Pansy didn't return to the office the previous evening. Instead, as she tipsily informed Harry over the communication mirror, she dragged 'poor Theo' to Brighton to 'take his mind off things.' Although Harry warned her not to drink and apparate, especially on such a long distance, he suspected it fell on deaf ears. He didn't know about Nott, but Pansy was an adventurous drunk. The better half of her altercations with Astoria and Malfoy were spurred by an idea she got two thirds into a bottle of her favourite Chianti.
Merlin, those two. Harry's stomach churned. Hopefully, Pansy would have enough presence of mind not to go baiting Astoria. He should have checked on her afterwards, but Severus had been in a particularly good mood and made him forget all about it.
Coming to the office first thing in the morning, he wondered if it had been a mistake. They hadn't managed to exchange a word yet, but Harry's alarm bells were ringing. She did show up in time for an appointment with a new client, though.
An ageing witch with grey hair in a bun was slumped at Pansy's desk, wringing her hands. His partner was listening with an expression on her face that most would call grave, but was, Harry knew, simply hung-over.
"I don't want to believe the worst about my Arsie—" Harry's respect for Pansy went up a notch when she didn't move a muscle at the nickname. "—but all the evidence is lining up!" The woman sobbed, putting her plump hand over her eyes.
"Tell us more about the situation, Mrs. Jigger," Pansy said, waving her wand. A steaming teapot flew over and poured some amber liquid into two cups in front of them.
At his own desk, Harry surreptitiously took out morning papers. This seemed to be one of her cases, and she would let him know if his input was needed.
Mrs. Jigger took a hitching breath. "I suspect—I suspect my husband has been unfaithful."
Pansy gave a vague but sympathetic sound. "Why do you think so?"
"For years now, he's been away every other Saturday. Supposedly for a pint with his old friend Damocles, Damocles Belby. You must have heard of him, he's a Potioneer." She looked over at Harry expectantly.
Harry nodded, stifling a sigh. He did know the inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion, but not through Severus, as Mrs. Jigger was implying here.
"Then you know that Damocles has recently suffered a heart attack," the woman continued, seemingly satisfied. "Arsie went to visit him on Saturday in the hospital, or so he said. I wanted to go with him, but he didn't let me. They would talk potion, and I'd be bored out of my mind, he said. Only—" Her voice wavered.
"What is it?" Pansy prodded gently.
"Only I met Mrs. Belby on Tuesday. And what an unpleasant conversation it was," Mrs. Jigger, trying to hide her embarrassment, without much success. "Not only was Arsenius never in the hospital, but he and her husband had a falling out two years ago and haven't said a word to each other ever since! And it goes back before that. She said they couldn't've met on Saturday mornings, because Damocles usually spends them with their grandchildren!" She broke into sobs again.
"There, there." Pansy conjured a tissue and handed it to the woman, stifling a wince at the volume.
"And now that I think of it, he would sometimes be away for a night too. Checking on suppliers of sensitive ingredients that have to be collected only on the new moon, or some such tale," Mrs. Jigger said with a loud sniff.
"Ingredients?"
"My husband is the owner of Slug and Jiggers on Diagon. Best apothecary in Britain," she explained with pride, her distress forgotten for a moment.
Quality of Slug and Jiggers' ingredients was actually one of Severus's favourite rants, honed to be as insulting as possible to the apothecary as a whole and Arsenius Jigger in particular.
She gulped her tea loudly before the tears returned twofold. "So many of his excuses sound thin now."
"This might be a simple case of a harmless hobby he's too embarrassed to tell you about." Pansy raised her own cup without taking a sip. "But it's always better to know for sure."
"Fifty-four years together! I cannot believe my Arsie would stray. But what else am I supposed to think?"
"Of course, that is only natural," Pansy said, her tone compassionate. Harry mentally gave her an award for best acting. "We will look into your husband's whereabouts, so you can know for sure where he spends his time away."
"Thank you, dear girl. Carol Mulpepper couldn't praise you both enough when you found their daughter. And I've heard it was you who caught Madam Primpernelle with that Italian prince half her age," Mrs. Jigger gave Pansy a look of burning curiosity.
"We don't disclose information about our clients," Pansy said, smug.
She did catch the very much married owner of another Diagon establishment, Madam Primpernelle's Beauty Salon, in a compromising position with one Jean-Jacques Grimaldi, a heartthrob rumoured to be the secret magical son of the Duke of Monaco. Pansy had gotten a double paycheck for that case: one from Mr. Smethwyck, the husband, and another from Madam Primpernelle herself—Clara Smethwyck in everyday life—who wanted to know more about her lover's background. The latter wasn't a very hard task at all. Pansy recognised Kevin Entwhistle, a Ravenclaw from their year, in dashing Jean-Jacques right away.
As she started to discuss the conditions of the contract with Mrs. Jigger, who haggled mercilessly despite her distraught state, Harry tuned the conversation out. He scanned the Prophet, and leafed through the Guardian he'd gotten on his way to work. Keeping up with newspapers was a chore, but a chore that often led to promising developments.
Like today, for example. The Guardian's front page featured a photo of a panicked crowd running away from the water at the beach. 'Deadly shark spotted in Brighton,' the headline read in big bold letters.
After Mrs. Jigger finally left, leaving a photo of her husband behind, Pansy finally let her polite professional expression drop with a groan. She jerked one of the cabinets open and produced a non-descript opaque vial, drowning it immediately.
"The old biddy just had to come early on the one day I'm out of the Hangover Cure," she said. A moment later, pure relief blossomed on her face. "Oh, but the Professor is good. The stuff our treacherous 'Arsie' sells on Diagon is nowhere near this quality." She let herself snicker.
"I'll tell Severus you appreciate his craft. This was my emergency stash, by the way. That potion could have been anything."
"Who do you take me for? I always check everything that appears on these shelves."
Well, Harry didn't expect anything less.
"What do you think about Mr. Jigger?" Pansy asked. "A bit late for the first midlife crisis, but early for the second." The wizards and witches lived longer, so they had several of those in life, at least if Pansy quoting the Witch Weekly was to be believed. " So—" She made a dramatic gesture with her hand. "A geriatric mistress or a secret basement where he guiltily fiddles with muggle stuff?"
Harry snatched the photo from her desk and stared at it for a moment. Arsenius Jigger was a goateed man with harsh lines creasing his forehead as he glared at the word from under his bushy eyebrows.
Snorting, he gave it back. "I know exactly where he spends his Saturday mornings, and it's not his mistress. Well, unless you count the Grand Mistress, maybe something is going on there."
"Huh?" Pansy looked at him blankly.
"This is Brother Asphodel from the bloody Lodge of Darkness. It's his whining about Muggle-borns and young people I had to listen to for forty minutes straight. A proud long-term member, if Severus to be believed."
"Well, that was easy. Now you just need to take some photos the next time the Lodge gathers. They wanted to do that full moon ritual, right?"
"I don't want to, er, blow my cover with them," Harry said tentatively.
"Didn't you say you're never setting your foot there again?" Pansy asked.
"We can show her my old memories, then. Surely, she'll recognise her husband, if even I did."
"No, no," She started pacing in agitation. "We need to prove that we've worked like house-elves to crack her case, or it'll turn into haggling nightmare. I know the type. You've seen how she was today."
"Well, maybe—"
Her expression turned knowing. "It's because the next gathering is on the thirty-first, isn't it? You just don't want to go there on your birthday!"
Harry looked a bit sheepish.
"We'll think of something." Pansy waved her hand magnanimously.
There was a sudden cracking sound of the floo flaring to life, making him jump. Green flames rose up, and the fireplace spitted out an owl with a scroll with a Ministry seal tied to its leg. It swooped over to Pansy, hooting with displeasure.
Splotches of pink bloomed on Pansy's cheeks as she untied the parchment and let the owl out of the window.
"What is it?" Harry asked, watching as she broke the seal, scanned it and hid in her drawer quickly.
"Nothing important. Just a small misunderstanding with the paperwork we filed last month. I'll clear it up later today."
"Paperwork, huh?" Harry narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure it's about paperwork and not you scaring the life out of tourists with your animagus form?"
"How do you—?" The flush deepened. "I mean, It's the stupidest accusation I've ever heard, Potter!"
"Really?" In imitation of Severus tearing Ron and him a new one after the Ford Anglia incident in their second year, Harry produced the Guardian with flair. "You. Were. Seen."
Lunging, Pansy snatched the paper before he could do the dramatic reading part.
"Shit. It's McGonagall's fault."
"Was she there at the beach?" Harry imagined the Headmistress in her floor-length robes and a pointy hat sitting primly under a colourful umbrella.
"Don't be silly. It's her fault because she's made me register."
"So. Do I have to take you off the hook with the Aurors again?"
"No." Pansy bit her lip and glanced away in a rare expression of shame, however fleeting. "It was Mr. Weasley. The Ministry thinks I was Muggle-baiting."
Harry burst into laughter. "What a great example for little Dominique!"
Bill and Fleur had asked Pansy and Harry to be godparents for their second daughter. Harry was simply happy to have another godchild in addition to Teddy, who was already fast friends with Bill and Fleur's eldest, Victoire, and was excited to meet baby Dominique. But Pansy? Pansy accepted the honour with her usual pizzazz, and then spent half an hour barricaded in a lab, emerging from there with red eyes and not-quite-perfect make-up. Despite her bluster, this kind of acceptance meant a lot for her.
"Shut up. It wasn't that."
"Don't worry. I'm sure Arthur knows by now that you're an equal opportunity baiter," Harry said. "Why, if Astoria Greengrass was in that water, you'd swallowed her whole, indigestion be damned."
"You're laughing, but I was doing it for the cause!"
"What cause? Bringing attention to endangered species?"
"That's always a good cause. Sharks are gravely misunderstood." Pansy lifted her chin. "But no. I was loosening up Theo's tongue. Who knew he's not the lightweight he used to be?"
"So, did you learn anything? And, most importantly, can you remember it in the morning?"
"Ha. Ha. Very funny, Potter. In fact, I did. And I do." Pansy gave him her favourite of smug looks, the one that said 'I know something you don't.'
"And?" Harry leaned forward.
"I was right about Astoria!" She crowed, hopping onto her desk.
"Astoria?"
"Yes! The cow herself. You didn't believe me, but I have proof now." Pansy was bursting with excitement. "So. Theo wanted Daphne to break up with Goldstein for years. She wouldn't do it, though, because she didn't want to end up like her sister." She leaned forward, dangling her feet. "Mortimer and Cordelia Greengrass don't approve of tying their name to the family of notorious ex-Death Eaters. Really don't approve. They froze all Astoria's accounts on the day of her engagement and promised to strike her out of their will on the wedding day."
"They're disinheriting her?"
"No, that would be a scandal. Nothing official. Nothing that would make people talk," Pansy said with a scoff. "But dear Astoria has no money of her own except for what she's been getting as a lowly schoolteacher. Didn't have for a while now."
"The school is expensive." Andromeda was thinking about sending Teddy there, but decided to homeschool him for now. "She must be earning enough."
"But not enough to sustain the lifestyle she's been accustomed to."
"Malfoy is loaded," Harry said doubtfully.
"Maybe she doesn't want to depend on him. Or he doesn't know about her financial troubles. And with that hundred thousand galleons, he never needs to know!"
"Astoria's parents don't make secret of the fact that they disapprove of Malfoy." Harry remembered Mortimer's chilly stares and Cordelia's passive aggression. "I'm sure they remind him of that any chance they get."
"That must be hard for poor Astoria too. If only she wasn't the younger child. Then they'd think twice about antagonizing their only heiress like that."
There was a pregnant pause.
"Really," Harry said finally. "Astoria murdered her own sister. That's what you're saying?"
"It's a basic deduction. Cui prodest, as they say. Always look at who profits off it."
Uh-oh. Pansy was quoting Latin already. Never a good sign.
"Why hire us, then?" Harry asked with exaggerated patience. "And how does Nott's book come into this?"
"I can't have all the answers, can I?" Pansy jumped from the desk and got their Pensieve out of the cabinet. "Speaking of the book." She dropped the matter of Astoria abruptly, but the conviction was shining in her eyes. "Theo said Daphne'd never been to his library, but it's not necessarily true."
"He lied?"
"No, he's convinced of it. But she certainly had a chance. The last time she visited was the second of May."
"The Anniversary?" Harry asked sharply.
"Yes. Interesting date, and not as long ago as he implied." Pansy produced a bottle of rum, empty except for a pearlescent substance floating on the bottom, and flipped it over. The memory poured into the stone basin together with a drop of a caramel liquid. Harry winced.
"What's in the memory?"
"The visit."
"Should we watch it?"
"We absolutely should," she said. "It was her idea to go to his place and she stayed for the night—which she usually never did—but when he woke up the next morning, she'd already left. Theo's convinced it was going to be a turning point in their relationship. But what if she just wanted to get into the house that day?"
"How did you convince him to give the memory?" It was bound to be an intensely private moment.
"Rum." Pansy pointed at the bottle. "Lots and lots of rum. I do hope he doesn't remember giving me this."
Lowering her head to the swirling surface, dark strands of her bob touching it first, Pansy took the plunge. With much less grace, Harry followed.
They appeared in the Ministry Hall decorated with golden lightning-shaped balloons and shooting stars, two giant crossed wands looming over the entrance. 'Happy V-Day!' read an enormous banner. The letter V was made up of the two wands as well. Every once in a while, they would shoot red and green sparkles.
"Merlin," Harry muttered. Did the wizarding world have no shame? Oh, who was he kidding. Of course, it didn't.
The memory swam and blurred a bit, tinged with sepia—the result of marinating in alcohol overnight. That reminded Harry how he himself spent that day. He received the invitation to this merry affair, as he did every year, and burned it without opening. Hogwarts held a much more tasteful and solemn ceremony, the invitation to which he also declined. The idea of walking into the Great Hall on that day made his stomach churn. And Severus felt the same, if the way his temper had grown increasingly short each day leading to the anniversary of the Battle was any indication. On the morning of the second of May, he descended on some unfortunate Gryffindors attempting to sneak to the Shrieking Shack with vitriol Harry hadn't seen from him since the war.
With only a token protest, Harry talked Severus into joining him on his annual crash at Ron and Hermione's, where they proceeded to get blindingly drunk. The only upside of that miserable affair was that somewhere between the second bottle of Ogden's and the heated argument about Dumbledore, Ron finally came to terms with Harry's relationship with Severus.
In contrast, the mood of the crowd in the memory was cheery and festive. The live band was playing some upbeat tune, and the couples were twirling on the dance floor with smiles on their faces. Harry spotted Nott skulking in the shadow of the column, eyes trained on one couple in particular.
Daphne Greengrass was dancing with Roger Davies, golden hair cascading down the back her midnight blue robe. Roger said something, making her throw her head back and laugh. Nott's scowl deepened.
As the song finished playing, the pair left the dance floor and parted. Just as Daphne was going to accept another offer to dance, this time from some tall greying wizard, Goldstein came up to her with an apologetic expression on his face.
Harry made his way to them in time to hear Goldstein speak.
"I'm afraid I'll have to leave early, Daph," he said. "Something I've eaten doesn't quite agree with me."
"Of course, darling." Daphne's eyes scanned the crowd behind her fiancé, briefly stopping on Nott. "It must be the cheap champagne they are serving."
"Perhaps. You're staying?"
"Just a couple more dances."
Goldstein nodded, visibly relieved. Daphne briefly put a hand on his arm and gave him a distracted smile before leaving him to head to the floo.
Detaching himself from the column, Nott steered through the crowd towards her.
"A dance?" he asked hopefully.
"You know we can't."
"Your oaf has left already." Nott glanced towards the fireplaces lined along one of the walls.
"Tell you what," Daphne murmured, snatching a glass of champagne from a floating tray. "Leave now. I'll join you in fifteen minutes."
"At mine?"
"Yes. There's no knowing when Anthony might floo-call."
With an eager nod, Nott made his way to the nearest fireplace as well. On his way, he passed Astoria and Malfoy without noticing them. Despite the haughty mask and nose up in the air, Malfoy stood stiff as a board, clutching his glass like a lifeline. Astoria whispered something gently into his ear and put a soothing hand on his back, making him relax a bit. She followed Nott with narrowed eyes, glancing over to her sister. Daphne looked back straight at her, and they exchanged smiles that could almost pass as genuine.
"They've got better at this since school," Pansy commented.
The Ministry hall dissolved into a drawing-room much like the one at Grimmauld Place before the renovation: once-grand furnishings long past their prime. Before they could take a proper look, the memory changed once again, presenting a bedroom with a four-poster bed now.
"Who in Merlin's name apparates in their own house? Walk the damn stairs, Theo, or you'll end up bigger than Slughorn in no time!"
Harry eyed the man, thin to the point of gauntness, dubiously. When nothing happened for a minute, he sped up the memory with a wave of his hand, fast-forwarding through Nott changing sheets twice and smoothing his hair obsessively.
Nott apparated back to the drawing-room just as the fireplace flared to life. Daphne emerged gracefully from the flames, brushing invisible specks of soot from her dress robes. She stepped closer to Nott, putting one finger to his lips as he started to say something.
"Shh. No more words. I want you to make me feel alive tonight," she said with an intense glint in her eye, so different from the placid pleasantry of her public persona. She snaked her arms around his neck, drawing his head down to hers for a kiss.
Harry sped up the memory again, politely averting his eyes. At some point, they were back in the bedroom. He suddenly found the rune filled parchments on the bedside table extremely interesting.
"Slow it down," Pansy hissed.
He obliged.
"I love you, Daphne," Nott murmured sleepily, putting a possessive hand across Daphne's bare stomach.
"I love you too, darling." Daphne was much more awake. She reached under her pillow and retrieved a wand. "Somnus," she whispered.
The memory ended abruptly, ejecting Harry and Pansy back into the office.
"She planned it," Harry said as their feet touched the floor. "She planned this visit to his house. Maybe even getting rid of Goldstein."
Pansy nodded, frowning in thought. Harry cleared up the tea with a flick of his wand—take that, Aunt Petunia—and settled down at his desk to look through Daphne's letters once again.