Fool me once, shame on thee.
Fool me twice, shame on me.
Chapter One: The Death of Remus Lupin
All she can do is stand there, frozen in denial.
The room is dark and cold, the damp night air coming in through an open window. There is the smell of something in the air, something bitter and almost metallic. She knows what it is, even if she won’t let her mind think those words.
The floor is uneven, the floorboards warped with age and too wet weather and bad insulation. They are covered in a threadbare rug, see-through in places, loose strings hanging off the edges. The bed is second-hand, she knows, and the mattress is lumpy and hard in all the wrong places. A lamp is overturned, and the far cabinet’s doors are swung open, one of them nearly torn from its hinges.
The floor had dark splotches on it. Her robes, too, have splotches, and there is red on her arms and the palm of one hand and she knows what it is but still…
All she can do is stand there, frozen in horror.
Her eyes move past the bed, to the corner. She can’t see what is there, lying on the floor behind the bed, but it doesn’t matter. She’s already seen it, and the memory is burned into her mind, so bright and so vivid that all she has to do is shut her eyes and she can see every single detail etched out on the backs of her lids.
The silence of the room envelops her. Too silent. In it, she can hear the echoes of their fights, of the last words she said to him, of the anger that went back even further, to events that happened years ago.
There is red on her face, too, she notices as she glances at her reflection in the broken mirror. Dots of it, splatters across her forehead and one cheek. She almost reaches up to wipe it away, but sees the red on her fingers and stops.
All she can do is stand there, frozen in memory.
She hates this room. She hates everything about it, from the too-small doorway to the too-large window, and most of all, she hates the fact that he lived here, that he was probably living in places like this for years.
She stands still, a silent witness to the tragedy that happened in the room as the hours pass and the moon begins its slow descent towards the horizon. She stands there as the sunlight begins to creep over the distant hills. She stands there as the neighbors come from their houses and pass by…
And is still standing there, much later, when the Aurors arrive.
Frank Longbottom had been an Auror for only a few years, and it was already getting to be more than he could handle.
The others on his team often laughed jovially with each other, had late suppers or drinks at a pub, and spent weekends and holidays visiting with the others’ families. It was easier for them, he knew, because they had people to go home to at the end of the day.
People to listen to their stories, to whisper comforting words in their ears when everything became too much for them.
He didn’t have that. He had himself, and that was all, and lately, it wasn’t enough.
Standing in the torn-apart bedroom belonging to the late Remus Lupin, Frank had to fight back the urge to run. The air was hot, the unrelenting sun beating down through the window, and the smell of blood filled his nostrils. The room itself was cramped, filled with two other Aurors, a Healer who was standing about doing nothing now that her services were clearly not needed, two reporters trying to push their way through the door, and…
The body.
He looked at it again.
It had been three years since he had seen Remus Lupin. The wizard had grown gaunt and haggard in those years. There were deep lines on his face, and something about his body seemed to give off an aura of suffering.
And then there was the blood.
It clung to his robes and spread out in a pool across the floor. It splattered on the bed, on the cabinet, on the broken mirror. It was dried now, but it had been fresh in the beginning, when he had first been found. There was a footprint in the blood near his head.
There was no weapon to be found.
The fatal wound was clearly made by a knife. There had been a struggle, that much was evident from the state of the room. But the knife was gone, hidden or destroyed by the murderer at some point after the crime took place.
“Longbottom.”
Frank glanced up at the sound of his name. It was one of the reporters, a mousy-haired man that Frank recognized vaguely as a journalist for the Daily Prophet.
“Is it true that you knew Remus Lupin?”
“No comment,” Frank answered automatically.
“Get them out of here, Bagley,” Auror Moody, Frank’s superior said, jerking his head at the reporters. Christian Bagley, the other Auror present, complied quickly and began attempting to shepherd the reports from the room. They didn’t want to leave, however, and were shouting questions even as they were escorted from the house.
“Is it true that Lily Evans has been arrested for the crime?”
“Has she confessed?”
“Does Mr. Lestrange know?”
Frank slammed the door shut on them and walked back to the body. He didn’t want to think about Lily Evans or Rudolphus Lestrange.
But he couldn’t deny that it would come up. After all, they had found Lily standing there, staring blankly about her, Remus’ blood sticking to her skin and clothing. It reminded him too much of what had happened seven years ago, and even though Lily had been one of his closest friends, even though he knew she loved Remus deeply, even though he couldn’t believe that she would do something like this…
Bagley came back into the room. “Do you think Evans did it, Frank?” he asked, pausing just long enough to ask the question before stepping over to the body.
Even Moody stopped what he was doing and glanced quickly at Frank, waiting for an answer.
Frank stared at Remus’ pale skin, closed eyes. The wizard had once been a friend of his, before that night. How many evenings had they spent swapping stories and chocolate frog cards, laughing over the others antics? But it had been seven years since they had been friends, and three years since they had seen each other, and Frank didn’t know his one-time friend anymore. Didn’t know a thing about him.
Just like he didn’t know Lily.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
“You can take the body now,” Moody said, nodding to the Healer. “I think we’ve got everything we need here.”
The Healer nodded and stepped forward, and Bagley moved away from the body. Standing next to Frank, he said grimly, “Well, if Evans is involved in this, Lestrange is going to get involved as well. Merlin knows he’s been wanting a second chance to get her for a while now.”
Frank nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice low. He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to remember how Lestrange’s accusations and Lily’s continued proclamations of innocence had torn them all apart.
“Longbottom, any idea of where Lupin has been these past three years? Or why he’s back?” Moody asked sharply.
Frank shook his head. “I haven’t spoken to him since he left,” he answered.
“Do you know if Evans knew where he was or why he was back?” Moody pressed.
Again, Frank shook his head. “I haven’t spoken to her since he left, either.”
Moody pressed his lips together and surveyed the room. He was an imposing figure, with a magical false eyeball to replace the one lost in a battle with Dark wizards years earlier, and long scars covering his neck and the side of his face. Frank had never asked where the scars had come from, nor why they weren’t treated with dittany or some other potion that could reduce their appearance. Moody reveled in his reputation as a stern and fierce Auror, and Frank knew better than to ask questions that were not directly relevant to the task at hand.
“That would be useful information to have,” Moody said at last. “Longbottom, talk to Evans and find out what she knew.” Frank opened his mouth to protest, desperately wanting to avoid any conversation with the red-haired witch. But Moody did not give him a chance to object, continuing, “This will get Lestrange’s attention, and I don’t want to be the one to tell him we don’t have all the facts. It’ll get the Daily Prophet’s attention, too, so lets make sure we do this thoroughly, alright?”
Frank bit his lip, but agreed, “Yes, sir.” It wasn’t like he really had a choice.
As he walked from the room, he heard Bagley remark to the Healer who was now levitating Remus’ dead body towards the door, “Not every day you see a murder like this, is it?”
Frank didn’t hear the reply, but he could not argue with the comment. It was a magical world, after all, so who would bother killing someone with a knife? The killing curse was a lot more efficient and a lot less messy.
He looked down at his shoes. They had done their best not to contaminate the crime scene, but there were a few specks of red on the toe of one shoe, drops of blood that had once coursed through Remus’ veins.
Quite suddenly, he thought he might be sick.
He exited the house quickly, blinking in the hot sunlight. They had erected an anti-Apparition ward and stationed a few officials from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to keep reporters and gossipmongers from rushing to see the scene of the crime. At the edge of the wards, he could see several people milling about, eagerly awaiting any tidbits of information they could glean. As always, the more lurid and horrifying the crime, the more excited people were for details.
“Auror Longbottom!” the same reporter from before called out his name. “Can you comment on…”
Frank pushed past him, then spun around and said angrily, “No, I can’t!” and began walking away again, not bothering to wait for the reporter to finish the question.
“Is this in any way related to the death of Lucius Malfoy?” another reported yelled, and that was the last thing Frank heard before he turned on the spot and Disapparated.
Rodolphus Lestrange looked up from the pile of parchment on his desk as the door to his office was unceremoniously flung open and a breathless wizard came racing in, face flushed darkly.
“Rabastan,” he greeted, placing his quill on his desk and rising to his feet. His dark eyes studied his brother’s expression carefully, noting the anticipation flashing almost wildly in the other’s gaze. “What brings you to the Ministry?” he drawled. “You tend to despise government.”
“Have you heard?” Rabastan asked, closing the door firmly behind him and waving his wand about, silently casting several anti-eavesdropping spells.
“Heard what?” Rodolphus asked curiously. He had always been the more studious of the siblings, and as such, he had advanced quickly through the Ministry while his brother still spent most of his time trying to figure out how to avoid work. In the past few years, he had only seen Rabastan when the other was asking for money.
Rabastan grinned. “Remus Lupin is dead,” he announced, proclaiming the news as though it was the best thing he had ever heard.
Rodolphus raised an eyebrow. Remus Lupin was a poverty-stricken half-breed, and though Rodolphus would hardly grieve for the other’s death, he did not find the news to be particularly interesting. At least not interesting enough to warrant the interruption in his work. In fact, had it not been for that one event seven years ago, he might not even recognize the name. Lupin was beneath him.
And yet, it was true, of course, that Lupin was a reminder of that long-ago case that had gone awry, and just thinking of it made his blood boil. It may have been seven years, but it still galled him to think that he had not succeeded at what should have been such a simple task.
He sat back down at his desk with a weary sigh. To his brother, he said, “Interesting. But not interesting enough to warrant a visit from you.”
Rabastan laughed, almost delightedly. “Ah… but just wait. The filth was found dead, murdered with a knife. Such a Muggle weapon, don’t you think?” He dropped into the seat across from Rodolophus and placed his elbows on the desk. “And there was blood everywhere. On his body, his robes, the floor of his bedroom… and on the person who killed him.”
“Someone has confessed?” Rodolphus asked, eyebrows coming together. “Then it really is no concern of mine. I may be a barrister, Rabastan, but I do not need to prosecute in this case.”
“She hasn’t confessed.”
“She?” That caught Rodolphus’ attention, and he couldn’t help the thrill that ran down his spine.
“Of course,” Rabastan pressed, smirking, “she was found standing over his dead body, covered in his blood. So it seems likely there is only one conclusion to draw from that.”
“Are you saying…?” Rodolphus started, and then stopped, because some part of him couldn’t believe it. He had spent so long looking for another way to ruin her, but she hadn’t slipped up. Not once. Seven years, and he hadn’t been able to find anything to use against her and now…
Now she had handed him his second chance without him having to do anything about it.
“How do you know all this?” he asked, switching thoughts and giving his brother a critical look.
Rabastan shrugged his shoulders. “I know what I know,” he answered enigmatically, and Rodolphus didn’t bother to press for details. His brother was often involved in petty crime and with petty criminals, and it came as no surprise that he would know this sort of thing even before it was picked up by the Daily Prophet.
“And what you’re saying is that you know that…” Rodolphus prompted, because he had to hear the words before he would finally let himself believe.
“Yes,” Rabastan finished. “Lily Evans has just been arrested for the murder of Remus Lupin. And if you grab it now, you could be the one prosecuting the case.”
Rodolphus nearly laughed at that. There was no need to rush. The Ministry employed a few lawyers to prosecute suspects, but it was unlikely that anyone else would even think of taking this particular case. Everyone knew his history with Lily Evans. Everyone knew this was his battle. His second chance.
And this time, he was going to crush her.