Percy Weasley stood outside the tavern, his foot tapping rapidly. He was looking about him, a strained expression on his pale face. But he immediately righted himself at the sight of the group, looking something like a pigeon in the way of his rigid movements. "There you are." He tried to look through Tom to get to the younger Weasleys, but in the end he had to physically weave around Tom when the taller man didn't move aside.

"What are you doing? You should have come straight home." Percy looked exasperated as usual. "How long was that game?" His blue eyes narrowed, freckled nose wrinkling. He looked between the twins and Ron, either oblivious to or outrightly ignoring the effect his words had on the younger boys: eyerolls and sighs.

"And you, Ginny," he turned sharply onto his sister. He didn't comment on her exerted look - ruffled red hair and a thin layer of sweat. "I thought you were at the Longbottoms', I was going to come bring you home." Percy blinked stiffly, shaking his head as he realised, "Why aren't you at the Longbottoms?"

"Neville gave me the day off." Warily, Ginny looked back at their friends - all of whom were equally at a loss - before meeting Percy's eyes. Her brows furrowed. "What's going on? What's gotten you so worked up?"

"Haven't you heard?" Percy looked around furtively before ushering them into the building. His hands were tense in the brief moment that he had touched Hermione's shoulders.

The tavern was relatively empty. The room was dimly lit and there were only a few patrons. Sitting on the other side of the tavern, they were hunched over their food and drinks, faces turned away from the entrance. Audrey Weasley was waiting on several of them, serving trays in hand. She was still in the early stages of pregnancy and casted several worried glances towards her husband. But she disappeared into the kitchen without approaching Percy or the others.

Fred and George slid into one of the unoccupied booths, Seamus and Dean following on the opposite end. Ginny stood beside Tom at one of the tables. While Ron and Hermione also elected to remain standing, clustering around Ginny.

"Are you going to tell us the big news or not? We're all sitting down now if that was what you were waiting for, Perce." Fred spoke lightly, choosing to be impatient rather than frightened.

"Must be really, really bad news," George remarked to his twin.

Shooting the twins a disgruntled look, Percy sighed. "One of the guests was found dead in his room." That familiar feeling of dread was creeping over Hermione again when Percy looked at her. "Hermione, your father was called in to examine the body. He hasn't come yet, but we think it was a natural death."

"Then what's the problem?" Dean spoke up. He exchanged a concerned look with Seamus.

"That traveler was Dedalus Diggle." His grave reveal largely received blank looks.

Hermione snuck a glance at Tom. The wizard's true face was inscrutable - all she saw was a mirror image of the concern and reserve on their peers' faces. He didn't look back at her, his dark eyes fixed on Percy.

"Who?"

Ron shot Fred a dirty look. "Bloody hell, you helped the man carry his luggage up to his room. How do you not remember him?"

"Well, I remember him now," Fred protested. "He was a very poor tipper," he added, tone scandalous, hushed. Fred had to duck suddenly when Percy leaned over to smack him across the head, barely missing him by a hair.

Snorting as she watched the petty violence between her brothers, Ginny spoke up, "He was the witch hunter, remember?"

"The one who arrested Figg," Seamus recalled aloud. "You don't think she really cursed him, do you?" His eyes looked over the faces of their group, his pink tongue darting out to lick nervously at his chapped lips.

"She's an old woman," Hermione protested half-heartedly, feeling multiple pairs of eyes turn on her. "She's not capable of such a thing."

"Percy," Tom spoke calmly. His voice was even and unemotional. "When was the body discovered?"

"Just a few hours ago. And we have no idea how long he's been dead - just sometime between today and yesterday. There's no fool-proof way of knowing for sure, at least none we're aware of," Percy admitted. "He probably could have died early last night for all we know - Fleur was the one who found him."

"Is she alright?" Ron spoke up seriously, suddenly looking very concerned.

"She's fine - just shaken."

Tom subtly looked over their group, his face neutral. But when his gaze swept over her, he met Hermione's eyes for the first time in days. He held her skeptical stare for a long moment, his own unflinching.

Hermione looked away first. "Percy," she spoke slowly. "You know people in town. Influential people." It was a note of pride - to Percy - to know important people. "Do you know what this might mean for Figg?" Her fingers twitched; Hermione only just managed to resist demonstrating any visible nervous impulses.

"It's too early to tell," Percy shook his head. He had sunken down into one of the empty chairs nearby when his blue eyes suddenly lit up. "There's your father now. Mister Granger, sir!" He shot back up from his seat.

"Thank you for coming." Percy had strode away from them, immediately shaking hands with the doctor, his handshake too enthusiastic. But Father wasn't alone - Bill Weasley and the sheriff stood behind him. Percy's attempt to shake hands with Sheriff Moody went rebuffed.

"You should go with him," Ginny murmured quietly. Hermione glanced at her. It was not immediately clear as to whom she was addressing - Hermione or Tom. "Both of you," Ginny clarified. "He'll need you, right?"

Hermione hestianted. Her medical knowledge was fairly rudimentary and she had never taken much of an interest in this especially morbid part of her father's job, but when Tom immediately left to join the other men she found herself following suit on impulse.

Father nodded to them both. Given how much independence he had always afforded to Hermione growing up, it unsurprising that he would find little issue involving them in the examination.

"Which room is it then?" Moody spoke up, his aged voice gruff as usual. He was a frightening-looking man; he had lost an eye in an old war, a foot to infection, and a sizeable chunk of his nose at some mysterious point in his long lifetime. Hermione had never liked him - mainly because she had gotten the sense that he didn't like her much either.

"Third floor. Let me show you the way." Percy was quick to volunteer. He nodded briefly to his older brother once before turning away, leaving Bill to go see to their younger siblings.

When they had arrived on the third floor, standing outside the room in question, Percy held the door open, following in last. There was a distinct smell of trapped sourness that tempted Hermione to gag.

Moody scanned the room, a grim look further darkening his already stern features. "Maybe you'd better wait outside," he remarked, still looking around the room. It was not so much a suggestion as an order. "Too many people in a sensitive scene will be detrimental to an investigation."

Percy's face fell. He seemed to be considering arguing for a moment. But only for a moment. As soon as Moody's remaining eye flickered towards him, Percy quickly excused himself and exited the room, leaving the door partially ajar.

Tom shut the door close without a word, not following Percy back outside.

Like Tom, Hermione ignored Moody's pointed words. Carefully making her way across the floor, she joined Moody on the other side of the room.

Half-hidden behind the bed was the corpse of Dedalus Diggle, cold and dead on the wooden floorboards. His face was turned away from them, towards the corner of the room.

No move to touch him was made until her father approached, stooping down on his knees. The doctor frowned, but said nothing as he examined the corpse.

Hermione stretched her neck forward to catch a glimpse before quickly pulling back.

Her father remarked, equally disturbed, "I've never seen such a look on anyone's face - dead or alive."

"You must have not seen very much in your lifetime," Moody scoffed ruefully.

"He must have seen something truly horrible before he died," Hermione remarked softly to herself. Diggle's skin was a ungodly shade of white. His face was contorted in a silent 'o', fear lines etched deeply into his skin. His hair was wild and his mouth leaked a dried trail of yellow.

"But are there any injuries on his body?" Tom remained standing on the other side of the room, peering at the scene from a comfortable distance. "Anything to actually suggest foul play?"

"No," Father answered after a short time. He shook his head, rising back up to his feet.

"That doesn't immediately rule out the possibility of internal injuries or poisoning," Moody reminded them through a growl. "An autopsy should still be performed."

"The doctor's time is limited, Moody," Tom pointed out calmly. He finally joined them, walking over on languid strides. He looked down at the cold body, remarking, "He looks like he was clutching his arm when he died. There's more vomit by the bed stand." He shrugged dispassionately, black hair partially obscuring his eyes. "It looks like a standard heart attack."

"A heart attack?" Moody barked. At this point most people would have averted their eyes or backed down but Tom only held Moody's hard stare, a dark brow raised. "You think he would have had a heart attack at a time like this? When he was just about to persecute the witch? He wasn't very old at all, but he was a man of God. His death was murder. I don't know how it could be more plain for you."

"You think Figg cursed him? All the way from her cell? Under constant surveillance?"

"The guards are only men. They have their lapses," Moody growled. He poked his forehead with a thick finger. "Witchcraft isn't a clear-cut evil, boy. Satan can take any route to the mind and heart." He looked to Doctor Granger, searching for his agreement when Tom spoke up again.

"You can't just pull accusations out of thin air, there has to be some basis," Tom scoffed. "Figg's involvement sounds like a stretch. Bad luck - accidents happen. Diggle's heart must have been weak. People die everyday."

"Bringing a case to court would be a trying time for anyone, even in the best of circumstances," Father slowly pointed out, his face carefully neutral. "It's stressful for all parties involved."

"The timing is still awfully suspicious," Moody insisted. "What harm would an autopsy do?"

"The harm would be in its waste of time and resources." Tom replied sharply. "The Creeveys' youngest son has a fever - the last thing this town needs is another outbreak of plague." His dark eyes were unrelenting. "But fine. Order the autopsy." Tom must have been losing his edge, if his temper was surfacing as quickly as it did now.

"If it's a standard heart attack, then it's just a heart attack. It'd be inhumane and cruel to punish Figg for actions outside of anyone's control," Hermione spoke up firmly. She looked to her father for support. "Is an autopsy necessary or not? From your professional viewpoint?"

Father's face was thoughtful and and enigmatic. It was difficult for her to gauge his opinion, but it hardly mattered because he had apparently already made up his mind. "I have neither the time nor the cause to perform an autopsy." He shrugged, going on to explain, "If his death was the product of witchcraft, there will likely be no marks on his body to indicate so. The most we can do is continue to interrogate Figg."

Hermione immediately schooled her features when she saw that Moody was glowering at her. He remained squinting at her even after. "Did you have any sort of relationship to Figg?" he demanded outrightly.

"What are you implying?" Father cut in waspishly, looking defensive now. "My daughter had no association with that woman." Thoroughly exasperated, he shook his head. "Tom, Hermione - we're leaving now." Before Moody could get another word out, he insisted, "I'll alert the undertaker."

Hermione went to her father's side. She took a deep breath, looking back at Moody. "I had no relationship to Arabella Figg," she assured him firmly. "I simply don't want to see an innocent woman sent to death on the sole basis of circumstance." She stared back, brown eyes hard, determined not to look away first. She had picked up the underlying sense that to do so would only cement Moody's belief that she was suspect. She could only wonder why Moody singled her out at all. It didn't feel very fair.

Thanks for reviewing, Alexandra!