Murder at Malfoy Manor

Chapter Eleven

Chess Match Revenge

The morning passed quickly for Harry after all the drama with Narcissa Malfoy. He had raced down to the dungeons with Ron and Dumbledore, not out of any particular goodwill toward Mrs. Malfoy but rather a morbid curiosity and undying hero complex. He was a Gryffindor, after all; it was in his nature to rush to those in need. As it had turned out, Harry had not been very useful; Ron smashed the potions door with one slam of the shoulder, and then Snape had given Narcissa a bezoar and she was fine. It did beg the question of who had poisoned her juice, and Harry and Ron headed back upstairs, running into Ginny on the way.

'She's fine,' Harry said to Ginny. 'Mrs. Malfoy, I mean. They found a bezoar and she's alive.'

'Good,' Ginny said. 'And Draco?'

Harry peered at her. 'What do you care?'

'Um, well, it's just that I'm supposed to keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn't go nuts and start slashing people, you know?' Ginny hedged.

'He's with his mummy,' Ron said. 'Little mummy's boy.'

'Oh, no one asked your opinion, Ron,' Ginny snapped.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, mystified. Ginny had been around Draco too long, that was clear. It must have put her in a bad mood.

'Let's go back to the breakfast room. There might be more poison in the food,' Harry said, worried that Pansy might have eaten something intended to kill.

There they found Pansy in good health, and since the table seemed bereft of further poisons, the group decided to pass the morning in the library. Harry and Ron played chess, Ginny and Pansy found some silly romance books that belonged to Narcissa, and the hours ticked by in relative congeniality. It was too bad, Harry thought, that the storm prohibited any hunting. He had been looking forward to the magical version of the popular British pastime. As it was, the appearance of normality settled upon him as Ron beat him in game after game of wizard's chess.

No one broached the subject of murders, attempted murders, and the ever-looming presence of Lord Voldemort lurking somewhere about the Manor. It was a false calm, Harry knew, but he was content to stay in peace for a little while. Everyone seemed to be getting along, even Ginny and Pansy. It was strange; he would have thought they would be enemies, but neither showed hostility to the other. Girls, thought Harry. I will never understand them. It was almost as though they had been secret friends all along, in spite of the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry. Harry knew Ginny Weasley was popular, but he did not realise she was even popular amongst Slytherins. Best not to mention that to Ron, he thought as he moved his knight to take Ron's bishop.

'Bugger!' Ron said. Then he moved his queen forward, followed two turns later by his remaining bishop in a pincer move that left Harry check-mated once again.

A house-elf materialised at one o'clock to announce lunch. Harry felt reluctant to go; who knew if more food would be poisoned? But like a bad penny always turning up, Professor Snape entered the library, bearing orders from Dumbledore.

'The Headmaster has decided we should have a meeting,' Snape said. 'Everyone. Let's go.'

Harry and Ron scrambled up, afraid Snape would take house points if they didn't, despite the summer holidays. Old habits died hard.

Back in the dining room, Dumbledore presided over the company. Narcissa sat in the opposing chair, looking pale and sipping on a brandy. Draco sat next to her, holding her hand, and Harry could not help the little pang of understanding. Whatever else might be said about Draco Malfoy, the kid loved his mother.

Harry automatically looked for Hermione, but she was not present. Neither was Voldemort. Thankful for the latter, but worried about his best friend, Harry turned to Dumbledore. 'Where are the others?'

'Miss Granger will be joining us shortly, I am quite sure,' Dumbledore said with an airy wave. Harry wanted to shake the old man. He was tired of not being told anything, like how exactly Dumbledore knew Hermione was alive and well. Pushing down the urge to shout, Harry instead bit the inside of his cheek and took a seat next to Pansy Parkinson.

'Thank you all for coming,' Dumbledore said. 'As we are all aware, there has been an attempt on Mrs. Malfoy's life this morning. This is a very serious matter, which -' he was interrupted by the door swinging open. Voldemort walked in and Harry reached for his wand again. When he saw Hermione behind him, Harry breathed in relief. At least she did not look hurt or upset.

'How kind of you to invite us to the party,' Voldemort said to Dumbledore.

'My Lord,' Snape intervened, bowing to Voldemort, 'there has been an attempted murder. Narcissa's goblet of Atacama cactus juice was contaminated, and her life was spared with mere minutes.'

Voldemort raised his hairless brows. 'Really.'

'Yes.'

'Who found Mrs. Malfoy?' Voldemort asked.

'I did, my Lord,' Snape said.

'Where?'

'He found me in the dungeons,' Narcissa spoke up for the first time, her throat sounding hoarse. 'I went looking for a bezoar, but I was paralysed and fell before I could reach the potions stores.'

'How lucky,' Voldemort said, 'that Severus knew exactly where to find you.'

'Yeah!' Draco shouted. His outburst was quelled with a look of irritation from Voldemort, and Harry almost felt sorry for him. If Voldemort had had the full use of his wand, Draco would probably be on the receiving end of the Cruciatus Curse for speaking out of turn.

'Does that mean that Professor Snape is the murderer?' Pansy asked, blinking in innocence.

'I am not the murderer!' Snape said.

'No one said you were, Severus,' Dumbledore said.

'I think he is!' Draco insisted. 'Only he could have brewed the poison! Or known about how the Atacama cactus juice can be toxic if not purified!'

'Actually, I knew that,' Hermione interjected.

'Oh, perfect,' said Draco. 'The mudblood has something to say. Tell me, Granger, was it you in the potions storeroom this morning? Was it you who poisoned my mother, then?'

'No,' Hermione said.

'That's enough,' said Dumbledore. 'I suggested this pow-wow to make sure everyone is still alive, and to discuss the poisoning of Mrs. Malfoy. Assigning premature blame will not help the situation. Now, Narcissa, if you could please tell us how you came to drink the poison this morning?'

Narcissa nodded. 'I went down to have breakfast,' she said, 'and I saw that there was a goblet of cactus juice. It's not unusual; it's my favourite drink and the house-elves prepare it for me once in awhile. I drank it, and then the poison set in. I went numb and collapsed in the dungeons.'

'The house-elves...' Voldemort said. Harry noticed him exchange a glance with Hermione, and Harry felt a surge of anger. How dare Voldemort presume such familiarity! He was trying to turn her to the Death Eaters, Harry was sure of it. And Hermione! She was not making any visible protest at spending time with Lord Evil Wannabe-Dictator himself. What if she was - Harry felt sick at the thought - actually enjoying the company of Lord Voldemort? It was too horrible. He decided to have a word with Dumbledore; perhaps they could re-arrange the partnerships today.

'If you don't mind, sir,' Hermione said to Dumbledore, 'we have some interesting findings from a diagnostic potion we brewed this morning.'

'Aha!' Dumbledore said, and Harry realized it must have been Hermione and Voldemort in the dungeons before them this morning. 'By all means, tell us, Miss Granger,' Dumbledore said.

'With the use of the potion, the - Lord - we have determined that Lucius Malfoy did not die of poison. The toxic tea had not touched his lips at the time of death. That leaves only the knife and the revolver as possible murder weapons.'

'How do you know all that?' Ron blurted.

Hermione got her familiar expression of intellectual condescension. 'Because, Ronald, the diagnostic potion would have turned blue and foamy at contact with poison. When applied to Lucius Malfoy's lips, the potion stayed pink. No poison.' She heaved a long-suffering sigh at the end of her explanation.

'You've been working with him, have you?' Ron turned on Hermione, gesturing at Voldemort but not looking at him. 'Enjoying yourself, are you?'

'Knock it off, Ron!' Harry said. It was a little close to the truth for Harry's liking. 'Professor Dumbledore? Can we switch the partners around now?'

Pansy turned her head to glare at Harry, and he sent her what he hoped was a pleading look.

'I don't see any need for that,' Dumbledore said. 'Unless, of course, anyone feels unsafe. Mrs. Malfoy, we would understand completely if you chose someone else to stay with for the duration of the storm.'

Snape let out a huff of exasperation. 'She will be fine, I assure you.'

'It's fine, Headmaster,' Narcissa said.

'Anyone else, then?' Dumbledore's eyes twinkled about the room. 'Miss Granger, are you all right?'

Voldemort answered for her. 'Of course she's all right, you old fool. You never did give me any credit.'

'Hermione, come with me,' Ron suggested. 'Let the Headmaster take care of -' he gulped, 'of You-Know-Who.'

Hermione looked torn. 'Ron, I -'

'Absolutely not,' Voldemort said.

'Ron, I'm fine,' Hermione said.

For the first time, Dumbledore looked worried at Hermione's acquiescence. Harry exchanged a meaningful look with Ron, and then Ginny. Next thing, Hermione'll have a Dark Mark, Harry thought grimly.

Mercifully, Voldemort left the room rather than stay for lunch, whispering something in Hermione's ear on the way out. Harry felt his mood deteriorate and he gestured for Hermione to sit on the other side of him. She sank into her chair with an air of fragility.

'What, Harry?' she whispered.

'What's going on? Switching to Voldemort's side, are you?' Harry whispered back, as cress sandwiches and smoked salmon rolls appeared on their plates.

'Of course not!' she hissed. 'I'm just trying to get out of this without anyone else getting killed! At least we've made some progress on who killed Malfoy.'

''We'! Hermione, I don't think you realise how manipulative Voldemort is. He'll try to turn you. He's dangerous, can't you see it?'

'Harry, just leave me alone. I know what I'm doing. Everything is under control.' She bit into a sausage with ferocity, turning away to talk to Ginny.

*************

All afternoon, Hermione tried to ignore her own thoughts. After lunch, the whole group (sans Voldemort) retired to the library, since the more comfortable parlour and drawing room were each occupied by dead bodies. Hermione picked up a book on magical wards and defence systems, but she glanced across the words, unable to concentrate. Ron and Dumbledore were engaged in a perfectly matched game of wizard's chess, and the sounds of smashing pieces tore through Hermione's mind. Narcissa was curled on the sofa, reading a book; Snape sat next to her, staring into the fire. Ginny and Draco talked in low tones from the corner, and Harry and Pansy were taking bets on who would win the chess match. Only such trying circumstances could have forced this strange truce.

After about fifteen minutes, Hermione decided it was no use. Her mind kept wandering back to Lord Voldemort. He was horrible, she decided. He was dangerous. He was unstable, psychotic, unpredictable. He was brilliant, creative, cunning. For all she hated Voldemort and the things he had done to her friends, Hermione could not purge him from her thoughts. He was a disease that, once entrenched, occupied her consciousness entirely. She sat up and approached Ginny and Draco.

'Want to play Charades?' she suggested.

Draco sneered at her. 'As if I would associate with the likes of you and your filthy blood.'

'I'd love to,' Ginny said in defiance, shooting Draco a death glare. 'Let's get Harry and Pansy to join us.' She put her arm through Hermione's and flounced off, away from Draco.

'I don't want to play Charades,' Pansy whined. 'I'm no good at it.'

'Even better,' Hermione muttered to herself.

'Harry,' Pansy said, 'let's just watch the chess match.'

'Okay,' Harry said.

'What now?' Ginny asked, rolling her eyes in Pansy's direction.

'Let's just talk for awhile,' Hermione said. They took seats on the other side of the room and settled in for a chat. Ginny was Hermione's only real girl-friend, the one she could count on to gossip about boys and clothes. Today, however, Ginny seemed distracted and kept glancing over to Draco, sitting now at his mother's feet. And Hermione could not think of a neutral topic of conversation. She was afraid she would talk about the Dark Lord, his mind and temper. Of course, Ginny would be able to offer advice on that subject, having been possessed by his sixteen-year-old self, but Hermione did not want advice. She had always been stubborn about asking other people for information and she preferred to work through this crazy weekend on her own intellect, thank you very much.

'I'm tired,' Narcissa announced. 'I think I'll have a lie-down.'

'Do you need an escort to your room?' Dumbledore offered, standing up.

'Oh...' Narcissa paused, her eyes flicking over to Professor Snape. Hermione felt like giggling. Who would have guessed, the Potions Master and Mrs. Malfoy? It looked like something was going on between them.

'I'll go,' Draco interrupted. 'Come on, Mother.'

The two surviving Malfoys swept from the room, leaving Snape glaring at the door.

'Is there something going on with the two of them?' Hermione whispered to Ginny, nodding at Snape.

'Oh!' Ginny said. 'You don't know! Draco and I saw them, snogging, in here, last night! It was full-on, too. Narcissa's fingers were all over that greasy hair.'

'Ewww,' Hermione said.

'Shhh, here comes Snape,' Ginny muttered.

'Miss Weasley and Miss Granger.' Snape towered over them, looking down his massive hooked nose.

'Sir?' they chirped in unison.

'Which of you will play a game of chess with me?'

They gaped at him. He could not be serious. Ron and Dumbledore had ended their game in a stalemate, leaving the board free, but even so...chess with Snape? Which of us is the true Gryffindor? Hermione wondered.

Ginny spoke up. 'I would, Professor, but I don't want you to feel embarrassed when I beat you,' she said with a charming smile. 'It might make our Potions classes rather awkward. Pardon me.' She slipped out of her chair, winking at Hermione.

Hermione was left with no choice but to say yes, and with the thought that Ginny really should have been sorted into Slytherin. It was as thought Ginny had an excuse-making factory hidden away in her pocket, always weaseling her way out of things.

Snape took her arm (Ewww, Hermione thought again) and they sat opposite one another at the chess board. She knew she was terrible at chess, and had a sinking feeling that Snape was very good. How humiliating. Sure enough, Snape beat her in only ten turns, and Hermione felt disgusted with herself and annoyed at Snape's gloating expression. She turned her face away; she had never been a gracious loser.

'It appears your base of knowledge does not extend to chess, Miss Granger,' Snape sneered. 'It's a pity for you; you are aware that only the best strategic minds have skill at this ancient game. Clearly you lack the kind of creative thinking that marks a good chess player.'

Hermione's cheeks burned. In school she could brush off Snape's caustic comments toward her as mere Slytherin prejudice, but the combination of her overwrought nerves and the forced intimacy of being stranded in the same house made Snape's rudeness seem personal. For a shining moment, she contemplated revenge; wouldn't it be nice for Snape to meet the same fate as Lucius Malfoy? No more points taken unfairly from Gryffindor, no more cruel, biting man to erode away at her self-confidence. Hermione's eyes glinted as she looked back at Snape. 'No, I don't have the mind for it,' she said. 'Good game, Professor. Excuse me.'

Snape looked surprised at her polite words and Hermione felt satisfied. She stood, her thoughts bearing her out of the library and toward the one place she liked in this wretched house: the conservatory.

She mumbled something to Ron and Harry about needing a 'feminine item' from her room, and as she predicted they did not press the issue. Then she walked out the door, alone with her swirling thoughts about power and revenge.

Like an infection, Voldemort's words about how her friends did not appreciate her had grown and spread in tendrils through her mind, and Hermione began to think the Dark Lord was right. They took advantage of her! Ron and Harry both! They used her to do their homework for them, make sure they stayed on track and passed their classes, all the while using her good nature against her. The only reason she even had friends was because she pulled their intellectual load for them. And then Ron had the gall to tell her what to do, and put her down for dating Viktor Krum, and say unkind things about her that she brushed off with the desperation borne of loneliness. Better to have mean friends than no friends at all, she had thought. Well, not anymore. Now there was someone else to appreciate her talents for what they were.

Hermione felt sure that the strength of her thoughts would draw Voldemort towards her, and she slipped into the door of the conservatory to wait.

She stood in the middle of the garden, still as a statue. The butterflies and glow-worms from before had gone into hiding, and the birds had ceased their song. She was aware of the warm plant life around her, the flowers and the trees, sighing in their rhythms, and the thought soothed her. The air was warm and thick, a blanket of reassurance that life goes on. She breathed it in, the fragrance of flowers and soil and green verdant vines. All was dark; even the witch-lights had gone out, and the space was illuminated only by the occasional flash of lightning from outside, sending wild shadows of leaves and tree limbs across her eyes.

There were no footsteps, not a sound of company, but she felt his presence enter the room. She felt the sudden swirl of cold air, as though he were sucking the life out of the place, out of her. She saw the shadows become darker and deeper, like responding to like. Her bones were frozen, her muscles like stone. He was behind her now.

It was his fingers she felt first, touching the back of her neck. She shivered. The cold skeletal hand caressed her, moved around to the front of her throat, cupped her jaw and turned her face backward towards him. In the darkness, she could not see, and for that she was grateful.

'The night is hungry for you,' he murmured, voice dripping like cool smooth honey. She felt his words take her, and her shoulders slumped in defeat.

'Yes, my Lord,' she whispered back.

His other hand found her left arm, and pushed up the sleeve to touch the thin soft skin of her forearm. Her skin was white and unblemished now, but it gave her relief to think of his Mark seared into her. No more fighting, no more doubt. She could give in to the Dark Arts, she would be acknowledged and appreciated in ways she could not have dreamt. Power for her, the little Muggle-born witch with two dentists for parents. She smiled in the darkness, and she knew Voldemort could sense it.

'You'll be my best little Death Eater, won't you?' he said.

'Yes, my Lord,' Hermione said again, relishing the loss of control. She felt herself spinning, all her books and notes and calendars and categories going up in a dark wind. Now, let Voldemort mould her mind, tell her what to do, take away the burden of choice. She would be his tool to use as he wished.

'Eeeexcellent...' Voldemort said, pressing his fingers together.

'Huh?' Hermione said.

'What?' Voldemort said. 'Sorry, don't know what possessed me.'

'Do you have any orders for me, my Lord?'

'Yes. Let's murder Snape.'

'Sounds good to me,' Hermione said.

They left the conservatory together.