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.”
Tooth and Claw by welshdevondragon
Chapter Notes: (Thank you again to Minna and Soraya for all their help. And thank you to Carole who, even though I wanted help specifically with drunken characterisation, was kind enough to point out my canon and timeline errors as well as commenting on the story, for which I'm very grateful.
Carole pointed out that wizards use Imperial Measurements. So here I use one of the smallest units of weight within the Imperial system, the troy grain which is defined by the International System of Units as 64.79891 mg.)
Chapter Endnotes: Please review :)