Oliver Wood landed expertly outside the grounds of Malfoy Manor. With his clearance level, he could have landed directly at the scene of the crime, but he wanted a moment to collect his thoughts. He stared through the bars of the wrought iron gates, taking in the mansion in all its glory. Apple trees swayed in the breeze, their soft, pink blossoms waving a gentle welcome to him. It was spring, the time of new life.

The irony did not escape him.

The albino peacock strutting past the gate did not falter when it saw Oliver. It turned its gaze towards him, preened one wing, and carried on its search for a roosting spot. He watched it walk away, and then taking a breath, Apparated directly into the grounds right in front of the granite steps leading up to the front door.

The message had come through less than ten minutes ago. The Ministry needed their best man on the case and Oliver Wood – former Puddlemere Keeper turned Ministry Law Enforcer – was the best they had. Intensely private, he was adept at sifting through others' secrets in a manner that laid the case bare before the criminal had time to run for cover.

“Wood, you’re needed,” his superior, Gerald Fairweather, called as he handed him the note. “Utmost discretion required, okay?”

“Of course,” Oliver said, sighing. His eyes flicked over the address and he groaned. Bloody Malfoy Manor. What had happened now? Probably Draco lashing out at a journalist again. “You really need me on this, sir?”

“Astoria Greengrass has been murdered, just before her engagement party,” came the succinct reply. “You bet your arse I need you there!”

Oliver whistled as the image of the glamorous girl flittered into his brain. Astoria Greengrass, known as the Zeitgeist Girl, whose picture appeared in The Prophet more times than Harry Potter’s, was an icon for the age. Known as much for her charitable deeds as her partying, Astoria was devastatingly witty, with looks that could put a Veela in the shade. The only flaw in her armoury was her recent engagement to Draco Malfoy. The Prophet wondered why, but hinted at an arrangement made between the families. Witch Weekly went further and described Astoria as trapped in a gilt prison. Only The Quibbler ignored her (but then The Quibbler ignored anything that wasn’t blibbering)

About to leave for home, it had taken Oliver mere minutes to gather up his things; there was no one he needed to consult, no one to inform that he’d be delayed, and no one to kiss goodbye.


He was surprised when the door opened before he’d knocked, and even more surprised when someone landed in his arms. Clearly distressed, the woman’s face was streaked with mascara, her hair dishevelled, an unlit cigarette hanging from her mouth.

“Miss Greengrass,” Oliver said gently, then corrected himself. “Miss Daphne Greengrass.”

She pulled herself free, and sniffing loudly, she nodded. “Yes, who are ... Oh! It’s you, Wood.”

Oliver stopped himself from grimacing at the imperious tone in her voice. He was well known to the higher echelons of wizarding society, having investigated a number of jewel thefts recently. His name and picture had appeared in the newspapers, usually with the caption ‘Dead Wood’ underneath because so far he’d been unsuccessful. The last time he’d seen Daphne Greengrass she’d been scathing about his attempts to recover the emerald bracelet her new boyfriend, Marcus Flint, had given her. She’d openly laughed when he’d said he was working hard on the case and hoped to crack it soon.

“No wonder they call you ‘Dead’ Wood,” she’d mocked. “You couldn’t find your arse with a Summoning Spell. Obviously the Bludgers did more damage than you let on.”

She was not laughing now, though. “You must be here for Draco,” she said shakily. “He’s inside. Marcus is guarding him.”

“I’m here to investigate a murder, Miss Greengrass,” he murmured. “I can’t make assumptions based on your suspicion.”

“You won’t need to investigate anything. Draco was arguing with Tori when she died. We all heard them. Plus he’s admitted it!”

“Really?” Oliver was puzzled. The message from Malfoy Manor proclaiming Astoria’s death had been barely twenty minutes ago, but if Draco was the culprit, Oliver was surprised he’d been called in at all.

“I was not going to let them cover things up!” she said savagely as she read his mind. “Not this time.”

Oliver paused and then touched her gently on the arm. “Miss Greengrass,” he murmured, “I need to see the-” he faltered, not waiting to use the word ‘body’ in front of her, “- scene of the crime and talk to Malfoy myself. Will you show me where to go?”

“Draco’s in the dining room. Marcus used a Sticking Charm and bound him to the table.”

Oliver stifled a snort; the thought of Draco struggling to free himself was making his insides squirm with laughter, but he made sure as he entered the house that his face remained impassive. He didn’t need directions. The sound of raised voices led him through the vast hallway, under the sparkling chandelier and towards the huge oak double doors that closed the room.

“I insist you release my son!” Oliver heard Lucius Malfoy bellow.

“Marcus, if you touch those bonds you’ll be freeing a murderer!” Herbert Greengrass bellowed back.

“You have no proof.”

“HE ADMITTED IT!” shrieked Camelia Greengrass. “Ask him yourself!”

“That’s rather difficult now that you’ve cast a Silencing Spell, you ridiculous witch!”

“I’ve cast nothing,” she screeched. “Your precious son is playing dumb.”

Oliver had heard enough. Without knocking, he strode into the room. “Oliver Wood, Ministry Law Enforcer. Release him,” he ordered Flint peremptorily.

Despite being the investigating officer in the recent jewel thefts, Oliver hadn’t seen Flint for years. He recognised him instantly, though. It wasn’t the muscular frame or black hair, more the vicious smirk on his face as he stared insolently at Oliver. He resisted the urge to hex the smug look off Flint’s face by reminding himself that not only had he thrashed Flint at Quidditch when they’d been captains, but that Flint had never made it past the third reserve team for the Arrows. His bulk could not make up for his lack of finesse in front of the hoops.

“I said ‘Release him,’” he repeated in a dangerous tone.

Languidly, Flint raised his wand and with a slightly bored flick of his wrist cast the counter-curse. Draco, however, didn’t move. Oliver approached the table, wondering if some other hexes were being used to restrain the man, but he could detect nothing else; Draco was just immobile.

“Say nothing!” Lucius hissed to his son as he pulled him off the table.

To Oliver it seemed as if Draco was beyond any sort of speech. His lips were pale, his eyes staring bleakly at Oliver. He tried to raise his hand to straighten his robes, but even that effort seemed beyond him.

“Draco Malfoy, I’m-“

“YOU CANNOT ARREST HIM!” Lucius shouted, clutching Draco to him. “There is no evidence, beyond the babblings of their stupid daughter.”

“Mr Malfoy,” commanded Oliver, “I am not here to arrest anyone ... yet.” He turned to Draco saying in a much gentler tone, “I have been told you were with Miss Greengrass when she died. I need to see the body and for you to tell me what happened.”

Draco nodded dumbly then licked his lips. “Follow me,” he rasped. “She’s upstairs.”

Daphne was lurking by the staircase when they emerged from the dining room. With her cigarette now lit, and her hair back in place, she cast a look of such intense hatred at Draco that Oliver thrust himself forward and raised his wand to her. She glared at him venomously, but stepped away.

“I’d like to see my sister,” she muttered.

Oliver nodded. “If you’re sure, but you cannot interfere. This is a crime scene.”

“I know,” she replied. “I just need –” she took a breath, “- I need to be there for her, whatever happens.”

Wondering whether her reason quite rang true, Oliver let her follow them to the bedroom. He stopped Draco from entering first then stepped over the threshold. It was a large room, and very ornate for a guest room. The ivory coloured carpet was plush under his boots, the curtains of heavy silk brocade were partly drawn leading the early evening twilight to cast a silvery gloom around them. Silently, Oliver cast Lumos, and peered around the room. Impeccably tidy, there was nothing here to suggest an argument between Draco and his fiancée.

Nothing except that Astoria Greengrass, clad in a blue silk dress and a feather concoction on her head, was sprawled by the hearth, face down on a crimson red rug.

He could smell something odd, something out of place in this immaculately clean room. Casting his eyes across the bed, he studied the scene carefully.

“Mr Malfoy, can you tell me what happened between the pair of you?”

Draco blanched, unable to tear his eyes away from the body on the hearth. He started to mumble something about finding Astoria, and an argument ensuing because she shouldn’t have been here.

“What’s that?” Oliver demanded. “Why was she not allowed in here?”

“It’s not her room,” Draco replied. “This is my mother’s bedroom. She’s away at the moment, but is due back tonight for the dinner party. I saw Astoria in here and asked her what she was doing. She started arguing, accusing me of not trusting her and then ...” He shuddered.

“You became violent and hit her!” Daphne accused, stepping into the room

“No, no,” he protested, his voice coming back to life. He looked away from Daphne, staring directly at Oliver. “She changed tack. She had been shouting, but then she laughed and started to kiss me. It was ... odd. But then, Astoria has been odd recently. Even you thought so, Daph.”

“Odd? In what way?” Oliver asked, addressing the question to both of them.

“Since she got here, she’s been nagging me,” Draco muttered. “Astoria wanted to wear my mother’s diamonds tonight for our engagement party. I said she’d have to ask my mother because they’re a Black heirloom, but she didn’t want to wait. She became almost obsessive about it, and ...” He trailed off, and then looked back at the body on the bed. “I should have just let her wear them, but I couldn’t understand why she was so desperate.”

“You said Miss Greengrass tried to kiss you; was that the end of the argument?”

Draco shook his head. “She was kissing me, but it felt odd, I told you that. I pushed her away, and started shouting that she couldn’t get round me that way. She lunged at me. Merlin she didn’t even have her wand on her. I pushed her off again – this time more forcefully and she fell back on the hearth.”

“Are you seriously claiming this was an accident?” yelled Daphne. “She’s dead, Draco! And you killed her. It wasn’t just pushing her away, you must have shoved her really hard.”

“She was moving, though,” Draco whimpered. “I stormed out, but she was still moving ... and speaking.” He gasped at the sudden memory. “She said my name. She called out to me. Oh sweet Merlin, she was still alive when I left.” His face brightened, momentarily, but almost instantly fell into shadow as he turned back to the body on the hearth rug. ”She was pregnant. It was my baby. And I don’t care what The Prophet says, I loved her.”

Recognising the very depths of despair in Draco’s voice, Oliver placed his hand on the younger man’s arm. “I’m sorry to ask you this, but I need you to tell me if there’s anything different here? If she was still alive, then it’s possible someone else came in and murdered her.”

“Er...” Draco cast his eyes around the room, then his eyes zeroed in on something on the fireplace. “There’s a cigarette there. Neither Astoria or I smoke and ...” He frowned down at the body. “Her engagement ring has gone ... but ...” He turned back to Daphne. “She had long gloves on, so I don’t know if she was wearing the ring tonight.”

“Can you confirm that, Miss Greengrass?” asked Oliver.

“Er ... yes.” Daphne sounded hesitant. “She was definitely wearing gloves when I last saw her.”

“Which was?”

“When we were getting ready for the party. I was surprised because I thought she’d want to show off the ring, but Tori said the silk gloves made her outfit and she wanted to wear them.” Daphne shrugged. “She has ... er ... had ... a great sense of style, no doubt she was right.”

Something didn’t add up. Oliver stared at the body on the rug, trying to work out what his gut instinct was telling him. Holding up his wand, he asked Draco and Daphne to stay where they were whilst he examined the body. He knelt down by the body, casting the wand light over the recumbent form. Her fist was clenched, and unfurling her fingers, he saw a teardrop shaped diamond glistening in her hand. Placing it in his pocket, he stared once again at the dead woman, and this time did a double take.

“Mr Malfoy, when did you last see Astoria alive?”

“Uh ... about an hour ago.”

“And what colour was her hair?”

“Blonde, of course.”

Oliver straightened up. “This girl has black hair. It’s difficult to see in this light, especially as she was wearing that headpiece, but ...” He turned his head, and smiled grimly. “I’m not sure who this is, but it isn’t Astoria Greengrass.”

“B...but, that’s impossible!” Draco exclaimed as he took a stride towards the body. “I argued with her in this room. She was wearing that dress, and that stupid feather thing in her hair. Are you telling me I wouldn’t have known my own fiancĂ©e?”

“Not if she was taking Polyjuice Potion. I thought I smelled something funny when I walked in. I suspect she had a flask of it to hand.” Crouching down by the body, he carefully turned the girl’s face from the floor. “Do either of you recognise her?”

“Oh yes,” Daphne said harshly. “ I think we both recognise her, don’t we, Draco? Pansy Parkinson was in our year at school.” She took a drag of her cigarette. “If anyone deserved to die, it would be her.”

“Where’s Astoria?” Draco demanded, rounding on Oliver. “Where is my fiancĂ©e? You have to find her!”

“Malfoy, you have to calm down,” Oliver ordered. He turned to Daphne and pulled her closer then, with his wand, he closed the bedroom door. “At the moment, we three are the only people who are aware that this is not Astoria Greengrass. It’s too early to tell who the intended victim should have been, but if it was Astoria, then she’s still in danger.”

“So what do you plan on doing?” Draco protested. “Astoria’s pregnant, for Merlin’s sake. You can’t not look for her.”

Ignoring him, Oliver took Daphne’s arm and led her to the window seat. “You’re staying at Malfoy Manor, I believe?”

She nodded. “Yes. The Malfoys are hosting a weekend house party. Tori and I arrived three days ago with our parents. Draco’s mother,” she glanced sideways at Draco, “Narcissa is away, so we said we’d help with the organisation.” She looked around for somewhere to flick the ash from her cigarette, but it appeared Narcissa didn’t smoke either. “Filthy habit, I really should give up.”

“Allow me,” Oliver said, and taking the cigarette from her hand, he stubbed it out on the windowsill and Vanished the scorched mark. Then, as she turned away from him, he deftly pocketed the stub.

“Okay, so you’ve been here for three days, and Miss Greengrass has been acting oddly for – how long?” he asked, turning his attention to Draco.

“Uh ... well, shortly after they arrived, I suppose. I put it down to nerves,” Draco replied. “She was very moody and ... oh -” He broke off and then smiled. “That wasn’t Astoria, was it? You think it was Pansy.”

Oliver nodded. “And if that’s the case, then she’ll have needed Astoria nearby. You can make Polyjuice Potion in bulk, but once it has the hair added, then it has a distinctive odour. Parkinson could have smuggled in the untreated potion pretty easily, pretending it was juice, but she’d need a fresh supply of hair.”

He didn’t need to ask where Astoria’s room was; Draco and Daphne had leapt towards the door and were halfway down the landing before he caught up with them, having first secured the crime scene with a Sealing Charm on the door.

“It’s locked!” Daphne shrieked, hammering her fists frantically on the door.

“Charmed shut,” Oliver replied grimly. “There’s only one thing I can try. Stand aside.”

Draco was throwing himself at the oak door with little impact, his voice cracking as his desperation increased. Pulling him away, Oliver shoved him towards Daphne, and then, closing his eyes, he pretended that the door was only a Quaffle that he needed to block. He shoulder charged it, over and over, until he felt something crack. Standing back, he kicked with all his might until finally the door gave way.

Bloody, bloody hell! he thought. That has not helped my shoulder at all. She better be in here.

“Where is she?” Daphne asked, her voice a whisper.

“Trunk,” replied Draco, pointing to the large ornate painted wooden box at the end of the bed. He ran over, and using his wand, started to unlock it. “Pansy was fascinated by the story of Mad-Eye Moody being kept prisoner. It would have appealed to her twisted mind to do the same thing.” He gasped when the final bolt slid open. “Oh gods, what has the sick bitch done to you?”

Peering over Draco’s shoulder, Oliver saw Astoria Greengrass slumped at the bottom of the crate. Naked, she tried desperately to turn over and cover herself, but with her hands and feet tightly bound and a gag in her mouth, she was powerless. Swiftly, Draco pulled off his robes, and threw them down to her. Then ordering Oliver to ‘close his sodding eyes’, he very carefully lifted his sobbing fiancĂ©e out of the trunk.

At once, Daphne untied her sister’s hands and feet and removed the gag. “You’re safe, Tori,” she soothed. “We’re here now.”

Astoria jerked away violently into Draco’s arms. “Get away from me,” she croaked. “You put me in there, you bitch!”

“What?” Daphne yelped and reached out her hand to touch Astoria’s face. Her sister flinched and huddled close to Draco’s bare chest. “No, no, Tori, it wasn’t me. I’d never hurt you.”

“Miss Greengrass,” interjected Oliver. He crouched down on the floor, but made no attempt to prise Astoria away from Draco, correctly judging that he was the only person she appeared to trust. “I’m Oliver Wood. I’m a Law Enforcer. Are you up to answering a few questions?”

“It can wait!” Draco snapped. With one hand, he stroked Astoria’s hair, wincing when he reached the parts that had been shorn close to the scalp.

Pansy Parkinson had not needed to shave Astoria’s hair, Oliver mused. A few strands would have sufficed. The Zeitgeist Girl, beloved by the newspapers, was an unrecognisable mess.

“Malfoy, you can stay with your fiancĂ©e, but it’s imperative I speak to her before the other guests have a chance to get their stories straight.” He turned and stared at Daphne. “You, Miss Greengrass, will stay in this room, also.”

Daphne nodded, but said nothing, seemingly in shock at her sister’s assertion that she’d been the one responsible for her incarceration.

“Astoria,” Oliver began, “why do you think your sister locked you in the trunk?”

“Because I was arguing with her when it happened,” Astoria replied, her voice shaking. “I’m not stupid, you know. Daphne said she had to speak to me, something about Draco’s mother’s diamonds. She wanted me to wear them, said it would be good publicity. I said I wasn’t interested because ...” she smiled apologetically, “I don’t really like them; they’re rather ostentatious.” As she shivered, Draco held her closer, running his hands up and down her arms to warm her. Astoria swallowed, and after a sideways glance at her sister, continued, “Daphne was furious. She hexed me, and then the next thing I remember, I was locked in that trunk.”

“Daphne?” Oliver said, turning to face her. “Do you want to say anything?”

“It wasn’t me,” Daphne replied. “Tori, there is no way I’d ever hurt you like that. And as for the diamonds ... you’re right. I wouldn’t suggest you wearing them. They’re not your style for one thing.”

“Jealousy is a terrible thing,” Oliver remarked, his eyes boring mercilessly into Daphne. He wanted to believe her, but the evidence of the cigarette wouldn’t leave his head. And Pansy Parkinson would have needed an accomplice to get in here in the first place. “Your sister is a beautiful woman. All that publicity must be galling.”

She met his gaze. “How ungallant, Wood, suggesting that I’m not beautiful. I thought you Gryffindors were supposed to be chivalrous.”

“I don’t believe in labels, Miss Greengrass,” he replied. “Sorting has no place in the real world.”

Rummaging in her bag, Daphne brought out a slim, silver case and lit a cigarette. “The Zeitgeist Girl was my idea,” she said after taking a drag. “The ‘spirit of the times’. Reconciliation for our world. Astoria suits the role perfectly because she was too young to be caught up in the Battle and the politics afterwards. But it was only a role. Like you, I think Sorting us all into neat little categories has never been a good idea.”

Oliver was impressed. If she was lying, she was bloody believable. If, however, she was telling the truth, then Daphne Greengrass was a witch who shared his ideals.

“Astoria, when did this conversation take place?” he asked, his mind ticking over and trying to join up the dots.

“Uhm, shortly after we arrived,” Astoria replied. “Draco was downstairs, fixing drinks for the men. I was getting changed for dinner.”

“Then that definitely wasn’t me,” Daphne replied. Coolly, she ran her fingers through her hair. “While you were getting ready, I was waiting for Marcus,” her eyes flicked to Oliver, “in his bedroom.”

He raised one eyebrow but didn’t answer her. Instead, he stood up, and walked over to the trunk, wondering if any further clues could be gleaned from Astoria’s entrapment. He reached down and from the bottom of the trunk picked up a single black hair. “It wasn’t your sister who attacked you, Astoria, but someone taking Polyjuice potion.”

“It was Pansy Parkinson,” muttered Draco. “But don’t worry, she won’t hurt you again.”

Oliver turned back to look at the three of them. Astoria, at the centre, had now accepted Daphne’s hand. She was smiling, despite her tears, and he could glimpse the spirit of this girl that had captured the imagination of the magical world.

“Miss Greengrass,” Oliver murmured as he opened the bedroom door. “I think we need to tell your parents that you’re still alive.”

Assiduously helping her to standing, Draco walked with Astoria to the landing, only realising when he was there that she was wearing his robes. “Let her get changed, Wood, all right?” he said softly and smiled gratefully when Oliver nodded.

“How did you know about the murder?” Oliver asked Daphne as they waited in the landing for Astoria and Draco. “You sent that owl very quickly.”

“Is this where you arrest me?” she replied sarcastically then shrugged. “I heard Draco arguing with ... well, I thought it was Tori ... so I came to see what was happening. I bumped into Draco at the top of the stairs, and we had this rather heated conversation.” She paused as she thought back to earlier that evening. “I know The Prophet thinks Astoria’s being forced into this marriage, but she isn’t. Not even with the baby on the way. For some unfathomable reason, she really loves Malfoy.”

“Unfathomable? I thought all you Slytherin girls liked Draco.”

“Tut-tut, Wood. I thought you didn’t approve of labels,” she said, smirking. She shook her head. “Anyway, I had an argument with Draco then went to see my sister. That’s when I saw her on the hearth.”

“And she was dead?”

“Yes,” Daphne replied. “I checked, and she wasn’t breathing. Then I ran out the room and was sick in the bathroom.”

“Where were you when you heard them arguing?”

“In my bedroom,” she said, adding in a bored tone, “Marcus had just left.”

“So you have no alibi?” he countered, ignoring her insinuation.

“I also don’t have a motive,” she replied. “I loved my sister, and although I detested Pansy, I had no idea that was her in there until she changed.”

But you have opportunity, he thought, and there was that cigarette butt.

“Were you smoking when you discovered the body?” he asked.

Daphne shook her head. “It’s a filthy habit. I am actually trying to give up, but the stress of tonight.... Well, you know all about that sort of thing, I expect. Quidditch players must need a great deal of stress relief.”

He was saved the bother of a response by Draco and Astoria emerging from her room. Now wearing a simple dress, but with her hair plaited in a thick braid down the side to disguise Pansy’s harsh haircut, she looked far more vulnerable than he’d ever seen. And in that moment, as Draco took her hand in his, Oliver saw, quite clearly, why Malfoy was drawn to her, and it had nothing to do with her status.

“Before we go downstairs, could you tell me who is staying here?”

“Apart from myself and my father,” Draco answered, “there’s Astoria and Daphne’s parents, plus Flint who seems to have turned up for the ride.” He smirked as Daphne scowled at him. “Gregory Goyle arrived late this morning.”

“Where is he?” Oliver demanded. “I haven’t seen him anywhere.”

“Goyle had rather too much to drink,” Daphne replied scornfully. “He carried on after lunch, and was last seen being helped into his room by a house-elf. I expect he’s still sleeping it off.”

“And no one else is here?”

“No,” Daphne replied. “Most were due to arrive tonight, but Lucius cancelled everything as soon as I told him I’d sent the Ministry an owl.”

The four of them walked down the stairs together, but Oliver lagged behind not wanting to intrude. He had no place here, except as the investigating officer, and in truth he’d never felt a need to belong. Of course, he’d never been part of this set, but even in his Quidditch playing days he’d not been a part of a particular group. His focus had always been the game, and not the periphery. Oliver watched as Astoria entwined her hand further into Draco’s, and his eyes widened as a realisation hit him.

“Astoria, do you still have your engagement ring?”

“What?” she stared at her hand and shook her head. “No, it was a bit loose so I took it to the jewellers in Diagon Alley to have it made smaller.” She bit her lip. “I was supposed to pick it up this afternoon.”

That explains the gloves, Oliver thought. Pansy hadn’t counted on Astoria not having the ring and had no idea where it was.

“One last thing,” he called, just before they were about to enter the dining room. “Was Pansy invited to your party?”

“Merlin, no!” Daphne replied. “She used to go out with Draco and, after that, Marcus. Pansy Parkinson was not welcome here, at all.”

Oliver had asked them all to assemble in Lucius Malfoy’s study, and was now wondering if this was such a good idea. It was a small room for one thing, and now that Goyle had been woken from his drunken slumber, he seemed to take up at least half the space.

Remembering him from school to be a thuggish Beater with no brains but an unerring aim, Oliver could feel his bones protest at the memory of the Bludgers aimed directly at him. He grimaced; it had not been Gregory Goyle who’d caused him to retire early. The Beaters he’d faced as a pro had been far more deadly, but their motives had not been personal.

At least he’d had the foresight to secure everyone’s wands because he’d have no chance against all eight of them if they turned hostile.

Astoria sat by the fire, with Draco sitting on the arm of the chair holding her hand. Camelia sat in another chair opposite, her husband standing behind her, a glass of brandy in his hand. Lucius Malfoy was at his desk, surveying his guests with some disparagement but reserving especial disdain for Oliver. Marcus Flint joined Goyle by the fireplace, both taking sips of Firewhisky from large tumblers.

Lastly, Oliver looked at Daphne. She was sitting on the rug by the fire, her legs to one side, at Marcus’ feet. She, too, had a glass in her hand, but instead of Firewhisky, she sipped red wine. Aware of his scrutiny, Daphne lifted her head up and smiled across the room at him. It didn’t look like a smirk, or a grimace; it seemed to be one of genuine warmth.

Oliver cleared his throat. “I want to start by saying thank you for your patience and assistance in this case.” He gave a small bow to Lucius Malfoy, who stared frostily at him. “Before I was sent here, I was ordered to be discreet. The murder of Astoria Malfoy would be front-page news, partly because of the two families involved, but mostly because of who she was - the Zeitgeist Girl. As it turned out, Miss Greengrass was not dead, but, to all intents as purposes, she was the intended victim.

“So, I arrived here and ran straight into the ‘victim’s’ sister. She insisted that Astoria had been murdered by Draco Malfoy.” Oliver licked his lips, and faced Draco. “Malfoy didn’t deny he’d argued with his fiancĂ©e. In the heat of an argument, he’d pushed her away and she’d fallen. This much he admitted, but when we got upstairs, he said he remembered ‘Astoria’ moving after he’d pushed her. She’d been alive when he’d left the room.”

“And you believed him?” Camelia interrupted.

“I wasn’t sure,” Oliver admitted, “but then I examined the body and found something in the victim’s hand.” He pulled out the sparkling gem from his pocket. “This came from the Black necklace, I believe. Draco, was Miss Parkinson holding this when you found her in your mother’s room?”

Draco furrowed his brow as he thought. “No, she’d found mother’s jewellery box, but she hadn’t opened it.”

“Which means, if Draco is telling the truth, that Pansy Parkinson was alive when he stormed out of the room,” Oliver said, slowly gauging the reactions of the assembled guests. “He ran into Daphne, and both agree that they argued for a while at the top of the stairs. Then Daphne ran to find her sister, and discovered the body.”

He paused, wondering how to phrase the next part of the story, not wishing to risk the ire of the Greengrasses or the Malfoys. “Daphne Greengrass said she found a body, but it’s possible she saw what she thought was her sister in a weakened state and finished her off.”

“You’re accusing my daughter now!” Herbert exclaimed furiously. He glared at Oliver.

“Let him finish,” Daphne murmured. She stared at Oliver, coolly assessing him, daring him to carry on.

“Daphne Greengrass has told me she was behind the whole ‘Zeitgeist Girl’, “Oliver said, staring straight at her. “She said it was because she wanted ‘reconciliation’ in our world. But ... I suspect the money and publicity generated didn’t harm the Greengrass family, either.”

“Is it a crime to make money?” Daphne laughed, scornfully throwing her head back and looking towards Marcus. “Darling, I’m out of cigarettes. Give me one before I go insane.”

Suavely, Marcus lit two cigarettes and handed one to her. Oliver watched as they both took drags, and exhaled at the same time. Smokescreens clouded everything, but when he looked for long enough the smoke cleared.

“Your sister was due to be married,” he murmured. “A big society wedding; the pinnacle of your success, Daphne. But ... Astoria Greengrass fell in love with a Malfoy, and they are no longer the top of the social tree. Worse, she gets pregnant before they’re married. Your dream is now shattered. You need to get something from your work, before it crashes around you. Perhaps the Black diamonds are an adequate reward?”

“That’s what you believe, is it?” Daphne drawled. “Hmm, let me guess. The theory is that I forced my sister into a trunk, recruited Pansy to impersonate her, and then killed Pansy when she wouldn’t hand over the diamonds. Very plausible, Wood, except ...” she paused and went to take a drag of her cigarette but thinking better of it she threw it into the fire, “... it’s complete bollocks. When Tori was being shoved into that trunk, I was waiting for Marcus. I discovered the body and alerted you immediately. Don’t you think I’d have been more circumspect if I’d committed the crime?”

“Alibis can be false,” Oliver murmured.

“Daphne was with me!” Marcus exclaimed. “I will swear it in front of anyone. You can even feed me Veritaserum. It will make no difference.”

Especially as the antidote is easy to take when you’re on your guard, Oliver thought.

“I don’t think ‘dead’ Wood really believes it, darling,” Daphne replied. “He’d have arrested me by now if he thought he had a cast-iron case.”

Oliver ignored her. Holding up the teardrop diamond to the light, he watched as its facets sparkled then turned to Lucius Malfoy. “Your wife’s necklace is beautiful, I’ve been told. It drips with diamonds and although some might find it ‘ostentatious’, it still reeks of glamour and money. It belongs to a past age, and not one that appeals to the Zeitgeist Girl – or her sister – so why was she so keen to wear it?”

“We know that was Pansy, though,” Draco said. “Why are you bringing all this up, Wood?”

Oliver nodded, and then in a gesture that surprised them all he tossed the diamond into the air. As it fell to the ground, he mimed blasting it with his wand. “What would have happened if I’d shot a Disintegration Hex at it, Mr Malfoy?”

“Nothing,” Lucius replied. “Diamonds are the hardest gemstone in the world.”

“Shall I try?” Oliver asked.

“It will rebound on you,” Daphne cried, a faint note of alarm in her voice.

He smiled at her concern but still raised his wand. Draco, he noticed, was looking worried and shielded Astoria in his arms. Daphne edged away hiding behind the chair. Goyle stared glassily ahead, possibly not understanding the implications of a rebounding hex. Flint, after a moment’s pause, ducked down behind the chair, while the Greengrass parents quickly moved to the side of the room.

“You’re not moving, Lucius,” Oliver called out. “Why would that be?”

And then he blasted the diamond, laughing as it disintegrated into dust.

“It’s a fake!” spluttered Draco and turned sharply to look at his father. “You knew!”

“Of course I knew,” Lucius muttered coldly. “I had this copy made last year. Oh grow up, Draco. How on earth do you think we’ve been making ends meet since the war, especially since your mother’s spending habits have not lessened?” He cast a bored look at Oliver. “I don’t quite know what point you’re trying to make, Wood, but wearing fake diamonds isn’t a crime.”

“But killing Pansy when she discovered they were fake is,” Oliver replied slowly. “You had a motive, Lucius. You would do anything to hold onto your social position, if only for your wife.”

He was staring so intently at Lucius, that he missed the entrance of a ninth person, until he heard the door close. Narcissa Malfoy, dressed all in black, and with no adornment stood there with her wand aimed at him.

“You are wrong,” she said, stepping further into the room. “My husband did not kill her.”

Slowly, Oliver lifted his wand, keeping eye contact with her all the while. “Why are you so sure, Mrs Malfoy? You weren’t here. I was told you were away.”

“I was,” she replied, faltering slightly. “I have been away and only just returned, but I know my husband. I know what prison did to him last time, and how much he fought to keep us all from Azkaban after the battle. He would not risk his liberty again, not to save face.”

“May I ask where you have been?”

“At a retreat,” Narcissa replied stiffly. “I find it calms me.”

Ignoring the suspicious bout of coughing emanating from both Daphne and Astoria, Oliver perused Narcissa Malfoy. He didn’t think she was lying, exactly, but she was certainly not telling the whole truth.

Narcissa glared at both girls before continuing, “I have several witnesses – including Rita Skeeter. I doubt she’d lie to save my skin.”

“Will you surrender your wand to me, Mrs Malfoy?”

“Only if you admit that suspecting my husband is preposterous,” she argued.

As quick as a flash, Oliver, whilst appearing to agree, cast a Disarming Spell and caught her wand in his left hand as it twisted towards him.

“That’s not the way it works in my world, Mrs Malfoy,” he said, softly, pointing both wands at her. “You cannot threaten, blackmail or bribe your way out of trouble this time.”

“Leave her alone!” Lucius cried, stung into action. “I did nothing wrong.”

Oliver smiled grimly as he lowered both wands. He gestured for Narcissa to sit down, and then perching on the corner of the desk, continued his deliberations.

“He could have killed Miss Parkinson, but you’re right, I don’t think he did.”

“Is there any chance you could get on with this?” Marcus complained. “Only as the weekend has been cancelled, I don’t really see the need to hang around.”

“So eager to leave, Flint, I wonder why,” Oliver murmured. He smiled at him, remembering the mockery that turned nasty when they faced each other on the Quidditch pitch. “It was only a few minutes ago, that the final part of this case fell into place. There were two things immediately wrong with the murder scene. The engagement ring was missing, and a cigarette end was found by the body. I took the liberty of purloining a cigarette from Daphne and discovered it was the same brand. Again, that appeared to put Daphne at the scene of the crime when the murder was being committed.”

“Except I told you I wasn’t smoking when I discovered her,” Daphne said indignantly.

“Mmm, but you also told me that you smoked at times of stress. What could be more stressful than murdering your accomplice and nearly getting discovered?”

“Oh please, Wood, do you honestly think I’d murder someone then take the time to light a cigarette. I’m not that bloody stressed.”

“It’s your brand, Daphne,” he murmured.

“No, it’s not!” she exclaimed, “I told you I’ve been trying to quit. I bummed these last ones from Marcus.”

“Shut up!” Marcus swore vociferously at her.

“What?” Daphne looked up puzzled. “Darling, you have an alibi. You were with me.”

“Well, not exactly,” Draco interrupted. He leant forwards, his eyes flickering from Marcus to Daphne and then to Oliver. “Daphne said she was waiting for Marcus when Astoria got locked in the trunk, and I heard you talking when Astoria and I were getting changed. Daph, you said Marcus had just left you when you started arguing with me.”

Draco whipped round and threw himself at Marcus. “You bastard! You helped Pansy, didn’t you? You let her in and helped her trap Astoria. WHY?”

“You’re mad!” Marcus spluttered and pushed Draco off him with a huge effort sending him crashing into Goyle.

“Is that what happened with Pansy, Flint?” Oliver demanded. “Did she lose her temper with you? Is that why you killed her?”

“I didn’t!” Flint yelled, but he sounded far less cocky now. “Daphne, tell them I was with you.”

Daphne got to her feet. “You were but ...” Her face paled as she stared at her lover and took a deep breath. “... Marcus joined me late the day we arrived. And he was determined to keep me occupied for at least an hour.”

“The amount of time it takes Polyjuice Potion to wear off,” Oliver murmured, and tried to give her a sympathetic glance. But Daphne was only looking at Flint.

“He let Pansy into the Manor,” Oliver said in a soft voice, aware that everyone in the room was hanging on his every word. “She drank Polyjuice Potion containing your hair, and then forced your sister into the trunk. Once she’d turned back into herself, she drank more of the potion, this time to take the form of Astoria Greengrass.”

“None of this proves anything,” Marcus growled.

“With Narcissa away, and Draco proving intransigent on the subject of borrowing the diamonds,” Oliver continued, “Pansy had to keep up the pretence. She became Astoria for the next three days, waiting for her chance to steal the diamonds. But when Draco found her in his mother’s room that ruined everything.

“You overheard them, didn’t you, Flint? You heard Pansy screeching at Draco. And then something happened, didn’t it? Something that made you realise the game was nearly up.”

“Rubbish!” Flint declared, but he wouldn’t look at Daphne.

“What did you hear Draco shouting?” Oliver asked Daphne. “Why did you rush out and remonstrate with him?”

She frowned as she thought back. “He was screaming that it wasn’t her. I mean I knew Tori had been acting strangely; she’d ignored me since we got here, so I thought it was the same for Draco, but of course it wasn’t Tori, was it?”

“And Marcus must have thought Pansy had changed back,” Oliver said. “He heard Draco’s shouts and then when Draco stormed out, he slipped into the room. An argument ensued, probably when he saw her grab the necklace.” His eyes bored into Flint, mercilessly interrogating him, whilst he prayed to himself that Flint was still as thick as he remembered from Hogwarts. There wasn’t a scrap of evidence against him, except for the cigarette end and a clever lawyer could explain that away. “What was it, Flint? Did you want Pansy to wait for Narcissa, or did you want to leave straight away?”

“The stupid cow tried to cheat me!” Flint exploded. “I told her we should leave. We had the diamonds, and the engagement ring. We could have Apparated away, changed identities and not had to hang around with this bunch of rich tossers a moment longer. But Pansy wouldn’t. She started babbling that it wasn’t right, that the plan wasn’t working and I had to stick around whilst she left. She was going to run off with the loot and leave me with this boring bitch!” He glared at Daphne who stared out of the window, not betraying any emotion except for a slight tremor in her hand as she drained her wine glass.

“You weren’t known for your subtlety at school, Flint, never had any finesse. Pansy was trying to tell you the diamonds weren’t right, that they were fakes and she had no idea where the ring was,” Oliver countered. He raised his wand and with a slow swirl, bound Flint tight with steel twine, taking especial pleasure from the fact that his old adversary winced as the twine cut into his skin. “You killed her for nothing, you bastard.”

***

With Flint in custody and Pansy dead, the Ministry Law Enforcers were able to conduct a full search of both their properties. Not only did they uncover a stash of unfenced jewellery, but they also found a large cauldron of Polyjuice Potion in Pansy’s cellar. The operation had been running a while, and the theft of the Black diamonds was supposed to be their last heist. Marcus’ relationship with Daphne had provided the ideal way in.

Oliver hadn’t seen Daphne since that night. He’d tried to speak to her before taking Flint to the cells, but she’d Apparated away, a look of cold fury on her face, and he hadn’t been sure how much of her rage was directed at him.

On further examination, Narcissa Malfoy’s ‘retreat’ had turned out to be an exclusive health farm. The post-Battle years had not treated Narcissa kindly, and with the threat of a glamorous daughter-in-law about to be enveloped in the fold, Narcissa had wanted to look her best. Now slimmed down, toned up, and with a face lifted into oblivion, she could face the papers, but was still overshadowed by Astoria.

It had been a month since Pansy Parkinson’s death. Her funeral had been ill attended, but Oliver had lurked in the background wondering if Daphne would appear. He’d had stared at Pansy’s headstone. It bore no words of remembrance, no celebration of her life, for she’d always be known as the girl who denounced Harry Potter.

Daphne had not turned up. The Prophet had reported that she’d gone abroad, leaving the wedding preparations to Astoria and her mother, whilst Narcissa pretended to supervise. Oliver had been surprised at the disappointment he’d felt that the paper had been correct.

The wedding was the next day. Astoria’s obvious joy shone from the pages of every paper and magazine, but he wondered sourly if the papers would be quite so gushing if they knew a ‘honeymoon baby’ was already on the way.

Throwing the paper in the waste paper basket, Oliver summoned his cloak ready to leave for his barren flat.

“May I come in?”

She was standing in the doorway, her cloak over her arm. He felt his insides squirm, and unsure it was out of pleasure or fear, he smiled faintly at her.

“Of course, Miss Greengrass.”

“It was Daphne the last time we spoke,” she replied as she stepped towards him.

“That was before I sent your lover to Azkaban.”

“Yes, damn you-” She stopped as her voice broke and for one awful moment, Oliver thought she was going to cry. But he should have known better. Daphne Greengrass was not a weeper and wailer. She was made of stronger stuff.

“At school I envied Pansy,” she said at last. “She always had the best clothes and so many boyfriends. For a while I wanted to be just like her.”

“What changed?”

She smiled. “She discovered I had a crush on someone, and was unrelentingly cruel. He wasn’t a Slytherin, so he wasn’t good enough. It took me years to discover she was wrong.”

“Let me guess,” he replied, injecting a teasing note he didn’t quite feel, into his voice. “All the girls liked Diggory, or perhaps it was Harry?”

“It was you, you tosser!” she replied scathingly. “Oliver Wood, Gryffindor Keeper, then fully fledged pro. I told you, I wasn’t the same as the other girls.”

The last time he’d blushed had been when he’d won the Quidditch Cup and Professor McGonagall had been extremely fulsome in her praise. Yet he recognised the sensation and tried to look away as he willed his hot cheeks to cool.

“Merlin, Oliver, say something will you? I’m practically offering myself up on a plate here.” Then, as he failed to answer, Daphne sighed and turned to leave. “I thought there was a connection between us, a spark that I found intriguing. Sorry, I forgot. I’m not as beautiful as Astoria. It’s the Zeitgeist Girl you’re interested in, after a-”

His mouth stopped her words. His lips teased and caressed hers, until she stopped her faint struggles of surprise and wrapped her arms around him. It had been a long time – far too long – since he’d felt this way about anyone, but Daphne Greengrass had wormed her way into his psyche and he wasn’t about to let her slip away.

“I told you once that I’m not interested in labels,” he muttered and started to kiss her again.