Still on vacation. Been working on this fic for a little bit, finished it off on a couple of flights.
I'm going to assume that most of my subs have never watched Columbo, which is a 70's detective show. For those that have, this is basically a "what if Harry was Columbo?" Fic. Regardless, you don't need to know anything about the show to read the fic.
This is a little different. Basically a murder investigation fic. No smut, little bit of humor but mainly focused on catching the killer. Either way, hope you guys enjoy it.
....
Draco Malfoy looked up as the floo flared up. He adjusted the evening edition of the Daily Prophet and hid his face as she arrived at the drawing room. It was very hard for him to hide his distaste for her, and he needed a few moments for his mask to reform.
Out of the fireplace stumbled the object of his ire, his hatred, his pure loathing. His wife: Pansy Malfoy.
Pansy's makeup was running, and she looked a mess. He was surprised when he didn't smell the stench of firewhisky on her, but then again, she had begun using spells to mask the smell in recent times.
“Draco.” She croaked in a partially broken voice. He hadn't lowered the paper yet, but he knew exactly how she was looking at him: disdain, contempt, hatred.
There had been a time, back in their school days, back in their youth, when Pansy and Draco had liked each other. There was no love - there was never love, Draco doubted that was even a possibility in their world of political marriages - but they had certainly enjoyed each other's company. Pansy lusted after Draco and his sleek blonde hair and boyish good looks, along with a good helping of riches that helped bolster his sex appeal. Pansy had not been the prettiest girl at first, but she'd grown out of her awkward stage to become quite attractive, and from an early age, she had learned not to say no to Draco.
As far as pureblood marriages went, they were far from the worst. They understood the world the same, they frequented the same circles, had the same views. The Parkinsons were not on the Malfoy's level, but it was not a disgrace for the two families to be wed.
And now they were in their early forties. Draco's hair was thinning, and he had become nothing more than a clone of his father, a man who strived for political gain above all else. Pansy, meanwhile, had become a classic archetype: a bored pureblood housewife. While other women of her standing occupied their time by tending to gardens or going on lavish shopping sprees, for Pansy, it seemed that fulfillment could only be found at the bottom of a bottle.
It was downhill from there, and while their marriage had remained stable as long as they could ignore each other, that was much, much harder to do now that their son had gone off to Hogwarts, leaving them alone in this massive manor, trapped with each other.
“Pansy, you made it home this time.” Draco said.
Pansy glared at him, “Oh, fuck you!” She held her middle finger out to him. “I thought you'd be at that stupid little ball.”
Draco ignored the disrespectful gesture as he folded up the newspaper. “It would not look becoming if I went without my wife… yet again.”
Pansy rolled her eyes as she dropped her wand on the table. “Whatever, Draco. I'm going to have a bath. Tippy!”
Pansy's voice echoed throughout the manor, but there was no response, no resounding pop.
“What in the blood hell is wrong with that elf?”
Draco twisted the newspaper up under the table as he gave her an impassive look. “I instructed her to tend to mother. She will not return until morning unless I call for her.”
Pansy sent him a disgusted look. “And of course you won't call for her.”
She grabbed her wand and turned to make her way up the stairs. Draco noticed that her dress was torn, likely from an escapade with a lover. His blood began to boil. He was well aware of Pansy's affairs, he'd even called her out on it at one point, only for her to try to throw his own indiscretions back in his face, as if they were ever remotely the same thing.
He waited down there in the drawing room for a few moments more. He ran his fingers over the leg of his trousers as he lightly tapped the rolled up newspaper on the table.
He'd been planning this for such a long time. He'd been dreaming about it, fantasizing, even, and now the day had come.
It was time to kill his wife.
He dropped the paper onto the table and quietly made his way upstairs. His hands were tingling with anticipation. The plan was simple. It had to be, complex plans led to mistakes.
He couldn't just up and use the killing curse on her. Any dark magic, really, would be detected by the ministry now that the aurors had secured funds for their blasted enhanced detection, something Draco had fought against tooth and nail in the wizengamot under the guise of protecting privacy. Anything that looked like foul play was out of the question as well. While he could sever her neck with a simple charm, he was not skilled enough to then reattach her head.
Most importantly, they were in the manor, and the list of people that were allowed free entry was extremely limited, meaning that he'd immediately make himself a suspect in any murder investigation without an airtight alibi. No, he needed to make it look like an accident.
He entered his wife's room, and Pansy let out a startled gasp. She was by her nightstand, removing her jewelry.
“What are you doing here?” She hissed. Looking like a feral cat that had been cornered.
“It is my home, is it not?”
“Cut the bullshit, Draco.”
Draco chuckled. “Bullshit? Look at yourself, you're an absolute mess. You resemble a Knockturn alley whore more than a respectable lady of House Malfoy.”
Pansy gave him an ugly glare, and then she spat on the floor, the floor of his ancestral home. “House Malfoy, the ever so solemn house, built on double dealing and backroom trickery. Tell me, Draco, how do you fit all that hypocrisy in that empty head of yours.”
His knuckles turned white. He could not strike her. He could not leave a mark on her. “You dare insult your lord husband?!”
It was Pansy's turn to laugh, a shrill, bitter laugh. “Can you stop masquerading as your father, Draco? You look like a child when doing it. Let's speak frankly, for once in this miserable marriage. You hate me, and I hate you. You wish to be rid of me, and that can be arranged, you just need to pay the price.”
“The price?”
“Half the Malfoy vault, the summer home in Cannes, all of the jewelry, and full custody of Abraxas.”
Draco's eyes bugged out, and despite himself, he found himself taking several menacing steps forward, with Pansy taking the corresponding steps back. “Have you been chugging cauldon cleaner? Why would I ever agree to such ridiculous demands?”
Pansy's face twisted into a nasty grin. “Oh, I don't know, perhaps because you would like me to keep mum about your dealings with Nott, or what happened to those poor muggle girls.”
Draco's face paled. “You dare-”
“I do dare, Draco!” She snapped. Her voice no longer wavered. In fact, it was thunderous. “You're lucky that they were only muggles, and I find them to be lower than dirt. But this new administration… I'm sure Bones would have a field day if I told her where the bodies are buried. Why, if I were to speak my mind-”
“Your mind is a garbled, drunken mess. Your word holds no weight.” Draco hissed.
“Do you want to bet your freedom on that, dear husband?”
There was a pause, and then Draco let out a long slow breath. Pansy grinned triumphantly. “Good. Now then, I wish to begin negotiations, and there's no time like the present.”
Draco flicked his wand. His reflexes were not the best, nowhere near, but it wasn't like Pansy was a veteran hit-witch.
“Petrificus Totalus!”
Pansy's eyes widened as her body locked up, going stiff as a board as she tipped over and began to fall.
Draco hit her with a levitation charm, keeping her afloat, he did not want her to get bruised up.
“You know what, Pansy? We can go ahead and negotiate. Why don't you hear my counter-offer?” Draco spat venomously.
He could hear faint sounds, she was trying to speak, struggling to, but the petrification spell was far too powerful.
“I will kill you, Pansy, right here and right now, and you will finally cease to be a stain on the great House of Malfoy. In return, I promise to give you the most lavish funeral wizarding Britain has ever seen.”
He could definitely hear her making noise now, and he laughed malevolently as he levitated her towards the bathroom.
She'd drawn a bath. The tub had been filled, she had even gone so far as to make it a bubble bath, pink soapy bubbles frothing about on the surface.
“I'm going to enjoy this.”
Draco placed Pansy on the floor. She was still clothed. He didn't trust the precision of his severing charms, and so he reached out and manually tore through her clothing.
The dress she'd bought in Milan and the set of plain white knickers were all torn off. Draco tossed them to the side as he looked at his now naked wife.
Her thin, pasty body disgusted him. She had not taken care of herself as a proper pureblood wife should, as his mother had.
He paused to make sure his spell was not breaking. There were stories of how, in near-death situations, people's magic could do things that should not be possible, allowed them to perform superhuman feats in order to save their lives.
Pansy's magic was pathetic and weak, her body did not so much as twitch. It seemed that only her vocal chords could move, making muffled sounds of desperation.
Draco smirked as he levitated his naked wife and dropped her into the tub.
There was a tidal wave in the tub. The water sloshed out and spilled over onto the tiled floor as Pansy's body sank to the bottom.
Draco stood over her with a gleeful look. He could see the sheer terror in her petrified eyes as air bubbles began to race up from her nose. He couldn't hear her, not truly, but his brain supplied the appropriate sounds of desperate struggle as water began to rush in through her nose as the last of her breath escaped her.
He didn't know how long he stood over her, but he was fixated on her eyes. Her eyes told the entire story, a crescendo of pure terror that peaked, only for them to slowly begin to glaze over, the light dissipating from her eyes until they were glassy, empty voids.
Pansy was dead.
He dispelled the petrification and her body relaxed, displacing a bit more water as her limbs spread out at the bottom of the tub.
“Goodbye, Pansy.” He whispered.
Now, it was time to work.
He started with the floor. There was a lot of foamy, soapy water that had been displaced. With a quick cleaning charm, it was all gone, the floor was nice and clean.
Next were her torn clothes, which he simply vanished into the aether.
He left the bathroom and went to her room. He went into her walk-in closet, the size of a poorer man's bedroom. He brushed past the racks of clothing - stopping to inspect the silky material of one particular dress robe that he remembered buying for her after graduation - and walked up to the wall, where a nice big oak cabinet stood.
He went to open the cabinet but to his surprise, it was actually locked. Usually, Pansy didn't bother with such things, seeing as she was always so desperately in need of its contents.
“Alohomora.” He heard the lock click and then he pulled the door open.
He took a moment to make his selection. Several bottles of firewhisky, a few bottles of mead, and some gin here and there.
He discarded all of them. The moment his eyes settled on the unopened bottle of blood red wine, he knew it had to be it.
It was a bottle Pansy had insisted she would never open, back before things had turned sour between them, back when they'd been happy to play lord and lady.
This bottle had been a wedding gift from Pansy's grandfather. The man had died shortly after, and Pansy must have had some sort of emotional link to the man, because she'd asked Draco if she could keep the bottle, and had kept it ever since.
“I couldn't think of a better time for you to drink up, dear wife.” Draco said with a sneer as he pulled the bottle out. He closed the cabinet and then locked it back up.
He doubled back, thought for a second, then unlocked it and left it open.
He uncorked the bottle and stepped back out onto the room. He tossed the cork and spilled some of the wine on the floor before conjuring up a wine glass and pouring himself a nice drink.
He placed the bottle on the nightstand and walked over to the bathroom. On his way there, unable to help himself, he took a small sip of the wine.
“Bitter.” He smacked his lips in distaste.
Pansy's corpse was still there, lying in her watery grave with empty, glassy eyes.
He leaned over and pulled her up. He opened her mouth, holding it open with one hand as he poured half the glass down her throat. Once he was done, he placed the half-empty glass on the edge of the tub.
He stood back to observe the scene one final time. Pansy Malfoy, at the bottom of a bathtub after having passed out from far too many drinks. Her problems were well known, practically an open secret, there would be no doubt as to what killed her.
Especially once he covered his tracks.
Draco left her room and made his way down the stairs. He walked past the drawing room, only to do a double take and turn around.
He aimed his wand at the newspaper rolled up on the table and burnt it to a crisp, vanishing the ashes before continuing on his way.
He went to one of the many unused rooms in the manor, a room that had a particular floorboard that, when tapped in the appropriate pattern, swung open into a hidden basement.
Inside of this basement was Draco's stash of dark objects, many inherited from his father, many more his own purchases. This time, though, he wasn't in need of anything malevolent. Not that it meant it wasn't powerful, in fact, it was the most powerful object in his entire collection.
“Ah, here we are.” His eyes lit up with glee as he opened a case and pulled out the golden necklace with a small hourglass, its sands sparkling as he put it over his head.
A time turner, illegally procured from the Department of Mystery's own stash. If he was ever found with this in his possession, no amount of riches nor influence would protect him, he'd likely be tossed through the veil.
Draco left the basement, sealed the trapdoor and then exited the room proper. He stood there, outside the door, for a good few minutes, running through everything he'd just done. Satisfied that he'd sufficiently covered his tracks, he turned the dial on the hourglass. Once. Twice. Three times in total.
He reappeared in the same spot, three hours prior. He re-entered the room and went down the trapdoor, stashing the time turner in a different spot from where he found it five minutes ago, three hours into the future.
After locking everything up once more, Draco smiled. His current self wouldn't be home for another fifteen minutes.
He went upstairs and removed his clothes, clothes that his current self would then put on. Then, he put on his finest dress robes and dragonhide shoes.
He had a ball to attend, after all.
He left his home mere minutes before he would arrive. And soon, he was strolling into a busy ballroom.
“Draco!” Blaize raised his hand in welcome. All the big names were here, from both dark and light families.
A perfect alibi.
“The missus not coming again, Drakey-poo?” Theo asked in a slight mocking tone as the others snickered.
Draco's face twitched. “She's at a friend's. She's not much into these sort of events.”
The boys were definitely itching to make some sort of joke, but decorum and the power he wielded prevented them from any such disrespect, instead, Crabbe gestured for one of the elves to bring Draco a drink.
“You must be devastated, huh, Theo?” Draco said as he took a sip of his wine.
Nott's brow furrowed. “How so?”
“Well, Cleansweep filed for chapter eleven, didn't they? Didn't you have a lot of gold invested in their comeback? ”
Nott's face contorted in distaste. “What?! Are you serious?!”
The others laughed derisively. “Only Nott would see that abomination of a prototype they sent out and think they had any shot.” Blaise said.
Nott spun on his heels and left as the others mocked him. Draco relaxed, the tenseness leaving him as he indulged in some drink and some banter, though always making sure to keep himself in check.
Several hours later, the party was winding down. Usually, Draco would have left by now, but he needed to continue being seen, and so he stayed on as the crowd of attendees began to thin out.
He'd long since killed Pansy by this point, but he needed to wait. Bulstrode or perhaps one of her many lovers would floo her. Thankfully, there were still a good amount of people there.
Bones was there as well, and at one point, someone approached the redhead and whispered into her ear. The woman's eyes widened and Draco pretended that he didn't see the immediately glance she shot his way.
A few minutes later, she approached him. “Malfoy.” She said in a wary tone.
He looked at her, the once meek Hufflepuff who now dared to think she could challenge the power of the pureblood elite, “Yes, director?”
She looked uncomfortable, her posture said as much. “Mr. Malfoy, I'm… I'm afraid I have some very bad news for you…”
…
The floo flared up, and a figure stumbled out of the fireplace, spinning around as they tried to keep their balance. Thankfully, one of the junior aurors was there, and they grabbed him by the shoulders to keep him upright.
Harry Potter let out a breath, shooting the young auror a thankful smile. “Thank you, I've always struggled with the floo.”
“Its fine, Lieutenant.” The auror said as he looked at his hands, covered in excessive amounts of soot.
Harry smiled guiltily as he began to brush off his wrinkled coat. “I brought that in from home. My floo's a bit wonky, get a lot of ash, need to get that checked. Anyways, where to?”
The auror pointed towards the stairs, “Second room to the left, sir.”
Harry tilted his head. “Thank you, thank you.”
He continued to brush off his coat, leaving a trail of black dust all over the pristine floors of the manor.
Upstairs, he found several aurors already canvassing the room. Overseeing everything was a certain pink-haired auror.
“Tonks.” Harry waved his hand at the metamorphmagus, who smiled back.
“Wotcher, Lieutenant. I see you still haven't ironed out that coat.”
Harry looked down at himself. “I swear I did it this morning. Must have wrinkled up in the closet.”
“I'm surprised Daphne lets you out like that, and with that hair, too.” Tonks said, pointing out his absolute mess of black hair.
Harry laughed as he rubbed his head. “Well, my wife, she has an early day tomorrow, she was already asleep. I had to tiptoe out of the room not to wake her up.”
Tonks rolled her eyes. “Well, Lieutenant, we've got a big one this time. She's in the bathroom.”
Harry nodded. “Let's go in then, shall we?”
Tonks led Harry into the bathroom, where a mediwitch was collecting her things and getting ready to leave.
Harry took a look at the body, which was now floating in the bathtub. He also noticed the glass of wine on the edge of the tub, half-full.
“Pansy Parkinson. She was my year at Hogwarts.” He stated soberly.
Tonks nodded. “Well, it seems that Pansy had a bit of a drinking problem. Got trashed, passed out in the tub, then drowned.”
“Accidental death.” Harry said.
Tonks nodded again. “Just called you in for due diligence. Sorry, Lieutenant.”
Harry waved her off as he looked at the mediwitch, who looked ready to depart. “Did you find anything?”
The mediwitch shrugged. “Not much right now. They said we couldn't move the body. Just took a few blood samples, I'll take them to St. Mungos and have them looked at.”
“Good, good. When we're done here, we'll set up an autopsy, if we need one.”
“You know how to contact me, Lieutenant.” The mediwitch gave them both a nod before she turned and left.
“I don't think there'll be need for an autopsy here, Lieutenant. Lady Malfoy's drinking problem isn't exactly a secret, and we don't need to open her up to see there'll be water in her lungs.” Tonks said.
Harry wasn't listening to her. Instead, he was crouching down, running a hand over the tile.
“What is it?” Tonks asked.
“You said she was probably drunk, right?”
Tonks snorted. “Probably? Lieutenant, there's a half-empty glass of wine right there. There's a half-empty bottle of wine back in the room, too, and she actually spilled a good amount on the carpet.”
“Hmmm.” Harry frowned as he continued to run his hand over the tile before getting up.
“So you're saying she was so drunk, she spilled wine on the carpet.”
“Yes.”
“But then. Why isn't there any water on the floor at all?”
“Huh?” Tonks asked in confusion.
“I mean, if she was that drunk, you would think that getting into a full tub, she would have spilled a lot of water over the edges, but this floor is completely dry, no sign there was any water… did the mediwitch figure out the time of death?”
“Umm… yeah, she said about an hour ago.” Tonks looked down at a paper she was holding. “Ten-fifteen.”
“So about fifty minutes ago.” Harry said. “Not long enough for it to dry.”
“Maybe she got into the empty tub and then filled it up.” Tonks proposed, not sounding at all convinced of the idea.
“Perhaps.” Harry said as he approached the tub. He picked up the glass of wine and sniffed it before placing it back down. Then he took a more direct look at Pansy's body.
He immediately looked away, wincing as he did. “They can take her away now, Tonks. Have them do an autopsy.”
“Right away, Lieutenant. Peters! Proudfoot!”
Harry walked out of the bathroom. He looked around the room, eyes taking it all in.
“Nothing has been touched here, correct?” He asked Proudfoot as he passed.
“No sir.”
Harry smiled at the man.
“By the way, sir, Lord Malfoy's being informed, he should be arriving soon.”
“Ah, right, Lord Malfoy. He was out?”
Proudfoot shot him an incredulous look. “I mean, obviously, sir. I'm sure he was at an event or something.”
“Right, right.” Harry returned to glancing around the room. He walked over to the wine stain on the carpet, crouching down and running his finger over it. He then stood up and walked over to the nightstand, where the bottle of wine stood tall.
Harry grabbed the bottle and held it up in front of him, sloshing about the blood red liquid under the light. He glanced over to the lone junior auror left in the room.
“Hastings, you know anything about wine?”
Hastings shrugged. “A little, sir. I wouldn't call myself an expert.”
“Hmm.” Harry squinted one eye as he continued to inspect the bottle every which way. “Me, I can't tell my merlot from my cabernet. My wife, Daphne, she always has to pick the wine, says I have no taste.”
“... right, sir.”
“Anyways, even to my untrained eye, this looks like a pretty expensive bottle of wine, doesn't it? Doesn't it look expensive to you?”
Hastings leaned forward to get a good look at the bottle. “I'd say so, sir.”
“That's a french wine.” Proudfoot said as he, Peters and Tonks walked out of the bathroom. Pansy's body was floating behind them, covered up in a sheet. “Its expensive, and I would guess that that vintage is a really rare one, as well. Probably worth our yearly salaries put together.”
“Expensive tastes, Proudfoot?” Tonks asked teasingly.
Proudfoot shrugged. “Some people know every twig of a Firebolt, even if they'd never be able to buy one.”
“So you'd say it's a very expensive wine, then? Hmmm… where is that cork?”
“Over here.” Tonks said as she picked it up off the floor and handed it to Harry.
Harry put the cork back in and handed the bottle over to her, “Have an expert assess it. I wanna know exactly how much this bottle costs.”
“It would go for around five thousand galleons at auction, if I had to guess.”
Draco Malfoy had a hand on the door, Director Susan Bones standing behind him, arms folded over her coat.
“Director Bones.” Tonks said. “Didn't expect to see you here!”
“I was attending the same event as Mr. Malfoy.” Susan said. “I was the one that broke the news.”
Draco walked up to the body wrapped up in a sheet, a deep frown on his face. He shook his head. “To think that it would end like this.”
“I know this has to be a terrible moment, Mr. Malfoy, losing your wife so suddenly.” Harry said.
Draco looked at him, taking note of his shabby, unkempt appearance. “And who are you?”
Harry grinned. “Lieutenant Harry Potter, from Homicide. At your service, sir.”
“Homicide?” He looked at Bones. “Why is there a homicide detective at the scene of an accidental death?”
“Its just procedure, Malfoy.” Susan said coldly.
“Hmmph.” He looked at Harry again. “And why exactly are you interested in the monetary value of my wife's wine, Lieutenant?”
“Oh well, it's very important, sir. You see, it begs the question.”
“Begs what question?”
“Why would your wife open such an expensive bottle of wine on a random Tuesday night?”
Draco sneered. “My wife is - was - an alcoholic, lieutenant. Her issues are a matter of public record. What did it matter to her how much the bottle cost? All she cared about was feeding her addiction.”
Harry paused for a moment before nodding, a contemplative look on his face. “Right. Right. I suppose that does make a lot of sense, sir. Sorry for asking. I'll just be moving along.”
Harry then walked over to the closet. Draco scoffed at him before he looked back to Bones. “When will these people leave my home?”
“They'll leave when I say they're done, Malfoy.” Susan spat, shedding any facade of propriety. “You're free to leave, I'll send word when we're finished.”
Draco glared at her, though he knew he had no legal leg to stand on, and so he settled for just folding his arms and glaring imperiously at them.
“Actually, director, I might need to ask Mr. Malfoy some questions.” Harry said as he walked out of the closet, finger held up in the air.
“Questions? What questions could I possibly answer? I wasn't here!”
“Questions about your wife, Mr. Malfoy. Did she have any enemies? Anyone wishing to do her any harm?”
Draco's brow furrowed. “Enemies? Pansy had plenty of people that found her hateful, repulsive even. But hate is a very strong word… what are you trying to imply anyways, Potter? Are you trying to say my wife was murdered?”
Harry nodded. “I believe that is a very real possibility, sir. I know this is an umcomfortable question, but… did your wife have any… lovers?”
“What kind of questioning is this?! My wife has just died, and you are accusing her of infidelity?! Director Bones, I want this man removed from the premises immediately!”
“Lieutenant Potter is my most trusted man, Malfoy. I will do no such thing.”
Harry put his hands up. “It's alright, director. Mr. Malfoy has been through a lot today, I'm sure. On second thought, I think the questions can wait until tomorrow, I'll just have a quick look around the rest of the house.”
Draco sneered. “Hmph. Be sure not to break anything. I doubt you could afford to pay.”
…
Draco awoke the next morning bright and early. For a moment, he forgot where he even was, then the events of the previous day came flooding back to him.
He'd done it. He'd rid himself of that loathsome shrew of a wife. He was free.
There was the matter of Bones and her bumbling detective, but he was not very worried about the situation. There was no evidence to gather, all the idiot could do was grasp at straws. He'd wandered around his home for nearly an hour last night and came up empty handed, of course.
“Tippy!” Draco called.
There was a loud pop as his elf came into existence, clad in a pillowcase with the Malfoy coat of arms.
The elf greeted him with a low bow and an enthusiastic voice. “How can Tippy be of help, master Malfoy sir?”
“Prepare my tea and fetch the morning paper. Be quick.”
“Yes sir!”
The elf popped away and Draco turned over in the bed. He smiled. He would have to floo call mother. She could take care of all the funeral preparations and the like. Narcissa Malfoy may not have been as strong as she once was, but she would always have the energy to organize an event, especially one as grand as Lady Malfoy's funeral.
Which gave Draco plenty of freedom to do as he pleased.
“GAWK!”
He shot up from the bed as he heard the screeching from his peacocks. The damned things better not be fighting again, or he'd be having peacock stew for dinner.
“What the bloody hell is it now?” He looked out the window, down at the grounds, and what he saw made him irate.
Out on his perfectly manicured garden, touching his exotic birds, was that damned Lieutenant Potter.
He practically blasted the window open as he thrust his head out and yelled. “What in the hell do you think you're doing in my home, Potter?!”
Harry, who had been kneeling down and stroking one of the peacock's delicate tail feathers, looked up at him, smiling broadly and giving him a friendly wave. “Morning, sir!”
“Are you deaf?! I could have you on trial in front of the entire wizengamot for this!”
“Aww, gee sir, I'm really sorry.” Harry slapped his forehead. “I thought of flooing ahead, but I figured you wouldn't have woken up yet.”
“And so you choose to invade my property?!”
Harry chuckled good-naturedly. “Well, I mean, I do have a warrant sir.” He pulled a folded-up piece of parchment out from his coat and waved it. “Remember, I wanted to ask some questions?”
Draco clenched his fists. “Make it quick. My patience wears thin, and you are vanishingly close to a point where you overstep your authority.”
Harry grinned. “Wonderful sir! I'll meet you downstairs.”
Draco stomped down the stairs as Tippy placed a tray of tea on a table. “Sir, there be a guest at the door. A Lieutenant Potter.”
“Let him in.” Draco said through gritted teeth.
Tippy went over to the door and opened it, and in stepped Potter with his shabby coat, worn out shoes and unkempt hair.
“Thank you, thank you.” He smiled at the elf.
“Would you be wanting some tea, sir?”
“Don't mind if I do!”
Harry watched after the elf as it went to prepare both cups.
“Fascinating creatures, those house elves. You know, my wife, Daphne, she used to have one - she was a Greengrass, very rich family - took her some getting used to to living without the little critters. But now, she wakes me up on Sunday mornings and makes me clean the entire house with her. Barely even lets me brush my teeth. Can you believe that, sir?”
Harry laughed, but Draco did not join him. He took his tea from Tippy but didn't bring it up to his lips, unlike Harry, who after another thank you to the elf, immediately took a sip.
“Wow! Outstanding, sir. Outstanding tea.”
“State your business, Potter. I have a busy day ahead of me. My wife just died, after all.”
“Right, right, sorry sir. I know you think I was going off on a tangent, about the house elf and all that. But if I may ask, this is your elf, correct?”
Draco sneered. “A blind man could see that, Potter. Tippy had been my elf for decades.”
“Since you've been married, I take it?”
Draco was caught off-guard by the question. “... yes, I suppose so.”
“I assume Mrs. Malfoy also gave orders to Tippy?”
“Yes, as any lady of the manor would, Pansy gave tippy orders.” Draco had his hands clasped behind his back, hiding the way he was clenching his fists as it dawned on him where the detective was going with this.
“I see, I see. Its just… sir, its a bit strange to me. Pureblood lady, comes home after a night out, you'd think she'd have the elf pour her drink out for her, prepare her bath,”
Deaco clenched his teeth. “For your information, Potter, Tippy was not at home last night. I instructed her to watch over my mother,”
“And she did not answer when your wife called for her?”
“If Pansy did call for her, which is not a surety, she would not have come. I instructed her to only answer to me. You see, Pansy was very dependent on the elf, and she would have taken Tippy away from my mother. Who truly needed her.”
Harry nodded. “That makes a lot of sense sir. A lot of sense. Thank you so much for clearing it all up.”
Draco felt a weight lift off his shoulders. “I take it you have been dissuaded of the ridiculous notion that my wife was murdered?”
Harry's brow furrowed. “Oh, no sir. No, not at all! In fact, I know for a fact that your wife was murdered.”
Draco saw red, his eyes brimming with rage. “You know for a fact?! What facts?! All you have is hunches and conjecture.”
Harry shook his head. “Not anymore sir. Not after the autopsy.”
“Autopsy?”
“Oh, yeah, ordered one last night. You see, sir, your wife, she had alcohol in her system for sure, but it was a miniscule amount. About half-a-glass of wine's worth.”
“...What?”
Harry nodded. “Yes sir, your wife was stone cold sober last night, which makes everything point in the direction of foul play.”
Draco was absolutely thunderstruck, all color draining from his face as Potter stood patiently before him, taking another sip of his tea. “This really is good tea sir. Is it chamomile?”
“Potter, lets get a few things straight.” Draco straightening his back and squared his shoulders, regaining his presence as the pureblood lord that he was. “There was no love lost between my wife and I. She was an alcoholic, a public embarassment. I will not pretend that a part of me, a large part of me, is not relieved that she is dead, that she no longer burdens me. Despite that, I wished to keep certain… aspects of our marriage a secret, an attempt to protect what little of her reputation remained. And mine, as well, of course. But now I see that it will be necessary. Pansy had many lovers throughout the years, there is no shortage of those that would have reason to try and have her killed.”
“Do you have any names, sir?”
Draco readily fed Harry names. He smiled at the detective, spoke to him in a flattering tone as he detailed every single one of her dalliances.
Harry was scribbling them all down on a notepad, and when he was done, he bowed his head. “Thank you so much, sir. You've been a real help! I'll get right on these leads.”
“Very good, see to it that justice is done, Potter.”
“Of course, sir. I'll see myself out.”
Harry walked toward the door, which Tippy held open for him. Draco smiled at the detective's retreating back, counting down the moments before he dissapeared from his home and went off on his wild goose chase.
Just as Tippy began to close the door, Potter turned around and put his arm out, keeping it open.
“Oh, just one more thing, sir. Silly me, I almost forgot.”
“What is it?” Draco could not keep the irritation from his voice.
“I grabbed your paper. It was out in the yard.” Harry reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a rolled up Daily Prophet. He tossed it over, the paper landing with a light smack at Draco's feet.
“Oh, I see. Thank you.”
“Yeah. You know, that's very interesting. A man like you, with so many business interests, of course you get every edition of the Prophet delivered to your home. Me? I like to go into town and pick it up, maybe read it with a slice treacle tart over at the Broomsticks.”
“...Is there a point to this, Potter?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry sir. My mind gets away from me sometimes. Anyways, I just find it interesting, cause I got here last night, and you know, the boys know not to touch anything, everything is kept as it is until I arrive, and for the life of me, I couldn't find the evening edition of the prophet anywhere. I practically searched the whole house and the grounds, sir, couldn't find it. Now, why would the killer take the newspaper, if they wanted people to think Mrs. Malfoy had been alone in the home?”
Draco coughed. “Potter, have you perhaps considered the possibility that Pansy took the newspaper? Perhaps she burnt it in a fit of anger.”
Harry blinked a few times. “Oh well… certainly that explains it then sir. You're completely right. I won't take up any more of your time, I'll be on my way.”
…
“What's this all about?”
They were seated at a corner booth at the Three Broomsticks. Graham Montague looked around nervously, it never helped your reputation when you were sitting across from two people clad in auror robes.
Well, one person clad in auror robes. The other had on an old, worn coat and was currently wrestling with a bottle of ketchup, tapping the bottom as he tried to get it to spill its contents over his potatoes.
“Just have Rosmerta give you another one, Lieutenant.” Tonks suggested.
“No, no. I know its in there.” Harry said as he brought the mouth of the bottle to eye level, inspecting its contents. “Yep. Its definitely in there, just a bit stubborn.”
“Use your wand, maybe?”
“Oh! Brilliant idea Tonks!” He tapped his wand on the side of the bottle, squirting far too much ketchup onto his plate.
Tonks turned back to Montague. “Anyways, like we were saying, Montague, we're here to talk to you about the death of Lady Malfoy.”
“Why me?” He asked defensively. “I've got no connection to the Malfoys. I've been kicked out of the pureblood circle, if you weren't aware.”
“No connection to the Malfoys? Are you sure? No connection to Lady Malfoy in particular?” Tonks pushed on.
Graham swallowed. He'd kept that affair under wraps. He didn't want Malfoy to start fucking with him, and Pansy was nowhere near a good enough fuck for him to risk his meagre livelihood. And yet, it seemed that it had all come out.
Between lying to the aurors and getting in trouble with Malfoy, he'd take his chances with Malfoy.
“Fine. We had a couple of flings. She hated her husband, needed to release some stress, I'm not exactly going to say no to some free sex.”
“You make it seem like it didn't go any deeper than that.”
“It didn't. We fucked a few times. We might not have even kissed, to be honest.”
Tonks frowned, but Harry made a noise as he licked his fingers clean and began to dry them off with a napkin. “I'll be honest with you, sir. I don't believe you had anything to do with Mrs. Malfoy's murder. Not at all.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Did you two ever talk? Did Mrs. Malfoy ever tell you anything? About her husband?”
Montague snorted. “Oh, she talked about Draco, all right. She cursed his name every chance she got, hated his fucking guts.”
Harry smiled. “Anything in particular? Did she ever mention anything specific that he'd done?”
Montague looked at him in confusion. “I thought this was about Pansy's murder?”
“It is.”
He shook his head. “She wouldn't say something like that to me. She wasn't that crazy. But everyone knows… I mean…” He froze up, eyes darting between both aurors.
“Go on.” Tonks said bitingly.
He swallowed. “Well, you know. You people have to know. Everyones knows Malfoy and Nott and Zabini and them… they're all into shady shit. Not that Pansy gave a fuck about any of that.”
Harry glanced at Tonks as he took a sip of his butterbeer. He put it down on the counter and looked at Montague. “You can go, sir.”
Montague didn't wait for a moment. He bolted from the table and was out the door in seconds.
Tonks frowned at Harry. “You're really not pressing these people at all. Are you that convinced that Malfoy did it?”
Harry quirked an eyebrow, shooting Tonks a coy smile that made her roll her eyes.
“Oh come off it, Lieutenant. I've been working with you long enough to know when you have your man picked out, and you haven't been wrong yet.”
“There's always a first time.”
“Cheeky. But anyways, the problem this time is, we know where Malfoy was. There are dozens of witnesses, including director Bones herself, who place him at a ministry ball from hours before the murder happened. So there's no way he himself could have done it. He could have set it up, but then we need to find the actual killer and get them to confess his involvement. Unless you're thinking polyjuice.”
Harry shook his head. “No. I discarded that one a while ago. No, witnesses at the ball said he didn't have a flask with him, wasn't drinking anything but what was being served at the event. And besides, something like this, he wouldn't want anyone else involved, too much risk of blackmail. No, I think he did it himself.”
Tonks stared at him blankly for a few moments. “Then what? Lieutenant?”
“Then what indeed.” He said mysteriously before quickly changing the subject. “Do we know where Mrs. Malfoy flooed in from?”
Tonks nodded. “Yeah, floo office says she came in from Nottingham. Millicent Bulstrode's home.”
“Well, maybe we should pay Bulstrode a visit?”
“I'll grab my coat, you pay the tab.”
“I'll pay the tab?”
“I have a feeling you're going to take me on a ride, I'm not gonna let you do it for free, Lieutenant.”
Harry chuckled. “Fair enough.”
…
Millicent Bulstrode was sniffling. She'd been crying, a lot, and it showed. On the table, a boneyard of used up tissue paper attested to that fact, with a few cracker crumbs arrayed in between them.
Across the table, Harry and Tonks looked on soberly as the woman blew her nose.
“I see Mrs. Malfoy's death has hit you very hard, Ms. Bulstrode.” Harry said.
Millicent glared at him. “You think? And can you cut the crap? We may not have talked much, but we went to school together, Potter.”
“Sorry, Millicent.”
She shook her head. “Pansy was my friend. She was a bitch. For most of her life she was an insufferable, mean little bitch, but I mean, we were Slytherins, that was par for the course.”
“Pansy had been visiting your home quite a lot recently, wasn't she?” Tonks asked.
Millicent eyeballed her before nodding slowly. “She'd been trying to get clean, she had. She knew she had a problem, she'd hit rock bottom. I don't know what did it, but at one point, she decided she's had enough. I helped her through it. She - she'd been one week sober that day, we celebrated with some cake. She cried her eyes out, told me she was done, that she was going to leave Draco once and for all.”
Harry quirked an eyebrow. “She said that?”
Millicent looked at him challengingly, “You want a memory?” Harry gestured for her to go on.
“She always said that. Always said she was done with all the lies, said she was finally going to leave him. It… she always said it, but that night, I really did believe her.”
Harry nodded along. “Did she ever go into any specifics, about Draco?”
Millicent shook her head. “She said things here and there, but she never said anything specific. You think he was involved, somehow? I never believed the idea that Pansy relapsed, not once!”
“I do believe Mr. Malfoy had something to do with her death. That's why I need you to help me, give me anything, any little bit that you know, Millicent.”
Millicent bit her lip, looking between the aurors before it seemed that her resolve strengthened. “Well, she did mention something about Theo Nott…”
…
There were two types of rich pureblood men: those who worked, and those who did not. There wasn't that much of a difference between them. Work for a pureblood wasn't what commoners thought of as labor. Where most of a commoner's life was dedicated to their job, for a pureblood, their job was a hobby, almost a form of playing pretend, even.
Theodore Nott was the perfect example. He nominally ran his family's main business: Nott's Warding Services. But, in practice, the warding was done by several hired hands - some of them were even half-bloods, a secret he would take to the grave - and the day to day operations were run by his administrative employees. He really did nothing for the family business besides show up every once in a while to make sure he was seen.
Today was one of those days. He was standing behind the counter of the storefront. It was empty, it was always empty, those who required their services would simply owl his administrative manager and schedule a consultation.
Still, people outside in the alley would walk by and see Theo behind the counter, and they'd know that despite being far above them in station, he still took time to be seen in public and ‘rough it out’, as it was.
The bell to the storefront rang. He wasn't sure if he'd ever heard that bell ring in his life.
In walked a disaster of a man with a frumpled coat, a large blueprint rolled up under his arm.
“Yes? How may I help you?” Theodore's voice was dripping with disdain.
“Afternoon, sir. I needed some work done on my home, and I heard you were the best in town.”
Theo's eyes narrowed, wondering whether it had been Blaise or Marcus that had sent this idiot his way as a childish prank.
“And what do you have there?” He pointed at the large roll.
“Oh, well, these are the blueprints to my house, sir. Went to the ministry office and picked them up.” Without asking, he placed them on the desk and unrolled them.
It was a small home. That, he could tell. Three bedrooms and two bathrooms. A little yard out back. Not much else.
“You see, my wife, she's been asking me for ages for a hot tub. Nice little place for us to relax. Both our kids are in Hogwarts now, you see, so we have plenty of time to ourselves. I figured, if we expanded our bedroom, there could be room for a nice little tub. Or maybe if we place it in the garden-”
“Sir, I am not the ward-master here. I would not be able tell you details on what can and cannot be done.”
“Oh? You're not a warder? Then who are you?”
Theo bristled. “I am the owner, Theodore Nott.”
“Oh! Theodore Nott! Well, Mr. Nott, isn't this great!” The man grabbed his hand and began shaking it before Theo had time to snatch it away. “I've been meaning to talk to you sir!”
“You have been meaning to talk to me?”
“Of course! Oh, where are my manners? My name is Harry Potter, sir. Lieutenant Harry Potter.”
“Lieutenant?”
“From Homicide, sir.”
Theodore's eyes narrowed, “What would a homicide detective need from me?”
Harry chuckled gently. “Oh, I'm sorry, sir. Happens all the time, you know? I tell people what I do, and they start getting worried that I'm going to pin them for killing Dumbledore. No need to worry, sir, you're not in trouble, not at all. I just wanted to ask some questions about Draco Malfoy.”
“Draco? What? Who did he murder?” Theo said with a snort.
“Well, you see, down in the department, they seem to have gotten it into their heads that his wife- that Mrs. Malfoy was murdered. Its highly unlikely, sir, but, they still need to check all the boxes, you know? So, they send people like me out, and we gotta ask questions so the paperwork looks good. Nothing will come off it most likely.”
“And what are your questions, Lieutenant?”
“Well…” Harry reached into his coat and pulled out a notepad, straining his vision to read what he'd written down. “Ah, yes. How did you find Mr. Malfoy that night, when he showed up at the ministry ball?”
“Found him? He was fine, I guess. Just regular old Draco. Well, we did make some jokes at his expense that irritated him, but nothing strange was going on.”
“I see. Anything else?”
“What else was there? I left before he found out about his wife. So I can't help you there. Besides that, all I remember with him that night is needling me about Cleansweep.”
“About Cleansweep, sir?”
“Yes, Cleansweep went under. I had some money invested in them, only a small amount, of course, and he decided to bash me over the head with it.”
“Hmmm.” Harry mused, “Tell me, Mr. Nott, when Mr. Malfoy mentioned the thing about Cleansweep, was that your first time finding out about it?”
Theodore looked taken aback. “Yes it was. Why does that matter?”
“You were heavily invested in them, they didn't deem it necessary to inform you?”
Theodore snarled. “I was not heavily invested in them, it was a paltry sum, really. Regardless, some disgruntled employee leaked the news to the Prophet before they had time to inform investors.”
Harry nodded along. “And Mr. Malfoy, he brought this up early in the evening?”
“Right when he showed up… around seven o clock, I'd say. Is that good enough for you?”
“Oh, that is more than good enough. You've been very helpful, sir! Thank you so much, it's really appreciated. And listen, about the ward scheme-”
“You can send an owl if you wish for a consultation. It carries a one hundred galleon initial fee.”
Harry's eyes widened as he put a hand on his forehead. “Oh… well… I'll definitely get back to you on that, sir. Most definitely, I will. May take a while, schoolbooks were a bit expensive this year.”
“I will await your owl.” Theo said, wishing for the man to leave.
Harry nodded and grinned. He grabbed his blueprints and backed out of the store. Theo just hoped the man would never darken his doorstep again.
…
“Buckbeack's been havin’ issues with his hoof, sir. Might have ta’ hold off on the next show fer him.”
Draco frowned as the big oaf fondly stroked the hippogriff's head. The beast seemed fine to him, the moody thing was far too coddled, and it likely didn't want to do anything out of sheer laziness, which the half-breed simpleton was more than eager to indulge in.
Still, Draco had too much on his plate right now. Pansy's funeral had just happened, and he still had many matters to settle at Gringott's and the ministry in relation to her passing. He didn't have the enegy to set the oaf straight.
“Do we have a replacement?”
Hagrid looked very happy and very relieved as he nodded, his big, bushy beard bouncing about. “Yes sir! I been’ trainin’ Bessie for a while now, she'll be show ready in no time.”
“Very well.” Draco waved dismissively. “Now, show me the foals.”
“Right this way, sir.”
Hagrid led Draco to another section of the stable. Much as Draco disliked being near him, he always kept close to Hagrid, since the Hippogriffs here all seemed to dislike him.
“Huh? Who's that?”
Draco peeked around the half-giant to see what he was blabbering about. His eyes widened in shock at who he saw.
Potter was in a corner of the stable, kneeling down and petting one of the foals. The mother was there, allowing all of this, though she did reach down and lightly peck at the detective's hair, making the man chuckle as he ducked his head away from her.
“Potter!” Draco hissed.
Harry looked over, smiling and waving as he stood up. Dusting his pants off as he walked towards them. “Mr. Malfoy! Good to see you, sir. Gotta say, these are some beautiful animals you have here.”
“Are you stalking me, Potter? How did you know I was here?”
“Oh. I'm not stalking you, sir, not at all. No, I was talking to one of your associates, Mr. Zabini, he was the one who said you'd be here.”
Draco's eyes narrowed. He gave Hagrid a nod of dismissal, and the man pulled Buckbeak away as he left them alone in the stables.
“Why are you here? Shouldn't you be looking for my wife's killer?”
“Oh, well, that's precisely why I'm here! I've made some progress, and I figured you'd want to know.”
Draco put his hands on his hips. “Well, go on then, enlighten me, Potter.”
“Well, there's a couple of really interesting things, sir. I visited Millicent Bulstrode, wonderful lady, your wife's best friend. Well, she said that Mrs. Malfoy had actually been sober for a week. Said she was getting clean.”
Draco whistled. “A whole week. What an achievement.”
“It lends credence to the idea that she was murdered. And the killer was certainly someone that knew her intimately. You see. The bottle of wine that was used, sir, Ms. Bulstrode said that was gifted to Mrs. Malfoy by her grandfather, she said she cherished that bottle, practically a family heirloom. Even in her worst days, she'd never even thought about opening it.”
“That doesn't tell us anything new, now, does it?”
“Oh. But it does. See, that detail, its not something you would tell a fling. No, that's something only someone with a deep emotional connection would know.”
“So it was a long term lover. Do you have a name, Potter? Or are you going to continue rambling on?”
Harry lifted a finger up and smiled, “I'm sorry, sir. I know I do get away from myself, but I promise this all leads somewhere. Anyways, I spoke to another of your associates. Mr. Theodore Nott.”
Draco's body tightened, but he remained stoic. Theo would not divulge any of their secrets. He was incapable of it, actually. There were a series of oaths that guaranteed it.
“And what of it?”
“First off, sir, I checked the floo records, and it shows that you traveled from your home to the ministry at around seven fourteen in the evening. Is that right?”
“Why are you asking if you already know? Yes, that sounds accurate.”
“Well, sir, I find myself a little perplexed. You see, the evening edition of the Prophet doesn't come off the presses until eight thirty, doesn't get delivered until around nine. I checked that day, too, they were sent out at the same time as always.”
“As fascinating as I find your ability to comb through public records, Potter, I still fail to see what the point of all this is. I am beginning to worry that you are wasting my time.”
“I'm getting to the good part, sir. You see, Mr. Nott, he said you made some sort of joke about his investment in Cleansweep, about how it failed.”
Draco paled, his stomach churning as he realized Potter's angle.
“He did?”
“Indeed. And now, he confirmed that this was early in the evening, mere minutes from your arrival. Well, sir, that bit of news about Cleansweep, that was something leaked by the evening Prophet. No one - not even someone heavily involved with the company like Mr. Nott was - none of them knew about it until the article came out. It was actually a big deal, sir, there were lots of internal reviews and things of that nature to figure out who the mole was, I believe it is still playing out.”
“Potter. What are you implying?”
Harry scratched the side of his head. “Well. Sir, its just… how could you have known? Not even Mr. Nott knew, sir, and yet, here you were, two hours before it became known to the public, with that information.”
There was silence, several moments of it, as Draco stared at Harry, thoughts twisting and turning inside of his mind as he clenched and unclenched his right hand.
And then, Draco snorted. “You really are a piece of work, aren't you, Potter?”
“Sir?”
“You come up with these far-fetched, frankly fantastical theories. Do you not realize who I am? I am Draco Abraxas Malfoy! I am the most powerful of lords, much more so than a pissant like Nott. Did you not consider the fact that I had my own insiders? Perhaps in the broom company, perhaps in the Prophet, perhaps in both! Did you not consider the fact that a man of my stature would be privy to information at a level that lowly men like you could never comprehend? Of course you didn't, your mind is far too simple for that.”
Draco shook his head. “No, instead, you come at me with these ridiculous ideas that I… that I what, Lieutenant? That I murdered my wife and then traveled back in time somehow? Do you not realize how ludicrous that sounds? You'd be laughed out of any courthouse in the nation.”
“Not so ludicrous, sir. Not if there was a time turner involved.” Harry said softly.
Draco chortled. “Time turner… time turner?! Time turners are kept under lock and key by the Department of Mysteries, surely you don't think-”
“You said it yourself, sir, you are a very powerful man. And, as it so happens, there's been a time-turner missing from the Department's records for quite a few years now, no one had been able to track it down.”
“Ludicrous. Simply ludicrous.” Draco shook his head. “Tell me, Potter, do you have any evidence? Anything concrete? Anything that wouldn't fall apart within the first few moments of a trial?”
Draco smirked at Harry's resulting silence. “I thought so. Now then, Potter, if you would kindly leave my property. If I see you snooping around my business any further, I will consider it harassment and take the proper legal measures.”
Harry scratched the back of his head, eyes downcast. “You are right, sir, I don't have anything, not yet anyways. If I were to get a search warrant, then things could become much more clear.”
Draco sneered. “You already had your search warrant, Potter. A second one, you will find, will be much more difficult to obtain. Even if you were to overcome the protest that I will immediately raise…” he smirked at Harry, “It'll all be for naught, you will find my home clean. You will have wasted ministry resources on a witch hunt. I doubt that will reflect well on you, Potter.”
Harry nodded slowly, and Draco was sure that even a man as simple as him understood now.
“All very good points, sir.” He waved goodbye before putting his hands behind his back. “I'll be seeing you around.”
Draco watched him leave with a smug smirk, watched with satisfaction as he twisted and apparated away.
“Hmmph! What a fool.” He looked around, eyes searching the grounds for the giant oaf to lead him to his foals.
“Do not underestimate him, Draco.”
Draco spun around, eyes narrowed as he leveled his wand at…
…Himself.
“What is this?”
It was himself, dressed just as he was now, staring down the barrel of his own wand with a bored expression.
“Put that down, will you.” His other self said.
“What are you?”
“Are you blind? I am you, Draco.”
Draco's eyes narrowed. “This is a childish trick of Potter's, is it not? You are an auror under polyjuice, I know it. He has gone too far, I will bring your entire department down for this!”
His counterpart remained cool, holding up a wand, his own exact wand. Draco's eyes widened, but they almost popped out when his counterpart opened up his cloak, revealing the time-turner slung around his neck.
“What?!” Draco reached out and grabbed it. Felt it. It was real, there was no denying it.
“Do you believe me now, Draco? Or do you wish for me to bring up our fun times back in Edinborough with those muggle girls?”
“Stop.” Draco's eyes narrowed. “I thought- I thought it was impossible… impossible to meet your past self. They said it would lead to insanity.”
“Lies. The ministry's attempt to keep us in line.”
Draco stared at himself, and then he smirked. “So we are the very first to discover this, then?”
His other self chuckled. “Another feather in the Malfoy cap. But I did not come here for a mere novelty. Listen well: in about thirty minute's time, Potter will attempt to raid your home.”
“What? That is preposterous, he would need a-”
“He will do so without a warrant. The fool that he is, he is gambling that by securing our many special artifacts, his higher-ups will forgive the manner in which he found them.”
An evil smirk dawned on Draco's face. “I will have his head.”
His past-self cackled. “Oh, yes. I will not be satisfied with only his badge. For this, he will see Azkaban. Now, listen, I will remain here, you return home, gather up all of our secret items and use the time-turner.”
“Then, I shall hide them.”
His past-self smirked evilly. “Oh, you will adore this. We have hidden them in Pansy's grave.”
Draco's eyes widened, and then he matched his own evil smirk. “That bitch will finally be useful.”
“Indeed.”
Draco nodded. “Very well. I shall take my leave, then.”
“I would wish you luck, but then, our success is guaranteed, is it not?”
The two shared one final laugh before Draco twisted in place and popped away to his Manor.
In around twenty minutes, Draco was hoisting an endless bag stuffed full of every single dark item he owned. He'd cleaned out the secret room, and he'd also made a sweep of the manor, just in case there was anything he'd missed.
He slung the time-turner over his head and turned it several times.
A few hours earlier, he was walking through the cemetery. It was mid-morning and the sun was shining bright high up in the sky. It was broad daylight, but the cemetery couldn't be any emptier. It made sense, of course, otherwise his past self would have chosen another place.
He walked up to Pansy's grave. There were wreaths of flowers laid out over it, Draco brushed them aside with a wave of his wand. Another flick lifted up the pile of dirt covering the grave. Draco gently placed the mound beside the hole.
Down there, six feet below ground, in a pine box, was his dear wife.
“Pansy, its been a while. I must say, I like you better like this.”
He levitated the bag down onto the grave, placing it atop Pansy's casket. Satisfied with his work, he prepared to move the soil back over the grave.
“Incarcerous!”
Panic coursed through him as ropes wrapped around his body. He wobbled as he was perilously close to falling into the grave, but someone quickly levitated him, keeping him upright.
“All-right, boys, you can go right in and check on that bag.”
All around Draco, there was movement as red-cloaked figures stepped up to the grave, one of them levitating the bag up out of the ground.
“What is the meaning of this!” Draco yelled as he saw Potter approaching him, along with a pink-haired auror and Director Bones. “Director Bones, I want this man fired on the spot!”
“Mr. Malfoy, why exactly did you toss that bag into your wife's grave?” Susan asked.
Draco paled. He had no answer. He was caught. But how?
His ropes were dispelled, though his hands and legs were quickly shackled. Potter reached out and pulled down the neck of his robe, revealing the time-turner.
“Son of a bitch!” Tonks said. “He actually does have it.”
At this moment, Draco didn't care about what would happen to him, didn't care that the time-turner alone guaranteed him life in Azkaban, didn't care that he had led the Malfoy line to disgrace. No, right now, there was only one thing that he cared about.
“How? Potter? How did you do this?”
Harry grinned ruefully. “Well, sir, it's a simple plan, really. I went off on the assumption that you were in possession of a time-turner, and I thought, If I could only get you to use it, and catch you in the act, well, that would be the case right there.”
“But… but…”
“So I guess we have to do what you planned? I'm supposed to become ol’ Drakey-poo?” Tonks asked.
“Yes, seems so. Director, it would help a lot if we extract his memories for review. Sir, if I may ask, how many hours did you go back?”
“T-Three.” Draco stuttered, still trying to make heads or tails of the situation.
“Right, so, that probably gives us a couple of hours. I was planning on visiting him at the stables at around noon. Would you say that was an accurate time, sir?”
“Yes.” Draco said blankly, his mind now going numb.
“Good, so, if we can get that memory out, we can figure out exactly how we need to play it to convince him to come back here.”
Susan nodded towards a pair of aurors. “Interrogation room three, we'll be right behind you.”
The aurors dragged Draco along as Harry, Tonks and Susan stood behind. Harry was biting off the wrapping on a cigar, which he then put in his mouth, lighting it with the tip of his wand.
“Lieutenant, this was insane even for you.” Tonks said, completely awestruck.
Harry shrugged as he took a couple of puffs on the cigar. “It wasn't that complicated, Auror Tonks. Really, the biggest thing was ensuring that when he used the time-turner, he'd go to a place where we could pin him down.. that's why you're going to disguise yourself as him. Mr. Malfoy, he has a very high opinion of himself.”
Susan chortled. “So if he hears himself telling him to do something, he'll follow those instructions, word for word.”
Harry nodded, a playful smirk on his face as he took the cigar from his mouth. “Indeed. Now come on, we still have work to do.”