PROLOGUE



To feel the warm pulsing flesh between one's fingers just as the life was flowing out of the weak, too beautiful for its own good, body. To feel the blood pumping away and out onto an expensive Persian carpet... To see the glassy glint in the eyes that just a moment before held so much passion... It felt... empowering and yet... meaningless.


I would never have thought that I'd be the kind of person who kills a woman out of hatred. So many years of love and devotion, and for what? Just because of one small silver piece of crockery, a small ornate chalice with a filigree design, holding symbols of loyalty and forgiveness... but the placement of the cup spoke of lies, pain and betrayal. It was the wrong place for this cup. Very wrong. It smelt of treachery and death.

It felt so good to bring the knife to her body and see her bleed, hear her scream. And groan in satisfaction as the life flowed out of her. Then I kicked her. I kicked her again and again. And I told her to stand up, because I wanted to do it again, but she was just lying there; her body broken, lifeless, dead.

But in the end, it was no use because the hate didn’t go anywhere when the object of it was gone. It isn't possible to exorcise hate like that. Hatred is a constant; if you allow it to make a nest into your soul, it stays and it never goes away. It only feeds on your loneliness and grows.

Now that she's dead and I am alive, I still hate her. She’s dead and my hate is powerless. I am powerless. Only my hate has the power. Over me. Yet, she had to die. There was no other way.




CHAPTER 1



Draco Malfoy stared at the woman with cold disdain.


“Are you going to talk or not?” Ginevra Weasley asked, slightly exasperated. “Because I can leave you here for a night if you insist on keeping mum.” The woman leaned over him, trying to be menacing, but he only sneered at her.


When she backed off, Draco saw that her nails were almost all chewed short, except for the left pinky that obscurely had managed to retain an acceptable length for a lady (which she was not, so it didn't really matter). In fact, all her appearance was something between cheap and worn-out. A high-class pro-skirt indeed! How the hell had he missed that at the pub? He must have been more drunk than he realised.


“Well?”


“I. Will. Only. Talk. To a real Auror.”


Draco cursed his bad luck. Of all the seedy little drinking facilities he just had to have chosen the one that the Moral Squad was raiding! And of all the whores in the world, he managed to hook up with a pig. And, to make it worse, it was a Weasley! He remembered the slender legs that had first captured his attention. He looked the girl up and down. Yes, they were still the same legs. Apparently only her hair and the shape of her eyes had been charmed, plus he hadn't noticed the freckles. Draco didn't think she'd had freckles earlier. He cursed himself again for his idiocy – he should have recognised the woman!


Now, he was sitting in what was apparently called 'interrogation three' with his hands bound behind his back and waiting for someone with some authority to get him out of here. Because it was all just a misunderstanding. If he could just have that one Floo call, his representative would clear it all up in no time. But no! The she-weasel just had to make it difficult for him!


For a beat, the woman tried to look intimidating in her barely-there skirt and flimsy top, but despite her more than dubious clothing, she just looked young and innocent. Draco lifted his eyes to hers and tried to stare her down, but as she leaned her hands on the table, her irresistible bosom was suddenly right in front of him. And he was a bit drunk. Draco heard her make an annoyed sound and move away from him.


“All right, Malfoy, have it your way,” she said tiredly as she turned to leave.


“Wait,” he said, slightly panicked. He had heard the tired finality in her voice once before. “You are not really going to leave me here for a whole night are you? I have my rights!”


He wasn't completely happy with the level of disdain in his voice. Or the lack of it. Draco did a quick reassessment of his situation and almost decided to give in, but thankfully he was spared humiliation by the door opening.


“Auror Weasley, a word please,” a voice rang out.


The woman stepped out and Draco groaned mentally. While the voice he heard was full of authority and definitely not female, Draco also felt that he was now ready to talk to Weasley. The thing was, he knew all too well who the other voice belonged to. He closed his eyes and prayed that the man would leave.


After a moment of hushed whispers, the two figures entered and the newcomer smiled delightedly.


“Mr. Malfoy.”


“Potter,” Draco grunted.


This night was turning out to be a total disaster. He should have aborted the whole plan. He hadn't. In theory, it had been simple - go out, find some friends. He had just needed a bit of company, damn it! Was that a lot to ask? In particular, Draco had needed the company for this night at that particular hour, and who the hell had he pissed off in heavens that it all had led to this? He might as well make a full confession now!


Something of his desperation must have reflected in his eyes because Potter's smile grew wider.


“So,” the boy-who-smiled-too-much said. “Let's begin with why you are here.”


“I want a lawyer.”


A raised eyebrow from the brunet and a smirk from the redhead. They know.


“And why would you think you need one?” Potter asked.


Draco composed himself. “I have a right to have one,” he answered calmly.


“Let's start with when did you last see your wife?”


Draco felt cold sweat on his skin. “I'm not talking until I have my lawyer.”


Potter gave a fake sigh. “Acting guilty, aren't we? I do suggest you start talking before the lawyer gets here. If you really have nothing to hide...” He shrugged.


Draco didn't move a muscle, waiting.


“Fine,“ the Auror grunted out after a minute. He gestured his wand towards the dead fireplace and in a second a small flame sprung to life. Potter opened the box of Floo powder. “Name?”


After the call was made, both Aurors sat down across from him. They were staring at him and it was all Draco could do not to squirm.


“All right.” He feigned an extreme boredom. ”Fire away.” Draco felt gratified to see a fleeting surprise on both Aurors' faces. He thought that he could show a bit of cooperation now that he had gotten what he wanted. He'd give exactly the same answers whether his representative was here or not anyway.


“When did you last see your wife?” the superior Auror repeated his question.


“Tonight at half past eight. What's that got to do with anything?”


“Just answer, please. I'm sure you already know anyway. Where did you see her and what did you do or talk about?”


Draco frowned. “I saw her at the Manor when I was going out. I was walking past the library, when she asked me where I was going and when I would be back. I told her that it wasn't her concern. She asked me to leave her alone and I was only too happy to oblige.”


“And then you left the Manor?”


“Yes.”


“Did she tell you if she was going out or expecting any guests?”


“No, but yesterday I heard her talking with Pansy. Something about their plans together. I assumed they were going out tonight.”


“What kind of plans, exactly?”


“I have no idea. What is this all about? I thought this was about me purchasing services of your girlfriend here.” He nodded towards Weasley.


“I'm not his girlfriend!”


“But you are a whore?”


“Why you, piece of-!” Weasley started saying as her wand hand rose.


Potter put a calming hand on her shoulder and turned back to Draco. He continued in a controlled, almost disinterested, voice. “How would you describe your relationship with your wife?”


“Why are you asking these things? Look,” he paused. “She doesn't care about what company I keep; she has her life, I have mine. Yes, I tried to pay a woman for certain services. Just give me a piece of parchment, I'll write you a confession, and then we can all go home.”


“Just answer the question, please.”


Draco sighed, annoyed. “I despise her and she hates me. Aside from that, we get on smashingly. Can you at least release my hands? They are beginning to cramp.”


“Did your wife have enemies?” Potter intoned on.


Draco's eyes narrowed for a moment and then he opened his eyes wide. “What?” he asked softly. “What do you mean by 'did'?” There was a buzz in his ears and he didn't hear the answer.


Vaguely, Draco sensed the Floo activating and some kind of discussion going on around him, but his mind was elsewhere. For some reason, a string of different smiles were flitting before his eyes. He remembered the way Astoria had smiled at him at one prefect's party and how she had smiled at Blaise before the engagement. Then there was the smile she had given him and Pansy in his seventh year at one Slytherin party. And the one she had given him the first time he ever saw her. And then, he suddenly remembered Ginevra Weasley smiling at Harry-bloody-Potter.


The real world crashed into his musings when he felt his hands being released. Draco rubbed his wrists and tried to think of what it all would mean for him and if he had perhaps said anything incriminating. Thank Merlin, all that time his solicitor was droning on and on about his – Draco's – rights and Aurors' tendency of using unnecessary force.


“So, let me get this straight, so far my client is charged with-”


“I already told you, Mr. Briggs. He paid for sex and resisted arrest. Neither of which is important at this point since Mr. Malfoy is being questioned in relation to his wife's murder.”


Draco resisted closing his eyes and assumed a relaxed position. “What happened?” he asked Potter.


“You don't know?”


“No. I just told you, the last time I saw Astoria...” His voice faltered for a moment. “She was fine when I left.”


“She was found by your house elf at half past twelve tonight by the foot of the stairs near the library. She sustained several stab wounds to her upper body.” Potter's voice sounded dispassionate and clinical. Draco clinically hated that tone. “The murder weapon hasn't been found yet. Where were you at the said time?”


Draco sat, unmoving. After a while he said, “At the King and Dragon's, where your colleague here tricked me.”


“I didn't-” Weasley wanted to interfere, but the other Auror's look silenced her.


Potter continued, “What time did you arrive there?”


“It must have been around ten.” He heard Weasley exclaim triumphantly but continued just the same. “After I left home, I visited the Montagues for a while and then went straight to the pub.”


“How come I saw you come in just before 1am then?”


“Are you sure it was me? The place was awfully packed.”


“Of course, I'm sure!” the bint said, smiling knowingly. “I'm also sure that you didn't arrive until way after midnight.”


Draco didn't bat an eye. “I must have stepped out for a moment and come back in. That's why you saw me entering later.”


“And why would you do that?”


It seemed that Weasley had taken over the interrogation. Draco's eyes narrowed in put-on annoyance. “Auror Weasley, do you even have an authority to ask me these questions? Aren't you with the Morality Guard, flitting around the entertainment facilities of dubious nature? Terrorising the unsuspecting populace with that unseemly, tiny, little skirt and invisible top?”


The she-weasel's cheeks and tips of her ears turned pink from an obvious embarrassment, which to Draco's surprise didn't make her any less attractive.


“Auror Weasley is here by my request, Mr. Malfoy,” Potter interrupted the tense silence. “Please, answer the question.”


Draco sighed, acting bored again. “I don't remember exactly. I might have thought I saw an acquaintance on the street and wanted to say hello.”


“How did you know there was someone for you to say hello to?” Weasley jumped in again.


“I don't know. I might have seen someone through the window?”


“In a place as awfully packed as that?”


“Well, I might have sat by the window!”


“No, Malfoy, I sat by the window and you. Weren't. There.”


She spat the last words in his face and Draco had no idea how he managed to not hex her. The fact that his wand happened to be confiscated might have had something to do with it. And maybe the fact that she looked rather cute when she was angry.


*


“Nice office,” Ginny said as she entered the small room. “I want a reassignment into your unit.”


Harry sighed. “I know you do, but I can't just-”


“Yes, yes, I know. First I have to prove my worth or some such rot.” She pulled a face. “That is why you are letting me help. You told me.” Ginny sat behind Harry's desk and gave the chair a twirl; he had a really comfy chair. “He doesn't seem very crushed though, does he?” she said, her thoughts back on the case.


“No, not really.” For a beat Harry looked annoyed that his seat was taken, but then he leaned on the file cabinet and crossed his hands on his chest. “So, Auror Weasley, what do you say - guilty or not?”



Ginny thought for a moment. “Well, he did tell us that there were no fluffy feelings involved in their marriage. And his alibi is clearly rubbish, but aside from that, it's really difficult to say.”


For some reason, the idea of Malfoy being guilty didn't sit well with her, but she'd go with Harry if he told her otherwise. He tended to be right in these matters. But Harry didn't tell her anything; he just rubbed his chin, opened the door, and asked someone to fetch them two cups of coffee.


“What does your gut tell you?”


Ginny shrugged. “I'm not sure. My first instinct screamed innocent, but the more I think about it, the more I realise that whatever happened there, was nothing like the premeditated killing of a dying old man. I think Malfoy really could have done it.”


Harry nodded. He looked just as tired as Ginny felt. It was nearly ten in the morning; they had interrogated Malfoy until four, then Ginny had gone with Malfoy to the morgue for identification, while Harry left to talk to the Medi-Auror. Then they had all returned to the crime scene only to hear that nothing was missing and, aside from the safe in Malfoy's office being broken into, nothing else was even misplaced.


“What did the Medi-Auror say?” she asked.


“Seven stab wounds to the upper body, five of them lethal. Delivered with considerable force. The first wound indicates that the attacker was right-handed and taller than the victim, which is no wonder, since Astoria Malfoy was a rather short woman. It could be a wizard or a witch.”


Harry leaned over her to open a drawer. He fished out an empty file case and dropped it on the desk. “So, you are the one learning the ropes here. Start working.”


“What? I know how to fill out a form! You miserable slave driver, you are using me to get your paperwork done!“


“Yes, yes; I am a mean, little man and you will do my bidding.” He grinned. The smile could have passed for devious, if Harry hadn't looked so worn-out himself. “What? Thought I made Chief Investigator by working hard, did you?”


Instead of answering Ginny smiled ruefully and started filling the title page. For a while, Harry observed her working but then interrupted her, “What do you think then, Auror Weasley? Give me your gist of the case.”


Ginny pushed the file away from her. Trying to look professional, she settled back into the chair, her body relaxed. “The fact that the safe was opened and the wards had an unauthorised entry alert on, seems to indicate that there really was an intruder. But, on the other hand, nothing was missing including the noticeable amount of cash in the safe and a number of expensive trinkets lying about.”


“Perhaps the intruder panicked when he realised what he had done and just left the loot?”


“Could be, but then again, I can't imagine a regular burglar going into such a rage or hysterics that he stabbed the poor woman seven times in the chest. If it were a simple AK or a blow to the head, there would be no question, but right now I think that the burglary part of the crime was staged.”


Harry nodded. “So then why stage a burglary where nothing is taken?”


“Maybe he had time to open the safe and create a mess but, because of all the screaming, no time to hide things?”


“That's possible. But there is one more possibility.” He looked at her as if waiting for her to catch on. When she didn't, he said, “Think, Ginny. What if there really was an intruder? Why would Mrs. Malfoy be killed in a way she was?”


Ginny's eyes opened wide in surprise. “You mean... The intruder might have been someone who knew and hated her? Oh! You are right. Then it would make even more sense because the murderer was so upset that he left the loot!” She paused to think a bit. “But then it would mean that whatever he or she was looking for wasn't money, and is most likely still there.”


“Unless it's Malfoy and he's lying about nothing being missing.”


Ginny felt deflated. “Yeah, that's a possibility too.”


At that moment, the door opened and a harried looking wizard poked his head in. “Mr. and Mrs. Zabini are here.”


*


Pansy sniffed into her handkerchief. Her nose was a bit red and her eyes bloodshot.


“As Blaise was going to have–” A sniff. “–a boys' night out, Astoria and I were going to-to... have a sleepover. She promised to come at nine, but she never showed.”


Blaise was rubbing her back soothingly and Ginny felt a twig of envy at such a display of marital felicity. “What did you do when it became apparent that she wasn't coming?”


“I...” She tried again. “I...”


“Take your time, Mrs. Zabini,” Harry said.


“Pansy.” She took a shaky breath. “Call me Pansy. We were the same year, weren't we?”


“All right, Pansy,” Harry amended. “Just take your time and tell us everything you remember about that night. Then we'll go over what else we need to know.”


“No, I'm fine. Everything's fine.”


Pansy visibly pulled herself together, trying to be brave, while Blaise continued sliding his hand up and down her back in a circular motion. They were sitting in Harry's office and at that moment, Ginny felt bad about forcing the Zabinis to come to the Ministry.


Pansy continued, “Astoria not coming wasn't really an unusual occurrence.” A hiccup. “So I did nothing.” A pause. “I did nothing,” she added so low that it was barely audible. Then Pansy started sobbing and Blaise took her into his arms. She stopped only after a couple of minutes.


“I'm so sorry.” Pansy hiccuped again. “It's just so... so terrible. All of it. And all the time I keep thinking: what if I had Flooed to the Manor? What if...?”


“It was only natural that you didn't,” her husband crooned. “There was nothing you could have done anyway.”


“Bu-but what if...?”


“Your husband is right, Pansy. It is more than likely that you could have been hurt yourself. It's probably a good thing that you weren't there,” Ginny added, wanting to comfort her.


“Yes, you are right, of course.” Pansy sighed shakily. “Well, after I realised that she wasn't coming, I went to sleep. At eleven maybe?”


Harry nodded. “You said that her not showing up wasn't an unusual occurrence. Why?”


Pansy shrugged unhappily. “I really can't say. Astoria never explained, but I think these were the nights when she had a confrontation of some sort with... with Draco. Sometimes she just Flooed in to say that they had decided to have an evening in, or that they had an argument and she wasn't in the mood for our plans, but I think...” She shook her head slowly. “Never mind, this is stupid.”


“No, no. Go on, Pansy. Even if it's not true, tell us what you think. It might help,” Ginny assured her. She noticed Pansy glancing at her husband.


“No,” she uttered quietly. “It's nothing.” Then, as if changing the subject she said, “You know, Draco used to be very jealous the first couple of years. Almost possessive.”


Blaise sighed. “You are being ridiculous, Pansy. Of course he was a bit jealous at first. They were newlyweds and she always flirted around on him.”


“You don't know what he can be like, Blaise. I've dated him you know. Fifth year.”


She shuddered, but Blaise just rolled his eyes.


“You have a good imagination, Pansy, always have. Draco wouldn't have done anything to her. He might have run his mouth and blast her things, but he wouldn't hurt her.”


“When you talk about Mr. Malfoy 'running his mouth', what do you mean by that?”


“Oh nothing really,” Blaise tried to backpedal. “You know Malfoy. He says things he doesn't really mean when he's angry.” He shrugged nonchalantly.


“He said he would have her killed!” Pansy cried out but then calmed down. “But you are right, Blaise. If he'd wanted to kill her, he'd have done it himself. Close and personal-like.”


Her last sentence was filled with venom, but Blaise's face was a picture of disinterest, and he shook his head to show what he thought of his wife's opinion on the matter.


“You don't like Malfoy much, do you?” Ginny asked the other woman.


“I used to. But that was before...” She shuddered again. “No. No, I don't. He made Astoria miserable. She wanted a divorce, but he wouldn't consent.”


“How do you know about it? Did Mrs. Malfoy tell you this?”


“Yes, but it was also common knowledge. Draco used to say that she would get her divorce only over his dead body. Oh, how I wish it was him that happened upon the intruder!”


Blaise was now rubbing her shoulders up and down, saying 'there, there' in a rather silly but sweet way, Ginny thought.


“Why do you think he refused to grant her divorce?”


Pansy shrugged. “Because he's a sadistic bastard? I really couldn't say. He did make a good show of hating her, but I think it was all an act. I think he was obsessed with her. I remember how head over heels Draco was for her when they just started dating.”


“You said something about blasting things, Mr. Zabini,” Ginny said. “What exactly did you mean?”


“Oh, a couple of years ago,” Pansy interrupted, “when I went to the Manor, I found Astoria in tears because Malfoy had sliced all of her clothes up in a fit of rage! It was all in tatters!”


“How do you know it was him?” Blaise asked, a hint of irritation colouring his voice.


“Because she told me!” At his insistent stare she corrected herself. “Well, all right... She didn't actually say it, but she didn't have to!”


“But it was you, Mr. Zabini, who mentioned blasting things,” Ginny noted. “So what were you thinking of if not Astoria's clothes?”


“Just the general understanding of Draco's character. At school, he often vented through blasting things up, but it was never directed towards an individual. And I've never seen him being as malicious or petty as to tear up someone's clothing.”


Harry nodded his understanding. “Just one more question then. We ask everyone their alibis, so don't take it personally, but where were you last night at a quarter past twelve?”


Blaise's eyebrows shot up. “I thought it was a case of failed burglary? Surely you don't think that Pansy or I...?”


“No, of course not,” Harry assured him. “It's just for the paperwork.”


“Oh, of course. Well, like Pansy said, I was out with my friends from seven until about...” He looked up, calculating. “I think it might have actually been one o'clock or a little after. There were four of us – Theodore Nott, Terence Higgs, Marcus Flint, and I. We sat at the Leaky at first, and later went to Terry's place to play poker. We do this a couple of times a month.”


“Does Mr. Malfoy ever go with you?” Harry asked.


“He has done so a couple of times but not in recent years. We have never been very good friends, and other than at public balls and some charity functions, there hasn't really been a reason for us to see each other.”


“That's weird,” Harry said. “I always thought you were rather close.”


Blaise shook his head. “For a bit in seventh year maybe, but it didn't work out that way.”


Harry nodded and turned to Pansy. “What about you?” At her confused expression he elaborated, “I know you already said that you were at home at the time of death, but I was hoping you might give us any confirmation via other witnesses?”


“No, I was alone.”


*


Ginny Flooed in after five as Harry had told her to. She was still a bit tired but felt fit enough for work.


“Do you believe her?” she asked the question that had plagued her since they'd spoken to the Zabinis.


“You mean Pansy? She seems to be a bit of a drama queen.”


“That's certainly what her husband thinks. She is obviously upset about her friend being murdered, but the things she said about Malfoy... I'm not sure I can believe her.”


For a second, Harry's face was a mask of concentrated thinking. Then it relaxed. “That's not what I meant, actually. I can easily believe Malfoy being a controlling bastard. It's Pansy's grief that was off.”


“You don't think it's genuine?” Ginny asked, surprised.


“No, it's genuine, but there's something weird about it.” He shrugged as if to show that he couldn't really explain it. “I'm not sure if Pansy really thinks Malfoy offed his wife, or just that he's a violent bastard?”


“I don't know what Pansy thinks, but he's not violent towards women,” Ginny said resolutely.


“How do you know?”


“I'm a girl, I would have heard about it.” At Harry's questioning gaze she elaborated, “Hogwarts. Rumours.” She waited for him to get it. “Girls talk, Harry. Draco was quite popular at Hogwarts and his dating and mating habits were all over the place. Yours were as well, by the way.”


She grinned evilly when Harry squirmed in embarrassment.


“But these are rumours, Ginny. You can't know what he's really like until you actually date him.”


Ginny sighed. “Harry, I know.”


Harry looked shocked. “You didn't actually...?”


“I was curious. We had a... a thing at the end of the fifth year - your sixth. Briefly, only a couple of weeks, all very secret. He's not sexually violent or even controlling. If he did kill his wife, it had to be about something else.”


*


”Enjoying the dance, Ginevra?”


“You wish!” she said, even as she couldn't stop smiling.


They were dancing again. Ginny had no idea how it had happened that Malfoy got into habit of asking her to dance at least once per party. And that was so not the reason she crashed every secret house party she happened to hear of.


Why he asked her the first time Ginny wasn't sure. It had been some kind of a grand joke at first, she supposed, but the expected punch line hadn't come. For Malfoy it might have been worth it if only to see Ron puffing with anger like a bright red steam engine. It felt good though, to be held in his arms so firmly and yet gently as if she were the finest piece of china.


“Still not enjoying the dance?” He smirked as they passed Parkinson who had a baffled expression on her face.


“It's getting better.”


*


Potter nodded in greeting. “Mr. Malfoy, thank you for coming. Mr. Briggs.”


It pissed Draco off that Potter insisted on being so woodenly professional. “Did I have a choice?”


“But of course, Mr. Malfoy. You could have chosen to be dragged here instead of coming yourself.”


The git-who-enjoyed-power smiled. Ginevra Weasley wasn't in the room and Draco thought of the possible reasons behind it. Was she removed from the case? Did it have anything to do with him? Was she sick?


“So where's your feisty colleague? You sicced her onto some other unsuspecting victim with loose morals?” Draco asked, but Potter ignored the question.


“We looked through the contents of your safe,” he said instead. “There were some curious documents in there.”


Draco waited for Potter to continue. He knew exactly what kind of documents had been in the safe. He only wished he could have gotten his hands on them before the Aurors.


“A few real estate reports, some business documents, your Hogwarts diploma.” He was shuffling through the papers as he named them. Draco wondered where he was going with this. “It seems that there was nothing really important there. Why is that?”


“I don't keep important documents at home. They are either at Gringotts or with the solicitors.”


“Understandable.” The youngest Auror CI nodded indulgently. “So your marriage pre-nup is not really important?”


Draco's eyebrows shot up. “Was it there? Haven't given it much thought after the ceremony.”


“So you had no idea it was there?”


“No.”


“And you claim not to have thought about it recently?”


“I just told you that.”


“Even with Mrs. Malfoy wanting a divorce?”


Draco and Briggs spoke at the same time.


“What does it have to do with Mrs. Malfoy's death?”


“Where did you hear this?”


“I'm investigating a murder here. I will decide what is relevant and what is not, Mr. Briggs. Besides, I already know all about it. I'm just curious what your client has to say about it.”


Briggs nodded to Draco.


“The pre-nup wasn't important since we weren't going to divorce,” was what he went with.


“Even though your wife insisted on it?”


“We did discuss the possibility.”


“Did she give you a reason for wanting it?”


“I didn't ask,” he said, through clenched teeth.


“Why not?”


“Because I didn't care one way or another.”


“So it is true that you refused to grant her her freedom?”


“I was still thinking about it.”


“Why? Didn't you tell us yesterday that you despised your wife?”


It was hard to hold his scoff in but he managed by remaining very still, his body rigid. At this particular moment, he had no idea what he was paying Briggs for.


“You do realise,” Potter continued, “that it gives you a perfect motive, don't you?”


Draco faked a mild surprise. “How so?”


“According to your pre-nuptial contract, Astoria Malfoy would have gotten half of your fortune after divorce, wouldn't she?”


Draco felt his blood pressure rise, but outwardly he managed to remain indifferent. “Are you saying I would have her killed for money?”


“Did you?”


After a few moments of silence, the solicitor urged him to answer. Draco had to press the word out. “No.”


“Or did you kill her yourself?”


Draco inhaled sharply.


“Mr. Malfoy already answered that question.”


But the Auror didn't really want a reply. Instead, he attacked from another angle. “Do you know what your house elves told us?”


Draco could very well guess, but didn't answer.


“Tinky described the last exchange you had with your wife as a loud screaming match but added that it was quite usual in your household. Not exactly the polite version you gave us, is it?”


“I didn't think it relevant to the investigation.”


“At this point, everything is relevant. Especially things the husband of the deceased is trying to hide. Do you know why your wife's body was discovered so soon after the murder?”


He had actually wondered, but he couldn't let Potter know that, so he just waited for the answer.


“It was because you had ordered your house elves to keep out of the living quarters of the Manor 'unless somebody screams murder', you said. And your wife did.”


Draco blinked, dazed, but didn't answer.


“Why did you tell your servants not to go to that part of the house?”


“Do not answer that.”


He didn't even look at the solicitor. “The house elf on duty in that part of the house is very elderly. He tends to mutter and sing to himself while doing the rounds. It's annoying.”


Although the Auror's face remained less, something in it made Draco instantly realise that he'd made a mistake. Potter knew him too well to buy the explanation. Draco could bet his life that the Auror’s nod of acceptance was fake.


“Why not simply assign another elf for that part of the house?” Potter paused as if waiting for a reply, although they both knew that was not the case. “You know what I think?” He paused again, for dramatic effect, no doubt. “I think it's a really silly reason you gave me. Although it is exactly the case in which such a silly reason would actually be plausible. And I would accept it too, except that it is you who is giving it. You see, I know that if it was the truth, you, Mr. Malfoy, would have just sneered and told me that it wasn't my business why you gave your house elves such orders. So I must assume that you are lying.”


There was a brief pause in which Draco decided that he wasn't going to comment. “Are you going to arrest me?” he asked instead.


“No, not yet. Unless we find something incriminating on the Manor grounds.”


Draco sneered. “You won't find anything I hid in there. If I hide things, they stay hidden,” he bragged, unable to stop himself. Draco hated Aurors roaming his home. They had finished with the house the day before, and now were all around the ancillary buildings. “How long is it going to take? Your people have been at it forever.”


“They are hoping to finish before morning.”


That's good, Draco thought. His home would soon be pest free and they weren't going to arrest him. He allowed himself to relax a bit.


But then Auror Weasley returned and everything changed.


TBC

CHAPTER 2



Ginny did understand why she had been sent on this relatively unimportant task. After she had confessed to knowing Draco intimately – although briefly – Harry had said it would be better if she weren't present during that particular conversation. It was rubbish in her opinion. At least for her, it changed nothing. She was a professional.


Nonetheless, Ginny promised Harry to report in as soon as she got back, straightened her official robes, and Flooed from the Auror Headquarters straight into a room which seemed to be something between a huge study and a small library.


“Thank you for granting me a permission to come through, Mr. Higgs.”


She didn't remember Terence Higgs from school, but knew that he went to Slytherin and was the same year as Draco. He was very tall and too thin to be handsome, but he wasn't bad-looking. He had sandy blond hair and slightly watery eyes; his hunched shoulders and almost pasty pallor spoke of hours upon hours spent indoors. Ginny remembered that he was some kind of researcher for the Ministry.


“It was the least I could do,” the wizard said, as he stood in greeting. “Poor Astoria! It was a terrible way to go.” He gestured for her to sit and they both did. “But she always liked doing things with a flourish.”


He blushed and his shoulder twitched as if he didn't know whether he should be embarrassed about disrespecting the dead or not. Ginny made a non-committal noise and hoped that the former Slytherin would blather on. He did.


“Astoria loved being the lady of the Manor but being killed in such way... I bet she would have loved playing at being the grieving widow, though. I would stake my signet ring on Malfoy not being half so good at it.”


He smiled, but seeing Ginny's serious demeanour, he regained his solemn expression. “So, what can I do for you?”


Ginny smiled politely to show she hadn't taken offence at his blithe words. “I was actually hoping you could tell me something.” She paused. Initially she had had no intention of asking him about it, but he did seem to be a willing source of information. At the wizard's politely inquiring gaze, she continued, “I was wondering about Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini?”


At first, Ginny thought she could see the wizard frown briefly, but then he seemed to make a concious decision of making his face blank, although the muscles in his upper lip still twitched. She decided to call upon all her bluffing abilities and assumed her I-know-you-know face. After a moment, the man relented. He really was too obvious; apparently the wizard was unable to hide his feelings and he knew it.


“Well...” He coughed a bit, as if to disguise his discomfiture. “It wasn't that big of a deal really. A spat between friends... Well, more of a teenage prank, but Malfoy hadn't seen it that way.” He shrugged, a bit embarrassed, then he sighed. “You really want me to tell everything, don't you?” When she didn't answer, he continued, “It was somewhere at the end of our last year that Malfoy started pursuing Astoria. It was supposed to be just another conquest. He did those things all the time. You see, it was all right to date one of your own year, but younger students were not taken very seriously. You were a year younger too, so you must know?”


She nodded.


“Well, Draco started courting her – because that's what it seemed like, a courtship – and we all thought it was silly - gifts, flowers, and the like... She was a fifth year, how the hell could we have known he was being serious?” He rubbed his nose and shrugged. “One night, Blaise, Nott, me, and a couple of girls slipped some spirits into the dormitories and soon we were all slightly drunk. I have no idea who suggested it first, but the next thing I knew, Pansy – I think it was Pansy – challenged just about everyone to try to seduce Astoria themselves, to break Malfoy's winning streak. She said it was nigh time someone said no to the man. I said that it wouldn't be possible after the weeks of such careful wooing, but Blaise said that he'd do it. So we made a bet. Blaise claimed that he could get Astoria to give it up for him, before Malfoy could get into her knickers.”


His shoulders gave a nervous twitch, as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to shrug or not.


“Stupid, I know. But we were drunk and I think Pansy was angry with Malfoy again about something. And the other girls always did what Pansy wanted. No, I remember now! It was Viola who issued the challenge, but Pansy supported the idea. Anyway, if Blaise lost, he would invite us all to his villa in Italy. If I did, I would pay for the trip to New Orleans during Mardi Gras.” Higgs sighed. “Long story short, Malfoy got the girl, but I believe there were words said between them, and their friendship never recovered.”


“Were you ever friends with Draco Malfoy?”


Terence shuddered slightly. “No, not really. But I think that he and Blaise kind of made peace a couple of years back. I don't think they had even spoken for years, but I have seen them at a couple of functions recently, where they shared a few polite words.”


“What do you know about the relationship between Astoria and Pansy?”


“Oh, just the usual rumours.” He tried at nonchalance, but was not very successful.


“What kind of rumours?”


“They said that Malfoy didn't approve of their friendship. I don't think he got along with Pansy.”


“Because of the bet over Astoria?”


“I don't know. I'm not sure Malfoy even knew she was involved. Besides, they used to date at school. That could be enough to suffocate most friendships.”


“Fifth year, right?”


“Yes, I believe so. But they went out only briefly from what I could tell. They weren't very well matched. What their parents thought I have no idea.” He saw her questioning look and elaborated, “They had been betrothed almost since birth, but after the failed relationship, the revocation was mutual.”


“In your opinion, could there have been any residual feelings or regret on either side?”


“You mean for Draco and Pansy?” Higgs seemed to be surprised at the suggestion. “I really don't think so. They got along amicably until she started dating Zabini.”


“Do you know if Astoria Malfoy had any enemies?”


Higgs bunched his lips up to the left (which made for a curious sort of grimace) and thought a bit.


“'Enemy' is quite a strong word to use. She had been too young to be a Death Eater and it always seemed to me that she was generally thought of as a society butterfly. I don't think anyone took her seriously enough to consider her an enemy.”


“How about 'dislike' then?”


“I really couldn't say. She was a bit of a flirt in her younger years, but other than that, she got along with everyone. Unless you count her husband.” He grimaced again but didn't elaborate.


“All right. Only one question more. I was hoping you could confirm Mr. Zabini's alibi for the night of the murder.”


“Oh, well.” Terence thought for a minute. “He came at about seven as usual, and left sometime around or after midnight.”


“Can you be a bit more specific than that?”


“Um... The reason I know even that much about the timing,” his whole face suddenly lit up, “is that I won the bet Nott and I had going on. When we got here at half past nine, Theo won the first hand, so he claimed with a flourish that he would win at least every second hand for two hours straight. Just before his time was up, he got too cocky or maybe it was just my luck, but he had a terrible hand! So I know that Blaise was here at least until midnight, but after that, time just flew by. It felt as if Blaise left soon after, but for all I know, it could have been either twelve or two o'clock.” He shrugged.


“What about the other players?”


“Well, Theo and Marcus left together a while later. I think it was a bit before three.”


“Thank you.”


*


Ginny stepped out of the fireplace only to run into Tony, one of the Aurors assigned to search the Manor.


“Oh, Ginny! Glad I caught you. Look what we found buried behind the stables!”


Ginny frowned as she looked at the items. “Who held them last?”


“Recent signatures are wiped, but this one's-” Tony smirked as he pointed at the first piece of evidence, “-strongest trace belongs to Draco Malfoy and the other's is of the author of the letter.”


“Are you going to take it to the lab?” asked Ginny after they had chatted about the evidence a bit more, “I would really like to confront Malfoy with it straight away, if he's still here.”


Tony grinned. “I understand. But then take it to the lab straight after, will you? I gotta get back to Wiltshire, want to finish up before the sunset.”


After promising to handle the items carefully, she took the transparent bags, and left.



*



Even though he had ended it just a week before, seeing Malfoy dancing with the Slytherin girl was kind of uncomfortable. Ginny hoped he wouldn't make a fool of himself; Astoria Greengrass was a lovely girl, if a bit vain.


“Do you think all those girls really have a cause to be green with envy?” Luna asked her.


“I don't know.” Ginny took another look at the couple on the dance floor. “Maybe. Everybody seems to like her, even some Gryffindors get on well with her. What do you think?”


“Ah! But it doesn't matter what I think, does it?” Luna smiled dreamily. “The question is; does he like her, or if it's just wafferpuffers that have taken residence in his head?”


Ginny grinned. “Yes, I suppose it is.”



*



A part of Draco felt glad to see the woman, but the other part was apprehensive. It seemed to him that there was an odd tension about Ginevra Weasley. The feeling that now crawled up his spine was indicating that quite possibly he was, for the lack of a better word, doomed. Higgs must have tattled, there was no other explanation. Or maybe they'd found Wally?


“The answer to our question is negative,” she said to Potter. “But there's more.” Ginevra turned to Draco. “The search of the Manor grounds is almost over. Our people will be gone before nightfall.”


Draco nodded. He realised that wasn't the information Ginevra had come to relay.


“They found something buried behind the stables, Mr. Malfoy. Care to tell us about it?”


Draco froze up and Briggs stepped in. “How should my client know what your men found?”


“He shouldn't unless he put it there,” Potter said.


“I already told you, when I hide something, it doesn't turn up,” Draco said somewhat woodenly. “So tell me, what did you find?”


When she put the transparent bag on the table in front of him, he knew at once what the thing was.


“Do you recognise it?”


“Yes.”


“Whose is it?”


“Mine.”


“Do you know why it was buried like that?”


“I can only assume that it's a murder weapon.”


He looked at the ornate dagger that his father had loved so much. It was six inches long and one wide, beautiful, yet even after years of being unused it was still deadly. Draco himself had hated the thing, just as he had hated his father's cane. Now the dagger would probably end up a nail in his coffin. How poetic.


“How do you know it's a murder weapon?” Potter asked.


“Why else would you be showing it to me like this?”


“Did you hide it?”


“My client already told you-” Briggs tried to step in.


“No,” Draco didn't let the man finish. “And I have no idea who did. The last time I held it, it was months before, while entertaining a French Duke and his entourage. I showed it to him because he said he loved all kinds of ancient knives and swords. I didn't pay it any attention after that and I didn't notice when it disappeared.”


“So you acknowledge it as your property?”


“My client alrea-”


“I already told you, yes. It belonged to my father and now it is mine. It used to hang above the mantelshelf in the library.”


“And it being in the plain view, you didn't notice it gone?”


“We already established that he hadn't,” the lawyer said and Draco glanced at him, irritated.


He quelled his panic and asked, seemingly calm and collected, “Are you going to arrest me?” After receiving Potter's 'no, not yet,' he turned to his representative, “Mr. Briggs, you may leave for now. I'll let you know when I might need you again.”


“Mr. Malfoy, you can't expect me to represent you, if-”


“I don't care, you are annoying.”


That shut the wizard up. His whole conduct said that Draco would regret it, but then it would be too late. For his part, though, Draco hadn't noticed the man doing anything particularly helpful. It would probably be different, if he could have told the solicitor everything, but the situation being as it was, Draco knew that in reality he could only rely on himself. After a few seconds of battle of wills, Briggs turned and left the room.


“You can proceed,” Draco said charitably. He really hated how Potter perked up at the solicitor leaving.


“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.” He even turned twice as polite, the git. “We were at the point where you wanted to explain how you could have not noticed the fact that the dagger was missing, when we specifically told you to check.”


“There are couple of dozens different knives and daggers on that wall, and I've never really liked any of them, so I just didn't pay attention to them. No better explanation than that.”


“When was the last time you are absolutely sure it was there?”


“I told you, months ago. In May, perhaps. You can check with my secretary about the Duke's visit.”


The younger Auror nodded and put the other bag before him. “Do you know what this is?”


Draco frowned. It was some kind of letter and judging by the handwriting, it was written by his late wife. “Astoria's letter,” he said and pulled it closer to read. It was dated February 2005, shortly before their marriage had gone completely haywire.


“Have you seen it before?”


Draco didn't answer. He read it through and then he read it again. Then he just sat and stared and thought that Astoria couldn't possibly have written it. It had to be some kind of a sick joke; the idea of this letter being genuine was too horrible to contemplate. But of course, it was genuine. Of course it was. It would be so much like Astoria. Draco would be a fool to think that she wouldn't have done it.


He felt his face contort into an ugly mask of hatred. One moment he was sitting down, gazing at this testament of her final betrayal from the grave, and then he found himself standing, looking at the broken chair he had flung against the wall.



*



My love,

I cannot meet you tonight. I am sorry to do this to you again, but D is beastly - he found two of your letters. I am so sorry about it! I just forgot all about them and left them in my top drawer by mistake! So silly of me!

We had a huge row just now, I don't think I've ever seen him so angry! I tried to tell him that it was just that one time and only two letters, but he saw right through me. At least he doesn't know about that other thing; I think he'd kill me if he knew. I told him that the healer said it was him, not me. Thank god you aren't trying to impregnate me, I can't even think what would happen if I had to worry about two people doing that! Three abortions is more than enough!

Anyway, please don't be mad about not seeing me! I think it's best to take a break for a while. I'll let you know when it's safe to meet again.

Love, your A.



*



'Please leave,' she mouthed to Harry. Thankfully, Harry did.


Ginny wasn't sure if she should step closer to him or not. Draco was staring blindly at the wall, his rigid back turned to her, slightly panting. She waited. After a while, his shoulders stilled and Draco lowered his head.


“Won't you leave?” he asked, still not looking at her.


“No.”


Pause.


“All right.”


She stepped closer to him. From this angle, she saw that he wasn't angry any more, just sad and spent. For a moment, she thought that there were tears in his eyes, but when he turned, he just looked tired. He came back to the table and sat.


“Sorry about the chair.”


“That's all right.”


“I can't believe she did that.”


“Did what?”


“Lied to me like that. She could have told me she didn't want children, but instead she...” he trailed off and was quiet for a while. “We started trying four years ago, and after a year we went to the private clinic for tests. Later she told me that I couldn't have children.” He clenched his fists for a moment, then relaxed them.


“And you believed her?”


He shrugged. “It was likely. Malfoys are terribly inbred; we've been marrying our French cousins for centuries.”


When Ginny sat down next to him and tried to take his hand, Draco turned to her, grabbed both of hers and spoke rapidly, his words angry and bitter.


“And I told her about it. Told her about fearing it could be the problem and she used it against me. A decade! I gave this woman ten years of my life and now I hate every moment of it! Now even the little that was good and beautiful in it is soiled by her ugly lie. I don't think I will ever forgive her. I will never forgive her for killing at least three of my babies! She knew how much I wanted children and she did that!”


Ginny was rubbing the backs of his hands with her thumbs, but she didn't think he even noticed. Then, abruptly, he raised his head, and looked her in the eye.


“I didn't kill her, you know.”


There was a moment of silence but it wasn't so she could see the truth in his eyes, rather, it was to make him believe that she wasn't just placating him.


“I know.”


At hearing her admission, Draco dropped his gaze and sighed. “Sometimes I wonder what could have happened, if I never went to that blasted party Daphne had hosted? What if I had never broken up with you?”


He looked at her and for a while they were both silent. Ginny tried to imagine how it could have been, tried to remember how she had felt about him back then but it was difficult. She had been such a child.


“This,” he gestured between them, “was the best part. Us. Talking, before or after. Comfortable silences. I could very well have fallen in love with you.”


Ginny smiled. “And I could have fallen in love with you.”


“No.” He shook his head, looking at her gently. “No, Ginevra, you couldn't have. That was why I broke up with you.”


Ginny raised her eyebrows. “You don't know that! You can't possibly know that, even I don't know that.”


Draco smirked at her a bit sadly. “I know because I remember how you smiled at your precious Harry bloody Potter.” There was no real malice in his voice. “You never smiled that way at me.”


Ginny thought a bit and then said, “Perhaps I didn't. But we still could have tried. Now we'll never know.”


Their contemplative mood was interrupted by the opening door. Ginny surreptitiously tried to draw back her hand, stood and walked to the opposite side of the room. Ginny wasn't sure if Harry noticed the hand-holding or not, but thankfully he didn't comment.


“Are you ready to proceed?”


Draco nodded, seemingly composed, if a bit aloof, again.


“I am sorry if it causes you any pain, Mr. Malfoy, but we must speak about the letter.” Harry sat down across from Draco, who nodded. “I take it this was the first time you saw the letter?”


“Yes.”


“Do you confirm it being written by your wife and the D mentioned is you?”


“Yes.”


“Do you know who that letter was written to?”


“No, but I suspect that Pansy does.”


Harry nodded. “There is a mention of another letters. What was it about?”


Draco's gaze turned hard. “I don't care to remember the details, but it was a love letter of erotic content.”


“How did you come across it?”


Draco shrugged. “Found it in her drawer when I was looking for something else. A quill maybe?” He shrugged as if dismissing the matter. “I confronted her, she tried to assure me that it was just that one time and she regretted it. But regret wasn't something Astoria was good at, so I didn't buy it. That was the beginning of the end of our marriage. She refused to name her lover but promised to dump him, and for a while, I thought that she had.” He paused, and for a moment it seemed that he was finished, but then he added, “Soon I discovered that whatever she did, I couldn't find it in me to trust her anymore. No matter how hard I tried, we just didn't get along, and in August she asked for a divorce.”


“Why didn't you grant her with it? Because of the prenuptial agreement?”


“What do you think?” Draco sneered.


“And it was the same agreement that was in the safe at the night of the murder?”


Draco didn't need to answer.



*



Ginny was sitting in Harry's seat again. She knew it annoyed him, so she grinned and swirled in the chair from side to side. When she saw the eyebrows gathering at the bridge of Harry's nose though, she quickly stood. “All right, all right! Sorry.”


Ginny smiled unrepentantly as she scrambled over to the hard wooden chair on the other side of the desk. “Do you think he killed her?” she asked to divert his attention.


“I don't know, Ginny. I really don't know. I actually would have arrested him yesterday, if it weren't for the fact that it looks as if someone's really working hard to incriminate him.”


“You mean Pansy with her insinuations, and the letter and dagger from the stables?”


Harry nodded. “That too.” Before she could ask, he continued, “Now, what do we know about the alibis?”


She thought back. “Higgs, Nott and Flint played until almost three. Nott said that Blaise left rather later than earlier, about one-ish or past half, but he couldn't be sure.” Ginny suddenly started fidgeting. “You know, when I was talking to them, something strange occurred to me. It looks like they all want Malfoy to be guilty! Either they strongly suspect that he is, or they just want him to take the blame. Nott definitely doesn't like him, although he tried to play it cool. And Higgs was even weirder. Somehow I got a feeling that he's afraid of Malfoy.”


“Any idea why?”


“Not a clue.”


“And Flint?”


“Total indifference as if he doesn't know the guy at all. I think he's few years older, so it might be just that, but I still asked him about the all-around-animosity towards Malfoy, but he claimed ignorance.”


“What did Nott tell you about it?”


“It didn't occur to me to ask him, since he was the first one I interviewed, but I don't think he would have talked anyway. He's as tight-lipped as scallop.”


Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So, alibis? So far only the gamblers have it, right?”


“Yes,” Ginny sighed, “but only Malfoy is lying about the absence of his.”


“You said before that he wouldn't harm a woman for the sake of hurting her, but what if he had a really good incentive? Revenge or money? If we ignore the passionate side of the crime, could he have hired someone in your opinion?”


“Because of the money? I don't think so. He's rich enough, he wouldn't really have noticed half his fortune disappearing.”


“And yet, he's petty enough to refuse her divorce because of that money.”


“Yes, but it's not the same as murdering her.”


“True. What about any other motives?”


“I don't know. He's a proud man, could he kill to save his face? To avoid a scandal or out of revenge? I'm really not sure. Maybe.” She shrugged. “But we can't ignore the fact that it wasn't a professional who killed Astoria and I don't think Malfoy is one.”


Harry nodded, “But we also can't ignore his pathetic efforts at securing an alibi by any means necessary.”


“Or maybe he's just a man slut and was out there trying to purchase some sex,” Ginny sneered.


“Yes, because he just wanted to give his whole fortune away to his wife.” At her uncomprehending Harry elaborated. “Remember the pre-nup? According to the document the spouse caught cheating would lose a lot more than half of the money. If Astoria cheated, she wouldn't get anything, and if it were Malfoy, he'd retain only a third of the money.” He shook his head. “If he didn't know Astoria was as good as dead, it would've been really stupid of him to hire a hooker.”


Ginny's shoulders slumped dejectedly. Despite Malfoy being a prick, she really didn't want him to be a murderer. Oblivious to her mood, Harry continued.


“And, do you remember how he asked me if I thought he was guilty? Remember the phrase he used?” Ginny didn't. “He didn't ask me if I thought he killed her. His exact words were, 'Are you saying I would have her killed?'.” Her mouth shaped a silent 'oh'. Harry went on. “Besides, he's known as a ruthless businessman and many people seem to be genuinely afraid of him. And he hated his wife.” Harry raised his eyebrows in challenge.


For a beat Ginny didn't know what to say. “Wait, but what about the letters? If Draco had definite proof of his wife's infidelity, couldn't he have divorced her without heavy reprecussions?”


“He might have destroyed them in a jealous fit or something, and later she would have been an idiot to provide him with any more proof.”


Ginny nodded slowly. “And now we have to ask Pansy about the identity of Astoria's lover. Maybe he knows something.” Ginny paused. “Maybe he even did it.”


At that moment there was a knock and the door opened.


“We uncovered another body at the outskirts of Malfoy property.”



*



“What do we know?” Harry asked the Medi-Auror standing at the examination table.


“It seems that he died the same night Mrs. Malfoy did, but it's been three days, and I can't really be more specific than that. Probably somewhere between 9 pm and 4 am. Killed with the single stab to his neck and bled to death in a matter of minutes. Apparently, there was no struggle, the killer must have been a tall and strong fella and he probably surprised the victim. I actually have yet to check, but I'd bet half my holiday on it being the same weapon that killed Mrs. Malfoy.”


Ginny and Harry were startled as someone burst into the room.


“The dead guy matches the description of Whittaker Walters!”


They turned to see Pierce, an over eager Auror, fresh out of the Academy. “His girlfriend reported him missing just this morning,” the young man rushed out, panting for air.


Harry looked as if he was exercising his will not to yell. After a moment he said patiently, “Auror Beacombe, you don't really have to shout, do you?”


“Sorry, Harry.” The other Auror grinned unrepentantly.


Harry's smile was a bit plastic.


“That's all right, Pierce.” He patted the other man on the back. “I'm giving you an ample opportunity to exercise your tact and good manners over the next half an hour or so. Please, be so kind as to go and talk to the girlfriend. Then get her here for identification and questioning.”


Ginny could only look at Pierce in sympathy as she trailed behind the unwavering CI. Harry remained stoically deaf to the man's pleas.


*


It took Ginny two hours to trail Walter's actions the night he died, but it took only fifteen minutes to discover that the man had been a bad apple.


“Oh, Witty Wally was always just in or out of Azzy,” a man, who used to be mates with Walters, said. “He wasn't terribly lucky, you know...”


The pub owner snorted at the drunkard's assessment.


“Yes, he was terribly unlucky,” the wizard said waving his wand over the glasses he was drying. “I'll give you an example. When Wally wanders in a dark alley, someone gets mugged nearby and Wally gets arrested. When he gets lost and stumbles into an empty house by accident, it happens to be robbed straight after. Our Wally is, naturally, innocent but takes the blame.”


“Oh it's that kind of unlucky!” Ginny nodded in mock realisation.


“Exactly.” The barman grinned. “Once he even had the misfortune to start a business with the wrong sort. It turned out that the products he had purchased for selling had been stolen goods. He had no idea, of course.” The man put an emphasis on 'no'. “And now he was even killed most unfortunately near another crime scene.” He raised his index finger as if suddenly a really good idea came to him. “I think it should be engraved on his grave stone – Terribly Unlucky in Life and Death.”


Ginny spent a bit time listening different patrons regaling the Wally-stories to reconstruct the victim's movements at the night of his death. She got a bit more depressed in every pub she visited, until in the fourth her mood plummeted even more. It seemed that they would be making an arrest as soon as she got back into the Ministry.



*



“What have you got?” Ginny asked as she plumped down on a hard visitor's chair in Harry's office. She was too wiped out to fight for the best seat.


Harry sat down behind his desk and pulled out a file from a messy pile. “Nothing about the murder, but it seems that Walters was one of the Azkaban's common residents.”


Ginny sighed. “I know, the guys at the pub already told me. What was he jailed for?“


“This and that but mostly burglary.” Harry continued. “His girlfriend thinks that there was something big going on. Walters had been elated for the past week, telling her how he was planning to take her to the Bahamas or Spain or somewhere expensive. It seems that he was planning to become rich very soon.”


“Everything fits,” Ginny said sadly. “The last time Wally was seen alive was at half past eleven in the Mad Cow Pub. He left with a man.” For the umpteenth time she sighed. “Guess, whose description it matches?” At Harry's inquiring she continued, “Youngish, more fit or thin rather than stocky, over six feet, slender hands with a signet ring. He was wearing a hooded robe, but one of the patrons noticed a shiny blond lock.”


Harry's brows furrowed. “Rather apt description for a late hour in a pub, isn't it?”


“It seems that the tart was observing him,” she said with distaste. “He stood out, she'd said. Personally, I think she was just feeling slutty.”


“So you don't think she was feeding you a false clue?”


Ginny shook her head. “Sadly, no.”


*


“Mr. Malfoy, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence, if you do not mention when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.


Draco could only watch dumbly as Potter blathered on, but couldn't concentrate. He was thinking of what he was going to do with his new-found freedom before it al went pear-shaped.


“I had plans for when I was going to be single again,” he said when the Auror finished his tirade. He took a tumbler. “Drink anyone?” Neither of the Aurors answered, so he only poured one glass of cognac to himself. “I wanted to go to Egypt and then Asia. I was going to take a long, long vacation; travel wherever the fancy took me. I haven't had a decent time off for over three years and the holidays before that were more exhausting than anything. Time away with Astoria was always exhausting.”


It had been three days since Astoria's death and he had almost begun hoping that he would get out of it without a scratch. He would pay off his accomplice and disappear for a while. Draco didn't even care if anyone got arrested or not, he felt that he was just finished with the whole mess. Finished with his marriage.


He gulped down a shot and turned to the Aurors. The four-eye was looking at him as if he was uncomprehending what Draco wanted to say, which was expected. He had always had that slightly daft look about him, but the on the redhead's face made him realise that they were waiting for a reply.


“I'm sorry, I must have zoned out,” he said. “You asked something?”


Ginevra's voice, when it came, was low; almost a whisper. “Do you confess to the murders then?”


It took a moment to process it. “Murders?” Draco paused. “As in... More than one?” For a while Draco just stood, looking at the Aurors who were looking back at him with professionally blank expressions. “Who?”


His shock must have been obvious since for a change, Potter gave him a straight answer.


“Whittaker Walters's body was found in the ditch near the south gates of the Manor,” Potter said.


The part of him that wasn't having a breakdown was annoyed. “Who the hell is Whitt-” Draco stilled as the realisation dawned. “Ah.” He looked down at his carpet. Nice greenish blue carpet, that. He nodded. “Of course.” And then he collapsed back in his armchair and laughed.



TBC

CHAPTER 3


“Why didn't anyone find him earlier?” Ginny asked when they were on their way to the Interrogation room number four where Draco was currently being held. “The area had been searched before, hadn't it?”


“Nearly all of the body was under a heap of dead leaves,” Harry explained. “They only found it because the wind had blown a part of the leaves away.”


“How unlucky for the killer.”


They reached the interrogation room and entered.


“Mr Malfoy,” Harry said and sat down opposite the blond. “I trust you have had time to think about what you were going to tell us about your relationship with Mr Walters.”


As Ginny was seated against the solicitor, she saw Malfoy almost in profile. His pose looked entirely natural and almost relaxed. His tone, when he answered, was cool and composed. If not for the eerie stillness of his body, she would never have thought that he even realised the seriousness of being charged with two first degrees. His composure surprised Ginny after the hysterical display they had witnessed at the manor.


“There was no relationship since I don't even know who the hell he was,” he said calmly.


For some reason his answer made her worry.


“Now, now, Mr Malfoy,” Harry said almost teasingly, “we have a witness who saw you conversing with Whittaker Walters between eleven and half past eleven at the night of the murder. How can you claim that you don't know him?” He passed a photo over the desk. “You might have known him as Witty Wally.”


Draco barely glanced at the picture. “Never seen him before.”


“It's useless to deny it. We have a witness.”


“That's impossible! Who is it?” Draco demanded, leaning over the table to stare at Harry.


The men held each others' eyes for a long moment. Then Harry turned to Ginny and said, “Would you invite Ms Cantu in, Auror Weasley?”


Ginny wasn't really sure it was a wise thing to do. After all, the woman had only seen a hooded person in the pub, but if the idea was to get Malfoy to crack, maybe it was worth a shot. Harry had told her earlier to take her time, so she went to the coffee room and chatted a bit with co-workers before fetching the witness.


When she returned with the brunette woman, the silence was thick with tension and Ginny surmised that Harry hadn't gotten his confession. This wasn't good. Sill, Harry stood, appearing confident, and turned to the newcomer.


“Thank you for coming, Ms Cantu.” He paused and it was clear that he wanted to continue, but the woman interrupted him with an excited chatter.


“Oh, Mr Malfoy! I saw your picture in the paper just this week! It was such a pretty picture too-” Then she seemed to remember the reason for the picture appearing in the Prophet in the first place and her face changed into what was obviously a fake pity. “I am so sorry about your wife, sir! So very sorry.”


“Ms Cantu, do you remember the reason we invited you here?” Harry tried to remind the woman she had a suspect to identify; he was still somehow hoping that the woman would realise who it was.


“Oh yes, yes, of course!” Ms Cantu said and, to Ginny's horror, looked at Mr Briggs, the solicitor. “But his hair is all wrong, Mr Potter! Much too dark and short too, I told you, the man was blond! Quite light, in fact.”


Ginny felt her eyes bug out as she took turns to goggle at all the people in the room. The corners of Draco's mouth were twitching and his representative's face was a mix of shock and mirth that he was trying to hide behind the mask of professionalism.


“Thank you, Ms Cantu,” Harry pressed through his teeth.


As the useless witness was escorted out, Ginny gestured to Harry and they stepped out of the room. Then, mustering all the professionalism that she was able to, she said, “I want to talk to him alone.”


Harry's eyes narrowed. “No.”


“Please, Harry. I know what I'm doing.” She tried to convey with her eyes that she was reliable and professional. She wanted him to see that he could trust her, but by the defeated sigh Harry gave her, she knew that all he saw was the pleading.


“You are getting in too deep, Ginny.”


“No, Harry, I'm not. And I know what my instincts-”


“These are not that kind of instincts you should rely on.” He was holding her upper arms and his face was really too close to hers. “I know what you think of him, but you don't know what he's really capable of, do you? What if it turns out he's guilty, eh? What will you do then, Ginny?”


She didn't answer. She couldn't.


Harry released her and sighed. “What did you have in mind?” he asked.


Ginny took a moment to compose herself and said, “You are right, Harry. I don't really know him. But that is exactly why I can be impartial! Anyway, I just want to tell him that I believe in him. That he can trust me and that we'll sort it all out if he tells us what his connection to Walters was.” She shrugged. “If he's innocent he will tell me, I'm sure of it.”


Harry didn't look convinced but nodded anyway. He opened the door and asked the solicitor to step out for a moment. Ginny waited Draco to exchange some words with his representative and then they were alone. She sat down against him.


“Regardless of what the stupid woman says, we know it was you in the pub with Walters. But I told you I believed you were innocent, and I still do.”


“Does Potter?”


“I'm not sure, but he won't try to convict you just because he doesn't like you either. Tell me why you were meeting Walters. What did you discuss? Did you promise him any money? Was he blackmailing you?”


Draco was staring at her with such intensity that Ginny almost looked away, but it was important to show him that he could trust her, so she hang on. For a moment Ginny actually thought that he was going to tell her, but the next moment his gaze cooled and he said, “I told you the truth, I never knew the man.”


Ginny took his hands in hers, but he pulled himself free.


“Draco, please, I know you can help us catch whoever killed Astoria and-”


“No, I can't!”


She startled at his harsh tone that brought an end not only to her babbling but also to her will to continue. Draco's were filled with hate and loathing so intense that she shivered.


“I don't care who killed her, Weasley,” he said through clenched teeth. “Either release me or escort me to the cell.”


And that was that.


*


Harry decided to hold Malfoy as long as the law permitted. He was taking turns with Evan Stevenson in interrogating him, but Malfoy only either cracked spiteful jokes, or stared glumly at the wall; they weren't getting anywhere.


Although Harry didn't pull Ginny off the case, neither did he allow her to see Malfoy. He didn't think it would be constructive and it seemed that she understood.


Early the next morning Ginny and Pansy were again sitting in his office, the latter in the visitor's chair. This time she had come alone.


“I wonder if you could tell us about the letters, Mrs Zabini.”


“The letters?” Pansy's face was a picture of polite confusion, but her hands twitched almost inconspicuously over her handbag. “And call me Pansy,” she added absently.


“Pansy,” Harry nodded in acknowledgement “Mr Malfoy told us you know about them. The letters Mrs Malfoy wrote to her lover?”


“Oh. Those letters.” She took a deep breath. “It doesn't matter much now, does it? That she had a lover? Many of us... I mean, a lot of married people do that. Have lovers?” Her voice rose in pitch and broke off. “Malfoy probably had several and-” She cut herself off. “She didn't mean to hurt anyone.” she finished lamely.


“We are not here to judge anyone, Pansy,” Harry said soothingly. “We just want to know about the letters and if there were more lovers than the one she was writing to.”


Harry carefully avoided telling her that they had no idea of the identity of the lover, hoping that Pansy would not get it into her head that she had to protect the memory of her friend or the man she was sleeping with.


“Oh!” She seemed startled by a novel idea. “You don't think Draco killed them both in a fit of rage, do you? Do you think that the poor man you found in the ditch was her lover?”


Harry more sensed than saw Ginny startle, it was clear she hadn't even thought about the possibility. “No, we don't think that Whittaker Walters was the type to capture Astoria Malfoy's fancy.”


“Really? Sometimes she took fancy to really weird people.” She shivered. “Are you going to arrest Malfoy?”


Harry didn't think it made any sense to hide it from her. “As a matter of fact, we already have.”


Her eyes widened. “Oh! Do you really think he did it?” she blurted out in somewhat higher pitch. “I mean,” she cleared her throat, “of course you do.”


“It's not as if we can keep him-” Ginny started, but at Harry's sharp glance, shut up.


Harry continued, “Please, Pansy, we would really appreciate if you told us about the letters.”


“Of course.” She was polite and in control again. “She wrote to her lover because they didn't dare to meet very often. After Malfoy found the letters, they ceased all contact for some time, but as far as I know, they never really ended their relationship. Astoria was still hoping for a divorce on equal terms.”


“You mean she was hoping to get her share of the money?”


Pansy nodded. “It's not as if Malfoy didn't have any lovers, he was just being very careful.”


“Tell us about Astoria's lover.”


“I don't really know much.” She took a deep breath. “I'm not sure when exactly it happened, but a couple of years into the marriage, Astoria grew dissatisfied with how the things were between her and Malfoy.” Pansy paused for a moment looking at the table top. “It seemed that he was not what she had expected him to be and no wonder, they married very young. Anyway, I think it might have been somewhere during the summer of... 2002 maybe? They were travelling in Italy and somehow they met without Malfoy being there. I don't know the details. Astoria never told me exactly who it was, but I believe that they were genuinely in love. I think that it was then that Astoria asked for divorce for the first time, but Draco wouldn't hear of it, of course.”


“Why do you think he refused if she didn't love him any more?”


“I don't think she told him she was in love. I think that the man she was in love with was poor and Astoria abhorred being poor. I think she wanted Malfoy to provide for her even after the divorce.”


“Were there any other lovers?”


“No! Astoria was,” she thought a moment, “rather loyal. Where it mattered.”


Pansy grew quiet, reminiscing. She was staring at the table top again, but not as before - seeking strength or carefully choosing her words. It was as if she was seeing something that was no longer there. The woman looked sad. After a minute or so, she raised her head.


“Auror Potter... Harry,” she added his first name more quietly. “And Ginny,” Pansy looked at her for a moment. “I can call you Ginny, can't I?” When Ginny nodded, the other woman continued. “I... As long as we are speaking freely and in confidence... We are speaking in confidence, right? I want to make a confession. There's something my husband doesn't know and I'd like it to stay that way. You won't tell Blaise, will you?” She looked at both of them imploringly.


“No, Pansy, we don't need to tell him things that are told in confidence, but you must understand that if it is in any way connected to the murder, or if it's in any way illegal-”


“No, no! It's nothing like that! It's about my alibi.” She drew a deep breath. “You see, I wasn't alone that night. The night of the murder. When I realised that Astoria was once again not coming, I... frankly I thought she was with her lover, and I was really bored- and I Flooed to a friend.” She glanced at Harry, as if gauging his reaction, but he made sure he gave nothing away. “An intimate friend... he came over and we spent several hours together. He left around four.”


“What about your husband? Do you know when he returned?”


“Blaise? No. We have separate rooms and he always comes and goes as he pleases. He's a very good husband, but we don't keep tabs on each other. It keeps the relationship fresh.”


“You do understand that we will have to speak to your friend too?”


“Yes, of course. That is why I didn't say anything before, I had to ask him... it's Stephen Cornfoot.”


*


Harry hated to see Ginny upset. She was sitting at his desk looking morosely at the Malfoy file, but he didn't think it was the reason she felt down.


“What is it?” he asked tiredly.


Ginny sighed. “It's silly.” She was quiet for a while, but Harry knew Ginny would spill soon and she did. “It's just that they seemed so... perfect together. Blaise and Pansy. Supportive.” She shrugged. “I really wasn't expecting Pansy to be unfaithful and she looked very much unconcerned as if she really believed that she had the best marriage ever.”


“Perhaps in the world of aristocracy it is a great marriage.”


“It does make one wonder.“


“What really went on inside of the Manor's gates?” he finished for Ginny.


“Yes. I mean... We have Higgs's opinion of how it started, Blaise's, then Pansy's account and the tid-bits provided by the elves and Malfoy himself, but all the pieces don't really fit that well.”


Harry nodded, he knew exactly what Ginny meant. However, he doubted that they would suss it out right that moment anyway. He was leafing through the files he was just brought not ten minutes ago.


“Do you remember this Cornfoot? He went to Hogwarts in my year, but I can't recall anything about him.”


“I think he was in Ravenclaw. I had no idea he even knew Pansy.”


“What do you know about him?”


“Nothing much. I only remember him because I had to supervise some detentions for professor McGonagall. Terry Boot and several other seventh years from different houses got caught gambling for money while skipping classes. I think Cornfoot was one of them.”


“Gambling again? Cards?”


“Probably.” Ginny didn't seem to be too sure.


There was a knock and Harry looked up. “Come in.”


A handsome brunet man popped his head in. “Hi, I'm Stephen Cornfoot. I got your owl, Auror Potter.”


“Yes, Mr Cornfoot, please come on in.”


*


“What do you know about Stephen Cornfoot?” Harry asked.


“Stephen? Not much. Ambassador's son, gambler, always broke. You should ask Blaise about him, they've been friends since Hogwarts, I think.”


Draco Malfoy glanced at the door. He had dark circles under his eyes but otherwise, he seemed just the same as always. If Harry hadn't gone to school with him, he might have missed the obvious stress signs in Malfoy's posture.


“Was he friends with Astoria?” Stevenson asked.


“Astoria? Not that I know of. Of course, we all mingled in the same circles, but if they did know each other more intimately, I have no knowledge of it.”


Harry thought he could detect slight bitterness in the man's tone. “What about Pansy? How well does she know Stephen Cornfoot?”


“Again, I have no idea.” Malfoy stared at the door while continuing, “Since Stephen plays cards with Blaise, Pansy might know him better than I, but I don't associate with Pansy either, so I wouldn't know.” He turned to Harry. “Why this sudden interest in Cornfoot?”


“His name has come up,” Harry said non-committally. “I've got an impression that you don't get along with the Zabinis? Why?”


It seemed that Malfoy had learned to pick his fights, because although his mouth formed a thin line at the non-answer he received, he shrugged and answered Harry's.


“I dated Pansy in the fifth year, I need no more reason than that.”


“What about the bet in the seventh year? From what I heard at least Blaise was involved.”


“Yes, that might have been a contributing factor to our rather chilly relationship.”


He didn't add anything more and from his poise Harry knew that was all he was going to get.


“But Pansy was your wife's friend, didn't it earn her at least some measure of affection?”


For a beat Malfoy's face clouded over before the same impenetrable wall of polite indifference slipped over his features.


“Not in my book, no.”


“What about Terence Higgs then?” Evan asked. “Tell us about his relationship with everybody.”


The blond sighed. “The same as Cornfoot. I don't really know him, expect that a few years back he was borrowing money from Astoria. A lot of money, close to half a million galleons. I think he had gambling debts, or maybe he was also trying to finance his future winnings.” His lips formed a scowl, but it seemed more habitual than malicious. “Why she gave him the money I don't know and don't care but I stepped right in and stopped it. Made him give back the most of it. After that he stayed clear of me.”


“Made him how?” Evan asked.


Malfoy blinked slowly. “We... talked. I explained to him that it was in his best interests to return it. It wasn't that hard, Terence was... understanding. And I guess he didn't need that money so desperately anyway.”


“Would a half million really harm your fortune so much?”


“No, but I didn't want to set the precedent.”


Harry exchanged looks with Evan and then said, “All right Mr Malfoy, as Mr Briggs has told us numerous times already, we cannot hold you any longer so you can leave. For now.”


*


Terence Higgs was drumming his fingers on the edge of the table when Harry came in.


“Mr Higgs, what can I help you with?”


“You let Malfoy go. Why?”


Harry paused on his way to the desk. “I don't think we owe you any explanations, Mr Higgs.” He sat and shuffled some documents for a show. “May I ask you why you are interested in Mr Malfoy's situation?”


The blond man stood and started pacing. He made about three turns in the small office before stopping abruptly.


“I think I might be in danger.”


Harry's eyebrows rose. “Why do you think so?”


Higgs started moving again nervously, but after meeting the same wall for the second time, he turned back to the chair and sat down. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands.


“I...” he started, then he reached the conclusion that crossing his arms on his chest was the best option and said, “It was me that told Draco about Witty Wally.” Harry opened his mouth but Higgs intervened, “I've been living in fear since I heard about him being killed. I, of course, suspected that Malfoy was behind Astoria's murder, but only after hearing about poor Walter I realised...” He shivered.


“How did you know Mr Walters?”


“Wally?” Terence started fidgeting again. “We um... run in the same circles?” Higgs started to stand but sat back down. “Do I have to tell you?”


Harry raised his eyebrow.


“All right... um... races.”


“Horses?”


“Um... that too, but mostly...” He sighed. “House elves and cockatrices. And gnome fights.”


“Gnome fights?”


“Yes. Garden gnomes. You know, you get two aggressive males or females into the ring and... I never compete myself though! Really I don't! I just bet on them.”


Harry stared at the nervous man until he got all the details of the illegal races as well as the underground fight clubs. Then he moved the discussion back to the matter at hand.


“It was almost a year ago,” Terence said. “I just mentioned to Malfoy that I knew a bloke who knew a bloke who knew other people. I wasn't talking about killing anyone or anything like that! I was talking about selling certain goods... well... without a fuss. You know what I mean? I had no idea he would take it that far, I swear to Merlin I didn't!”


“How did you start talking about it? Did Malfoy ask you whether you knew anyone with criminal contacts?”


“Eh... well, I'm not sure. No, I don't think so. I can't remember. For the longest time I didn't even remember that I had told him about Wally in the first place, and it wasn't- I didn't mean to tell him! We were talking about other things,” he added more quietly.


As it seemed that he was finished, Harry intensified his stare and got the expected results.


Higgs blinked, a bit startled, and muttered, “He told me to return the money I had borrowed from Astoria.” He bit down on his pinky nail. “It's not as if he really needed it!” Terence exclaimed defensively. “Well, it was rather much...” He turned apologetic and gave a half-shrug.


“How much?”


“A little over five hundred.” At Harry's pointed look he elaborated, “Thousand? Malfoy could afford to lose half a million and I couldn't!”


“Did you return the money?”


Higgs nodded sullenly. “What choice did I have?”


“How?”


“What? Oh! I kind of... sold a couple of baubles.” He waved his hand dismissively. “They were grandmother's. She never even noticed them gone, she owns too much jewellery as it is.”


Harry decided to leave the nicked heirlooms and wayward grandchildren for Mrs Higgs to sort out. “Did Mr Malfoy threaten you?” he asked instead.


“Yes! No.” He shrugged again. “Well, not in so many words. But he told me about things. Things I never wanted to know... about Death Eaters and about... It wasn't anything I could have sued him for!” he finished half hurt, half indignant.


At that moment there was a knock; the door opened, and Evan gestured Harry out. When Harry returned into the room his mood was grim and Terence's scared twitching was turning less amusing and more annoying by the second.


“All right, Mr Higgs. Thank you for informing me about Walters.” He summoned his cloak from the peg in the corner and put it on.


“Bu-but... what about me? Malfoy's going to kill me! You have to assign me a bodyguard!” He looked pleadingly at Harry. “Or at least arrest me or something!”


Harry's mood got a shade darker. “Mr Higgs, Whittaker Walters has been dead for days. If the murderer had any plans to come after you because of association, you would have been dead long before we even discovered Walter's body.” And then he left, leaving Higgs gaping.


Harry had work to do. There actually was another body.


TBC

---

CHAPTER 4



Ginevra Weasley's eyes were full of sleep and her whole look resembled someone who had just been dragged out of bed. Draco couldn't help but remember how she looked just after... He stared for a bit before realising he was doing it and averted his eyes.


“We need to know where you have been since the moment you were released yesterday,” Potter interrupted Draco’s musings.


“May I inquire as to why you need to know about it?” Briggs asked. “Mr. Malfoy was released only a few hours ago with no charges.”


There was a brief argument while Draco rubbed the bridge of his nose, only half listening. A dull headache was thudding away somewhere behind his eyes. Draco just hoped there hadn't been another murder that he didn't have an alibi for.


“Now, where were we?” Potter turned back to Draco. “By your looks, Mr. Malfoy, I presume you didn't go home.”


Both Aurors gave him a critical once-over and Draco felt that even his own representative was dripping disapproval. A twinge of irritation went through him; It was ridiculous to feel so self-conscious about his appearance, but it seemed that even after being arrested and having spent over twenty-four hours in jail, he still did. Draco struggled not to drop his eyes in embarrassment. The best he managed was to stare at the wall behind the Aurors, while thinking what of his night would be harmless to admit to.


“It was about ten in the evening when I left here. I didn't feel like going home, so I went to my office, took a shower and changed. Then I went to a pub called Midget's Cabin, (it was probably about eleven by then) and sat there until half-past one. When I got tired of the place, I started walking towards the City. Blue Boar, a small place I quite like, was the next. After that… Queen’s Head? Queen’s Arms?” He shrugged. “That's where things get a bit fuzzy. It was probably the Arms, but it is somewhere near the Blue Boar, I suppose you’ll find it easily. Anyway, somehow I ended up upstairs with one of the patrons.” Draco paused, but as he felt a blush creeping up on his cheeks, he quickly continued. “A woman. Had a bit of a quarrel with her and Apparated home.” He mulled over something. “I'm pretty sure she didn't see it, or if she did, she was drunk enough to dismiss the occurrence.”


He paused again to see if this was why he was summoned to the Ministry but apparently it wasn't, so he went on.


“At the Manor, I made it to the first floor when I decided that the ugly tapestries annoyed me. So I Flooed back into the Leaky Cauldron and exited into Muggle London. Arrived somewhere in Soho, crawled from pub to pub. About an hour ago, I made it back to the Leaky, where good old Tom, Merlin forgive him, administered me Pepper-up, Anti-Hangover and Sobering potions.” Draco sighed, put-on. “Unfortunately, it only served to give me a massive headache. Can I go back and kill him?” He looked at both Aurors hopefully. At their non-answers, he gave them his fake sigh again and finished resignedly. “And that's where your young Stevenson found me.”


“We will need the full list of the pubs you went to, Mr. Malfoy,” Potter said.


Draco resisted mimicking Potter's 'Mr. Malfoy' that the Auror so religiously used in the solicitor's presence. He looked at Ginevra and almost sighed for real this time. Funny how little she talked to him lately. Half the time, she wasn't even there and when she was, she just stared at him from under her fringe with that look in her eyes... The only thing Draco could say about it was that it made him feel like crap. Like...


He was half-automatically listing all the pubs he could recall, when it hit him.


Guilty.


He felt guilt. Why the hell would he feel like that? He hadn't done anything wrong!


“All right, we'll check those places. Now, Mr. Malfoy, please tell us about your relationship with Theodore Nott.”


Draco gave a long suffering sigh.


“Why? I've already told you about half the people I know. Do you enjoy torturing me with asking about the hundred most boring wizards alive, or is he dead or what?”


The-man-who-annoyed looked grim. “Do you have any reason to think that he's dead?”


Draco blinked and chanced a look at Ginevra again. It had been two days since he had last seen her. Despite the messy hair, she looked just as beautiful as ever. The thing that bothered him was that she also looked worried. He turned to Potter.


“No. Is he dead then?”


He got his answer in the form of two identically grim looks. Suddenly, an irrational wave of anger hit Draco. His fists clenched and the room swam before his eyes. How dare he?! He thought that if Nott were to suddenly come back to life, he'd really be tempted to kill him all over again.


“-all right?” He suddenly heard a voice in the distance.


“You know what, Weasley?” he turned to Ginevra. “I changed my mind. I do want to catch that bastard. As grateful as I am to him for offing my dearest wife, I don't want to get blamed for it or any other murders. Ask me anything and I'll tell you everything I know.”


“Good,” Potter said. “Then start with what really happened the night of your wife's murder.”


That was not what Draco had meant exactly, but at this point, he had little to lose. “You were right about me meeting Witty Wally at the bar. We were going over the last minute details. I hired him to break into my office.”


“To get your marriage prenuptial?” Potter asked.


He more sensed than saw Ginevra's shock at the question. “Yes,” he answered. “We were together up to half-past twelve. Then I threw the wand I got from Knockturn Alley into the Thames and Apparated near the pub Ginevra saw me enter.” Draco stopped, ill-at-ease. He shouldn't have called her by her name.


“It was the wand you used for breaking into your safe?” Potter asked as if he hadn't noticed.


“Yes. Didn't want him messing with my things. I only needed someone to break the Manor's basic wards and take the documents and whatever else took his fancy. I disarmed all the more dangerous wards for the night.” He saw Potter nodding to himself as if the man had already guessed what had happened. Draco continued, “Normally, there should have been some of my acquaintances in the pub. That's why I chose it... But, as no one I knew was present, I tried to hook up with...” He glanced at Ginevra but dropped his gaze, a bit embarrassed.


“At what time was Walters supposed to go in?” Potter went on.


“At one. Astoria would have been in bed by that time, her own or not. And house elves, as you know, were ordered to stay clear of the area.”


“Which means that when Walters came, Astoria must have already been dead and the place crawling with our people,” Ginevra said. “He must have stumbled upon the killer before he even entered. You didn't lie about nothing being taken, did you?”


Draco shook his head once. “How did Nott die?”


“He was Avadaed in his study during the night,” was all Ginevra said. “Would you tell us about Theodore Nott now? What do you know of his character and his relationships with other people?”


Draco thought a bit. “At school, he was always very quiet, a good student and mate, but very introverted. You never really knew what he was thinking, which of course worked out fairly well for him since he was self-serving in the extreme. Always siding with power. And he had amazing instincts! I still marvel at how even back when Potty here was walking around with a sad and pasty face, Nott had already known the Dark Lord would fall. I was half tempted to come over just because of it.”


“You did come over, Draco,” Ginevra retorted.


“Yes, but not because Nott was on your side.” His tone implied that she was a moron.


“Yes, tell us about that, Malfoy,” she said, genuine curiosity in her tone.


“That is not what's important now, is it?” he replied coolly, all mirth gone.


“What relationship did Theodore Nott have with other people?” the male Auror cut in.


“I assume you've already seen his family?” Draco asked. “Uncle and aunt and the rest? Cold people. Theo never really talked about them at school, so I don't think they had a very warm relationship. Friends? Theo only had them on the basis of exchanging services or information. Higgs might know more, but I doubt it. Nott always was a dark horse.”


“Anything else? Any girlfriends?”


Draco shook his head; he had no idea.


“All right. Now, Mr. Malfoy, we need to know about your intimate relations with your wife.”


“What?” Draco said a bit harshly.


“We are not asking out of personal curiosity,” Ginevra intervened quietly. “This is something we really need to know.”


After a moment, Draco nodded curtly. “What exactly are you asking?”


“What we are trying to do is to get a general idea about what type of person Astoria might be interested in. Part of this information is what she liked in bed.”


Draco smirked. “That doesn't sound too general to me.” He leaned back in his chair, outwardly relaxed. “Astoria liked different things, was creative. But if you are asking what type of person she would enjoy the most, the answer is someone she could manipulate. It took me a while to understand how power-hungry the woman was, but when I did... I think she took her first lover after I sussed her out. When she discovered that I wasn't willing to dance to her fiddle, she turned somewhere else for it.”


“And did she like to play power games in bed?” the male Auror asked.


“No, she didn't like...” Draco stopped as the realisation dawned. “But she did with other people, didn't she?” He raised his hand. “No, whatever you know or think you know, don't tell me. The answer to your question is that she never played those types of games with me and I didn't think she liked them.”


Potter nodded. “When was it that she first asked for a divorce? When you, as you say, 'sussed her out'?”


Draco frowned. “No. I don't think she really wanted to divorce. Not unless it made her a wealthy woman. She only started talking about it after I found those letters in 2005 and things got real bad.”


“Pansy told us that Astoria had been in love with the person she was writing to since 2002.”


Draco laughed. “In love? Ridiculous. Would she have waited three years to ask for the divorce if she had really been in love?”


“What about those clothes?” Ginevra asked. “The ones she said you destroyed?”


“Me? She said I did it?” Draco's voice was full of incredulity, but really, he didn't even know why he was so surprised, it was such an Astoria-like thing to do! “Of course she did,” he answered his own question. “But how did you hear about it? It was ages ago!” He frowned. “She sliced them herself one day, as a part of a desperate crying fit when I refused to take her on an unscheduled holiday trip.” Draco shook his head. “And when I still refused to yield, she probably ran to one of her lovers to cry about how dreadfully I was treating her. I bet that the person who told you about it is the lover. Why else would they still remember something like that?”


“Unfortunately, it was Pansy who told us.”


“Ah. Of course she would remember. She hates me.”


“We noticed,” Potter said sardonically.


“Do you know why?” Ginevra asked.


Draco looked from one Auror to the other. “You know, I've always thought that it was because we used to date at school, but now...” He paused to think. “It was the fifth year and we were practically children then. The break-up was quite amicable. We weren't in love with each other, but we certainly didn't hate each other either until Astoria came into play.” He glowered at the table top. “She must have turned Pansy against me at some point and I didn't even care enough to notice.”


“Why on Earth would Astoria do that?” Ginevra asked.


Draco's lips twisted in a mocking smile. “Because she could? Because it was fun? Who knows?”


*


She was wearing a lovely light dress that would have made so many other girls look pasty but Astoria looked beautiful in anything she wore. Maybe it was because she was happy. “I love you,” he said.


“I know.” She laughed happily. “I love you too.”


They twirled among all the other couples, but Draco felt as if they were all alone on the dance floor.


“Everybody is watching.” Astoria looked embarrassed, but even embarrassment looked good on her.


“I know.” He smiled. “Don't you love being the centre of attention?”


“You do.”


Draco smiled. “True.” She knew him so well.


*


“So, junior Auror,” Harry Potter said, “tell me, what do we know about Nott's murder?”


Ginny sighed. It was late evening; they had been questioning the witnesses, aka suspects, most of the day. By the end of the day, Ginny was so sick and tired of the grey walls of the Auror Headquarters that she'd invited Harry to Floo into her kitchen for the customary round-up and brainstorming session.


“He was having his friends over,” she started her revision. “There was a lot of drinking, dancing and a fair share of gambling. At about two o'clock, Nott disappeared into his study and some guests think he'd got a Floo call and Mrs. Rubleynikoff thinks she heard Malfoy's name being said behind the study door. Aside from that, no one knows anything about what went on behind the closed door. About half an hour later, Higgs remembered that they should have a host somewhere and when he went looking, he found him dead in his armchair near the fireplace. There are no apparent signs of violence and our people will verify the Avada curse.”


“Your conclusions?”


Ginny sighed. “Either the killer is one of the guests or someone who actually Flooed in.”


“The simplest explanation-”


“Is often the correct one, I know. Let's see... Higgs kills him and then 'finds' the body? Flint was out of the count by then, sprawled on the couch, drunk.”


“Unless he faked it and then sneaked into the study while no one was looking.”


“Too risky a scheme to be premeditated.”


“True. But maybe it was a spur of a moment thing?” Harry shook his head and Ginny agreed. “Then there were Flint's business associates, Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Rubleynikoff.”


“Any motives for them? Gambling debts? Blackmail?”


“They are quite well-known people on the stock market. It shouldn't be too difficult to find out if they gambled more than they ought.”


“Except that then it's not connected to the Malfoy crime at all and that's too much of a coincidence for my taste, but I'll get some junior Aurors on it.”


Ginny nodded. “By their own admission, they didn't even know the Malfoys and since they've been in the country only for a couple of days, I tend to believe them.”


“Worth checking though.”


“Of course.” She thought for a moment, then continued. “Other people present were Cornfoot, both Zabinis and Alicia Ferguson, that elderly woman who apparently is a fanatic card player.”


Harry nodded. “Did anyone tell you anything interesting?”


“You were there, Harry!” Ginny exclaimed, annoyed. “Stop playing the 'experienced Auror' to my 'junior'! The only interesting thing was that Ferguson thought Higgs was a nervous goat and Nott a sleeping dragon.”


“But that is interesting, Ginny!” Harry smiled. “Anything else about anyone?”


“Why the hell is her insulting Higgs interesting?”


Harry shook his head mock-sadly. “Oh, my young and inexperienced friend!” Ginny thumped him on the arm. “Ouch!” He dropped his patronising tone. “What I meant is that Nott being the dragon was interesting. Surely you noticed?”


Ginny's frowned. “Um... Nott's a dragon that never woke up?” she asked uncertainly.


Once more, an indulgent smile lit Harry's face. “Yes,” he said. “You know the saying, before you kick a sleeping dragon, have a plan for when it wakes up? I think that someone made sure that he didn't need such a plan.”


“You think Nott knew something?”


“I think it's a definite possibility. Don't you think so, too? Evan never found his additional source of income.” Harry raised his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.


Ginny frowned. “But he was gambling. Maybe he was just cheating or very smart or something?”


“If it were true, we'd have heard about it a long ago from Higgs or someone. Nott clearly was living on at least twice his Ministry salary, Ginny. Unless-”


“Unless there's some underground gambling club no one would tell us about?”


Harry nodded, but Ginny sensed that it was actually a novel thought to him.


“That's certainly possible,” he said. “Wherever he got his money, there is no official record of it. He got it either in cash or in something that could be sold easily.”


“So...” Ginny was thinking aloud. “What we have to do now, is find out if Nott was distributing anything to anywhere on regular basis and try to find that hypothetical club.”


“Right,” Harry said. “If there is that kind of club, I bet Higgs knows.”


“And if Higgs knows, we'll know.” Ginny smiled. Harry smiled back. “You want one more cup before you go?”


*


The next morning Ginny and Harry were knocking on Higgs' door at the Magical Research Laboratories. There was no answer. Instead, they heard a rustle, bang and a thump, then the sound of glass breaking, which was followed by a string of muffled curses.


When the door finally opened, Higgs was red in the face and apparently ready to kill someone. Some kind of dark protective round spectacles sat crookedly on his forehead, and his light hair was ruffled and dusty.


“What?” he barked. “I don't know anything! Unless you came to arrest me for animal torture, go away!”


“Um... What?”


Terence ignored Ginny's question, looking behind him as if listening.


“May we come in?” Harry asked.


Higgs must have heard or sensed something, because he hurriedly stepped back in and closed the door with a bang. The noise they heard next consisted of a dull metallic bang, a wood clatter and more glass shattering, along with a cry of triumph. After a moment, the door opened again and panting Higgs came out, holding a black-and-blue-spotted cat by the scruff.


“That beast!” he said with a feeling and threw the pirate-faced feline as far from him as he could. The cat landed softly on its feet and walked down the hallway with a mildly satisfied look on his snout, as if having achieved something important.


“Dirty creature,” Higgs grumbled as they all walked into his lab and closed the door.


The inside was as colourful as the noise they'd heard earlier had allowed Ginny to imagine. A huge table in the middle of the room was covered in numerous devices and appliances, the purpose of which Ginny could never even guess. The walls around it were filled with bookshelves and file cabinets. Ginny squinted at the overhead lights, which were as blinding as the desert sun.


The researcher took to cleaning some spotless spot on the table in the far corner, all the while muttering about filth and fleas.


“I thought cats were considered clean animals?” she asked Higgs.


The man looked at her incredulously. “Cats aren't clean, they are just covered with cat's spit!” He squatted down to look at some dark angular mass lying on the floor. “Ruined! Absolutely ruined!” He flailed with his hands, sighed and preformed a wandless Scourgify with a practised ease. “And I don't think you came here to discuss the finer points of feline infestation, did you? So what is it?” He stood and turned back to them.


“We know about your secret, Mr. Higgs,” Harry said, his face hard and unreadable.


“What? Wh-What secret?” Higgs' legs gave out and he sat heavily in a chair which, luckily, was just behind him.


“Just tell us, Terence, we can help you if you confess of your own free will.” Ginny assumed that Harry had assigned her the 'good Auror' role.


Higgs' face was ashen and his jaw was working but no sound came out. Neither Auror said anything, just waited. Finally, Higgs swallowed and said, “I didn't mean to! I-I-I... Well I did, but what choice did I have? So I embellished a little a-and... I needed the money and then Theo would have told Grandmother! But I didn't k-kill him!”


Twenty minutes worth of upset babbling gave them the following facts: First, while pushing accounting papers for the Ministry, Nott had noticed a couple of thousand vanishing into thin air in Research Department projects. Second, he had no problems detecting the culprit and working out a way to disguise the shortage, to which Higgs readily agreed. But then, the threat of being exposed to the family matriarch came and since then – about a year and half ago – Higgs had been supplying Nott with a small but steady side income.


“The numbers don't add up,” Ginny pointed out as they were leaving the building.


“I know. It seems that our dragon was sleeping on a lot more than one egg.”


Ginny nodded.


They were just entering the Ministry building when it hit her.


“I have to go back to Nott's flat!”


“Why?”


“Evan and I found a notebook, full of what we assumed to be gambling debts in the safe. But what if he was writing down how much everyone was paying him?”


“Very good.” Harry nodded approvingly. “Bring it with you and make sure that it's the only one.”


*


“Will I see you on Saturday?” Ginny asked.


“Why Saturday? I thought we were meeting tomorrow.” The blond sounded put out.


“We were until Parvati invited me to a sleepover. I couldn't come up with a believable excuse to say no.” Ginny shrugged. She was sitting on his lap, with his arms around her. “So, what about Saturday?”


“Can't.” Draco nibbled her ear. “You could have told them you needed to study.”


“Hermione was right there! She knows me too well. Hey! That tickles!” She pushed him gamely away. “What are you doing on Saturday then? Can't you cancel?”


“No. I've made a bet and have to oversee the event so that I wouldn't be cheated out of my winnings.”


“What are you betting on all the time?”


“Whatever possible, Weasley. Surely you know that a man of vast fortune needs to get his thrills somewhere?” He smiled roguishly. “Especially since his secret affair of the moment seems to prefer the company of silly girls.” Draco pouted.


Ginny stood. “Fine, we'll see each other next week then,” she said and left running, a carefree smile on her face.


*


“I can't believe he fled!” Ginny exclaimed, trying to appear less upset than she felt. “It's just like he... puff! Gone!” Her hands flailed and a pile of files fell on the floor. “Oh, sorry!”


It had taken the Unspeakables a whole morning to track Malfoy's magical signature, but the only thing they could say for sure was that both Draco Malfoy and his wand were somewhere outside of Great Britain.


Evan gestured dismissively and squatted to gather the files. “He knew we'd find something at Nott's place.”


Ginny silently agreed as she, once again, opened one of Theodore Nott's notebooks. He had left seven of them behind. It seemed that his blackmailing business had a very long history. Names and dates were standing next to the numbers, and alongside Zabini, Greengrass, Higgs and dozens of other names, Malfoy's appeared with the regularity of a bad dream. And naturally, it had the largest amounts next to it. Although not a huge sum for a Malfoy in itself, it seemed that he had been paying Nott for the last six years.


Now, Draco had one more motive for one more murder, but what really disturbed her was that he had fled the country only after they had questioned him about Theodore Nott's death. Why?


“If he killed Nott, why stick around until the finding of the body?” she mused aloud. “Why let himself be 'caught' and brought in for questioning?”


Evan shrugged. “Maybe it was only after the interrogation that he realised his alibi wouldn't hold?”


“Maybe.”


House elves had said that after returning home from the Auror Headquarters, Draco had spent only a few moments in his room before Disapparating. There was no sign of him taking any possessions or money with him, but a man of Draco Malfoy's means hardly needed to. He surely had secret accounts in other European banks. Besides, he might have emptied some of his Gringott's accounts beforehand, they just didn't know it yet.


Where are you, Draco Malfoy, and why did you leave?



Had his candour at their last meeting really been just a pretence? Ginny swallowed the bitter taste of betrayal and told herself that she was just very, very angry.


*


Thirty-eight hours earlier.


Although he had abhorred the idea just the night before, now after the restless night of bar crawling and the questioning about Nott's murder, the thought of his own soft bed was very appealing. Draco was glad to be home.


As far as he was concerned, the bastard's death was a good thing. This time he was sure that the sleep would come quickly. Draco ascended to the third floor and headed for his room. “Seely,” he called once there. “Bath.”


Draco shivered as he took off his outer robe and pulled on his tie to remove it. The memory of those anonymous hands on his person still made his skin crawl. He was too exhausted to berate himself for his thoughtless behaviour. He just felt dizzy at the memory of her dark auburn, almost red hair. So foolish. There had been too many pubs lately. Too many pubs and too much alcohol.


He had finished with the numerous buttons and started to remove the robe when he noticed it. A strange, delicate chalice was standing on his bedside table. Draco vaguely recognised it as something belonging to his wife, but he couldn't remember seeing it in his rooms before.


“Seely? What is-” He reached out to touch it and cursed himself for being the biggest idiot on heaven and earth, as he felt the tugging sensation behind his navel.


There was a moment of disorientation and a splash. Cold, dark, no air, and panic. Water, he realised, he was in the water. Then, instinct took over, and Draco started to swim toward what he thought was up. Suddenly, he was gulping for air, grateful to have reached the surface. But when he finally had a chance to look around him, the horror of his situation set in.


In every direction, all he could see was water.



TBC

CHAPTER 5



“What are you playing at?” the angry redhead asked him.


“I'm sure I don't know what you are talking about. I thought we were dancing, not playing?” Draco smirked.


“You know what I mean!”


She glared. He was still smirking.


It was an Inter-House Cooperation Week. Generally, Draco hated them but this time it was different. This time, they had a Saturday evening dance where the dancing was compulsory and same-house partners forbidden.


“Relax, Weasley, it's just a dance,” Draco said.


“There is nothing 'just' with you.”


“Why so paranoid?” he mocked.


“Me? I'm just sensible. You, on the other hand, are a Slytherin. Paranoia is a requirement of membership in your house,” the girl mocked right back.


Draco laughed. Weasley had spunk. He'd had no idea this would be so much fun! Draco had bet Nott that through the evening, he would dance with at least a dozen different girls, skipping no more than two dances, and that all his partners would be exclusively Gryffs. Weasley was the sixth and, so far, she was the most fun he'd had in ages.


“Not bad, Freckles, not bad at all,” Draco said in a way that could be taken as a compliment as well as an insult. He pulled the scowling girl back to his chest and swirled her in a complicated step pattern, but Weasley kept up effortlessly. “I didn't realise you had enough room to practise ballroom dancing in your shed. What did you call it again? A Rabbit Hole?”


“The Burrow! Why did you ask me to dance?”


There was a small crease between her eyebrows. She looked surprisingly fetching with her flushed cheeks and peeved expression.


“Why did you accept?” he asked her with amusement in his voice.


“Because Professor McGonagall was standing right behind me!”


Draco gave a satisfied nod. “And smiling quite approvingly too, I might add.”


“You planned this, didn't you! I can't believe it!”


It seemed that Weasley was ready to thump him, so Draco reaffirmed his grip on her and started another series of turns. She would have fallen if she hadn't followed. She was the best dance partner he'd had all evening. Her fiery temper and angry words made the experience even better.


“And your strict Head of House is still overlooking the dance floor, don't forget that.” Openly grinning now, he steered her closer to the Scottish professor. The girl was still scowling but didn't make any efforts to pull away until the end of the song.


But, as he escorted her back, she surprised him again by saying, “You know, I'm actually glad you're suffering from paranoia.” At his raised eyebrow, she elaborated, “I'm just glad you don't have a dual personality. This one's bad enough.”


Draco laughed for the second time. He would make sure he'd dance once more with Weasley.


*


Draco struggled to stay above water. His heavy boots were dragging him down, so he tried to kick them off, but the laces were tightly bound, and without the help of his hands, he would never get them off. He tried to get rid of his blazer jacket, but remembered that he still had his wand in the inner pocket. Frantically praying that he hadn't lost it in the water, he searched for the hawthorn stick.


Yes! There! he thought as he struggled to get it out of the pocket while trying to stay on the surface. The moment his fingers touched the wand, his heavy boots vanished and the actual swimming became possible. Now he could think.


Water, water, water everywhere...


His heart still pounding with adrenaline, he Disapparated as far as he was able. Now that he was prepared to appear in water, he managed to stay afloat. Draco looked in every direction. There was still no sign of land. Rigidly trying to think of the same direction, he Apparated again a dozen miles or so.


Not good.


The water was still all he could see. Draco Apparated a couple of times more. His limbs were becoming numb from cold and it was difficult to swim, but he was trying not to think about it.


Was it possible to make a Portkey to another dimension? Apparate. If so, were there dimensions with only water in them? Apparate.


It was difficult to breathe, much less think.


Apparate. Better not to think of it. Apparate. Don't think. Apparate.



Apparate.


Apparate.


Apparate.


*


Astoria was something of an enigma. That's what had drawn him to her at first. Now, it was that feeling. “Are we going to meet tomorrow?” he asked, though he knew the answer already.


“Of course, silly. You think I could go a day without seeing my boyfriend?”


Draco smirked. “Of course not. How foolish of me to think so.”


He took her hand as they walked along Hogsmeade's main street. Her young, smiling face was turned up to him and he couldn't help but smile back. Draco knew the smile she wore. The put-on naivety, the hopeful and yet greedy glint in her eyes. What was she greedy for? He hoped it was for him.


“I could Apparate us to Diagon Alley next Hogsmeade weekend,” he suggested.


Astoria almost jumped for joy. “Really? That would be brilliant!”


Yes, greedy for him. Greedy for what he could offer her, at least. Draco was glad he had so much to offer. The challenge thrilled him.



*



By the time Draco reached land, he wasn't even sure he had made it in one piece. A part of him thought that as long as he got some sleep it didn't matter, but he also knew that if he fell asleep right then, there was a chance he wouldn't be waking up. It was so very cold and he was so very, very tired.


Suddenly, he realised that he had to have dozed off, since the dog he was looking at was morphing into a man and then walking towards him on two legs. Funny. If he weren't so tired, Draco would have laughed.


*


Once again, Evan burst into Harry's room without knocking.


“What?” Harry barked, annoyed.


“We've got him!” Evan shouted. “Malaysian Auror Department just contacted us!”


“What? What are you talking about?”


“Draco Malfoy, Harry! They got him during some raid on Malaysian werewolves. Can you believe it?”


“Werewolves? What was he doing with werewolves?”


Evan shrugged happily. “Who cares? Can I go? I've always wanted to see the islands.”


Harry nodded. “Take Weasley with you.”


*


It was already very late in Malaysia when they got there, so the local authorities took care of the paperwork fairly quickly; everybody wanted to go home as soon as possible.


“We're finished here,” their Malaysian contact said in very good, although accented, English. “But I doubt the hospital will allow you to see him at this time. I suggest you spend the night at the hotel and try in the morning.”


“Hospital?” Ginny exclaimed. “Why is Draco in hospital?” she asked, just as Evan demanded, “You have guards there, don't you?”


The dark-haired man's face was full of surprise. “Guards? I didn't realise his life would still be in danger! Let's go!” And without another word, he darted towards the fire place.


In a moment, he was already gone, and neither Brit was sure what name the Chinese Auror had uttered. So when they finally – after a couple of wrong Floo stops – entered the hospital's lobby, their Malaysian contact was contentedly leaning on the reception counter. He smiled.


“Mr Malfoy is all right, but under the circumstances, I decided to get him discharged immediately, so you can take him to Great Britain as soon as he gets dressed.” He gestured behind him with his thumb. “He's in there. His medi-wizard says-”


He didn't finish because suddenly no one was listening to him. Apparently, Ginny and Evan had thought of exactly the same thing, at exactly the same moment. Having given each other barely a glance, they charged for the door that Malfoy was supposedly dressing behind. Evan blasted it open and they barged in, their wands at the ready.


They stopped abruptly, Ginny's wand tip directed at Malfoy's half-clad chest, Evan's between his wide, surprised eyes. All three froze.


“Where's your wand?” Evan demanded.


Malfoy swallowed and blinked, his hands still raised to the buttons of his shirt. “Bedside table.”


Ginny summoned it and took a small box out of her pocket. She opened it and reached out to their captive. “Take it.”


The blond obediently touched the button inside the box and was instantly teleported to his cell. Both Aurors exhaled simultaneously.


“That was close,” Evan said, rubbing his forehead.


Ginny nodded.


*


Draco was being escorted down the hallway when he heard a familiar voice full of surprised outrage.


“You!” He turned slowly and saw Pansy standing not five feet from him.


She raised her finger dramatically and spat, “You!” Her face was a mask of hurt shock. “You are supposed to be dead!” Angry tears spilled onto her cheeks and she drew her wand. “Ava-”


In a matter of moments she was disarmed and dragged away. Soon Draco found himself in the same old interrogation room that he was already used to.


“Am I under arrest?”


“Yes. We've already notified Mr Briggs.” Stevenson was slowly walking around the table Draco sat at, and Ginevra was leaning on the wall somewhere behind his right shoulder. If it was their tactic to intimidate him, it was working.


“I don't need him,” Draco said. “I haven't done anything wrong.” He felt silly saying it. It might have sounded courageous and noble in his head, but once said, it sounded utterly naive. If they hadn't believed the story told by Auror Wei, they probably wouldn't believe it coming from him either. Perhaps he would need a lawyer after all?


“Then why did you run?” Stevenson asked. It seemed that Ginevra was on a silent watch again.


“I didn't,” Draco bit out, angry despite being scared. Happy as he was about being alive, he would hate to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban.


“Really? Then why were you in Malaysia when we caught you?”


The polite surprise in Stevenson's voice made Draco fume. He was staring silently at the wall in front of him, and for a second, he was tempted to not answer. Fortunately, he thought better of it.


“You didn't catch me,” he said quietly, pronouncing the words exactly as if breaking chunks off an ice boulder. “I was waiting for someone to come and get me. It was I who asked Auror Wei to contact you, wasn't it?”


Stevenson paused his pacing behind him, but his calm “did you” sounded just as disbelieving as everything else he had said so far.


“Didn't you ask him why he contacted you in the first place?” Draco asked bitterly. “Or did you jump the ocean with your wands drawn just after hearing my name?”


Stevenson came into his field of vision again, but just as before, he simply walked on, not even looking at Draco.


“What happened after you left the Headquarters two days ago?” the Auror asked, as if Draco hadn't even said anything.


Draco held back his sigh and said matter-of-factly, “Came home. Found Astoria's trinket on the table, touched it, teleported to Merlin knows where in the Pacific. Almost drowned, Apparated about a hundred times until I reached the shore. Got caught up in some weird werewolf raid, spent two days at the hospital with some kind of fever, was attacked by two dim-witted Aurors, and teleported back here. Was almost killed again. Any questions?”


He was going for shock, yes, but the effect he got exceeded all his expectations.


“Pacific? You mean the ocean?” the male dimwit asked.


“Could have been the Indian Ocean, hell if I know,” he started with contempt, but his tone faltered when Ginevra suddenly sat down next to him and gently put her hand on his arm. The touch burned him through the two layers of material. “I was lucky I had my wand still on me,” he said, trying to seem unmoved.


Then, feeling on top of the world under the worried gaze of chocolate-brown eyes, he explained everything properly, starting with seeing the silver cup on his bedside table and ending with him being taken to the hospital.


*


The woman was staring at the far wall. “You aren't letting him go this time, are you?” Pansy asked through gritted teeth.


“Let's start with your own actions, Pansy, shall we? Could you please explain why you tried to murder Mr Malfoy just now?”


“Because I saw what he did! All right?” She stood abruptly and turned to Harry. “I saw what he did.” Suddenly the strength left her and she sat back down, looking at least five years older than her actual age. “I'm so tired of being afraid.”


Harry nodded compassionately. “You weren't really with Stephen Cornfoot that night, were you?”


Pansy shook her head. “No. I convinced him that we should give each other alibis the next day. He was one of the people borrowing money from Astoria behind Draco's back. I told him that he didn't want to become a suspect.”


“And he believed you?”


Pansy shrugged indifferently.


“So, what happened that night?”


“Astoria and I were supposed to meet just as I told you, but some time during the day she sent me a note asking to come later. And I... I did.” She sighed heavily. “I thought she had taken another lover.”


Harry's eyebrows shot up. “Another lover?”


“Besides me.” Pansy looked defeated now. “We were lovers and we loved each other. At least I thought we did. I did,” she added more quietly. “That night I-I...” She sighed, worrying her purse between her hands, and said, “The night that I Flooed in, I wanted to confront her about who it was. Her new lover. I had been psyching myself to do that half the night and when I finally got there...” Pansy shuddered. “I saw Malfoy... with his back to me, knife raised... and... There was so much blood. He... he kicked her and screamed, shouted... and... and I just stood there, frozen to the spot. I...” Finally the flood gates opened and Pansy started to cry. But it wasn't the hysterical display of nerves she displayed the morning after the first murder. This time it seemed genuine: the sorrow, pain, regret.


“Are you sure it was him?”


The woman nodded. “I didn't see his face, but his hair is not something you can really mistake for someone else's. And... I've known him for years. I'd have realised if it were someone else with the same hair.”


“And you clearly saw Draco Malfoy stabbing his wife?” Harry purposefully stated the full name.


“Yes,” she said quietly but with conviction. “When he started turning around I Flooed to Diagon Alley. I panicked, I have no idea why I didn't say just 'home' or the address. Thank Merlin I didn't, of course, but I was just lucky. I'm sure that he only heard the Floo, and maybe saw the flames but had no idea who it was. Maybe he thought it was Theodore?”


“Why do you think so?”


“Well, Theo's dead, isn't he?”


Harry nodded. “And what did you do when you reached Diagon Alley?”


“I Apparated home.”


“Why didn't you tell us that in the first place?”


Pansy shook her head, as if confused. “I was scared. I wasn't sure you would have believed me and... I was scared.”


“Of...?”


Pansy looked at him as if he were mad. “Malfoy, of course! Astoria told me such stories about him, you wouldn't believe! He's an animal! The way he just... viciously. I have never seen anything like it.”


“You realise that if you had just told us what you saw, he would have been under arrest until the trial, don't you? There is no way he could have harmed you.”


“But it's his word against mine, isn't it?”


“That, and the motive,” Harry said disapprovingly.


“Yes, I realise that now. I'm sorry.”


“Did you tell your husband?”


She shook her head. “No. No point in putting him in danger.”


“He didn't know about your relationship with Astoria?”


“No, he knew. We never kept these things from each other. He had lovers too, but I don't think he understood about me and Astoria.”


“Didn't understand what?”


“How close we were. He never cared to find out.”


“I presume the letters Draco found were written to you?”


Pansy nodded.


“We'll need to view your memory in the Pensieve,” Harry said. “It can't be used in trial, because memories can be tampered with, but it helps if the prosecution believes in his guilt.”


Pansy nodded calmly and Harry's eyebrows furrowed. This was bad. Very bad.


*


“It's not like I don't believe in blood purity, I do! It's just...”


“I understand.”


“No, Astoria, you don't! It's...” Draco threw up his hands. They always said they understood when they clearly couldn't. How could they? He was the only Malfoy heir. “I was supposed to lead the DE Youth Movement.” He sighed as she moved her hands up the lapels of his jacket in a soothing manner.


“I remember. We were all surprised when you declined.”


“I-I just couldn't join because... I'm... I'm not...”


“You don't have to tell me, Draco.”


“But I want to tell you.” The problem was, though, that even a year later, he himself didn't know why he hadn't joined. How on earth was he supposed to make her understand?


“You don't have to tell me because I already know.” She smiled gently. “You are just not like your father.”


He smiled back, relieved. Sometimes she just got him better than he did himself.


*


“Now, tell me how Mr Malfoy ended up in the Pacific.” Ginny was quite angry. In fact, she was livid.


Pansy's eyebrows furrowed. “How would I know? And – wait! What do you mean in the Pacific?”


Harry thought it was a very good performance, much better than the 'Malfoy-tore-her-dress-up' act.


“Cut the crap. We know that you turned the cup into a Portkey.”


Almost an hour later, it was clear that Pansy Zabini would admit to nothing. Yes, she tried to Avada him, but it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, not an I-charmed-a-Portkey-to-kill-a-man thing. Her solicitor demanded a Mind-Healer's examination.


Ginny was so furious she wanted to spit.


*


“You don't understand, Ginny!” Harry exclaimed. “I don't care if Malfoy gets a life sentence. I'm sure he's done something to deserve it! My problem is that Pansy will get only attempted murder and a holiday at the resort for crazies! I know she's the one that charmed the blasted chalice!”


“But look on the bright side. If she's crazy, she's useless as a witness against Draco.”


“There is that, yes.” Harry didn't look very ecstatic at the prospect.


“So, you don't think he did it?” Ginny asked hopefully.


“Merlin's beard, Ginny! Someone is chomping their limbs off to make sure we'd think he did!”


Ginny sat, sighing. “Good. I thought I would have to convince you.”


“No, just the Wizengamot.”


“Great.” There was no real joy in her voice.


“Pansy's memory clearly shows Draco doing it,” Harry stated.


“So we just need someone who would be smart enough to brew Polyjuice!”


“Brilliant.” Harry's voice dripped sarcasm. “That narrows it down considerably. It's what? Only half of wizarding England?”


“Less than half, I think. They'd have to be able to brew it successfully. But yes, I understand what you are getting at.” She thought for a moment. “What about Pansy being in on it with the murderer?”


“Possible, but I don't think so. The last interview was the first one where she didn't over-act. I think she genuinely thinks its Malfoy.”


“So we're back to nothing then? Oh, joy!”


“Not exactly. We are pretty sure that it wasn't Pansy or Malfoy. Unless he planned for us to suspect him.”


Ginny snorted. “Right.”


After a while, Harry said, “So, junior investigator Weasley, what's our next step?”


“Check everybody's alibis once more?” she answered morosely.


Harry nodded. “But only some of them.”


“You mean Blaise?”


“Yes. And Cornfoot.”


*


“So you don't know who Theodore Nott was and cannot explain why he was receiving a monthly check from your wife. Is that correct, Mr Sanders?”


“What? From my wife...!”


*


“We know you supplied Theodore Nott with a steady income, Mr Cornfoot. Why?”


Stephen Cornfoot sighed. “I knew you'd find out some time.”


*


“What were you paying Nott for, Ms Lloyd?”


“You mean..? What! No! That is to say...”


*


“Mrs Abbott, can you tell us why your name was on the Theodore Nott's debtors' list?”


“Me? I have no idea what you are talking about.”


*


“I've never paid Nott anything.”


“Almost two thousand galleons a year, it says right here. It doesn't sound like nothing to me, Mr Malfoy.”


*


“This is a notebook Theodore Nott was keeping. Your name is in it. Care to enlighten us as to why?”


“Did dear old Theo keep a diary? Why, I never knew! What did he write about me?”


“Mr Flint, do not take us for idiots.”


Marcus Flint seemed confused. “You mean, you are not?”


*


Evan threw up his hands. “This is getting us nowhere!”


“I agree,” Harry said. “How many more people are there in the notebook?”


Ginny sighed. “About forty.”


“Brilliant,” the men said simultaneously. They looked at each other for a moment and then away. Ginny was having a hard time holding a giggle in.


*


“Look, all right, I give. I really was paying Nott a bit, but not because of gambling debts or anything criminal. And it wasn't that big of a deal. I could live without him holding the secret. It was just a bit of a friendly service between friends.”


“What was it he kept a secret for you?”


Gerald Gelding sighed. “A business venture. Nothing worth killing for.” He shrugged indifferently. “I dropped the contract about a year ago. That's why I stopped paying Nott.”


“Won't they sue you once they find out?”


“Nah, Huges and Son are a respectable firm. They won't be admitting to making such a blunder. It was more of a case of them not doing their homework and me omitting certain truths. As I said, nothing worth killing for.”


*


“We want to know what really happened that night, Mr Flint.”


“You and I both. But for some reason, we all got quite merry that night, so I don't remember much. We've never really drank that much before, but that night we did. I think Blaise even threw up at some point.”


“And by 'threw up' you mean he did it in front of you on the Higgs's otherwise pristine floor and fluffy carpet or-”


“God, no!” Flint's face was one of utter disgust. “No, he went to the bathroom and I'm pretty sure he threw up, because he spent a bit of time there.”


“Can you tell us at what time it was exactly?”


Flint grimaced. “Somewhere between eleven and two?” He shrugged. “Sorry. Told you, drunk.”


*


Draco knew it was a bit of a cliché, but for years, he had thought of his life as before and after meeting Astoria. At first, the after was thought of with joy and excitement, then with contempt and finally resignation. Now there was just that – now. A blurry mix of hazy now and vague images of the past. The only thing that was so inconspicuously absent was the future. There was only one thing to anticipate and Draco wasn't keen on anticipating the trial.


At the moment, he was staring at the grey wall. Fifty-nine stones. He counted. Draco had always thought that the prisoners stared at the windows or doors while sitting in their cells, but that would have required the presence of hope. And there was none. No hope, no future.


Once, Draco had given up a chance for love because he had thought it hopeless. And then he met Astoria. She was a force of nature and he succumbed to her charms. Yes, that was what he deserved, he had thought later: a fresh breeze turning into a hot, dry desert wind.


Now, Ginevra was his oasis.


She came every couple of days to tell him what they were doing to help him. She told him that they were a bit closer to finding the real killer, but he knew it wasn't true. He pretended to believe her, to still have hope. He wished she wouldn't say those things, but he never told her not to. What if she stopped coming? Would she come after the... But he wouldn't think about that yet.


“Would it kill you to use my name?”


“What? Ginevra?”


“You know what I mean, Malfoy!”


“Oh! You mean that plebeian butchering of a noble name you seem to favour?”


“Yes, that! Oh, noble one.”


“Probably.” He smirked.


“Probably? Probably what?”


“It would probably kill me.” He enunciated every word as if she were simple.


Ginny rolled her eyes.


After a pause he said, “Ginevra.”


“What?”


There was a pause again, during which he just watched her watching him, and then he said, “I just wanted to say it. Ginevra.” He smiled.


Draco heard footsteps. More often than not, they passed his cell, only to stop behind some other door, or fade into nothingness down the corridor. Draco couldn't help but look at the door every time he heard them, nonetheless. This time, though, they stopped just behind his door. It opened and a young woman stepped in.


“Mr Malfoy, I've been appointed as your new solicitor.”


Confident pose, professional smile, and a distinct lack of bushy hair. Granger had indeed changed. Draco's eyebrows shot up. “What happened to the old one?”


“He resigned.” She stepped to the small desk at the far corner.


Draco clenched his teeth. They both knew what had really happened. Ginevra shouldn't have... “I don't need your pity or your charity.”


“Oh, it's not charity. Believe me, you're going to pay me handsomely whatever the outcome.” She opened her briefcase. “And I would never even dream of pitying you.”


He scrutinised her for a moment and then nodded. “So, what are my chances?”


“It's too early to say for sure, but not stellar.”


Draco smiled a bit at that. Her matter-of-fact attitude was refreshing. “Tell her I said thank you.” Not that he really thought Granger could get him out of here, but if there was a top lawyer in Wizarding law, that was Hermione Granger-Weasley. Although she didn't specialise in criminal law exactly, she was a well-known champion for hopeless cases. Which suited him fine.


*


“You were very patient with Astoria,” Ginevra said quietly.


“No, Gin, patience is Blaise's virtue, not mine. I have been proud, not patient.”


“I don't get it. If you were proud, then why didn't you divorce her? She didn't love you, she was cheating on you. Why stay married?”


Draco shook his head slowly. “That's going to be one of the things the prosecution will lay on thick, won't it?” He scowled in derision. “Should I have admitted that a manipulative gold-digger tricked me into believing that she loved me? Should I have admitted that I was so bloody lonely that any bint with a half brain saying the three magic words made me pop the four-word-question and the vault key?” Draco didn't quite dare to look at the small red-head next to him. “Should I have admitted that I'd been so utterly desperate to have anyone to care about me?”


“You had just lost your parents and you were only seventeen.”


“And she was fifteen!” he all but shouted. “A girl two years my junior tricked me into a marriage, Ginevra. Can you blame me for not wanting to admit to it?”


She shook her head. “No. But you still should have divorced her.”


“Had I known it would turn out like it did, I would have.” Draco could feel Ginevra's gentle gaze on his face and it warmed him. “I thought it amazing how she supported my struggle to change sides,” he continued. “Did you know that I was supposed to be a leader to the Death Eater Youth Movement? It was only a lot later that I realised how lucky I had been that the opportunity to sell me out to the Dark Lord had never been presented to her. I was truly a fool to have trusted her so explicitly.” His tone was calm but resigned. “It was only about two years into the marriage that I finally admitted to myself that she was fake. It was at some Ministry charity event. You were there... I saw you smile.”


“Me?” Ginevra's freckled face scrunched up in confusion.


“Yes. You've always had a hundred different smiles. And the one that lit your face when you were in love was special. I had never seen such a smile on Astoria's face.” Draco smiled slightly at her. “Ah, here it is now. One of those amazing smiles you have.” He cupped her face gently as his heart thudded away in his chest painfully. “Shh! No, don't tell me anything.” He put his finger on her mouth. “Don't tell me I'm mistaken. If I am, I don't want to know. It's probably the only positive thing I'll be taking with me to Azkaban. And don't tell me if you do,” he continued quickly before she had a chance to open her pale pink lips. “It would be too painful to know that you do, and never be able do anything about it.” Those lips. In all probability, he would never be kissing them again.


Then, he had to look away so he wouldn't see the truth in her eyes. “Astoria never smiled at me any differently than at other people.” He was quiet for a moment. “She only had a small variety of smiles. Most people got her polite and indifferent smile; sometimes, she graced people with the cheerful smile, full of laughter. I loved that one. It was very contagious. And then there was the needy, playful one that I somehow got confused with loving. Only when I noticed her sending it to other people besides me, did I understand what it really meant.” Draco's tone turned bitter. “It was the smile of an arrogant little girl who knew that she would always get what she wanted, no matter what.”


Draco hated himself for not being able to enjoy his time with Ginevra without spoiling it with the memories of his sordid past. And he hated himself for the inability to tell her the full truth about it, about himself.


“Do you want to know a secret?”


“What secret?”


He saw that Ginevra was more than confused with his constant topic changes, but just for a moment, he couldn't help but toy with the idea of telling her everything. He leaned closer to her and whispered into her ear.


“I deserve it. All of it.”


“No! Don't say that!” She jumped up from the cot, by all signs ready to give him a piece of her self-righteous mind, but he wouldn't let her.


“Even if I didn't kill my wife, I deserve the Kiss. Ever thought about that?” Draco stared intently into Ginevra's eyes, half-wanting her to believe his words. “You didn't really think I was the repentant pillar of the wizarding society, whose image I have so carefully fostered through all these years, did you?”


“No! I won't let you talk about yourself like that! The trial is tomorrow, you must have hope! What happened was not your fault, Draco!”


“Wasn't it? How do you know that? I cheated on her too, you know. And I hated her, more than I've hated anyone in a long time. How do you know that the supposed burglary was really meant to free me of the marriage contract?” He was now standing very close to her, squeezing her upper arms. “Pansy saw me killing Astoria. Who's to say that I wasn't planning on staging a bigger mess, killing Walter and stuffing his pockets full of Malfoy money? I could have claimed self-defence later.”


For a moment her look was full of horror. “You didn't...”


“No.” He let her go. “But I thought of it often enough. I wanted to kill her. I even wrote some fool-proof plans down. We could tip the prosecution off to search in my London town house." Draco stepped away from her, facing the wall. “Leave.”


“Draco!”


He heard a mix of anger and exasperation in her voice. He didn't turn around. “Draco, look at me. I won't leave until you do. Draco, please!”


“I said leave.”


She came to face him, but he wouldn't look at her. He wouldn't react to anything she did or said. He wouldn't.


“I'll see you tomorrow,” she said.


Yes, tomorrow. Everyone will be looking at me, but I will be watching you.


*


His stomach lurched as he stood to leave his cell.


“Granger.”


“Yes?”


“Now tell me honestly: what are my chances?”


“Like I said-”


“No, Granger. No molly-coddling now. I know the odds are not good; I just want to hear you say it.”


The rather short woman in front of him stood straighter. “It's not looking good, Malfoy, not good at all.”


Draco nodded. “Thank you.”



TBC

CHAPTER 6



After facing Voldemort as a teenager, it was easy to remain indifferent to the coldly polite and openly hostile faces of the Wizengamot. The hostility was expected. Even the curious and excited expressions among the press and the usual crowd of onlookers was quite normal. What Draco hadn't been ready for was the awful feeling of abandonment and his own need to find a worried or friendly face. There wasn't any.


Soon the Chief Warlock opened the session, the charges were read, 'not guilty' pleaded, and the proceedings went underway. There was witness after witness, none of whom said anything Draco was even remotely interested in. He couldn't find Ginevra. Had she not come? Had she given up on him? No, she had promised she would be here. She must be sitting somewhere behind him. Probably.


*


“Mr Benford, you were the barman on duty at the night of the murder, is that correct?”


“Yes, sir.”


“Did you see Mr Malfoy that night?”


“Yes, sir.”


“Can you tell us the exact time you saw Mr Malfoy?”


“Yes, sir, but I only saw him for a moment. It was sometime after eleven p.m.”


“So you can't really tell us anything about the defendant's whereabouts at the time of the murder?”


“No, sir.”


*


It was an imbecilic system, Draco thought. What was the point of offering the vial to each and every witness, if only a random few got real Veritaserum, while most would drink water? The saddest thing was, that with his luck, the people getting the serum would hardly know anything worth telling, and all the others could lie their arses off. As Mother Luck had never been on his side, Draco told himself that to hope was foolish, but Granger still asked each and every witness if they knew the identity of the killer. So far, it had given them nothing. Draco wasn't foolish enough to hope for a miracle, and wizards didn't pray. Sometimes, Draco wished he did.


*


“What did Whittacker Walters tell you exactly, Ms Nobbs?”


“Only that someone was gonna pay 'im a lot of dosh for a job.”


“Do you know what kind of job it was?”


“Nah, he didn' tell me.”


“But you had an idea?”


“Yeah, well...” Ms Nobbs flushed scarlet. “There's only one kind of well-payin' job tha' Wally got. I think-”


“Speculation.”


“Withdrawn.”


*


”Do you even know what my name is?”


“What? Malfoy?” Smirk.


“You know what I mean, Weasley.” There was no obvious reaction to his threatening tone, so he demeaned himself into asking, “Are you ever going to use my given name?”


There was a pause of serious contemplation.


“Nope.” Smile.


An eyebrow rose and another pause, this time for plotting, ensued.


“So you want me to resume calling you She-Weasel?” A polite enquiry.


A toothy grin. “Would you?”


A serious reassurance. “I would.”


“You wouldn't!” An indignant anger and a narrowing of eyes as an after-thought.


“Wouldn't I?” Polite surprise.


“No, you wouldn't!” The 'or else' is heavily implied.


A moment of put-on contemplation. “Hm...” More thought. “Maybe not.”


“Draco!” A gentle reprimand, then an indignant exclamation, “Draco!”


Laughter.


“Does it make us friends now?” she asks.


A gentle smile. “Perhaps it does.”


A pat on the head. “You are welcome, Malfoy.”


More laughter.


*


“Do you really believe that the person you saw killing Astoria Malfoy was her husband, Mrs Zabini?” Granger asked.


“Yes, I do. I saw it with my own eyes.”


“For the protocol,” the prosecutor cut in, “Mrs Zabini's memory has been examined in the Pensieve, and there was no evidence of it being tampered with.”


“Is it confirmed by the Manslaughter Department experts that the image of the murderer seen in the memory, is one of the defendant?” the Chief Warlock asked.


“Yes, it is.”


“So, unless it can be successfully proven that there has been an unauthorised Polyjuice usage, there is no reason to doubt Mr Malfoy's guilt?”


It was then that Draco decided to tune out everything around him, except for the bright, coppery locks he thought he saw at the edge of his vision. Very slowly, he turned towards the sweet vision. But Pansy's shrill voice, denying charming the cup, made him focus back on her. So much for Mother Luck; it was clear that Pansy Zabini got pure water in the vial of the supposed truth serum. What was the point in giving it to anyone at all, if in the end only minor witnesses drank it?


However, it seemed that Granger would not be giving up easily.


*


“Mr Zabini, how do you know that your wife did not plant the charmed chalice into Mr Malfoy's bedroom?”


Before the prosecutor had the chance to object to the unrelated question, Blaise answered.


“I know that she did.” The man's eyes widened, and Draco had to bite into his cheek to keep from smiling in surprised satisfaction. It seemed that Blaise had gotten the serum.


There was a pregnant pause before Granger spoke again.


“How do you know that your wife planted the chalice?”


“I helped her charm it.”


Through the rush in his own ears, Draco faintly registered hearing several other gasps.


“To what purpose did you help your wife create the Portkey?”


“I wanted Malfoy to disappear from the face of the earth, so that everybody would assume he ran to escape justice.” It was clear Blaise was trying to keep himself from answering the questions, but apparently, it was impossible.


“You mean, you wanted Mr Malfoy to take the blame for a crime he didn't commit?”


At that point, several things happened at the same time. Blaise bit out 'yes' and leaped up from the witness chair. He sprinted towards the exit, casting a couple of hindrance and obstruction charms. Half a dozen people, several Aurors among them, jumped after Zabini and Draco had to curse the chains that bit into his flesh.


*


It was only fifteen minutes later that the Chief Warlock decided to adjourn the session, until the escapee was caught. Still, it was unclear how much the new evidence would influence the case. The fact that both Zabinis wanted him to take the blame did not automatically mean that he was innocent, Draco knew that. But it had to raise some doubt in the Wizengamot, didn't it?


Draco was pacing his cell in the Ministry dungeons. What if Blaise didn't even know anything concrete? What if when they caught him, the Veritaserum had already worn off? Would he be administered one more dose? Draco didn't think so. But he was sure Blaise would be interrogated and so would Pansy. Would they crack her? Did she even know anything? What if Zabini was the murderer? Would they ever catch him to find out?


Either way, the Zabinis would be charged with an attempt on his life, but would it change anything in his trial? If the proceedings went on without further investigation, he was doomed. It would be really foolish to hope that Zabini would get the second batch of the real truth serum by accident.


*


The cell door opened with a screech, and Draco whirled around to see Ginevra enter.


“Did they get him?”


She shook her head, and Draco's hopes crumbled. It had been too long; they would never get him now. He looked away from her, but something in his face must have betrayed him because Ginevra suddenly stepped close to him and wrapped her arms around him.


“There's a chance that they'll decide to go on with the trial,” she said quietly after a while. “Since it's unclear how long the pursuit will take, or even if it will be successful, they might decide to continue.” She shrugged. “Hermione is doing all she can, but...”


Her voice trailed off, and Draco nodded. His eyes stung; the muscles in his stomach tightened so as not to give way to the tremors, and Draco had to swallow back something that was not a sob. For a moment he stood in her arms, hard as rock, not moving, not breathing, but then his arms twitched and he hugged her back. But just for a moment, and then he would let her go. A moment was all he needed.


*


Hours turned into days and the hearing proceeded as if nothing had happened. Draco was told that the investigation about Zabini's whereabouts and the attempt on his life was in full force, but it didn't seem to change anything in his own case. It was as if no one thought it had any relevance to Astoria's murder. As he sat, strapped to the chair, in the court room every day, Draco didn't even pretend to listen any more.


Ginevra visited him every day in his cell, and Granger had assured him that only minor witnesses were called forth. She said that everybody was actually waiting for Zabini's capture, or at least for the Aurors to reach some concrete conclusions.


Draco didn't believe a word of it.


*


Ginevra was holding his hand and Draco let her. They were sitting on a cot in his cell. It was very quiet.


“Did you know there was a cave under the bank on the other side of the lake?” he asked, not looking at her.


“No, I don't think I've ever been there. I think Luna and I wandered more towards the Forbidden Forest.”


“There's no such thing as too much danger, is there?” Draco snorted apathetically. “It was a very nice cave, if a bit damp. Pansy and I used to go there back in third year. Or fourth. She threatened to push me into the water once, because I had hexed Daphne in Charms. I think Pans imagined herself jealous.” His lips twisted into a resemblance of a smile. “We were supposed to be dating, you see. I doubt she even remembers it now.”


Ginevra raised her eyebrows. “Weren't you dating then?”


He smiled. “Sure, if you call that silly hand-holding dating.” He took a proper hold of her hand and rubbed his thumb gently over the back of it. “It didn't really mean anything.” Draco felt Ginevra's gaze on him and looking up, he noticed it heavy with something. “It should have. But it didn't.” Was it anticipation? Curiosity?


Draco let go of her hand so quickly it was almost thrown back to her. He stood, and with one long stride, he stepped to the far wall where a window should be. Should. What a bitter word; it characterised his whole situation so well.


“Why do you come here?” he asked harshly, without turning around. “You shouldn't. Do you know that every time you do, I hope that there is good news, and every time I see your face, I know there isn't, and it kills me just a little bit more each time?”


He heard a rustle of clothes as she rushed to him. “Draco-”


“No.” He stepped away from her, but there was really nowhere to go, so they stood merely inches apart, face to face now. She looked worried and compassionate, and somehow it fuelled his anger. “Don't come any more, Weasley. I don't want you to.” Ginny opened her mouth to say something, but he didn't want to be reassured or pacified. He didn't want her to be understanding of his inexcusable treatment of her.


“You know what I want?” he asked her instead. “I want you to kiss me. I want you to kiss me as if it means something. As if it means everything. And then I want you to smile that happy little smile, that says you want to do nothing more than to smile at me, and then I want you to go.”


Without allowing his hands to touch her, he pressed his body to Ginevra's, full-length, and brought his lips to hers. They were soft and inviting and closing his eyes, Draco felt his passion rise. He broke it off almost immediately. The kiss lasted just long enough for him to start wanting more, but this was exactly how he needed it. The hint of a promised future. Still, with his eyes closed, he imagined her face: flushed, happy and surprised, her gaze tender and her lips opened a bit in readiness.


Then Draco leant in again and kissed her face gently all over, whispering, “Will you smile at me, love? Please? Smile at me like it means the world to you. Will you?” he begged quietly. “Please, Gin, please,” he breathed.


Finally, when he was ready, he opened his eyes, and there it was. Her smile.


*


Draco was pacing again. This time it was an energetic, anxious pace. He knew what was coming. The verdict. Any minute now. And so he waited. The trial was over. It was over. Although Draco had known the outcome from the start, it was only now that he understood that all this time he had been hoping for a miracle. A sharp pain of bitter regret twisted suddenly in his insides.


There were heavy steps of a prison guard at the far end of the corridor. It was too soon; he wasn't ready. He would never be ready. Draco regretted a lot of things now, but mainly he regretted that he hadn't fled before being arrested or in Malaysia. He regretted never again seeing strands of heavy copper hair shining in the autumn sun. He regretted never running his hands through her silky hair again.


The steps arrived behind his cell and stopped.


It was too soon. It had been a little over a week since Zabini's escape, and only about fifty minutes since the Wizengamot had parted to discuss the verdict. They must have made their decision before even parting. Bastards. Draco heard the guard mutter an incantation, and the door opened. It was the same burly man that had escorted Draco into his cell earlier. Draco presented his wrists to be bound, but the guard's urgent whisper stopped him.


“It's Ginny. Polyjuice. Just pretend you're bound. Let's go!”


Not giving Draco time to adjust, he – or she really – almost pushed Draco out of the room, and automatically he proceeded in the usual direction. In his inner turmoil, he barely noticed a couple of other guards coming to a halt at the far junction of the corridor, and when he found a wand being pushed into his hands, Draco froze. It was almost with relief that he felt a familiar tugging behind his navel.


*


Draco landed on a dusty wooden floor, feeling disoriented. Why had Ginny done what she had? It was so unlike her - did she already know the verdict? At that particular moment, Draco was more confused than grateful.


“Gin?” he called, looking around. He was in a large room resembling a Muggle warehouse. An abandoned warehouse. As he stood up, his mind finally registered the Portkey-wand having been wrenched out of his hands upon landing, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose.


“Gin?” he repeated, but looking at the guard, he already knew that whatever answer the man would give, Draco wouldn't like it.


"Fell for that, did you?" the voice said with silky harshness, which despite the wrong pitch, was all too familiar.


“Zabini,” Draco muttered.


The other man nodded, acknowledging the truth, and both wizards stood quietly, just looking at each other for a moment.


“Why?” Draco asked, angry at himself for being fooled again, for feeling so scared and helple- angry. He was angry.


Zabini raised the foreign eyebrows on his square forehead, as if leading polite small talk in a parlour. “It's nothing personal, Draco. I just can't have anyone questioning your culpability.”


“And you think killing me will solve the problem?”


“Not entirely, but I'm sure it will help if they never find your body. I already killed Nott for even smaller reasons. It couldn't make me feel much worse to finish you too.”


“He tried to blackmail you? Did he really have anything on you?”


“Not really, I don't think. To tell you the truth, I just panicked. He just Flooed me in the middle of the night and threw a couple of vague ideas out, I came through and... Shouldn't have killed him.”


“Indeed,” Draco said, as he stared intently at the wand in the other wizard's hand. “So, why did you kill Astoria?” he asked. “Not that I mind.”


“No, you wouldn't, would you?” Zabini said in a dark voice. “You didn't like her very much at the end either. No one did, I'd wager. Except for my precious wife, of course.”


“Pansy?” Draco already knew all about that – Ginevra had told him – but he had to keep Zabini talking. “Is that what it's all about? Were they lovers?”


“Lovers?” Zabini spat the word. “Is that what you think they were to each other? It was bloody obvious that they were in love to anyone with more than two brain cells. But I guess you never saw anything past your own sordid relationship with her, did you?”


Draco felt his eyebrow twitch in surprise but he managed to stop it from rising. “In love? Astoria? Don't be absurd.”


Zabini nodded. “Maybe not her. But she manipulated Pansy into believing that she was. Astoria hurt Pansy. Cruelly. Thoughtlessly. Every. Fucking. Day.”


“And she had to die for it?” he said, imperceptibly moving closer.


Zabini scoffed. “You're one to talk! Didn't you dream of killing off all of Astoria's lovers? But that's the story of both of our marriages, isn't it? Man loves a woman more than she loves him. Typical really, isn't it? Women are just-” He stopped as his body convulsed.


Draco leapt and pushed a tower of boxes on top of the changing wizard. He tackled Zabini, and for a moment they were a bundle of limbs and fists, and Draco felt the thin stick of wood in his hands, but the next moment he was sprawled on his back, Petrified.


A part of Draco wasn't surprised. Of course he knew that he had never been a very athletic wizard, and in his own body or not, Blaise had always been of a stronger build.


“Don't do that.” Zabini sounded annoyed. “You were never one for a fistfight, Malfoy.”


You are no Potter either, Draco wanted to say. And you have the wand.


At that moment, Draco knew this was the end. Nothing had changed since leaving the cell and it was better than the Kiss, really. It just seemed so unfair that no one would ever know. That Ginevra would never know. He hated feeling so helpless. Hated Blaise for killing him, and Astoria for making a fool out of him, and himself for letting all that happen. But most of all, Draco hated himself for giving up. He looked at Blaise, now in his own body, pointing the wand at him.


“Go ahead then,” Draco said, as he felt the spell wearing off.


Time was standing still and Zabini was still frozen, his hand stretched out, holding what would soon be the means of Draco's death.


“Why couldn't you just drown?” Blaise whispered. “It would have been so much easier.”


“Was it easy to kill Astoria?”


“Yes!” The answer was almost ripped from the man's throat and there were tears in his eyes. “I hated her so much for taking it all away from me, when really, what did I have to begin with? Certainly not Pansy's affections.”


He was talking quietly now, and Draco sensed that it was more to put off the inevitable than from the need to get it off his chest. Draco could commiserate; he'd had his Astronomy Tower too.


“You used to be my friend, didn't you?” Blaise went on in a melancholy voice, and Draco felt it safe to get up from the floor.


“Yes,” he agreed, but only to continue the conversation. “So why did you do it?” They both knew that he wasn't talking about the murders.


Blaise shrugged. “I wanted her approval. Always have.” He sounded now more resigned than anything. “Pansy thought it would have been a 'thrill' to get Astoria to dump you. I thought it was because she was still hurt over your break-up.” A humourless laugh escaped him, but it was cut short. “I waited for so long for her to finally love me. So patiently.”


Draco saw Zabini looking at his signet ring. For a long minute he completely still. When he raised his eyes back to Draco, the look in them was dead. Blaise wasn't pointing his wand any more, and the quiet desolation and misery in his pose made Draco unwilling to do anything else but hear him out.


“You know that moment when you finally realise that whatever you do, you cannot win? It just hurt so bloody much to see the chalice in Astoria's rooms, but it hardly matters now.”


“The chalice?”


“The one we charmed into a Portkey for you? It had been my anniversary gift to Pansy. And she... She just gave it away, along with her affections. It had an inscription 'With Love'. Fitting, isn't it? It hurt so much. And now...” Blaise rubbed wearily at his forehead. “It was Pansy I wanted to kill. Not Astoria. It was her.”


With these words Blaise raised the wand to his temple and Draco closed his eyes. He was not surprised to hear a quiet 'Avada Kedavra' and a dull thud of a falling body.


*


Briggs was absolutely useless. Draco's nostrils flared.


“How did you make Mrs Zabini take the poison?”


“What poison?”


“Exactly. What did you poison her with?”


If it had been physically possible, Draco would have banged his head on the table. “I am telling you, the last I saw Pansy was when she hexed me at the Ministry-”


“Let's start from the beginning, shall we?” the thickest of the pigs in the Wizarding Piggeries interrupted him and Draco closed his eyes. He decided not to answer.


It was so bloody unfair! How many times was he going to be abducted just to be almost killed, and then manhandled by the Aurors because of his supposed escape attempt? So. Bloody. Un. Fair! Draco had been so careful to plan everything so that there could be no misunderstanding his voluntary surrender. And still he had been hexed, bound, and delivered into the Auror Headquarters like a Christmas turkey on a platter.


Draco started as the pig's fist pounded on the table. Yes, he had zoned out, but he had a good reason to. Why should he listen to people who didn't listen to him?


“Why did you kill Theodore Nott?”


“Who is your accomplice? Who helped you escape?”


“Did you kill your wife?”


“Did your accomplice poison Mrs Zabini?”


A strong feeling of déjà vu swept over him as he sat in Interrogation Room Four. His hands were bound behind his back, his muscles aching. It had been hours. Or at least it seemed as if it had been hours. The only consolation was that he'd had the presence of mind not to Apparate straight to the Ministry. Instead, after Zabini's entirely fortunate (or as it now seemed, unfortunate) death, he had gone home, showered, changed and eaten. Then, and only then, had he sent an owl to Ginevra with a brief outline of what had happened, inviting her and Potter to take him in and clear up all this nonsense.


What Draco hadn't known when planning his return was that Aurors Weasley and Potter would be out of the country, because there had been a 'Zabini-sighting' in Prague. And since when was it acceptable to open personal mail only because it was written by a fugitive? He hadn't even used the family crest stamp!


Draco could be speaking Trelawney for all they cared; if he wasn't confessing, they weren't listening.


“An abandoned warehouse, you say? Where is it? You don't know? And Zabini's body is there? So how did he die? Trip on his wand?”


By the time they dragged him back into his cell, Draco almost wished he had a wand to trip on, too.


*


“Where is he?” Ginny shouted, steaming past all her colleagues to the Chief Auror's office. “Why is Draco Malfoy still under arrest?” she demanded, as soon as she was over the threshold of the Chief Auror's office.


The Chief Auror's expression was calmly wooden as always, and his tone was stern. “Aren't you still on probation, Auror Weasley?” he asked, gesturing to his two underlings, whom Ginny hadn't even noticed, to leave.


“Yes, I am,” she continued, ignoring her better instincts, “but Draco is innocent and you know it! Why is he still in a cell?”


“Auror Weasley.” Her boss's tone had turned glacial. “Pull yourself together; I don't tolerate childish hysterics from my Aurors.”


Ginny bristled. “I am not being childish! The evidence-”


“Mr Malfoy's statements,” the Chief cut her off, pronouncing every word with the precision of an operating Medi-Wizard, “are being investigated and his memories tested as we speak. This is a very sensitive case of almost nationwide relevance, Auror Weasley. Before we have irrefutable proof about anything, I have no intention of releasing anyone.” He paused, but as Ginny refused to provide any confirmation that she understood, the Chief Auror continued, “So unless you are ready to face very serious repercussions, you will get your act together. Now. Is that clear?”


Although her boss had not raised his voice once, his tone had gone deadly, and Ginny managed to bite back the rash words on her tongue. After a heavy pause, she muttered, “Yes, sir.” But it was only because she had no idea what else to do.


*


Fortunately, it was only an hour later that Draco Malfoy was released and Harry took Ginny to his office to give the final touch to his paperwork.


“Nott must have known about Zabini being the culprit,” Harry said. “Probably tried to blackmail him, poor sod.”


“Yes, but how did he know?” Ginny was measuring the office with her footwork.


“Maybe he just guessed. Maybe he sent the same note to several people and Zabini was the one who reacted.”


“That would have been ingenious, Harry! Why didn't we think of that?”


“I just did.” Harry grinned.


“Yes, but-”


He interrupted her as if a sudden thought struck him. “Remember, Pansy said that Astoria asked her to come by some other time, and she'd thought it was because of a new lover? The note was probably written by Blaise.”


“Yes, I remember. What? You think Blaise and Astoria...?”


“No. I don't think so. But if Zabini planned it well, he had to be sure Astoria was in and alone. He must have sent her a note which he destroyed upon arrival.”


“Maybe it was a false note, seemingly from Pansy... No, Pansy got a note from...”


Harry interrupted her, “Zabini might have sent notes to both women, seemingly from each other.”


“Oh, I don't care, it all makes my head spin.”


“Or maybe...” Harry was relentless. “The note asking for an audience with Astoria was signed seemingly from Nott. Zabini must have guessed that Astoria was blackmailed because at least one of her lovers, and she wouldn't dare refuse to see Nott.”


“You think Astoria was paying Nott for something? Oh, the Pansy affair!”


“Yes, it would seem so. Zabini's and Malfoy's names were both in the book. It was rather sexist of us to think that they belonged to the husbands.”


“And both women paid him for the same thing?” Ginny grimaced.


Harry shrugged and smiled. “Why not? I don't think blackmailers have very high work ethics.”


“I can't believe they didn't get in touch with you when Draco wrote me,” Ginny said after a moment. “He was interrogated for almost four hours before anything he said sunk into their thick skulls!”


“Banks and O'Rourke were just doing their jobs, Gin, you know that. Besides, they knew that the Wizengamot had already decided his fate anyway, didn't they?”


She nodded with a sigh. “Bloody Wizengamot! Most of the old codgers were just blind with prejudice.” Ginny's tone was dark. “Thank Merlin the memory experts were still in the lab, or else Draco might've had to stay all night.”


Harry didn't look very compassionate, but he nodded. “The memory in itself was quite an interesting one. I'm not sure I would have believed Malfoy if I hadn't seen it for myself.”


Ginny shivered. “I still can't believe Blaise killed himself.”


“Why not? He knew he was wanted for the attempt on Malfoy's life, he knew that Pansy would never care about him. What else did he have? And I can't shake off the feeling that he somehow knew that Pansy was dead, but I can't think of a way he could.”


Ginny's head jerked up. “But they had linked wedding bands! Pansy showed me after her second interview!” At Harry's confused gaze she explained, “It's one of those pureblood family things. A married couple links their rings to see how their other half is. The Zabinis had red rubies on theirs, and if one of them died, the other's stone would have gone black. Blaise must have looked at the ring!”


Harry nodded, understanding. “He really had just lived for his wife then, hadn't he?” He shook himself. “It would have been romantic if it weren't so pathetic.”


“Yeah... But isn't it ironic that both Zabinis killed themselves virtually for the same reasons?”


“What do you mean?”


“Well, they both killed themselves because the future seemed bleak without the loves of their lives and the Aurors on their heels. What a harmonious end to a messy marriage.”


“And I thought that the Malfoy marriage was twisted,” Harry remarked.


*


Just as soon as Harry released her from her duty, Ginny Flooed straight into Malfoy Manor. The first thing she did when Draco came into the room was to put her arms around his neck. Trembling from relief, she buried her face in the crook of Draco's neck. His body grew tense at once and he tried to step back from her. She tightened her grip, but didn't raise her head.


“Listen, Weasley,” he said in that slightly irritated tone that didn't fool her for a minute, “whatever you thought this was, I'm sure it was nothing I was thinking.”


“Listen, Malfoy, I'm sure that whatever you thought it was, it's so much more than you could ever imagine.” She bit down on the skin of his neck lightly and he jumped. “Besides, you were the one that wanted me to smile at you. Now be a man and take it.” She kissed the bitten skin, and Draco shivered.


After a short while Draco put his arms around her and said, “Take what?” She was relieved to hear that the anguish in his voice had given way to amusement. “Are you saying your smile is so awful that I have to be brave to endure it?”


“Well, you were the one that made it to mean whatever you made it to mean, so you tell me.”


“No. You know I love your smiles,” he answered. “But could you stand me smirking back at you? I'm not sure I can smile the same way you do.”


“What, you're all smiled out?”


“Pretty much,” he said ignoring her attempt at lightening the mood.


“Don't be silly, Malfoy, you know that's not true. But if it bothers you that much, I'll allow you to start small.” She felt him smile against her temple. “See? There it is, the beginning.”


The silence was comfortable, but short.


“So do you want to know now?” Ginny asked.


“Know what?”


“If I do or not?”


For a moment there was a confused silence, but then she felt him start and relax slowly.


“Do or not what?” he asked, but she knew that he had understood.


Ginny stepped back and thumped him on the arm. “You know what, you git! But fine, if you don't want to know, I won't tell you.”


For a moment Draco just looked at her.


“And you would really tell me, just like that? Without knowing if I do too, first?” He raised an eyebrow.


Ginny stood straighter and raised her chin. “Well, I was sorted into Gryffindor, wasn't I? Besides, I already know you do too.” She paused. “Whatever it is that we're talking about.”


She grinned cheekily at him and it seemed there was no power on earth to keep Draco's lips from grinning back, because he did.


“Yes, Gryffindors tend to be over-confident.”


“And Slytherins tend to be over-cautious,” she bit right back.


“True.” He stepped slightly closer to her. “So, will you promise to smile at me every day, for a very, very long time?”


She took a step forward again and put her arms around his neck. “Of course. At least as long as you try to smile back.”


“Deal.”


THE END