was his head, shoulders and, after looking along, a foot poking out further along the shelf.

"Yes, thanks," he said, recovering quickly. "The...eighth book along from this end, could you toss it down?"

The man reached over and counted along, pulling out the green backed book and showing it to James. "This one?"

He adjusted his glasses and peered up at it. It was titled Magical Laws Regarding Blood Purity, by Marius Black. He was tempted to show it to Sirius to see his reaction, but knew the only thing that would happen would be a harshly spoken 'incendio'. "That's the one."

The man glanced at the title, wrinkled his nose, then held it out to James. "Enjoy your reading," he said, but his tone was coloured with doubt.

"Unlikely," James replied. "I can't think of something that is going to be filled with more pureblood propaganda than this."

The man chuckled. "Give me a second, I'll come down."

James, curious to see how the strange man intended to do this, made his way around to the other side of the shelf. To his disappointment, it was nothing more mundane than a ladder, which the man swung over and climbed down on.

"Couldn't make it any more interesting for your audience?" he teased, looking him up and down. He was taller than James by an easy three inches, with brown hair and murky green eyes. He was also quite thin, which coming from James was practically a professional opinion, and wearing old jeans, a vest that was clearly second hand, and a white shirt.

The man rolled his eyes, before looking at the book James was holding again. "Ah, Marius Black. That one isn't quite as filled with propaganda as you may think. I've read some of his work, and for a pureblood supremacist he isn't as much of a prat as you'd think."

"What, no long winded rants on how inferior Muggleborns are, and what an abomination it is to be a proper half-blood? I'm disappointed. There goes my weekend reading."

The man grinned, which made him look a lot younger than he appeared. "It's quite tasteful, I'm afraid. Just a light commentary on the legal system. Registration, purification, education. All the good stuff. He was a squib, so he knew what he was talking about."

"James Potter," James introduced, sticking the book under his arm and offering his hand.

"Remus Lupin." Remus shook his hand but dropped it quickly.

"So, any other books you can recommend to me?" he asked, flipping through Magical Laws. "Might need something to take my mind off this one, you know?"

Remus nodded and wandered over to another shelf. Trailing his fingers along the spines, he plucked a colourful book out and offered it to James. "The Paradox of Freedom, by Teresa Prewett. It's fascinating, but deals with a lot of psychology and traditionalism."

James took it and flicked through. He'd met Teresa once or twice when he was little, as she was Marius Prewett's sister. She'd seemed like a decent person, so her ideas would probably be more palatable than those of a Black. "Alright. A bit wordy, but I'll manage."

"She's expressive enough that her thoughts come across very cleanly," Remus assured, swinging around to look through another bookshelf's worth of books. "There's a good dissertation written by Albus Dumbledore that I might be able to dig up for you as well, which looks at the origins of the blood laws and how they are no longer applicable to the same situations. What was it called..."

"Origin and Originality: A Thesis on the Blood Law Act and its Consequences," James replied, recognising the description.

Remus glanced at him over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "You have done your research. You've read it, then?"

"My father insisted I do so when I was fifteen," James admitted. "Said I needed to understand the way that the Wizarding world was changing."

"He sounds like a clever man," the brunette replied, turning to fully lean on the shelf. "Are you a specialist in the subject or are you just interested? I don't often see people dealing with this subject."

"Curiousity from a dinner party conversation," James said, shifting the books to a more comfortable position. "We were talking about current affairs and I decided to brush up on my knowledge."

Remus looked at him thoughtfully for a second before smiling triumphantly. "You're trying to impress someone, aren't you?"

James could feel his jaw dropping. This guy was perceptive, and James was fairly certain he hadn't said anything about trying to impress. "What gave it away?" he asked after getting his jaw under control again. Thinking back on their conversation, he tried to make the connections. His family name was well known, so he was obviously a pureblood. He hadn't heard of Marius Black, which showed he was probably very liberal in his beliefs, helped by his recognition of Teresa Prewett. By process of elimination, this ruled out him being a specialist in the subject or even someone who had been reading about it for a while. The dinner conversation remark had probably cemented the idea that he was trying to impress someone, as it implied meeting new people and what better way to make a good impression than show how clever you were?

Apparently this train of thought had been entirely useless, as Remus just shrugged and replied, "You just have that kind of air around you."

James sighed and shook his head. "Yeah, well, I've got a feeling it's going to be more applicable soon, other than impressing people."

Remus shrugged again. "You never know. People change, and with more and more people with Muggle sympathies and less pureblood fanatics, there might be a bit more hope for a change."

"Fingers crossed," he said flippantly, before straightening and holding the books up. "I've got to get going, how much are these going to be?"

Remus took them and wandered over to the cash register. "Three galleons and six sickles," he said, ducking down under the counter, presumably to look for a bag to put the books in.

James dug out his second wallet and placed the coins on the counter, taking the now bagged books in exchange. "Will you be working here for a while?"

Remus shrugged. The constant repetition of the manoeuvre made James think of Lily. "I don't know; hopefully. I tend to mess up a lot of jobs."

"I'll stop by for a chat again, then." James left the shop with a wide smile and a jaunty wave, both which Remus returned with some trepidation.

James dropped his chocolate into the bookshop bag and slung it over his shoulder, hurrying back to his apartment. He hastily tidied up a little so it appeared more professional, put the books away and the chocolate in the fridge.

Unlike most detectives, James didn't have an office. He received clients in his front room, as it often served to set them more at ease and make him seem more trustworthy. Working in offices gave off the feeling that it was just a job, and that the detective didn't really sympathise with the client's problems. Having clients come to his home showed them that he trusted them, that their troubles were his, and it also showed them the type of person he was.

Of course, it was a bit weird constantly having strangers in his personal space, but it was only the front room. He'd had worse. Hell, he'd been in a dormitory with Sirius for seven years.

He amused himself by hypothesising about his own burglar while he waited for someone to show up. Saturdays had a higher rate of customers, so he wasn't entirely despondent about spending the entire day doing what was essentially absolutely nothing.

At about eleven o'clock there came a knock on the door, and it opened to reveal a man in his mid-forties, with greying hair and a rather rotund build. He remained at the threshold, but noticed James stand up and asked, "Would you be James Potter, the detective?"

James nodded, coming forward and shaking the man's hand. "Yes, I am. Please, come in."

He ushered the man inside to sit on the armchair and took a seat on the sofa. "How can I help you?"

"My name is Jack O'Donnell," the man started. "My wife Clara was a witch, but I haven't got any magic. She...she was murdered a few weeks ago."

"I'm so sorry," James said, wincing. "My condolences."

Mr. O'Donnell gave him a smile. "Thank you. The police ruled it as homicide by poisoning, but were unable to trace the murderer."

"You think it's a wizard?"

He nodded. "Yes. Clara wasn't a paranoid person, but she did ward the house against intruders. That ward didn't go off."

James leaned forward. "How did it happen, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Not at all. It was very simple. She was dining one night when she simply collapsed. There were traces of poison – arsenic – in her wine glass. I don't drink wine, but my wife does, and whoever poisoned her knew that. I was proven innocent by the police because I wasn't there at the time and there was no poison in the wine bottle, so there was no way I could have done it. However, I suspect that someone visited her that night, a witch or wizard, who knew Clara. They could have disabled the wards, knocked on the door, and Clara would have let them in. I don't know how they would have put the arsenic in her glass, but they did it somehow and this was the end result."

"If you think it was a wizard then why didn't they just use a spell?" James asked, partially to himself and partially to Mr. O'Donnell.

"I don't know."

James leaned back again and nodded, thinking deeply. He already had a few hypotheses running around his mind, but without further evidence he wouldn't be able to find one, definitive answer. "I'll help you. I'll try to find out who did this, and why, but I can't promise you anything."

Mr. O'Donnell sagged in relief. "Oh, thank you, thank you. I had no idea who I could turn to."

"How did you know to come to me?"

"I asked one of Clara's friends, she told me about you. A friend of a friend."

"May I visit your house at some point next week? I would like to take a look around where it happened and see if there is anything left over that I can work with."

Mr. O'Donnell nodded and wrote down his address. "This is where I live. Might I ask what your fees are?"

"They depend entirely on results," James assured him. "If I search around for a month and find nothing, there will be a small compensation for time but nothing else. My usual fees are £50 on the first day, then another £75 for each lead I pursue. If I say that I have a lead and you do not agree that it's worthwhile, you don't have to pay me. I'll still investigate, and tell you whether or not I find anything. If I do, and you want that information, then you'll have to pay the fee you would have if you thought that lead was worthwhile. If I solve the case, then there will be an additional fee of £500."

Mr. O'Donnell nodded. "You don't ask for much money. All of the other non-magical private investigators ask for a lot more."

"I have more resources at my disposal, as well as magic, so it seems a little unfair to demand the same price," James explained. "They need payment for services like tracking, analysing and testing. I don't. Expenses fees may also crop up, but I promise they won't be more than the fee of a ride on the Tube."

Mr. O'Donnell frowned, thinking this over. James knew his methods were unique and his fees strange, but they made sense and worked a lot better considering the rate at which he dealt with his cases. "That sounds fair. Is there a consultancy fee?"

"No. I haven't done anything other than listen to your explanation, you can't pay me for that." James smiled. "I'll do my best to find out what happened to your wife, Mr. O'Donnell. You can have faith in me."

The man smiled back and stood up. "Thank you very much, Mr. Potter. I'm sure you'll find something that the police couldn't." He went to leave, but stopped and turned around as if in an afterthought. "Oh, and one more thing. This was left on the kitchen table, and it wasn't Clara's."

He handed James a handkerchief from his pocket. It was the standard size, with blue stitching around the edges and an initial in one corner; 'M'. There was a faint scent, too, so James raised it to his nose and sniffed it lightly.

The handkerchief fell to the floor.

It was the smell of jasmines.

A/N: Back again! Hope you enjoyed this chapter (it has Remus, you'd better have) and if you didn't, tell me why! I haven't dropped this story, it's just taking ages to line up all the threads of the story, because ideas keep popping up and I'm trying to weave them all into something coherent. Thanks for the patience!

- Bronwyn