Friday

The next day dawned cloudy, humid and hot. Loki, looking out of the window of his hotel room, winced at the thought of what the ants were up to in his New York house. Oh well. There was nothing he could do, and he might as well focus on catching the murderer while he was here. He pulled on his grey armour, green cape and horned helmet, thinking that female clothes were all very well but it was a great relief to be back in this outfit.

A few hours later, he was waiting for the Weasley twins in the Leaky Cauldron. They had decided to meet the next day to discuss the murder, when the Weasleys could arrange for their other employees to look after the shop.

Loki sat down at the bar and was treated to a look of suspicion from the barman – suspicion that only deepened when he asked for his favourite summertime drink, a blackberry-flavoured sparkling water. Why did barmen always react like that, anyway? Was it so strange a drink for a grown god?

The Weasley twins entered the pub from the door that led to the yard and the alley full of shops, looking wary. They peered around the dingy pub, expressions changed from wariness to puzzlement. They looked around the pub again, checking every face, then looked at each other, seemingly bemused.

Loki suppressed a grin as he realized what was confusing them. They were looking for Loki, and he was present … just in a slightly different form.

Before he could decide whether to step forward and introduce himself or sit back and watch the show unfold, the twins had stepped towards him and said in unison, "Hi, Loki."

"Y'know, I could've sworn you were a girl last time we met," one of them said conversationally as he sat on a barstool. "Get me a Butterbeer, will you, Fred?"

"It's amazing how first impressions can fool you," the other twin said, taking his drink and coming to sit on the other side of Loki. "So, what can we do for you, Mr Loki?"

Loki blinked. He was surrounded. By a couple of scoundrels who had seen through his disguise and were managing the conversation like they were in charge. His estimation of the Weasleys went up a couple of notches.

"I believe we'd agreed to solve a murder together, gentlemen. I must admit – I've got no idea who the murderer might be … but then, you're more likely to be acquainted with him than I am." Loki winced inwardly. Great second impression, Loke, he thought. A stammering blunderer who can't do his homework.

The twins exchanged a look over his head. "Right," one of them said. "We've got a few suspects, but none totally solid."

"We do have a winner in the suspicion stakes, though. A man called Lucius Malfoy. He's got a grudge against our family – we're always making life difficult for him. We have … different political alignments."

Loki raised his eyebrows. The other twin elaborated, "Very different political alignments."

"Anyway, he's been acting suspicious lately," the first Weasley continued. "He came into the shop and he wouldn't normally be seen dead there. Needling away at us about our finances."

"Git," the other added idly.

"Malfoy always boasts about his dirty work; it's his flaw," he continued. "We thought he was just being a prick, but we think now he might have been checking if we were still alive."

"Bet he got a right shock when he saw us alive and kicking," the other twin added wryly.

"I wish we had been. Malfoy needs a good kick."

"So," Loki said, "shall we pay this Malfoy a visit? Or what do you propose we do?"

The twins exchanged a look. "We think so," one of them said. "We'd also like to invite someone else. He's in the Ministry of – er – he'll give us an alibi for forcing entry into Malfoy's manor."

Ministry of what? Loki wondered. But he decided to let it go. This place was obviously full of secrets and he didn't want to scare the Weasleys off.

"Er, well – here he is!" one of them said, with a forced kind of smile, nodding towards yet another red-haired man entering the pub. Loki restrained himself from rolling his eyes with extreme difficulty. This was getting ridiculous.

The man was much taller, thinner and older than the twins. His hair was thinning and he was wearing long green robes which were heavily patched and darned. Loki's lip curled a little at having to associate with a man dressed as shabbily as this.

"Hi, Dad!" the twins greeted the man. "Thanks for taking time off today. This is Loki. He's the one whose friend was murdered. We've just explained to him that Lucius Malfoy's our suspect and he agrees. You ready to pay him a visit now?"

The older Weasley took in Loki, from the tips of the horns on his helmet to his polished black shoes. His thin red eyebrows rose a little, but he didn't seem overly surprised. "All right boys, shall we set off then?"

Loki drained his sparkling water and set off towards the door. Behind him, he heard someone grab someone else's arm and mutter "Not Floo, Dad, he's a Muggle, remember?" He looked back to see Weasley facing the fireplace. He quickly turned around and they all proceeded out to the crowded street outside.

More mysteries, he reflected. Would they ever be solved?

It took a very long time to reach Lucius Malfoy's house. It was located in a remote part of the English countryside that took innumerable buses and trains to reach. The Weasleys were strangely baffled by the processes of buying train tickets and paying bus drivers, something that Loki didn't really notice as he used public transport so rarely, preferring to cycle. By the time the journey had stretched into four hours and they had been through three different bus and train stations, they were all muttering darkly about "Muggles", "Portkeys", "Floo" and "Side-Along Apparition – he'd soon forget, Dad!". Loki pretended to be immersed in the unchanging landscape outside the window, but he was alive with curiosity.

Finally, after walking two miles from the nearest bus stop, they stood outside an impressive pair of wrought-iron gates. Loki gazed unmoved upon this edifice, not even blinking when a snow-white peacock stuck its head out between the bars and honked at them. The Weasley twins jumped, but their father seemed to know what to expect. He knocked on the gate.

Five seconds later, a very strange-looking creature had appeared next to them with a CRACK. It had huge eyes, as green as the perfectly-trimmed hedge lining Malfoy's property, and very large, kidney-shaped ears. It seemed to be wearing some kind of pillowcase. It was about twice the height of the peacock that had honked at them. It stared at the Weasleys.

The twins' father stepped forward and announced, "Arthur Weasley from the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects, here to see Mr Lucius Malfoy on criminal charges."

The small … thing … blinked and hesitated.

"Don't even think about locking us out," Weasley warned, "we've got a warrant and your master isn't as popular in the Ministry as he once was."

The creature closed its massive eyes and disappeared with another CRACK.

"What –" Loki began.

"That was Malfoy's servant," one of the twins said quellingly. "They're normal for men like him."

The gates swung open and they entered onto a sweeping gravel drive, surrounded by lush green lawns, broken up artfully by manicured hedges, beds full of exotic and fragrant flowers and more spotlessly white peacocks. The Weasleys marched straight ahead with looks of disgust on their faces, but Loki, walking slightly behind them, gazed around admiringly. This Malfoy really knew how to live.

The peacocks on the tall hedge to their right strutted and cooed as they passed. The cooing seemed calming at first, but seemed to become louder, more annoying and more immediate as they progressed up the drive. A lot more immediate, actually … and it didn't really sound like cooing any more … more like … hooting? Familiar hooting?

Struck by an awful possibility, Loki started hunting through his pockets. The Weasleys turned and stared at him just as he reached into the hidden pocket in his green cape and found …

Pigwidgeon.

Loki and the Weasleys stared at the tiny, fluffy owl. The thing kept hooting shrilly, apparently convinced that the peacocks were trying to communicate with him. Loki could not understand how Pigwidgeon could have followed him here: he must have sneaked out of his fridge, stowed away in his luggage and found his way into his hidden cape pocket (which was very hidden). What were the chances of that?

Loki looked at the Weasleys. The twins were goggling at him. He found his voice. "I – I have no idea –"

"Just put the owl away and come on," Weasley said in a bored-sounding voice. "Malfoy would have a field day if that thing started bullying us."

They came to a flight of steps leading up to the front door of an impressive and ancient-looking mansion. The windows in the solid limestone walls were diamond-paned and glittered faintly in the muggy light. The door itself was huge, oak and stained with age.

Loki stuffed Pigwidgeon into his pocket and kept the squirming owl inside with one hand. The occasional chirp and hoot issued from his stomach, but he thought he might get away with it if the conversation kept flowing.

Judging by the state of Weasley's robes and Malfoy's expansive estate, it probably won't, he thought gloomily.

The door swung open as they approached and revealed a tall man with long white-blonde hair, dressed in expensive-looking black robes and holding a black cane topped with a serpent's head. As the Weasleys climbed the stairs, Loki just behind them, the man spoke.

"Weasley. Back again? I'm afraid there's nothing to find in my manor for your office – what is it again? Illegal peddling? I'm surprised you don't have to arrest yourself."

A taut smirk spread across Malfoy's face. Weasley's expression became strained.

"Actually, we didn't want to talk to you about that," one of the twins said.

"We wanted to talk about murder."

Malfoy's expression didn't change, although he had stopped smirking. Loki felt it was time he stepped in. They were clearly dealing with a master of crime-hiding. He shouldered his way to the front of the group, enjoying Malfoy's look of surprise.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy, murder. Murder of a man who looked just like Mr Weasley and Mr Weasley here."

A flicker of realization crossed Malfoy's face, but he didn't speak.

"The man you murdered was an acquaintance of mine. Care to explain yourself?"

"I apologize for killing your friend," Malfoy said, with no hint of repentance in his face. He was watching Loki calculatingly, clearly trying to work out what approach to take. Loki remained impassive. He sure as hell wasn't going to give any hints – not when he didn't know what the appropriate hints would be. "I hope you can appreciate that no harm was meant to him or you. And as for you, Weasley," (his face twisted into a sneer), "your family is, unfortunately, still alive and breathing and consuming your meagre salary. This affair, therefore, has nothing to do with you. Please remove yourself and your sons from my doorstep."

The older Weasley's ears went red and his mouth went tight, apparently to bite back whatever he wanted to say; eventually he said "Goodbye, Malfoy," turned, and made his way back along the gravelled drive with the twins.

Loki was left facing Malfoy on his own. To his surprise, Malfoy bowed and asked him "Would you care for some tea?"

"Certainly," Loki replied.

Malfoy called "Flippy!", slightly startling Loki, but it seemed that this strange command hadn't been meant for him. The strange creature that had appeared outside the gates appeared again, with another resounding CRACK.

"Tea, Flippy," Malfoy told the thing. "For myself and this gentleman. Use my favourite tea set. My own invention."

The creature bowed and disappeared (CRACK).

Malfoy turned to Loki and, with a "Would you care to join me in the parlour?", Loki found himself being led into a spacious and beautifully decorated room. The overall theme appeared to be green and silver – the floor was carpeted in palest grey, while the chairs, sofas and curtains were a delicate sea-green, speckled with tiny silver roses. A grand piano stood unobtrusively in the corner, with a silver candelabra shaped like an undulating snake resting on top of it.

Loki stepped into the room, clamping a hand over his hidden pocket to suppress a tiny hoot. "Beautiful room, Mr Malfoy," he said.

"I designed it, actually," Malfoy said, clearly bursting with pride. "I knew you were a man who appreciates fine design, Mr …?"

"Loki."

"Mr Loki. What else could you be, with such a finely tailored grey suit, that beautiful forest-green woolen cloak, and of course, that magnificent helmet? Let me congratulate you on that, by the way. I don't think I'd have to courage to wear such a daring accessory in public. But you can pull it off ... Perhaps it's something to do with your bone structure, or the contrast between your dark hair, pale skin and green eyes … or it could be your bearing. One could almost call it kingly."

"Godly, actually," Loki interjected before he could stop himself.

"Of course."

At this point, Flippy entered with the tea. A few more quiet hoots issued from his cloak as Flippy poured tea for himself and Malfoy from a silver teapot with a spout fashioned like a snake. The snake's tiny green eyes glinted as it appeared to vomit their tea into silver cups. He couldn't imagine how Malfoy would react if his puffball of an owl worked his way out of the cloak and into the room.

Malfoy was flattering him, thought Loki, and it was working. Part of him was purring with all the well-deserved praise being heaped upon him. But he had to keep focused. And he had to get out of there quickly, before Pigwidgeon was discovered.

Quelling the part of him that wanted to discuss the trials and tribulations of finding a good helmet manufacturer, Loki said, "So. The murder. Who were you really targeting?"

"Why, the Weasleys, of course."

"And why should I believe that?"

"Because I say so, and I'm telling the truth. I've always been sickened by those Weasleys. Can't keep track of their money or their children, and they're blood traitors to boot. But those … purple posters were really the last straw. How they dare to disrespect the Dark Lord …"

It certainly made more sense for Malfoy to target the Weasleys, Loki mused, as the loudest hoot yet issued from his pocket, luckily inaudible over Malfoy's rantings. But there was just one thing that didn't make sense …

"Why did you dump the body in New York?"

"Is that where it ended up? To be honest, that was a coincidence. Only a matter of wanting to get it as far away from England as possible on the cheapest long-distance Portkey. You see, I, unlike some people, can manage my money."

Loki mulled it over, sipping his tea. It was horrible. The things mortals drank. Malfoy's explanation made sense, but then he was a smart man, and smart men's explanations generally did make sense – whether they were telling the truth or not.

A clearly audible twittering issued from his nether regions. Loki pretended to be rearranging his position in the chair, while actually trying to squish Pigwidgeon into silence between his back and the rose-patterned velvet. To his horror, he actually felt the owl slide out of his pocket, like a slippery bar of soap squeezed between two palms.

Malfoy seemed not to have noticed anything. His expression bland, he said, "Whether you believe me or not, what I've told you is true. I can appreciate that you might be a little sceptical, however. It's only prudent … How about we settle this another way? I'm sure you've heard that the Malfoys are one of the most affluent pure-blood families around."

Loki was hardly listening, all his attention fixed on the squirming sensation at his lower back and the problem of getting the damned owl back into the pocket before he stood up. However, what he heard did penetrate his brain, and what he understood was affluent.

Loki didn't lack for money; he was a god, after all. But what he didn't have was the money of this strange society that Malfoy and the Weasleys belonged to. And he wanted it. He was pretty sure that he wasn't going to get much in that joke shop without paying.

"That sounds perfect, Mr Malfoy," Loki said, forcing a smile to his lips, just as Pigwidgeon forced his way out of his cloak.

"I'll just fetch a purse, then, shall –"

And Pigwidgeon erupted. With an ear-splitting hoot, he zoomed out from where he had been wedged between Loki's side and the chair's armrest. He did a couple of bouncing laps of the coffee table, twittering in a triumphant kind of way, then flapped up to land on Loki's head, pecking him lightly on the nose in retaliation for his imprisonment.

Loki was frozen. He had no idea how to explain this. For all Malfoy knew, a tiny, fluffy and very cute – wait, no, very annoying. Did he say very cute? How silly of him – had just exploded from his backside. He stared at Malfoy with his mouth open, Pigwidgeon's tufty tail feathers hanging in his eyes.

"That's quite all right, Mr Loki, I know how they can get when they're cooped up back there," Malfoy smiled courteously. "I would suggest you get a better-trained owl, though. Like mine, for example." He reached behind his robes and pulled out a regal and slightly ruffled-looking tawny owl the length of his forearm. Stroking the owl's head, he smiled at Loki, tucked it back behind his robes and left the room.

Loki shut his mouth and followed him out of the room, Pigwidgeon hooting in a self-satisfied sort of way and nibbling on his eyebrows. He noticed, as he followed Malfoy to the front door, that there was no sign of the tawny owl from the back of Malfoy's robes. He frowned in confusion.

At the door, Malfoy snapped his fingers, and Flippy ran up holding an incredibly big and medieval-looking purse of coins. The thing was almost as big as Malfoy's owl. Malfoy passed it to Loki and opened the door for him, bowing courteously.

"Do call again, Mr Loki. I would love to know where you got that helmet made, and the name of your tailor, of course. I'm sure my son Draco would also practically salivate to know what brand of hair gel you use."

Loki left in a kind of daze, treading on a indignant peacock at the bottom of the steps. Where did Malfoy keep that poor owl? And, on second thoughts, did he really want to know?