Avada Kedavra…!
"Of joys departed
Not to return, how painful the remembrance."
(Bidpai Pilpay. The Two Fishermen)
Eleanor Sartorius sat down on an old, slightly rusty patio chair, leaned her elbows on the table before her and buried her face in her hands. She did not believe a human being could truly feel this wretched without being in any actual physical pain. The warm sunlight of early evening warmed her back and she could smell the summer fragrance of grasses and flowers around her, but inside her she felt nothing but cold, dark despair.
She lifted her head and blinked back tears. A few hours ago she had come this close to obliviating another human being, of destroying her own daughter's memories. With angry, jerky movements she pulled her slender cherry-wood wand from the waistband of her trousers and slammed it on the table. She hated being a witch, she hated having that kind of power, she hated herself for even feeling tempted.
Lavinia, who now lay in her bedroom upstairs finally sleeping under the influence of a hypnos spell had proved inconsolable over their flight from home and the forced separation from her father. Her crying and her pleas to her mother to take her back to Malfoy Manor were driving Eleanor crazy.
Every time Lavinia begged her to let her see Lucius it tore her apart. She wanted nothing more than to go back herself. Actually she despised herself for the extent to which she missed the man, regardless of his despicable behavior, but she knew that only one of them could ever go home. There was no place for little Lavinia at Malfoy Manor any more. If Eleanor wanted to see her husband again, she would have to abandon her child, and that was simply unthinkable.
This afternoon during yet another tantrum – after all – squib or not – Lavinia had inherited a decent amount of Malfoy temper – Eleanor had reached for her wand and had seriously contemplated enchanting her daughter's memory and taking away her recollections of her father. The longing and the pain would stop in the heartbeat it took to incant the obliviation spell. She trembled at the thought of how close she'd come to actually doing it. For a brief, crazy moment she had convinced herself that if her daughter could forget Lucius Malfoy, so could she. The agony would be over, life could go on.
The thought of her own mother had stopped her at the last minute. No one could make choices like that for their children. Her own parents had tried to excise all knowledge of the wizarding world from her life, and it hadn't worked. She had no right to chose for Lavinia. Pain was a part of life, loss was a part of life, and people had to bear it. She had to bear it. If her daughter eventually decided for herself that she wanted to forget about her father and his shameful abandonment of her, that was her right. Until then, it was not her place to deny her child the memories of the pureblood wizard who had fathered her and then rejected her. If she did she was no better than her arrogant Slytherin husband who dealt with any embarrassing unpleasantness by simply banishing it from his life and denying its existence.
She ran her hand over the smooth polished wood of her wand. It had been with her since her first day at Durmstrang, then been locked up by her parents for years after she'd finished school and had gone back to their muggle life, and now she would more or less have to renounce it again if she wanted to give her squib daughter a reasonable upbringing.
She blinked back tears and looked around. The last time she had sat here it had been another summer day, a warm July morning, and Lucius had been with her. They had just beaten back a Death Eater attack, and they had finally confessed their feelings to each other. She vividly recalled his pale, tired face still bearing the traces of the cruciatus torture the followers of the Dark Lord had put him through the night before, and the possessive gleam in his eyes every time he'd regarded her.
The garden of 27 Ivy Crescent, her old home, was not a good place to forget the past. She clenched her fists, feeling anger rise in her.
"You didn't have to do that!" she hissed. "We had everything we ever wanted. You didn't have to throw it all away over your goddamn Malfoy pride! You could have given her a chance. You could have waited. You could have accepted her for my sake!"
She raked her hands through her hair. Thinking like that would eventually drive her crazy. She needed some distraction. She needed to get her own resilience and energy back. Tomorrow would be another day where she'd have to deal with her daughter's unhappiness, deal with it, not lose it and feel tempted yet again to use memory charms.
She got up and looked around at the garden, not the way she remembered it, but the way it appeared now: a sun-drenched thicket of brambles, tall grasses and nettles. Certainly this was not a place to have a small child play. A two-year old could easily get lost without a trace in this suburban jungle. She picked up her wand and stepped down from the patio.
With quick, methodical flicks of her wrist she started to clear the vegetation that had taken over her abandoned garden. Green sparks flew from her wand where weeds wilted and the grass shrunk back to the height of a clipped lawn. A strong scent of sap enveloped her. She began to lose herself in concentration on her simple, mindless task.
She had just leveled her magical tool at a thick clump of thorny blackberry shrubs when a panicked squawk stopped her in her tracks. Instinctively she jerked back her wand and watched the long sinuous branches move and rustle for a moment as the spell energy dissolved some of them. She blinked in surprise and took a step forward when she saw a small squat shape dressed in a blue checkered tea towel.
"Libby? Libby, what are you doing here?"
The house elf threw herself on the ground before her.
"Please, mistress must forgive," she pleaded.
Eleanor crouched down and lifted her up by her towel.
"Come on, Libby, she said gently. "You know you don't have to do that for me… Hecate! What happened to you!"
The elf sported a huge black eye and several rather spectacular cuts and bruises along her arms and legs. The witch compressed her lips in anger.
"Who did this?" she asked, shaking her head. "Did he… Did the master hurt you like that? Merlin! Lucius…"
But Libby shook her head so her large floppy ears wobbled.
"No, mistress," she said. "Master did not hurt Libby. Libby must punish herself for running away. Libby is a very bad house elf!"
Eleanor lifted an eyebrow.
"You ran away? Why?"
Large greenish eyes regarded her.
"Mistress and the little mistress are all alone now. They is needing Libby's help. Master has Nibbs and the other elves looking after him. Libby must come and take care of the rest of the family."
Eleanor sat back on her heels and considered this. Help would be such a relief. Even if she just asked Libby to play with Lavinia on occasion, so she could get a handle on things. She sighed.
"Lucius will be pissed as hell if I keep you," she said.
Libby cowered and trembled, but insisted: "You is family, too. I am sworn to serve all the Malfoys. You is Malfoy, the little mistress is Malfoy."
The witch nodded.
"Stay if you like," she said. "But Lavinia won't be Malfoy for much longer. Her father will not acknowledge her. And somehow I think our marriage is not going to survive this. Then only he will be Malfoy and you must go back, and you must face him."
Huge elf eyes regarded her. She compressed her lips.
"Go on, Libby, keep an eye on Lavinia. She's sleeping upstairs. I'll just finish with the garden. Then we'll take a look at those injuries of yours."
The atrium at the Ministry of Magic reverberated with shouted spells, forced laughter and noise as a group of witches and wizards were busy clearing an infestation of broggarts from two of the lifts that led to the other levels of the building. Lucius Malfoy winced as he stepped out of the way of a broggart in the shape of a banshee. A riddikulus spell caused it to sport pink muggle jogging pants, a matching cropped tank top and strawberry blonde cornrow braids. Maintenance personnel around him broke out in roars and giggles.
The racket made his head hurt. He really had to take his consumption of Scotch down a notch. Then again, that was easier said then done. For several days now he had steadfastly refused to sleep in his bed, avoiding the feeling of finality that would come with acknowledging the inevitable and sleeping alone. And his desk chair and the settee in the salon were simply not that comfortable.
"Out of my way!" he snarled at a Ministry employee who almost tripped over his feet beating a hasty retreat from a werewolf-shaped broggart.
Eventually he had left the disturbance behind and made his way to his office. It was another one of those tedious meetings with Professor Sedgewick. Fortunately there were no new proposals for cooperation to sabotage. The recent murder really had put a damper on things, particularly since neither the police nor the aurors had got any closer to identifying the perpetrator.
Well, if they could make it short, he would go by Belisarius & Tethering in Knockturn Alley afterwards and talk to his advocatus about the libel lawsuit against Narcissa. The thought cheered him somewhat and he was just considering how much money he should offer the lawyer as an incentive to do some serious damage when he noticed a very familiar and unpleasant scent of tobacco – "Mundungus!" he hissed.
A moment later he had spotted the wizard heading down one of the corridors that led to the cubicles of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. He sped up and muffled his steps with a quick spell until he had caught up with Fletcher and grabbed a fistful of his scrappy robes in his gloved hand.
"And where might we be heading so quickly, hm!" he threatened the crook, smirking evilly when he heard the other wizard utter a strangled yelp of panicked surprise. He didn't release his grip and used the fanged grip of his cane to push his victim up against the wall of the corridor. "I would suggest you do not call any attention to yourself right now," he said softly. "It would not help you."
Fletcher swallowed noisily and nodded.
"Wha-, what do you want?" he squeaked nervously, his dark eyes darting over the imposing figure of his captor, seeking for a way out of his predicament. He looked guilty as hell to Lucius.
The blond wizard stared at him to keep him in place as he released him and slipped his wand from his cane.
"Imperturbatus!" he incanted, and their surroundings seemed to dim almost imperceptibly around them.
"I'd rather make this conversation private," Lucius explained. "Now, let me throw your question right back at you: what do you think I want? You better make your reply worth my while. Or things are going to get nasty. I'm in no mood for your little games today."
Fletcher licked his lips. "The dagger? It's all about the dagger?" he offered hopefully.
Lucius raised an eyebrow.
"My, we are having quite a rush of inspiration today, Mundungus! Yes, let's talk about the dagger. Let's talk about why I had two aurors throwing me out of bed a few days ago, nearly arresting me for being the previous owner of a murder weapon. The last I've seen of the damn thing was Mr. Borgin's rather unwashed hands examining the carving of the handle after he'd paid me fifty galleons for it. What has happened to it since then? And while you're on the topic: what is your business with my former wife?"
The other wizard nodded.
"Well, see, I have a business relationship with Mr. Borgin. He's got stuff he needs shifting that he can't be associated with, I shift it for him. There's a real market for Malfoy memorabilia, ever since you went to prison, but it's hush-hush. No one wants to admit trading in them."
Lucius snorted in disbelief: "Malfoy memorabilia? That's preposterous!"
Fletcher leaned in and the blond wizard recoiled with a grimace of disgust at the smell.
"But not at all. Everyone knows you're a powerful dark wizard, and everybody wants a piece of it. It's power after all. They all hope to pick up an item that will give them a magical edge. Plus it's the thrill of the notorious and forbidden, of course. It's only gotten more profitable since Ms. Black's book."
Lucius waved Fletcher's explanation away impatiently. "Oh please! As if I was selling items of power! Anyway, what happened to the dagger?"
The crook shrugged his shoulders.
"Borgin wanted it shifted. I took it and I started making inquiries and working my contacts. Even asked Ms. Black. She is refurbishing the house at Grimmauld Place. I sold her a couple non-regulation items to take care of all the black magical crud that was infesting the place, so I figured she might like the dagger. She didn't bite. Eventually I sold it to someone else."
"Who!" hissed Lucius.
"Dunno," confessed Fletcher.
"What? How can you sell something and not know to whom?"
"Easy. They wear a hood and mask and pay cash, good cash! You don't ask questions, they cause no trouble. Half my business is run that way, Lucius."
Tamping down on his disgust, the blond wizard gripped Fletcher's robes again and jammed his wand under his nose.
"You have to do better than that. You really have to do better than that!"
"Uh, it was – it was a witch," stammered the other man. "I didn't recognize her. She seemed really nervous."
"Don't be such a cretin, Mundungus, was she young? Old? Any kind of an accent? Scent of a perfume? You must remember something. I will walk out of here with you, and I will curse you until you give me something I can use. You know me well enough for that."
"Y – young, I think, at least her voice was. Just a light southern accent. I, I really don't remember anything else. Please!"
"Merlin, you are helpful," snarled Malfoy. "Can you even find your own ass with two hands? Well, let's move on: why did you think to show me the picture of the weapon right after it was used to kill that muggle?"
Fletcher licked his lips.
"We're both on Fudge's team, right? I got wind of it through your secretary pretty much right after it happened. She's a bit of a gossip, if you know what I mean. Good fun though, if you buy her the occasional firewhisky. Thought I'd help out, let you know, so you'd be prepared when the aurors came poking around, that's all."
Lucius tossed back his hair impatiently. Either Mundungus Fletcher was truly an idiot, or the man was hiding something, but here, in the middle of the Ministry and without recourse to either veritaserum or a decent dose of concentration-enhancing cruciatus he was stuck with the rubbish he had got so far. He clenched his jaws in barely suppressed frustration and considered his next move when a shrill scream pierced the imperturbable charm he had cast.
The blond wizard released his victim and stepped back.
"Finite incantatem," he commanded and turned to look for the source of the disturbance. "I am not finished with you, Mundungus," he threatened the other man. "We will resume this conversation, and for your own sakes I hope next time you are better prepared with answers."
"Someone help! Please!" he heard the voice again and this time he recognized it as belonging to his secretary.
"Merlin!" he snarled, left Fletcher standing where he had pushed him against the wall and sped back towards his office: incompetent little bitch. What had she done now?
When he rounded the corridor and ran towards his office he almost collided with an auror. Marigold Brannock skidded to a halt grabbing on to his robes for support as both of them confronted Lucius' secretary. The girl was wringing her hands and pointing behind her, her lips moving noiselessly.
"Well, what is it?" demanded the wizard impatiently. "First you are screeching loudly enough to bring this place crashing down, and now the cat's got your tongue? Speak up!"
"I – in there," the witch finally managed, pointing a trembling finger into the room behind her and talking to Brannock rather than to her boss. "I just arrived, getting ready for Mr. Malfoy's meeting. And he was in there, d – dead!"
"Dead! Who!" exclaimed both the wizard and the auror and Marigold pushed past the secretary into Malfoy's office. A man in a suit lay stretched out on the floor, and it took Lucius just one glance to identify him as Mr. Jones, the muggle detective. The auror had already crouched down beside the corpse.
"Detego incantatem," she commanded and gasped in dismay as a green flare detached from the body of the muggle and zoomed back to a position near the door of the office. "Merlin's beard," she gasped. "Someone used avada on him. A few hours ago, too! The trace is not very strong any more."
She stood up, purpose and resolve in her movements.
"Go and get the aurors and alert the Minister," she instructed the secretary. Then she turned to the blond wizard who stood next to her.
"Mr. Malfoy, you understand what this means?"
Lucius drew himself up in anger. "By Azrael, come on! How stupid do you think I am? You don't really believe I…"
She didn't even let him finish.
"Please, you know exactly what this looks like. I am more than willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I need a pretty water-tight alibi from you. Look, if Eleanor can corroborate where you were last night until you left for the Ministry this morning, I'm happy to accept that. We'll hold you until we have spoken to her. Just a formality."