Draco only had about a half-hour's uncomfortable wait in Oddsbodds' office, hearing the story's repetition, when Hermione's promised memo came blazing in. He snatched it out of the air with aplomb, excusing himself to read it outside.
Draco,
Shacklebolt confirms Bibulus's story. He wasn't a part of the special operations team they were on, but he was high enough in the Order to be aware of them. Naomi was an Order member - Bibulus was her contact and recruiter. She was extracted at about the point we were told, and a safe house was found for her to give birth and begin raising Nigel in. He didn't have any leads on who Nigel's father might be, either.
As for where Bibulus was when Naomi died, Harry confirmed that he and Orfin were off on a case investigating counterfeit currency, in conjunction with Gringotts. They'd met far earlier this morning. (Did you know goblins are most productive in the predawn hours? I'd never known about it, but apparently that's one reason the Aurors hate having to work cases with them! I can guess at a few others...) Apparently when word came through about the explosion, he went haring off to Little Flagley, offending the goblin liasion to the Aurors. Doesn't put him completely in the clear, but doesn't hurt, either.
I'll meet you in the evidence room.
- Hermione
PS - Going to need to put some security on Nigel as soon as possible. Discreetly.
With slow, deliberate folds, Draco placed the memo in his cloak pocket, pondering their next move. Security for Nigel would be paramount, as would be keeping a lid on the situation. He winced at the thought of what Skeeter would do if she caught a hint of the potential story within.
It could still all be an accident. It would be hard to prove otherwise, with no observable breach of the wards, no witness in the house besides Nigel, and no answer to the question of who Nigel's father was.
He reentered the office, giving Oddsbodds the smallest of nods. He couldn't guarantee the older wizard understood his complete meaning, but the permission to relax was clear. Oddsbodds' fingers loosened their grip on his wand, just the slightest. Draco saw Bibulus's eyes flick towards the movement, acknowledging what this meant.
"I'm assuming someone vouched for me," he said flatly, as Draco passed Hermione's note to Oddsbodds.
"You understand that we have to be careful," Draco reminded him. "If you'd have been us, you'd have done the same."
"Fairly certain I have," Bibulus retorted, "given your history, Malfoy Junior."
Draco was almost surprised at the lightning-quick surge of anger that shot through his veins, at how quickly his vision went white. He wheeled around on his heel, a retort on his lips.
Oddsbodds beat him to the punch. "Brutus, I might remind you that anyone else would and could name you as a suspect. Investigator Malfoy has done his duty, as has Investigator Granger. You might have come to us at once, instead of lurking around my Investigators. Please consider a modicum of politeness with the people on whom your innocence might rely."
His words did the work they were required for. Bibulus shut his mouth, looking truculent.
Draco, for his part, took a deep breath, releasing it through his nose, feeling the fury trickle back from his joints, coalescing in the pit of his stomach, making a cold knot that weighed heavily against his innards. He glared back at Bibulus, who couldn't seem to meet his eyes, focusing instead on Oddsbodds' collection of peacock quills.
Oddsbodds, for his part, read Hermione's note thoroughly, ignoring the attempted staring contest in his office.
"Mr. Bibulus, I've taken your statement," he began. "We'll keep it private out of courtesy to the Auror office, and owing to the sensitivity of the investigation. However, we need to present it to the Auror's office, in order to get a security detail on Nigel Thiesssen. If you would be so kind as to accompany me to your office?"
With an assent and a scowl, the Auror got to his feet and stomped out into the hallway. Oddsbodds flicked his wand at the door, closing it quietly.
"It's more than a little unusual," he said slowly, rubbing the lines on his temple. "I agree with Investigator Granger's assessment, but we can't go running around, jumping to the conclusion that this is murder. After all..."
"After all, it could just be an accident." Draco sighed. "Trying not to go directly to the more dramatic scenario, sir."
Oddsbodds smiled beatifically. "That is why you are such a good Investigator. Now go and see how Investigator Granger is doing. If this is just an accident, we'll all have fewer headaches and more sleep."
Draco walked slowly down the halls, ruminating over the confrontation with Bibulus. He was accustomed to more or less gradual acceptance from the MLE crowds. This sharp encounter was one more reminder not to drop his guard.
He wondered whether his parents had the smarter idea in fleeing for anonymity or low profiles in other lands. But then, of course, he wouldn't have become an Investigator. He wouldn't have met…no, wouldn't have gotten to really know Hermione.
Draco's heart gave a funny thump at the thought of her, a gentle scolding for briefly forgetting the turmoil it had endured earlier that day. If he'd left with his parents, he would not be left with this exquisite torment. Perhaps that wouldn't have been the worst thing.
Or perhaps it would be the worst tragedy of all.
Cutting off his maudlin train of thought and vowing to get good and pissed with Zabini as soon as possible, Draco turned towards the Evidence Room.
"I am Sher-locked?" The new password to the evidence room still befuddled Draco even as he said it.
The portrait of the thin man in the deerstalker took a pipe out of his mouth. "Is that a question or a statement?"
"It's the password, isn't it?"
The figure in the portrait replaced the pipe, taking a thoughtful puff. "It's all in the inflection. And the right question can unlock everything."
Draco folded his arms against his chest. "May I enter the evidence room or not?"
"If you can say one thing that isn't a question."
"Bugger off, wanker."
"Deduction for cheek. Marks for a technically correct answer." The portrait swung open to reveal Hermione bent over an examination table, intently sifting through Naomi's book of potions orders.
"You have got to explain that password to me one of these days," he remarked by way of greeting, leaning next to Hermione's table.
"Give me six to eight hours of your time on the weekend, a DVD player, and a pizza, and we might just get to that episode," she fired back, not even bothering to look up. "What's with the newbie?" She indicated with her thumb, pointing towards the far corner of the room.
Draco stepped over to see a fresh-faced MLE trainee on the floor, legs straight up in the air, balancing a plank on the soles of his feet. Atop the plank were bags of evidence, teetering as the young man's legs shifted in discomfort. He looked up at Draco, blue eyes wide with appeal for mercy.
The evidence wasn't real, of course, but there was no reason for the trainees to know that.
"This would be MLE trainee Matthew Mockridge," Draco deadpanned. "Walked into a crime scene without Soft Steps on, didn't you, Mockridge?"
"Yes sir," came the slightly strangled voice. "Sir, if I could just take a moment to express my sincerest apologies…"
"Mockridge!" Draco barked. "I really think the evidence would appreciate your full attention, don't you?"
"Yes, sir."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, then shook her head and smiled. "You might want to take a look at this," she said, indicating the shards of Naomi's cauldron scattered in front of her. "This is definitely the one that caused the explosion – look at the pressure pushing against the normal bend of the iron."
Using her wand to flick several shards into the air, she moved them about wordlessly until they fit together like puzzle pieces, floating around the initial ring of iron he'd seen at the scene. Draco pursed his lips.
"That was an Ironcast three-sixty-five, correct?"
Hermione nodded, and Draco turned to find a matching cauldron from among the lab's stores. Using a Hover charm to hold it up against the shards, they wordlessly confirmed the cauldron.
"This wasn't something that took several seconds," Hermione said, eyes fixed on the comparative cauldrons. "This was quick and violent. Look at the distention of the top pieces."
"Given the location of the majority of the wounds, I'd say she was probably leaning over the cauldron," Draco murmured, imagining the scene in his mind. "Either she was in the process of adding something, or investigating some strange reaction."
"I'd go with the former," Hermione replied. "Her right arm was nearly destroyed as well, so she probably had it over the cauldron when the explosion happened." She beckoned to his cauldron, and he placed it on the table in front of her. She demonstrated, holding her right arm over the cauldron, leaning over as if to add an ingredient.
Draco sighed. "Any idea what that potion might have been?"
Hermione shook her head. "I don't, but I've been pulling out the shards from the debris since I got back. There are some ledgers over there – they're kind of singed, but one of them might have a clue." She indicated a small mountain of books and folders, the smell of their char lingering in the air.
Draco slashed the air with his wand, neatly dividing the pile of ledgers into two equal piles. "Let's to it, then."
They spent a busy, peaceful hour in the evidence room, almost silent except for the occasional grunts of Mockridge as the plank of fake evidence swayed on his feet, the routine crackling sound as they repaired singed parchment.
Thankfully, Naomi had been fairly good at dating her invoices, so between the two of them, they could sort out the pile fairly quickly. All potions, however, seemed fairly benign - Pepper-Up, Confusing Concoctions, various hair tonics and skin potions. Draught of Peace was particularly popular among those who had seen action in the war, and appropriately enough, there was a large demand for it.
"You getting the same conclusion I am?" Draco murmured as they worked through the pile. "I don't see any really volatile ingredients here. Naomi seemed to specialize in health potions. Unless you count Bubotuber Pus."
"Wouldn't discount it," Hermione replied with a touch of asperity, leafing through the last folder in her pile and flipping her braid back over her shoulder. "Do you think she kept volatile ingredients, just in case? I've looked at her order list - there's nothing that really jumps out at me."
"We checked that lab up and down," Draco said, aggravated. "If we didn't find it, it was completely destroyed, or someone brought it in..." He broke off, glancing in Mockridge's direction, then looking back at Hermione.
She rolled her eyes, but clambered off the stool to stand over the trainee officer, hands on her hips, looking her fiercest. "Mockridge, is it?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Hold still a moment." Draco watched, amused, as Hermione delicately lifted the plank off of Mockridge's feet. "Don't lower your feet yet. Remember this when you enter a crime scene. Keeping the evidence pure is important. It's how we keep you guys safe in return, and how we help you do your job. Without evidence, MLE officers could be chasing their tails for days while the perpetrator gets away. Understand?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Right, then. Up you get."
Draco nearly stumbled off of his stool in a belated attempt to help Hermione with lifting the trainee to his feet.
"Report back to Ferguson," Draco told the young man, with a friendly pat to his shoulder. "Tell him that you preserved the evidence."
They watched with some amusement as Mockridge hobbled out the door.
"Do you think we're being too harsh with them?" Hermione said worriedly, her smile melting into a look of concern.
"Says the woman who sent Butterfield on a wild Krup chase."
"I know, but he's an arse. Mockridge is just a stupid kid who made a mistake."
"And will never make that mistake again," he finished for her. "Learning from one's errors is a key component to life as a Slytherin. Mockridge will put Soft Steps on before he gets out of bed in the morning."
"I'm not even sure he'll take them off to walk down the aisle," Hermione mused.
Draco's heart twisted suddenly, glancing at her bare hand.
"I know, I know, I've got a one-track mind," Hermione said, clearly expecting him to tease her. "But you try becoming the sixth or seventh Mrs. Weasley out there and figure out how you're going to stand out in the crowd."
"You'll be the only non-ginger." The response was out of his mouth before he could stop it. "And besides, you're taking his last name?"
Hermione's shoulders slumped, and Draco instantly regretted his words.
"I don't think there's a way out of this that won't make me feel guilty," she muttered.
"Why?" She shot him a sideways questioning glance. "Remember, Hermione, for good or ill, I happen to know a lot about last names."
Hermione blew out her cheeks in frustration. "If I do, I become one of many Mrs. Weasleys. My identity becomes tied with them, and whenever I do something, people will always say, 'Oh, which Weasley boy did she marry?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "If I don't, they'll take it as an insult. And like it or not, my whole world is kind of tied into the Weasley clan. Most of my closest friends are either part of them, married to them, or good friends or colleagues with one of them."
"Not me," Draco replied, lifting an eyebrow. He considered reminding her of hyphenation, but realized it wouldn't be in his own interest to do so.
Hermione smiled slowly at him, and Draco's cheeks burned, feeling that she'd given him a gift. He struggled to keep his expression bland.
"No," she replied, obviously relishing her words. "You are my island of blond tranquility in a sea of ginger fury."
He snorted, and she giggled.
"Back to work," she sighed, and Draco warmed to the obvious regret in her voice. "Now that Mockridge is gone, did Oddsbodds believe Bibulus?"
"To a point," he replied. "He's taking Bibulus before the MLE offices, requesting a full security detail on him."
"Good," Hermione replied. "Shacklebolt wasn't aware of the details of Naomi's involvement, but he did confirm that she was a part of the Order, and that Bibulus was her contact." She paused. "He also seemed to feel that Bibulus looked at Naomi as a daughter, almost. I guess her parents died and she only had a Pureblood aunt living – easier to hide her bloodline that way – and he thought of himself as looking out for her. And for Nigel."
Draco sighed. "I'll start working up a list of Death Eaters who haven't been captured yet…"
"No!" she cried, pressing a warm fingertip to his lips. Draco could have sworn he felt a crackling pulse spreading out from that point of contact. "Don't look for zebras!"
"First Sher-locked, now zebras," he replied, not bothering to move his lips from her finger. "If you're going to keep referencing these Muggle sayings, you really need to give me some kind of guide."
Hermione withdrew her finger and regarded him steadily. "It's an old saying – it goes, If you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras. This could still be a random mistake…"
"If you and I were on the Serengeti of Kenya, and we heard hoofbeats, then I think I'd grab your arm and yell, 'Run away from the zebras!'"
"Draco…"
"Just the same, the fact that we're investigating the sudden and untimely death of a woman who used to spy on Death Eaters introduces a strong possibility that this isn't just a tragic accident," he continued doggedly. "I'm not saying we shouldn't investigate the possibility that it's an accident. But we're nervous enough to call in Aurors to protect her son. Let's be cautious enough to figure out who this might be before they strike again. Or get away."
Hermione looked at him curiously. "All right."
"All right? I expected more of a fight."
"We've sent away samples of chemical residue from everything that came close to Naomi, and they should be coming back soon," Hermione replied, ticking each reason off her fingers. "Oddsbodds should be back with autopsy reports soon, and whatever order forms might tell us what Naomi was working on were consumed in the explosion. Until we get those reports back, we're just kicking our heels. Might as well do something that might be useful."
She paused, and looked up at him through her lashes. "Unless you want to help me decide on a locale for the wedding…"
He held her gaze balefully, while pulling out a sheet of parchment and slapping it on the table. Hermione smirked. "Didn't think so."
"Anyway." Draco reached for a quill, dipping it in ink with a rather savage gesture. "Suspects?"
"Rowle," Hermione replied, thoughtfully, dragging a stool over to sit next to him at the table. "There've been suspected sightings, but nothing definite."
Draco dutifully scratched down the name. "Rabastan Lestrange," he continued, the name conjuring up the image of a thin, weedy man crouched at his parents' hearth, nervously shifting from foot to foot. "It's possible - they broke out of Azkaban just a few months after..." He let the sentence trail off, unwilling to voice the name of the demon who had tormented his family.
"It's possible," Hermione said encouragingly. "Avery?"
Draco nodded. "Mulciber?"
"Neither went to Azkaban - they could certainly be prime suspects."
They worked back and forth for some time, compliling a list of known Death Eaters who weren't currently in Azkaban - or dead. Draco had completely lost track of the time when the clock perched on the skeleton let him know that it was nearly six.
"Surprised we haven't gotten any reports by now," he said, jerking a thumb at the clock. "Is it backed up in Analysis, do you think?"
As if conjured by his words, the door opened and Butterfield stomped in, shoes squeaking wetly on the floor, his clothes soaked, water dripping off of his nose.
"You wouldn't happen to know anything about a secret labyrinth of grottoes underneath the Ministry, would you?" he asked, apropos of nothing. "I think I saw a selkie."
"Was her name Sidheag?" Hermione piped up beside him.
"We didn't exchange pleasantries."
Hermione nodded with a little satisfied smile. "That's Sidheag."
"Selkies notwithstanding, I do have some reports for you," Butterfield proffered a sheaf of parchment that must have been charmed to stay dry. "Someone else must have processed your evidence."
"Shame about that," Draco drawled in mock-sympathy. "Ever find that nameplate?"
"As a matter of fact, I did," Butterfield sneered back. "In a pile of glitter and shiny trash. Wonder why they didn't go for your hair?"
"Pixies evidently don't know a real treasure when they find it."
"Thank you, Benjamon." Hermione cut in, taking the parchment and cutting their conversation short. "We'll take it from here."
The other man sniffed, and turned with the air of an offended cat.
"Drying charms are mandatory for third years, idiot!" Draco called out at his back. Without looking back, Butterfield offered a two-fingered salute as the portrait door slammed.
Hermione frowned at him. He raised an eyebrow, not cowed. "C'mon, Hermione. Glitter?"
"I didn't want to raid other people's offices!" she whispered, scandalized.
Draco smirked, and bent over the parchment she held.
"Autopsy report," Hermione muttered. "Massive trauma, loss of blood, minimal burns and chars..."
"Well, that's something," Draco remarked. "No burns, massive trauma - she was killed by the explosion, not from fire or burns. Or from something before the explosion."
"We've been assuming that the fire was from the chemicals in the explosion," Hermione mused, poring over the parchment. "But she died from the impact of the explosion."
"One hell of an explosion," he commented. "Anything about the residue on the cauldron shards?"
Hermione scanned the parchment. "Not in Butterfield's hands, thank Merlin. Due tomorrow, midday…oh!" Draco looked up in alarm, but Hermione just looked annoyed.
"I repaired Naomi's wand…well, about as much as it's going to be. I needed a witness for the Priori Incantatem." Wordlessly, she summoned a battered-looking, but intact wand from its place across the room, and turned to him. Draco nodded.
"Priori Incantatem!"
Instantly, white jets of smoke began to pour from the tip of Naomi's wand. Suddenly, a jet of water spouted out, splattering the evidence room floor. Draco used one hand to scratch down the Aguamenti spell on a fresh piece of parchment. His other hand, outstretched, held his wand as it siphoned up the water from the floor.
He nodded at Hermione, and she held on to the wand.
Once more, smoke began to pour from the wand, and a white light rushed forward, pausing, then rushing towards a sharp scalpel. Lifting it from its wall hanging, the ghost of the spell caused it to chop madly at everything in sight, destroying a potions manual and a pair of thick dragonhide gloves before aiming its pointy end at them.
"Protego!" Draco cried, shielding Hermione and himself with a flash of light. "Hermione, let it go! It's been broken, it's going to keep misfiring! Merlin help us if Naomi tried to start a fire yesterday!"
"Finite!" Hermione cried. The smoke vanished, and the scalpel clattered harmlessly to the floor.
He glanced over, expecting her to be as taken aback as he, but Gryffindor to the end, Hermione had already turned back to her notes. "So the last spell she did was Aguamenti – could she have been attempting to extinguish something in her lab?"
"Possibly," he replied, picking the scalpel up carefully and restoring it to its wall holster. "Or the potion might have called for water at that point. The spell before might have been to chop up ingredients."
"Not necessarily for a potion," Hermione returned. "Remember those knives I set down in her kitchen? Perhaps she started breakfast for herself and Nigel, then went into the workshop to start, or maybe continue work on a potion."
The slightly glassy look in her eyes let him know that she was watching the scene unfold in her mind's eye: Nigel, asleep in bed or expectant at the table, cheerful as Teddy was wont to be in the morning. Naomi, setting the knives to chopping ingredients, and leaving just briefly for the workshop, her son's babble trailing brightly behind her. In the cool darkness of the potions workshop, she added water to a bubbling cauldron, then a pinch of something else...
Something sounds wrong – the potion turns the wrong color – steam begins to pour when it shouldn't – and Naomi's world bursts into light.
"Considering how fast the explosion must have been, looking at that cauldron, I doubt Naomi had too much time to extinguish a fire," Draco said, still looking at the image in his own mind's eye.
Hermione sighed. "We need those results."
"Patience, my dear Gryffindor."
"Enough with patience. The workday's over. Let's take a swim."
Draco looked at her sharply, excitement welling up inside his chest. "In the underground grottoes?
"Nah. Sidheag's already had one disturbance for the day." Hermione paused, then frowned. "I'm not quite sure how Butterfield found it. The trail I left didn't go anywhere near there."
