Nymphadora Tonks and the Liquor of Jacmel

24. Scene of Crime Investigation

Thursday 27^th August 1994

Tonks sat sprawled on the bench outside Ballantyne's kitchen window and stared blankly at the garden. She hadn't any real desire to be sitting there brooding at the moment, but the people from Magical Analysis had insisted.

She cursed quietly to herself. Naturally, Cassius had immediately contacted Auror Headquarters to request specialist help as soon as he had seen the body. Naturally, Magical Analysis had ordered the Aurors to keep out of the way until they had finished working. Naturally, both of them had been inclined to take a look around regardless. But naturally, while they were still casting Muggle-Repelling Charms on the house and gardens to ward off any neighbourly inquisitiveness, the expert from Magical Analysis had Apparated into the patch of trees they had noticed earlier, strode into the house, and Taken Charge.

Cassius finished the last charm on the back gate and came to sit down next to her. "Well, that should make the locals feel unwanted," he said with a smile. He glanced back towards the house. "I think I know how they feel."

"Mmm."

"I don't know how long he'll be. It used to take anything from half an hour to several days, but methods may have improved since I retired."

"Ah."

"Must be an interesting branch of magic, mustn't it?"

"Uh-huh."

"Oh look, there goes Cornelius Fudge flying past on the back of a Hebridean Black. Don't you think his lime-green hat goes perfectly with that pink tutu he's wearing?"

"Yeah."

"Tonks!"

Her head snapped round. "Yes? What's the matter?"

His eyes twinkled slightly. "Your thoughts seemed to be elsewhere, young lady."

"Oh. Sorry. Just ... thinking."

"I can see that." He waited for a minute or two and then said hesitantly, "Your first dead body?"

Tonks looked round at him in surprise. "What? No. They took us to the morgue in training. In fact they showed us ... quite a few unpleasant things. Why?"

He shrugged. "You seemed distracted. First one who died by violence, perhaps?"

"No, not that ... I saw a man killed by a Vipertooth while I was out in Peru. That was fairly gruesome. It's just ..."

"Yes?"

Tonks hesitated for a good thirty seconds. "This one's my fault, isn't it?" she said miserably.

"It is?" Cassius looked at her as if doubtful of the best approach. He tried humour. "Are you holding your hand up for the crime, then? Should I confiscate your wand and Portkey you back to the cells?"

It didn't go down well. She scowled at him. "You know what I mean."

He shook his head. "Actually, I'm afraid I don't. I have no idea."

"Ballantyne wouldn't have been killed if I hadn't let that ... that masked git get away, would he?" she said despondently. "Scarf Boy would have been crying his heart out in Azkaban, and Ballantyne would have been in a nice safe cell as an accessory."

"Ah." He looked sideways at her. "I see. 'Auror's angst,' we used to call that."

"What?"

"You know. The feeling you get when you make a decision and something goes wrong, and then much later, after a number of people make a number of other decisions, something else goes wrong, and you convince yourself it's your fault because you failed to use your extensive Seer powers to predict it when making the original decision."

Tonks scowled again. "Oh, very witty. And your point was, Cassius?"

"Much the same as it was the last time we had a conversation like this," he said calmly. "Don't beat yourself up about it too much. It's good you're conscientious enough to take it this way. But you didn't refuse to talk to us, you didn't personally do him in. In the job, this kind of thing will happen a lot. You need to learn how to handle it." He paused for a moment. "For the record, I don't feel especially happy about the situation either. If we're pointing fingers, it's a lot more my fault than yours. I was the one who decided to let him go to see if anyone tried to contact him. I didn't envisage this kind of contact."

"No?"

"No. I underestimated our potion seller - if it is him - very badly, and believe me, it's not a good feeling. But I can't do anything about it now, and it's not as if my hand was the one holding the wand."

Tonks was glad to find that she was able to manage a smile - a rather forced one, admittedly, but at least it was a smile. "Good. I don't have to arrest you either then." Her expression turned serious again as she looked back at the house. "If the hand was holding a wand. It didn't look much like a magical attack, did it? Too bloody."

He shrugged. "Perhaps, but most curses that can be used to kill aren't as quick and clean as ... well, the Killing Curse, are they? I've always thought far more curses would be labelled Unforgivable if they couldn't be blocked magically."

"'There are many ways to kill,'" mumbled Tonks absently, remembering. "'And many ways to die.'"

"I'm sorry?" Cassius sounded startled.

She shook her head to discourage further inquiries on the topic. "Just something they said to us in training. Very apt." She stared out at the garden again.

*****

February 1993

Tonks hadn't expected the Unforgivable Curses to be taught. So it came as a surprise to arrive one day for a practical lesson to find the Head of Auror Training Bruno Featherstone himself was there, and had already written 'Killing Curses' on a blackboard hovering in mid-air. The class looked at each other with apprehension. Featherstone smiled. "This lesson is usually unexpected," he said quietly. "And unpopular. But necessary. So settle down, please. This isn't going to be pleasant." That statement did nothing to settle their nerves.

"Now, before you get scared or excited about the prospect of learning the Killing Curse - and I wouldn't recommend either reaction for an Auror, although the first is more pardonable - you should know we won't actually teach you Unforgivable Curses during your training. In fact, we don't teach them once you're qualified, either, without specific authorisation in an emergency situation. If we're unfortunate enough to have another war - and I'm afraid the historical odds suggest it's likely at some time during your careers - you may have to learn them. Be prepared for that."

More uneasy glances were exchanged. All the class were old enough to have childhood memories of the 1970-81 war, the one they always thought of as simply 'the war'. None were old enough for previous conflicts to seem like more than ancient history. Tonks had heard a few stories of the Grindelwald war; but despite spending seven years in an establishment run by the man who had actually defeated him, it still felt distant and unreal. She couldn't help thinking about what might happen and how she might feel if the Death Eaters were ever to re-form, and shuddered.

"But today, I'm here to draw your attention to the many unpleasant things people can use on you, and what you can do to counter them," continued Featherstone. "It's a dangerous job you've chosen to train for. Mr Dawlish tells me you're all doing well in general combat scenarios, but you need to know how to react if you find yourself at the wrong end of a wand held by someone truly dangerous. Because the Ministry does not approve of Aurors getting themselves killed without authorisation, and if this happens to you it could seriously damage your career prospects." Several trainees tittered nervously as he gave them one of his dangerous-looking half-smiles.

He waved his wand to move the board to one side, revealing a number of cages stacked behind it, each one containing an animal. On closer inspection, all of them appeared unusually docile; Tonks suspected they were probably under some kind of pacifying charm, and didn't give much for their chances. "You're not going to like this," Featherstone said easily, as he unlocked one of the cages and lifted out a dog. "At least, I do hope not. There are many ways to kill, most of which are rightly considered Dark Magic, and you won't find it easy to tell what is about to be cast at you or a fellow Auror, or what to do if it hits. So let's try a practical demonstration - see what you can do about this. Wands ready ..."

Featherstone pointed his wand at the dog, which had wandered off aimlessly, and muttered "Corpus Flammare." It was immediately enveloped in bright yellow flames. Several of the class cried out in horror (the smell was appalling), but a couple had the presence of mind to cast Flame-Freezing Charms. Unfortunately, they had no effect on the magical flames. Tonks, revolted, tried a jet of water, but this failed to douse the fire either. It wasn't until one of the trainees spat "Finite Incantatem!" through gritted teeth that the flames went out. It was too late to help the dog, however.

Featherstone nodded at the successful student. "That's an old Dark curse, very nasty indeed, and it was designed not to be containable by the remedies you would immediately think of. And Finite might well not have worked if I'd cast the curse more strongly - its effectiveness depends, as you know, on the relative amounts of magical power applied. There is a known counter-curse ... but since this is a rather obscure spell you'd be unlikely to know it. And even if you did, the damage already caused would be severe. Next, try this."

The class watched in trepidation as Featherstone extracted a cat from the next cage and set it down. "These animals are all heavily dosed with a Pain-Blocking Potion, by the way," he said. "I'm being brutal to make a point, but we don't do this sort of thing for fun." This time the curse he uttered was "Hirudinis." Nothing much happened for a few moments, then there were gasps as drops of blood started to leak through the cat's fur, as if it were covered in invisible leeches.

Several people immediately tried Finite Incantatem, but this time, it didn't seem to work. Wound-sealing charms helped, but additional leaks kept springing, causing the cat to lose more blood. After a few minutes, someone eventually remembered a Blood-Boosting spell; but it wasn't cast well enough, or in time. Most of the class looked disgusted.

"Finite doesn't help much on that one," said Featherstone quietly. "It's a regenerative curse. The symptoms can be countered magically, but again, the accepted counter-curse is obscure. A final example." The target for this spell was a monkey. Featherstone looked at it for a moment, then cried "Eviscero!" while bringing his wand across his body with a vicious slash like a Bludger Backbeat. As he did, a streak of purple flame shot across the monkey's stomach. Several trainees, Tonks included, made gagging noises at the resulting damage, which resembled a stroke from a jagged but slightly blunt blade. There was nothing any of them could do.

"That's right," said Featherstone, watching them closely. "Once that curse has hit, the damage is already done. There is no counter except standard healing spells and potions, and if the curse is performed at full strength, there won't be much of a chance for them to be effective." He stared at the cursed animals for a moment with a look of distaste. "That'll be enough for now, I think. If you're shocked by this demonstration ... that's all to the good. Because remember, next time it could be you facing spells like these."

"Who knows old curses like that, sir?" said one student, with a sickened look. "I thought I'd studied hard for Defence classes, but I've never heard of those. Are we ever likely to face someone who uses them?"

"I don't know," said Featherstone simply. "My point ... and I can't emphasise it enough ... is that you won't know, either, until it happens. Magical research has developed countless spells over the years, among them many, many ways to kill. Now, those first two are mercifully obscure, but I still found them in old books, and you can't guarantee you'll never face them, or any of the many similarly unpleasant curses. It would be nice if the Gutting Curse were equally obscure, but that one actually was employed in the war. We eventually captured the man who liked to use it, but not soon enough." He grimaced. "Our team arrived just too late to rescue his last victims, a couple of young men who put up a brave fight but in the end were simply outnumbered. I saw the reports ... and they weren't a pretty sight."

The class was silent for a moment. Featherstone looked at each of them with a very serious expression. "Now I don't wish to alarm you ... well actually, that's not quite true; I do wish to alarm you, but not unnecessarily. Most of the time, you'll be facing villains of modest combat ability. They can still be dangerous, but with the training you receive here, you should be able to cope comfortably enough. But you have to be prepared for the fact that some day, you may find yourself facing someone who has studied the Dark Arts deeply; in a worst case scenario, someone personally taught by He Who Must Not Be Named." He smiled mirthlessly at the sharp intakes of breath from his audience. "It happened often in the war. And there are undoubtedly people from that circle who avoided Azkaban. Always be on your guard. 'Constant vigilance', as one of my old friends likes to put it."

"How can we stop them then, sir?" asked one trainee shakily. Featherstone indicated that she should continue, which she did with obvious reluctance. "You said yourself, some spells have specific counter-curses that nobody knows these days. What can we do?"

"A good question," said Featherstone. "Let's see if we can decide on an answer. What would you do in a normal combat situation? Anyone?"

"Use the training Dawlish gave us," muttered Tonks, mostly to herself. Unfortunately the lecturer heard the comment and turned to look at her.

"Correct. Now tell me how you would know that this wasn't a normal combat situation?"

"Er ... I'm not sure I would," said Tonks reluctantly.

"Also correct," said Featherstone, to her surprise. "I would hope you all understand what Mr Dawlish has been drilling into you by now. If you're hit by a spell in a fight - any spell - it's probably bad news, whatever it is. Defence against killing curses is largely an extension of normal combat techniques. If you expect to be facing them, you can take fewer risks, but the general principles are the same. Anyone care to suggest a way to defend against them? Come on, someone?"

"Be somewhere else," said a young man sourly. The class laughed.

"Correct again," said Featherstone. "Well done Mr Jenkins! I don't say that often, do I? Yes, the first principle of defence is the same here as anywhere; get the hell out of the way. Duck, dodge, Disapparate; do whatever it takes. What else can you do?"

"Shield charms?" ventured Tonks. It was her best technique, after all.

"Exactly. They will block many incoming spells if cast powerfully enough. That's why we emphasise hex-deflection techniques. If anyone here had had the presence of mind to use Protego while I was demonstrating, it might have worked, even against the Gutting Curse. But as you probably know, there is one killing curse it won't work against. Suppose you're facing someone about to cast Avada Kedavra at you. Is there any shielding action you can take?"

"Physically block the spell energy?" said someone from the back of the group hesitantly. Featherstone nodded at him. pleased.

"Precisely. If you can interpose a sufficiently rigid physical object between yourself and a curse, it will often absorb or deflect the spell energy. This is where Conjuring skills are especially useful, which is one of the reasons we work so hard at bringing your advanced Transfiguration skills up to par. It gives you some extra chances, at least."

"The blast from a physical barrier shattering could be dangerous too, couldn't it?" queried someone else. "How do we tell when we need to Conjure or animate one rather than just use Protego?"

"Another very good question. The answer is that the one disadvantage of the Unforgivable Curses is that you have to actually say the incantation. In the case of Avada Kedavra that gives you about half a second before they complete it. Part of the training Mr Dawlish will be taking you through will be to train your instincts to enable you to react in that half a second as soon as you hear someone say 'Avada ...'. Although this in itself can be a weakness, as he knows very well." He smiled wryly. "But it's the lesser of two evils. Any questions?"

One of the foreign trainees raised a hand. "Sir? Vy are ve not learning to cast zese so-called 'Unforgiffable Curses'? In my country, ve ... haff had need of them."

Tonks thought it a very good question. She knew, from talking to him, that his country had a very small wizarding population, and during the war a group of local You-Know-Who sympathisers had attempted to take over their Ministry. In the ensuing bloody battles half a generation had been lost. Featherstone, however, looked at him with what seemed, to Tonks, to be a mixture of reproof and sympathy. "Then your Ministry will have to teach you, I'm afraid. We only do so when absolutely necessary. Do you even understand the principles on which they work?"

"I ... vell ..." He trailed off.

"I thought not. Let me explain. The Unforgivables are all about projecting personal power. To be effective, the caster needs both magical strength and a will firmly focused on the desired result." He glanced around to see how the class were reacting to this. "Both components are vital. Strong negative emotions such as anger, desperation, or hatred will provide the base for the spells, but unless channelled in the right way they will cause relatively little damage. An inadequate Imperius will fail to fully control the victim. A below-strength Cruciatus will merely produce a short burst of pain. Even a poorly-executed Killing Curse will result only in a sort of enhanced Stunning Spell. It is this feature of the curses that makes them dangerous even for the caster." He paused for a moment. "Does anyone know where the incantation for the Killing Curse actually comes from?"

No-one put their hands up. Tonks didn't blame them. She wouldn't have done so at this point even if she could have remembered the answer.

"Very well. It's an ancient spell. The incantation is Aramaic, and the literal translation is 'let the thing be destroyed'. Ironically, in corrupted form, Muggles seem to regard it as the only 'magic word' necessary for any spell. The fact that such a curse was developed so early in the history of magic, and has been used often enough for even Muggles to have some idea of the incantation, may partly explain why they have always treated us with such suspicion.

"The words point the way to the successful execution of the spell, you see. To actually kill with the Killing Curse, the incantation is not enough. Nor is a mere wish to cause harm. You must channel a desire to destroy your target utterly. Similarly, a Cruciatus curse requires a hunger to inflict agonising and continuous pain, and the prerequisite for Imperius is the urge to dominate someone completely."

"Is this ... vy is this ..."

"The power of the curses is such that they cause harm to the caster too, every time they are used, especially on a human being. The magical strength and mental attitude needed interact with the power of the spell itself. They eat away at the caster's very soul. Regular use of such curses will damage your conscience, and ultimately your sanity, and slowly destroy you - or at any rate, the part of you that we want you to display as an Auror. That's why we don't normally teach them."

He looked around at them with a sombre expression. "There are many ways to kill," he said. "And many ways to die. As an Auror, you have to be prepared for both. But you need not seek out either."

The class filed out thoughtfully. It seemed to be a common result from Bruno Featherstone's lectures.

*****

Thursday 27^th August 1994

"You may come in now."

Tonks, lost in morbid recollections, started at the voice from behind her. She turned to see the Ministry expert standing in the kitchen doorway with a very self-satisfied expression on his face. He was wearing plain white robes over Muggle clothing, and thin gloves made of some sort of clear material that appeared to be enchanted to repel contact. She exchanged glances with Cassius, who looked as disgruntled as she felt.

"That's very kind of you, old chap," he said. Tonks carefully kept her face straight. The expert didn't seem to have noticed the hint of irony in his voice.

"My card." He handed them each a card on which was printed 'Aloysius Lockhard, Magical Analyst, Department of Magical Law Enforcement', together with a crossed wand and spatula emblem. "Don't touch anything inside," he said.

"Of course not." Cassius' mouth twitched. "What have you discovered, Mr Lockhard?"

"It's pronounced Lo-card," he said with some annoyance. "Now then, Auror Scrimgeour - oh and you too, Auror Tonks - I have completed my examination of the body and the room in which it was found. Fortunately neither of you were in there long enough to do any damage. I have also carried out a short search of the rest of the house. No hidden areas, and there won't be anything of importance there, as I will explain to you shortly."

"I see. Well, never mind, eh? Could you tell us when he was killed?" Tonks was glad to see Cassius taking the initiative. She knew very well that there were no hidden areas, having searched the place once already when they arrested Ballantyne. She was having to repress a strong urge to wipe the smug look off Lockhard's face with a well-placed hex. Or even a punch.

Lockhard shrugged. "Unfortunately not with any degree of precision. If you want a range, I will state my opinion that death took place three to four days ago. I can't be any more definite than that, the body had lain here too long before I was called in, and it's always possible that the killer knew a spell to slow or speed up post-mortem processes, of course."

"How was he killed?" asked Tonks. She felt sure she wasn't going to be happy with the answer.

"Ah yes, now that's an interesting one," said Lockhard with real enthusiasm. "It seems he was Stunned first, but the actual damage was done with a Reductor Curse to the back of the head. It's the first time I've seen that in the field, it's a most unusual case."

Yeah, terrific. "Hang on a minute ... I thought the Reductor Curse wasn't very effective on living tissue?" asked Tonks.

"Oh, it isn't, usually," he said happily. "And the force projected usually spreads rapidly - inverted squares, you know - that's why it's so unusual to see it used to attack someone. At best you might break bones. But at point-blank range ... it had the effect you see. A very interesting choice. There are so many ways to kill someone with a curse, but it would appear that our killer didn't know anything more efficient. Or didn't have the ability to cast it if they did."

"How much damage did they do?" asked Cassius in a quiet voice.

"Oh, more than enough. Shattered the back of the skull and scattered brain tissue over quite an area. Very messy. Could have been worse, but the victim's own wand was used, which must have reduced the power a bit ..."

"What?" said Tonks and Cassius simultaneously.

Lockhard smirked at them. "I discovered it in the front garden when I arrived." Tonks looked at Cassius with chagrin; admittedly, they hadn't had time to search the grounds, but it still made them look bad. "The killer must have discarded it when he left."

"Did it tell you anything?" asked Cassius through what appeared to be gritted teeth.

"Of course, of course. Having the murder wand available is always useful, we so rarely have that luxury. I did Priori Incantatem to get the last few spells cast from it - I've recorded them if you need to see. The owner appears to have got off one Disarming Charm - I can only assume he missed. After that, the Stunner must have hit him. The marks made by the spell - here on the chest, see - haven't faded, which shows he must have been killed shortly afterwards. The wand was then used to cast a series of cleaning and locking spells, which evidently represent the murderer tidying up after himself."

"Himself? Can you tell?" asked Tonks. Lockhard clucked at her in annoyance.

"Or herself. I use the term merely for convenience, young lady ... Anyway, whoever they were, they were very sensible not to use their own wand, of course. Seems to be a popular tactic at the moment, doesn't it?"

"Did you find any personal aura traces?" asked Cassius. Lockhard snorted.

"No hope of that. It's been far too long since it happened. Why you couldn't have checked on him earlier, I don't know."

Oh you know. The World Cup to patrol. Headcases in masks to deal with. Unauthorised additional ingredients to investigate. Obscure Dark Arts books to find. Hairstyles to change. It's amazing how busy you can get with trivial little things like that these days. "Any sign of how he got in?" she said tersely. "Floo traces, anything like that?"

"Naturally not. We would have tracked them. Clearly our criminal had enough sense to realise that, and arrived here by Apparition. Ballantyne's wards are invitation-only, by the way, they have to be specifically adjusted to let anyone in or out. When I went back a little further with the Priori, I found that a spell was performed to let someone in - our killer, I would think - and then they were closed again."

"Can you tell who it was from the spell trace?" said Cassius with a hopeful look.

Lockhard shook his head with obvious reluctance. "Only very broadly, Auror Scrimgeour. You field people always want us to give you all the answers, but you never get more than a spell echo from Priori Incantatem ..."

"Yes, I know," he said mildly. "Over the years, I remember watching your branch develop the theory of spell echoes and then start to catalogue them. I always thought it was a very impressive bit of analysis. I'd just hoped there might have been progress in the years I was away."

"Oh, I see." Lockhard had the grace to look slightly disconcerted. "Well then - the trouble is that for a spell of this kind, the focus of the charm used is the place being warded, rather than the person being admitted or refused entry on any given casting. That's just a sub-component of the spell, so the echo of it is overlaid. You only get a hint of their general appearance as the caster pictured it. I ... well, it did seem to be a youngish man, but I wouldn't like to commit myself to that analysis. It could have been a mannish-looking woman. The features were very unclear."

"We'll take a look at it later," promised Cassius. "But how did he contact Ballantyne to ask for the ward to be opened in the first place?"

"Oh ... um ... I haven't been able to tell that. Possibly an owl? If so, the letter seems to have been destroyed. Were the Law Enforcement Patrol told to note any owls sent or received?"

"Yes, but they didn't report anything arriving, though," mused Cassius. "Well, except for the official owl with the trial date."

"Any chance of a witness?" asked Tonks

Lockhard snorted, evidently considering himself back on firmer ground. "Don't be ridiculous, Auror. No-one would have seen him Apparate in. I'm sure even our Mr Ballantyne had the sense to tell him to arrive in a back room, where the Muggles couldn't have seen him appear."

"What about going out, then? He obviously couldn't have Disapparated from the house if the wards were still there. You said yourself he left Ballantyne's wand in the garden. Someone could have been passing by?" Lockhard nodded at her tolerantly.

"Very possibly, but even if they did I'm sure our criminal wouldn't have omitted the simple precaution of a Memory Charm. He could have Disapparated as soon as he got clear of the grounds and found a suitable spot - very possibly even the place you pointed out to me. And unfortunately, it appears that whichever incompetent from the Law Enforcement Patrol set up the trace spells only set them to register visitors coming in."

"Damn!" said Cassius, looking as crestfallen as Tonks had ever seen him. "I didn't think to check. My fault, I suppose." That drew him a condescending look.

"Ah, well, you're only human. I'm sure you make mistakes like the rest of us, old chap." Lockhard's tone of voice suggested he didn't think he, personally, made them all that often. "No, I'm afraid that any kind of witness would just be too much to hope for."

"Any significant clues left behind by the killer at all, then?" Lockhard shook his head with regret.

"No, he must have been through the place with a fine tooth-comb and removed any hints to his identity. Except that we can, of course, deduce from that that it was someone well-versed in the procedures for concealing crimes. He seems to have taken Ballantyne's wand and scoured the whole house - I found a remarkable number of Scourgify echoes. Didn't you notice how unnaturally clean it was when you entered?"

Tonks snorted. Er ... frankly, mate, most places look unnaturally clean when compared with my flat. And anyway ... "Look, to start with, I was actually more concerned with not walking into a possible ambush? And then I was slightly distracted by this bloodstained corpse that was lying on the floor?"

Lockhard smiled with indulgence. "Oh well, you'll learn. Anyway ..."

He was interrupted by slightly muffled cries coming from an upstairs room. "Hello! Hello! Is there someone there? Can you hear me? Hello!"

*****

Cassius glanced at Lockhard with a quizzical expression. "Nothing important in the rest of the house, old chap? I see."

"But ... but there couldn't have ... there couldn't have been anyone in those upstairs rooms," said Lockhard, looking quite upset, and staring at the ceiling in the apparent hope that he would suddenly acquire the ability to see through it. "I couldn't have missed seeing a person up there - well, unless they were Disillusioned and kept very still ... or were wearing an Invisibility Cloak or something ..."

"Let's find out, shall we?" interrupted Tonks. She drew her wand and cautiously crept up the stairs, only tripping once at the bottom. She muttered a well-chosen swear word and carried on climbing.

At the top of the stairs she paused to listen. The calls were coming from what appeared to be a spare back bedroom, with the door slightly ajar. She took a deep breath, blasted it fully open with her wand and leapt forward with a Shield Charm at the ready.

Then she grinned and slipped the wand back into her sleeve.

"Well, where did you spring from then, mate?" she said. "Never noticed you here when we looked before." She turned her head to call downstairs. "Cassius? Mr Lockhard? I think we may have found ourselves a witness."

They trooped into the room with curious looks on their faces. The man in the small portrait hanging on the wall tapped impatiently on the side of his frame. "Are you Aurors?" he asked.

Lockhard stepped forward importantly to take charge. "Yes, we are," he said. "I'm from the Magical Analysis branch. Who are you? Why are you hanging in a room in a Muggle area?"

"Keep your pointed hat on," said the painting with a touch of asperity. "Richard Ross is my name. And I'm used to keeping very still when people call. Fortunately, your two colleagues here barely glanced in my direction when they ransacked the place last week - they seemed to lose interest when they realised that there wasn't anything hidden behind my frame."

Oops. "So why are you hanging here then?" asked Tonks.

"Young Sylvester is my great great ... ah ... well, a descendant of mine, anyway. I happen to be one of the few members of our family who ever made a name for himself. Doubtless that is why they've kept me around." He preened slightly. "I was painted by the old master Cierascurro, you know, before he became famous. I must be quite valuable by now."

"You're an original Cierascurro?" began Lockhard with interest, but Cassius cut him off.

"Your name does seem familiar, Mr Ross. I've a feeling I've read it somewhere recently. What did you do?"

"I was a Chaser with the Falmouth Falcons from 1768 to 1782," he said proudly. "We won the league thrice. Sylvester said that he would have put me on display, but he was unable to hang me in the drawing-room in case he ever needed to invite a Muggle in." He hesitated, and his face lost a lot of its previous animation. "How is he? Is he hurt?" He must have seen something in their faces. "Is he ... dead?"

Cassius nodded sadly. "I'm afraid so, Mr Ross."

"Oh." He slumped back against the frame, looking devastated. "Then ... there was nothing I could do."

"No, it seems not, Mr Ross. Can you tell us what happened?"

"Yes ... yes, of course. The door to my room was usually left open; I heard someone contact him on that ... um, that Muggle Floo device, you know, the one that works without fire - amazing what they can do nowadays ..."

"A telephone?" Of course. We never thought to ask the Patrol to check for that, even if they could have. That's why they didn't see any owls.

"Yes, that's right ... There was an argument. I heard Sylvester shout something like 'well, raise your offer then!' He calmed down afterwards. I heard him cast a spell to let someone in, and then I heard an Apparition pop ... There was a conversation; they seemed to be talking in a perfectly reasonable manner for a while, but then it developed into another argument. I heard some shouts and bangs from downstairs, and then all of a sudden things went quiet. I didn't like it."

"Why didn't you sound the alarm?" asked Lockhard irritably.

"I tried," said Ross in an injured tone. "I do have another portrait in the Museum of Quidditch, so I immediately left to try to alert someone. But it appears they have changed the displays since I last visited there." He sounded very hurt by this. "My painting was put in the storage area in a cellar, and the heartless ... the curators have put a charm on the frames that stops you entering another person's portrait to move around the museum. So I was not able to personally sound the alarm, young man."

"Humph."

"I shouted and shouted, but no-one came. I even attempted to persuade the other portraits to go and find someone, but all of them down there seem either to be half-asleep, or only interested in chattering about old matches. I have actually been checking back here every few hours to see if anything had happened, but I heard nothing for days until you people arrived."

"Oh, very well. So there isn't much you can tell us, then?"

"Perhaps when this happened?" interposed Cassius. "What day was it? What time of day, if you have any idea?"

Ross thought carefully. "It was the Sunday before the World Cup, sometime in the late forenoon. I remember Sylvester was just about to start cooking a meal when he received the call on the ... on the call thing."

"When we were both busy doing other things," said Tonks with a shrug.

"Yes, and at that time of day, I suspect there wouldn't have been much chance of any of the neighbours paying attention to people coming out of the house," said Cassius gloomily. "We'll get the Patrol people in to ask around, but I doubt they'll find anything." He turned to the Analysis expert. "Have you finished with the house, Mr Lockhard?"

"I suppose so," he said. "I'll give you my full report as soon as possible, but I think you know the important points. I'll take the wand, but it's unlikely we'll get any more from it. Will you search the house yourself in case our man left any incriminating papers behind?"

Cassius frowned. "We'll try. But as our artistic friend has pointed out, we searched here once before, without discovering anything particularly useful. Never mind. Can you take Mr Ross' painting back with you so they can take his statement in full?"

Lockhard looked affronted, but nodded. "Very well. Will you make the necessary arrangements with the Ministry? I do have other things to do - such as writing my report, for example."

Cassius smiled slightly, in a way that Tonks, by now, could recognise as insincere. "I'll do that. Thank you for your efforts anyway, Mr Lockhard. Will you make your own way back?"

"Of course, of course," said Lockhard fussily, as he tucked the painting under one arm, shook hands with them, and opened the front door. "I'll go back the way I came - from that patch of trees."

"Nice meeting you, anyway," said Tonks with a smile of her own. She knew that Cassius, by now, would recognise it as insincere too, but she doubted Lockhard would. A sudden thought prompted her to ask, "You're not related to Gilderoy Lockhart the writer by any ..."

Lockhard positively bristled. "Lockhart? That charlatan? Why does everyone assume we're related just because our names sound vaguely similar? I get so tired of that! It's pronounced Lo-CARD!" He slammed the door behind him as he went out.

Cassius smiled at her, this time clearly sincere. "Well well. Looks like we're not the only people with unfortunate names ..."

"Obviously not, mate." Tonks grinned at him, a grin which quickly faded. "What do we do about the body, and the house?"

"There's a section of the Department which takes care of this sort of thing," said Cassius, to Tonks' relief. "They'll handle the arrangements to find the next of kin, organise the burial, and contact the Muggle authorities with some cover story. I'll get them in to remove the body, then we can make a search."

Much to Tonks' surprise, the Ministry team arrived promptly and proved to be very efficient; and as soon as they left, Tonks and Cassius began another thorough search. Unfortunately, Lockhard had been correct; Ballantyne's house had apparently been stripped bare of anything that might have been a pointer to his killer. Despite their best efforts to prove him wrong, the house itself seemed stubbornly free of secret passages, hidden rooms, or anything else that might possibly have been magically added to a quiet Muggle suburban home. The papers that were left failed to contain any useful information, even when they had cast every Revealing Charm they knew on them in the hope of uncovering hidden writing. They even tried Reconstituting Spells on the contents of the ashtrays, in the desperate hope that a message might have been burnt, but only acquired a fine collection of filter-tipped cigarettes for their pains.

Finally, Tonks stood up, gazed around her, and voiced what they'd obviously both been thinking. "There's nothing here, is there?"

Cassius paused in his third examination of the contents of a writing desk. His shoulders slumped. "No. I'm afraid you're right. Except ..."

"Yeah?"

"There are hardly any bills here from the local traders in Wizards' Row in Brighton. I would have thought every wizard and witch in the vicinity would deal with them. You don't suppose they've been removed?"

She thought about it. "Maybe he just went up to Diagon Alley when he wanted stuff? I thought you said the local areas were as much social as anything?"

"Yes ... well, we'll have to inquire there anyway, I suppose. Time to go, you think?"

Tonks looked around one last time. "Definitely."

They sealed the house again with spells that prevented access to anyone without a Ministry badge, called the office, and walked casually along the street towards the patch of trees.

"Where did you see that Ross bloke's name recently then?" Tonks asked curiously as they went.

"Oh, him." Cassius grinned. "In those 1770s Quidditch yearbooks I got from Lore of Yore."

Tonks blinked. "But ... I thought she wanted to charge you thirty galleons each for them after you - well, after you got into that argument with her?"

Cassius' grin became wider. "She did. And I paid it. Those were genuine original editions, not copy-charmed or Transfigured or enhanced in any way. I checked them thoroughly before I bought them. She obviously didn't realise just how rare those early editions are, especially in such good condition. For a collector, they were still an absolute bargain even at thirty galleons."

Tonks laughed out loud as they slipped into the trees and out of sight of the houses. "Glad it's not just me who finds interesting stuff there, then!" She hesitated. "Look, this time when we inquire about the Borgia Book, I'd better be the one to call round and ask her about it, don't you think?"

"Definitely."

"I'll do it as soon as I can finish the paperwork on this." She paused for a moment, heart sinking; she still didn't feel at all comfortable about her contribution to making the murder possible, but she didn't want to say so again in front of Cassius. "What are you planning to do when we get back?"

"Chase up the Wizengamot for the search warrant for Charlotte Perks' house. With a bit of luck, we might actually get one for the Blackstocks as well. Although I can't say I'm optimistic about that, not even in the current climate. I'll ask around." He frowned. "Let's hope we get more useful results than we did here. I'd like to find something that would indicate where Portia fits in. "

"No kidding."

They looked around; there was no-one in sight, and they were well hidden in the trees. "Ready, Tonks?"

"Yeah."

There were a couple of small popping sounds as they disappeared from sight.