sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-08 03:13 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-08 03:13 pm
Entry tags:
Harry Potter and the Legion of Ghosts: Ch. 7
Notes: Thanks to metallumai, imaginarycircus, and maeritrae for betas. :)
Chapter Seven: Family Debts
Harry walked away from the hospital ward in a sort of quiet stupor, stopping in the front lobby without conscious thought, blinking in the sudden bright light. His thoughts were racing, but he felt slow and sluggish at the same time.
Amos Diggory might not be the sanest or most reliable man in the world, but Harry couldn't think of any possible reason that he would pull Narcissa Malfoy's name out of thin air. She'd been mentioned in the newspapers around the time of Voldemort's fall, of course, but since then the entire Malfoy family had kept a low profile. Harry had, in his own way, been instrumental in that, at any rate.
He knew what he should do, which was return to headquarters and report this directly to Broderick, bypassing his temporary superior in Demystification. He'd been drilled in Auror protocols until he could recite them in his sleep, and he knew that it would be in the spirit of the law to immediately report the Malfoys' potential involvement in the case. They were still persons of interest to the Aurors, even after four years.
The benefit of being well-versed in the rules, however, was that Harry had learned many ways of circumventing the spirit of the law by using the letter of the law. Even a breath of the Malfoy name would lift the case out of Harry's hands and put it squarely into the fumbling fingers of higher-ups who didn't have the bargaining edge that Harry had. Besides, pursuing the lead fell squarely under the course of investigation; as long as he didn't have to get a warrant, he didn't have to report until the end of the day.
He thought about calling for backup, but Ron was still on desk duty and a stranger would ruin his chances. Besides, he didn't think any of the Malfoys were much of a threat anymore. On the other hand, if he did disappear, only a madman at St. Mungo's would be left to point the way. And there were Ginny and Teddy to consider.
He stepped up to one of the public-use Floo portals in the hospital lobby and threw in a pinch of powder.
"Forensic Demystification, Ministry," he said. There was a pause. He could hear people speaking, and something bubbling nearby. "Parvati?"
"Harry?" Parvati called from a long way off. "Is that you?"
"Got a minute?"
Her head appeared in the flame, blocking out a dim view of the lab. "Sure. How'd you do with Diggory?"
"Pretty well. Listen, can you keep a secret?"
"Depends on the secret. You didn't kill him, did you?"
"I'd have called Hermione if I'd killed him, Parvati," he replied. She grinned. "He gave me a lead and I want to follow it up without getting any paperwork involved."
"What sort of lead?"
"I don't want to get you in too much trouble."
"Gosh, it's sounding more like school every day. Where are you going?"
"Amos Diggory told me who sold him the knife. If I don't report back in two hours, tell your boss that I went to speak to Narcissa Malfoy."
"Merlin, Harry -- "
"I know, I know, but I think I can get more information alone. Come on, haven't you ever put off telling your boss something until you were sure it was going to be useful?"
Parvati frowned. "No."
"Well, then you're just a better person than I am, aren't you," Harry said, annoyed.
"You get two hours," Parvati replied. "Then I'm not going to bother with my boss, I'll just send Ron after you."
"That works as well," Harry said, and closed the connection.
***
The wrought-iron gates of Malfoy Manor were shut but not locked, and Harry pushed them open easily. If anyone was at home they'd see him making his way up the straight path to the front doors long before he saw them, but that was all right; he reckoned it'd take more than a few minutes for anyone inside to get over the shock of Harry Potter walking up to the house alone. On the lawn to his left, a pair of peacocks fanned their tails and pointedly ignored him.
The imposing front door, meant to intimidate visitors in more dangerous times, was answered by a small, elderly house-elf clad in a pair of potholders held together by twine. Harry looked down at him curiously.
"Hello," he said. "What's your name?"
"Koffan," the elf creaked. Harry noted a distinct lack of the word "sir" or "Mister Potter" on the end of his reply.
"Are the Malfoys at home?" Harry inquired.
"Master Malfoy is not at home," Koffan replied.
"That isn't what I asked, Koffan."
The elf glared at him sulkily. There was something familiar about the gaze that Harry couldn't quite place.
"Mistress Malfoy is eating her tea," Koffan allowed.
"I've come to see her. Will you tell her Harry Potter is here, please?"
Koffan muttered to himself under his breath.
"What's that, Koffan?"
"Koffan is not saying anything, no," Koffan replied. "Will Harry Potter come inside?"
"No, I don't think I shall. I'll wait here, if it's all the same. Tell Narcissa this is official business, and that I have some questions for her."
"Koffan lives to serve," the elf answered, leaving the door half-open and shambling off into the gloom of the house. Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and waited patiently, turning to study the rolling grounds of the Malfoy estate. Not as well-kept as it used to be, he noticed. The Malfoys had lost most of their friends after the war; nobody to put on a display for anymore, really. Sometimes Harry wondered why he'd bothered to help them keep out of Azkaban, except that Narcissa had seemed at the time to have a spark of human decency, and Draco wasn't quite so much of an arsehole anymore as he used to be at school.
He heard voices from somewhere nearby; an open window in a dining room, perhaps. Harry wondered if it was the same room where Voldemort used to hold court. Then there was silence and, after a moment, soft footsteps in the hallway. Harry turned back to the door.
Narcissa appeared in the doorway, peering out cautiously.
"Narcissa," Harry said. "I'd like a word with you."
"Harry," she answered, eyes darting nervously around. "I don't think -- "
"This is official business, in case your elf conveniently forgot to mention," Harry said crisply. "If you'd rather not talk now, I can come back with a warrant."
"No!" she said hastily. "Do come inside."
"No, thank you. Please, walk with me," he said, gesturing for her to come out. She vacillated on the doorstep. "A Malfoy doesn't trust me? Well, that's ironic, isn't it?"
"We have no shortage of enemies," she murmured.
"I reckon that's true, and I'm about to become one of them, so you can step outside or I can come back with half a dozen Aurors and we'll let them do the talking, how does that sound?" Harry asked. His heart was beating in his throat with some old fear, and he hoped his cheeks weren't flushed. Even if they were, she didn't seem in any condition to notice; after a brief second she stepped outside, the door groaning shut behind her.
"What can I do for the Aurors?" she asked nervously, following him off the path and down towards an ornate fountain backed by hedges.
"Well, for a start, you can tell me how many Dark Artefacts you still have hidden in that mansion of yours," Harry said. She stopped for a moment, but when he didn't she ran to catch up with him. "I think you managed to keep at least one after your home was searched. I made a deal with your husband, Narcissa."
"We showed you everything," she answered. "We let you take everything you wanted to take."
"Showing us everything and telling us everything isn't quite the same, is it?" he asked.
"Just what is it you think I kept from you?" she demanded, anger showing through her nerves. He turned to her.
"I think it was a dagger, about this long," he said, holding up his hands. "With a gold blade and green silk around the handle. Not the kind of ornament you'd get rid of when Voldemort was still in power, was it? Maybe he gave it to you as a souvenir? But after, of course -- that's a different story. A dagger like that could fetch a few Galleons, couldn't it? To the right buyer?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.
"You do, Narcissa, because you sold it to Amos Diggory," he retorted. "And now he's dying from what it did to him."
"You can't prove it."
"He told me it was you."
"He's insane."
"How do you know?" he asked, stepping closer. "Keeping tabs on Diggory? Do you look after the family of your victims out of the goodness of your heart?"
"I didn't kill -- "
"Voldemort did, and you backed him. You and your husband both," Harry snarled. "Don't play games with me."
"You haven't any proof," she said sullenly.
"I have enough proof to bring a whole squadron of Aurors up your walkway and into your home," Harry answered. "Tell me about the dagger, Narcissa. I know you had it. I know you sold it to Diggory."
She bit her lip. "If I tell you, I want something in return."
"Are you bargaining with me?" Harry asked, almost amused.
"You want information, and you know you won't find anything about the dagger even if you tear down every wall in the house," she answered, heat rising in her pale cheeks. "It isn't here anymore. There's no proof it ever was."
Harry waited for her to speak again. He wasn't going to offer her anything; he certainly wasn't going to ask her what she wanted. She'd have to do that on her own, and he saw as the silence lengthened that she was realising it.
"I want to see Teddy," she said finally.
Harry's instinctive reaction was to tell her that she would see his godson over his dead and incinerated body. Instead he took a breath.
"What does Teddy Lupin have to do with this?" he asked.
"Nothing," she replied. "Except that he's my family."
"He's not your family," Harry retorted.
"He's my sister's grandson. Lucius doesn't have many relatives. All I have is Draco. Andromeda won't even answer my letters," she said. "I have a right."
She looked pathetic, standing in the garden, begging to see a four-year-old child. Pathetic and sad, and Harry would have felt sorry for her if he hadn't seen Amos Diggory's scars. He formulated his next words carefully, looking out over the sprawling grounds.
"This is not a negotiation," he said. "This is a presentation of options. Tell me what I want to know and this all goes away. Argue with me and I'll bring you up on charges. You sold a Dark object; probably because of a personal vendetta against Diggory. I could charge you with direct assault and get away with it, whether or not you cut up Diggory yourself. He's in St. Mungo's scarred from head to foot. Doesn't take much to convince a person that a Malfoy tried something slimy."
"I am your godfather's cousin -- "
"And your sister killed him!" Harry kept himself from shouting, but only just.
"And your mother-in-law killed my sister," Narcissa replied. She gave a shrill, false little laugh. "So where does it end, Harry?"
Harry didn't bother with a reply; he was too furious that she had dared to mention Sirius. He drew his wand and flicked it at her wrists; manacles wrapped themselves around her arms, pinning them together in front of her. "Narcissa Malfoy, I am arresting you on suspicion of possession and distribution of a Dark Artefact, practice of the Dark Arts, conspiracy to commit assault, accessory to assault -- "
"Wait! Wait," she said, raising her chained hands to her face. "Please, just...wait."
Harry stood patiently; she was shaking, but he thought it would probably pass off pretty quickly. There was the possibility, even the likelihood, that it might be real shame and fear; he'd wanted to bowl her over rather than play games with her, and he suspected his tactics had worked. Still, he was cautious. She wasn't a bad actress -- nor was she a fool. The hands covering her face had once touched his chest when Voldemort sent her to be certain the Boy Who Lived was dead, and this same woman had lied to the most powerful Dark Wizard in a century for the sole purpose of finding and protecting her son.
He watched her lower her hands from her face, slowly. Her cheeks were still dry.
"I didn't intend to hurt him," she said softly. Harry, who had almost convinced himself that she deserved leniency, bridled at her excuse.
"The hell you didn't -- "
"I only sold it to him because I needed to be rid of it," she continued.
"You knew what it would do," Harry said coldly.
"I'd never tried it. For all I knew, it wasn't even real." She stretched out her arms pleadingly.
Harry tapped his wand on the chains and they melted away, but he didn't put his wand back in his pocket.
"Thank you," she murmured, rubbing her wrists.
"Where'd you get the knife?" he demanded.
"Lucius gave it to me," she said.
"Well, then I'll just haul him in to the Ministry," Harry said, starting for the gates. She caught his arm.
"He bought it for me in a shop in Rome," she said. "I can give you the address, we used to have credit there."
Harry looked her up and down. "And that was the secret you were willing to go to jail for."
"We're a proud family and our pride's been crushed enough," she said. "Forgive me if I object to further humiliation."
"If you don't want to be humiliated, I suggest you stop doing things that open you to Ministry investigation," he said. "When'd you sell him the knife?"
"Not long after the Dark Lord's fall. I tried to get everything out of the house that I could," she said. "I was looking after my family. I was protecting them."
"At the cost of others' families," Harry retorted. "This wasn't the only thing you sold?"
"No," she whispered. Harry nodded.
"You are going to go up to the house," he said, quietly and more gently than he thought he was capable of when dealing with the Malfoys. He was beginning to worry about Parvati and the self-imposed time limit; the sooner he got back to Demystification, the better -- and while he wanted that list, he wasn't willing to stand over her shoulder while she wrote it. He would never go back into that house again if he could help it. "You are going to sit down and write out for me a list of everything that you can remember that you sold, who you sold it to, and when. If I don't have that list by tonight, you'll be arrested and charged. Do we understand each other, Narcissa?"
"Yes," she murmured. "Of course."
"Who did he buy it from?"
"A man named Culter. He's well-known in Italy. He used to have a shop in the magical district near the Teatro Marcello," she said.
"Used to?"
"He might still. We haven't left England since the war. You know that," she said, a hint of rebellion creeping back.
"Culter, near the Teatro Marcello in Rome," he repeated.
"If you tell him I sent you, my life won't be worth a steel sickle," she said.
"If you'd done anything in your life worth that much, I'd care," he replied.
"I saved your life..."
"And paid it off with Diggory's. Don't forget that list, Narcissa -- I'll be waiting for it," he said. She nodded, still not meeting his eyes. "I'll show myself off the property. You have some writing to do."
He watched as she turned away and walked towards the house, waiting until the door had shut behind her before he began the short walk across the grass, along the hedge to the gate. He wanted to believe that she'd been telling the truth; Narcissa was too much of a coward to lie, when anything other than her son's life was at stake. And what spirit Voldemort hadn't beaten out of the Malfoys, their subsequent humiliation had trampled on. Harry had no sympathy for Lucius, but enough remained for Narcissa, who had been necessary for Voldemort's defeat, that he could pity her. As for Draco --
A hand shot out of the gap between hedge and wall as he approached the gate, catching his arm and turning him so suddenly that he found himself slammed against the stone before he knew what was happening. Even as he instinctively kicked out he congratulated himself on warning Parvati, because if Draco was going to kill him at least he'd have the posthumous satisfaction of seeing that twerp twist for it.
His boot caught Draco's shin just below the knee and the other man swore, but the steely grip on his arm didn't let go; stone dug into his back as Draco pressed his arm across Harry's neck and brought his knee up between Harry's legs threateningly.
"Let me go," Harry shouted, and Draco's hand slammed over his mouth. He didn't dare move; his future children were depending on Draco's knee not jerking too suddenly.
"Going to have me up on charges too?" Draco asked in his ear. Harry bit his finger. "Son of a bitch, Potter! Hold still!"
Harry stopped squirming, hoping it would induce Draco to move his arm. Or his knee.
"Better," Draco hissed. "You come here with your badge on your chest and your righteous wrath and harass my mother? I could kill you and bury the body before you'd be missed."
"The Aurors know where I am," Harry managed around the hand still half-covering his mouth. Draco increased the pressure on his throat. "Let me go, Malfoy."
"I heard what you said to her," Draco answered, removing his hand from Harry's mouth and clenching a fistful of his shirt instead.
"Then you know what she did," Harry said.
"I know you're going to Italy to see Culter," Draco answered.
"What's it to you?" Harry asked. Draco's breath rasped in his ear; this close he could smell sweat and fear. After a second, the pressure on his chest eased slightly, and Draco's knee dropped a few inches.
"I want you to take me with you to Italy," Draco answered. Harry blinked, too surprised to struggle.
"You Malfoys are all mad as hatters," he said. "First your mum wants to see Teddy, which will happen when hell freezes over, and now you want to play detective with me in Rome? Are you out of what passes for your mind?"
Draco's lips quirked slightly. "Now you sound like Professor Snape."
Harry thrashed against him, and Draco increased the pressure again. "I hated him and he's still twice the man you'll ever be," Harry said.
"That's probably true, but he's not here holding you against a wall right now, is he? I am. And I'm not going to let you set Culter and his gang on my mother."
"You'll be in prison for assault on an Auror," Harry threatened.
"I'll risk it," Draco replied. "You'll go to Rome yourself because you always did everything yourself, Potter. I know you. You can take me with you or I can follow you."
"Why not just kill me now?" Harry asked. It was his turn to grin. "If you're so sure you can hide the evidence."
Draco hesitated, and the pressure on Harry's neck ceased. He stepped back. Harry felt as though one or two punches would be totally justified, but as an Auror he could probably get suspended for it.
"Because I'm not a murderer," Draco said.
"No, you're an idiot," Harry replied, dusting off his sleeves where they'd rubbed against the wall. "Why does your family always think that I somehow owe the Malfoys?"
"I'm not my family," Draco said. "Not only my family, anyway."
"Could have fooled me. Give me one good reason I should take you along, other than my embarrassment over your pathetic attempts to follow me when I go?"
"I followed you here without you noticing," Draco said, which was something of a point, Harry had to admit.
"This is a garden. This is not the Mediterranean."
"You'll never get into the magical district in Rome without me," Draco insisted. "You don't know the first thing about Italian wizardry. I can help you. All I want is to make sure Culter doesn't find out my mother told you."
"You've got to be kidding me," Harry said. "You think I'm going to take you along to investigate a Dark Artefact your mother used to own just because you once spent a summer in Italy?"
"We spent every summer in Italy," Draco replied. "He's not some stupid shopkeeper, Potter. He's the biggest dealer in the Dark Arts outside of Moscow. You won't get close to him without someone who knows what he's doing."
Harry took hold of Draco's shirt and pulled him gently forward until they were as close as they'd been before, against the wall. He bent slightly and spoke in Draco's ear.
"You blink wrong and your whole family will wish Culter was your only problem," he said softly. "If the Aurors decide I'm the one to go to Rome, I might consider the idea of your usefulness. Which would be a first, for you."
He would give him this much; Draco didn't flinch from the insult.
"I'll be watching you, Potter," he replied.
"I'll make sure to keep my badge polished," Harry answered, and shoved him backwards. Draco fell over on his arse with a thump, which was satisfying in the extreme. "I have a question before I go."
"What's that?" Draco asked, picking himself up slowly and brushing at the grass stains on his elbows.
"Why didn't you just petrify me?" Harry said.
"Left my wand inside," Draco muttered. Harry tried not to grin too widely as he pulled the gate open once more and walked through, grateful to be escaping from the sneaking, whining Malfoy clan.
***
Harry made it back well within the two hour limit he'd given to Parvati, but she was waiting anxiously for him at the entrance to the Demystification Lab anyway.
"Wotcha, Parvati," he said, pulling off his cloak and hanging it on a peg near the door. He had not been looking forward to this.
"Wotcha?" she asked through clenched teeth. "You just ran off to talk to Narcissa Malfoy!"
"Yeah. Went well," he said, grinning.
"It did not go well for me, Potter!"
"Parvati," a voice boomed. Harry hadn't realised how many people were in the room, bent to their tasks, until every head in the room raised and turned in the direction of the voice. It was Gresham's voice, though he was nowhere in sight. Parvati bolted down a long aisle of worktables, Harry on her heels.
"Yessir?" she gasped, skidding to a stop in front of the table that held the knife on it. Gresham was crouched, eyes on a level with the bowl, hands folded on the edge of the table.
"Mr. Potter, good to see you among us once more," Gresham said, not taking his eyes from the bowl. "Have you made progress?"
"Yes," Harry answered. "I've found out where the knife came from before it entered the country."
Gresham's eyes flicked up, then back down. "You've traced it back to its import?"
"It wasn't a far jump," Harry said, bending over to get on the same level as Gresham. "What are we doing?"
"It's a curious optical illusion I'm very interested in," Gresham replied. "I had thought it was the curvature of the bowl and the refraction of the liquid inside the bowl, but I now believe it to be an intentional creation. Parvati, some gloves please, the hex-reinforced ones."
Parvati reached across the table and pulled a pair of what looked like thin white cotton gloves out of a nearby box, passing them to Gresham. He pulled them on as he rose from his crouch (nearly cracking Harry in the nose with the back of his head) and picked up the bowl of liquid with the dagger lying innocently in the bottom.
He tilted the bowl into a nearby sink and held the handle of the dagger with two fingers, letting the liquid drain off. Harry and Parvati watched with interest as he carefully slid Parvati's little two-pronged metal rod around the blade, lifting it out of the bowl. Harry couldn't help but be a little amused by all their caution; Gresham used the minimum number of fingers to hold the handle, the rod still supporting the blade. He was less amused when Gresham turned the knife with a deft flick of his fingers, presenting the sharp side of the blade to Harry and Parvati at eye-level.
Harry gaped as the blade leveled off; the movement seemed somehow to shorten and twist the metal so that when he stared at it blade-on it no longer looked like a straight edge. It curved around the metal prongs holding it, a sickle-shaped weapon terminating in a vicious claw tip.
"It's not a charm," Gresham said, apparently in reaction to what must be a certain amount of shock on his face. "The knife is straight and perfectly balanced. There is a slight variation in the purity and shade of the gold on the blade, set in a long curve, which...when looked at straight on..." he turned it sideways and it suddenly seemed to snap back into a solid, ruler-straight line, "...appears to be invisible. However, when turned, it creates a false sense of shadow that tricks the eye into believing the blade is tightly curved. Rather like a vintner's blade, actually," he mused. "Where did you say it had come from, Mr. Potter?"
Harry swallowed. "It was purchased from a Dark Arts dealer in Rome."
"Of Italian origin?"
"I'm not sure yet," Harry replied. "How did you know to look at it like that?"
"I always try to look at all sides of a situation," Gresham replied. He settled the knife back in the bowl and pulled off the gloves, tossing them in a nearby basket. "My office, I think, Mr. Potter."
Gresham's small office, off the main room, was surprisingly sparse given the happy chaos of the lab. Harry hitched his hip against a wooden filing cabinet and crossed his arms.
"Officially you still report to Broderick, but as you're under my jurisdiction for the moment, I'd like to hear your report," Gresham said, tidying some paper on his desk. "You spoke with Parvati earlier, I understand."
Harry ducked his head. "I was letting her know where I was going, in case I didn't come back."
Gresham raised his eyes. "Broderick was right -- I believe his word for you was cowboy. What news from Mr. Diggory?"
"He said he bought the knife. He said he was told it would let him see his son. I guess..." Harry frowned. "I guess he saw other ghosts, ghosts I don't think anyone else could see, but he didn't see his son."
"And you witnessed a similar effect...although you did in fact see loved ones?" Gresham said.
"Yeah. Which I guess is a good thing. It means I'm probably not nuts, right?"
"One assumes," Gresham said with a small, conservative smile. "Who sold him the knife?"
"Sir, I'd like to be candid with you, but the former owner is anxious about prosecution," Harry said. "I felt...assured in offering amnesty to this particular individual."
Gresham tilted an eyebrow. "Broderick isn't going to like that."
"It has no bearing on the assault, or on the shop we raided when I was attacked," Harry protested.
"That hardly matters. This person is guilty of distribution of dangerous Dark Artefacts."
"And has also voluntarily helped the Aurors in their inquiries." Harry rubbed his forehead. "I've already had to threaten one person with Auror persecution today. I'd rather not threaten you with all the paperwork you'd need to make me talk."
Gresham smiled. "We'll revisit this, in that case. And you say it came from Rome?"
"It was purchased from a man named Culter, who I have reason to believe -- "
"The MLE is aware of Culter," Gresham said, surprising Harry.
"I wasn't," he said, letting a hint of annoyance creep into his voice.
"Why should you be? It's outside your realm, at the present. And, officially, outside of mine. I told you we weren't terriers, Mr. Potter; where names like Culter become involved, I must hand the information over to the investigative side."
Harry cursed to himself. He'd thought he would be safe not mentioning Narcissa, but he hadn't considered that the name Culter might send up just as many flags.
"I'll speak to Broderick," Gresham continued. "In the meantime, Mr. Potter, you are free to go -- and I believe we won't see you again until tomorrow afternoon."
"What?" Harry asked. Gresham held up a slip of parchment.
"You're released in the morning for mandatory medical attention. From the secretive nature of the notice, I would guess they've assigned you a Mentalist. Have fun," Gresham added.
"Oh, tons," Harry muttered. "I have all kinds of fun stories to tell."
metallumai, imaginarycircus, and maeritrae for betas. :)Chapter Seven: Family Debts
Harry walked away from the hospital ward in a sort of quiet stupor, stopping in the front lobby without conscious thought, blinking in the sudden bright light. His thoughts were racing, but he felt slow and sluggish at the same time.
Amos Diggory might not be the sanest or most reliable man in the world, but Harry couldn't think of any possible reason that he would pull Narcissa Malfoy's name out of thin air. She'd been mentioned in the newspapers around the time of Voldemort's fall, of course, but since then the entire Malfoy family had kept a low profile. Harry had, in his own way, been instrumental in that, at any rate.
He knew what he should do, which was return to headquarters and report this directly to Broderick, bypassing his temporary superior in Demystification. He'd been drilled in Auror protocols until he could recite them in his sleep, and he knew that it would be in the spirit of the law to immediately report the Malfoys' potential involvement in the case. They were still persons of interest to the Aurors, even after four years.
The benefit of being well-versed in the rules, however, was that Harry had learned many ways of circumventing the spirit of the law by using the letter of the law. Even a breath of the Malfoy name would lift the case out of Harry's hands and put it squarely into the fumbling fingers of higher-ups who didn't have the bargaining edge that Harry had. Besides, pursuing the lead fell squarely under the course of investigation; as long as he didn't have to get a warrant, he didn't have to report until the end of the day.
He thought about calling for backup, but Ron was still on desk duty and a stranger would ruin his chances. Besides, he didn't think any of the Malfoys were much of a threat anymore. On the other hand, if he did disappear, only a madman at St. Mungo's would be left to point the way. And there were Ginny and Teddy to consider.
He stepped up to one of the public-use Floo portals in the hospital lobby and threw in a pinch of powder.
"Forensic Demystification, Ministry," he said. There was a pause. He could hear people speaking, and something bubbling nearby. "Parvati?"
"Harry?" Parvati called from a long way off. "Is that you?"
"Got a minute?"
Her head appeared in the flame, blocking out a dim view of the lab. "Sure. How'd you do with Diggory?"
"Pretty well. Listen, can you keep a secret?"
"Depends on the secret. You didn't kill him, did you?"
"I'd have called Hermione if I'd killed him, Parvati," he replied. She grinned. "He gave me a lead and I want to follow it up without getting any paperwork involved."
"What sort of lead?"
"I don't want to get you in too much trouble."
"Gosh, it's sounding more like school every day. Where are you going?"
"Amos Diggory told me who sold him the knife. If I don't report back in two hours, tell your boss that I went to speak to Narcissa Malfoy."
"Merlin, Harry -- "
"I know, I know, but I think I can get more information alone. Come on, haven't you ever put off telling your boss something until you were sure it was going to be useful?"
Parvati frowned. "No."
"Well, then you're just a better person than I am, aren't you," Harry said, annoyed.
"You get two hours," Parvati replied. "Then I'm not going to bother with my boss, I'll just send Ron after you."
"That works as well," Harry said, and closed the connection.
***
The wrought-iron gates of Malfoy Manor were shut but not locked, and Harry pushed them open easily. If anyone was at home they'd see him making his way up the straight path to the front doors long before he saw them, but that was all right; he reckoned it'd take more than a few minutes for anyone inside to get over the shock of Harry Potter walking up to the house alone. On the lawn to his left, a pair of peacocks fanned their tails and pointedly ignored him.
The imposing front door, meant to intimidate visitors in more dangerous times, was answered by a small, elderly house-elf clad in a pair of potholders held together by twine. Harry looked down at him curiously.
"Hello," he said. "What's your name?"
"Koffan," the elf creaked. Harry noted a distinct lack of the word "sir" or "Mister Potter" on the end of his reply.
"Are the Malfoys at home?" Harry inquired.
"Master Malfoy is not at home," Koffan replied.
"That isn't what I asked, Koffan."
The elf glared at him sulkily. There was something familiar about the gaze that Harry couldn't quite place.
"Mistress Malfoy is eating her tea," Koffan allowed.
"I've come to see her. Will you tell her Harry Potter is here, please?"
Koffan muttered to himself under his breath.
"What's that, Koffan?"
"Koffan is not saying anything, no," Koffan replied. "Will Harry Potter come inside?"
"No, I don't think I shall. I'll wait here, if it's all the same. Tell Narcissa this is official business, and that I have some questions for her."
"Koffan lives to serve," the elf answered, leaving the door half-open and shambling off into the gloom of the house. Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and waited patiently, turning to study the rolling grounds of the Malfoy estate. Not as well-kept as it used to be, he noticed. The Malfoys had lost most of their friends after the war; nobody to put on a display for anymore, really. Sometimes Harry wondered why he'd bothered to help them keep out of Azkaban, except that Narcissa had seemed at the time to have a spark of human decency, and Draco wasn't quite so much of an arsehole anymore as he used to be at school.
He heard voices from somewhere nearby; an open window in a dining room, perhaps. Harry wondered if it was the same room where Voldemort used to hold court. Then there was silence and, after a moment, soft footsteps in the hallway. Harry turned back to the door.
Narcissa appeared in the doorway, peering out cautiously.
"Narcissa," Harry said. "I'd like a word with you."
"Harry," she answered, eyes darting nervously around. "I don't think -- "
"This is official business, in case your elf conveniently forgot to mention," Harry said crisply. "If you'd rather not talk now, I can come back with a warrant."
"No!" she said hastily. "Do come inside."
"No, thank you. Please, walk with me," he said, gesturing for her to come out. She vacillated on the doorstep. "A Malfoy doesn't trust me? Well, that's ironic, isn't it?"
"We have no shortage of enemies," she murmured.
"I reckon that's true, and I'm about to become one of them, so you can step outside or I can come back with half a dozen Aurors and we'll let them do the talking, how does that sound?" Harry asked. His heart was beating in his throat with some old fear, and he hoped his cheeks weren't flushed. Even if they were, she didn't seem in any condition to notice; after a brief second she stepped outside, the door groaning shut behind her.
"What can I do for the Aurors?" she asked nervously, following him off the path and down towards an ornate fountain backed by hedges.
"Well, for a start, you can tell me how many Dark Artefacts you still have hidden in that mansion of yours," Harry said. She stopped for a moment, but when he didn't she ran to catch up with him. "I think you managed to keep at least one after your home was searched. I made a deal with your husband, Narcissa."
"We showed you everything," she answered. "We let you take everything you wanted to take."
"Showing us everything and telling us everything isn't quite the same, is it?" he asked.
"Just what is it you think I kept from you?" she demanded, anger showing through her nerves. He turned to her.
"I think it was a dagger, about this long," he said, holding up his hands. "With a gold blade and green silk around the handle. Not the kind of ornament you'd get rid of when Voldemort was still in power, was it? Maybe he gave it to you as a souvenir? But after, of course -- that's a different story. A dagger like that could fetch a few Galleons, couldn't it? To the right buyer?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.
"You do, Narcissa, because you sold it to Amos Diggory," he retorted. "And now he's dying from what it did to him."
"You can't prove it."
"He told me it was you."
"He's insane."
"How do you know?" he asked, stepping closer. "Keeping tabs on Diggory? Do you look after the family of your victims out of the goodness of your heart?"
"I didn't kill -- "
"Voldemort did, and you backed him. You and your husband both," Harry snarled. "Don't play games with me."
"You haven't any proof," she said sullenly.
"I have enough proof to bring a whole squadron of Aurors up your walkway and into your home," Harry answered. "Tell me about the dagger, Narcissa. I know you had it. I know you sold it to Diggory."
She bit her lip. "If I tell you, I want something in return."
"Are you bargaining with me?" Harry asked, almost amused.
"You want information, and you know you won't find anything about the dagger even if you tear down every wall in the house," she answered, heat rising in her pale cheeks. "It isn't here anymore. There's no proof it ever was."
Harry waited for her to speak again. He wasn't going to offer her anything; he certainly wasn't going to ask her what she wanted. She'd have to do that on her own, and he saw as the silence lengthened that she was realising it.
"I want to see Teddy," she said finally.
Harry's instinctive reaction was to tell her that she would see his godson over his dead and incinerated body. Instead he took a breath.
"What does Teddy Lupin have to do with this?" he asked.
"Nothing," she replied. "Except that he's my family."
"He's not your family," Harry retorted.
"He's my sister's grandson. Lucius doesn't have many relatives. All I have is Draco. Andromeda won't even answer my letters," she said. "I have a right."
She looked pathetic, standing in the garden, begging to see a four-year-old child. Pathetic and sad, and Harry would have felt sorry for her if he hadn't seen Amos Diggory's scars. He formulated his next words carefully, looking out over the sprawling grounds.
"This is not a negotiation," he said. "This is a presentation of options. Tell me what I want to know and this all goes away. Argue with me and I'll bring you up on charges. You sold a Dark object; probably because of a personal vendetta against Diggory. I could charge you with direct assault and get away with it, whether or not you cut up Diggory yourself. He's in St. Mungo's scarred from head to foot. Doesn't take much to convince a person that a Malfoy tried something slimy."
"I am your godfather's cousin -- "
"And your sister killed him!" Harry kept himself from shouting, but only just.
"And your mother-in-law killed my sister," Narcissa replied. She gave a shrill, false little laugh. "So where does it end, Harry?"
Harry didn't bother with a reply; he was too furious that she had dared to mention Sirius. He drew his wand and flicked it at her wrists; manacles wrapped themselves around her arms, pinning them together in front of her. "Narcissa Malfoy, I am arresting you on suspicion of possession and distribution of a Dark Artefact, practice of the Dark Arts, conspiracy to commit assault, accessory to assault -- "
"Wait! Wait," she said, raising her chained hands to her face. "Please, just...wait."
Harry stood patiently; she was shaking, but he thought it would probably pass off pretty quickly. There was the possibility, even the likelihood, that it might be real shame and fear; he'd wanted to bowl her over rather than play games with her, and he suspected his tactics had worked. Still, he was cautious. She wasn't a bad actress -- nor was she a fool. The hands covering her face had once touched his chest when Voldemort sent her to be certain the Boy Who Lived was dead, and this same woman had lied to the most powerful Dark Wizard in a century for the sole purpose of finding and protecting her son.
He watched her lower her hands from her face, slowly. Her cheeks were still dry.
"I didn't intend to hurt him," she said softly. Harry, who had almost convinced himself that she deserved leniency, bridled at her excuse.
"The hell you didn't -- "
"I only sold it to him because I needed to be rid of it," she continued.
"You knew what it would do," Harry said coldly.
"I'd never tried it. For all I knew, it wasn't even real." She stretched out her arms pleadingly.
Harry tapped his wand on the chains and they melted away, but he didn't put his wand back in his pocket.
"Thank you," she murmured, rubbing her wrists.
"Where'd you get the knife?" he demanded.
"Lucius gave it to me," she said.
"Well, then I'll just haul him in to the Ministry," Harry said, starting for the gates. She caught his arm.
"He bought it for me in a shop in Rome," she said. "I can give you the address, we used to have credit there."
Harry looked her up and down. "And that was the secret you were willing to go to jail for."
"We're a proud family and our pride's been crushed enough," she said. "Forgive me if I object to further humiliation."
"If you don't want to be humiliated, I suggest you stop doing things that open you to Ministry investigation," he said. "When'd you sell him the knife?"
"Not long after the Dark Lord's fall. I tried to get everything out of the house that I could," she said. "I was looking after my family. I was protecting them."
"At the cost of others' families," Harry retorted. "This wasn't the only thing you sold?"
"No," she whispered. Harry nodded.
"You are going to go up to the house," he said, quietly and more gently than he thought he was capable of when dealing with the Malfoys. He was beginning to worry about Parvati and the self-imposed time limit; the sooner he got back to Demystification, the better -- and while he wanted that list, he wasn't willing to stand over her shoulder while she wrote it. He would never go back into that house again if he could help it. "You are going to sit down and write out for me a list of everything that you can remember that you sold, who you sold it to, and when. If I don't have that list by tonight, you'll be arrested and charged. Do we understand each other, Narcissa?"
"Yes," she murmured. "Of course."
"Who did he buy it from?"
"A man named Culter. He's well-known in Italy. He used to have a shop in the magical district near the Teatro Marcello," she said.
"Used to?"
"He might still. We haven't left England since the war. You know that," she said, a hint of rebellion creeping back.
"Culter, near the Teatro Marcello in Rome," he repeated.
"If you tell him I sent you, my life won't be worth a steel sickle," she said.
"If you'd done anything in your life worth that much, I'd care," he replied.
"I saved your life..."
"And paid it off with Diggory's. Don't forget that list, Narcissa -- I'll be waiting for it," he said. She nodded, still not meeting his eyes. "I'll show myself off the property. You have some writing to do."
He watched as she turned away and walked towards the house, waiting until the door had shut behind her before he began the short walk across the grass, along the hedge to the gate. He wanted to believe that she'd been telling the truth; Narcissa was too much of a coward to lie, when anything other than her son's life was at stake. And what spirit Voldemort hadn't beaten out of the Malfoys, their subsequent humiliation had trampled on. Harry had no sympathy for Lucius, but enough remained for Narcissa, who had been necessary for Voldemort's defeat, that he could pity her. As for Draco --
A hand shot out of the gap between hedge and wall as he approached the gate, catching his arm and turning him so suddenly that he found himself slammed against the stone before he knew what was happening. Even as he instinctively kicked out he congratulated himself on warning Parvati, because if Draco was going to kill him at least he'd have the posthumous satisfaction of seeing that twerp twist for it.
His boot caught Draco's shin just below the knee and the other man swore, but the steely grip on his arm didn't let go; stone dug into his back as Draco pressed his arm across Harry's neck and brought his knee up between Harry's legs threateningly.
"Let me go," Harry shouted, and Draco's hand slammed over his mouth. He didn't dare move; his future children were depending on Draco's knee not jerking too suddenly.
"Going to have me up on charges too?" Draco asked in his ear. Harry bit his finger. "Son of a bitch, Potter! Hold still!"
Harry stopped squirming, hoping it would induce Draco to move his arm. Or his knee.
"Better," Draco hissed. "You come here with your badge on your chest and your righteous wrath and harass my mother? I could kill you and bury the body before you'd be missed."
"The Aurors know where I am," Harry managed around the hand still half-covering his mouth. Draco increased the pressure on his throat. "Let me go, Malfoy."
"I heard what you said to her," Draco answered, removing his hand from Harry's mouth and clenching a fistful of his shirt instead.
"Then you know what she did," Harry said.
"I know you're going to Italy to see Culter," Draco answered.
"What's it to you?" Harry asked. Draco's breath rasped in his ear; this close he could smell sweat and fear. After a second, the pressure on his chest eased slightly, and Draco's knee dropped a few inches.
"I want you to take me with you to Italy," Draco answered. Harry blinked, too surprised to struggle.
"You Malfoys are all mad as hatters," he said. "First your mum wants to see Teddy, which will happen when hell freezes over, and now you want to play detective with me in Rome? Are you out of what passes for your mind?"
Draco's lips quirked slightly. "Now you sound like Professor Snape."
Harry thrashed against him, and Draco increased the pressure again. "I hated him and he's still twice the man you'll ever be," Harry said.
"That's probably true, but he's not here holding you against a wall right now, is he? I am. And I'm not going to let you set Culter and his gang on my mother."
"You'll be in prison for assault on an Auror," Harry threatened.
"I'll risk it," Draco replied. "You'll go to Rome yourself because you always did everything yourself, Potter. I know you. You can take me with you or I can follow you."
"Why not just kill me now?" Harry asked. It was his turn to grin. "If you're so sure you can hide the evidence."
Draco hesitated, and the pressure on Harry's neck ceased. He stepped back. Harry felt as though one or two punches would be totally justified, but as an Auror he could probably get suspended for it.
"Because I'm not a murderer," Draco said.
"No, you're an idiot," Harry replied, dusting off his sleeves where they'd rubbed against the wall. "Why does your family always think that I somehow owe the Malfoys?"
"I'm not my family," Draco said. "Not only my family, anyway."
"Could have fooled me. Give me one good reason I should take you along, other than my embarrassment over your pathetic attempts to follow me when I go?"
"I followed you here without you noticing," Draco said, which was something of a point, Harry had to admit.
"This is a garden. This is not the Mediterranean."
"You'll never get into the magical district in Rome without me," Draco insisted. "You don't know the first thing about Italian wizardry. I can help you. All I want is to make sure Culter doesn't find out my mother told you."
"You've got to be kidding me," Harry said. "You think I'm going to take you along to investigate a Dark Artefact your mother used to own just because you once spent a summer in Italy?"
"We spent every summer in Italy," Draco replied. "He's not some stupid shopkeeper, Potter. He's the biggest dealer in the Dark Arts outside of Moscow. You won't get close to him without someone who knows what he's doing."
Harry took hold of Draco's shirt and pulled him gently forward until they were as close as they'd been before, against the wall. He bent slightly and spoke in Draco's ear.
"You blink wrong and your whole family will wish Culter was your only problem," he said softly. "If the Aurors decide I'm the one to go to Rome, I might consider the idea of your usefulness. Which would be a first, for you."
He would give him this much; Draco didn't flinch from the insult.
"I'll be watching you, Potter," he replied.
"I'll make sure to keep my badge polished," Harry answered, and shoved him backwards. Draco fell over on his arse with a thump, which was satisfying in the extreme. "I have a question before I go."
"What's that?" Draco asked, picking himself up slowly and brushing at the grass stains on his elbows.
"Why didn't you just petrify me?" Harry said.
"Left my wand inside," Draco muttered. Harry tried not to grin too widely as he pulled the gate open once more and walked through, grateful to be escaping from the sneaking, whining Malfoy clan.
***
Harry made it back well within the two hour limit he'd given to Parvati, but she was waiting anxiously for him at the entrance to the Demystification Lab anyway.
"Wotcha, Parvati," he said, pulling off his cloak and hanging it on a peg near the door. He had not been looking forward to this.
"Wotcha?" she asked through clenched teeth. "You just ran off to talk to Narcissa Malfoy!"
"Yeah. Went well," he said, grinning.
"It did not go well for me, Potter!"
"Parvati," a voice boomed. Harry hadn't realised how many people were in the room, bent to their tasks, until every head in the room raised and turned in the direction of the voice. It was Gresham's voice, though he was nowhere in sight. Parvati bolted down a long aisle of worktables, Harry on her heels.
"Yessir?" she gasped, skidding to a stop in front of the table that held the knife on it. Gresham was crouched, eyes on a level with the bowl, hands folded on the edge of the table.
"Mr. Potter, good to see you among us once more," Gresham said, not taking his eyes from the bowl. "Have you made progress?"
"Yes," Harry answered. "I've found out where the knife came from before it entered the country."
Gresham's eyes flicked up, then back down. "You've traced it back to its import?"
"It wasn't a far jump," Harry said, bending over to get on the same level as Gresham. "What are we doing?"
"It's a curious optical illusion I'm very interested in," Gresham replied. "I had thought it was the curvature of the bowl and the refraction of the liquid inside the bowl, but I now believe it to be an intentional creation. Parvati, some gloves please, the hex-reinforced ones."
Parvati reached across the table and pulled a pair of what looked like thin white cotton gloves out of a nearby box, passing them to Gresham. He pulled them on as he rose from his crouch (nearly cracking Harry in the nose with the back of his head) and picked up the bowl of liquid with the dagger lying innocently in the bottom.
He tilted the bowl into a nearby sink and held the handle of the dagger with two fingers, letting the liquid drain off. Harry and Parvati watched with interest as he carefully slid Parvati's little two-pronged metal rod around the blade, lifting it out of the bowl. Harry couldn't help but be a little amused by all their caution; Gresham used the minimum number of fingers to hold the handle, the rod still supporting the blade. He was less amused when Gresham turned the knife with a deft flick of his fingers, presenting the sharp side of the blade to Harry and Parvati at eye-level.
Harry gaped as the blade leveled off; the movement seemed somehow to shorten and twist the metal so that when he stared at it blade-on it no longer looked like a straight edge. It curved around the metal prongs holding it, a sickle-shaped weapon terminating in a vicious claw tip.
"It's not a charm," Gresham said, apparently in reaction to what must be a certain amount of shock on his face. "The knife is straight and perfectly balanced. There is a slight variation in the purity and shade of the gold on the blade, set in a long curve, which...when looked at straight on..." he turned it sideways and it suddenly seemed to snap back into a solid, ruler-straight line, "...appears to be invisible. However, when turned, it creates a false sense of shadow that tricks the eye into believing the blade is tightly curved. Rather like a vintner's blade, actually," he mused. "Where did you say it had come from, Mr. Potter?"
Harry swallowed. "It was purchased from a Dark Arts dealer in Rome."
"Of Italian origin?"
"I'm not sure yet," Harry replied. "How did you know to look at it like that?"
"I always try to look at all sides of a situation," Gresham replied. He settled the knife back in the bowl and pulled off the gloves, tossing them in a nearby basket. "My office, I think, Mr. Potter."
Gresham's small office, off the main room, was surprisingly sparse given the happy chaos of the lab. Harry hitched his hip against a wooden filing cabinet and crossed his arms.
"Officially you still report to Broderick, but as you're under my jurisdiction for the moment, I'd like to hear your report," Gresham said, tidying some paper on his desk. "You spoke with Parvati earlier, I understand."
Harry ducked his head. "I was letting her know where I was going, in case I didn't come back."
Gresham raised his eyes. "Broderick was right -- I believe his word for you was cowboy. What news from Mr. Diggory?"
"He said he bought the knife. He said he was told it would let him see his son. I guess..." Harry frowned. "I guess he saw other ghosts, ghosts I don't think anyone else could see, but he didn't see his son."
"And you witnessed a similar effect...although you did in fact see loved ones?" Gresham said.
"Yeah. Which I guess is a good thing. It means I'm probably not nuts, right?"
"One assumes," Gresham said with a small, conservative smile. "Who sold him the knife?"
"Sir, I'd like to be candid with you, but the former owner is anxious about prosecution," Harry said. "I felt...assured in offering amnesty to this particular individual."
Gresham tilted an eyebrow. "Broderick isn't going to like that."
"It has no bearing on the assault, or on the shop we raided when I was attacked," Harry protested.
"That hardly matters. This person is guilty of distribution of dangerous Dark Artefacts."
"And has also voluntarily helped the Aurors in their inquiries." Harry rubbed his forehead. "I've already had to threaten one person with Auror persecution today. I'd rather not threaten you with all the paperwork you'd need to make me talk."
Gresham smiled. "We'll revisit this, in that case. And you say it came from Rome?"
"It was purchased from a man named Culter, who I have reason to believe -- "
"The MLE is aware of Culter," Gresham said, surprising Harry.
"I wasn't," he said, letting a hint of annoyance creep into his voice.
"Why should you be? It's outside your realm, at the present. And, officially, outside of mine. I told you we weren't terriers, Mr. Potter; where names like Culter become involved, I must hand the information over to the investigative side."
Harry cursed to himself. He'd thought he would be safe not mentioning Narcissa, but he hadn't considered that the name Culter might send up just as many flags.
"I'll speak to Broderick," Gresham continued. "In the meantime, Mr. Potter, you are free to go -- and I believe we won't see you again until tomorrow afternoon."
"What?" Harry asked. Gresham held up a slip of parchment.
"You're released in the morning for mandatory medical attention. From the secretive nature of the notice, I would guess they've assigned you a Mentalist. Have fun," Gresham added.
"Oh, tons," Harry muttered. "I have all kinds of fun stories to tell."
no subject
no subject
no subject