The Woods

The wedding of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black on 15th July 1978 had passed that morning without any difficulties.

The newlyweds and their guests had then walked from the chapel on the edge of the Malfoy estate to the formal gardens. Speeches were made and lunch was served, after which the couple disappeared, to no-one’s surprise, and the guests took advantage of the Malfoys’ absence to enjoy the food and wine provided and a rare chance to explore the estate.

Gloria Greengrass, a soft-featured girl with blonde hair, was bored. Her older brother Hector was too busy trying to get his girlfriend alone to keep an eye on Gloria, as he was supposed to do. She took another sip of wine. She had just turned fifteen and therefore only recently been allowed to drink wine, and she was feeling slightly giddy. She looked around restlessly and smiled when she saw Winston Flint. He was a year older than her, but also one of her closest friends, and when he nodded towards the woods on the hill bordering the formal gardens,she followed him.

---

Winston glanced at Gloria. They were walking in the forest and sunlight was falling through the leaves onto her smooth pale skin. She was beautiful, he thought as he watched her lips whistle with the birds and her blonde hair bounce with her step.

They had talked about the Malfoys and the ceremony and how dull it had been, and then Gloria had begun naming the different birds they had heard and occasionally glimpsed darting through the branches. For several minutes now they had been walking in silence, the only sound their footfalls on the grass. The air was warm and still, with no wind to cool or shift it.

They were not holding hands, but their fingers occasionally grazed each others’, and Winston moved his hands more consciously than Gloria did. She, however, did not seem to have noticed.

Suddenly, Gloria said, “Next April, you should come to Goldengrove, when the bluebells are in bloom. In spring, the forest floor is covered in bluebells.”

“That would be lovely.”

“That is�“�“” she began, but stopped abruptly, in her step and her speech. Winston realised and stilled a step later, turning to face her. “Winston, if I tell you something, will you promise not to tell anyone else, or to tell Mama I told you?”

“Of course,” he replied immediately, thinking he would be unable to refuse her anything.

“Thank you,” she said, beaming up at him, before walking on with a frown creasing her brow as she spoke. “Mama says if Hector doesn’t marry soon, we’ll lose Goldengrove. That would be awful.”

“Helen Clearwater adores him; he just has to get the guts to ask her.”

Gloria picked a leaf off the lowermost branch of a tree and began slowly tearing it to pieces in her fingers. Her fingers were small and delicate, and Winston, despite knowing the need to watch where he put his feet in the forest, kept on glancing at them.

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” she murmured. “He says he loves her and doesn’t want her to marry into a family as penniless as ours.”

Winston snorted. “He’ll propose eventually; he’s not that pure-hearted. And her parents will just be delighted if Helen doesn’t marry a Mudblood like her brother did. You always think people are better than they are.”

Gloria laughed, and the sound made the hairs on Winston’s arms stand on end, even though it was a soporifically warm day.

“I’m not as naive as you think I am, Winston. I like nature, but I don’t idealise it. I know that although it seems calm and still and beautiful to us, it’s really quite violent. I watched seven magpies attack a hawk once, and I think it’s one of the most violent and glorious things I’ve ever seen.”

She was speaking quietly, as if to herself more than to him, and Winston frowned, unsure whether she expected him to say something or not.

She looked up at him and smiled. “It’s tooth and claw. Most things want to bite or sting or kill you. Like�“�“what’s that?” she said, pointing to an expanse of plants by the side of the vague path they were taking. The plants had small white clumps at their head.

“You told me earlier. Wild garlic.”

“No, Winston. Hemlock. It’s poisonous and even a few of its leaves would kill you. City boy,” she said, shoving him.

“Hey!” he said, punching her gently back, “Country girl.”

He wished he had not said that, and his smile faded. The year before he had overheard his older brother getting drunk with his boorish friends while his wife was in labour with their second child. One of the friends had used a word which Winston had not known but thought harsh, provoking crude laughter. He had looked it up in the dictionary and had blushed then, and was blushing now at the thought that the word’s origin came from “country”, hence his being reminded of it. Before he had heard the word he had often thought of Gloria as “a country girl.” It had been her nickname. He hadn’t called her that since. It felt wrong thinking about it. It had felt wrong saying it now.

He oscillated between thinking he was her friend, thinking he was in love with her and, when his friendship with her was making his friends tease him about when the happy announcement would be made, saying he just wanted to sleep with her. Which was true, except for the ‘just,’ and the fact that he felt ashamed just thinking it when they hadn’t so much as kissed. But, sometimes, he couldn’t help it. Like now.

“Oh, look,” Gloria said, pointing through the trees, though Winston was too busy looking at her delicate finger and the single white gold ring upon it to notice what she was pointing at. Before he had a chance to speak, she was walking through the knee-high grass and wild flowers, through the tress. He followed, realising that the trees were growing closer together and for a while, he lost sight of her. He had just passed a huge tree, barely paying attention to it, when he felt her hand grab him, pulling him towards the tree. She must have been standing there, waiting for him to pass.

“Didn’t you notice it? It’s so beautiful.”

“Why are we whispering?”

She shrugged. “There’s something sacred about this tree. Think how long it’s been here, how much it’s seen. How many decomposing creatures and plants fed its growth.”

He found Gloria�“when she got like this�“a bit strange, but he didn’t really care.

It was a beautiful tree, too thick for two people to encircle with their arms, with bulbous roots that broke from the soil before diving into it again. The two branches split away from each other, the brown wood dappled with soft green moss.

She placed a hand on it, beginning to stroke the rough bark. “So beautiful,” she murmured.

“You’re beautiful, you know,” he said, without thinking. She didn’t look at him for a moment, but when she did, she was smiling.

“That’s very sweet of you to say.”

She was still looking at him. He wasn’t sure what to do but found he was moving closer to her without really thinking, and then he was kissing her.

She seemed suddenly rigid, but then softened and pressed her lips against his slightly, before moving away, smiling enigmatically. He leant forward to kiss her again, this time more violently, with one hand pushing her arm to the tree and his body pressing against her warmth�“

“Winston, no�“” she said, sounding upset, but Winston just liked the taste of her lips and carried on, despite her struggling, until she pushed her hand against his chest, saying firmly, “Please, no.”

He felt a sudden wave of disgust and stepped back. He was breathing heavily, as was she, but there were tears in Gloria’s eyes.

“Gloria, I’m sorry�“”

“Why?” she said, sounding angry. She rarely sounded angry, and it made Winston feel more ashamed. “Why can’t we just be slow and gentle instead of�“” She was sobbing now, but was interrupted by a crashing noise and a giggle. Through the dense bushes, to their right, emerged Gloria’s cousin, Florence Parkinson, falling on to the thick grass and dragging a man whom Winston did not recognise but knew was certainly not Florence’s husband down with her, kissing him furiously.

Winston stared at them in shock before suddenly glancing at Gloria, who was not only crying but blushing pink. She began to run, her footsteps causing Florence to open her eyes and see Winston staring at her. She emitted a high-pitched squeak before standing up, pulling her skirt down and drawing her wand, pressing it to Winston’s throat.

“If you tell a soul about this, I’ll kill you, understand?”

“Florence�“�“” the man began in a voice Winston vaguely recognised, but she cut him off with a single glare.

Winston gulped. He had always found Florence a rather silly woman, but suddenly he didn’t find her silly at all, and believed every word she said.

“And tell that cousin of mine that if she breathes a word, I’ll kill her too.”

Winston nodded furiously and Florence moved her wand, glaring down at him. He’d never realised how tall she was.

“Get away, before I decide to force you to make the Unbreakable Vow.”

Winston didn’t need telling twice He ran, the undergrowth crunching beneath his feet. He could see where the grass had been squashed because of Gloria’s steps and tried to follow them, though he was also desperate to get away from Florence and whoever that man had been.

But Winston also couldn’t get the image of Florence’s lips on the man’s mouth, on his neck, and the man’s hand hiking up her skirt and pressing against her thighs out of his head. Did he want to do that to Gloria?

Yes.

Did she want to do that to him?

No. Or maybe she did. She’d been upset, but maybe it was just how fast he’d taken it. He did want her, though. She should’ve wanted him; they’d been friends long enough, he thought angrily. He had felt guilty, but he’d said sorry. What more could he do?

He was so lost in thought that he lost her footprints. He shouted her name, but got no reply other than the flapping of wings against leaves as birds abandoned their trees, scared by the noise. Then he heard a sudden crack, followed by another. Gloria couldn’t Apparate, so he wondered who it had been. He walked towards where he thought he’d heard the noise and found a small clearing. He could smell cigarette smoke, which made him want one. Gloria didn’t like him smoking, so he hadn’t, but she wasn’t here anymore. He took his cigarettes from his pocket, put one in his mouth and then tried to light it, but suddenly a breeze blew through the clearing, putting it out. He swore, and then cupped his hand round the cigarette, leaning over so it wouldn’t go out. He lit it and then noticed the sunlight catch something on the forest floor.

He frowned, knelt and recognised Gloria’s ring. He put it in his pocket next to his cigarette packet, knowing that he would see her later. He hoped she wouldn’t still be upset. After all, he had stopped when she told him to.

He continued walking until he could see the blue sky through the trees and glimpsed the imposing Malfoy Manor. When he emerged, he was at the bottom of the hill he and Gloria had been walking on. He looked up to the hill’s brow, and saw Gloria sitting on a blanket, talking to her brother and his girlfriend Helen.

Instead of going to her, he walked towards the formal gardens. He’d talk to her later, when she was alone.

---

“Gloria, are you all right?” Hector said, sitting up. He had been sitting in the shadow of the forest with Helen Clearwater. He had just proposed, albeit awkwardly and continually telling her that she did not deserve him, but that thought was forgotten when he saw the frown on Gloria’s face.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just tired; I’ll lie down for a bit.”

“All right,” Hector said, still frowning at her, worried.

Helen rolled her eyes before grabbing his arm, beaming up at her future sister-in-law and saying, “We’re engaged!”

“Oh,” Gloria said. “That’s nice. Congratulations.”

Helen stood up, pulling Hector up with her. “Let’s go and tell our parents. Come on.”

“Yes,” Hector said, still glancing at Gloria with concern.

“Hector, I’m fine,” Gloria said, an unusual steel in her voice. “Fine,” she added, though she frowned.

“All right,” Hector replied uneasily. “See you later,” he added, before being dragged down the hill by his fiancée.

When they reached the bottom of the hill and the formal gardens there, he glanced back up at his sister. She was sipping a glass of wine. She was fine, he reassured himself, before bracing himself for the shocked stares he was expecting from Helen’s parents. Still, at least he wasn’t a Mudblood, so they’d come round. Eventually.

---

People were gossiping about the newly announced marriage of Hector Greengrass and Helen Clearwater. Daphne Greengrass, Hector’s mother, was particularly pleased, loudly extolling her son’s virtues and wondering where her daughter was. Florence Parkinson tapped Daphne’s arm, and pointed to the hill where they could just make out the picnic blanket and the outline of a sleeping Gloria Greengrass.

“I’ll go and wake her,” Florence said, leaving before Daphne could reply, forcing Daphne to shout her thanks as Florence began to walk up the hill.

Daphne turned to William Clearwater, who looked less than pleased about the announcement, and smiled up at him broadly. She began to say how wonderful the marriage was when she was interrupted by a sharp scream.

The Hemlock

“Mr Prewett, you have been keeping my guests here for four hours,” Lucius Malfoy said curtly. “Surely their presence is no longer necessary?”

They were in Malfoy’s study, the evening light shining through the French windows and reflecting off the shiny wooden surfaces. Fabian was sitting behind Malfoy’s desk, forcing Malfoy to sit opposite him. That, Fabian thought, had been the one positive result from that afternoon’s work, but annoying a suspected Death Eater was a small silver lining considering the lack of clues as to the murderer.

It was almost definitely murder. There was the faint possibility of suicide, but no note, and Fabian knew that suicides, particularly self-involved teenage ones, almost always left notes. One of the guests had been a Mediwizard and, as soon as Florence screamed, had been at the body to see if anything could be done. Since it was immediately obvious that nothing could be, and the frothy saliva around her mouth implied poison, the Mediwizard called the Auror Office.

Usually a murder of this sort would not be dealt with by a high-level Auror like Fabian Prewett, but it had given him an excuse to poke around the Malfoy Manor and Estate, even if his team of Aurors had found nothing relating to either suspected Death Eater activity or the murder. All they had was a missing ring, the assumption that she had been poisoned (they were awaiting the autopsy results) and the cigarette ash on her stomach, staining the white of her dress.

Given the lack of available evidence, whilst some Aurors had searched the area, others had taken on the monumental task of interviewing every wedding guest. Most were obviously too drunk to speak or to have murdered anyone, but enough were sober for some things to be clear.

There had been a gap of about five minutes between Gloria and Winston Flint parting company�“�“amicably, according to Winston�“�“ and Winston seeing Gloria meeting her brother and his girlfriend. They had interviewed Winston first, but Lauren Smith, the Auror who had interviewed him, suspected he was either lying or hiding something.

There had then been an approximately twenty minute interval between Hector Greengrass and Helen Clearwater leaving Gloria and Florence Parkinson finding her dead. Florence could not have been alone with the body for more than a minute before she was joined first by Winston, and then by Hector and his father, Julian Greengrass.

Fabian had initially thought it would be a simple enough matter. There was a clear view of the hill where Gloria had been sleeping from the formal gardens where most of the remaining guests had been milling about. Of course, the fact that people were free to Apparate within the grounds and house, though not beyond them, caused some problems, but someone must have seen something. But either they hadn’t, or she had taken the poison before she had talked to Hector and after she had left Winston, or they were lying. Fabian favoured the last option. Although everyone claimed to love her, she had just died, so no one would say they had disliked her. The most derogatory comment had been from Helen Clearwater, who had said, “She’s lovely but a bit odd,” before turning to Hector for confirmation. He had nodded, but in slow motion, too overwhelmed by grief to reply. Fabian usually suspected everyone, and he certainly wanted to question Winston Flint again, but he had to admit that if any of the Greengrasses had done it, for reasons as yet unknown, then they were great actors.

The Aurors had photographed the body, but there was not much to be gained given that she had seemed to be fast asleep. The body had been placed under a Stasis Charm before being moved to the Ministry for examination, the results of which Fabian was awaiting impatiently.

Lucius Malfoy coughed politely to get Fabian’s attention again. Fabian waited a few moments before looking up, enjoying irritating Malfoy, before saying, “I can let them leave once Miss Vance has completed the autopsy. We sent her an owl a short while ago; she should be here soon.”

Lucius Malfoy said icily, “If there is one thing missing from my house, I will hold your Aurors accountable.” Fabian nodded in agreement, and then Malfoy continued, smirking slightly, “Have your Aurors found anything of note?”

“No,” Fabian replied, frowning. The smug bastard, he thought. Malfoy knew they’d been looking, and therefore must have known they suspected him and had prepared accordingly. Malfoy knew he was untouchable, and enjoyed letting Fabian know that he had something to hide. One day. One day I’ll get you, Fabian thought. He wished Bartemius Crouch had managed to get through the measure to check the previous spells cast with the wands of anyone deemed suspicious. Crouch had tried twice now and failed, but, Fabian thought grimly, if the violence continued to increase, then there was a good chance Crouch would succeed next time.

Fabian heard the door open and turned to see Emmeline Vance. Finally. More evidence.

“Ah, Emmeline. The autopsy report, please,” he said, standing to greet her. She, however, had stopped in the doorway.

“How�“what are you doing here?”

Fabian thought at first she must have been talking to Lucius Malfoy, but that was not right because this was his house, and she was looking straight at Fabian. He suddenly felt deeply uneasy. Something was wrong.

“Mr Malfoy, could you leave us?”

“Of course,” Malfoy said, standing with a slight bow of his head. Fabian only just managed to stop his nose from wrinkling in disgust. Malfoy had an irritating knack of speaking so subserviently that Fabian was sure he was being deeply sarcastic. Once he had left, Fabian looked back at Emmeline, who was still staring at him in disbelief.

“What are you opening your mouth like a fish for, Emma?” A spasm of annoyance crossed her face as her mouth shut. She hated people calling her Emma. “I’m sorry,” Fabian said, quickly. He and Emmeline had been friends since Hogwarts and he didn’t want to upset her. “Can I have the autopsy report?”

Emmeline, still frowning deeply, said, “I just gave you the autopsy report.”

“No, you didn’t,” Fabian said, very carefully and speaking suddenly as if he was talking to a child. “I’ve been here for the past few hours.”

“Well, when I arrived at the mortuary, you were there. Someone who looked exactly like you, was standing besides the body. She shrugged. “So I gave him, I gave you, the report.”

“In the mortuary? Alone?”

“Yes. He looked just like you; he was you.”

“How the hell�“�“” Fabian began in frustrated anger, before biting back his words. It wasn’t Emmeline’s fault. Somehow, someone must have got hold of some Polyjuice Potion and changed into him. He was Alice Longbottom’s deputy; he was supposedly one of the best Aurors in the Office. Despite all this, someone had managed to get hold of enough of him to pretend to be him. He could lose his job. Shit.

He took a deep breath. “Is there any possibility this person could have interfered with the body?”

Emmeline frowned in thought. “I don’t think so. Dawlish was at the door when I arrived and said you’d only been there five minutes. He would have to know exactly what he wanted to do, remove the Stasis Charm, do it and replace the Stasis Charm, all within a couple of minutes. He Disapparated as soon as the autopsy was finished.”

“You’ve known me for years; did you not�“�“”

“I had a job to do,” Emmeline said, speaking firmly but not raising her voice. Obviously, the shock from seeing Fabian had worn off, and she had now regained her self-control. She had often told Fabian that when she had to perform an autopsy, or even find a cause of death, she had to forget who she was. It sounded slightly too esoteric for Fabian, but he sort of understood. She had to pretend that this was merely a piece of flesh and had not been a real, living, breathing person, and in doing so, she had to forget that she was still alive and they weren’t. Of course she had not been in a state of mind to realise it was an impostor.

Fabian instead asked, “But you can only Disapparate from the mortuary, how the hell did this person Apparate in?”

“He looked like you, Fabian. No-one would question why you were in a mortuary.”

He nodded. He had realised this, but wanted her to say it, just so he could fully accept what had happened.

“It can’t have been anyone actually at the wedding,” he said, more to himself than to Emmeline. “The only way someone could have left was by creating a Portkey and, as far as we know, no-one did. Certainly no-one was given permission to.”

Emmeline opened her mouth, about to say that if they were tampering with the body it was unlikely that they would mind about the legality of a Portkey, but Fabian continued to speak.

“So whoever it was, must have just heard about her death, and wanted to know how she died.” He looked up at Emmeline again. “Therefore, the impostor had nothing to do with the actual murder and it is not pertinent to the investigation.”

“Fabian�“�“” Emmeline began, sounding critical. He interrupted her.

“I can investigate it after we’ve solved the murder, but privately. After all, I could lose my job! I’d be a laughing stock!” If it had been anyone other than Emmeline, they might have been upset by his shouting, but he knew she was tougher than that. She folded her arms and spoke sternly.

“It’s your decision, Fabian.” She sounded angry, but then said, as if giving in, “I do think it’s the right one. You’re a good Auror, and as clichéd as this sounds, the Magical world needs you. I’ll talk to Dawlish about him having seen you at the mortuary; he’ll understand.”

Fabian raised an eyebrow. “Are you and Dawlish�“�“”

Emmeline laughed. The sound comforted Fabian and he smiled.

“He’s a bit young. He’s only just fully qualified, and he’s one of those highly intelligent people who seem to have no common sense.” Fabian barked a laugh. It was an estimation he agreed with. “But maybe...I’ll talk to him, anyway. Now, do you want the autopsy report or not?”

He nodded. As nice as the frivolous distraction of talking about whether Emmeline and Dawlish would get together or not was, he had a job to do.

“She was poisoned by conium, most commonly found in hemlock. I think it grows in the woods near where she was found. The dosage was about 150 troy grains, which is about nine leaves or so, or, if some of the seeds or roots are ingested, even less. It can take a few minutes to kill, but at the most, she would have had to ingest it an hour before it killed her, although the effects ought to have been noticeable. It affects the central nervous system leading to muscle paralysis and therefore the collapse of the respiratory system. It’s essentially suffocation. Also, at some point she was sexually abused.”

“What?”

“She was raped, but there’s something odd about it.”

“How so?”

“It doesn’t look like it was full penetration. Her vagina’s scarred but there’s no semen, so either it was washed or he didn’t ejaculate.” Emmeline took a deep breath. “There are no other bruises on her body, which implies she was Imperiused, unconscious or it was someone she thought she trusted. There is, of course, no evidence that that person was the same as the murderer.”

“Pretty likely, though. Could it have been after she died?”

“Highly unlikely. Fabian, I don’t think the impostor interfered with the body,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. He smiled gratefully and she continued. “You probably know about the missing ring?” He nodded. “Then there was a black hair in her pocket.”

“A black hair?”

“About a foot long, curled up in her pocket.”

“Fine. Anything else.”

“Just get the bastard who did it.” Previously, her voice had been businesslike and Fabian was surprised by the sudden change in tone. “She was my cousin,” Emmeline added in explanation.

He stared at her, before saying, “You should have declared an interest�“�“”

“And let someone else see her dead and vulnerable? No; I had to do it. And you’re in no position to lecture me on malpractice. When my mum married Dad, Daphne Greengrass, or Bulstrode as she was then, was the only family member who continued to talk to her. I remember Gloria when she was five years old. She’s my little cousin. Get whoever did it.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Emmeline nodded and left the room. Fabian wanted time to think but he supposed he had annoyed Malfoy enough and told the Auror outside the door, Robert Williamson, to call him in. Before Fabian had a chance to speak, Malfoy said, “I would very much like to know if my guests can now leave, and whether I can have my house back for my wedding night.”

Fabian thought about telling him they had to stay, but knew that wasn’t right.

“They can leave, except for the Greengrasses. Also, Winston Flint, Marcus and Margaret Bulstrode, Hercule Gamp and Rachel Jones,” he added, listing everyone who, as far as he was aware, had been in the woods around the time of the murder.

Williamson nodded and left.

Fabian could see why this was important, particularly to Emmeline. After all, a fifteen-year-old girl had been murdered. But he couldn’t help but think that if this had nothing to do with the Death Eaters, and he didn’t think it did, then he had more important things to do. He felt ashamed of himself for this thought, but it was what he was thinking.

When the door opened he expected it to be Williamson with the grieving Greengrasses. He did not expect Winston Flint, being supported by another teenage boy who looked marginally older. Winston looked like he was about to collapse, and Fabian smelt vomit.

“The Auror,” the teenager said, “Williamson? He said to bring Winston to you; he found us in the bathroom. He’s had rather too much to drink.”

“I can see that,” Fabian said, helping the boy lead Winston to a chair. “Who are you?”

“Regulus Black, his friend.”

“Thanks for bringing him. You can go home.”

The boy looked like he was about to argue, but then shook his head and left. Fabian told the only other remaining Auror, Lauren Smith, to interview the others whilst making sure Williamson kept the Greengrasses comfortable.

Fabian closed the study door and sat opposite Winston, who was thumping the desk steadily with his fist.

“A drink,” Winston demanded. He was glassy-eyed and swaying slightly in the seat.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” Fabian said calmly. He shouldn’t really be talking to Winston whilst he was clearly very drunk. Fabian knew he would not be able to use any of this as evidence but Winston was, at the moment, the most likely suspect. A few people had spoken about his crush on Gloria, and given she’d been abused, it was looking more likely that Winston was guilty.

Fabian glanced out of the window. The sun was setting and blazing a glorious orange, throwing a rosy hue over the rolling Wiltshire hills. It had been a beautiful day. Fabian suddenly felt a wave of sadness. What did it matter if her death had nothing to do with Death Eaters? She had been fifteen years old. Whoever had killed her was just as bad as the Death Eaters were and he was determined to find out who they were. He felt a renewed sense of purpose. It didn’t matter that someone had impersonated him. Now he had a job to do, and he would do it to the best of his ability.

He turned back to Winston.

“You and Gloria were having a walk in the woods.”

“Told an Auror this!” he shouted, angrily. His hand flailed wildly before slamming on the table again. He was slurring his words and every time he opened his mouth, Fabian smelt a whiff of alcohol. This boy was not acting.

He had a strange face, with very pale skin and deep red lips. He had a five o’clock shadow, more so than many boys of his age, and thick eyebrows, from underneath which his large eyes were staring at Fabian with anger, but also complete confusion.

Fabian’s gut instinct was that Winston could not have killed her, whatever seemed the most likely solution. A murderer, particularly a Slytherin one, would not be so stupid as to get drunk whilst there was still the possibility of being questioned.

“I know,” Fabian said calmly. “I understand. I just want to hear it from you. I want to know about anything you heard or saw, which for any reason you did not tell the other Auror. Think.”

Winston’s brows knitted together, and he thumped the desk again.

“Shigrette.”

“Do you want a cigarette?”

Winston nodded. Fabian opened the drawer of the desk and saw a silver engraved cigarette box. Sure that Lucius Malfoy would mind, he took one out and lit it before placing it in Winston’s outstretched hand. He did not expect Winston’s other hand, which had been lying limp on the table, to leap up and grab Fabian’s own, yanking him forward across the table. Their faces were now inches apart.

“You’ve got to understand,” Winston said, with a dull, insistent voice. His eyes were bloodshot. “I didn’t kill her. I loved her. I would have died rather than hurt her. You’ve got to understand.”

He sounded like he was about to cry. Fabian nodded.

“I don’t think you killed her. But I think you may be hiding something. All I want to do is find out who killed her, so if there is any clue you might have�“�“”

“Flor�“�“ence Parkinshunn,” he said eventually, slurring the words.

Winston released his hand, leaning back in his chair. Fabian let out a sigh of relief. Another clue. He wondered how much of this the boy would remember. Winston took a drag of the cigarette, inhaling deeply. Fabian rose to open the window, lighting himself one of Malfoy’s cigarettes as he did so. The sun had disappeared behind the hill now, but the sky was still soaked pink.

Whilst standing, he noticed Winston was fiddling with something in the hand that was not holding the cigarette. Noting this, he sat down again, saying, “Was Florence Parkinson in the woods?”

“Yes. Screwing someone,” Winston said, bitterly. Fabian frowned.

“When was this?”

“Just before Gloria�“�“just before me and Gloria�“�“” He hesitated, his head lolling to one side slightly and face frowning as if, Fabian thought, searching for the right word. “�“�“parted,” he decided, although still as if he was not entirely happy with the choice. “Parted. I went to the party, she�“�“” He gestured with the cigarette to the ceiling. “Up the hill?”

“Why didn’t you tell us this before?”

“Didn’t want to,” Winston snarled, leaning back into his chair.

“All right,” Fabian said, understandingly. “And who was Florence with?”

Winston shook his head. “Dunno.” Then he frowned. “Recognised his voice. Deep voice. Sad voice.”

It was a strange detail, but one which had clearly made an impression on Winston. He had calmed down slightly, his body being still and gestures less frantic. There was only one person Fabian could think of with a deep and sad voice who might want a roll in the bushes with Florence Parkinson. Rodolphus Lestrange. And, given that he already knew of one case of Polyjuice Potion use, it would not be surprising if there was another. But Winston didn’t need to know that.

“Was Gloria your girlfriend?” Winston did not answer. Fabian waited for a few moments before saying, “Have you slept with her?”

“No,” Winston said, almost growling.

“Was Gloria your girlfriend?” Fabian repeated.

There was a short silence. Winston placed his fist on the table, still fiddling with something. Fabian could see it rolling through Winston’s fingers. He didn’t think Winston was aware he was doing it. It was something small, rolling through his fingers and palm like a nervous tick. Fabian tapped the table lamp with his wand, and by the new light, caught a glint of silver.

“What’s in your palm?”

Winston sniffed loudly. He was, Fabian realised, about to cry.

“Her ring. I found it�“�“in the woods. Smoke and the ring on the ground and�“�“” His voice was becoming increasingly unsteady. “Then two cracks, like twigs, and in the field and Florence screaming and Gloria dead�“�“”

He began to cry. Fabian had been an Auror for too long to be uncomfortable with people crying, but that didn’t mean it became easier. He patted the boy’s arm, and Winston, dropping his cigarette onto the mahogany desk, clenched Fabian’s other arm, like a drowning man clinging to a piece of driftwood. Winston’s fingernails dug into his skin, but Fabian did not move. Winston’s body was shaking with the force of his sobs.

It was dark by the time Winston’s crying calmed down. Whilst he’d been sobbing, one of the Aurors had opened the door, but left immediately. They knew better than to interrupt Fabian during an interview.

Winston leaned back in the chair, releasing his grip on Fabian’s arm.

“I want the ring. She loved that ring.”

“I’ll need to take it, Winston.”

There was a short silence, before Winston nodded. “I want it back.”

“All right,” Fabian said. He wasn’t sure whether he was lying or not, but repeated, “All right.” He gently prised the ring out of Winston’s fist. Although Winston had nodded, he did not make it any easier and Fabian had to unpick the fingers from his clammy palm to get to the ring. Once he had done so, he helped Winston to stand and helped him to the doorway, passing him on to Williamson and telling him to make sure Winston got home safely. Williamson nodded, and led Winston to the fireplaces.

Lauren had finished interviewing the others and sent them home, having discovered nothing. Which left the Greengrasses. Fabian knew it was his duty to tell them exactly how their daughter had died and that she had been abused beforehand. This wasn’t going to be easy.

They were sitting on a sofa outside the study. Daphne Greengrass was resting her head on Julian Greengrass’ shoulder. Her eyes were red raw, and her cheeks were covered in streaks where tears had displaced and dragged her mascara with them.

Julian Greengrass was stroking her shoulder absent-mindedly, staring blankly into the mid-distance. Their son, Hector, was clenching his fiancée’s hand. He was very pale and was rocking slightly on the spot.

“Come inside,” Fabian said, holding the door open and gesturing to the study. “Lauren, tell Mr Malfoy we will not take up his time for much longer.”

The Fox

Later that evening, Rodolphus Lestrange was sitting in the living room of his mansion, trying to read, though he had been staring at the same page for several minutes. He slammed the book shut. He just wanted to know for definite that Florence Parkinson had kept quiet and not mentioned their meeting in the woods. If she hadn’t, then the Aurors would probably come to question him and demand to know why he had lied. He wouldn’t feel safe until the morning. He just wanted this day to end and the sooner he went to sleep, the sooner tomorrow would begin, and he would feel safe.

She must have lied, just as he had. Neither of them wanted their spouses finding out about the affair. Whilst Florence would get beaten up by her oaf of a husband, he would be lucky not to get tortured. Bella had never tortured him before, but that was because he had never dared do anything that would upset her. He suspected his having an affair would count as upsetting her. He had been so stupid. To risk getting tortured by Bella, and for what? Florence Parkinson might have enjoyed the risk, but to him, it had just been something to do, something to alleviate the boredom.

He had watched Bella torture people. He did not want her to torture him. He would rather be bored and unfulfilled than in pain.

The doorbell rang. He heard their house-elf answer it and say she would fetch the mistress.

“No.” It was that Auror. That bloody Auror who’d been at the Malfoys. “We wish to speak to Rodolphus Lestrange.”

“I’ll fetch the mistress,” the house elf repeated.

“No, Hettie, I’ll deal with this,” Rodolphus said, standing and walking from the living room to the hall. He hoped he’d be able to deal with the Auror�“�“Fabian Prewett, was it?�“�“before Bella realised what was happening. He didn’t even know whether she was home or not. He hoped she wasn’t. Whether she was having an affair or killing or torturing someone, he did not particularly care.

He smiled weakly at the Auror. “How can I help you?”

---

Fabian looked at Rodolphus Lestrange. He was certainly afraid, but during the few times he had met the man, he had always had a general sense of paranoia about him.

“We’d like to talk to you about your whereabouts earlier this afternoon. We can do this here�“�“”

“No,” Rodolphus said, quickly. “No, I’ll come to the Ministry.”

“Oh, well.” Fabian was surprised. Usually, people preferred to be questioned in their own homes. He shared a glance with Lauren, who just shrugged. Fabian offered him his arm to Side-Along Apparate, but before Rodolphus could take it, Bellatrix said, from the top of the staircase, “Who is it, Rodolphus?”

Fabian watched with interest as anger and panic crossed Rodolphus’ weary, prematurely lined face, before disappearing, and instead he spoke, albeit slightly hollowly, “An Auror. He wants to talk to me about Gloria Greengrass.”

“Do they want to speak to me?” Bellatrix said, and having reached her husband, affectionately touched his arm. Rodolphus winced slightly, which Fabian found strange.

“Just me, Bellatrix.”

“I’ll come with you then,” Bellatrix said, putting one arm around his neck, pressing one hand to his chest, and kissing him on the cheek before resting her head on his shoulder and glancing at Fabian. “You don’t mind, do you?” she said, speaking in a sharp tone, unlike the soft, although mildly unsettling, voice she had been using while speaking to her husband.

Fabian did not want Bellatrix at the Ministry. Even if she could not be privy to the actual questioning, he suspected Rodophus would find her proximity disconcerting, given what Fabian had to ask him and that Bellatrix, to all appearances, seemed an ignorant and affectionate wife. But Fabian had no choice, as it was a spouse’s right to be present on the scene during a partner’s formal interview.

“As long as Rodolphus doesn’t mind.”

Rodolphus smiled uneasily, as if at a private joke. “Of course I don’t mind.”

Fabian took Bella’s arm. Lauren rolled her eyes, before taking Rodolphus’, and the Aurors Disapparated.

They walked through the Ministry. It was deserted at that time of night. Fabian and Lauren walked side by side with Rodolphus and Bellatrix just in front of them. Fabian was not sure what to make of them. Bellatrix was whispering to him, apparently affectionately, clinging to him as if she needed his support but speaking consolingly to him, telling him that everything would be all right. She was being kind, and kind was an adjective Fabian had never heard associated with Bellatrix Lestrange.

When they reached the Auror Office, he left Bellatrix outside the interrogation room, with Lauren keeping an eye on her. At first he suggested that Williamson �” who was also working late, going through the witness statements from each guest at the party in case they had missed something �” keep Bellatrix company, but Lauren had given him a look of disbelief which made him laugh out loud. He knew some Aurors found laughing inappropriate. He disagreed, and was pleased when Lauren smiled rather than taking offence. He nodded and Williamson, looking only mildly disappointed, went back to his desk.

Lauren had only recently become an Auror, although she was in her thirties. Fabian knew she had been looking after an elderly aunt and had only pursued the career she wanted after her aunt’s death three years before. Prior to Auror training she had worked as a Hit Witch and from the little Fabian had seen of her, she had more common sense and intelligence than most new recruits, hence bumping her up to being on the Greengrass investigation with himself and Williamson.

Most people thought this rapid rise meant she was sleeping with Fabian, but that was just jealousy. Besides, Fabian worked too hard to have time for relationships.

Fabian closed the door, sitting opposite Rodolphus. It was a glass-walled office, protected with charms to sound proof it, and they could see the two women sitting next to each other in the corridor. They seemed to be talking, and Lauren handed Bellatrix a cigarette. Technically, they were not supposed to smoke in the office, but he knew Robert Williamson smoked as well, so he wouldn’t mind. They’d just have to remember to cast some charms to clear the air before they left.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked Rodolphus, who nodded. “Cigarette?” Fabian said, taking out his own.

“I don’t smoke,” Rodolphus said, calmly.

“Do you mind if I?” Rodolphus shook his head. “Thanks,” Fabian said, lighting it and looking at the man opposite him carefully. He’d recently met Rodolphus at some Ministry party Alice Longbottom had bullied him into attending, and had had the strong impression that he was unhappy.

When they had interviewed Florence Parkinson earlier that evening she had denied being in the woods, but her eyes had widened when they mentioned Rodolphus Lestrange. Fabian had left Lauren to interview her, in the hope that she’d feel more comfortable talking only to a woman. Lauren said that Florence was not telling the truth and that she didn’t really mind them knowing that she had lied. But Lauren and Fabian had both realised that she was terrified of something. They did not know what.

Fabian sighed loudly. “You lied to us, Rodolphus. Earlier this evening you said to Smith that you never went into the woods. We have someone who saw you there.” It was a slight lie, but one Fabian felt no tug on his conscience for telling. The expression on Rodolphus’ face when he had opened the door to his house had been enough to prove to Fabian that he had been right.

“Who?”

Rodolphus was far too calm, Fabian thought. Either he was a very cool customer, which the prematurely aged face and his anxiety earlier seemed to contradict, or he had nothing to do with the murder.

“That’s confidential. The person saw you with a woman.”

Rodolphus laughed. It was a grating, unexpected noise. “So it wasn’t her that told you?”

“She did not tell us. We found out from another source, but she confirmed it,” Fabian lied easily.

Rodolphus frowned. “Are you telling the truth? I’ve heard you’ll lie in interrogations.”

So he wasn’t as stupid as he looked. Being with his wife, regardless of the panic she seemed to inspire at the house, had calmed him down. But Fabian continued to stare at him, causing Rodolphus to shift uncomfortably. It was not a part of being an Auror which Fabian enjoyed, but he had to find out what Rodolphus had done in the woods, where he had got the Polyjuice Potion from and whether he had a motive.

Glancing through the glass to his wife, Rodolphus admitted it: “All right, I was there with Florence.”

Fabian did not reveal just how pleased he was by this, asking calmly, “So why did you lie to us?”

“Because I did not want my wife finding out, of course. Just as Florence did not want her husband knowing.”

“The person who saw you didn’t recognise you, just your voice. Were you using Polyjuice Potion, and if so, did Florence know it was you?”

Fabian had expected him to take offence at that but Rodolphus just shrugged. “Yes, she knew it was me. I forget who I pretended to be. It was purely to ensure my wife didn’t find out, as all my actions have been so far.” Fabian glanced at Bellatrix. She saw him looking and flashed him a brilliant smile. “I am sorry I lied. I didn’t see anything.”

“Florence thought she heard someone else in the bushes fairly nearby.”

“I did not,” Rodolphus said. “And if she did�“�“it was a forest. There are animals in the woods, foxes, badgers, and the like.”

“How well did you know Gloria?”

“Not very.” Suddenly, Rodolphus laughed, the same sharp, grating laugh, the only laugh he seemed capable of. “Do you think I did it? I know it looks bad, but I just lied because I didn’t want my wife to know that I was having an affair. It’s that simple. I didn’t see anything or hear anything. She saw us. She and her boyfriend, the Flints’ boy.”

“Did you talk to them?”

“No. Gloria ran when she saw us, and Florence asked Flint to keep his mouth shut. He agreed and he left. Florence and I had sex and then we Apparated back to the party.”

“Where did you get the potion?”

“From Mundungus Fletcher. He put the hair in it too; it was some Muggle’s, I think.”

“Get anything else from him?” Fabian asked, suddenly remembering that they had arrested Mundungus and Rodolphus’ brother Rabastan for drug dealing a few years before. Again, however, Rodolphus laughed.

“You’re a few years too late. No, I didn’t.” Fabian was trying to think of a way to phrase a question about the Polyjuice Potion, which would not make it obvious that some had been stolen. Fortunately for him, Rodolphus, of his own accord, said, “Some of it was missing. After I was interviewed, I went to find my things; they were being kept in the bedroom my wife and I use when staying with Lucius. Someone had taken some of the potion.”

Fabian leant forward. “And it was all there before you were interviewed?”

“Yes. You seem to know that some would be missing.” Fabian did not like the uneasy, mocking smile on Rodolphus face. “Has someone been impersonating someone else?”

“No,” Fabian said, calmly. “But it means they could have been. Would you say Gloria was pretty?”

“Yes, I would. So would most people.”

“She was raped before she died.”

Rodolphus looked surprised. “I’m sorry to hear that. She was very young. It was probably her boyfriend.”

Rodolphus wasn’t scared, Fabian thought. Which was odd, because even the innocent were scared in a situation like this. Then he recalled one of the first things Mad-Eye had said to him, over ten years ago, when he had first qualified. Aurors were not heroes. Heroes were merely people too afraid of being cowards. Aurors had more important things to think about than how they were perceived. He suddenly remembered that he’d chosen not to reveal that someone had impersonated him, but that no longer mattered.

He saw Rodolphus glance through the glass at his wife. It was just a glance, and can’t have lasted long, but Fabian realised that Rodolphus was scared, and it wasn’t just a husband’s fear of a wife finding out her husband was having an affair. He wondered whether during those whispers into his ear on the way to the Auror Office, Bellatrix had actually imparted something of substance. She was, after all, a woman who never seemed to lose control, although Fabian did not know her well.

Rodolphus said nervously, as if the sudden silence was worrying him, “Everyone knows Winston Flint is in love with her; she’s probably been telling him ‘no’ and it got too much for him. The way he was looking at Florence and me, it was like the first time he’d ever seen two people kissing.”

Rodolphus did seem set on blaming Winston, but then he and Florence provided each other with alibis. Fabian resolved to get Florence in again and have Lauren interview her. They might be able to get more out of her. But the problem was Winston. The one motive Florence and Rodolphus shared would rely on them killing Winston as well. Maybe they had intended to but not had the chance. No, Fabian thought. Winston had been drunk, an easy victim, especially given Rodolphus had some Polyjuice Potion in his possession. But Winston was alive, so, annoyingly, Fabian thought Rodolphus and Florence were both innocent.

Fabian knew that some Aurors, like Frank Longbottom, thought some people were incapable of murder. He disagreed. He thought everyone was capable of murder given the right motive, and it was just a case of finding out what the motive was. But here, the very obviousness of the motive meant that the two adulterers could not have done it.

“Can I go home now?” Rodolphus said. Fabian had been so lost in thought that he’d forgotten he was still there.

“Yes, you may.” Fabian stood up and shook his hand. “Thank you for answering my questions truthfully.”

Rodolphus’ face remained impassive, which did not mean anything. When they stepped outside, the women were laughing.

“Care to share?” Fabian said. Bellatrix shook her head, standing and tapping Fabian’s cheek.

“Girls’ joke. Can my husband and I go home now?”

Fabian opened his mouth to say yes, but Lauren cut across him. “Rodolphus can, but Bellatrix, we’d like a formal interview with you.”

Bellatrix stared at her in shocked disbelief for a few seconds, before saying, “I thought we were getting along so well,” sounding hurt, but Fabian thought he caught a trace of irony. “Why do you want to question me?”

“Two things,” Lauren said briskly, a glint in her eye. Fabian smiled at Bella’s confusion. Lauren was a small, mousey and innocent-looking woman, but beneath that, she was as hard as nails and didn’t miss a trick. It was an appearance that fooled most people. “Firstly, you smoke, and ash was found on Gloria’s body.”

“Lots of people smoke. Yourself and your boss for one.”

“Secondly, a hair was found in her pocket. A hair which matches yours.”

Bellatrix laughed a silvery laugh. “A hair? Why, haven’t you been the good little detectives? Wouldn’t that have been a bit careless? What makes you think it matches mine?”

“I had Williamson do a Polyjuice Potion test on it, whilst we were talking. He turned into you.” Lauren smiled at Bellatrix. Fabian was glad that Lauren was there, because afterwards, he had been unsure whether he had imagined the expression on Bellatrix’s face. It was twisted in intense anger and disgust, so much so that Fabian, for the first time in a long time, was scared. Then it disappeared, as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by an elegant smile and a bemused laugh.

“I think someone is trying to implicate me. But of course, I’ll be happy to help you in any way I can.”

Unfortunately, if he had got little out of Rodolphus, he got even less out of Bellatrix. He had been talking to her for fifteen minutes, with her deflecting each question, refusing to give a straight answer, pretending ignorance and then frowning and saying, “Maybe.” It was, he and Lauren both swiftly realised, a performance, and one which she was enjoying. Every so often, she would laugh and smile. She did have a beautiful, if slightly wolfish smile and Fabian, although he knew he was sensible, was very pleased with his decision to question her jointly with Lauren.

The air was thick with their cigarette smoke when Bellatrix, with a glint in her eye, said, “I did not talk to Gloria all day. I did, however, have a lengthy conversation with Regulus Black, my cousin, in the copse. I believe he spoke to her afterwards.”

Fabian glanced at Lauren, who said, “Regulus Black said that he did not go into the woods all day.”

Bellatrix leant forward over the desk and whispered, with evident enjoyment, “He lied.” She slowly stubbed her cigarette out onto the corner of the parchment Lauren was writing on, squishing it and twisting it, slowly and very deliberately. It disconcerted Fabian, and clearly Lauren, too. She looked upset, although all Bellatrix had done was put out her cigarette. But it had been so precise, as if she would much rather be doing that to someone else, to himself or to Lauren. Bellatrix, Fabian also realised, was not looking at him, but had been staring steadily at Lauren the whole time.

He was relieved when Bellatrix leaned back, slipping another cigarette from her packet and saying lightly as she lit it, “Everybody lies.”

“So why�“�“” Lauren’s voice was shaking, and Fabian wasn’t surprised when she hesitated in order to regain control of it before continuing, “�“�“so why were you and Regulus in the woods?”

“I wanted to talk to my cousin. Is that a crime, now?”

“It is a crime to have lied during an investigation,” Fabian said, in a harder voice than he had intended. The blasted woman was getting to them both. “Why did you lie, and is there anything else you want to tell us the entire truth about?”

“I lied because I thought I would fall under suspicion. Regulus and I merely talked in the woods, and that’s all. I didn’t hear or notice anything suspicious. Regulus and I talked, then I Apparated to the house, whilst he remained in the woods for a little longer. Regulus has always appreciated beautiful things.”

“Like Gloria Greengrass?” Lauren asked.

Bellatrix smiled. “Perhaps.”

That was all they got from her, and they had to admit, the placing of the hair did seem too contrived to be a genuine clue. Unless it was a double bluff, but if it was Regulus, he supported her story when they called him in for questioning immediately after releasing Bellatrix.

Regulus said that they talked in the woods and then Apparated to the house. When asked if they had Apparated at the same time, he had frowned for a moment in thought, and then said that he thought Bellatrix had Apparated first. At first, Fabian thought he must be lying, because Regulus looked too young to Apparate. But then he said that he was seventeen, and had passed his test a few months beforehand.

They questioned him about his relationship with Gloria. He said he knew her slightly, but she was closer to his friend Winston Flint, who was a year younger than he was. Regulus took offence when they suggested Winston might have hurt Gloria, and even more so when they suggested that Regulus himself might have. Fabian thought it was a natural reaction, but Lauren found it too defensive, saying that it didn’t necessarily mean that he’d done it, but that he’d wanted to.

They were forced to let Regulus go just as the sun was rising.

“So what have we got?” Fabian said to Lauren. Williamson had gone home after fetching Regulus, but Fabian, despite the dawn, wanted to work. They were standing in the small kitchen area, waiting for the kettle to boil. Lauren sighed before replying.

“Florence or Rodolphus could have done it to stop their spouses finding out, but then they would have killed Winston as well. Winston could have done it. Everyone says he had a crush on her. It’s possible he was going to rape her, stopped, but then felt guilty, couldn’t bear the look in her eye, so he killed her. Stole her ring, sentimental value, and then got drunk with the guilt.” She poured. “Most Aurors would have arrested him by now. But you haven’t because you don’t think he did it.”

“Do you think he’s guilty?” Fabian asked.

“No. He might have abused her but I think he was telling the truth when he said he loved her, and he would have confessed.”

“I agree. But gut instincts can be wrong. What about Bellatrix Lestrange? After all, they say poison is a woman’s weapon.”

“That’s bollocks,” Lauren said calmly. Fabian laughed. “It’s not even a coward’s weapon; it’s the weapon of someone who doesn’t want to get caught. There’s no motive, though. Not for Bellatrix or Regulus.”

“Then we find one. They lied about being there. He’s her cousin; they could have talked in front of everyone. There has to be something! I mean, every few months, people die, killed by men in black cloaks and masks, and we can’t get any of them.” Fabian had not expected to get angry, but now he was. “We should at least be able to find out who murdered and raped a teenage girl!”

“We will.” Lauren patted his arm reassuringly. “We will. I’m going to get a few hours sleep before work starts again. You should do the same.”

“You’ve only just qualified,” Fabian said. “You shouldn’t tell the boss what to do.”

She rolled her eyes, smiled and left.

Fabian smiled back, before walking to his office and lying on the couch there. His brother and sister both said that he worked too hard, and was too much of a perfectionist for a woman to cope with him for more than a few months. They were both in happy, long-term relationships, his sister married and his brother abroad with his boyfriend. Fabian determined to buy Lauren a drink that evening in the pub after work.






But a week later when Gloria’s funeral took place, Fabian had neither asked Lauren for a drink nor come any closer to keeping his promise to Emmeline and the Greengrasses.

It was common policy for the Auror in charge of an investigation to attend a funeral, and Fabian had been attending more funerals than he had ever expected to. The amount of homicides was increasing annually, and frustratingly, the vast majority could only be put down to Death Eaters.

Apparently, Gloria had often said that she didn’t want to be buried in the cemetery. She wanted to be buried in the woods on the edges of Goldengrove, her family’s house. It struck Fabian as rather morbid, but Lauren, who attended the funeral with him, said she had known she wanted to be buried at sea since she was ten years old.

It was a simple ceremony, in the early evening. According to a rather gossipy aunt, Winston had been shouting at Julian Greengrass, Gloria’s father, earlier, as he wanted to help carry the coffin from the house�“�“where a wake had been held the previous night�“�“to the grave, which had been dug for her. Eventually, Julian had agreed.

Hector, Winston, Daphne and Julian all carried the coffin the short distance from the house to the woods, where a patch of earth had been dug. Slowly, they lowered the coffin into the grave, entirely without magic. The three Greengrasses and Winston had had tears running down their faces, blinding them to the others surrounding the gravestone and the coffin, now six feet below the ground. There were quite a few people there. After all, the Greengrasses were a once influential family, who, with the impending marriage to Helen Clearwater, were about to regain wealth.

Winston threw some flowers, marigolds and daisies, into the grave, whilst her family just threw some soil. Then, they levitated the mound of earth over her coffin, filling the grave. Hector knelt down beside it and poked his wand in the soil. From its tip, tendrils of green spread, criss-crossing the grave and growing quickly until the brown earth was covered in grass, a few inches tall. Hector then stood up and wiped the tears from his eyes. Winston did the same.

It was as they were walking back to the house that the fight started.

Florence Parkinson had laughed at some comment her husband had said. A few others had laughed as well, but it was Florence who got Winston’s attention. He had been walking apart from the rest of the group, staring at his feet, but at the sound of her laughter Fabian had seen him look up, anger etched onto his face. He stormed over and grabbed Florence’s arm, twisting it back and shouting in her face, “You have no right to laugh! Not in this place, not in any place where she has been! You probably killed her, you filthy bitch, just because she saw you screwing some pathetic man in the woods! You killed her!”

When Winston had first grabbed her arm, everyone, including Fabian and Lauren, had been too shocked to react. Fabian knew how to deal with magical violence, but there was something brutal about this, as well as intensely personal, which rendered him momentarily stunned. When Winston’s words changed from “Probably killed her” to “killed her”, he began to thump her. Despite Edgar Parkinson standing closer to his wife, Lauren got there first, wrestling Winston away from her and holding him back.

With an angry squeak, Florence drew her wand, shooting a spell at Winston, but Lauren pushed him out of its way. Leaping up before Lauren, and snarling like a wild animal Winston spun round to attack Florence again, but Lauren knocked him to the ground, and his wand flew from his grip and into Regulus Black’s hand. Fabian glanced at Florence, but her wand was now in her husband’s grip.

“How dare you!” Hector shouted at Winston, who was glaring at Regulus in hate and not prepared for Hector to now shove him backwards. “How dare you start a fight here? You’re just as bad as she is!”

“I’m�“�“” Winston stuttered, looking embarrassed. Most of the other guests, including the Parkinsons, had walked on, leaving the Aurors, Winston and the Greengrasses at the edge of the lawn that led to the house. It was a small lawn, and they were all aware that the guests were on the terrace, waiting for the entertainment to continue.

“I’m sorry,” Winston managed to finish, all the while staring at his feet. Then, through gritted teeth, he said, “Can I have my wand back, Regulus?’

“Are you going to hurt Florence?” his friend asked calmly. Winston muttered something. Regulus repeated his question and Winston shook his head. Florence was walking towards the terrace already, and so Regulus handed him his wand.

“I still think she did it, though,” Winston muttered kicking the ground.

“Our investigation is ongoing�“�“”

“Your investigation?” Hector said, turning on Fabian. Regulus put his arm round Winston companionably and they both walked to the terrace, leaving Fabian and Lauren to Hector’s anger. “So far you haven’t arrested anyone; my sister has died and you have done nothing! That boy thinks Florence did it. Why?” Hector was now shouting in Fabian’s face. When Lauren put a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down, he just tried to tear it off, but Lauren’s grip was strong and she kept her hand there. He was breathing heavily, but it was only when Helen squeezed his hand that he stepped back and Lauren released her grip. The engaged couple walked, not to the terrace, but across the gardens.

Fabian and Lauren bade Daphne and Julian Greengrass goodbye. Fabian proffered Lauren his arm and they Apparated.

When they arrived, they were on a riverbank. The sun was beginning to fall, setting the entire hillside aflame. Behind them was a small country pub.

Lauren raised an eyebrow. Fabian blushed. “I’m sorry; it’s a while since I’ve done this.”

“What? Brought a girl to the pub?”

“I should have asked. I�“�“” He was interrupted by Lauren kissing him quickly on the cheek, before looping her arm round his. They walked together into the pub.

---

Winston had dragged Regulus to the Muggle pub, down the road from Goldengrove. He ignored Regulus’ worries about them wearing their robes, walking in without hesitation, and so far, no-one had commented on it.

Then, Regulus noticed there were several other people wearing robes, but not people he recognised. The only other wizarding family in this area was the Malfoys, but they lived at the opposite side. On closer inspection he saw that the robes were not proper ones, but oddly misshapen and all were either white or made of a hessian-like cloth. This confused him, slightly, but he had bigger things to worry about. Like his friend Winston Flint.

“I’d slow down if I were you,” Regulus said, frowning in concern.

“I don’t want to slow down, I want to speed up, so that we can just know who did it and justice can be done.” He was speaking quickly, slowly thumping the bar as he did so. He hadn’t had enough to send him into this state, unless, Regulus realised, he had been drinking before the funeral.

---

Winston had spent the last week agonising over who could possibly have killed Gloria, and now Regulus had the gall to tell him to slow down. He’d slow down. He’d slow down once he forgot that she was dead, or once he no longer cared that he could remember. All he knew was that he did not want her to go unavenged.

He had wondered why he had not told the Aurors about Florence threatening to kill him, and the two cracks he had heard on finding the ring. He had not known why, but since, in attempting to rationalise it, had decided it was because he wanted to find her killer. The Aurors were all stupid; there was no chance of them catching whoever it was.

Thinking about it, for the past week, he had become obsessed over Florence being in the woods. She must have wanted to kill him as well, but lacked the opportunity. After all, he had believed her when she said she would kill him if he’d told a soul. And now he had told everyone, and she was evidently riled.

See how she liked that, he thought, swigging back the drink Regulus had just handed him, before spitting it out.

“That’s water!”

“You need to sober up.”

“No bloody chance,” Winston said, asking the barman for a pint of cider. The barman obeyed without a word.

Winston began to drink. He didn’t want to think. Recently when he had been thinking, they had been thoughts he did not like. Thoughts about sex. Although he knew most boys his age claimed to have already done it, since he claimed to and hadn’t yet, he assumed many of them were lying. He knew some of them definitely were. Gloria had always seemed oddly unattainable. He’d only been thinking of her that way for the past few months and always thought he would be too afraid of losing his friendship with her to think it could ever happen...Until that first kiss, and after that he hadn’t been conscious of what he’d been doing. He thought he’d be happy with just one kiss; it hadn’t been enough.

He had been horrible, but Gloria would have come round and they would have left Hogwarts and been married and happy and able to walk through the countryside every summer for the rest of their long lives. Gloria had had her life stolen from her and he’d had his future snatched away with her death.

And now, here he was, drunkenly mourning her life and his future.

“You really loved her, didn’t you?” Regulus said, gently.

Winston nodded. “How did you know?”

Winston had been slumped over the bar, staring into his drink, but now he turned to face his friend. The motion was disorientating and it took a while for Regulus’ face to come into focus. Winston was also confused. Regulus had always sounded so sure of himself, but here, he sounded uncertain.

Winston didn’t know what to say. His thoughts were unclear and hazy enough but suddenly he remembered the first time he’d held Gloria’s hand and suddenly he felt a desperate desire to tell Regulus about it.

“We were walking�“�“Gloria and I were walking at night, in the Forbidden Forest.” He took another sip, draining the pint. He thumped the bar and asked the barman for five shots of vodka. The barman frowned, not used to giving out shots in the small country pub, but when Regulus placed some money on the bar the barman nodded, found several shot glasses somewhere and poured five of them out.

“And there was a full moon. We heard a noise.” He was not looking at Regulus anymore but at the shot glasses. He picked one up and swirled it in front of him, a slow smile spreading across his face. “So we climbed a tree. She climbed it so quickly, and I followed. There were animals�“�“Gloria found them strange.” He drank the first shot. Although he was swaying unsteadily on his seat, his speech was becoming more coherent as he calmed down, as if he wanted to talk about Gloria in the way she deserved.

“There was a a big dog, like a wolf, running below us. And this wolf was attacking a fox, shaking it, until�“�“it was weird. This stag and dog joined it and stopped it and they all ran off. We jumped down and the fox was dying. Its breath was rattling and belly rising and falling, so desperate. Gloria took my hand and placed it on its belly. It was so warm. Blood. Red.” Winston stopped, taking a deep breath and drinking the second shot. He thumped the empty glass down on the bar, and when he raised his hand again it was to draw a finger across his throat.

“There was blood, pouring down its throat. So soft, so warm.” He felt himself about to cry, and took the third shot. “And then it stopped. Stopped breathing, just stopped dead. I wanted to bury it but Gloria�“�“” He was crying now; he could feel the tears falling down his cheek. He felt Regulus’ hand on his back. “Gloria said we should leave it. For something else to eat, to use, for its body and bones to be fed on by the forest. It would happen whether we buried it or not. It looked so sad but she said it was beautiful. And she just smiled and held my hand and we walked back to the castle. She saw the beauty in everything.” He took the third shot with a swipe, downing it quicker than any of the others and thumping it on the bar. “How could anyone kill her and still sleep at night?”

When Regulus replied, it was slowly and carefully.

“Maybe the murderer can’t remember killing her. Killing is a horrific act and not everyone has the stomach for it. Maybe he or she was so appalled by what they’d done that their mind could not cope, and so they forgot it.”

Winston took the two last shots in quick succession. He raised a hand to get the barman’s attention, but lost his balance, slipping from his chair and just catching himself on the bar, his body slumped forward. Regulus jumped off the stool and shook his friend’s shoulder, but Winston was unconscious.

The barman asked Regulus if he wanted a hand but Regulus shook his head, hauling Winston onto his shoulder and carrying him out of the pub. Outside there was a bench, where Regulus rested before looking around and Apparating to Goldengrove. Winston had said he wanted to stay there and Regulus thought he would be upset if he awoke somewhere else. It took a long time to persuade Hector, his parents already being in bed, to let Winston stay the night, and he only agreed when Regulus said he would sleep on the floor and keep an eye on him. He also promised they’d be gone before breakfast.

Regulus levitated Winston’s unconscious body to a spare bedroom. It was sparsely furnished, as aside from a bed and a bedside table with a lamp, the room was empty. Regulus had heard the Greengrasses had been selling off the furniture. He placed Winston on the bed and opened the window, letting the night air in.

It was a beautiful, warm evening, with grey clouds streaking across the blue sky. Between them Regulus could see a sliver of yellow moon. He sighed. He was supposed to be meeting Bella the next morning, early, and would hopefully get there and return before Winston woke up. After all, Winston had drunk a lot and should be out for a while.

He went to the bathroom, where Hector had told him the bedding would be. He also found a potion for dreamless sleep and, after making a semblance of a bed on the floor by the window, downed the potion and fell asleep. The sunlight would wake him up.

The Scapegoat

Winston did not sleep well. He’d been dreaming about Gloria. After all, this was her home, even if he had never been there whilst she was alive.

He dreamed about her lying next to him on this bed. The sunlight caught strands of her hair, setting them aglow. He would touch her cheek gently, and then his lips would touch hers and slowly their bodies would inch closer. He’d feel guilty for touching her because she seemed so perfect and he was not. After all, he had once hurt her by wanting this more than she did. But the Gloria in his dreams seemed older; there were lines on her face that told him this was not their first time together, but maybe their hundredth.

Then she would reach out a hand and touch his face. He’d hold her wrist and notice the golden wedding ring glittering upon her ring finger. He’d close his eyes and kiss the ring.

When he opened his eyes, the ring would not be golden; it would be the white gold one he had found in the undergrowth and given to that bloody Auror. Her finger would be bone and he would recoil in disgust from the skeleton besides him, jumping off the bed. Then, suddenly, her face would be human again, and she would look at him with disappointment, asking what she had done wrong.

In the dream he would shout, “GET KILLED!” However the version of himself watching and experiencing the dream would shudder, horrified by his own actions.

She would look up at him and say, in confusion, “But you did this to me.” And the version of himself could remember pushing her into the grass, and being cruel and horrible and he would never do that�“

He forced himself to open his eyes, the sweat from his body making the sheet cling uncomfortably to his skin. He threw it off and went to the sink in the corner to splash his face with cold water in the hope that it would cool his skin. There was a dull throbbing in his head and his heart was beating quickly.

This was the fourth time he had woken up, from the same dream. The first time his head had been screaming, and he’d found the remains of the sleeping potion Regulus had drunk the night before. He glanced down at his friend, fast asleep on the floor, downed it and gone back to his nightmares.

This time there was still a dull throbbing in his head and his heart was beating quickly, but it was not so bad.

He walked to the window, avoiding REgulus’ sleeping body, and opening the curtains. He could see the edges of the gentle hills, black against a sky which was swiftly becoming grey. There was a pale morning mist rolling across the horizon towards them.

He pulled on his clothes and walked through the silent house, across the terrace and the lawn to the forest. By the time he reached the clearing where Gloria was buried, the sun had risen, although the sky was still pale grey rather than blue.

He liked her gravestone. It was white marble and inscribed with her name, underneath which was written “A Loving Daughter And A Loving Sister.” It had been a nice gesture of Hector’s to make the plants grow in front of her grave. Winston sat amongst them.

There was a faint wind blowing, causing the blades of grass to twist. The mist had reached him now, and he could not see further than six feet in either direction. It was peaceful there, the mist helping to cool his face and the dew off the grass cooling his legs. He closed his eyes.

He knew he should go. After all, he was, presumably, a suspect just as much as Florence was, and he had seen Regulus’ note saying he should leave as soon as he awoke. Hector did not want him there.

He would go. In a minute.

He wasn’t thinking about anything. He felt strangely calm.

Then he opened his eyes and saw Gloria’s gravestone before him and remembered that she, the best thing in his life, was dead.

He tried to rise to leave, but found he couldn’t move. All his bones felt heavy and lethargic. It just seemed so pointless now without Gloria.

Get over her, he told himself. You never even shagged her�“�“

Another thought murmured, insistently, It was more than that. She was your best friend.

But it was interrupted by a thought which in his head had a crude but painfully truthful tone, saying, You wanted to shag her, though. By Salazar, you did, and you are really very glad that you kissed her before she�“�“

There was a crack. Winston jumped to his feet and drew his wand, pointing it at the person who had just appeared there. They were in the shadow of a tree, and whilst he could not see their face, he could tell it was a very tall woman.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” he snapped, jabbing the air with his wand. The wind cooled his face, and rustled the leaves. He did not like the noise. It sounded like whispering. Gloria whispering. “I said,” he repeated, “who are you? Come out.”

He thought it might be Bellatrix, and was relieved, if annoyed, when Florence Parkinson stepped through the morning mist towards him, crushing the grass and leaves beneath her feet.

“The Greengrass wards don’t extend to the forest,” she said, speaking in a soft, serious voice Winston had never heard her use before. She had a black eye. “And I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I wanted to be alone,” she snapped back. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” She stepped closer so she was standing next to him, ignoring his drawn wand, which suddenly struck him as pathetic and useless. Her pale white arms were covered in bruises, so hard that some of them were yellow, though in the dim light it was hard to tell.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Don’t sound so concerned,” she said bitterly, not looking at him but at the grave. “It’s your fault.”

Winston didn’t immediately reply. He felt a chill steal over him, even though there was no wind this time. Could he have hurt her that badly and forgotten? He had wanted to hurt her, that evening, when she seemed to be the only possible person who could have hurt Gloria, but looking at her now, with a tear slipping down her cheek, she did not seem capable of murder.

“Did I�“�“” He couldn’t finish the sentence and gulped.

She looked at him and frowned. They were standing close together, so close their arms were almost touching. She was taller than him, and he steeled himself to meet her gaze and finish the sentence.

“Did I do that to you?”

“No,” she said, frowning. “No, you didn’t do it to me. Are you trying to be funny?”

Suddenly he was scared.

“No, no, of course not�“�“”

“You told my husband,” Winston had never heard that word invested with such hate and disgust, “that you saw me with another man. You might as well have beaten me up yourself.” She kicked the tree that was growing besides the grave.

“I’m�“�“” Winston did not know what to say. “I’m sorry?”

“Thanks,” Florence replied sarcastically. Then, she said sincerely, “I didn’t kill her. I can’t kill�“�“I’ve tried to kill Edgar three times and I can’t.” She sounded angry with herself, and she kicked the tree again. “I wish I could.”

She looked as if she was about to cry. Winston did not know what to do. He should go. He took a step back and the same leaves Florence had crushed walking towards him, he crushed walking away from her. He could not quite bring himself to turn around just yet, though, worried that the noise would cause her to react in some way. He just wanted to get away from her, but felt the same lethargy in his bones as he had earlier.

And, suddenly, leaving this place felt like it would be like leaving home. There was a tug that he did not expect. He had been in love with Gloria, and if she hadn’t died, he would have begged her forgiveness and she would have granted it, eventually. Then they would have one day married, and had children, and spent the rest of their lives together in complete happiness. Home was where the heart was, and his home was currently slowly decomposing, six feet under Florence Parkinson’s feet.

Florence Parkinson had seemed so happy with that man. Rolling in the grass, their hands and lips all other each other, just as he had wanted to be with Gloria moments before. He wondered if Florence thought the bruises and the beating had been worth it, for those moments in the grass. He would give anything to have had a few such moments with Gloria, but when she wanted it as well.

Someone had dared to hurt her.

He would find out who killed Gloria. He believed Florence when she said that she hadn’t killed Gloria, but someone had and he would find out who and get his revenge. And in the meantime, he would be kind, just as Gloria had always been.

He heard Florence sniff loudly, as if to staunch her tears, and then she turned around, the sunlight now breaking through the trees and onto her body, her face still in the shadows.

You bastard, the self-hating voice, which, for most of his adolescence, had been quiet, but had, in the last few days, been making up for it. Staring at another woman’s breasts, a woman standing on Gloria’s grave.

Florence was smiling knowingly, and spoke conversationally. “Yes, I do have rather nice breasts. Want a better look?”

There was something hard in her voice which Winston did not entirely feel comfortable with, but what he was comfortable with and what he wanted suddenly came into sharp conflict as she stepped closer.

A morning breeze rustled the leaves as she put her arms around him and pressed her body against his, pushing him into the tree he had been next to.

She kissed him. He didn’t know what to do. He just stayed still, unable to think straight, his mind slightly incoherently confusing what he had wanted to do with Gloria, and now had the possibility of doing with Florence, but it seemed wrong.

“Then let’s have fun.” Although her words were intended to sound confident and flirtatious, Winston couldn’t help but notice how brittle her voice was.

“Florence, are you sure�“�“”

“Oh, please,” she snapped, her voice oscillating between being hard and shaky. “You’re a sixteen�“year-old boy and I saw you looking at me before she died, and I don’t care if you wish I was her; she’s gone and you’ll never see her again. I’m here, now.”

She tried to kiss him, again, but he dodged it, pushing her away and shouting, “But�“�“you’re nearly twice my age!”

“Please, Winston!” she shouted back, shaking her hands in his face. When he didn’t react she took a deep breath, stepped towards him and rested her forehead on his. “Please,” she repeated. “I feel so old and ill and tired. I’ll sleep with anyone because it’s so boring; it’s mind-numbing being his wife and just for a bit of excitement, a bit of peace, a space away from him, I’ll do anything. And the fact he hates the idea of anyone else touching what belongs to him makes it all the more sweet. The thrill and the pleasure were worth every bruise and broken bone he’s ever given me. All I’m trying to do is remember what it was like to be young and happy and not have a care in the world. To fool around on a summer’s day. Please.”

She was desperate. Winston didn’t think he’d ever seen someone so pathetic, so helpless. Suddenly, the thought of her didn’t seem disgusting or wrong. She didn’t even seem attractive anymore; she was too close to tears.

He gulped and then tentatively put a hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t move, didn’t even look at him, he hugged her awkwardly. It was the only thing he could do.

“I don’t feel happy,” he said, feeling oddly naked saying this to her. But then she’d stripped herself emotionally for him and that made it, somehow, all right. And it was easier, given that he was only resting against her, rather than staring into her eyes.

“That’s all right,” she said. “Not many people do.”

She hadn’t hugged him back. He wasn’t sure what was happening. Then she slipped out of his arms, placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him.

It felt strange, her tongue tentatively and gently exploring the inside of his mouth. But it felt nice. He wanted it to be slow. How much better this would have been with Gloria in his arms.

He leant forward, pressing closer to her. Suddenly this didn’t feel wrong. He had no idea why, but somehow he thought Gloria wouldn’t have minded. This was his chance to behave as he ought to have behaved to her.

This thought lasted as long as it took Florence to begin to tear off his clothes, her hands moving quickly across his body and he responded in kind, and soon they were lying at the foot of Gloria’s grave, limbs entwined and it was all too quick and too rough. Even when Winston wasn’t sure what to do, Florence told him and he was too impatient by this point to care what she thought of him.

Winston had expected some awkwardness, but actually, as long as he did what Florence told him to, there hadn’t been any. Until afterwards. He was not sure what to say or do. There had been something hard in her expression and it had all been strangely sordid and bestial. He had expected to feel calm, afterwards, but instead he felt angry and unsatisfied. He wanted to get drunk or do something stupid. He’d just had sex, the thing he and many other teenagers obsessed over, and yet it hadn’t been enough.

He wanted to do something. Something for Gloria that wasn’t something for himself.

“So what did you think?” Florence said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Who was he?”

“Who was who?” Florence said, biting back her annoyance.

“The man Gloria and I saw you with.”

A look of anger crossed Florence’s face, before it was replaced by resignation. After all, his first love, she supposed, had died less than two weeks before. He had probably been wishing she was Gloria all through it. She shouldn’t mind, Florence told herself. She’d just wanted a young man to remind her of her own youth and to stick a middle finger up to her husband. But it bothered her nevertheless.

“Rodolphus Lestrange. He took Polyjuice Potion.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because,” she said, pulling her clothes back on, “the selfish bastard only took a man’s hair to change himself.”

“Have you seen him since?”

Florence frowned. “Why? Would you be jealous?” She did not know whether she was reassured or slightly hurt when he laughed, shaking his head. “A few days ago.”

“How was he?”

Her anger got the better of her. “Winston, we’ve just had sex. Are you really going to interview me?”

“I need to know who did this. Because if you didn’t do it and if I didn’t do it,” Florence frowned, noting the uncertainty not when he mentioned her but when he mentioned himself, “then it must have been�“�“”

“Anyone could have Apparated to Gloria while she was at the top of the hill. Although�“�“Rodolphus was slightly strange the other day.” Florence frowned, thinking about it. “He seemed uncomfortable.”

“Let’s go to the Lestranges’. Oh, come on, what’s the worst that can happen?”

It was Florence’s turn to laugh. “Are you saying we should break into the Lestrange house and spy on them?”

“Yes!” Winston said, grinning wildly. The smile made him suddenly look like a child and Florence felt a wave of guilt. He was only sixteen years old. “Please, Florence. Rodolphus must let you Apparate in�“�“”

“He does,” she replied warily. “If we get caught, Bella will�“�“”

Winston leaned across and kissed her. He was so young, and he had been sweet that day, even if not the one before. He wasn’t Edgar. And she was beginning to become so apathetic that she didn’t care. It would be fun. It would be exciting and for years her only thrills had been sexual indiscretions. This would be different.

“What the hell.”

---

Regulus had woken up with the sunlight in his eyes. Glancing at the bed, he assumed Winston had gone home so, once he was washed and dressed, left Goldengrove and Apparated.

He rang the doorbell of the Lestrange Mansion. It was barely eight o’ clock, but it was summer and the sky was already deep blue. The door was opened by the house-elf.

“Hettie,” Regulus said, handing his coat to her, “thank you.”

The elderly elf bowed her head, and gestured Regulus to the living room. Inside, Bellatrix was lying on a couch, although she sat up and smiled when she saw him. Sunlight shone through the windows.

“Regulus, so pleased you could come. I haven’t seen you since the wedding.” She gestured to the armchair opposite her and Regulus sat down. “How have you been?”

“Busy,” Regulus replied, and Bella laughed. The sound made Regulus’ skin crawl, but he managed to hide it.

“Not busy enough. I asked you to get someone else arrested for it.”

Regulus smiled easily. “So I can. I am here so you can choose which one I make Fabian Prewett arrest. You, Florence Parkinson, Winston Flint, Helen Clearwater or your husband. Take your pick.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I am intrigued as to how you plan on indicting me for it.”

Regulus explained, slowly but carelessly, as if it was all painfully obvious.

“Gloria knew your husband was using the Polyjuice Potion to sleep with Florence Parkinson. You thought she would tell all; after all, she had a reputation if not for gossip then for honesty, and so you killed her. I will say you were blackmailing me but I saw you picking the hemlock. Winston Flint will also remember seeing you. In fact, if I can persuade Winston Flint that any of those people are the murderer, which I can, he will say anything to get them sent to Azkaban.”

“Does he trust you so much?”

“Yes. He does.”

“Including himself?”

Regulus laughed. “That would be the easiest of the lot.” He smiled. “So what do you say, coz? I’ve still got a year of Hogwarts left and I’m cleverer than half the other Death Eaters.”

She twisted her lips in a smug smile. “More than half, I should think.”

Suddenly there was a crack, and Regulus and Bellatrix both turned to the doorway. There was Hettie, the house-elf, with two wands in her hand.

“What is it, Hettie? Where did you get those wands from?” Bellatrix said sharply.

“Intruders, mistress. Two of them. Locked them in the cellar.”

Bellatrix smiled, like a cat about to play with its prey, Regulus thought.

“Fetch them,” she commanded regally and Hettie nodded, before disappearing. “I wonder who it is,” she said idly. “I hope it’s not one of Rodolphus’ lovers. He’s only been stupid enough to have two that I know of and I’d hate to have to punish a third.”

Regulus had never heard someone say the word “hate” whilst their tone implied the complete opposite.

Hettie reappeared with the unconscious bodies of Florence Parkinson and Winston Flint, both with their hands and feet tied together, dumping them unceremoniously on the floor. Bellatrix’s face lit up.

“Where did you find them?” she asked Hettie, although she kept her eyes on the two bodies.

“They were on the staircase when I found them, mistress. Knocked them out with the frying pan and tied them together.”

“Good little servant,” Bellatrix said, in a soothing voice. Hettie preened in response to the compliment. “Now, close the door and make sure Rodolphus doesn’t come in.”

“Of course, mistress.” Hettie nodded and left the room, the door shutting with a soft but definite thud.

Regulus had never seen Bellatrix torture someone, but he had heard enough stories. Some Death Eaters talked about it with an awe and enjoyment which verged on the voyeuristic. Others shuddered in fear.

Bellatrix pointed her wand at Florence, whispering, “Renervate.”

Florence opened her eyes, saw Bellatrix and yelped. She tried to scrabble away, but just bumped into Winston’s body and yelped again, glancing from him to Bellatrix and squeaking, “You killed him!”

Bellatrix laughed. “No, Florence, you stupid woman, he’s not dead. What were you doing in my house? And don’t even consider lying to me.”

Florence glanced from Winston to Regulus to Bellatrix. She bent her head, not meeting Bellatrix’s eyes as she said, “Winston�“�“Winston thinks your husband knows something about Gloria’s death.”

“Well, he doesn’t,” Bellatrix said briskly, but she smiled slightly, opening her mouth to reveal her sharp white teeth. She ran her tongue across her lips before she spoke again, leaning forwards so that she was inches from Florence’s face. With one hand, she grasped Florence’s chin, forcing her to look into her eyes. Regulus noticed a thin line of blood where Bellarix’s nail pierced Florence’s skin.

Florence looked too scared to move. “I, on the other hand, do.” Bellatrix was speaking barely above a whisper, but aside from Winston’s gentle breathing, there was no other noise in the room.

“Ho�“how?” Florence managed to say. Bellatrix smiled widely, leaning back and turning to Regulus.

“Do you think Florence killed her?’

“I did no such�“” Florence began to say, but Bellatrix spun round and glared at her, quieting Florence as effectively as a Silencing Charm.

Winston stirred slightly, his body arching as he tried to sit up, though his eyes were still closed. Regulus flicked his wand and Winston fell to the floor, unconscious once again, with a thump.

“That’s entirely up to you, Bella.” He nodded his head subserviently. Bellatrix smiled, gratified by his submission to her choice.

“Do you want her?” She gestured to Florence, whose eyes widened in panic.

“No,” Regulus said, shaking his head. “That sort of thing does not concern me.”

“Very wise of you. And I think, for once, we shall take the easy option of Winston Flint. I know a Death Eater, a recent recruit, who is skilled enough at Legilimency to make sure Winston does not remember coming here. And you think you can persuade him that he killed Gloria?”

“Easily,” Regulus said, shocking himself slightly at how perfectly he was playing his part.

“Good. So, Florence, what were you and Winston doing before you arrived? Legilimens!”

Regulus watched as Florence winced at Bellatrix’s invasion of her mind, an invasion that was cut short by a peel of laughter.

“A sixteen-year-old boy, Florence? I would have expected more of you.” Bellatrix then frowned, a frown which eased itself into a cruel smile. “No, actually. I expect nothing of you. You slept with my husband and for that, you will be punished.” She leant forwards again, so she was very close to Florence’s face. Regulus could almost hear Florence’s heart beating; her fear was etched across her face. “You will remember everything. This evening, Winston Flint will confess to murder. You will also go to the Auror Office and say he has been blackmailing you, that he raped you just like he nearly raped Gloria, and that you saw him kill her. Understood?”

“Why would I lie?” Florence said fiercely. Regulus guessed she must have become irritated with Bellatrix’s confidence in her ability to control her, but he knew this burst of bravery would not last.

Bellatrix just laughed, tapping Florence’s cheek lightly as if she was a child. “Because if you don’t, I’ll tell Edgar Parkinson what you did with Winston Flint. And I think one beating a week is about as much as you can endure, isn’t it? Or we’ll tell them you killed her. It would be easy. And even a lifetime being married to Edgar Parkinson is better than a lifetime in Azkaban.”

Florence glared at Bellatrix longer than Regulus would have expected to before nodding. Bellatrix smiled triumphantly. Outside, birds began to sing.

---

Later that day, Winston Flint walked into the Ministry. The receptionist in the Auror Office asked him what he wanted.

“I want to confess to the murder of Gloria Greengrass.”

The receptionist’s eyes widened slightly, but she calmly, if slightly nervously, escorted him to Fabian Prewett’s office.

Fabian questioned Winston. Winston admitted to the charge of murder, but vociferously denied abusing her, to the extent he jumped to his feet, shouting his denial into Fabian’s face. Then he had sat down, frowned and said, “Maybe I did. I forgot I murdered her for one week.”

“You forgot?” Lauren asked.

“Yes, I forgot. But now I remember and I poisoned her and must have�“�“” He turned a sickly yellow colour and couldn’t finish the sentence.

There was a knock on the door. “Fabian, a word?” Alastor Moody asked. Fabian bit back his irritation and followed him out of the room.

“We have three other cases to solve, we’re trying to infiltrate the Death Eaters and you’re refusing to accept a man’s confession!” Moody shouted at Fabian. “Besides, Robert Williamson says Florence Parkinson is claiming he’s been blackmailing her and she saw him kill Gloria. Charge him so we can put him on trial and he can rot in Azkaban, where he belongs!”

Fabian was confused. Something, somewhere, was wrong. He tried to argue, but Mad-Eye threatened him with demotion and Fabian had worked too hard to risk his career for a man who was admitting to murder. He gave in.

Winston Flint’s trial was short and conclusive, helped substantially by Florence Parkinson’s evidence. The representative Winston’s parents hired did her best, but considering Winston pleaded guilty, there was nothing that could be done. He was given a life sentence in Azkaban.

Bluebells

It had been such a simple mistake, Regulus thought. All Gloria Greengrass had done was to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

She had stepped into the clearing just when Bella had been questioning him about his loyalty, about his value, about what he had actually done to gain a place in such a prestigious organisation so young, and why had he somehow managed to avoid killing anyone since his first kill? Didn’t he enjoy it? Was his loyalty with his brother?

“No, of course not,” he had said, furiously.

“And that intelligence of yours,” she had said, tapping her cigarette against the tree. He had watched the ash fall. “I’d like to test it.”

“Does this have the Dark Lord’s approval?”

“Of course,” she had purred. “I want you to murder someone. I want you to murder someone without using the Killing Curse, and not get caught. Try to get someone else arrested for it.”

“And if I don’t?” He had not been sure what he meant. Bella had arched an eyebrow.

“Are you saying you’ll refuse?”

“I’m saying I might fail.”

“You’re a Black. Blacks never fail.”

That was when they had heard the crack of a foot on a twig and looked across to see Gloria Greengrass, heavily breathing as if she had been running, the sunlight lighting the strands of her hair so they looked like twists of white hot gold. She was staring at them in horror, having heard enough of their conversation to come to a single conclusion.

“You’re both Death Eaters,” she had said, frowning.

Bella had looked straight at him and nodded to Gloria.

Regulus had seen Gloria drop the ring. Gloria was two years younger than him, but he had always thought she was bright. It had been rather slow to call them Death Eaters, but whether she had spoken or not, there was nothing she could have done; from the moment Bella saw her, she was as good as dead. But she had dropped the ring. She had loved that ring; she would never lose it. Therefore, if it was found, people would know that something had happened in that small part of the woods.

Regulus had wondered afterwards why he did not pick it up. He thought that perhaps he wanted to get caught, because even then, he had already begun to plan how he was going to kill her, and how he was going to get away with it, and he was disgusted with himself at how easy it was. How simple it seemed. Why not introduce some chance?

He had Imperiused her to not scream, to not run, to stay still. He had then picked a few leaves from the hemlock growing at their feet and forced her to chew and swallow them. He had ordered her to go back to her brother, at which point he had ended the curse.

Bella had asked, “Is that all?”

He had replied that he had only just begun. They had heard the footsteps of someone else and both had Apparated, Regulus to the top of the hill, just besides the picnic blanket where Gloria was talking to her brother and Helen Clearwater. Regulus had hid behind the tree and waited for them to go, as well as for Winston Flint to cross the field and reach the formal garden.

From behind the tree, Regulus watched her lie down. Her chest was still rising and falling. Regulus thought about Apparating there and then, as he knew the poison would kill her. She had maybe ten minutes to live. But he felt as though he ought to watch. He watched her begin to gasp. He watched her sit up and try to speak, to scream, but no sound came out. He watched her body writhe, heard her breaths become short and ragged until suddenly, they stopped.

Regulus was sure no one would be paying attention, but cast a Disillusionment Charm upon himself just in case.

As gently as he could, so as not to leave bruises, he positioned her body so it looked as if she had been, and still was, merely sleeping. He placed one of Bella’s hairs in her pocket, and some cigarette ash on her belly, then Apparated to the house.

After her body was found, and Regulus had been interviewed, he went to the Malfoy wine cellar, in need of a drink. There he found Winston Flint, drunk and talking wildly about Gloria, and their one kiss. As much as Regulus wanted to pin it on Bella, he knew that was hopeless, and here was a perfect alternative.

He left Winston briefly and found Bella. He asked her to make him a Portkey out of the house and another back, for an hour later. Illegal Portkeys were a speciality of Bella’s. He had then borrowed some of the Polyjuice Potion he had earlier noticed in Rodolphus’ luggage, as the Lestrange couple had been planning on staying the night. He had called his house-elf, Kreacher, and asked him to get one of Fabian Prewett’s hairs. Kreacher achieved this by pretending to be polishing the frames of a painting as Prewett walked past, blaming Prewett’s sudden burst of pain on the cleaning liquid he was using.

Regulus had strolled into the Ministry and managed to make Gloria look like she had been abused. He shuddered at the memory, but it had been important. He had not expected someone to come in, but taken it in his stride, before returning to the Malfoy Manor as if he had never left. He had gone straight to the wine cellar, where Winston had been throwing up in the corner. Regulus helped him to a bathroom, where the Auror, not Prewett, but that other one, had found them both.

Over the next week, he had talked to Winston Flint, becoming his confidante, planting the notion in his brain that he had hurt Gloria, but had been so disgusted with himself that he had excised it from his memory. The night in the pub after the funeral had just been the final of several such insinuations.

So when the poor boy made the same mistake as his girlfriend, of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, it was simple enough to convince him that he had murdered her but forgotten. Severus Snape had erased all memory of ever going to the Lestrange Mansion in Winston, but not, at Bella’s command, in Florence Parkinson. Florence had slept with Bella’s husband, and Bella was punishing her with exquisite cruelty, giving evidence against Winston being the cherry on the cake. Regulus could see the beautiful elegance of it, even if the idea disgusted him.

He had left nothing to chance, except the ring. But chance had played in his favour, and what initially had been seen as a boy wanting to retain a remnant of his first love, had then been taken as proof that he had murdered her.

Regulus Black had managed to get Winston Flint, an innocent man �” no, worse, an innocent boy �” life imprisonment in Azkaban.

Well done me, he thought bitterly.

That had been July 1978.

In April 1979 Regulus awoke, gasping for breath. He had been drowning. He could remember the cloying sensation of water flooding his mouth, hands squeezing his throat and his other limbs, the pressure above his head until the bliss of darkness.

He looked round. He was surrounded by bluebells. In fact as far as he could see there were just bluebells, but they seemed to peter out in the distance replaced by empty white space. Frowning, he stood up and looked around. In every direction countless bluebells, but above him only a dull white sky and behind him by a few metres, two gravestones. He walked towards them and knelt in order to read the inscriptions properly.

They both looked fairly new. The first one had a name he didn’t recognise but, with a cold sinking feeling, he recognised the date. The second one had the words “Gloria Greengrass” inscribed upon it.

He pulled three blades of grass from the ground and plaited them together before placing them on the top of the first grave stone. He picked a few bluebell flowers, feeling the sap oozing out as he squeezed the stem between his thumbnail and forefinger. Catching the delicate flowers in his other palm, he placed them delicately on top of Gloria’s grave. His hand remained on the cool stone. He should leave. Could he leave? He’d been drowning and now he was here. He must be dreaming.

It was a beautiful place and, he thought, he didn’t mind dreaming about it. Maybe he had been brought here to die. But who had brought him here?

For some reason this did not concern him anywhere near as much as it normally would. Instead, looking round, he thought that this was a beautiful place to die. Beyond the graves and surrounding them, the bluebells danced in the same gentle breeze which rustled the leaves of the trees around him. He hadn’t noticed the trees before. Maybe they hadn’t been there.

He noticed the sunlight. Or rather the light, as through the trees branches, which definitely hadn’t been there a moment before, the sky looked not a cloudy nondescript off-white but a blazing pure colour that shone through the branches in shafts of pure light. He just couldn’t see the sun.

Surely if he was dreaming he would invent a sun?

It was, he now realised, very like the woods in Malfoy Manor. That had to be where he was, and the near-death experience he had had whilst drowning had temporarily dulled his senses. That would explain it.

But who had brought him to the place where he had killed for the second time?

He had had to do it. He’d had no choice. No, Regulus interrupted his thoughts angrily. He was not an animal. There was too much tooth and claw in the world, but somehow humanity managed to rise above it. Or some of them did.

Humans were not animals, defined to act by the desperate desire to eat, to breathe, to have sex. Animals did not have a choice in their actions. Humans always had a choice, no matter how horrific it seemed.

He had made his choice and he had no regrets. Gloria had been far too young to die, but for him to remain ostensibly loyal, she had had to die. His loyalty to the Death Eaters had been brief. It had just taken the look in the eyes of the first person he killed to change his mind.

That had been earth shattering. In fact, thinking about it, it had been as disorientating as the drowning. Suddenly his judgement about the world around him had been proved wrong, and he had been plunged into a world the most basic tenets of which he no longer understood. And, worst of all, Sirius had been right, damn him. Sirius had been right.

Regulus did not like regrets. He had made his choice and all he could do was use the choice he had made thus far for the better. He could do one thing he knew Sirius would be incapable of, which was defeat the Dark Lord from within.

Sirius would never, could never, know of his change of heart, but that, Regulus thought, was part of his penance. It had taken months before he could sleep without seeing the last pleading look of the first person, the person who he presumed was the soul named on this grave, he killed every time he closed his eyes.

It was just that Muggle and Gloria. Two deaths. Two tears in his soul. There would be no more and, with the Horcrux destroyed, something he was sure Kreacher would do no matter how difficult it was, the next person to get within shooting distance of Voldemort would kill the bastard. But it wouldn’t be him.

His thoughts were interrupted by Bella’s voice. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, but he was proud of himself for not having jumped at the sound.

“Why are you here?” she said, speaking very slowly and as if she was expecting an exceptionally good answer. There was the faint hint of boredom, as if he was not even worthy of her full wrath. She could only be a few feet behind him.

“It’s important,” Regulus said, softly and without turning round. He could smell the smoke from her cigarette, interfering with the sharp smell of the bluebells. He stood up, saying, “It’s important to honour the dead.”

Why did he say that? He’d had no choice in being here, he did not know who had brought him here. Maybe it was Bella. But then why did she ask? Somehow, despite his confusion, he felt very calm. Maybe it was the birds which had started to sing.

“The dead?” she laughed harshly. “Why should we honour them? They have failed. They have lost.”

“I sometimes think they’ve won,” Regulus replied, still speaking in the same calm tone. “For all worldly suffering to end, what bliss that must be.”

“You are talking rubbish. Death will not defeat the Dark Lord. Have you so little faith in him?”

“None at all,” Regulus said, smiling a smile Bella could not see but could hear. He laughed. He felt younger than he had since before Sirius left home. He turned around to face her. She was leaning against a white birch tree, the solid black of her robes at odds to its peeling cream bark. Bella looked�“�“odd. As if she was not really there, but it was a half remembered image of her. Her body seemed a vague outline, as if it was underwater, but her face and the expression of acute disgust, was in clear focus.

He smiled. “Bella, I’m not going to fight you and I’m not going to run. Just kill me. Kill your eighteen-year-old cousin as he walks away.”

He expected her to kill him there and then, but her face had changed from anger to confusion.

“Oh, poor Bella.” He laughed again. “You don’t understand at all, do you? There are better things than power and dispensing death and I will not do it any longer. I’ll pick up my sins and walk, slowly. I welcome death with open arms.”

He turned around and walked through the bluebells. They were gorgeous and this was a beautiful place to die. He expected to hear her scream the Killing Curse, or to see the flash of green light in the corners of his eyes before he died.

However there was no sound. The birdsong seemed to be getting louder as he walked further from the graves, and the wind was singing louder and louder. The sunlight was getting brighter, but he was still calm, albeit mildly confused. In fact he thought it was beautiful. The sunlight was getting so bright that he could not see where he was going, indeed he could see no more trees and he seemed to be walking in an empty white space, except for the verdant grass and the deep blue bluebells at his feet. Otherwise, there was nothing else there.

Suddenly, out of the whiteness, Bella appeared in front of him, her expression contorted in an animalistic snarl as with one hand she grabbed his chin and the other his hair, yanking his head to one side and digging her nail into his flesh.

She hissed into his face, her spit landing on his cheek, “Then you deserve to die!” before knocking him backwards hard. He expected to feel the breath knocked out of him when he hit the soil but instead he kept falling. He could see Bella looking down on him but she seemed to be standing on nothing, a wisp of black surrounded by an immensity of white.

And still he was falling although, actually, he could not be sure whether he was falling or rising. Looking across his body, he couldn’t quite see the tips of his fingers or his feet, as they were overwhelmed by the white light�“�“it was so bright.

And then he realised. He was dying. He had probably been dead for a while, since before he saw Bella, since the moment the water filled his lungs. He laughed and was enveloped by the light.

---

In London, Bellarix knocked on the door of Grimmauld Place. When it eventually opened she did not bother stepping in but explained to her aunt and uncle that their son had reneged on his duties as a Death Eater, and they had been forced to deal with him accordingly.

She wasn’t sure exactly who had dealt with Regulus, but it didn’t matter. It was a pity, she supposed, that such an intelligent boy had strayed but it was his own fault. They had offered him the world and he had turned it down. She did not understand the look of horror, quickly replaced by deep sorrow, on her uncle’s face. He should be pleased that the brat had been disposed of, not upset.

For some reason he felt obliged to report his son missing, in the vain hope that she had been lying to him. Fabian Prewett poked his nose in again, questioning Bellatrix heavily, but nothing could be proven.

Nothing could ever be proven.