A/N:

long story short, i listened to evermore and this poured out of my brain. so this is my gift to all of you for the holidays! there will be four chapters total for this story.

.

No Body, No Crime

.

Chapter 1

i think he did it.

Dinner hour was peak for Padfoot's Bar. All of the tables were full, the tabletops covered with spreads of Sirius' signature baby back ribs and kettle chips. Off to the side, Fred and George were banging on the jukebox, trying to get 'Hound Dog' to play for the dozenth time that evening.

Harry fiddled with the dog-shaped salt shaker on the table and eyed the dim evening lighting reflected in its curved glass. He was waiting for Ginny to arrive for their usual Tuesday night dinner. Normally, he was the one who was late, but for once he'd gotten lucky at Finnigan's and finished an hour early. So now he was eating his weight in potatoes while he watched the other restaurant patrons as they filled the air with lively chatter.

"Doing alright there, kid?"

Sirius was smiling down at him, shirtsleeves rolled up, dark flecks of barbecue sauce clinging to the cuffs.

Harry set the salt shaker down and sat back in the booth. "Waiting for Ginny."

"Uh huh." Sirius shot him a sympathetic look. "Did you want anything else to eat? I've got a fresh batch coming out in a hot minute—I could give you a rib to snack on."

"I'm good, thanks." Harry bumped his knuckles on the table. "I'll order when she gets here."

Sirius gave his hair a ruffle. "Sure thing."

Harry was a grown man, no longer the same scrawny busboy who had run here after school to get away from his shitty home life, but Sirius was like family to him. Even something as stupid and innocuous as a hair ruffle filled Harry's chest with warmth. Sirius would always be there for him, and this bar would always be a safe space for him. "Thanks, Sirius."

"Any time." Sirius winked in an exaggerated manner. "Nothing I won't do to keep your holiday spirits up."

Harry knew what Sirius thought. What everyone in town thought. They believed he had his heart set on Ginny, that he was pining for a love that was hopeless and out of reach. Harry could live with that because Ginny knew the truth. She knew that the rumours were silly and held no water. The bond he and Ginny had was not steeped in romantic feelings; it ran deeper than that.

Some minutes later, Ginny came rushing into the bar. Her face was flushed pink, her cheeks and nose on their way to a cheerful holiday red despite the thick scarf wrapped around her neck and the velvet hat resting upon her head.

It took her no time at all to locate him in their regular booth and walk on over. Harry stood and helped her remove her coat—a heavy faux-fur thing that probably cost more than he made in a week.

"Sorry I'm late," Ginny said, but she sounded distracted as she sat down. Her body twisted, allowing her to glance over her shoulder as she straightened her blouse and cardigan. "I got held up."

"No problem," Harry said amicably. "Did you want to order now, or...?"

"Anything's fine."

Harry flagged down a waitress and placed their usual order, but he was focused on Ginny. She seemed anxious. Her hands twisted against her deep purple scarf, her fingers clutching the soft fabric so tightly that her knuckles had gone white.

They sat in silence until their drinks arrived—a glass of merlot for Ginny and an ice water for him.

"Thanks," Ginny said as he passed her a napkin. She raised her glass to her lips and took a small sip. To the untrained eye, her hand was steady. Only Harry noticed the way she set the glass down with more force than necessary, and the way her eyes consistently flickered back to the entrance.

Harry let the condensation gather on his drink, debating whether he ought to say anything. He wasn't the kind to push for information—hearing others' personal issues often made him uncomfortable. He never knew what to say, and emotional support was not his strong suit. But this was Ginny, who knew him better than anyone on the planet. She would not expect him to be anyone other than himself.

"Is something wrong?" he ventured.

Ginny startled, bumping her wine glass with her forearm. Some of the dark liquid splashed over the edge before Harry could reach out to steady the stem of the glass. Then Ginny's eyes focused on him; they were a troubled shade of blue that Harry had mixed associations with.

After a pause, her hand settled delicately on the table. Without a word, Harry placed his own on top. Her skin was cold as ice, the diamond of her wedding ring pressed sharply against his palm. A ring that was hardly a year old.

Ginny tilted her head down, leaning in. A few strands of ginger hair untucked themselves from her chignon, dangling like gossamer threads over her pale, freckled face. Ginny had grown into her elegance, her beauty. For most of their childhood, she had stomped around in overalls and chunky army boots, determined to prove she could be one of the boys.

Nowadays, those outfits existed only in photographs and memories. Ginny's current wardrobe consisted of long wool coats, name-brand dress pants, and crisp, collared blouses. Her makeup was minimal: the shine of gloss on her lips and dark curls of mascara clinging to her lashes. But even though her looks had changed, her heart had not—Ginny was still the same girl he'd grown up with. She was, and would always be, his best friend.

Ginny licked her lips, then pulled a face at the taste of her own sticky lip gloss. Her hand snatched up a napkin and rubbed it furiously across her mouth until all of the pink was gone. Harry waited, his hand a warm blanket over her smaller, colder one.

She crumpled the napkin up and tossed it aside. Her expression was suddenly furious as she said, "I think Tom is cheating on me."

Ginny's rage lasted until the end of their meal, then the signs of fatigue and despair rolled in like the worst of storms, stealing the blaze of anger from her eyes and replacing it with the glisten of unshed tears.

"I don't know," Ginny whispered. "Harry, I really don't. Am I the crazy one in all this? Am I imagining things that aren't there? I don't—I don't even know where he could find the time to have a mistress. When he's not home with me, he's at work, and when he's at work, Percy's there with him all day."

Tom had withdrawn from his wife, making excuses during stilted dinners and cancelling plans made weeks in advance. An emotionally-distant husband after a whirlwind romance.

What was it called, that initial period of infatuation that faded? The honeymoon phase.

Harry didn't know enough about Tom Riddle to make a judgement call. All that he knew was that Tom came from money. Tom had bought up one of the few successful wholesale companies in the area and proceeded to expand the business at an alarming rate. Two new offices had opened in the past year, and there were further plans for movement abroad.

"You're not wrong to be worried," Harry settled for saying. "From what you've told me, he's acting out of character. Whatever the reason, you've got every reason to be concerned about him. He's your husband."

"What if it's just the stress?" Ginny murmured. "We haven't had time to connect lately because he's been so busy with work." She sighed. "He keeps so much to himself, these days. I wish he'd open up to me."

"Maybe you need to tell him that."

Ginny sighed again and swirled the remnants of wine a few times in her glass before draining it dry. "I go from being angry as all hell to being fucking depressed. I don't want to confront him over something so stupid if it's nothing. I just don't know what else to do."

"It's not stupid if it upsets you," Harry said firmly. "If it makes you upset, then you should tell him."

"Hermione told me I dove in too quickly," Ginny said miserably, "that I was too young to get married so soon. Maybe she was right. Sometimes I wake in the middle of the night wondering how the hell I got here. What the fuck do I know about being married? Tom was my first long-term relationship and I've barely known him for two years. I don't know how to make things last."

"Don't say that," Harry protested. "You are the strongest person I know, Ginny. Besides, what we've got is gonna last forever, right? I'll come beat your ass if you try to ditch me." Harry jabbed his finger at her. "If not for you—fuck, I would have given up ages ago."

Ginny snorted a laugh. "Goes both ways, that does." She paused, staring at her empty glass. "God, now that deserves a proper toast." Ginny raised her hand to flag a waitress. When her glass was full once more, she lifted it in his direction. "To the longest and strongest relationship of my life."

"To you and me being disasters for years to come," Harry added as he clinked his glass with hers. They drank slowly, savouring the sanctity of the moment.

After a while of quiet, Harry said, "Tom's a good person, isn't he? I'm sure he'll understand if you talk to him about it."

The town adored Tom. He had raised their plain, boring town into prosperity and profitability. Tom had married one of their own, the youngest daughter of a family whose history traced back to the inception of the streets they walked upon.

Tom and Ginny's wedding had been a sweet and lavish affair, filled with flowers and joy. Harry had been the best man because Tom had no family or friends in the area. During the planning process, Tom had been cordial and accommodating, every inch the gentleman that Harry had come to expect based on what he'd been told.

There had been no stag or hen night, only a special day of celebration and the small gathering for supper that had followed it. Molly had cried over Harry's awkward, heartfelt speech. Awkward because Harry had rather felt that he was handing his best friend over to a total stranger.

But Tom Riddle was prince charming, and Ginny's life was a fairytale. Harry was just a footnote, a stalwart pillar that did not merit a headlining role in Ginny's new, exciting life.

"I dunno what's keeping me from telling him, if I'm being honest. You know me," Ginny said with a half-laugh, "rushing into things without thinking. If this was anyone else, I would have knocked them into next Sunday. But Tom... he's just different."

"Cause you're married to him?"

Ginny shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "I try to imagine myself talking things out with him and it's like I'm talking at a brick wall."

Harry was no expert on relationships, but that didn't sound right. "He's not receptive to it?"

Ginny's brows knit together. "No, actually. He's great at listening?" The way her voice lifted at the end turned it into a question. "He's very understanding," she corrected. "Whenever I talk to him about something that bugs me, he always stops whatever he's doing to listen to me."

"Maybe you're nervous?" Harry suggested, but he didn't believe that either. Ginny was not the type to hesitate when she had something to say.

"I don't know." The frustration from earlier was returning to her voice. Ginny took another drink of her merlot. "I know you're right and that I should just get over myself and talk to him. It just feels like this gigantic fucking hurdle, which is ridiculous. If he is cheating on me, then I'm going to divorce him. If he's not, then I'm just a goddamn idiot ruining one of the only good things in my life—"

"Hey," Harry interrupted. "None of that. You're a great fucking person, Gin. If he's cheating on you, then I'll be first in line to dump his body in the woods. We can even make it our get together for that week."

For the past few months, he and Ginny had met for dinner every Tuesday. That was all Harry would get now that she was married and busy, and he had come to accept it. Someday, he might lose even this weekly dinner. Ginny had bigger plans for her future than remaining in this tiny town. She had studied journalism for her degree, and Tom had promised to connect her with some of his big shot friends.

That promise had fallen by the wayside while Tom worked at expanding his new company, but Ginny had been busy helping him, so it wasn't as though she was stagnating in the role of housewife. Ginny was smart as a whip, even if she was inexperienced with the finer points of business. She had been so excited to play a role in the rapidly growing firm that Tom owned and managed.

Lately, though, she had spoken less on that subject. Harry cursed himself for not picking up on the signs sooner. Ginny was his best friend. He should have recognized that she was struggling on her own.

"You and my brothers can bury him out back," Ginny said wryly. Then she sniffed and rubbed at her face. "I don't know. Do you think he's cheating on me?"

The evidence was subtle. Unexplained expenses on Tom's credit card bill for new furniture and a new flat that Ginny hadn't known about. But Tom was spending his money, not their money. Ginny hardly had anything to her name, and so it wasn't her right to question what Tom had claimed was a property investment. The new flat was fully furnished with no tenants, and had been for quite some time now, but Tom was never there—every night without fail, Tom returned to the bed he shared with his wife, even if he never initiated any intimacy.

If Tom was having an affair, then it had to be during the day. But Percy was Tom's personal assistant. Percy spent most of the day with Tom, knew the man's schedule inside out and backwards. If Tom had snuck off for some dalliance, then surely Percy—who was what Ginny had once kindly described as 'anal retentive on steroids'—would have noticed.

Then there was Tom's change in attitude. Again, subtle. Tom had withdrawn from his wife over time, holding her at arm's length, hardly touching her unless she initiated contact first. The fresh bloom of love had withered into a bland friendliness that was more appropriate for casual acquaintances than for a husband and wife.

Ginny had stewed on these fears for months, letting the worries pile up until they had become overwhelming. Tom was supposed to be her happy ending, the wonderful solution to all her problems. No more debt for her family, no more concern for her future job prospects. Tom was supposed to be a charming, handsome man who would love her for who she was. A man who would love her until death parted them, as promised in their wedding vows.

The circumstantial evidence Ginny had described did lead Harry to believe something was wrong, but he was not so certain that an affair explained Tom's odd behaviour. Tom was acting odd, but that didn't mean he was cheating on her. Therefore Harry had no definitive answer to give—no answer that he believed enough to say with confidence.

"I'm about as lost as you are," Harry admitted. "Sorry. I wish I could give you something better, Ginny."

Ginny shook her head, then reached up to let her hair down. It tumbled over her shoulders in thick, glossy waves. "Don't be sorry. I didn't expect you to magic me up an answer or anything. I'll just… I'll talk to him. Soon. Before I see you next week, or else you've got to yell at me, yeah? That way I won't chicken out of it."

"I'm with you regardless of what happens," Harry promised. He reached for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Whatever you decide to do, I'm in your corner."

Ginny's resulting smile was full of affection. "Thanks, Harry. I know I can always count on you to be my rock."

Harry slept poorly that night, preoccupied with thoughts of Ginny and her marital issues. Prior to tonight, he had never given Tom's character any heavy consideration. So long as Ginny was happy, Harry had been satisfied. A speedy engagement such as Ginny and Tom's wasn't even out of place in a small town like this where everyone knew everyone.

But now that Ginny had shared her concerns with him, Harry wondered how much they really knew about Tom Riddle. The man had shown up, quite literally out of nowhere, and insinuated himself into their lives like he was some kind of saviour.

Everyone adored him, Ginny included. Tom was the very definition of philanthropic, selfless in the eyes of anyone who was asked for an opinion. Harry could agree that Tom was generous, but selfless was a description that required more convincing.

Harry recalled the brief time they'd spent together during the wedding. Tom had been friendly—eager, even—which was to be expected from a stranger who wished to fit into a close-knit community. They had made small talk about the most inane topics while they worked on the wedding plans.

Tom had taken the wedding planning rather seriously, come to think of it. A few weeks before the wedding, Tom had asked Harry for his opinions on the floral arrangements, to which Harry had given a direct answer—Ginny preferred daisies, and the colours didn't matter to her. The look in Tom's eyes had been very intent. Intent enough that Harry remembered the intensity of it even now, months and months after the fact.

So the theme of the wedding had been mostly white. White daisies and white lilies had made up Ginny's bouquet, but then there had been bright orange tiger lilies pinned to his and Tom's lapels.

Tom had also asked Harry what spots would be best for the wedding photographs. The answer to that was both simple and complicated. Anywhere except Godric's River, Harry had told him. Anywhere but there, and the photos would be perfect.

After the vows were exchanged, they had taken photographs outside. Charlie had snapped photo after photo, blinding them with the flash of his camera, but no one had minded. They had been lost in the joy of the moment, dazzled by the beauty of Tom and Ginny in their wedding attire.

Harry had examined the photos later, comparing the hopeful flush of Ginny's rosy cheeks to the sophistication of Tom's gratified smile. Separately, they were each beautiful in their own right. Together, they did not match. Even on that auspicious day, Tom seemed to be, for the lack of a kinder phrase, cut from a higher quality cloth.

Ginny's beauty was of the sweeter, gentler kind—like a dollop of honey stirred into a steaming cup of chamomile tea, like the wild dandelions that sprouted along unattended pavements. Her laughter was fierce and full of joy, her enthusiasm catching like wind underneath drifting autumn leaves. Ginny was the prettiest girl that Harry knew. There was a beauty that lived in every part of her, physical or otherwise.

Tom's, by contrast, was composed of amber. Unyielding, the product of time and natural progression. The plains of his face sculpted and shaped to aristocratic perfection. Amber was forged by warmth, by heat and pressure, but the end result was cold, frozen in perpetuity.

Harry did not doubt that Tom had been formed from a younger version of himself that was equally handsome. However, as Harry had gazed upon the visual representation of his best friend and her new husband, the contrast in their appearances only highlighted the different worlds they had come from.

This puzzle kept Harry up late into the night, later than he usually stayed up, but his mind refused to go quiet.

When Harry did at last doze off, his dreams were hazy and strange. Time moved slowly, thick as syrup, and somehow Harry found himself by Godric's River, surrounded by willow trees.

The water there was so very, very blue. Bluer than the skies, as blue as Ginny's eyes. Harry knelt by the river bank and watched the ripples flow past him. Then he fell into the waters, his limbs spread, giving his body over to the current. The water cradled him gently, like a lover, embracing his arms and legs, holding them steady.

Slowly, Harry sank down. Down and down he went, all of him swallowed up by the river. High above, the sun was misty and distant, distorted by the glossy waters. It was only when his back touched the river bed that his body began to struggle. The kind touch of the water on his skin turned like the tide, growing suddenly cold and merciless. River water flooded into his mouth, into his eyes and ears and nose, strangling his senses.

Fear held him in its unforgiving grasp, sharp teeth biting into his chest. Harry thrashed wildly, screaming without sound, kicking against a force of nature that he could not defeat.

Harry woke shaking and gasping for air, his lungs experiencing a burn that existed only in his mind. He had not dreamt of Godric's River in years, but he could recall the exact curve of its banks, like he had visited it only yesterday. The way the sunlight glanced off of its surface, the resulting shine as bright as any flashing siren. If he was to go there now, he would still know the best, sturdiest stones to step on if he wanted to get across quickly.

It took ages for Harry's racing heart to quiet, for the nervous tremors to ease out of his hands. Harry wiped at his face and sat up. It was going to be a long day.

After work, Harry went back to Padfoot's. Not because he had dinner plans, but because he'd been unable to focus all day due to his anxieties. Harry worried that he'd given Ginny the wrong advice, or that his advice had been so awful that Ginny would wind up making a mistake that would cost her her marriage.

God knew they could both be hot-tempered when they wanted to be. Harry had gotten into many reckless, ill-advised fistfights over the years. Some of them had even been over Ginny's honour, though those fights usually meant he had Ginny by his side, also throwing punches. So Harry was no stranger to running headfirst at his problems in a bullheaded attempt to fix them, but this was an approach that tended to have mixed results.

Hence visiting Padfoot's after work. Harry planned to ask Sirius for advice on how to handle the problem, or at the very least, get reassurance that he hadn't fucked it all up.

The bar was quiet when Harry arrived. A few regular patrons were having a laugh in the corner booth, but other than that, the place was relatively calm. Harry waved to Remus, then made his way over to where Sirius was wiping down the main counter.

"Hey, kid. What brings you here on this fine Wednesday evening?" Sirius grinned, pausing mid-motion to park his elbows on the wooden counter top like a teenage girl. "Hot date?"

"No," Harry said, snorting against his will. He slid onto one of the bar stools and tapped the counter meaningfully. "I came here for some advice, actually."

"Ah," Sirius said with a sage nod. "My other specialty. Besides being incredibly handsome and providing the best damn barbecue ribs on this side of the river."

Harry must have flinched at the mention of 'river' because Sirius sobered, lifting his elbows off the counter and resuming his cleaning.

"So what is it you need help with?" Sirius asked lightly.

"It's a long story," Harry admitted. Then, possessed by a sudden urge to do so, he twisted in place, his gaze sweeping the room. There was no one, of course. Tom would be at home with his wife, enjoying dinner.

"Long stories tend to be the most interesting."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He had no idea where to begin and he was unsure how much detail he wanted to provide. Nervousness churned in his stomach. Was he doing the right thing? Sirius wouldn't tell a soul, but this would colour his opinion of Tom. And his opinion of Ginny, for that matter.

"You look like you need a drink," Sirius declared. "Happy hour for you, my friend. On the house, no protests."

Harry didn't have it in him to argue. Sirius poured out a Guinness and shoved the glass in his direction. "It's not about me," Harry said. Then at the sight of Sirius' raised brow, he took a sip of his drink. "It's about Ginny," he added.

"Ginny," repeated Sirius. "And it's not about you?"

Harry knew what Sirius was hinting at, but he ignored it and continued, "She thinks Tom is cheating on her. Or, I dunno, that something else weird is going on with him. I talked about all this with her last night."

Sirius said nothing, which Harry took as his cue to lay out the rest of the story. All of the strange behaviour that Ginny had outlined, plus Harry's own limited observations and opinions.

"Do you think he is?" Sirius asked once Harry was finished talking. "Cheating on her, that is."

"I don't know," Harry said honestly. "I don't even know if I told her to do the right thing."

"Nothing wrong with talking. It's when talking turns to finger-pointing that things get sticky."

"Yeah, well, I don't think she's going to do that. We agreed that it didn't make much sense for him to have time for an affair."

"Then why say 'cheating' at all?" Sirius asked with a shrug. "There's got to be a reason why she phrased it like that, and there's also a reason why you're still phrasing it like that."

"That doesn't—" Harry stopped short, his thoughts getting muddled. "If it's not cheating, then what? They've hardly been married a year. Nothing's changed. At least, nothing that either of us could think of."

"Cheating isn't the only way out of a marriage, Harry. A false accusation can be just as damning." Sirius paused, then grimaced. "Sorry, that was harsh of me." He blew out a long gust of air, then said, "What I meant to say was, maybe Ginny is feeling confused. She's feeling confused, and she goes to you for help because she trusts you. She confides in you, she wants you to help her." Sirius paused a second time, then set the glass he was holding aside. "Do you see what I'm getting at?"

Harry did see, and he did not like what he saw. "You think Ginny is looking for an excuse?"

"Woah." Sirius raised his hands in a defensive gesture. "I'm not saying it's a sure thing, kid. But they did get hitched pretty fast, and I have always said that the two of you would be good together. Maybe she's realizing she lost out—"

"I can't believe you," Harry said angrily, standing up. "This isn't about—about whatever feelings you think she has for me, or you think I have for her! We're not like that."

"I'm only saying that it's a possibility," Sirius said slowly. "You can take it or leave it, Harry. I won't push if you don't want me to, but it seems to me that Ginny went to you with a long-shot story about her husband being a cheating asshole and expected you to do something about it."

"I'm leaving." Harry stepped back from the counter, his fists clenched, his breathing uneven. He was leaving before he said or did something he would regret later. "Thanks for the drink, but I'm going home."

Sirius' expression was a mixture of concern and pity. Harry hated it. He hated the implications behind it, and he hated that he still had no idea how to help Ginny. Harry turned his back, waving off Sirius' farewell, and left the bar.