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Scars, Part 25
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairings: Snape/Lupin, Ash/Tsubasa; also a little Theodore/Blaise, Dylan/Hermione, and Aric/Takeshi
Author's note: {} Indicates character's unspoken thoughts.
Disclaimer: Based on the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made off this story; consider it a little wish fulfillment on my part.
Warning: AU. This story contains a character from Half-Blood Prince, but does not follow the HBP storyline.
Sequel to: Always, Summer Vacation, For Old Time's Sake, Three's a Crowd, Return of the Raven, Phoenix Reborn, Phoenix Rising, Aftermaths, The Revenant, Ash's Story, and Summer Vacation III.
Summary: Snape is a suspect in Delauney's murder, and Dawlish has a very bad day at work. To be honest, not much happens in this chapter, but I had an image in my head of Dawlish pacing around the Snape Manor's waiting room, and I thought it might be fun to write a scene with him trying to deal with Lady Selima.
Part 24
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Snape was in the middle of teaching his seventh-year Advanced Potions class when Dumbledore's face suddenly appeared in the fireplace and said, "I apologize for interrupting your class, Severus, but something rather urgent has come up. May I see you in my office?"
"Very well, Headmaster," Snape replied, heaving an impatient, irritated sigh to disguise his worry. As annoying as Dumbledore could be at times, he did not interrupt classes on a whim. Something serious must have happened, probably another murder. Snape scowled, thinking to himself that he should have found a way to "accidentally" poison Greyback back during the first war. Then they wouldn't be having this problem now.
The students were eyeing him nervously, and Snape turned back towards them and said in a crisp, stern voice, "Continue working on your potions. If I am not back by the end of the period, label them and leave them on my desk when you are done. Mr. Rosier, I will leave you in charge while I am gone. Feel free to hand out detention if necessary." That last comment was mainly for show, as this class was reasonably well-behaved, even the Gryffindors, who followed the example of the surprisingly practical and sensible Ginny Weasley. If not for the red hair, he might have doubted that she came from the same family as her idiot brothers.
Still, Snape had a reputation to uphold, and he couldn't let the students think that he might be going soft, so he glowered at them menacingly, just on principle. Dylan respectfully replied, "Yes, Professor," and the other students nodded, looking properly meek and obedient. Or maybe they were just as worried as he was; most of them read the Daily Prophet regularly, and they must be aware of the recent string of murders. But he preferred to think that it was he who had cowed them, and for pride's sake, didn't bother to verify their motives.
He left the classroom and reported to the Headmaster's office, where he found a concerned-looking Dumbledore and Lupin waiting for him, along with a very irate Dawlish.
"Oh, bloody hell," Snape sighed wearily. "Who got killed this time, and why are you wasting time checking in at Hogwarts? You must know by now that the killer isn't Randolf or anyone else from Diggory's pack, and it's certainly not Lupin. So why aren't you out looking for Greyback?"
"First of all, we have only your word for it that Greyback is even alive," Dawlish retorted. "I don't believe that you would hesitate to lie in order to protect Lupin." Snape felt his face flush with anger, but as he opened his mouth to argue, the Auror continued, "However, Tonks and Shacklebolt are convinced, and I am willing to concede that Lupin has never seriously been considered a suspect in the murders, and you don't seem to care enough about Randolf to concoct such an unlikely story for his sake. Therefore, even though I still have a few reservations, I AM taking the threat of Greyback seriously, because I cannot afford to ignore the possibility that a Death Eater may be on the loose. Despite the new curfew, there was a murder last night--a prostitute in Knockturn Alley slain in the same manner as the Madleys and Mrs. Abbott and Mr. Pepper. I have all my people out searching for any clues to Greyback's whereabouts."
"So what are you doing here?" Snape asked waspishly, but he relaxed slightly. Dawlish seemed to have grudgingly accepted that Greyback was the culprit, so he was probably here to see if Snape, as a former Death Eater, might have any ideas where his former colleague could be hiding.
But to his surprise, Dawlish continued, "However, that is not why I am here. There was another murder that took place last night--one in which you are the suspect, Snape."
"Me?!" Snape exclaimed incredulously.
"Sebastien Delauney was murdered last night," Dawlish said coldly, staring at Snape's face intently, as if searching for signs of guilt. "Poisoned, to be specific."
"And as a Potions Master, I am of course the prime suspect," Snape said with a humorless, cynical smile.
"That and the fact that Delauney was trying to steal your inheritance, yes," Dawlish replied. "The healers determined that what killed him was some brandy laced with a hemlock-based poison. Something well within the capabilities of a Master-class potion brewer, I was informed."
"Severus couldn't have killed anyone!" Lupin protested indignantly.
"Your faith in your lover is touching," Dawlish sneered. "But I have not forgotten that he used to be a Death Eater, even if you have, Lupin." He turned back to Snape. "You can't tell me that you spent all those years serving You-Know-Who without ever getting blood on your hands. Perhaps you could even justify it by saying that you had to participate in the Death Eaters' raids and murders in order to keep your cover. But the war is over, and you can't use that excuse any longer. Delauney may have been an opportunistic little weasel, but that still doesn't justify murder."
"You misunderstand me, Richard," Lupin said with an air of cool dignity. "I did not mean that Severus is not capable of taking a life under the right circumstances. He would not kill on a mere whim, of course, but I am sure that he would do whatever is necessary to protect me or our sons if our lives were in danger."
Dawlish was so stunned, gaping at Lupin in openmouthed astonishment, that Snape couldn't help but smile in amusement, although he was taken slightly aback by Lupin's statement as well.
"You aren't exactly helping my case, you know, Lupin," he murmured into his lover's ear.
"Then you agree that Snape could have killed Delauney!" Dawlish said triumphantly, quickly recovering from his shock. "He was protecting the family fortune, after all!"
Lupin shook his head. "No, Severus would kill to protect the lives of those he loved, but he would never kill simply for money."
"If you must attribute noble motives to him," Dawlish retorted in a condescending voice, "then I could argue that he was protecting his mother and son, who would be left homeless and destitute if Delauney was awarded the Snape estate."
"I would beg to differ," Lupin said quietly. "But that still isn't what I meant. When I said that Severus could not have killed anyone, I didn't mean that he was morally incapable. I meant that it is physically impossible, because he was with me all of last night. We had dinner together in the Great Hall, then went to our quarters and spent a couple of hours grading papers and working on lesson plans. Then we played a game of chess, which didn't last very long, since I'm a rotten chess player, and then we turned in and went to bed early." Lupin smiled suggestively. "Although we didn't actually go to sleep right away. I can testify without a doubt that Severus was much too, er, shall we say...occupied...to have been running around poisoning anybody."
"Lupin!" Snape hissed, his face turning scarlet. His only consolation was that Dawlish looked even more mortified than he did.
"That was...a little too much information, Lupin," Dawlish said through gritted teeth. "You need simply have said that he was with you all night. However, the testimony of a spouse or lover is not a reliable alibi."
"I would be happy to verify that statement under Truth Potion," Lupin said, smiling sweetly. "In as much detail as you would like."
Dawlish recoiled in disgust, and Dumbledore chuckled softly, then disguised it with a cough when the Auror turned to glare at him. "Since when does the Ministry doubt the testimony of a war hero, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, Mr. Dawlish?" the Headmaster asked genially, but there was a hint of steel beneath that kindly tone of voice.
"I will accept Lupin's word...for now," Dawlish replied sullenly, like a schoolboy being deprived of an expected treat. "In the meantime, I shall move on to the next suspect on my list: Selima Snape." He flashed a malicious smile at Snape. "In a way, she has an even stronger motive to get rid of the rival heir. You embraced the image of a rebel and outcast when your parents disinherited you, Snape, but your mother has no job, no other means of support, and most importantly, no status beyond her role as matriarch of the Snape clan. She would lose everything if you lost the estate."
"That may be true," Snape snarled, fighting to control his temper. He was sure that Dawlish would be happy to arrest him for assaulting an Auror, since he couldn't make the murder charge stick. "But my mother's methods have always involved political manipulation rather than murder."
"That may be true," Dawlish echoed mockingly. "But she has never stood to lose so much before. Desperate times call for desperate measures."
"You swore an oath to protect the wizarding world," Lupin said coldly, before Snape had a chance to respond. "But you seem to be less interested in justice than you are in twisting the evidence in order to carry out your own personal vendetta. Don't forget that you were wrong about Severus before."
"I haven't forgotten, Lupin," Dawlish said curtly. "But neither have I forgotten that Snape used to be a Death Eater, and he isn't all sweetness and light as you would make him out to be."
"I would never try to claim that Severus is all sweetness and light," Lupin replied. "But--"
"I don't have time to argue with you, Lupin," Dawlish interrupted. "I have a killer to catch."
The Auror abruptly departed, and Snape sighed morosely, "I suppose I should warn my mother." Lady Selima had a tendency to vent her ire on the bearer of bad news, regardless of whether or not they were actually responsible for the bad news in question.
But when he contacted her through the Floo, Selima simply frowned and said calmly, "Very well, Severus. I shall prepare to receive our guest."
"Do you want me to come over?" Snape asked cautiously. "Or perhaps send Morrigan?"
"I think I can manage to handle a single Auror by myself," Selima replied, sounding rather insulted. "Although you should keep Ms. De Lacy informed, in case Dawlish intends to persist in his persecution of you."
"All right, Mother, but--"
Selima waved her hand dismissively. "I have been dealing with these supercilious Ministry types for all of my adult life, Severus. You may return to your classes and leave Mr. Dawlish to me."
Selima's face vanished without waiting for a reply, and Snape scowled at the empty fireplace. "Did she just, in essence, tell me to run along and teach my classes like a good little boy?"
"Well, that's not quite what she said," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling merrily. "However, it is true that dealing with Ministry politics is her specialty."
Lupin smiled and said, "I almost feel sorry for Dawlish...almost."
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
After Dawlish left, Snape made a little side trip to St. Mungo's to speak to his former student before returning to class.
"Yes, I helped examine the body," Takeshi Kimura said, frowning. "There were no claw or bite marks, nothing to indicate that it might be a werewolf attack. Blood tests confirmed that the cause of death was poisoning."
"If Greyback was the killer, that shows more control than I thought he was capable of," Snape said thoughtfully. "Of course, one of the Macnairs, or whoever is actually pulling Greyback's strings could have done it. I have to admit that it is the sort of thing a Slytherin would do, if they were planning to commit murder--set someone else up to take the blame."
"There was some bruising on Delauney's arm, as if someone grabbed him during a struggle," Takeshi added, still frowning. "It bothered me slightly, since it seems incongruent with the poisoning. Dawlish thought that perhaps Delauney realized that the brandy was poisoned after drinking it and struggled briefly with his killer. They found a shattered glass on the floor of Delauney's room, so that makes sense. But the type of poison that was used to kill him is supposed to be tasteless. So Delauney shouldn't have been able to detect it."
"Interesting," Snape mused. "A strange combination of physical force and poison, which is normally used to avoid such force."
"Dawlish didn't seem to care," Takeshi said dryly. "He has his heart set on blaming you for the murder, Professor. Although I suspect that he knows deep down that you didn't do it."
"And are you sure that I didn't do it, Mr. Kimura?" Snape asked, arching an eyebrow, his expression deadpan.
"Of course not," his former student replied with a smile. "If you killed someone, you would be sure to do it in such a way that no blame would fall on you. Most likely it would appear to be a perfectly innocent and tragic accident, I imagine."
Snape laughed out loud. "You have a very vivid imagination, Mr. Kimura."
"Yes, Professor," Takeshi said meekly, although there was a faint glint of laughter in his eyes. "It probably comes from reading too many novels."
"Just don't share any of your imaginings with Dawlish; it might give him ideas, and he has enough of his own as it is."
"Yes, Professor."
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Dawlish Apparated to Snape Manor, but had to knock on the front door and ask for admittance, since the mansion was warded with anti-Apparition spells and its Floo connection was sealed against outsiders. Perfectly normal and logical precautions, especially for such a wealthy family, but it still annoyed Dawlish to be left standing on the doorstep like some peddler. Finally an elderly house-elf opened the door and politely inquired as to his business, and Dawlish informed it that he needed to speak to the Mistress of the house. The house-elf escorted him to a waiting room and then set off to "inform the Mistress right away".
Dawlish took a seat on an elegantly carved wooden chair that was beautiful to look at but rather uncomfortable to sit in. He shifted his weight and tapped his foot on the floor impatiently, wondering just how long the house-elf meant by "right away". Maybe it was deliberately being insolent and taking its time. Then again, the house-elf did look rather old; maybe it just took a long time for the poor wretch to hobble from one end of the huge mansion to the other. He sighed irritably and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.
After about fifteen minutes, the house-elf returned alone, carrying a tray laden with a tea service and a plate of small cakes. "Where is your Mistress?" Dawlish demanded as the house-elf set down the tray on a nearby table.
"Mistress apologizes for the wait," the house-elf said obsequiously. "Mistress was occupied with business, but says that she will be with the Auror shortly. Vorcher was ordered to bring the Auror refreshment while he waits."
"I didn't come here for tea," Dawlish snapped. "Inform your Mistress that I am here on very important Ministry business, and that I need to speak to her at once."
"Vorcher will do so," the house-elf said, bowing low, before scuttling out of the room. Dawlish noticed that it could move pretty fast for such an ancient-looking creature, and decided that any delay was probably deliberate on Selima's part. It was common for the purebloods to play little power games, like keeping an unwanted guest waiting.
He rose from his chair to ease his sore backside, and paced around the room. After a few minutes he decided that he might as well have a cup of tea while he waited, since the tray was already there. He poured out a cup and inhaled the aroma, recognizing it as a very fine and expensive blend, but he would expect nothing less from Lady Selima. He was about to take a sip when he realized that maybe it wouldn't be wise to eat or drink anything offered by a suspect in a fatal poisoning. But the tea did smell so very good, and it was something that he couldn't often afford on his Auror's salary...
He finally admitted to himself that he didn't really think Selima was a murderess--at least, she would never dirty her hands with such a crime directly, although she might possibly hire someone else to do it for her. It was much more in character for her to solve a problem through bribery or blackmail, but Professor Snape had annoyed Dawlish so much that he'd made a point of singling out Selima as a suspect just to get back at him. Besides, the Snapes were the most obvious beneficiaries of Delauney's death, and he could not in good conscience dismiss them as suspects without questioning them first.
Dawlish had heard many unflattering things about Selima Snape, but none of her detractors had ever described her as stupid, and even if she had killed Delauney, he was pretty sure that she wouldn't be foolish enough to poison an Auror in her own home. Still, just to be on the safe side, he cast a few poison detection spells on the tea and cakes.
The spells detected nothing, so Dawlish drank the tea, which tasted as good as it smelled, and munched on a couple of cakes. That distracted him for a few more minutes, but his impatience quickly returned, and he resumed pacing the room. He was an Auror on Ministry business, damn it! That arrogant witch had no business keeping him waiting like he was a nobody. He ought to have her arrested for obstructing an investigation...except, he suddenly remembered, that Selima had formed a close friendship with the Minister's wife. Oh, she really was a conniving bitch! Much more clever than her son, Dawlish grudgingly conceded. For someone who was supposed to have been an expert spy, Snape had surprisingly little tolerance for playing politics or currying favor. Or maybe it was precisely because he had played the role of You-Know-Who's lackey for so long that he took such pleasure in being as abrasive and obnoxious as possible.
Dawlish felt an unexpected flicker of sympathy for the Potions Master before he reminded himself that he still wasn't convinced that Snape was not merely a clever opportunist who had switched sides at the last minute when he saw that the Death Eaters were losing. Besides, after the war, Dawlish's world had been turned upside-down, and he couldn't help but suspect that Snape was partially responsible, although he laid most of the blame on Albus Dumbledore.
Dumbledore, who had somehow managed to manipulate not just a former Death Eater, but Harry Potter, the boy hero of the war, into doing his bidding. And he was sure that it was Dumbledore who had been behind Arthur Weasley's selection as Minister of Magic. True, Fudge had been an idiot at times, but at least he had been a predictable idiot, one who would not shake the very foundation of the wizarding world. Break that foundation, and the society it supported would very likely crumble along with it. Not all of Weasley's ideas were bad ones, but he was pushing for too much change too soon. Giving werewolves equal rights, for Merlin's sake! Give them the Wolfsbane Potion, fine. Help them get jobs so that they didn't have to starve or live off charity, well that was admirable within reason, as long as one didn't put them in sensitive positions at the Ministry. Dawlish scowled as he thought of Ash Randolf.
But to take them off the Registry, let them run around free without monitoring them? That was madness! Well, Fenrir Greyback had never been on the official Registry, but that was beside the point. The public was in a frenzy, the Ministry officials were fighting over position like dogs over a bone, and Dawlish just hoped that he wouldn't be dragged down along with Weasley when the Minister finally fell off his pedestal.
The tea was now cold, and Dawlish was sick of pacing around the room, so he decided that he would track down Selima himself if he had to. But Vorcher appeared in the doorway, stretching out his arms to bar Dawlish from exiting the room. "Mistress said to wait here," the house-elf said firmly.
"I don't care what 'Mistress' said!" Dawlish barked. "I don't have time to sit around all day waiting for your Mistress to decide whether she's going to see me or not! I have a murder to solve, so get out of my way and let me do my job!"
The servile, cringing manner of the house-elf had vanished, and it glared up at Dawlish, angry and defiant. {It figures,} Dawlish thought to himself, half annoyed and half amused. {Everyone in the Snape family is arrogant, right down to the bloody house-elf!}
"The Auror will not trespass in the Snape mansion!" Vorcher shouted. When it raised its hands, visibly glowing with a magical aura, Dawlish's amusement turned to alarm and he quickly drew his wand. At most times, house-elves appeared harmless, even comical, but they were capable of performing spells that many wizards could not cast even with a wand. The only thing that kept them from becoming a threat was the fact that they were bound to use their magic only in service to their masters. However, when those masters happened to be Dark Wizards...
"If you harm my house-elf, I shall file formal charges against you, Mr. Dawlish," a cool voice said, and Selima Snape appeared behind Vorcher in the doorway.
"'Your' house-elf?" Dawlish scoffed. "A house-elf belongs to the head of the family--which in this case would be Professor Snape, not you." He noted with satisfaction that his little barb had struck home when he saw Selima's eyes narrow with irritation.
"Very well, the Snape family's house-elf, Mr. Dawlish," Selima amended in an acid tone of voice that sounded remarkably like her son's. Snape must have gotten it from her, although his late father had hardly been a ray of sunshine, either.
"I had no idea that you were such a proponent of house-elf rights," Dawlish retorted sarcastically. "And what charges could you possibly lay against an Auror carrying out his duty?"
"Wanton destruction of property, for one thing," Selima replied. "A house-elf's worth cannot be measured in gold, and even if it could, not even ten years' worth of your salary could come close to matching it."
Dawlish scowled at the Snape matriarch and the pointed reminder that his own family, while pureblooded, ranked far below the Snapes and had no house-elf of their own. "I didn't harm the damned elf--"
"Because I interrupted you before you could."
"It was about to attack me! I was defending myself!"
"Vorcher was only doing his duty, protecting the mansion against intruders."
"I am not an intruder! I am an Auror on official business!"
"And do you happen to have an official search warrant?" Selima asked with a small, superior smile that indicated she already knew the answer.
"No," Dawlish replied sullenly.
"Then you have no right to search the house without my permission." She paused for a moment, then added sarcastically, "Or my son's, since it technically belongs to him."
"I was not searching the house!" Dawlish snapped. Merlin's Beard, the mother was even more infuriating than the son! "I was searching for you, since you didn't deign to grace me with your presence! This is a murder investigation, Mrs. Snape, not a game!" He deliberately used the more modern term instead of the traditional title of "Lady," just to spite her. "And if you aren't willing to cooperate, I can come back with a warrant!"
"Now, now, this is all just a simple misunderstanding," a male voice chuckled good-naturedly. "We had called upon her just before you arrived, and she needed to see to her first set of guests before attending to the second. So I am afraid that the delay was all our fault, but I assure you that no disrespect was intended."
Vorcher stepped aside to allow Selima to enter the room, along with her guests--a man about the same age as her, who had black hair with streaks of white sweeping dramatically back from his temples, and a younger woman, pretty and dark-haired, who was gazing at Dawlish nervously.
"And you are?" Dawlish demanded.
"Prospero Zabini, at your service," the man said, bowing with a courtly flair. "And my daughter-in-law, Olivia." The woman nodded politely, but still regarded him warily.
Dawlish vaguely recollected that the Zabinis were an old pureblood family fallen on hard times. There had been a minor scandal when a rumor started that Snape's son and the Zabini boy were lovers, although Dawlish hadn't paid much attention to it at the time. "And what are you doing here?" he asked suspiciously.
"We were paying a social call upon Lady Selima," Prospero replied nonchalantly. "She and I are old acquaintances from Hogwarts, and my grandson and hers are friends."
The Zabinis were far beneath the Snapes in both wealth and social status, not the sort that the snobbish Lady Snape would usually associate with, and Dawlish wondered if there was something more going on than a casual friendly visit.
"An old school friend calling upon a wealthy widow, eh?" Dawlish asked in a deliberately suggestive and insulting manner. Not that he really thought Selima would seriously consider a suitor whose rank was so far below hers, but sometimes it was possible to provoke people into saying more than they intended when they lost their tempers. And it might be a little petty, but he still wanted to get back at Selima for keeping him waiting for so long.
She gave him an icy look that would have frozen him solid if she could have cast spells with her eyes alone, but Prospero remained unfazed. "Lady Selima would never dishonor her late husband by accepting a suitor before the official mourning period was over, if that's what you are implying, Mr. Dawlish," he said calmly. "I am here as a friend, nothing more. And Olivia is here as well, to prevent even the appearance of impropriety that might result from a man and woman meeting alone." He smiled, practically radiating innocence and sincerity.
Which immediately made Dawlish even more suspicious, since "innocence" and "Slytherin" were two words that generally did not fit together. "But marrying the Snape widow would certainly help fill the Zabini coffers, wouldn't it?" he sneered.
"Not necessarily," Prospero replied pleasantly. "By law it is Severus, as Lord Snape, who has control of the Snape fortune. Hypothetically speaking, he might choose to gift his mother with a dowry if she remarried--but then again, he might not, particularly if he did not approve of her hypothetical suitor. Fortunately, the Zabini coffers are full enough, if not exactly overflowing, though I thank you very much for your concern, Mr. Dawlish."
"I hadn't realized that the junk shop was doing so well," Dawlish retorted mockingly.
The Zabini Lord's smile remained amiably ingenuous, although Olivia was glaring at Dawlish by this point, and Selima's icy stare had been honed to a knife-like edge, causing Vorcher to sidle nervously away from his mistress. "Oh, the junk shop is turning a small profit," Prospero said cheerfully. "But the real money comes from my book royalties--"
"Father!" Olivia cried reproachfully, arousing Dawlish's curiosity.
"Royalties? Are you saying that you're an author?"
"Oh, I dabble a bit with the quill and ink," Prospero said modestly. Selima's icy glare seemed to thaw slightly with amusement, while Olivia grew more distressed.
"Father! You promised that you would be discreet about this!"
It had nothing to do with the murder investigation, but Dawlish just had to ask in order to satisfy his own curiosity. "What have you written? I've never heard of an author named Zabini."
"I go by the pen name Ariel Zoltaire since my prudish son believes that writing romance novels is not an appropriate occupation for a proper Slytherin."
"You're Ariel Zoltaire?!" Dawlish exclaimed excitedly without thinking. "You're the author of 'The Beggar Prince' and the 'Demon Trilogy' and...?" His voice trailed off and he flushed when he noticed that the women were staring at him in disbelief and Prospero was grinning widely. "Ahem," Dawlish said, clearing his throat and attempting to recover his dignity. "I've heard of you, of course," he continued, trying for a more indifferent tone of voice. "You're on the bestseller list at Flourish and Blotts, and several of the young witches at the Ministry read your books."
"I have many female fans, it's true," Prospero said with a wink and a knowing smile. "But you might be surprised to learn that I have many male readers as well. In any case, I am now making a good living off my books, and have no need to marry for money, even if Lady Selima wished to remarry--"
"Which she doesn't," Selima said firmly.
Dawlish cleared his throat again and said gruffly, "Well, getting back to the original purpose for my visit...have you heard that Sebastien Delauney was murdered last night, Lady Selima?"
"Yes, it was in the Daily Prophet," she replied coolly. "Although they said only that he was found dead under 'suspicious circumstances'."
"The circumstances were that he was poisoned," Dawlish informed her. "May I ask where you were last night?"
"I was here in the mansion, as usual," Selima replied. "I spent most of the night in the study, going over the financial accounts for the Snape holdings."
"And can anyone verify that?"
Selima gave Dawlish an irritated look. "Of course not. You know that I live here alone, except for Vorcher, and we both know that the testimony of a house-elf is not legally admissible in court."
"Mistress was home all night," Vorcher loyally piped up, but Dawlish ignored him. A house-elf's first duty was to its Master, and it would claim that the moon was made of green cheese if it thought the lie was necessary to protect its Master or the Master's family. And despite what Dawlish had said about Snape being Vorcher's true Master, the house-elf probably felt more loyalty towards Selima, whom it had served for much longer.
"Did you poison Delauney?" Dawlish asked, although there was little point to it, since she would hardly confess to him even if she had. Still, he had to at least go through the motions of conducting an interrogation.
"No," Selima replied. "And before you ask, neither did I hire anyone else to do it. That is not the Snape or the Bashir way. I would never resort to such crude methods to resolve my problems. Besides, I doubt that the Wizengamot would truly have decided in Delauney's favor, even if some of them did have a grudge against my son." She smiled cynically. "It would set a precedent, you see. Several of the Wizengamot members have mistresses, and they wouldn't want any bastard brats showing up in the future, trying to lay a claim to their estates."
"Maybe, maybe not," Dawlish growled in frustration, knowing that he had no way of proving or disproving Selima's words. Without any physical evidence or witness testimony, he would not be able to get a warrant compelling her to take Truth Potion. Besides, he wouldn't be surprised if the conniving bitch found a way to get around it. Her son was a Potions Master, after all, and was no doubt capable of brewing an antidote. "Do you have any skill with potions, Lady Selima?"
She shook her head. "That is my son's forte, not mine. My late husband did a bit of potion-brewing, but I haven't set foot in the laboratory since before his death."
Dawlish's interest perked up a bit at that, although he still doubted that Selima was the murderer. "May I take a look in the laboratory?"
"Certainly," Selima replied with a malicious smile. "Just as soon as you come back here with a search warrant."
"Perhaps I'll do that," Dawlish snarled, but they both knew that it was an empty threat. The chances of obtaining such a warrant against the best friend of the Minister's wife was slim to none. No, that wasn't really fair--Arthur wouldn't issue a warrant on only Dawlish's suspicions even for a stranger. Damn the man and his idealism!
As he turned to leave, Prospero said, "There is a question you haven't asked, Mr. Dawlish."
"And what might that be?" Dawlish snapped.
"Who was pulling Sebastien Delauney's strings?" the other wizard replied. "Who incited him to file suit against the Snapes?"
"Aren't greed and jealousy motive enough?" Dawlish retorted. "Why wouldn't he desire the wealth and respect that had always been denied to him?"
"True enough," Prospero agreed. "But the law firm of Warrington and Bole does not come cheap. Where did he get the money to hire them?"
Dawlish rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He'd been aware of the lawsuit, but being preoccupied with the werewolf murders, he hadn't paid it much heed until now, except to think that he wouldn't feel any sympathy for Snape if he lost the estate. He didn't like the slimy bastard, and it would be an ironic sort of justice for a double agent and traitor to be betrayed himself. But looking at it objectively now...
"Obviously someone is...was sponsoring Delauney," Dawlish reasoned out loud. "Someone with a grudge against the Snapes, or more likely, the Professor personally."
"And perhaps that sponsor had no more use for Delauney and decided to discard him," Prospero said. "Or perhaps he became a liability in some way--asked for more money, maybe even threatened to reveal his patron's identity to the Snapes unless he was paid off."
"That's all speculation," Dawlish argued.
"True, but it's your job to separate speculation from fact, isn't it?" Prospero asked pleasantly. "Aren't you the least bit curious as to who was funding Delauney?"
He was, but Dawlish wasn't about to admit it. "You have quite an imagination, Mr. Zabini," he said in a patronizing voice. "Perhaps you should think about writing murder mysteries."
"Perhaps I will," Prospero replied cheerfully. "In fact, that gives me a wonderful idea for my next book...a young heiress is accused of murder. The dashing young Auror assigned to the case is drawn to her beauty, even while he suspects her of murder. Torn between duty and love, will he succeed in proving his beloved innocent, or must he sentence her to life in Azkaban...?"
Selima rolled her eyes, and Olivia just sighed and shook her head. Dawlish turned and stalked out of the mansion, while Vorcher hastened to open the front door as if he couldn't get rid of the Auror fast enough--insolent little creature. As Dawlish left, he heard Prospero call out after him, "If I use your idea, I'll be sure to thank you in the dedication, Mr. Dawlish!"
Merlin, he really hoped that Zabini was just joking. He'd be the laughing stock of the Ministry if people found out that he read Zoltaire's romances--although Dawlish preferred to think of them as adventure novels. Assuming that he still had a job when Ariel Zoltaire's next book was published, which was by no means certain. Why did his favorite author have to turn out to be a friend of Selima Snape, of all people?!
Still, the idea of investigating Delauney's sponsor was a good one, and he set about doing so, although without much success. The law firm claimed confidentiality even though their client was dead, but after a few subtle and not-so-subtle threats, grudgingly admitted that Delauney had paid them personally in Galleons, and they hadn't inquired as to where he had gotten them. A trip to Gringotts to see whether Delauney had an account there proved even more fruitless, as the goblins refused to give out any information about their clients, not even to confirm or deny whether Delauney actually had been a client or not. He spoke to Dirk Cresswell, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, who promised to try and cajole the information out of the goblins, although he didn't sound very hopeful about it.
Dawlish also went to speak to the last member of the Snape family, the Professor's son Theodore. The boy was a bit young to be a murderer, but then again, he was the biological son of two Death Eaters and the adopted son of a third, so the possibility had to be considered. However, he was living with the Runes Master Tremayne, and the crotchety old man wouldn't even let him into the house, even when Dawlish announced he was on official Ministry business. Theodore came to the door when he heard the commotion, and politely answered Dawlish's questions, stating that he had spent the night working on translations with Tremayne. The old man confirmed his apprentice's alibi and pointedly asked Dawlish if he was questioning the word of a respected scholar. When Dawlish reluctantly replied, "No," Tremayne slammed the door in his face. Just before it slammed shut, Dawlish saw Theodore smile apologetically, but he was sure that the boy was inwardly laughing at him.
Dawlish returned to the Ministry to find that none of his incompetent underlings had succeeded in tracking down Greyback yet, although he had not really expected them to. Arthur Weasley gave the Aurors permission to question the imprisoned Death Eaters with Truth Potion--maybe the man was finally gaining a sense of self-preservation, although it might be too little too late.
The results of the interrogations were unsatisfying, however, because the prisoners all claimed that they did not know where Greyback might be hiding, or even that he was still alive. In fact, Rookwood scoffed at the idea, and seemed convinced that the Aurors had made the whole thing up in order to trick them...into what, precisely, Rookwood couldn't say. To incriminate themselves further, perhaps, although since the Death Eaters were all serving life sentences, their prison terms could hardly be extended. But he seemed convinced that it was some sort of devious plot that the Aurors had concocted.
Mulciber, on the other hand, was convinced that the Aurors must be mistaken, and that the werewolf they were looking for was someone other than Greyback. "The Dark Lord does not suffer traitors to live," he insisted. "And Greyback betrayed our Master when he disobeyed orders and killed a valuable hostage."
Crabbe and Goyle, the two idiots, just stared at Dawlish blankly and said, "How could Greyback be alive? The Dark Lord killed him years ago." Their miniscule minds could not seem to comprehend the possibility that You-Know-Who might have faked Greyback's death. Dawlish shook his head in disgust, reminded of another quarrel he'd had with Arthur over allowing Sirius Black to hire Crabbe's and Goyle's sons as his assistants. It was a security nightmare, allowing two Death Eaters' sons to work in the Ministry, albeit in low-level clerical positions, and the boys didn't seem bright enough to do much damage. Still, they worked in Werewolf Support, and the murders had been committed by a werewolf, so he made a mental note to have them investigated and perhaps placed under surveillance, although the Aurors were already stretched thin, with the patrols in Diagon Alley and round-the-clock surveillance on the Macnair twins.
As for the elder Macnair, he claimed to have no knowledge of Greyback's whereabouts, but something about him made Dawlish feel a little uneasy. His eyes were distant and expressionless as he answered the Aurors' questions, a not-uncommon side effect of Veritaserum, but it reminded Dawlish that someone with sufficient skill in Transfiguration could transform the potion into harmless water, or that Occlumency could be used to block its effects. To do so without a wand required a great deal of both skill and power, but it was not impossible; Snape had supposedly used Occlumency to deceive the Dark Lord, after all.
He could ask Snape to break into Macnair's mind, of course, but he wasn't sure that Arthur would allow such a thing, even against a Death Eater, and moreover, Dawlish wasn't sure that he trusted Snape. The Potions Master was protective of his Slytherin students, and he might bend the truth or outright lie in order to protect Warren and Imogen; he had been defending them all along during the investigation, after all.
Dawlish didn't think that the Truth Potion worked on Rabastan Lestrange, either, although he wasn't sure whether this was due to Occlumency or the fact that Lestrange was stark raving mad. Something in his mind had broken after the incident where he'd supposedly been possessed by James Potter's spirit, and he had never fully recovered. He just laughed and laughed when the Aurors told him that Greyback was alive and roaming free on the streets of London, saying, "Have fun tracking down your lost puppy!"
"Do you know where he is, Lestrange?" Dawlish growled through gritted teeth. "Or where he might be hiding?"
The Death Eater shook his head vigorously and retreated to the corner of his cell, hugging his knees to his chest and rocking back and forth on the floor. "No, and I won't help you look, either! I'm staying here where it's safe!" Then he began crooning, "Who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf...?"
"We're wasting our time here," Shacklebolt sighed, and for once, Dawlish agreed with him.
Dawlish returned to his office at the Ministry, and was surprised to find a small parcel sitting on his desk. "Where did this come from?" he asked.
His secretary shrugged and replied, "It arrived by owl while you were out."
There was no return address on the package, and Dawlish eyed it suspiciously for a moment, then cast a series of detection spells on it, but found no hidden hexes. He carefully unwrapped the parcel, and to his horror, found that it contained Ariel Zoltaire's latest novel, "By the Light of the Moon". He opened the cover and saw that the front page was inscribed, "To Mr. Dawlish--thanks for reading! Best wishes, your good friend 'Ariel Zoltaire'".
He hastily shrunk the book and tucked it away in his pocket before anyone could see it. Later, when he was alone at home, he took it out and restored it to its normal size and stared at it for a moment. He had not yet read it, partly because it was being marketed as a children's book, but mostly because it was about a werewolf. He'd more than had his fill of dealing with real werewolves, and the thought of reading about fictional ones held little pleasure for him. And now every time he looked at a Zoltaire book, he'd have to recall the humiliating experience of dealing with the author and Lady Selima.
He lit a blaze in the fireplace, and was about to toss the book in it, but somehow he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He heaved a sigh of resignation, poured himself a glass of wine, sat down in a chair beside the fireplace, then opened the book and began to read.
Part 26
Snape was in the middle of teaching his seventh-year Advanced Potions class when Dumbledore's face suddenly appeared in the fireplace and said, "I apologize for interrupting your class, Severus, but something rather urgent has come up. May I see you in my office?"
"Very well, Headmaster," Snape replied, heaving an impatient, irritated sigh to disguise his worry. As annoying as Dumbledore could be at times, he did not interrupt classes on a whim. Something serious must have happened, probably another murder. Snape scowled, thinking to himself that he should have found a way to "accidentally" poison Greyback back during the first war. Then they wouldn't be having this problem now.
The students were eyeing him nervously, and Snape turned back towards them and said in a crisp, stern voice, "Continue working on your potions. If I am not back by the end of the period, label them and leave them on my desk when you are done. Mr. Rosier, I will leave you in charge while I am gone. Feel free to hand out detention if necessary." That last comment was mainly for show, as this class was reasonably well-behaved, even the Gryffindors, who followed the example of the surprisingly practical and sensible Ginny Weasley. If not for the red hair, he might have doubted that she came from the same family as her idiot brothers.
Still, Snape had a reputation to uphold, and he couldn't let the students think that he might be going soft, so he glowered at them menacingly, just on principle. Dylan respectfully replied, "Yes, Professor," and the other students nodded, looking properly meek and obedient. Or maybe they were just as worried as he was; most of them read the Daily Prophet regularly, and they must be aware of the recent string of murders. But he preferred to think that it was he who had cowed them, and for pride's sake, didn't bother to verify their motives.
He left the classroom and reported to the Headmaster's office, where he found a concerned-looking Dumbledore and Lupin waiting for him, along with a very irate Dawlish.
"Oh, bloody hell," Snape sighed wearily. "Who got killed this time, and why are you wasting time checking in at Hogwarts? You must know by now that the killer isn't Randolf or anyone else from Diggory's pack, and it's certainly not Lupin. So why aren't you out looking for Greyback?"
"First of all, we have only your word for it that Greyback is even alive," Dawlish retorted. "I don't believe that you would hesitate to lie in order to protect Lupin." Snape felt his face flush with anger, but as he opened his mouth to argue, the Auror continued, "However, Tonks and Shacklebolt are convinced, and I am willing to concede that Lupin has never seriously been considered a suspect in the murders, and you don't seem to care enough about Randolf to concoct such an unlikely story for his sake. Therefore, even though I still have a few reservations, I AM taking the threat of Greyback seriously, because I cannot afford to ignore the possibility that a Death Eater may be on the loose. Despite the new curfew, there was a murder last night--a prostitute in Knockturn Alley slain in the same manner as the Madleys and Mrs. Abbott and Mr. Pepper. I have all my people out searching for any clues to Greyback's whereabouts."
"So what are you doing here?" Snape asked waspishly, but he relaxed slightly. Dawlish seemed to have grudgingly accepted that Greyback was the culprit, so he was probably here to see if Snape, as a former Death Eater, might have any ideas where his former colleague could be hiding.
But to his surprise, Dawlish continued, "However, that is not why I am here. There was another murder that took place last night--one in which you are the suspect, Snape."
"Me?!" Snape exclaimed incredulously.
"Sebastien Delauney was murdered last night," Dawlish said coldly, staring at Snape's face intently, as if searching for signs of guilt. "Poisoned, to be specific."
"And as a Potions Master, I am of course the prime suspect," Snape said with a humorless, cynical smile.
"That and the fact that Delauney was trying to steal your inheritance, yes," Dawlish replied. "The healers determined that what killed him was some brandy laced with a hemlock-based poison. Something well within the capabilities of a Master-class potion brewer, I was informed."
"Severus couldn't have killed anyone!" Lupin protested indignantly.
"Your faith in your lover is touching," Dawlish sneered. "But I have not forgotten that he used to be a Death Eater, even if you have, Lupin." He turned back to Snape. "You can't tell me that you spent all those years serving You-Know-Who without ever getting blood on your hands. Perhaps you could even justify it by saying that you had to participate in the Death Eaters' raids and murders in order to keep your cover. But the war is over, and you can't use that excuse any longer. Delauney may have been an opportunistic little weasel, but that still doesn't justify murder."
"You misunderstand me, Richard," Lupin said with an air of cool dignity. "I did not mean that Severus is not capable of taking a life under the right circumstances. He would not kill on a mere whim, of course, but I am sure that he would do whatever is necessary to protect me or our sons if our lives were in danger."
Dawlish was so stunned, gaping at Lupin in openmouthed astonishment, that Snape couldn't help but smile in amusement, although he was taken slightly aback by Lupin's statement as well.
"You aren't exactly helping my case, you know, Lupin," he murmured into his lover's ear.
"Then you agree that Snape could have killed Delauney!" Dawlish said triumphantly, quickly recovering from his shock. "He was protecting the family fortune, after all!"
Lupin shook his head. "No, Severus would kill to protect the lives of those he loved, but he would never kill simply for money."
"If you must attribute noble motives to him," Dawlish retorted in a condescending voice, "then I could argue that he was protecting his mother and son, who would be left homeless and destitute if Delauney was awarded the Snape estate."
"I would beg to differ," Lupin said quietly. "But that still isn't what I meant. When I said that Severus could not have killed anyone, I didn't mean that he was morally incapable. I meant that it is physically impossible, because he was with me all of last night. We had dinner together in the Great Hall, then went to our quarters and spent a couple of hours grading papers and working on lesson plans. Then we played a game of chess, which didn't last very long, since I'm a rotten chess player, and then we turned in and went to bed early." Lupin smiled suggestively. "Although we didn't actually go to sleep right away. I can testify without a doubt that Severus was much too, er, shall we say...occupied...to have been running around poisoning anybody."
"Lupin!" Snape hissed, his face turning scarlet. His only consolation was that Dawlish looked even more mortified than he did.
"That was...a little too much information, Lupin," Dawlish said through gritted teeth. "You need simply have said that he was with you all night. However, the testimony of a spouse or lover is not a reliable alibi."
"I would be happy to verify that statement under Truth Potion," Lupin said, smiling sweetly. "In as much detail as you would like."
Dawlish recoiled in disgust, and Dumbledore chuckled softly, then disguised it with a cough when the Auror turned to glare at him. "Since when does the Ministry doubt the testimony of a war hero, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, Mr. Dawlish?" the Headmaster asked genially, but there was a hint of steel beneath that kindly tone of voice.
"I will accept Lupin's word...for now," Dawlish replied sullenly, like a schoolboy being deprived of an expected treat. "In the meantime, I shall move on to the next suspect on my list: Selima Snape." He flashed a malicious smile at Snape. "In a way, she has an even stronger motive to get rid of the rival heir. You embraced the image of a rebel and outcast when your parents disinherited you, Snape, but your mother has no job, no other means of support, and most importantly, no status beyond her role as matriarch of the Snape clan. She would lose everything if you lost the estate."
"That may be true," Snape snarled, fighting to control his temper. He was sure that Dawlish would be happy to arrest him for assaulting an Auror, since he couldn't make the murder charge stick. "But my mother's methods have always involved political manipulation rather than murder."
"That may be true," Dawlish echoed mockingly. "But she has never stood to lose so much before. Desperate times call for desperate measures."
"You swore an oath to protect the wizarding world," Lupin said coldly, before Snape had a chance to respond. "But you seem to be less interested in justice than you are in twisting the evidence in order to carry out your own personal vendetta. Don't forget that you were wrong about Severus before."
"I haven't forgotten, Lupin," Dawlish said curtly. "But neither have I forgotten that Snape used to be a Death Eater, and he isn't all sweetness and light as you would make him out to be."
"I would never try to claim that Severus is all sweetness and light," Lupin replied. "But--"
"I don't have time to argue with you, Lupin," Dawlish interrupted. "I have a killer to catch."
The Auror abruptly departed, and Snape sighed morosely, "I suppose I should warn my mother." Lady Selima had a tendency to vent her ire on the bearer of bad news, regardless of whether or not they were actually responsible for the bad news in question.
But when he contacted her through the Floo, Selima simply frowned and said calmly, "Very well, Severus. I shall prepare to receive our guest."
"Do you want me to come over?" Snape asked cautiously. "Or perhaps send Morrigan?"
"I think I can manage to handle a single Auror by myself," Selima replied, sounding rather insulted. "Although you should keep Ms. De Lacy informed, in case Dawlish intends to persist in his persecution of you."
"All right, Mother, but--"
Selima waved her hand dismissively. "I have been dealing with these supercilious Ministry types for all of my adult life, Severus. You may return to your classes and leave Mr. Dawlish to me."
Selima's face vanished without waiting for a reply, and Snape scowled at the empty fireplace. "Did she just, in essence, tell me to run along and teach my classes like a good little boy?"
"Well, that's not quite what she said," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling merrily. "However, it is true that dealing with Ministry politics is her specialty."
Lupin smiled and said, "I almost feel sorry for Dawlish...almost."
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
After Dawlish left, Snape made a little side trip to St. Mungo's to speak to his former student before returning to class.
"Yes, I helped examine the body," Takeshi Kimura said, frowning. "There were no claw or bite marks, nothing to indicate that it might be a werewolf attack. Blood tests confirmed that the cause of death was poisoning."
"If Greyback was the killer, that shows more control than I thought he was capable of," Snape said thoughtfully. "Of course, one of the Macnairs, or whoever is actually pulling Greyback's strings could have done it. I have to admit that it is the sort of thing a Slytherin would do, if they were planning to commit murder--set someone else up to take the blame."
"There was some bruising on Delauney's arm, as if someone grabbed him during a struggle," Takeshi added, still frowning. "It bothered me slightly, since it seems incongruent with the poisoning. Dawlish thought that perhaps Delauney realized that the brandy was poisoned after drinking it and struggled briefly with his killer. They found a shattered glass on the floor of Delauney's room, so that makes sense. But the type of poison that was used to kill him is supposed to be tasteless. So Delauney shouldn't have been able to detect it."
"Interesting," Snape mused. "A strange combination of physical force and poison, which is normally used to avoid such force."
"Dawlish didn't seem to care," Takeshi said dryly. "He has his heart set on blaming you for the murder, Professor. Although I suspect that he knows deep down that you didn't do it."
"And are you sure that I didn't do it, Mr. Kimura?" Snape asked, arching an eyebrow, his expression deadpan.
"Of course not," his former student replied with a smile. "If you killed someone, you would be sure to do it in such a way that no blame would fall on you. Most likely it would appear to be a perfectly innocent and tragic accident, I imagine."
Snape laughed out loud. "You have a very vivid imagination, Mr. Kimura."
"Yes, Professor," Takeshi said meekly, although there was a faint glint of laughter in his eyes. "It probably comes from reading too many novels."
"Just don't share any of your imaginings with Dawlish; it might give him ideas, and he has enough of his own as it is."
"Yes, Professor."
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Dawlish Apparated to Snape Manor, but had to knock on the front door and ask for admittance, since the mansion was warded with anti-Apparition spells and its Floo connection was sealed against outsiders. Perfectly normal and logical precautions, especially for such a wealthy family, but it still annoyed Dawlish to be left standing on the doorstep like some peddler. Finally an elderly house-elf opened the door and politely inquired as to his business, and Dawlish informed it that he needed to speak to the Mistress of the house. The house-elf escorted him to a waiting room and then set off to "inform the Mistress right away".
Dawlish took a seat on an elegantly carved wooden chair that was beautiful to look at but rather uncomfortable to sit in. He shifted his weight and tapped his foot on the floor impatiently, wondering just how long the house-elf meant by "right away". Maybe it was deliberately being insolent and taking its time. Then again, the house-elf did look rather old; maybe it just took a long time for the poor wretch to hobble from one end of the huge mansion to the other. He sighed irritably and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.
After about fifteen minutes, the house-elf returned alone, carrying a tray laden with a tea service and a plate of small cakes. "Where is your Mistress?" Dawlish demanded as the house-elf set down the tray on a nearby table.
"Mistress apologizes for the wait," the house-elf said obsequiously. "Mistress was occupied with business, but says that she will be with the Auror shortly. Vorcher was ordered to bring the Auror refreshment while he waits."
"I didn't come here for tea," Dawlish snapped. "Inform your Mistress that I am here on very important Ministry business, and that I need to speak to her at once."
"Vorcher will do so," the house-elf said, bowing low, before scuttling out of the room. Dawlish noticed that it could move pretty fast for such an ancient-looking creature, and decided that any delay was probably deliberate on Selima's part. It was common for the purebloods to play little power games, like keeping an unwanted guest waiting.
He rose from his chair to ease his sore backside, and paced around the room. After a few minutes he decided that he might as well have a cup of tea while he waited, since the tray was already there. He poured out a cup and inhaled the aroma, recognizing it as a very fine and expensive blend, but he would expect nothing less from Lady Selima. He was about to take a sip when he realized that maybe it wouldn't be wise to eat or drink anything offered by a suspect in a fatal poisoning. But the tea did smell so very good, and it was something that he couldn't often afford on his Auror's salary...
He finally admitted to himself that he didn't really think Selima was a murderess--at least, she would never dirty her hands with such a crime directly, although she might possibly hire someone else to do it for her. It was much more in character for her to solve a problem through bribery or blackmail, but Professor Snape had annoyed Dawlish so much that he'd made a point of singling out Selima as a suspect just to get back at him. Besides, the Snapes were the most obvious beneficiaries of Delauney's death, and he could not in good conscience dismiss them as suspects without questioning them first.
Dawlish had heard many unflattering things about Selima Snape, but none of her detractors had ever described her as stupid, and even if she had killed Delauney, he was pretty sure that she wouldn't be foolish enough to poison an Auror in her own home. Still, just to be on the safe side, he cast a few poison detection spells on the tea and cakes.
The spells detected nothing, so Dawlish drank the tea, which tasted as good as it smelled, and munched on a couple of cakes. That distracted him for a few more minutes, but his impatience quickly returned, and he resumed pacing the room. He was an Auror on Ministry business, damn it! That arrogant witch had no business keeping him waiting like he was a nobody. He ought to have her arrested for obstructing an investigation...except, he suddenly remembered, that Selima had formed a close friendship with the Minister's wife. Oh, she really was a conniving bitch! Much more clever than her son, Dawlish grudgingly conceded. For someone who was supposed to have been an expert spy, Snape had surprisingly little tolerance for playing politics or currying favor. Or maybe it was precisely because he had played the role of You-Know-Who's lackey for so long that he took such pleasure in being as abrasive and obnoxious as possible.
Dawlish felt an unexpected flicker of sympathy for the Potions Master before he reminded himself that he still wasn't convinced that Snape was not merely a clever opportunist who had switched sides at the last minute when he saw that the Death Eaters were losing. Besides, after the war, Dawlish's world had been turned upside-down, and he couldn't help but suspect that Snape was partially responsible, although he laid most of the blame on Albus Dumbledore.
Dumbledore, who had somehow managed to manipulate not just a former Death Eater, but Harry Potter, the boy hero of the war, into doing his bidding. And he was sure that it was Dumbledore who had been behind Arthur Weasley's selection as Minister of Magic. True, Fudge had been an idiot at times, but at least he had been a predictable idiot, one who would not shake the very foundation of the wizarding world. Break that foundation, and the society it supported would very likely crumble along with it. Not all of Weasley's ideas were bad ones, but he was pushing for too much change too soon. Giving werewolves equal rights, for Merlin's sake! Give them the Wolfsbane Potion, fine. Help them get jobs so that they didn't have to starve or live off charity, well that was admirable within reason, as long as one didn't put them in sensitive positions at the Ministry. Dawlish scowled as he thought of Ash Randolf.
But to take them off the Registry, let them run around free without monitoring them? That was madness! Well, Fenrir Greyback had never been on the official Registry, but that was beside the point. The public was in a frenzy, the Ministry officials were fighting over position like dogs over a bone, and Dawlish just hoped that he wouldn't be dragged down along with Weasley when the Minister finally fell off his pedestal.
The tea was now cold, and Dawlish was sick of pacing around the room, so he decided that he would track down Selima himself if he had to. But Vorcher appeared in the doorway, stretching out his arms to bar Dawlish from exiting the room. "Mistress said to wait here," the house-elf said firmly.
"I don't care what 'Mistress' said!" Dawlish barked. "I don't have time to sit around all day waiting for your Mistress to decide whether she's going to see me or not! I have a murder to solve, so get out of my way and let me do my job!"
The servile, cringing manner of the house-elf had vanished, and it glared up at Dawlish, angry and defiant. {It figures,} Dawlish thought to himself, half annoyed and half amused. {Everyone in the Snape family is arrogant, right down to the bloody house-elf!}
"The Auror will not trespass in the Snape mansion!" Vorcher shouted. When it raised its hands, visibly glowing with a magical aura, Dawlish's amusement turned to alarm and he quickly drew his wand. At most times, house-elves appeared harmless, even comical, but they were capable of performing spells that many wizards could not cast even with a wand. The only thing that kept them from becoming a threat was the fact that they were bound to use their magic only in service to their masters. However, when those masters happened to be Dark Wizards...
"If you harm my house-elf, I shall file formal charges against you, Mr. Dawlish," a cool voice said, and Selima Snape appeared behind Vorcher in the doorway.
"'Your' house-elf?" Dawlish scoffed. "A house-elf belongs to the head of the family--which in this case would be Professor Snape, not you." He noted with satisfaction that his little barb had struck home when he saw Selima's eyes narrow with irritation.
"Very well, the Snape family's house-elf, Mr. Dawlish," Selima amended in an acid tone of voice that sounded remarkably like her son's. Snape must have gotten it from her, although his late father had hardly been a ray of sunshine, either.
"I had no idea that you were such a proponent of house-elf rights," Dawlish retorted sarcastically. "And what charges could you possibly lay against an Auror carrying out his duty?"
"Wanton destruction of property, for one thing," Selima replied. "A house-elf's worth cannot be measured in gold, and even if it could, not even ten years' worth of your salary could come close to matching it."
Dawlish scowled at the Snape matriarch and the pointed reminder that his own family, while pureblooded, ranked far below the Snapes and had no house-elf of their own. "I didn't harm the damned elf--"
"Because I interrupted you before you could."
"It was about to attack me! I was defending myself!"
"Vorcher was only doing his duty, protecting the mansion against intruders."
"I am not an intruder! I am an Auror on official business!"
"And do you happen to have an official search warrant?" Selima asked with a small, superior smile that indicated she already knew the answer.
"No," Dawlish replied sullenly.
"Then you have no right to search the house without my permission." She paused for a moment, then added sarcastically, "Or my son's, since it technically belongs to him."
"I was not searching the house!" Dawlish snapped. Merlin's Beard, the mother was even more infuriating than the son! "I was searching for you, since you didn't deign to grace me with your presence! This is a murder investigation, Mrs. Snape, not a game!" He deliberately used the more modern term instead of the traditional title of "Lady," just to spite her. "And if you aren't willing to cooperate, I can come back with a warrant!"
"Now, now, this is all just a simple misunderstanding," a male voice chuckled good-naturedly. "We had called upon her just before you arrived, and she needed to see to her first set of guests before attending to the second. So I am afraid that the delay was all our fault, but I assure you that no disrespect was intended."
Vorcher stepped aside to allow Selima to enter the room, along with her guests--a man about the same age as her, who had black hair with streaks of white sweeping dramatically back from his temples, and a younger woman, pretty and dark-haired, who was gazing at Dawlish nervously.
"And you are?" Dawlish demanded.
"Prospero Zabini, at your service," the man said, bowing with a courtly flair. "And my daughter-in-law, Olivia." The woman nodded politely, but still regarded him warily.
Dawlish vaguely recollected that the Zabinis were an old pureblood family fallen on hard times. There had been a minor scandal when a rumor started that Snape's son and the Zabini boy were lovers, although Dawlish hadn't paid much attention to it at the time. "And what are you doing here?" he asked suspiciously.
"We were paying a social call upon Lady Selima," Prospero replied nonchalantly. "She and I are old acquaintances from Hogwarts, and my grandson and hers are friends."
The Zabinis were far beneath the Snapes in both wealth and social status, not the sort that the snobbish Lady Snape would usually associate with, and Dawlish wondered if there was something more going on than a casual friendly visit.
"An old school friend calling upon a wealthy widow, eh?" Dawlish asked in a deliberately suggestive and insulting manner. Not that he really thought Selima would seriously consider a suitor whose rank was so far below hers, but sometimes it was possible to provoke people into saying more than they intended when they lost their tempers. And it might be a little petty, but he still wanted to get back at Selima for keeping him waiting for so long.
She gave him an icy look that would have frozen him solid if she could have cast spells with her eyes alone, but Prospero remained unfazed. "Lady Selima would never dishonor her late husband by accepting a suitor before the official mourning period was over, if that's what you are implying, Mr. Dawlish," he said calmly. "I am here as a friend, nothing more. And Olivia is here as well, to prevent even the appearance of impropriety that might result from a man and woman meeting alone." He smiled, practically radiating innocence and sincerity.
Which immediately made Dawlish even more suspicious, since "innocence" and "Slytherin" were two words that generally did not fit together. "But marrying the Snape widow would certainly help fill the Zabini coffers, wouldn't it?" he sneered.
"Not necessarily," Prospero replied pleasantly. "By law it is Severus, as Lord Snape, who has control of the Snape fortune. Hypothetically speaking, he might choose to gift his mother with a dowry if she remarried--but then again, he might not, particularly if he did not approve of her hypothetical suitor. Fortunately, the Zabini coffers are full enough, if not exactly overflowing, though I thank you very much for your concern, Mr. Dawlish."
"I hadn't realized that the junk shop was doing so well," Dawlish retorted mockingly.
The Zabini Lord's smile remained amiably ingenuous, although Olivia was glaring at Dawlish by this point, and Selima's icy stare had been honed to a knife-like edge, causing Vorcher to sidle nervously away from his mistress. "Oh, the junk shop is turning a small profit," Prospero said cheerfully. "But the real money comes from my book royalties--"
"Father!" Olivia cried reproachfully, arousing Dawlish's curiosity.
"Royalties? Are you saying that you're an author?"
"Oh, I dabble a bit with the quill and ink," Prospero said modestly. Selima's icy glare seemed to thaw slightly with amusement, while Olivia grew more distressed.
"Father! You promised that you would be discreet about this!"
It had nothing to do with the murder investigation, but Dawlish just had to ask in order to satisfy his own curiosity. "What have you written? I've never heard of an author named Zabini."
"I go by the pen name Ariel Zoltaire since my prudish son believes that writing romance novels is not an appropriate occupation for a proper Slytherin."
"You're Ariel Zoltaire?!" Dawlish exclaimed excitedly without thinking. "You're the author of 'The Beggar Prince' and the 'Demon Trilogy' and...?" His voice trailed off and he flushed when he noticed that the women were staring at him in disbelief and Prospero was grinning widely. "Ahem," Dawlish said, clearing his throat and attempting to recover his dignity. "I've heard of you, of course," he continued, trying for a more indifferent tone of voice. "You're on the bestseller list at Flourish and Blotts, and several of the young witches at the Ministry read your books."
"I have many female fans, it's true," Prospero said with a wink and a knowing smile. "But you might be surprised to learn that I have many male readers as well. In any case, I am now making a good living off my books, and have no need to marry for money, even if Lady Selima wished to remarry--"
"Which she doesn't," Selima said firmly.
Dawlish cleared his throat again and said gruffly, "Well, getting back to the original purpose for my visit...have you heard that Sebastien Delauney was murdered last night, Lady Selima?"
"Yes, it was in the Daily Prophet," she replied coolly. "Although they said only that he was found dead under 'suspicious circumstances'."
"The circumstances were that he was poisoned," Dawlish informed her. "May I ask where you were last night?"
"I was here in the mansion, as usual," Selima replied. "I spent most of the night in the study, going over the financial accounts for the Snape holdings."
"And can anyone verify that?"
Selima gave Dawlish an irritated look. "Of course not. You know that I live here alone, except for Vorcher, and we both know that the testimony of a house-elf is not legally admissible in court."
"Mistress was home all night," Vorcher loyally piped up, but Dawlish ignored him. A house-elf's first duty was to its Master, and it would claim that the moon was made of green cheese if it thought the lie was necessary to protect its Master or the Master's family. And despite what Dawlish had said about Snape being Vorcher's true Master, the house-elf probably felt more loyalty towards Selima, whom it had served for much longer.
"Did you poison Delauney?" Dawlish asked, although there was little point to it, since she would hardly confess to him even if she had. Still, he had to at least go through the motions of conducting an interrogation.
"No," Selima replied. "And before you ask, neither did I hire anyone else to do it. That is not the Snape or the Bashir way. I would never resort to such crude methods to resolve my problems. Besides, I doubt that the Wizengamot would truly have decided in Delauney's favor, even if some of them did have a grudge against my son." She smiled cynically. "It would set a precedent, you see. Several of the Wizengamot members have mistresses, and they wouldn't want any bastard brats showing up in the future, trying to lay a claim to their estates."
"Maybe, maybe not," Dawlish growled in frustration, knowing that he had no way of proving or disproving Selima's words. Without any physical evidence or witness testimony, he would not be able to get a warrant compelling her to take Truth Potion. Besides, he wouldn't be surprised if the conniving bitch found a way to get around it. Her son was a Potions Master, after all, and was no doubt capable of brewing an antidote. "Do you have any skill with potions, Lady Selima?"
She shook her head. "That is my son's forte, not mine. My late husband did a bit of potion-brewing, but I haven't set foot in the laboratory since before his death."
Dawlish's interest perked up a bit at that, although he still doubted that Selima was the murderer. "May I take a look in the laboratory?"
"Certainly," Selima replied with a malicious smile. "Just as soon as you come back here with a search warrant."
"Perhaps I'll do that," Dawlish snarled, but they both knew that it was an empty threat. The chances of obtaining such a warrant against the best friend of the Minister's wife was slim to none. No, that wasn't really fair--Arthur wouldn't issue a warrant on only Dawlish's suspicions even for a stranger. Damn the man and his idealism!
As he turned to leave, Prospero said, "There is a question you haven't asked, Mr. Dawlish."
"And what might that be?" Dawlish snapped.
"Who was pulling Sebastien Delauney's strings?" the other wizard replied. "Who incited him to file suit against the Snapes?"
"Aren't greed and jealousy motive enough?" Dawlish retorted. "Why wouldn't he desire the wealth and respect that had always been denied to him?"
"True enough," Prospero agreed. "But the law firm of Warrington and Bole does not come cheap. Where did he get the money to hire them?"
Dawlish rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He'd been aware of the lawsuit, but being preoccupied with the werewolf murders, he hadn't paid it much heed until now, except to think that he wouldn't feel any sympathy for Snape if he lost the estate. He didn't like the slimy bastard, and it would be an ironic sort of justice for a double agent and traitor to be betrayed himself. But looking at it objectively now...
"Obviously someone is...was sponsoring Delauney," Dawlish reasoned out loud. "Someone with a grudge against the Snapes, or more likely, the Professor personally."
"And perhaps that sponsor had no more use for Delauney and decided to discard him," Prospero said. "Or perhaps he became a liability in some way--asked for more money, maybe even threatened to reveal his patron's identity to the Snapes unless he was paid off."
"That's all speculation," Dawlish argued.
"True, but it's your job to separate speculation from fact, isn't it?" Prospero asked pleasantly. "Aren't you the least bit curious as to who was funding Delauney?"
He was, but Dawlish wasn't about to admit it. "You have quite an imagination, Mr. Zabini," he said in a patronizing voice. "Perhaps you should think about writing murder mysteries."
"Perhaps I will," Prospero replied cheerfully. "In fact, that gives me a wonderful idea for my next book...a young heiress is accused of murder. The dashing young Auror assigned to the case is drawn to her beauty, even while he suspects her of murder. Torn between duty and love, will he succeed in proving his beloved innocent, or must he sentence her to life in Azkaban...?"
Selima rolled her eyes, and Olivia just sighed and shook her head. Dawlish turned and stalked out of the mansion, while Vorcher hastened to open the front door as if he couldn't get rid of the Auror fast enough--insolent little creature. As Dawlish left, he heard Prospero call out after him, "If I use your idea, I'll be sure to thank you in the dedication, Mr. Dawlish!"
Merlin, he really hoped that Zabini was just joking. He'd be the laughing stock of the Ministry if people found out that he read Zoltaire's romances--although Dawlish preferred to think of them as adventure novels. Assuming that he still had a job when Ariel Zoltaire's next book was published, which was by no means certain. Why did his favorite author have to turn out to be a friend of Selima Snape, of all people?!
Still, the idea of investigating Delauney's sponsor was a good one, and he set about doing so, although without much success. The law firm claimed confidentiality even though their client was dead, but after a few subtle and not-so-subtle threats, grudgingly admitted that Delauney had paid them personally in Galleons, and they hadn't inquired as to where he had gotten them. A trip to Gringotts to see whether Delauney had an account there proved even more fruitless, as the goblins refused to give out any information about their clients, not even to confirm or deny whether Delauney actually had been a client or not. He spoke to Dirk Cresswell, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, who promised to try and cajole the information out of the goblins, although he didn't sound very hopeful about it.
Dawlish also went to speak to the last member of the Snape family, the Professor's son Theodore. The boy was a bit young to be a murderer, but then again, he was the biological son of two Death Eaters and the adopted son of a third, so the possibility had to be considered. However, he was living with the Runes Master Tremayne, and the crotchety old man wouldn't even let him into the house, even when Dawlish announced he was on official Ministry business. Theodore came to the door when he heard the commotion, and politely answered Dawlish's questions, stating that he had spent the night working on translations with Tremayne. The old man confirmed his apprentice's alibi and pointedly asked Dawlish if he was questioning the word of a respected scholar. When Dawlish reluctantly replied, "No," Tremayne slammed the door in his face. Just before it slammed shut, Dawlish saw Theodore smile apologetically, but he was sure that the boy was inwardly laughing at him.
Dawlish returned to the Ministry to find that none of his incompetent underlings had succeeded in tracking down Greyback yet, although he had not really expected them to. Arthur Weasley gave the Aurors permission to question the imprisoned Death Eaters with Truth Potion--maybe the man was finally gaining a sense of self-preservation, although it might be too little too late.
The results of the interrogations were unsatisfying, however, because the prisoners all claimed that they did not know where Greyback might be hiding, or even that he was still alive. In fact, Rookwood scoffed at the idea, and seemed convinced that the Aurors had made the whole thing up in order to trick them...into what, precisely, Rookwood couldn't say. To incriminate themselves further, perhaps, although since the Death Eaters were all serving life sentences, their prison terms could hardly be extended. But he seemed convinced that it was some sort of devious plot that the Aurors had concocted.
Mulciber, on the other hand, was convinced that the Aurors must be mistaken, and that the werewolf they were looking for was someone other than Greyback. "The Dark Lord does not suffer traitors to live," he insisted. "And Greyback betrayed our Master when he disobeyed orders and killed a valuable hostage."
Crabbe and Goyle, the two idiots, just stared at Dawlish blankly and said, "How could Greyback be alive? The Dark Lord killed him years ago." Their miniscule minds could not seem to comprehend the possibility that You-Know-Who might have faked Greyback's death. Dawlish shook his head in disgust, reminded of another quarrel he'd had with Arthur over allowing Sirius Black to hire Crabbe's and Goyle's sons as his assistants. It was a security nightmare, allowing two Death Eaters' sons to work in the Ministry, albeit in low-level clerical positions, and the boys didn't seem bright enough to do much damage. Still, they worked in Werewolf Support, and the murders had been committed by a werewolf, so he made a mental note to have them investigated and perhaps placed under surveillance, although the Aurors were already stretched thin, with the patrols in Diagon Alley and round-the-clock surveillance on the Macnair twins.
As for the elder Macnair, he claimed to have no knowledge of Greyback's whereabouts, but something about him made Dawlish feel a little uneasy. His eyes were distant and expressionless as he answered the Aurors' questions, a not-uncommon side effect of Veritaserum, but it reminded Dawlish that someone with sufficient skill in Transfiguration could transform the potion into harmless water, or that Occlumency could be used to block its effects. To do so without a wand required a great deal of both skill and power, but it was not impossible; Snape had supposedly used Occlumency to deceive the Dark Lord, after all.
He could ask Snape to break into Macnair's mind, of course, but he wasn't sure that Arthur would allow such a thing, even against a Death Eater, and moreover, Dawlish wasn't sure that he trusted Snape. The Potions Master was protective of his Slytherin students, and he might bend the truth or outright lie in order to protect Warren and Imogen; he had been defending them all along during the investigation, after all.
Dawlish didn't think that the Truth Potion worked on Rabastan Lestrange, either, although he wasn't sure whether this was due to Occlumency or the fact that Lestrange was stark raving mad. Something in his mind had broken after the incident where he'd supposedly been possessed by James Potter's spirit, and he had never fully recovered. He just laughed and laughed when the Aurors told him that Greyback was alive and roaming free on the streets of London, saying, "Have fun tracking down your lost puppy!"
"Do you know where he is, Lestrange?" Dawlish growled through gritted teeth. "Or where he might be hiding?"
The Death Eater shook his head vigorously and retreated to the corner of his cell, hugging his knees to his chest and rocking back and forth on the floor. "No, and I won't help you look, either! I'm staying here where it's safe!" Then he began crooning, "Who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf...?"
"We're wasting our time here," Shacklebolt sighed, and for once, Dawlish agreed with him.
Dawlish returned to his office at the Ministry, and was surprised to find a small parcel sitting on his desk. "Where did this come from?" he asked.
His secretary shrugged and replied, "It arrived by owl while you were out."
There was no return address on the package, and Dawlish eyed it suspiciously for a moment, then cast a series of detection spells on it, but found no hidden hexes. He carefully unwrapped the parcel, and to his horror, found that it contained Ariel Zoltaire's latest novel, "By the Light of the Moon". He opened the cover and saw that the front page was inscribed, "To Mr. Dawlish--thanks for reading! Best wishes, your good friend 'Ariel Zoltaire'".
He hastily shrunk the book and tucked it away in his pocket before anyone could see it. Later, when he was alone at home, he took it out and restored it to its normal size and stared at it for a moment. He had not yet read it, partly because it was being marketed as a children's book, but mostly because it was about a werewolf. He'd more than had his fill of dealing with real werewolves, and the thought of reading about fictional ones held little pleasure for him. And now every time he looked at a Zoltaire book, he'd have to recall the humiliating experience of dealing with the author and Lady Selima.
He lit a blaze in the fireplace, and was about to toss the book in it, but somehow he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He heaved a sigh of resignation, poured himself a glass of wine, sat down in a chair beside the fireplace, then opened the book and began to read.
Part 26
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