This is the beginning of Part II of this story. While Part I alternated between a May timeline and a June timeline, this will alternate between a June-July timeline, which will follow the investigation (mostly from Harry’s POV and occasionally Astoria’s) and a 1997-1998 school year timeline, which will cover Death Eater Hogwarts from Ginny’s and Draco’s POVs.
While writing this chapter, I Googled English pub closing times. Is it true that English pubs typically close at eleven unless they have a special license? What? Why so early? What do people do after eleven on weekends? I’m usually home by eleven on a Saturday, but I’m also nearly forty and starting to fall apart. When I Googled it, I was mostly trying to figure how late pub kitchens would serve food, I wasn’t expecting pubs to close early.
So my apologies to the pub staff of Ottery St. Catchpole. I needed to have George Confund you to have this chapter work.
|
Framed | ||||||
|
Category: Post-DH/AB Characters:None Genres: Action/Adventure, Romance Warnings: Dark Fiction, Death, Extreme Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Negative Alcohol Use, Rape Story is Complete Rating: R Reviews: 193 Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry Potter is training to be an Auror, and he is finally back together with Ginny Weasley. But when a young woman dies of poisoning at the Ministry’s Midsummer Ball, Harry is the first suspect, and he can only uncover the true murderer by working with his childhood rival, Draco Malfoy. Hitcount: Story Total: 56268; Chapter Total: 2295 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: |
Previous Next |
|
||||
|
Part 2 Chapter 9: The Report June 20, 1998, 9:15 p.m. Ministry of Magic When it became apparent that Romilda Vane was dead, Harry Potter’s wild first thought was of a Muggle board game his cousin Dudley had once owned. Harry never had the opportunity to play Cluedo, but he had seen the three Dursleys play often enough to have an understanding of how the game worked. But instead of suspecting Professor Plum in the library with the candlestick, it could be Narcissa Malfoy in the ladies room with the poisoned hairbrush, or Cornelius Turpin at the bar with the untraceable potion, or Zacharias Smith in the doorway with a stolen wand. He dismissed the thought as quickly as he had entertained it. As Harry was now an Auror trainee, this was officially his problem, and he knew he shouldn’t dwell on fictional scenarios when the murderer could very well still be in the ballroom. In fact, the killer would be almost certainly still around, as he or she would need to know if their plan worked, plus a hasty exit would only draw unnecessary attention. He looked around the ballroom, even as he was aware of Ginny breathing in tiny gasps beside him. All of his early training was focused on the power of observation, of learning to know what to look for, but even so, Harry did not feel prepared for this. He found himself wishing that he was more like John Dawlish, whom everyone said had a photographic memory. Of course, Dawlish also had quite the CV of epic fuck ups over the last few years, and Harry did not want to follow in his footsteps in that regard, but a photographic memory would be nice. As Harry scanned the ballroom, he wished that he had given into his urge to a buy a Pensieve–a very expensive investment–at Diagon Alley the other day. Most people wore expressions of shock and curiosity. There weren’t too many breaks in this pattern to arouse Harry’s curiosity. Previously dancing couples were frozen in place. He saw Draco’s pretty date standing alone and looking as though she might pass out. He noted a server who had started downing the champagne that she was meant to be serving. He focused on an old man who wore a look of extreme concentration. He noticed a beautiful young woman who seemed familiar, but whom he was unable to place. His training also had some cautions regarding observation. While he was to note unusual behavior, he was also to be aware that some people respond to crime and other tragedies in unconventional manners, which could lead to innocent people being perceived as guilty or to victims not being believed when they did not seem traumatized enough. He was also to be aware of the unreliability of memory itself. During a workshop on Harry’s and Ron’s first week, one of the few led by Gawain Robards himself, the Head Auror had handed each trainee an account of a crime, which they were ordered to study, before returning them and then coming together to compare stories to the best of their memory. Each trainee at some point confused the details of the accounts they had personally read with the details their colleagues had reported, proving that people tend to create a shared story in a group, even when it means dismissing that which they know to be true. Adding additional uncertainty to uncertainty, Robards had warned them that people tend to remember the details which confirm their own experiences and forget the ones they cannot explain. He had asked if any of them had witnessed a Muggle either forget or rationalize an experience with magic. Harry and a couple others had raised a hand. Robards went to say that witches and wizards were as guilty of that as Muggles. Harry was aware of all this as he watched Gawain Robards kneel by Romilda’s body, along with his wife, who Harry knew to be a healer at St. Mungo’s. Dawlish was also heading towards the body, as was Harry’s fellow trainee, Terry Boot. As Harry led Ginny back towards Hermione, he tried to comfort her and failed miserably. Feeling useless, Harry left with Ron and joined the investigation. “Potter.” Gawain noticed him. “I’ll need you to record this.” Harry summoned parchment, ink, and quill. As a very new trainee, he wouldn’t be expected to examine the body; he lacked the knowledge. But he was to observe and record. As Gawain waved a wand over Romilda’s still body, he began speaking, “Female, aged sixteen, with no visible signs of trauma. Time of death is 9:13, but the body temperature is dropping rapidly. Too rapidly for natural causes to be cause of death. No odors are detected, but there is a substance coating her tongue. Sparkling wine mixed with something else. We’ll need to scrape her tongue and send a sample to the DMLE potions analysis team. There does not appear to be any food in the victim’s digestive system.” Harry’s transcription charm ensured that nothing would be missed. With half his attention on the parchment and half elsewhere, Harry noted that Dawlish was doing privacy and silencing charms around the Auror team, which now included seven other qualified Aurors and the rest of the trainees including Ron. Three other Aurors were focusing on Mr. and Mrs. Vane, keeping them away from their daughter’s body, urging the couple into chairs that looked more decorative than practical. He had not heard a word from either parent and suspected they were in shock. Ministry officials outside of the Auror office seemed to be directing people out of the ballroom, to give the Aurors and the Vanes privacy, but Harry suspected that no one would be allowed out of the Ministry itself. Ginny and Hermione, along with Molly and Arthur Weasley, were among those being directed into the Atrium. “No traces of known curses are being detected nor do any dark objects seem to be on or near the victim.” The last time Harry had been this close to Romilda Vane was well over a year ago when she had pressed love potion laced chocolates into his hand in the Gryffindor common room. He looked closely at the girl for the first time that evening. Someone had closed her eyes, and she had the expression of someone having an unpleasant dream. She looked different than he remembered. At fourteen, she had been tall and gangly with the promise of future beauty. Her most notable attributes had been large, dark eyes, the sharp angles of her body, and her commanding personality. At sixteen, she had a disturbing beauty. She was still very slender, but her body had softened into a more willowy and womanly figure. She had also grown into her facial features. She had met and surpassed the beauty that had been promised in her younger self. If this beauty had given him love potion chocolates, would he have eaten them? Most boys would. Was he any different? “Oh!” Gawain’s wand paused over Romilda’s abdomen. He repeated the movement, as if wanting to confirm something. “That is interesting.” 11:25 p.m. The Drunken Otter, Ottery St. Catchpole A couple hours later, Harry and Ron were at Ottery St. Catchpole’s best pub, along with Ginny, Hermione, and George. Technically, the pub should have been closed given the late hour, but thanks to George’s Confundus Charm, they were not only open but still serving food. The group had settled into their favorite corner, and made their usual orders. Everyone had a pint of either ale or cider, Harry and Ginny split an order of fish and chips, George and Ron each had an order of shepherd’s pie, and Hermione ordered a salad and stole chips off of Harry’s and Ginny’s plate. The more senior Aurors were still at the Ministry and would likely remain there until the early morning hours. They were running tests that were well beyond the trainee’s skill level, and although the trainees had wished to observe, Samuel Williamson had informed them they would only be in the way, slowing things down. When the trainees had protested, Williamson had flexed his overdeveloped muscles, which were visible even through his dress robes, but it wasn’t until Gawain Robards had come over and confirmed that they were no longer needed for the evening that they had reluctantly left. While Harry wished he could be watching the fully qualified Aurors work, he couldn’t regret an opportunity to go to his favorite Muggle pub with his friends. He had never set foot in the Drunken Otter before this summer. The first few summers he had stayed with the Weasleys, he had been too young to go, and when he and Ron had reached an age where it was reasonable to go to a pub, Voldemort had returned and normal teenage outings were not an option. After spending his first year of adulthood in hiding, Harry loved the normalcy of being out with his favorite people for a pint, and he always felt a rush of affection seeing them around the table, even before he took the first sip of his drink. “Any leads?” Hermione asked after Harry did a Muffliato charm. None of them had changed since leaving the Ministry, but Hermione had transfigured their clothing to allow them to blend into a Muggle establishment. Harry, Ron, and George’s dress robes had been modified into smart Muggle suits, while Hermione and Ginny’s dress robes had been shortened until they became what Hermione called “cocktail dresses.” “Not that the trainees have been told about,” Harry said. “An expert potions maker? Or purchaser? Romilda was poisoned.” He wasn’t supposed to tell them that, of course, but he considered anyone with the surname Weasley and Granger to be beyond confidentiality agreements. And the Muffliato charm ensured that no other person, magical or Muggle, would be able to overhear them. “That’s definite?” Ginny asked. She grabbed a chip from the platter she was sharing with Harry. “It’s probable. No signs of curses or dark objects near her body. A substance was mixed with the sparkling wine she had been drinking.” As he spoke, Harry noted a curious look forming on Ginny’s face, and it reminded him of the time she had attempted to work up the courage to tell him and Ron about Riddle’s diary. “You know something.” “I don’t know anything, but I overheard something curious. It’s probably nothing,” she said. “Yet the flip side of ‘probably nothing’ is ‘possibly something,’” Harry said. She sighed and began recounting a conversation she’d heard between two blond girls, one of whom had been Draco’s date. “You are sure she said she drew Romilda’s fate?” Hermione asked. Ginny shrugged. “It’s what it sounded like to me. I think maybe it had something to do with divination. Maybe drawing from a deck of tarot cards. Could that be it?” “Possibly,” Hermione said, “but tarot cards aren’t overly specific. Even Trelawney predictions had some vagueness to them.” “Her predictions all involved my upcoming funeral.” Harry grinned. “Nothing vague about that.” Ginny elbowed him. “You aren’t allowed to talk about your funeral. None of us has gotten over nearly losing you.” George grinned at Harry, as if to suggest that he had gotten over it. “So, Draco’s date knew that Romilda was going to die,” Ron said, his expression hard, which Harry knew had more to do with Draco than his date. Ron hadn’t quite forgiven Harry for testifying in the Malfoy’s defense, given that Hermione had been tortured under the Malfoys’ hospitality. “I don’t know what she knew, but she had nothing to do with it. She was as shocked as anyone, and she wanted to help, but her sister stopped her, seeming to think it would place suspicion on her, knowing too much,” Ginny said. She took a gulp of her cider and then continued, “I consider myself to be a pretty good judge of character, and I think this girl is innocent.” “Does anyone know Draco’s date?” Harry asked. Ron and George shook their heads. “No,” Hermione said. “She looks familiar, but given that she’s most likely a Hogwarts student, that doesn’t narrow it down. A Slytherin a year or two behind us, I suppose? You said she was called Tori?” “Yes, and she called her sister Daph.” “Of course!” Hermione slapped a hand down on the wood table. Harry hoped it wasn’t one of those times when Hermione indulged in half a dozen utterances of I should have seen it! before enlightening the rest of them to the substance of her epiphany. Luckily, she did not leave them in suspense. “Daphne Greengrass! She’s the older sister. No wonder that girl looked familiar. She looks like her sister!” “Who?” Harry and Ron demanded at the same time. “Honestly! We had Potions with her for six years.” Hermione waved a hand around as she spoke. “She’s a Slytherin. Blonde, friends with Pansy Parkinson.” “Oh,” Harry said. “Her. The pretty Slytherin.” He had never spoken to the girl, but she didn’t have the mean expression that most of the Slytherins had perfected before they even reached Hogwarts. He recalled she had occasionally spoken up in class to answer a question from Snape, but was otherwise quiet. “The pretty Slytherin is all you needed to say,” Ron said. “It narrows things down considerably.” “So, we’re looking for a Tori Greengrass then,” Harry said. He supposed she would be reasonably easy to find in Ministry records. “She didn’t do it, Harry,” Ginny said quietly. “I just need to talk to her, Gin. If she knew that Romilda had been poisoned, it makes her a very interesting person. There was something in her sparkling wine that had nothing to do with grapes. And the sparkling wine was the only thing in her stomach, which indicates the poisoning had occurred at the Ministry, not in a meal she’d had at home earlier.” Hermione frowned. “There was no food at all in her stomach? She was only sixteen, and she was drinking alcohol.” “That bothered me too,” Harry said. “She landed in a plate of cheese, but she hadn’t seemed to have eaten any of it. When we asked her mother if Romilda had any dinner, she looked at us as if feeding growing teenage girls was a questionable practice. She told us her ‘Romi’s’ robes were very form fitting and all of the wizarding photographers were present, and, of course, she hadn’t had any food. ‘Photographs are forever.’ What kind of parent denies their child dinner because of her clothes?” Harry had been denied dinner several times in his life, and it was always because his aunt and uncle were punishing him. Food, sunlight, and occasionally even water were all tools that the Dursleys used to control Harry. “It’s shitty parenting,” Ginny said, “but I don’t think it’s ominous if you take Mrs. Vane’s day job into consideration. I don’t think she was trying to punish Romilda or ensure that her belly was empty so that a poison would work quickly. It’s probably just what she said, she wanted Romilda to look her best in photos.” “But Romilda was very thin,” Harry protested. “How much could a bit of dinner affect her appearance? If she had passed out because of drinking on an empty stomach, that would have made more of an impression than her figure ever could.” “What is Mrs. Vane’s job, anyway?” Ron asked. “She’s the beauty director of Witch Weekly,” Ginny replied. “But before that, she was a fashion model. She made the cover of nearly every fashion magazine in the late seventies and early eighties. She literally set the beauty standards for our mums. She was famous for her ultra-thin figure, and I’ve heard use of unsafe dieting potions skyrocketed among witches while she was modeling. Then one day she eloped with one of the most powerful wizards in Gringotts, and Romilda came along within the year.” “Didn’t Rita write an exposé on the modeling industry and Witch Weekly in particular a couple years ago?” Hermione asked. “Yes! Sharon Vane wasn’t permitting any models shorter than 5’11” or heavier than 125 pounds to appear in it. The models were getting weighed before every shoot and if they were even an ounce over, they were out of a job.” Harry knew very little about Witch Weekly other than it was particularly fond of Gilderoy Lockhart’s smile. He had a feeling he would be learning more about women’s magazines in coming days. “That sounds very unreasonable. I have no idea what girls weigh, but I weighed that in fourth year, and I was only five four,” Harry said. “Five foot four in stilts maybe.” George laughed. “You were a full head shorter than any of the other Tri-Wiz champions.” “You’ll always be our favorite runt, Harry.” Ron grinned. “I’m not a runt anymore,” Harry complained. “I’m taller than George.” By half an inch. But he was still taller. “That’s just it,” Hermione said. “That rule is insane. I weigh 118 and I’m nearly half a foot too short to be a model. I’m not saying that body type never occurs in nature, but it’s rare. By those standards, even Fleur is short and chubby. Rita’s article talked about the extremes models went to in order to make the coveted Witch Weekly cover. It wasn’t until a model died from overdosing on a dieting potion that people started paying attention.” “In trying to understand Romilda, I think one needs to start with her mother and her magazine,” Ginny said. “Witch Weekly is full of fashion tips, diet advice, and quizzes on how to tell if a man is into you. It’s no wonder Romilda has always been boy crazy and fashion obsessed. In her world, that’s the measure of a woman’s worth.” “So, it was Mrs. Vane’s influence that nearly got me killed on my seventeenth birthday,” Ron said. “Sort of, but it was Harry she wanted as Witch Weekly approved arm candy, not you.” Ginny grinned at her brother, but then she frowned suddenly. “Last February, we were all in the Room of Requirement, working on a project. Our newspaper, maybe. I don’t remember. Lavender’s mum had sent her some chocolates so we were eating them as we worked. Lavender offered some to Romilda, and she told us her mum didn’t allow her to eat sweets anymore because her hips were about to grow. Romilda was never terribly big on following rules, but it didn’t even occur to her to break her mum’s diet rules. As for the rest of us, our only rule last year was to never say no to sweets or alcohol. Self medication was big.” They went quiet for a moment, and Harry suspected they were all thinking of the other girl in that story. Over one month after the battle, Lavender Brown was still in St. Mungo’s in critical condition. Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron had visited her once, and she hadn’t seemed to know they were there, although her mother–a middle-aged version of Lavender herself–had been touched that they had brought flowers. Finally, Hermione broke the silence. “How did you get either sweets or alcohol in the castle?” Ginny shrugged. “It wasn’t that hard, honestly. It was a bit like Umbridge’s year with Filch checking the post. Care packages made it through okay, but non-food items had to undergo additional inspection by the Carrows.” George nodded. “Fred and I quickly realized that the only way to send shipments to Hogwarts last year was hidden in a cake from grandma.” He had started bringing up Fred in casual conversation lately, Harry had noticed. A crease would appear in his forehead when he would do so, but his voice remained steady now. “Frederika and Georgiana were everyone’s favorite grandparents last year,” Ginny agreed. George laughed suddenly. “The best part was Mum baked the cakes. She had no idea, of course. Fred kept raving about her cakes, so she’d send over two a week. We’d magically duplicate them and off to Hogwarts they would go.” Ginny smiled sadly. “Fred could talk anyone into anything.” “Mum loved it. You know how she just wants to feed everyone whenever things get difficult. She baked all of her anxiety over you lot into those cakes. Mind you, I have no intention of telling her what we used them for until I am at least forty.” “The cakes were almost as popular as the products hidden inside. If Mum ever wished to start up a bakery, she’d be surprised to find she already has a following,” Ginny said. Harry shook off his amusement at the twins’ antics. “Let’s get back to Romilda. Is it safe to say her mum is controlling and obsessed with appearances?” “Oh come on, Harry,” Ron said. “You can’t possibly suspect her mum. Did you see her grief? She looked like my mum did after, well . . .” He stopped, shooting a guilty look at George. “After Fred,” George finished, his mouth set in a grim line. Harry leaned across the table. “Emotion can be faked. She was a model. She understands the importance of appearances.” “Harry, yes, Mrs. Vane is controlling and obsessed with appearances,” Ginny said. “That hardly makes her a murderer. It just makes her a mum. Do you remember how controlling my mum was when the twins wanted to open their shop? Or when she found out the three of you weren’t going back to Hogwarts?” “But that’s just because she wanted us all to be successful, which to her means finishing school and working for the Ministry. Nothing sinister in that.” “Nothing sinister in the Vane family either,” Ginny said. “Well, the conditions are ideal for the development of eating disorders, maybe, but not murder. To a former model, beauty would be important to her daughter’s success.” An idea was forming in Harry’s mind. “What if she was trying to hide something about Romilda? Something she felt would permanently ruin her family’s image?” “You think Romilda’s mum killed her because she was knocked up?” Ron demanded. “Because she was what?!” Ginny shrieked. “When Gawain examined the body, he found that she was at least two months pregnant,” Harry said. “Ginny, you need to tell them what you told me,” Hermione said quietly. Harry looked at his girlfriend. She stuck her chin out defiantly. It was an expression he was becoming accustomed to, as she wore it every time he pressed her too far on the topic of Hogwarts. “I was going to tell you,” she said. “Tell me what?” “Romilda was assaulted last year. She was restrained, raped by several people, and there were signs that they may have used Cruciatus against her, as well.” She rattled this off quietly, but she kept her eyes on the table. “She was in the hospital for a full month. She didn’t talk for the first two weeks. When someone tried to ask her about the assault, she would choke. Literally. Madam Pomfrey suspected that the Fidelius Charm might have been used by the boys, so no one could speak of it.” Harry felt ill, and he wanted to block out the images in his head. He had never liked Romilda for his own selfish reasons, but no one deserved what happened to her at Hogwarts or tonight at the Ministry. He could tell by the expressions on Ron, Hermione, and George’s faces that they too felt ill. “Madam Pomfrey told you this?” Harry couldn’t picture that, but everything about Hogwarts last year was impossible. “Of course not! The staff didn’t tell us anything last year. Every now and then, McGonagall would give us cryptic warnings, and we quickly learned to obey them without question. No, I had Luna break into the hospital wing and make a copy of Madam Pomfrey’s records. She’s good at breaking through secrecy charms.” Luna would be a good choice for an office break in. If she got caught, she would be able to convince Madam Pomfrey that she had only been leaving her a medicinal Gurdyroot. Then Harry remembered something. “But Luna was only at Hogwarts until Christmas,” Harry said. “Romilda would have conceived in April.” “She was assaulted in October. Demelza and I found her when we were going down to breakfast on Halloween.” “You found her?” Harry asked. “Yes. I’d rather not describe it. Let’s just say, it’s not how I want to remember her,” Ginny said, her voice small. “So, the pregnancy is not from the rape,” Ron said. “I don’t see how it could be,” Ginny said. “She certainly never looked pregnant at any point last year.” “So no suspects, then?” Harry asked. “Oh, there were plenty of suspects, just no proof. One simply did not go about accusing the Carrows’ pets of rape.” Ginny paused, her eyes widening. “Blaise Zabini! I completely forgot about him.” “Zabini was one of them?” Ron asked. “No, no! But he knows who is, I’m positive of it. He gave me cryptic warnings several times last year. ‘Avoid the Muggle studies corridor, you might want to stay in your common room this evening.’ That sort of thing.” “Why was he warning you? Did you think they were after you?” George asked. “I know they were after me; they just didn’t get me. It wasn’t just Romilda. First, it was Aimee Cartwright. She’s in Ravenclaw, my year. Then it was Romilda. And nothing until Mandy Brocklehurst, another Ravenclaw, just before the Christmas holiday. There was a list, you see. I was on it. I was number five.” Ginny took a deep breath. Harry knew that she was going to tell them everything then, all of the things she had been keeping bottled up. He just hoped he was ready to hear it. |
| Reviews 193 |
Previous Next
|
