Murder at Malfoy Manor

Chapter Seven

Evidence Uncovered

Voldemort was furious. He desperately wanted to Crucio someone just to alleviate the stress. He was not normally a sadist, and was pragmatic about the use of pain, but sometimes...he settled himself to clench his left fist instead, so hard his bones started to hurt. Beside him, the feather light steps of Hermione Granger provided a gentle rhythm to his thoughts as he headed for the Malfoy drawing room where, presumably, Lucius Malfoy's body remained. There, he thought, would be the clues that would lead him to Bellatrix's murderer.

A fresh wave of anger boiled in his reptilian blood. He had spent so much effort on Bellatrix. Years of training, teaching her the Dark Arts, rescuing her from Azkaban, covering for her...she had been his prodigy, and now she was dead. Voldemort hated for his effort to go to waste, and this was a huge waste of talent. He glanced down at little Granger next to him. Hmm, he thought. Perhaps Bellatrix can be replaced. He reminded himself to be on his best and most charming behaviour.

The Granger girl was a mudblood, of course; that was unfortunate. However, Voldemort considered himself a practical and reasonable man. He could overlook accidents of bloodline, if the wizard or witch was willing to serve him with distinction. Severus Snape, after all was a half-blood, as was Voldemort himself. Besides, to gain Hermione Granger's loyalty - what a coup! It would strike at the heart of Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore. He smiled at the thought, feeling his mood improve.

The drawing room was dark like the rest of the house, and Voldemort waved his hand, flaring up the room's witch-lights to light their investigation.

'The rope is gone,' said Hermione.

'I can see that, child,' Voldemort hissed impatiently. 'What we are looking for is evidence. If we can discover how Malfoy died, that will lead us to Bella's killer. I think it must be the same person.'

'Not necessarily, sir,' said Hermione.

He glanced over at her. She defied him so openly; Voldemort was not used to it. 'Explain yourself,' he said.

'What if Bellatrix herself murdered Malfoy? And someone else murdered her? It's a possibility.'

That was true. 'Then if we discover that Bellatrix killed Malfoy, that will narrow down the suspects of who killed her, will it not? Remember, Miss Granger, I am in a foul mood. I've lost two Death Eaters tonight, one loyal and one...not-so-loyal,' he said, looking down at Malfoy's body with distaste.

'Let's start with the positions of everyone in the room,' said Hermione. 'As far as I could discern, we were all equidistant from Malfoy. Someone held the gun, fired it, dropped it here,' she walked over to where the Muggle revolver lay on the Oriental carpet. 'The bullet entered Malfoy's left temple, here,' she pointed, 'and must have remained in the brain, as there is no exit wound.'

Voldemort smiled. 'You're very clinical about it.'

Hermione pretended not hear him and continued to speak. 'The rope has been taken,' indicating the candlestick left alone on the carpet. 'All the other weapons appear to be intact.'

The knife still stuck out of Malfoy's neck, now with a circle of dried blood around its hilt. Voldemort knelt near the body, folding his black robes out of the way. He inspected the poisoned tea, confirming for himself Snape's analysis of box jellyfish toxin. 'There is a way to tell if the poison took hold,' he said.

'How?' Hermione asked, kneeling next to him.

'We shall need essence of belladonna, asphodel powder, and freshly-taken pollen of greater bindweed flower, as well as a stabilising base of erumpent fluid. That compound, applied to the lips, will produce blue foam if poison is present.'

'Ah,' said Hermione, understanding dawning. 'I hope Malfoy Manor has potions ingredients.'

'In the dungeons,' said Voldemort. He enjoyed the flash of fear that crawled across Hermione's face.

'Well, my Lord,' she said, setting herself into brave lines. 'What are we waiting for?'

'No,' he said. 'You've overlooked the fact that greater bindweed only blooms in the mornings. If they even have it in the greenhouse. The potion will have to be made tomorrow.'

'Oh,' said Hermione. 'Yes.'

'That leaves us all night to do other things,' he said.

Another expression of repulsion and fear crept into Hermione's features.

'Oh, for the love of Merlin, child!' Voldemort snapped. 'Solving the mystery! What did you think I meant?'

'N-n-nothing,' she stammered, lowering her head.

Voldemort stood, stepping away from the body. 'Let us return to the parlour, to see if anything has been overlooked. Knowing Bella as I do -' he paused, 'as I did, she put up a fight. Come.' With a dramatic flounce of his robes (Voldemort had practised the gesture for hours, long ago, until he got it right), he swept from the room, keen ears picking up little Hermione Granger's feet running after him. Ahhh, he thought, I love having followers.

'How old are you, child?' he said over his shoulder to Hermione, certain she was right behind him.

'Eighteen, sir,' she said. 'Well, nineteen, if you count the year with the time-turner.'

'Time-turner?'

'Mmm. In my third-year, I took a double class load, and used a time-turner. Professor McGonagall gave it to me. But, I had to give it back at the end of the year, because it was a bit much, even for me. I did get O marks in all my classes, however.' She said this last with obvious pride in her voice.

'Indeed?' Voldemort said. This girl was ambitious, for a Gryffindor. A bit neurotic about schoolwork, perhaps, but there was plenty of potential there. 'A time-turner for a thirteen-year-old? They must have trusted you completely.'

'There was no reason why not,' she said. 'I am the most responsible person I know. If it weren't for me, Ron and -' she cut herself off.

Voldemort laughed mightily. It was a rare sound from his lips, but when he laughed, he meant it. 'If it weren't for you, your little friends would get into even more trouble than they already do. That's what you meant to say. Miss Granger, you could do so much better. You allow them to hold you back. I doubt they appreciate your intelligence, your rationality, your level-headedness. Don't you get anything in return?'

'I don't need anything in return!' Hermione said hotly. 'Their friendship is enough!'

'You deserve better,' said Voldemort, flinging open the doors to the parlour. He quelled his anger at the sight of Bella's hanging corpse, taking ten deep breaths to clear the red rage that crept in the corners of his vision. Silent now, he stalked through the room, running his white fingers over the furniture, looking for clues. His tall frame came up to Bella's hanging knees, and he turned her body gently, looking for evidence of struggle. There was none. Her nails had no breaks; there were no scratches on her skin or tears in her robes. Curious.

Hermione sat on one of the divans, looking awkward. Her brow furrowed, and she kept her gaze averted from the body.

'Does death bother you, Miss Granger?' Voldemort asked. He meant to sound interested, but his voice was so trained to disdain that it must have frightened Hermione.

Her shoulders tensed, and she nodded her head slightly.

Voldemort brought out his wand. 'Ah,' he said, caressing it. 'To be able to use this.'

Hermione glanced up, and her face went white. She shrank away from him, as though she could meld straight into the furniture and disappear. 'Please, no,' she whispered.

With a high chuckle, Voldemort placed the wand back in his robes. 'Not to use on you, Miss Granger. To investigate the crime scene. If I didn't know better, I would say you considered me to be thinking of you at every moment.' He waved at the black windows, the violent storm outside. 'To use my wand...not in this storm. Not for a few days, at least.' He sighed dramatically. 'No, no. I wish I could levitate her down from there, examine the rope, see if she tried any last-minute spells before she died. But that would be impossible; no strong magic can be done in this house.'

Several moments of silence followed. Voldemort decided that he must have scared Granger into incoherence. Ah, well. You couldn't win them all.

'Sir?' she said, her voice breaking a little. 'What about the house-elves?'

'What?' Voldemort gave her a sharp look.

'The house-elves. Their magic. Could they have got her up there? Acted on someone's orders?'

Voldemort could feel his eyes start to glow. 'Dear Merlin,' he said. Well, well, he thought. Hermione Granger is full of surprises. 'I don't know,' he said. 'But it's a distinct possibility.' He stood, full of energy again. 'We should interview the house-elves. Find out who, exactly, their master is, and whether their loyalties transferred to someone else when Malfoy died. Come! We'll go to the kitchens.' He extended a spidery hand to Hermione on her sofa. A moment's hesitation later, she slipped her small, warm hand into Voldemort's own and allowed herself to be pulled up.

*****

'Oh, Severus,' Narcissa moaned. 'Oh.'

After their kiss in Lucius's study, they had hurried upstairs to Narcissa's bed-chamber. It was the most feminine room in the house, in pink and silver-gilt decadence. Lucius had always hated it, and had not visited Narcissa there in years. She knew he must have had other women on the side, but the subject was too painful to investigate. So, Narcissa had kept to her own rooms. When the anguish threatened to overcome her during dark, lonely nights, Narcissa would take out a book and read, or sit in front of her vanity table and brush her silky blonde hair over and over again, counting the strokes into the thousands.

Now, with Severus Snape's presence filling the room, thoughts of her tormented years flew out the window. The Potions Master had taken off his dinner jacket, and his thin, strong arms wrapped themselves around Narcissa, pulling her close against him. Narcissa was a tall woman, but Snape was taller, and he leaned his head down to kiss the sensitive underside of her jaw. He smelled of herbs, of rosemary and musk, so different from Lucius's expensive cologne. To Narcissa, Snape smelled like a real man.

His hands fumbled at the back of her evening gown, trying in vain to unclasp it. She reached behind her to assist him, and with a neat flick of her fingers, her back was exposed. Snape's hands ran down her bare skin, and Narcissa stumbled with him towards her bed.

'Narcissa,' he whispered. 'Beautiful, lovely Narcissa.'

They fell together onto her canopied bed, so neglected for activities other than sleep. His lips claimed hers again, and his hands were everywhere, everywhere... 'Severus,' she said. 'Oh, it's been so long since I -'

'Me, too,' he said.

Several minutes later, just when his presence consumed her consciousness, and the inevitable loomed, a pounding started in her head. It rattled and knocked, and Narcissa realised it was not in her head, but someone at the door. Knock, knock. 'Who's there,' Narcissa sighed.

Snape swore under his breath. 'Not now, not now,' he muttered. The knocking continued, insistent of being acknowledged.

'I suppose we'd better see who it is,' said Narcissa. Her disappointment crashed around her. She had been so ready to celebrate Lucius's death in a proper manner.

'No, you had better see who it is,' said Snape. 'I shouldn't be seen in your bedroom, dearest.'

'Oh, yes. Right.' Narcissa fumbled with her evening gown, pulling it back up her shoulders. 'Just a moment!' she called to the interloper at the door. Snape buttoned his trousers and gathered his discarded shirt. Two quick strides took him across the room, where he hid behind the floor-length brocade curtains.

Narcissa pulled herself up off the bed, re-adjusted her dress, felt her hair tumbled over her shoulders, nothing to do about it now. She opened the door.

It was Albus Dumbledore, with the Weasley boy behind him.

'Headmaster,' Narcissa said, out of breath. 'How can I help you?'

'Mrs. Malfoy,' Dumbledore said. 'I'm afraid I have some bad news.'

'What?' Narcissa's head was not working properly. Her body yearned for Snape's touch, and it was difficult to focus on anything else.

'Your sister,' Dumbledore said. 'You see, Mr. Weasley and I -' he nodded down at Ron Weasley, who stood with a mutinous glare toward Narcissa, 'we were admiring your front hall and took a look inside your parlour. I'm afraid that there has been another murder, and your sister Bellatrix was the victim.'

'Bella?' Narcissa whispered. 'No, no...' Her legs felt weak. It could not be. The murderer had struck again at Narcissa's family. 'That's impossible. She would never have let herself be so vulnerable.'

'I'm afraid it is true,' said Dumbledore. 'I would advise you to avoid that room; it is a rather graphic sight.' He cleared his throat. 'Oh, and Professor Snape?'

Narcissa tried to look surprised.

'I know you're in here, Severus,' Dumbledore said.

A rustle from behind the curtains, and Snape stepped forward, holding his bundled shirt awkwardly in front of his bare chest. 'Sir,' he said, bowing.

'Ah, there you are. I was going to ask you to take care of Mrs. Malfoy, but you are clearly already doing that.'

'Yes, sir,' Snape said.

Ron Weasley looked horrified at the sight of his half-naked Potions professor. Narcissa repressed an urge slap him for his impudence.

'I shall leave you now, Mrs. Malfoy,' Dumbledore said. 'Again, I am sorry to be the bearer of such bad tidings.' He turned to leave.

Narcissa glared at Ron Weasley. 'Oh, get over it!' she said, slamming the door in his face.