The Affairs of Wizards

8. Contractual Obligations

No-one could have been happier with the world than I was for the next few days. Blaise had asked me to move in with him and the arrangements for the launch party were proceeding smoothly, thanks to Elaine. I could even afford charitable feelings towards Pansy, who had been bitchier than ever, if that were possible. Blaise put it down to Malfoy's behaviour at Samhain. By electing to escort me into dinner and leaving the hostess's place at the feast vacant he had made it clear that he had no intention of marrying anyone anytime soon. Blaise reckoned that had Malfoy had any definite intentions towards Pansy he would at least have asked her to take part in the invocation. That theory made sense. In two months of virtually living with Blaise I'd learned a lot more about the cocktail of hidden motivations that drives Slytherin behaviour. Ambitious people are not always particularly straightforward.

When I arrived at work on Monday morning, Narcissa Malfoy's portrait had been removed from the Great Hall back to wherever it normally resided. The portrait had rather intrigued me. I knew that wizarding portraits could talk, and I'd had some very interesting conversations with a few but not the ones at the Manor. According to Neville, they'd spent so much time bickering amongst themselves about whether Malfoy was the worst sort of traitor who deserved a course of cruel and unusual punishment or a shrewd operator who'd demonstrated a proper Slytherin sense of self-preservation that he'd charmed them silent in a fit of pique one day. Narcissa's portrait had not only been exempted from this mass suppression, it had been hung in the Great Hall especially for the occasion, and allotted a role in the invocation. It was as if Narcissa herself was still alive and very much mistress of the Manor.

I was also intrigued by Malfoy's behaviour. Blaise saw the business of leaving Narcissa's seat vacant as just a calculated snub to Pansy but I felt there was more to it than that. When the cup went round Malfoy had drunk to his father but not to his mother. Did that mean he thought she was still alive? Lucius and Narcissa tried to stop him, Tracey had said. What exactly had happened to Narcissa Malfoy that night, and what did her son know about it? Given the circumstances it was possible that he hadn't actually been present when the elder Malfoys challenged Voldemort. My curiosity was definitely aroused now.

It occurred to me that one person in my circle of acquaintances might know something. Elaine and Aloysius Fogworthy had been part of the close-knit local wizarding community for the last twenty-five years, and Elaine must have heard some gossip, at least. I made up my mind to ask her about Narcissa at the first opportunity I got.

***

I got my chance the following day, while we were going over the last-minute arrangements for the party. During the discussion of the logistics of bussing in the Muggle guests, Elaine's trials and tribulations with the band (a Weird Sisters tribute outfit called Sisters Three) and my struggle to stop Treadwell from saturating the whole place with red-robed Goyle security wizards, the talk turned to the Samhain Feast. This was an ideal opening, and I took it. After mentioning my interest in the portrait I asked if she'd ever met Narcissa. Elaine shook her head.

"Hardly. The Malfoys would never soil themselves by associating with Muggle filth like me," she said, bitterly. "You don't realise how much things have changed in the past ten years, Vanessa. Narcissa's son can invite you to a Samhain feast and barely raise a murmur. Narcissa herself wouldn't have given me the time of day if we'd met in the street." I was taken aback. In the last six months I had come to think of Elaine as a friend and I had no desire to upset her.

"I'm sorry. It was tactless of me to -" Elaine interrupted me.

"No, I'm sorry. You weren't to know. How could you? Perhaps it wouldn't rankle so much if Lucius hadn't been a childhood friend of Al's. They were even in the same house at Hogwarts. I can't really describe just how bad it was. Some of Al's relations wouldn't talk to him after he married me. Fortunately, my parents-in-law are fairly enlightened but the Malfoys have always been dyed-in-the-wool pureblood supremacists. And then Lucius has the cheek to -" She stopped, biting her lip.

"To what?" I prompted.

Elaine sighed. "I shouldn't really tell you but - to hell with it. It was a long time ago and things are very different now. For a start, young Draco is definitely not his father."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Elaine smiled wanly. "It would be a relief to talk about it, actually. It's been on my conscience for years." She paused, then went on, "We were married not long after Harry Potter put paid to You-Know-Who the first time and everyone thought he'd gone for good. Lucius escaped punishment because he said he'd been under Imperius but no-one round here believed him. We knew what he was, and he knew we knew. One night, when the boys were small, Lucius showed up at our house and made a proposal to Al - protection in return for certain "favours". Death Eater activity was beginning to start up again and everyone was pretty scared. Al was worried about me, so he said yes. After that he'd be called to the Manor from time to time to treat injuries - no names, no questions asked. I'll say this for Lucius he never pushed it beyond that, and he kept his word. Quite a few families locally lost people but we were never bothered. What I find hard to live with is that some of those "patients" of Al's could have been the very people who -"

"He wanted to protect his family. Not everyone can be a hero, and he had you and the children to consider."

"Yes," Elaine said, sadly, "but if everyone thought like him You-Know-Who would have won. I've told the boys that I will never be a hostage to fortune ever again." She shrugged. "Anyway, you asked about Narcissa. What do you want to know?"

"Does anyone locally have any idea what happened to her?"

"Oh," Elaine replied, "there are all sorts of rumours but nobody actually knows anything concrete. On the night Lucius was killed Al was called to the Manor but Lucius was already dead. He definitely treated Narcissa and I got the impression she was still alive when he left, although he said there was nothing he could do for her. He wouldn't tell me what had happened. He said it was better if I didn't know. Harry Potter and Neville were already there when he arrived, and Dumbledore showed up shortly before Al left and took charge. If you ask me young Draco knows something about it but you won't get anything out of him - very closemouthed that one. Hardly surprising, poor boy, after going through all that at the age of sixteen. It's a wonder he isn't in St Mungos."

Curioser and curioser. What exactly had happened to Narcissa? If she wasn't dead, where was she now?

***

By 9.30 pm it was obvious the launch party was going to be a roaring success. The dance floor was already crowded with people as the band belted out their most recent hit, a cover version of the Weird Sisters classic, Light a Fire Under My Cauldron Baby. Above the stage an enormous moving banner proclaimed, Rememdium. First in the "Pure Magic" range from Magus. One million bottles sold already.

As I looked round the room I could see a lot of muggle/wizard bonding going on. Augustus Baldock of Parkinson Lawler had struck up a friendship with the more raffish element of the group from the Muggle agency, O'Neills, who had introduced him to Muggle stimulants, judging by his frequent trips to the loo and his increasingly bemused expression each time he emerged. I spotted Lavender Brown, whose party planning company had been responsible for the decoration and the catering, flirting with the handsome young Muggle photographer we'd hired to record the occasion, wearing a robe that only barely qualified for the name. To my left Neville and Tracey were part of a group which also included Jocasta Wellbeloved, who appeared to be lecturing a confused Muggle guest on the finer points of potion making, judging by her breathless enthusiasm.

As I scanned the crowd for Blaise, who I had last spotted talking to the Weasley twins, I found Malfoy at my elbow. Even the normally straight-laced Malfoy seemed to have been infected by the party spirit, as he gave me a broad smile. "Congratulations! You and Mrs Fogworthy seem to have a success on your hands. Well done."

"Thanks."

"I've been talking to the Weasleys - really shrewd chaps those two. Would never have thought it from the way they behaved at school. They think we should -" He broke off, looking towards the open doors of the ballroom. I followed his gaze. A small group of latecomers were just making their entrance. A plump, balding wizard and his equally plump wife were accompanied by a smartly dressed witch in her late twenties. The young woman's face would have been pretty if it hadn't worn what looked like a permanent look of discontent. Malfoy, with a very peculiar expression on his face, turned to me hurriedly. "Excuse me, I've just seen someone I really must have a word with." He moved off towards the group. It was then that I noticed my ring was missing. It wasn't particularly valuable but Blaise had bought it for me as a memento of the day I'd introduced him to the joys of shopping at Camden Lock market, and I treasured it. I realised I must have left it on the shelf above the sink in the Ladies' when I'd washed my hands. I headed back in that direction, past Malfoy, who was chatting to the group we'd seen arriving. The young woman stared at me intently as I passed.

I retrieved the ring and stepped out into the corridor. It was then I heard the voices. They were some way away from me, but the acoustics meant I could hear what they were saying quite clearly. Some instinct made me freeze where I was.

"He knows, I'm sure he does. He's been acting very strangely towards me lately." That was Pansy. I'd seen her earlier holding court surrounded by the Parkinson Lawler mob and a few ex-Slytherin hangers-on. She sounded as if she'd been making sure she got more than her fair share of the free booze.

"That is your problem. May I remind you that you are being well paid for this," Treadwell's voice replied.

"She promised me he would -"

"I'm quite well aware what she promised you, Miss Parkinson. You will get your reward, provided you keep to your side of our bargain." What the hell was going on? As far as I knew, Pansy and Treadwell had never met, and yet here they were talking like co-conspirators.

"I'm doing what I can. It isn't easy, you know. The Malfoy name carries a lot of clout, even now." Pansy sounded sulky. "Tell her it needs to be soon, or I'll lose them."

"It - " Treadwell replied. The sound of voices further down the corridor obscured the next words. I slipped back into the Ladies' and opened the door a crack, waiting until Treadwell strode past and went through the door to the open air. As soon as I judged it safe to emerge, I headed back down the corridor towards the ballroom, my mind busy turning over what I had heard. What were Pansy and Treadwell up to? Who was this mysterious she, and what had to happen soon? One thing I was sure about, I needed to tell someone. The whole thing smacked of a conspiracy. Was that why Treadwell had so conspicuously failed to find the saboteur? Because he was in league with whoever was carrying out the sabotage? I was bought up short by the realisation that there wasn't really anything to tell. Just a faintly suspicious conversation between two people who I didn't really like and who didn't like me. Pansy was Malfoy's friend, and it would look distinctly like sour grapes if I accused her of anything on the basis of such flimsy evidence. Then Neville's voice echoed in my mind, Tell me if anything worries you. Promise? This certainly qualified as a worrying situation. I was just looking round for Neville, when Pansy's voice came from behind me.

"Looking for your boyfriend, Vanessa, dear? Such a pity he can't give you his undivided attention this evening, but a man really has to spend some time with his fiancée, doesn't he?" I turned to face Pansy. In the harsh light of the ballroom it was pretty obvious that she was well and truly pissed. She stood facing me, swaying, a belligerent look making her pug-nosed features even more pug-like.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Pansy."

"Oh, don't you? Perhaps you'd better ask him. There he is, look, talking to the very lady in question." I followed the direction of her pointing finger, and there, indeed, was Blaise in the middle of what looked like a blazing row with the smartly-dressed witch who'd looked at me so intently earlier. "That my dear, is Agnes Devereux, and she and Zabini have been engaged since they were children. Under a magically binding contract, too, with some very nasty penalty clauses if he doesn't marry her by the time he reaches his thirtieth birthday. Old man Zabini is nothing if not imaginative."

At that moment Blaise turned towards me and noticed me watching him. The look on his face told me everything I needed to know. A cold yawning chasm opened up inside me. Pansy had been telling the truth. My face must have told her that she'd scored a hit. She laughed viciously and staggered off in the direction of the bar. I just had to get out of there. I turned to run, and I'd just reached the outer door, when Blaise caught up with me.

"Vanessa! Cara, what is it? What's wrong? He grabbed my arm.

"Don't touch me!" I spat, and he dropped it as if he'd been stung. "When were you going to tell me? When I moved in with you, or were you planning to wait until your wedding day?"

"Holy fucking Merlin," Blaise said, grimly. "She told you, didn't she? I will kill that bitch Parkinson. Vanessa, we've got to talk about this. Come on." He grabbed my arm again, and hustled me up a flight of stairs. We reached a heavy oak door, which I knew led to Malfoy's private apartments. Blaise pointed his wand at it, muttered something, and the door swung open with a click. He dragged me into Malfoy's sitting room, and slammed the door shut.

"Look, Vanessa, this isn't what it seems -"

"Oh, isn't it? I take it it's normal in pureblood wizarding circles to get one woman to move in with you while intending to marry another. You could have actually asked me if I wanted to be your Muggle bit on the side, first! Or were you planning to move us both in together and start yourself a harem?"

Blaise's face was haggard. "I was going to tell you, honestly."

I made my voice hard. "Oh, I'm sure you were - eventually. Well, you blew it, and Pansy Parkinson got there first. It's over, Blaise. I hope you and Agnes What's-her-name will be very happy together. Now piss off and leave me alone."

"Vanessa, please -"

"You heard me. Piss off." After a couple more attempts to talk to me, he finally gave up, and left me to my thoughts. I was too stunned to cry; that would come later. For the moment all I could do was sit there with the night's events running through my head over and over again like a gerbil on a wheel. I'd thought Blaise was different. As usual, I'd been wrong.

I don't know how long I sat there dwelling on my misery. It couldn't have been all that long but it seemed like hours. When I looked at my watch it was just 11.30 pm, and the party was scheduled to end at midnight, when the coaches would come to take away the Muggle guests. It was time I pulled myself together and went back to doing my job. I checked my appearance in the mirror over Malfoy's fireplace, which clucked sympathetically.

"You look quite alright, love. No-one could possibly guess."

"Thanks for nothing," I muttered, and marched out of the sitting room, slamming the door to relieve my feelings. Preoccupied, I headed off in the wrong direction, and found myself facing a locked door.

I was about to turn round when a high pitched voice shrieked, "You is trespassing you is!! No-one is allowed in here but Master Malfoy!! Winky will defend Master's property!!" I turned and found myself facing one of Ditzy's cousins. This creature, however, had a demented look in its eye and seemed anything but harmless. It was pointing one long finger straight at me, and I didn't think it was just intending to show me the way out. My only course was to try and reason with it.

Just as I opened my mouth Malfoy's voice snapped from the shadows behind it, "Winky!! Miss Granger is here with my permission. Get back to your duties." The thing vanished with a pop, and Malfoy materialised from the shadows, wand drawn. "Are you alright?" He scanned my face. "Sorry. Silly question. That fool Zabini only just told me he'd left you here on your own. Damned psychotic elf thinks everyone's out to steal something." He took my arm, and steered me in the right direction, out of the door, and down the stairs still talking. "Longbottom's talking about challenging Zabini to a duel, so I told him thought it best if he escorted Miss Devereux home. I've also told Parkinson to make herself scarce, as Davis is spitting nails and quite ready to call her out. Mrs Fogworthy has all the Muggle guests rounded up and ready to depart. I really do think you need to make an appearance before they go. Do you feel up to it?"

"Of course I do!" I snapped. "I'm not the heroine of some cheesy Victorian novel. I'm certainly not going to go into a decline just because some arrogant, lying, cheating -" I stopped abruptly, aware that this was Malfoy's friend I was talking about but he just smiled.

"That's my girl. On with the show."

I joined Malfoy, Neville, Tracey and Elaine in mingling with the departing guests to say goodbye. It seemed to drag on for ever, and I desperately wanted it to end so I could go home and be miserable in peace. Finally, the last of them left and we stood in the ballroom amidst the debris as a horde of house-elves employed by Lavender Brown's company moved in to put the place to rights. Neville came up to me, his face a mask of sympathetic misery.

"Why don't you go home, Vanessa? You look all in."

"I'll take you," Tracey offered.

I wanted to scream at them both to leave me alone but I knew they were only trying to be kind. I was about to accept Tracey's offer when one of the Goyle security wizards appeared with a crack, his face ashen.

"Mr Malfoy, sir, would you come with me please? There's something you should see."

***

It was the smell I noticed first. It was that charnel house smell that hangs around butcher's shops, but magnified ten-fold. That, and the fact that one of the younger security wizards was leaning against the wall of the stable block throwing his guts up, warned me that what was inside must be very, very bad indeed. Malfoy had turned pale, and I noticed Neville looking at him with concern.

We stood at the door, and looked in on - horror.

There was blood everywhere. The floor, the walls, literally every flat surface was covered with blood. It dripped over the rim of one of the cauldrons above which a body, hanging from a rope suspended from the ceiling, revolved slowly. On the wall behind it, written in blood in large letters was the sentence,

Who would have thought the old man to have so much blood in him?

My attention was drawn to the figure, which had revolved to face us. Despite the fact that its face and hair were covered in blood from a gaping wound in the throat, I recognised who it was -

Adrian Treadwell.

***

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