February 2011
"Oh. It's you."
"The displeasure is all mine, Malfoy," Harry replied sardonically, taking in the familiar sulky expression on a face he had taken great pains to not see in over ten years. Hardly professional, he supposed, but the man had kept him waiting on the front porch for over ten minutes after the House Elf had informed him that 'Master would have to give Blinky the say-so before Blinky could let him in' – and it was close to the end of his shift, too. "But this is hardly a social call. May I?" it wasn't a question.
Draco Malfoy looked at him for a long moment before rolling his eyes and stepping back, waving him into the expansive foyer. He strode ahead of Harry, irritation evident in the set of his shoulders. "Hurry up, Potter," he said peevishly, when he reached the end of the corridor before Harry had crossed the halfway point. "Try and keep up!" he snapped once again, though his expression softened when Harry came to an involuntary stop in front of the boarded-up door that was once the Malfoys' drawing room, his stomach churning with memory that he was resolutely ignoring, compartmentalising for the conversation ahead. "We don't use that one." Malfoy said shortly. "Come on, we can go to the study. And you best be quiet – mother and father are resting."
Only once they were seated in Malfoy's altogether rather grand study on the first floor did the blonde's shoulders relax a fraction. "Nice room," Harry said insincerely, taking in the mahogany furniture, the emerald upholstery, and the profusions of silver and crystal everywhere. The only personal touches he could spot were ornate silver photo frames containing pictures of several pale blondes of varying heights, ages and genders, all of whom glared at him disapprovingly or turned their back on him when he looked at them. One of them was of Draco himself, sporting a laugh that transformed his entire face as he held a small boy, though upon spotting Harry his pictorial self quickly whipped around and stalked off past the side of the frame, hiding the boy from view. No snake-shaped doorknobs, thank Merlin, thought Harry; though the large carved emerald and diamond studded letter opener – made of real Goblin silver, he was fairly sure – lying carelessly next to the imposing vanadium green crocodile leather desk set made him pause and wince inwardly. Draco Malfoy, it seemed, would never change.
"What do you want, Potter?" he bit out, when Harry didn't speak again. He poured himself a small swallow of a beautiful, rich amber Whisky from a softly shimmering faceted crystal decanter before pointedly not offering the Auror any.
"Blaise Zabini." Harry replied. "Do you have any knowledge of his whereabouts from last night?"
"He was here for dinner, as you probably well know already, Potter. Daphne told Astoria to pop around later when she offered to go over today morning, said the Aurors were camping out at the property. Astoria's only just gone to comfort her sister." He glared at Harry.
"Do you remember what time he arrived and left?"
"How would I know? You'd better ask one of the House Elves." He responded irritatedly.
"Did he seem in good spirits? Or troubled? Er, out of the ordinary in any way?"
"You don't know Blaise if you think you'll ever know what he's thinking or feeling. Broadcasting your emotions is a rather Gryffindor, trait, don't you think?" he smirked. Harry privately thought that he didn't know a man more transparent than the one sitting in front of him; but resisted the natural impulse to goad Malfoy in favour of getting marginally more information.
"Any idea of where he went before or after dinner? Did he leave during the dinner at all? Are there Anti-Apparition charms up around your house?"
"Do you have your brothers-in-law on a leash, Potter? How on Earth would I know or care where he went?"
"Look, Malfoy. Zabini is your friend, isn't he? And he wants his mother's killer to be found, doesn't he? So, do you think you could help me do that for him by actually answering my questions?"
"Fine." He said shortly, after a beat. "Though I can't see how wasting your time on Blaise's whereabouts helps you find Lucrezia's killer. He didn't go anywhere once he got to the Manor, probably around seven or thereabouts. He left with Daphne around eleven, but I don't know where they went. They were here the whole time – except if they stepped away to the loo, or something. But you can't Apparate out of the Manor without dispensation, which neither of them have."
"What was Blaise's relationship like with his mother?"
"Lucrezia doted on Blaise. He was quite fond of her in return. He didn't murder his mother, Potter. He had no need to."
"Financially?"
"The Zabinis are rich, Potter. Nearly as rich as the Malfoys." He looked marginally superior. "Lucrezia married well each time. Her latest wasn't quite to her usual standards, but then again, he's French. And Blaise manages the family finances, his mother trusted him implicitly. Money is the least of his concerns, I assure you."
"You're home later than I expected," the fond look of amusement melted off Ginny's face when she saw the pinched look on her husband's. "To the sofa with you!" She said next, the softness in her voice belying the tartness in her words. Harry sat down silently, collapsing into her lap, the tension only coming out of his limbs when she wordlessly removed his glasses from in front of his closed lids and started softly running her fingers through his hair, lightly scratching her nails against his scalp.
"Kids?" he mumbled into her thigh. "All upstairs. Lily-Lu's asleep in the nursery after three rounds of rocking with a bottle and a story with Nanny Kreacher so that Mummy could have a moment's peace to finish up her writeup of today's Arrows vs Wasps match for the Prophet, and Jamie and Al have finally settled down too – big boy Jamie was told he can stay up half an hour later than Al if he doesn't wake him up when he goes to bed. He was doing well too, but then he bumped into the nightstand, which toppled over Al's bedtime Beedle book, which woke him up with a start and a watering pot full of tears, of course. So, the half hour bedtime extension is under probation. We'll re-evaluate tomorrow; but it might soon be time to convert the guest bedroom into a room for Jamie; and Teddy's can double as a guest room now since he hardly stays over anymore…"
She trailed off, her fingers still moving absently through his hair as they sat there, relishing a quiet rarely experienced in a household with three children under ten. After a while, Harry sat up, lips tugging into a grateful smile. "Don't suppose there's anything to eat?"
"Kreacher made Shepherd's pie; it's kept warm waiting for you in the kitchen. Shall I get it?" at his nod, she stabbed her wand in the general direction of the kitchen, and a gently steaming piece of one of Harry's favourite meals came to rest before him in a plate. Another flick of her wand had two wine glasses twist into existence, and a bottle of a plush burgundy empty itself into the glasses. "I know you've a full day ahead of you tomorrow, but you look like you could use a drink, love. Want to talk about it?"
"Spent the entire day piecing together what happened to Lucrezia Zabini. There's no dearth of possibles in this case – we've got the families of her seven pre-deceased husbands, we've got lucky number eight, and we've also got Blaise – you remember him from Hogwarts, I'm sure - I suppose. Zabini – Blaise, I mean – wasn't there in the house when she died, but that's hardly conclusive. Husband's away, seems business as usual – he owns a rather large security company in France, so he's there half the week. Official cause of death was asphyxiation, so that indicates a lethal potion of some sort, Savage's been pulled to help me. It's early days, until we can't figure out what the potion was and how it kills, we won't know who to suspect, but there weren't many people she came in contact with, as a rule. She was a rather paranoid woman married to a man who specialises in keeping intruders out – as many charms as you can feasibly put on a building in her house, and the mail all gets scanned before it gets to the residents."
"Where was Zabini the night she died?"
Harry snorted. "Having dinner with his brother-in-law. Merlin, don't know who I feel sorrier for, but on the whole I'd plumb for Zabini."
"Astoria's a nice girl, I think I remember her from Hogwarts. Can't believe she ended up marrying Malfoy. Though, honestly, Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, even Malfoy… they weren't the worst of the Slytherins that year, I can tell you that much. They mostly kept to themselves, turned a blind eye to the DA if they ever caught us doing something that wasn't overtly egregious. I don't know much about Astoria. I do recall she used to hang out with Dennis's crowd sometimes, you could probably get him to talk to her. She might open up to him more… if there's anything they're not telling you about." Ginny mused, and her husband nodded in response; already halfway done with his dinner. "That's a great idea – I'll pull him aside tomo—" but before he could finish his sentence, he was interrupted.
"And now that that's done with, why don't you tell me what you're actually bothered about."
Harry looked at her, taking in the quirk of her eyebrow that stated her determination to winnow the truth out of him as baldly as if she'd said it. He sighed, giving in.
"I went to Malfoy Manor today." Harry stated plainly, and then took a large swallow of the wine. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ginny watching him closely, carefully, but she didn't say a word. She really did know him well. Now that the dam had burst, he suddenly found that he didn't want to keep it in anymore.
"I didn't think I'd ever be going back in there. And it was… anti-climactic, I don't know. I'm glad Ron and Hermione didn't – wouldn't – ever have to go back in there, though."
"Where did you meet Malfoy? And did you meet… any of the others?" she finished delicately.
"In his study. They'd… boarded up what used to be the old drawing room. And no, Astoria had gone to be with Daphne by the time I got there, and Lucius and Narcissa were 'resting'. I don't think he fully recovered from Azkaban. Honestly, we ought to get rid of the Dementors, I wouldn't wish them on my worst enemy. Just going in to interrogate prisoners occasionally is bad enough. I can't imagine living there for years on end…" he shuddered.
"Maybe Hermione will get on that, next?"
"After House Elf Reform, you mean? She's over the moon now that she's finally high up enough in DMLE to really do something about it." Harry cracked a grin.
"I actually swung by Diagon earlier today, had lunch planned with George but Ron was over from the Hogsmeade store so he joined us. He was saying something about a project of hers going to the Wizengamot soon? Apparently, Hermione's been driving him right mental with the way she's been stressing about it. That being said – don't change the topic, Potter."
"You caught me." He replied, a little teasingly, pulling her into his arms. "Damn straight, I wasn't starting Chaser for the Harpies ten years in a row for nothing!" she shot back, both chuckling lightly. "Lucky me," Harry said fondly, kissing the top of her head, before letting her go as she made to stand up, holding his hand and smiling at him invitingly.
"C'mon, Chosen One, let's go to bed, and I'll show you how lucky you really are."
"Hey, Dennis, got a mo' to spare?"
"Sure, Harry, what d'you need?"
"Wanted to ask you a few questions about Astoria Greengrass… really about her brother-in-law, Blaise; but anything you know about them would be helpful…"
"Oh, sure. I mean, I haven't spoken to Astoria much since we graduated, especially since she married Draco Malfoy. But she's still pretty tight with Orla, you remember her? And Orla's married to Euan, who's a half-blood, and it hasn't impacted their friendship overmuch. Besides, she was always decent to me in school, too. Didn't rat me out that year, helped me cover actually. She's a good sort. I wouldn't believe that she buys into all that blood purity nonsense… well, less than the average Slytherin at least, you know? Her sister's a bit of a cow though, looks down on 'blood traitors' like Orla, always been a bit disdainful of Astoria's friendships from what I remember from Hogwarts. But not in the 'trying to get the mudbloods murdered' way, just in the 'I'm better than you, filthy blood traitor' way. Blaise Zabini, too, he could be a right prat, thought no end of himself, but he caught me sneaking supplies from the Hospital Wing once and just let me go in that bored, supercilious way of his. I mean none of that precludes him from murdering his mother, but… I'd be surprised. I'll talk to Astoria though. Maybe he just wanted more money from mummy than she was willing to give him? Or maybe it isn't him."
"I doubt it's him, to be honest. But it would be convenient… anyway, when you talk to her – ask her about lucky number eight, too, Lucrezia's newest husband, I mean. I haven't had a chance to interview him yet, he's back tomorrow, apparently."
"Is that—" Graham Pritchard sat upright, sharply, as the small metal disc in his hand burned hot for a split second, his keen eyes scanning the darkened window of the flat he was watching, a tiny bed-sit rented by supermarket cashier Evelyn Graham; the second controlled Muggle in the Gringotts case (that they were aware of, anyway). James Aberdeen had been divested of his galleons despite round the clock surveillance, much to Robards's fury, and as a result, the Aurors had been quietly authorised by the Minister himself to place more enchantments, specifically to detect magic – and Apparate directly inside – the dwelling of the concerned Muggle in case any magic was performed within its walls. Of course, the Muggle in question hadn't been asked for their consent. Leslie could still be caught frowning darkly over that decision, but Pritchard the pragmatist understood the need for it. Capturing the bugger was more important.
There was no light inside, nothing had been disturbed, but gathering the loot and modifying Evelyn's memory would take minutes at most. There was no time to spare, to inform the Auror Office, to call for backup. He charmed his eyes with a hasty night-vision augmenting spell and twisted, Apparating into the flat—
—And landed, in the near pitch darkness, almost on top of a shadowy figure, clad in a black cloak with the hood up, who whirled around at the distinctive crack, shooting a purple spell that he just barely dodged by the skin of his very teeth. After that, it was all downhill from there. Pritchard dodged one decisive Stupefy to his right, catching a Bone-Breaking Curse in his left humerus immediately after. To his intense frustration, the man? Woman? Lethifold? in front of him moved like quicksilver, and a Diffindo was the best he could manage in return. And then suddenly, it was over. He stepped in the way of a quick tripping curse aimed at his feet, and before he could recover, his opponent twisted into nothingness.
From behind him, almost as though he was starring in a comedy, a scream for help. The scorch-marks in the entryway and the broken coffee table had apparently aroused Evelyn Graham from her suspiciously deep slumber, and she was screaming her head off as she scrambled out of her bed six feet away from him, casting about for a weapon of some kind. He sighed inwardly, before turning around and stupefying the poor girl, casting a Mobilicorpus before she hit the ground and levitating her back to the bed. Not to boast, but Pritchard was an exceptional dueller, with some of the fastest reflexes in the Auror Office. To be bested like that was galling, and, after a quick Accio revealed that the thief had gotten away with the galleons after all, calming down a hysterical Muggle whose memory had clearly been modified several times over was a bit beyond what his patience could handle. It was about time to call in the Obliviators, before reporting to Robards for what he could admit would be a well-deserved bollocking. About the only silver lining in the whole mess was that the perp now had two lots of tracked galleons on him, and, in the (admittedly small) off chance he would hit up the other victims to retrieve the loot, the Aurors would be better prepared.
"How's things at the Office going, mate? Heard you had a nice chat with our favourite Bouncing Ferret the other day?" Ron grinned at Harry's answering scowl; and even Hermione popped her head out from behind an enormous roll of parchment to catch the byplay, taking an absent-minded bite of her abandoned sandwich while doing so.
"Muffliato." Harry muttered, before continuing, "laugh it up, Weasley,", bouncing a crumpled napkin off of Ron's chuckling forehead. "Malfoy was just about as helpful as anyone could've expected out of the prat, and this case is a bloody nightmare with Robards breathing down my neck because Daphne bloody Zabini is leaning on the Wizengamot to breathe down his. Dennis had a chat with Astoria – I can't imagine Malfoy's wife all chummy with a Muggleborn, but stranger things have happened I suppose – and it's looking pretty well unlikely that Zabini or his wife had anything to do with it, no motive whatsoever. It might have been husband number eight – but not for money; she made a will leaving everything to her son, who also had free reign over her vaults in her lifetime. It also seems unlikely that husbands one through seven were being 'avenged' this many years later – her last husband was an American who died in our Fifth Year at Hogwarts."
"Well, maybe her husband killed her before she could do him in? Was she in his will? And what's his name, anyway?" Hermione pointed out.
"Vincent de Lapin, of Lapin Security – a rather well-known firm, according to Fleur. And while she was in his will, it's… complicated. They've been married only about three years, and she didn't stand to inherit anything substantial unless they were married for at least ten – Vincent's been divorced five times already, and remarried pretty quick each time, so he put a clause in his will that his wife Lucrezia would get ten thousand for every year they were married until a decade in, where she'd get half his fortune, the other half going to his brother Jean-Luc. So, yes, Vincent could've done his wife in before she had a chance to get him – if he believed in her reputation, but he had to know he was safe for at least another six or seven years, right, because why on earth would a woman sitting on nearly a million galleons kill for thirty grand? So why kill her now? Or marry her at all?"
"Did you ask him?" Ron put in, interestedly. "Monsieur Poncy French Man, did you know your wife allegedly offed all seven of the husbands that came before you? Were you in your right mind when you agreed to marry the murderous lady? And how did you plan to get out of, y'know, dying?"
"He refused to believe she had anything to do with her exes kicking it. I seriously wonder if she bewitched them all in some way for them to marry her… anyway. Savage ought to have something for me about the potion that killed her, I hope, when I go back. So perhaps that'll help narrow down things. Let's talk about something else before I have to go. How's work, Hermione?"
Hermione set down the parchment she'd gone back to scribbling in and turned towards Harry, smiling, but he could see the tension in her eyes. "Busy. Busy, busy, busy…" "House Elf Reform?" Harry guessed. "That's still a bit away, Harry. This month I've been drafted on to assist Mafalda with her current bit of legislative reform… about fair wages and compensation/contracts for Wizarding employees. Did you know that while there are laws that now protect employees from unfair hiring/firing practices, there's no law that forbids employers from underpaying or overworking specific employees that work for them? So that means that if we're both employed for the same role, our boss could choose to pay me less or make me work worse hours, and legally, there's nothing I can do about that, except quit. So, you can see how that allows certain families to systematically underpay a section of society…"
"Fair wages? I thought you had House Elves going to the Wizengamot this month?" Ron interjected. "No, I said that my draft on House Elf Reform had been accepted by the Review Committee, which means that I'll be arguing my case to them next month, Ron. You'd know that if you listened to a word I said!" "I listen, Hermione, just not when you start going on about spew for four hours at a stretch!" "S.P.E.W., Ron, and I remember when you actually cared about the House Elves during the Battle, did you just change your mind on the rights of sentient creatures?" "Of course not Hermione, you bloody well know I want them to be free and have rights and all that but that doesn't mean I want to listen to you yammer on for hours about them–"
"That's ridiculous, Hermione." Harry cut in loudly. He'd had lots of practice. "How can employment laws like that still stand?"
"There's lots of similar laws on the books, Harry." She smiled tiredly. "That's what keeps me employed. But anyway, the reform is going to be debated in two weeks, on the first of March, and because it's a major reform, we need a two-third majority to vote in favour, otherwise the current law stands and we'll lose the chance to reintroduce for another six months. So, it needs to go well. But there's rumours and threats… and they worry me."
"What kind of rumours and threats?" both Harry and Ron asked sharply.
Hermione looked about for a quick second before leaning forward. "Bribes. This is going to be a rather… unpopular law. And Mafalda told me that there are some members of the Wizengamot she was fairly sure on who seem to suddenly be swinging in the opposite direction, like Titus Barnaby. But we can't exactly accuse them without proof. As for threats… we get them all the time when a contentious law is discussed, so it doesn't really mean anything, in my opinion. There's a person who's been writing in every day, threatening to blow up Diagon Alley if we go ahead with introducing this law for discussion. But honestly," she paused to smile reassuringly at Ron, who looked about ten seconds away from announcing he'd be following Hermione to work like a grumpy ginger bodyguard from now on. "I'm not worried about the threats. I'm worried about the possibility of bribes subverting the justice system."
"Mention it to Kingsley, Hermione. Off the record. He's the only one who can authorise a discreet investigation. And if he does bite… I'll get myself transferred on, fob Zabini off to someone else, especially since the Gringotts case has gone cold now so we have lots of available Aurors to pick up the slack."
"Gringotts case? Fleur was mentioning something about that at dinner. It's gone cold?"
"Our perp had an altercation with Pritchard a couple weeks ago. He got away, and ever since, he's gone underground. No more victims, and he hasn't bothered to retrieve the money either. Robards's finally called it, gotten the money back and done a final memory wipe on the Muggles. Still, hopefully we can get the guy whenever he spends any of the loot he grabbed…"
March 2011
Explosion in Diagon Alley Linked to Contentious New Law
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
Diagon Alley was rocked to its foundations by a massive explosion at the Leaky Cauldron entrance yesterday afternoon, a blast that killed four people and has sent a fair few others to St. Mungo's. Screams rent the air as clouds of foul green smoke blanketed the afternoon sky, blotting out the sun with their magnitude. The cause of said explosion is still unknown, though swarms of Aurors swathed in protective charms were over the site in minutes, and presumably the usually taciturn Head Auror Robards will feel compelled by justifiable public pressure to keep us all updated.
The reason, however, is far less obscure – an anonymous letter sent to the Daily Prophet headquarters has claimed responsibility for the explosion, stating that more such explosions in prominent Wizarding locations are to be expected unless the DMLE does not withdraw a controversial employment law that is currently being debated in front of the Wizengamot. Yesterday's session drew to a premature halt due to the attack, and discussion has been tabled until next week.
Curiously, the letter goes on to claim that the DMLE had been warned of such actions repeatedly over the past month. One would hope that the Wizarding populace could depend on the Ministry to prioritise the safety of its citizens, but alas, such hope is in vain – Minister Shacklebolt has already released a terse statement that, in effect, states that the Wizengamot sessions will continue as planned because 'the Wizarding World is not in the habit of negotiating with terrorists' (even at the expense of your voters' lives, Kingsley?).
A full copy of the letter has been reproduced on page 6.
A/N: Oh, what a tangled web we weave, and we keep on weaving! Merry Christmas, all, this chapter has gone up a bit early in honour of the holidays, but the next chapter may run a bit late. Since we might have some confusion over the different "active/possible" cases, I thought I'll provide a quick summary of them all:
- Gringotts: Muggles being coerced into being 'money mules', cold case;
- Lucrezia Zabini: murdered by persons unknown, developing into a political case;
- Wizengamot: suspected bribery scandal with members being bribed to vote according to an unknown individual or group's interests;
- Explosion: terrorist attack aimed at recanting an employment law that would make it harder to discriminate on basis of Blood Status.
The Auror Office is getting pulled in all directions, because in real life, criminals don't wait their turn before committing crimes!
Reviews make great Christmas presents :)