Murder at Malfoy Manor

Chapter Sixteen

Summer Sunshine

'My wand!' Harry burst. 'It's in my room. I have to go get it.'

Panic flooded Hermione in rough waves as she realised what it meant to have the storm disappear. The limits on magic had lifted. Voldemort could kill Harry, or Harry could kill him. She tried to remember where her own wand was. She could not recall where she put it; its obsolescence over the weekend had made Hermione lose her vigilance.

Ginny, too, looked panicked. 'Harry, don't do anything stupid!'

'Like what? Kill Voldemort?' Harry shouted. 'I'm going!' He ran across Ginny's guest room and threw open the door, disappearing down the hall.

'Oh, God,' Hermione groaned.

'My wand is in Draco's room,' Ginny said miserably.

'I don't even know where mine is!' Hermione said.

The two girls regarded each other for a moment. 'I'm sorry, Ginny, but I've got to go,' Hermione said. She could not believe how fast the magical storm had cleared. It was one thing to read about them; she knew in theory that magical storms could disappear as quickly as they whipped up. To witness it was another story. In a matter of minutes, the wild weather had lifted, leaving the land breathless and the air thick with afterglow.

When she left Ginny's room, Hermione's thoughts stayed occupied with finding her wand. She was not sure what the storm had done to the spell fog over the Manor as part of Lucius Malfoy's house arrest; she could only assume the spell fog had been destroyed. All kinds of magic might now be possible: Apparition, dueling, the Unforgivable Curses cast by Voldemort or Harry or both. 'Oh, God,' she said to herself again. She broke into a run for her room.

She burst into her blue-upholstered suite, noting in agony the sunshine streaming through her own windows. Never had a golden August evening in England held so much potential for destruction. Frantically she rummaged through her trunk, looked on her nightstand, her bathroom...no wand. 'Dammit, dammit, double dog dammit!' she muttered, about to cry in frustration. How could she misplace it? She collapsed into an armchair (the very one Lord Voldemort occupied two nights previous) and thought over all the places where her wand could be.

Did she have it at the dinner with Lucius Malfoy? Yes. We all had our wands then. Did she have it in the drawing room, where Malfoy was murdered? Yes. Afterwards, she had gone off with Voldemort. They went to the library, where she read about ancient runes, and Ginny had screamed... 'The library!' she said aloud. She had set her wand down on a table while she was reading, and must have left it when they pursued the scream.

'Right, Granger, let's go,' she told herself, gathering her courage. Merlin only knew what hexes and curses would be flying in the halls now that the storm was over.

She opened her door with caution and peeked her head out into the corridor. It was silent. The lack of noise, of voices, felt ominous to Hermione. She set off at a brisk pace toward the main staircase, praying to some nebulous higher power that all was safe. It was not the first time since last night that she missed Voldemort's strong, openly evil, cunning, protective presence next to her.

Not a soul did Hermione meet on the way to the library. By the time she entered the grand double doors into the elegant stacks of books, she pondered whether everyone had simply Apparated away from the Manor without telling her. Her eyes scanned the place where she sat two nights ago, landing on the table...which was empty. Another wash of dismay. She ran forward, looking around, under the seat cushion, and she pushed the chair out of the way. Hermione let out an audible gasp of relief. Her wand was there, tucked under the chair, rolled from its place on the table and residing in quiet shelter all weekend. She grasped it in her hand, relishing the familiar smooth feeling of wood. 'I'll never leave you again,' she told her wand. 'I'm sorry.'

Then her head tilted up; there were voices in the hall outside. She listened for a moment; it sounded like Dumbledore, she recognised the deep, lulling timbres of his voice. But the other - Hermione's brow furrowed. It sounded almost like Professor Snape. That was impossible, she had seen the man dead for herself. She opened the doors of the library to see, but the hallway was empty. Now I'm hearing things, she thought.

She decided the best plan was to go to the main entrance hall and wait. Her trunk was not packed, but she would leave it behind if that meant avoiding a confrontation between Harry and Voldemort. Or Dumbledore and Voldemort. Or Ron and Draco. Or perhaps Ginny and Pansy? Hermione counted herself lucky that she did not have any mortal enemies at the moment. She did wonder what Voldemort would do when he discovered she did not want to become a Death Eater after all. Hermione shrugged. With luck, she would leave Malfoy Manor without seeing the Dark Lord again.

Hermione was halfway to the entrance hall when her world crashed around her. She was passing by Lucius Malfoy's study when she heard the words spit out of the door, floating through the evening's golden sunshine like hot germs in a plague.

'Avada Kedavra,' Voldemort's now-familiar voice purred from inside the room.

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. Her head swiveled, preparing to meet the flash of green light that was intended for her. Her eyes widened in surprise.

It was Lord Voldemort in the study, yes. But he did not direct his curse at Hermione. He sat in the shadows, in a dark green leather armchair. His white face glowed with reflected sunlight, and between his fingers he held some small object Hermione could not discern. Deep rays of the setting sun came through the windows, casting the room into extremes of black and gold. Somehow, the presence of the light made Voldemort's countenance even more terrifying, even more beautiful in its stark structure.

'Good evening,' he said. Hermione was reminded of Count Dracula in the film she had watched as a child.

'What did you kill?' Hermione blurted.

Voldemort let out a small breath of laughter. He held up his two fingers pinched together, and discarded the small black speck between them. 'A housefly,' he said.

Hermione stared at him. 'You used the Killing Curse on a fly?'

'It was annoying me,' he gestured to the open window. 'Buzzing and hovering, and the stupid thing kept running into the glass.'

'That's what they call overkill,' Hermione muttered under her breath. Voldemort must have heard her, because he smiled.

'Sit down,' he commanded. 'Would you care for some tea?'

'Tea?' Hermione echoed weakly. She reminded herself that the magical storm was over. Voldemort had just used the Killing Curse with success. All bets were off, all protection from the magical interference was gone. Her best move would be to run away, as fast as she could. Apparate somewhere safe. She stepped towards Voldemort. 'All right, then,' she said, tucking her wand away and sitting in the armchair opposite the Dark Lord. The sun hit the side of her head, filtering through her hair so that the cloud of curls floated in her peripheral vision.

Voldemort conjured two cups in the air, and a teapot that poured steaming black tea into each, and a small pitcher of milk that added itself at the right moment. Hermione's fine china cup hovered towards her hands, and her fingers took it by the handle. One cautious sip so she would not burn her tongue, and Hermione discovered it was the right temperature and just the amount of milk she favoured.

'This is Assam tea,' she said.

'It's my preference,' Voldemort said.

'Mine, as well,' Hermione said, startled.

They sipped in silence for a few moments. Outside, the sun sank toward familiar darkness. Hermione felt helpless, like a tidal wave had tossed her into unfriendly seas where she was at the mercy of the man before her.

'Let us discuss your future,' Voldemort said, and Hermione wanted to cry. He's just playing with me, she thought in desperation. Like a cat playing with a mouse. He'll be polite, he'll have tea, lull me in, and he's going to kill me.

'My future, sir?' she said. She knew the game was up. Voldemort was a Legilimens; he could read her thoughts, her doubts, her loyalties. In the end, Hermione Granger was a Gryffindor, and she would not turn against her friends. She would stand and be brave, even in this last moment.

'I think you have reneged on your earlier decision to follow me,' Voldemort said in his well-modulated voice.

'Sir?' Hermione was not going to give him anything to work with, if she could help it. The tea cooled in her cup.

'Yes, I think you've decided to stick with Potter. That is unfortunate.'

Hermione marshalled a glare. One idiotic thought penetrated her fear: when Voldemort killed her, they would never find out together who really murdered Lucius Malfoy. The mystery would never be solved! Credit would never be taken! Somehow, that seemed the worst thing of all.

Voldemort's red eyes glittered. 'You believe I'm going to kill you.'

'Yes, sir, I do,' Hermione said.

'You're wrong,' he said softly. 'I won't kill you. Not today, anyway.' He finished his tea and with a wave of his wand, banished it from sight. 'Are you through?' he asked her, nodding at her own cup. Hermione nodded, and the cup buoyed away from her. 'No, Miss Granger,' Voldemort continued. 'I've grown to know your mind over these days. Dry, hard, cold, logical. You're like a little machine, aren't you? A machine with hurt feelings.'

Hermione could not think of a response to him. His unpredictability drove her mad.

He leaned forward. 'Let us come to an agreement.'

'What sort of agreement?' Hermione asked, cautious. Whatever he had in mind, it was sure to benefit him more than her.

'Perhaps,' Voldemort began, 'we might continue our intellectual exchange.'

Hermione's ears must have deceived her, because she thought there was a note of uncertainty in the melody of his voice. 'How so?' she asked.

'Letters,' Voldemort said. 'I shall write to you. I will answer your questions on the intellectual pursuits that take you above and beyond what Hogwarts has to offer. A mind like yours, Hermione, should not be wasted.'

Her eyebrows lifted. 'Really? Letters?'

'Yes.'

'My Lord, from what I know of your character, you do not give free advice,' Hermione said. With a tremor, she continued. 'What must I offer in exchange?'

'Make a list for me every now and again,' Voldemort said.

Finally, Hermione smiled. She could not deny to herself the thrill that Voldemort's company offered. This was the perfect solution. They would write letters. In the ease of the strange truce, she remembered one more mystery item about which she wanted Voldemort's opinion. 'Sir,' she said. 'There's something I wanted to tell you about. Last night, Ron and Harry came upon a room with smoke coming out of it. Inside, they discovered a cauldron with a burning stack of papers; they were only able to salvage the title page. It was the last will and testament of Lucius Malfoy. Someone burned it.'

Voldemort tilted his head. 'Indeed,' he said. He sat back in the chair. 'Someone burned Malfoy's will. That is interesting.'

'I thought so,' said Hermione. 'And Dumbledore said that Snape was the signatory. And then he turned up dead.'

Voldemort's eyes flared at this. 'Snape!'

'Yes, sir.'

'It must have been Narcissa who burned the will,' Voldemort said. 'She's the only one who could have been harmed by it. As it stands, the estate passes to her. But the only person who knew the true contents was Snape, who's dead. It's safe to assume that he died at Narcissa's hand.' He frowned. 'Snape never told me he was the signatory on a will.'

'He's a liar, you said so yourself,' pointed out Hermione.

'Yesss...' Voldemort hissed. 'Only now I wish he were still alive, so that I might extract the truth from him.'

Hermione shivered at what that meant. But then, there was never any love lost between herself and Snape, so the sympathy was short-lived. 'Doesn't that pretty much rule out Narcissa as Lucius's murderer?'

'No,' said Voldemort. 'Perhaps she murdered him, thinking the estate would pass to her. Then, from Snape, she found out the contents of the will, which obviously gave the estate to some other entity. She burned the will and killed Snape to cover her tracks.'

'Aha,' said Hermione. 'That makes sense.... Oh! But what about Bellatrix?'

Voldemort made a low, incoherent noise and pressed his hands to his temples. 'That's right. This is impossible.'

'It is impossible,' Hermione agreed.

After several minutes of companionable silence, the Dark Lord stood. The sun had set completely, leaving a mere fading trace of bluish light on the western horizon out the window. 'I must go and kill Potter,' he said, bringing out his wand. He reached out with his hand and traced Hermione's cheek with a finger. 'Keep your options open, my dear.'

Hermione felt a shiver run through her skin under his touch. It was not unpleasant. 'Yes, my Lord,' she whispered, bowing her head.

Voldemort disappeared through the door.

***********

Pansy's lips worked against Draco's in their tired old ways. They were in Pansy's guest room, where they had spent the day in heavy silence. Draco read a book; Pansy filed her nails and then re-arranged the clothes in her trunk. A quarter of an hour ago, she walked over and dropped herself in Draco's lap, running her little hands over his chest.

'Want to?' she asked. Draco had shrugged in unenthusiastic acquiescence.

Now, fifteen minutes later, Draco could not muster up a response to her. He was cold to Pansy Parkinson after the quivering flame that was Ginny Weasley. Pansy's heart did not seem to be in it, either; she moved mechanically, repeating the same motions over and over, her eyes occasionally flickering open and moving about the room as though looking for someone.

'What's the matter, Drakey?' she said.

'I hate when you call me that,' Draco said.

'Fine, Drac-oh. What's wrong?'

'You tell me, Pansy,' Draco sighed and pushed her off him. She landed in an unceremonious heap on the floor.

'Hey!' she cried, jumping up. 'That was not nice.'

'Save it for someone who cares,' Draco said.

Pansy crossed her arms and frowned down at Draco. 'What is going on with you? It's that Weasel girl, isn't it? You like her, don't you?'

'Oh, you're one to talk,' Draco turned the conversation around on her. 'I noticed you and Potty getting pretty close.'

Pansy blushed. 'Harry - I mean, Potter - I mean, Potty has nothing to do with this. You're acting mean, Draco, and I want to know why!' Her voice climbed to a shrill at the end, grating on Draco's nerves.

'Gee, I don't know, Pansy. Let's think about that. My father is murdered, my aunt is murdered, my mother was poisoned, my professor was murdered, and in all likelihood I'm next. I'm stuck in a house with the Saint Gryffindors and the Dark Lord, and you're asking me why I'm not into you at the moment! Tell me, do you even have a brain?'

Pansy turned away and gazed in the direction of her closed curtains. 'Whatever, Draco Malfoy. Why don't you just take a walk in the storm; maybe you'll get picked up by the wind and deposited in some other country. That way you can't bother England anymore.' She sniffed. 'I bet they'd love you in Germany.'

'Yeah, right,' Draco said, scoffing at the idea of even opening a window in this weather. With the hurricane-force gale, and the electrical energy, the lightning and thunder and - wait a minute. Draco paused his thoughts and listened. There was no thunder. 'Wait a minute,' he said aloud. He stood and walked across the room, drawing the curtains wide. Behind him, Pansy gasped. 'The storm is over,' Draco said.

She was at his side, gazing out onto the clear, darkening twilight of a summer's eve. The yard was a mess of tree limbs and uprooted grass, but the sky to the east already twinkled with faint stars. 'How long has it been over?' she wondered.

Draco tried to think how long it had been since he last heard thunder. At least an hour, perhaps more. 'I dunno,' he said. Then the full implications hit him: he could use magic! He needed to get his wand! The rest of it rolled over him after that. Potter could use magic. Dumbledore could use magic. Lord Voldemort could use magic. 'Oh, Gods,' he muttered. 'Pansy, I've gotta go get my wand.'

'Oh my gosh,' she said. 'What if the Dark Lord and Harry Potter have another showdown?'

'That's what I'm counting on,' Draco said over his shoulder as he headed for his locked bedroom. He heard Pansy scurrying along behind him. He kept expecting the noises of magical combat, curses and explosions. What he got when he turned the corner was a greater shock: Ginny Weasley, sitting cross-legged in front of his bedroom door. Pansy's indignant huff behind him said she, too, noticed the slight redhead's position.

'Malfoy,' Ginny said. 'I need to get into your room.'

'Why?' Draco asked. He wished Pansy would go away.

'My wand is in there,' she said, shrugging and lifting herself up off the floor.

Pansy screeched. 'Why is your wand in Draco's room?'

'Wouldn't you like to know,' Ginny said coldly.

'Never mind,' Draco said. He brought out the skeleton key to his door and unbolted it. It swung open on well-kept hinges. 'Go on,' he said to Ginny, and jerked his head in the direction of his room.

She squared her shoulders and walked in, picked up her wand from the nightstand, and walked back toward the door without a further word.

Draco felt a crack of hurt in his chest. It was as though last night never happened, and with remorse, Draco remembered how he felt about Ginny Weasley: like she was the key to his happiness, the only thing to give him passion in a cold life. She would have been his triumph, his trophy, his foil against society, his last rebellion against what his father would have wanted. The thought of making Lucius Malfoy turn in his grave made Draco viciously gleeful.

But now, Ginny acted like she did not know Draco. She's probably thought it over and decided she'd rather stick with good, safe, perfect Potter, he thought. His regret doubled when he remembered that they had not even gone all the way. He'd wanted to respect her, to turn her into a long-term object of affection. Now, he would never get the chance. Bugger it all.

'Where's Saint Potter?' Draco could not resist saying to Ginny, if only to keep her in his line of sight for a few seconds longer. She was halfway out the door but halted and turned back.

'Harry's gone to get his wand,' she said. Her face was emotionless; she did not rise to Draco's caustic attitude. 'In case you've forgotten, the Dark Lord is under your roof. I rather think they're going to duel it out.'

'Oh, no,' Pansy whimpered.

Draco looked at Pansy, startled. For a moment he had forgotten she was there. Worry lines appeared on her forehead; she appeared genuinely concerned for Pothead's well-being. Another one bites the dust, Draco thought. Then he cursed his over-active brain for coming up with too much analysis.

'I think we'd better go find them,' Pansy said, wringing her hands together. 'Maybe, Ginny, you can convince Harry to Apparate somewhere else?'

'He wouldn't listen,' Ginny said. 'You know him.'

'Yes,' Pansy said, and her shoulders collapsed.

'Oh, for the sake of Merlin, Arthur, and Morgana!' Draco burst. 'If you two are so bloody anxious about Potter, maybe we had better go find him. I'm sure he'd love to have all the girls fawning before he died.'

Ginny rolled her eyes. 'Yet again, Draco, you reveal your inferiority complex when it comes to Harry.'

Draco was torn between making a nasty retort, and smiling because Ginny was back to using his first name instead of 'Malfoy.' He chose the retort. 'How could I have a complex, when he's the inferior half-blood noble idiot?'

'Oh, knock it off,' Pansy added. 'And let's go already, before somebody else gets killed!'

'Yeah, like us, for interfering,' Draco said under his breath.

Ginny heard him, and almost looked as though she agreed.

The problematic trio made their way back down the corridors toward the entrance hall. It was the only space big and empty enough to have a proper duel. Draco felt his heart leap up into his throat when he beheld the scene there: Harry Potter stood, wand brandished, in front of the great front door. The crystal chandelier blazed with a million facets of light, reflecting off the shining marble floor, illuminating every corner of the hall. Beside Harry stood Ron Weasley, looking bullish and obstinate.

Draco realised that the great confrontation, the pivotal battle of the wizarding world, would take place in his front hall. Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort would fight to the death. Draco hoped they would kill each other, because neither winner offered much in the way of consolation to the Malfoy family.

'Harry!' Pansy shouted across the hall from the upper balcony. Potter looked at her, his face blank as a slate. 'I'm sorry!' she cried.

'You are?' Harry shouted back. His voice echoed off the gleaming stone.

'Yeah!' Pansy said.

'Oh, what a beautiful reunion,' Draco could not resist adding in a snarky tone. He leaned up against the balcony, draping his arms over the handrail to watch. Potter and Weasley ground their heels down, getting into a battle stance.

'Ron!' Ginny shouted. 'What are you doing?'

'We're going to fight You-Know-Who, Ginny!' Ron replied.

'Why don't we just get out of here?' she pleaded in the general direction of the Dream Team.

'That's right,' Draco added, feeling enthusiastic. 'Run away, run away, live to fight another day!'

'Shut up, Malfoy,' Ron said. 'I think you're a bloody coward and -' he broke off, his attention grabbed by the sound of a door opening. Ginny gasped and grabbed Draco's hand. He smiled at her, wondering what inspired this welcome change of heart, then he followed her gaze downwards. He nearly jumped out of his skin.

Lord Voldemort glided across the hall. Never had he looked more frightening, more dangerous, more on top of his game. Draco gulped. He was about to see more death. This weekend had sated his taste for it; all Draco Malfoy wanted was to love and be loved in return. To understand, and be understood. To drink fine wine and live in a big house and have everyone worship him - 'Oh, no,' he groaned. In the hall beneath him, from his front-row balcony seat, Harry and Voldemort got into the duelling position.

'Oh, brave, noble, stupid Harry,' Ginny whispered.

Draco could not agree more.

Pansy Parkinson cried again, tears seeping down her cheeks, and she hid her face in her hands. 'I don't want to watch,' she said, turning away.

'Let's take bets,' Draco said, enjoying his own unhelpfulness.

Voldemort's high, smooth voice echoed through the great entrance hall. 'I see you have a second, Potter. I won't be needing one.'

'That's right, because you'll be dead,' Harry growled.

Voldemort laughed. 'Do I have to tell you to bow again, Potter?'

'Not at all,' Harry said, dipping his torso forward.

Voldemort did the same. Draco saw the Dark Lord's wand at the ready, long and thin and white, like him. Deadly.

It happened in such a flash that Draco never did register the spells properly. All he knew was that a red light came from Harry's wand, and a green light came from Voldemort's. The spells met dead centre above the black-and-white marble maze in the centre of the floor, and a peculiar golden web surrounded the two duelists, lifting them up in the air. A jet of golden light connected the tips of the two opposing wands, with little beads of red and green light streaming along. Draco had never seen anything like it.

'Not this again!' Harry could be heard to shout.

'Oh, this is always fun,' said Voldemort.

That was when Hermione Granger appeared on the scene. She burst into the entrance hall and skidded to a halt, off to the side and between the enemies like a scowling referee. 'Honestly, you two! When are you ever going to learn! Priori Incantatum means that two wands that share the same core, in this case the core of a phoenix feather given by a certain bird from which only two feathers were given...' Granger rattled on and on, her strident lecture growing louder and louder.

'Shut up!' Voldemort and Harry shouted together.

Granger broke off mid-stream of her speech, looking offended.

'This requires a great deal of concentration, you know,' Voldemort said from within the crackling gold sphere, his wand shaking like it was about to shatter.

'Yeah, Hermione,' Harry added, gripping his wand with both hands.

'Sor-ry!' Hermione grumped. 'I was just trying to be helpful.'

Draco watched the whole thing in awe, transfixed by the sight of such pure magical power. Was this what had happened to Potter during the Tri-Wizard incident? If so, Draco understood why Harry had looked so rotten afterwards. He watched the back and forth motion of green and red, neither one reaching the other. He was acutely conscious of Ginny's hand gripping his.

'What's happening?' Ginny whispered.

'I don't know,' Draco said. 'I think whoever gets their spell to the other side wins. It's just concentration.'

'I don't want Harry to die,' Ginny said, sounding tearful like Pansy, who had retreated to the other wall and buried her head in her arms, peeking up on occasion to see how the duel was progressing.

Draco looked over at Ginny, at her pretty face lit up from the rare magic playing out below them. He wanted to ask her whether she loved Potter. But he did not dare; what if she said yes?

'I don't want him to die,' she said again. 'I don't want Tom to die, I -' she cut herself off as Draco's eyes widened.

'What?' he croaked. 'Tom? You mean the Dark Lord?'

'No,' she blurted. 'I mean, I don't want anyone to die.' She sighed, sounding miserable. 'Oh, Draco, I think I need to stay away from all dark-haired men from now on. They're nothing but trouble.'

'I agree with you,' Draco said, taking his opportunity to be bold and putting his arm about Ginny's shoulders, pulling her close to him. 'I think you belong with a blonde.'

Potter and the Dark Lord each looked to be tiring. Their faces beheld none but each other. Ron Weasley danced around the golden circle, looking for a chance to zap Voldemort, but it was between the two arch-enemies now. And where was Dumbledore? Draco would have thought the old man would be there for Potter when it really counted. This intense connection could not last forever; one of them would tire, lose focus, and that would be the end of it. Draco felt the pressure rising in the air, emanating in waves to catch him up on the balcony.

Then, something happened that broke the connection; that caused Voldemort and Potter both to swing their wands away from each other and towards a third shadowed figure standing in the front door.

A voice rang out. 'In the name of the Ministry of Magic, you are both under arrest!'

Six jaws dropped in shock as a very-much-alive Severus Snape stepped forward into the house.