Lucius Malfoy Murdered!
The bold title on the front page of The Daily Prophet startled Percy, causing him to drop it.
Retrieving it from the floor, he scanned the large article, which took up a great portion of the front page and then some on another. It said that Mr. Malfoy was murdered on Sunday, which was yesterday, but the authorities were not sure who did it, where it had happened, or how they murdered him.
The only thing the Ministry was sure about was that Lucius had not been murdered with the Killing Curse.
Miss two days of work, and now there’s been a murder. I don’t want to know what my in-tray is going to look like. That’s what I get for having a Healer for a wife.
Percy straightened his glasses, sniffed pompously, and headed straight for the Minister’s office. Trying not to glance for too long at his overflowing in-tray, Percy walked past his own office and into Kingsley Shacklebolt’s.
Kingsley’s secretary, Eloise Midgen-Finch-Fletchy (the block of wood with her name inscribed on it was ridiculously long), gave him a friendly wave and said that Kingsley was meeting with someone, but if was urgent, he would be allowed in. Percy thanked Eloise and rapped on Kingsley’s door before entering.
The people who the Minister was meeting with were none other than some of Percy’s own kin- Hermione Granger-Weasley, Harry Potter, and a young man so close to the family he was practically one of them; Teddy Lupin.
“Ah, Percy,” Shacklebolt said in his deep, rumbling voice. “I see you’re feeling better.”
“Much, thank you, Minister,” Percy said, greeting the others.
“See the paper, Percy?” Hermione asked. Her bushy hair was coiled back into a bun, her suit nice and ironed.
“Unfortunately,” Percy said, sitting down.
“Not a slow news week, eh?” Teddy laughed. His hair was his favorite shade of electrical blue.
Harry smiled. “It’s more difficult than you imagine; trying to figure out what killed him, with a lot of hysterical Malfoys yelling insults as we investigate.”
Percy found it hard to imagine any of the Malfoys acting hysterical. His daughters went to school with a Malfoy (he was named after some constellation), but he was probably uptight and sneering like the rest. He supposed he should feel pity for their loss, but part of him remembered Lucius fighting with his father in Diagon Alley all those years ago.
“Have they arranged a funeral yet?” Percy inquired.
“That’s what we were getting to when you arrived,” Shacklebolt told him. “Mrs. Malfoy is still planning it. I’m meeting her tomorrow.”
* * *
Narcissa Malfoy sat stiffly in her sitting room as the Minister and his companions spoke. Tears arched down her pale face, and, for once, she was not sneering. She was alone, and would mourn alone. She must be strong for Draco and his family. She must!
“Would Madam be liking anything?” a timid house-elf asked.
“A cup of tea would do nicely, Tandy,” Narcissa wiped her tears. She liked her house-elves, but didn’t want to appear weak in front of them.
“Would Madam be liking a hankie?” Tandy questioned hesitantly, offering a white one with green lace.
Narcissa turned the corners of her mouth, but you couldn’t call it smiling. “No thank you, Tandy. I’ll let you know if I need it.”
Tandy, nodded, bowed, and disappeared with a crack. Then someone knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Narcissa called, having recomposed herself completely.
Her son, Draco, and his wife, Astoria, entered. They were quite a pair- Draco had his light blonde hair and steely blue-grey eyes, Astoria dark-haired with navy, almost violet eyes. The trio nodded at each other before the husband and wife sat down.
“Have you decided on the funeral plans yet?” Draco asked, his voice breaking slightly. His father’s death had shaken him hard.
Astoria slid her hand neatly into his and squeezed it. Draco rubbed her fingers in gratitude, but Narcissa felt a strange urge to throw up.
“I believe so,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat.
The couple was about to ask more, but Tandy reappeared with Narcissa’s tea. She poured some for Draco and his wife and added sugar to her own. She stirred, added milk, and stirred again. Good, just the way she liked it. She never added too much sweetness- right now, she wanted something bitter, because that was the way she felt. Bitter, as bitter as the aftertaste of dark chocolate, which, in her opinion, was disgusting and shouldn’t be eaten anyway.
“How’s young Scorpius?” Narcissa asked, changing the subject.
“Upset,” Draco said airily. “You’re trying to get off-topic, aren’t you, Mother?”
Narcissa arched an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“You wouldn’t share your plans with us, would you?” Astoria asked.
Narcissa pursed her lips. “You’ll wait and see.”
* * *
Baldric sat at his desk, scribbling absentmindedly. He was bored, as bored as a mortician could get. Nobody died these days. He was useless. Years ago, everyone was dying, but now only one or two families called upon him here and there.
An eagle owl rapped its sharp talons against Baldric’s window. Baldric raced over to it, as fast as a man of sixty-seven and three quarters could.
“That’s fine crystal, bird,” he snapped as he removed a letter from the owl’s leg. “Now shoo.”
The owl didn’t move; it only stared at him with golden eyes.
“Blast,” Baldric muttered, and handed the owl a Knut. The owl still didn’t move.
“Charge a lot, dontcha?” he grumbled, throwing over a Sickle. “If you don’t get out, you’re going on my wall.”
The owl appeared to sneer at him before taking the Sickle and Knut and flying home. Baldric slammed the window shut (apparently it was all right for him to harm crystal windows) and sat again.
He opened the seal of the letter with his wand. It didn’t work. Baldric suddenly smirked, recognizing the seal. He hastened to perform a charm he had learned in his younger years. The letter opened easily with the sharp flick of the wrist and a quick but complicated charm.
The funeral planner read the note, admiring the stationary and the elegant handwriting. He had never bothered to write nicely- writing prettily was for girls, as was the writer of the letter.
Baldric finished reading the letter, looked at the name that had been signed, and laughed out loud. She was asking him to do this? What a joke! But there was no mistake. It was meant for him.
Baldric smirked yet again, more widely this time, and if he had company, they would be screaming for a dentist to clean his yellowy teeth.
Baldric Blyton Bronte was back in business.
Who Killed the King? by PadfootnPeeves
Chapter Notes: I don't own Harry Potter, or the Westing Game. I just own the plot, and, sadly, Baldric. Many thanks to the wonderful Brittany (BertieBottsBeans741) for being a great beta!
Chapter Endnotes: Bit short of a chapter, but I like to think they get better. More of the Weasleys in the next chapter, too. And please be ever so kind to leave a nice little review to brighten my day.