The raid on Malfoy mansion did not go as well as Arthur Weasley had hoped.

Narcissa Malfoy was not only, not at home, there was, as well, every sign that she had fled in a great hurry, and would not be returning. In the woman's suite the aurors found her wardrobes emptied. Her jewelry casks had been likewise plundered. And in the parlor, behind old Abraxas Malfoy's portrait, the Malfoy's money vault hung open on one hinge, obviously having been blasted opened magically. Inside there wasn't a single sickle or knut remaining. It seemed unlikely there would ever be an opportunity to interrogate Narcissa.

However, an elderly couple lived in the gatekeeper's cottage, down the drive. They were servants the Malfoys had been forced to hire when Lucius had inadvertently released their house elf from its bondage. When interviewed, the two had said that 'Madam' had roused them from their beds, late the night before, to pack numerous suitcases into the trunk of the Malfoy's enchanted Rolls Royce. It had seemed to them she was in a terrible temper over something to do with her husband…

…and 'some woman' the older wizard added knowingly.

Once the Roll's had been packed Narcissa sent the servants away. Not so much giving them leave to go back to bed, but more as though she did not want them to see something. They of course were most curious to know what she was up to, and had spied on her as best they could without betraying themselves.

The house had been still, dark and utterly quiet, for perhaps half an hour. Then the front door had nearly exploded open, and Narcissa had emerged, half dragging, and half driving another woman before her. She had shoved the other woman into the vehicle and disaparated it, with a sound like a canon.

"It only makes that kind of noise when she is in a temper," the old lady added, with a knowing nod.

No, they had not recognized the young woman. They described her though, as a pale, frail looking thing. Very untidy, and apparently simple minded. She had had dark hair, possibly red, that was quite long and tangled. They had no idea where she had come from, or how she had come. But they were quite certain she could not have been in the house all along, as they had 'explored' the house quite thoroughly in the time of their employment. They guessed Narcissa had brought her there by flue.

That at least was something that could be checked, Arthur thought, thanks to Dolores Umbridge, who had convinced Fudge to monitor the flue network.

The house itself was, unfortunately, free of incriminating evidence. The locked attic contained only oddments of unused and broken furniture. The cellars contained more vintage wines than anything. There was one small room they found beneath the dining room table. Here they found plenty of evidence that at least one of the Malfoys practiced the dark arts, but that in itself was not a crime, unless actual harm was done, and unfortunately the search failed to turn up any murder weapons, or dead bodies; unless you counted the ashes of old Abraxas Malfoy on the mantle piece beside his portrait.

There were no spare wands.

The lack of evidence disturbed Arthur Weasley more than he cared to admit. It did not for a moment make him question his own assurance that Lucius was guilty as hell. But he did shrewdly guess Lucius would use that same, lame excuse that had gotten him off last time: that he had been at the ministry under the influence of an imperious curse. With a clean wand, and a clean house, he just might pull it off again. Arthur did not trust that Fudge's pique toward Lucius would hold if it could be argued well enough that Lucius had not fooled him after all

Frustrated, and beginning to feel desperate, Arthur made another sweep of the house, searching for something, anything that might have been overlooked before. His search was rewarded when, in Lucius's study, he found a very secret, very tricky, little box, hidden beneath a potted palm. He had it open in two minutes. Surely this was Lucius's stash!

But it wasn't; not in any incriminating sense anyway. Arthur was dismayed to find it contained only photographs. Then he was enraged to see they were pictures of Cassiopea, and Lucius, himself and Molly.

There was one of Cassy and Lucius dancing together at their class graduation from Hogwarts. There was another one of the four of them at that roving party they had found one night, while walking home from the Ministry's Christmas party. The one with all the experimental potions. They were all looking rather bleary. Cassy's hair had curled up into a tight afro, and Lucius's hair was flaming pink. Beside them he and Molly were hiccupping colored smoke rings, and giggling foolishly. There was another of the four of them dancing at a muggle discothèque they had visited in America. In the next Cassy and Lucius danced cheek-to-cheek on the lawn of Malfoy Manor. That would have been their wedding day. And the last picture was of the couple on their honeymoon. Under an immense silvery moon they danced hand in hand on a sandy beach. You could hear the waves, washing in and out.

How young they had all looked...

Knowing he shouldn't take anything that wasn't evidence, still, Arthur stuffed the pictures deep down in his pocket. He didn't think he could bear to look at them again, but the thought that Lucius had even this much of Cassy, and might someday be free to ogle her image again, was beyond reasonable. Was worse than unbearable. No one, not even Molly, really understood why, and to what depths, Arthur hated Lucius Malfoy. They would have had to have known Cassy as only a brother could. And they would have had to have known just what Lucius had done to her.

Late that afternoon Arthur had the house sealed, and posted a pair of aurors there to arrest Narcissa in the doubtful event of her return, and to sift through the reams of parchments the team had rounded up, in case anything incriminating could still be found.

"Ah well," Kingsley said as they finished up, "the interrogations are tomorrow. Malfoy's sure to spill the beans then, with a little help from our potions expert."

Arthur, bone tired, could only muster a grim smile. He would be there. He wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Later, in his office, finishing his reports, Arthur did look at the pictures again. Quickly he shuffled through them, to the one of the roving party. What he saw puzzled him. He hadn't noticed it earlier, but Narcissa Black had been at that party too. And here she was in the photo, just behind Cassy, cutting off a heavy lock of his sister's hair... There was a look on the other woman's face that could only be described as evil. Arthur was too tired to know what to make of it just then, but the next morning an idea occurred to him that he had never thought of before. Polyjuice Potion. But what use could the woman have made of it?