Fic: "The Big Avada Kedavra", for virginia_bell
Title: The Big Avada Kedavra
Author: gunderpants
Recipient: virginia_bell
Rating: PG for some light swearing.
Characters: Remus Lupin, Narcissa Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Nymphadora Tonks, Hermione Granger
Warnings: Reference to past Remus/Tonks, though their relationship in the story is well and truly platonic.
Summary: A classy dame walks into the office of Remus Lupin, Magical PI, and the lives of many are turned around.
Author's Notes: So many thanks to my friend C, who told me this story didn't suck enough to not send in, and also to L, who suggested the title. My prompt was for 'darkfic', and because I am utterly hopeless with anything remotely angsty, I toyed with the idea until 'dark' became 'noir', and from there it just took off.
The Big Avada Kedavra
It's hard to scrape a living together when you're out on the margins. Even after the war and all that it entailed I've still got issues with getting employment. Hazards of my condition, I guess you could say. There's not much work out there for beat up, worn down old werewolves like myself.
I have Minerva McGonagall to thank for the business I do have; it's nothing flash, but it's legit enough that I can advertise on the back of light posts and notice boards in the Leaky. It's a tough job, but there's always someone out there in need of my services; a jealous husband, a suspicious housewitch, a cynical herbologist wondering why all the little family farming plots aren't getting their water.
I thought it would be another mundane case when she walked - no, she sashayed - into my office. She was pretty enough, though she looked like a sour old thing with a stick up her backside: her fur-lined robes were starting to show signs of losing their plush, and her pearls had lost their lustre. She was one of those old pureblood types for sure, by the way she carried herself, but she was living it rough - or as rough as a classy dame like her was willing to live. I thought I'd seen her somewhere before, but I couldn't place her face with a name.
"Remus Lupin?"
I nodded, and indicated to the seat on the other side of my desk. "You're right on time, Miss--"
"Mrs. Mrs M."
I could tell she was going to be a cagey one. Two could play at that game, I thought to myself, knowing full well that I could be cagier than most just about any day of the week. "But of course. How can I be of assistance?"
"Close the blinds."
I thought it was a slightly odd request, given that I had curtains, but with a flick of my wand I complied with her wishes. Almost instantly, she relaxed a little, and from my desk I charmed my office door locked. "That better?"
"Thank you. Do you mind if I smoke?"
I did. But I needed the money, so I shook my head and I let her light up. "So. What brings you to this part of town?"
The look on her face betrayed exactly what she thought of 'this part of town', but like a soldier she continued. "It's my husband." With her free hand, she reached into a snakeskin handbag, and pulled out a crumpled black and white photograph, which she handed straight to me. "He said that they let him join in with the Dark Revels again, but I've heard otherwise on the grape vine."
I frowned, as I squinted at the blurry image before me. I didn't know what to tell her: from my experience, the way that the couple were dancing in the photo did not bode well for her marriage. Yet there was a slightly familiar glimmer in her eyes: a spark of mischief and cunning that set off the warning signals straight away.
"Has his behaviour been different at home?"
"He's been more distant, I suppose."
I leant back in my chair, and chewed my tongue thoughtfully. It's magical investigation practice to never air your preliminary concerns without at least tailing the sap for a night or two, so I swallowed my feelings and held my hand out to Mrs M. "Just provide me with a list of the addresses he frequents in his day-to-day business, and I'll see what I can do for you, ma'am."
"Thank you," she said, shaking my hand and rising from the chair to leave, a trail of smoke following in her wake. She was only a few feet from my door when she turned back to face me. "And you may call me Narcissa..."
***
Beforevanything else, I needed to confirm a few suspicions of my own. You learn to spot a 'professional' pretty quickly in my field, and when you've got a girl that young with a man that old, it's either for money or for a hit. And with robes that shabby, I was betting on the latter.
And there's only one place in London you can find a girl who will provide you with such services.
The Velvet Chameleon has been called a lot of things over the years: many of which salubrious, and none of which accurate in the slightest. Sure, it looks like a greasy, sleazy, highly illegal cathouse, but it's so much worse than that.
"Not today thanks, Daphne," I said to the pretty blonde girl at the front desk. "I'm going straight to the boss today."
"She said she doesn't want to be disturbed today," she said with a bored look on her face, as she inspected a long, fake red nail.
"It would be in her best interest," I said. I wasn't in the mood for these games, and I knew that if my suspicions were correct I wouldn't have time for any messing around.
"Oh, is that so?" With a wriggle of her nose - as I suspected - the long blonde curls changed into a short brown mop, and the madam of the house revealed herself to me. "Well, I don't know if I'm in the market for helping you out with your business enquiries."
"It's nice to see you too, Nymphadora."
She rolled her eyes at me. "I always hated when you called me that."
"Does this Daphne actually exist, or is this how you've taken to screening time-wasters?"
"Oh, no, she exists. Why should I be expected to know where my staff are at all times?"
"Can we go somewhere to talk?"
"I'm getting my office painted. I've got a broom cupboard handy, though."
"How quaint," I said, as she flicked open a banged-up door in the wall. "You ought invite Harry over, for old times' sake."
"What brings you here, Remus?" She pulled the door shut behind us, and perched on an upturned mop bucket.
I pulled the wrinkled photo out of my robes pocket, and held it up for her. "Is she one of yours?"
She only had to look at it for one second: obviously, she was sharper than I was with faces. "I can't believe you couldn't recognise her. Even with the haircut and concealment charms, I thought you would have been able to pick her out."
I hadn't the foggiest about who she was speaking of. "I know her?"
"I'd hope so. I asked her to join us, but she seemed to want to work freelance."
Then it hit me: the Machiavellian mayhem in her eyes and the fiery intelligence couldn't be hidden by any spell or simple beauty trick. "Is that... Hermione Granger?"
She nodded. "Officially? Best undercover Dark Wizard hunter in all of Britain."
"I was more interested in her unofficial status."
Even though it was unlikely anybody could hear us outside, Nymphadora lowered her voice a notch. "Come on, Remus. You know as well as I do that she's only with Lucius Malfoy for one reason."
"So someone has a hit out on him?"
"Oh, no doubt about it. The rest of us in the business have been approached by plenty of people looking to wipe him. But it's too risky an operation - too easy to tie to any of us here." She took the photo out of my grasp, and squinted at it closely. "Where did you get this picture?"
"Malfoy's wife gave it to me."
"Odd," she said, turning it over. "You'd think that she'd be the one to take out the hit on him."
"I'd think so too, but she thinks Hermione's his girlfriend."
"Extremely weird, then."
"You wouldn't know how to get in contact with her, would you? Being in the business, and all."
Another eye-roll. "It'll cost you, Lupin."
"Since when was I 'Lupin' to you?"
"Fine." She pulled a scrap of parchment and a pre-inked quill from her robes pocket, looking extremely put-out for her efforts. "But if anyone asks, you didn't get this from me."
***
I've nothing on Nymphadora in terms of subterfuge and disguise, but I like to think I make do well with the limited resources I have. Of course, my office budget doesn't stretch to things like the better quality of identity-concealment potions, but you'd be surprised at how a little moulded candle-wax stuffed in your cheek can really change how you look from a distance.
All right: admittedly, not a lot. But a man's got to make do.
Hermione Granger didn't live where you'd expect a highly intelligent, highly-trained magical assassin would live - but she did live where you'd expect Hermione Granger, the Muggle-born daughter of two wealthy dentists, to live. She lived in one of those pricey up-market townhouses in the Muggle districts. I bet she probably lived as one of them too: told her neighbours all sorts of lies about being an accountant, or a systems analyst, most likely.
My first break was discovering a semi-open window leading into her bathroom on the second floor. My first major setback was not taking into account my unfit, banged-up forty-something body being unable to scale ten yards of rusty drainpipe.
My second major setback was landing flat on my back onto the concrete courtyard ground.
My head felt like splitting as I felt a sharp pain shoot up my spine. Swearing as loudly as I felt I could manage in polite society, I slowly pulled myself onto my feet and brushed dirt and moss off my backside. You'd think that private investigators would have more agility and strength than I do, but to be honest I'm really the exception to the rule. The back of my pants felt suspiciously damp, as if I'd landed arse-first into a patch of muddy soil, and when I turned around the mess on my trousers was hideously and embarrassingly apparent. I was in the middle of trying to choose the most appropriate cleaning spell when I heard the sound of a window opening above me. Before I had a chance to hide myself, a woman's head looked out the window, peering quizzically around the garden below until a familiar pair of eyes locked on me.
Hermione Granger barely looked a day older than I'd remembered her looking, give or take a couple of pounds. The only difference was that her bushy mess of curls was shorn short into a wavy bob. Her appearance was as sharp and angry as her face was upon noticing me in her back courtyard.
"Lupin?"
"Er... Hermione. Lovely to see you again."
"Were you trying to break into my house?"
"I was going to pop in and say hello at some point, of course. But... you know, private investigator business and all." The look on her face told me that I hadn't yet convinced her that I was no threat to her, so I put on a sheepish smile, and covered my clothed genitals with my hands. "Please don't hex me."
She rolled her eyes. "I'll put the kettle on. You can clean your trousers while you're here."
***
Hermione's townhouse was exactly as I thought it would be: obsessively clean and neat, save for the presence of open books laying face down on just about every spare surface in the house.
"I would have straightened the place up if I knew you were going to lurk in my garden," she said, as she filled her kettle with water. "Anyway, you really shouldn't be trying to break into peoples' houses. That's the sort of thing that can get you stripped of your magical investigator's licence."
"Good thing I'm not licensed, then," I quipped, not knowing whether it would be polite to just take a seat at her kitchen table without her inviting me to.
She looked extremely reproving as she brought me my tea. "You could go to jail for fraud, you know."
"I don't tell my clients that I'm licensed, so I figure that I'm not lying to them. Besides, you know that werewolves aren't eligible for professional accreditation."
Hermione sipped her tea sternly. "Yes, well. But that's not why you're here, is it?"
Hermione is the sort of person to make her tea too strongly under the misapprehension that it improves the flavour. It doesn't. But I was too afraid to say anything, so I drank some politely and pulled the photo out of my pocket. "I'm here because I want to know who has the hit out on this man."
Her face barely registered any kind of emotion when I held up the photo for her. "Oh. Him. An idiot if I ever saw one. But you've got it wrong this time, Lupin."
"So you haven't been hired to kill him?"
She shook her head. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but nobody's come to their right minds about him yet."
"Which begs the question: what compels an intelligent young Muggle-born - such as yourself - to hang around a half-wit bigot like Lucius Malfoy?"
"Actually, it's money," she said, quite simply and smugly. The look on my face must have betrayed my confusion, so she took a quick sip of tea and took the photo out of my hands. "He's the one hiring me for a job."
"On who?"
It was Hermione's turn to pull a photo out of her pocket, and when she held it up my heart nearly jumped out of my mouth in shock.
"I don't believe it."
"I can't recognise the other woman," she said, "but I recognised that snooty pinched face the second he gave me the photo."
"But... how does... why would she... what on earth is going on?!"
***
I almost felt sorry for Mrs M when I told her everything I knew thus far. I almost felt bad when she dabbed at her tears daintily with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. But instead, I was sick of the old broad lying to me and playing with my sympathies.
"The bastard," she said, finally, as she pocketed the hanky and attempted to look dignified. "I should have known."
"I'm very sorry for your discovery."
"He will pay, of course."
"You haven't been perfectly honest with me yourself, Mrs M," I said, as I pulled the photo I'd borrowed from Hermione out of my desk drawer. "I'd hoped that you'd give me all relevant information, but apparently not. Who is she?"
"None of your business," she said, her cheeks flushing red. "She has nothing to do with this case."
"Of course not. Why would your husband want to kill you if you're completely innocent? God knows that hugging another woman in such a manner wouldn't cause any sort of suspicion from a normal husband. God knows that a normal husband would probably make a sickening show of wishing he were there at the time. But we both know your husband is slightly to the left of the bell-curve in terms of brains and morality. I'm certain that it's an innocent hug for sure, Mrs M. Unless it isn't of course."
"You don't know what you're talking about," she said.
"Why would your husband be so enraged about this woman that a mere photo of you with her is enough for him to enlist the services of the most efficient assassin in the wizarding world?"
"It's none of your business."
She was clamping down hard, and I was getting well shot of her. "Right then, Mrs Malfoy. I'm sure that she's nobody, and that it's your cooking to blame for your husband wanting to be rid of you. Of course, why would I want to work for someone who's going to hinder my ability to do my job?"
"I don't know" she cried, and I saw her hand dip into her pocket for that dratted hanky. "Please, Mr Lupin, you have to believe me when I tell you it's an innocent matter. All that matters is that my husband is going to kill me, and I don't know where to go, or what to do--"
"I'm sure that the Ministry will provide you with adequate protection," I said, coolly.
"You know I can't go there," she pleaded, and she looked at me with tears in her grey eyes. "Please, won't you help me?"
"I don't help you until you tell me who she is."
"I will, only please, take care of Lucius for me."
Over the years, my clients have asked me to do some weird and dubious things above and beyond my usual services. Not once have I been asked to kill a man. "Mrs Malfoy, I could go to Azkaban for the rest of my life."
"But you wouldn't want anything nasty to happen to me, would you?"
Frankly, I was feeling pretty zen with the concept of Narcissa Malfoy meeting an untimely and dramatic end. "It's not going to keep me up at night, I suppose."
"Please."
Something clicked mentally as I thought back on the girl in the photograph. Pretty, aristocratic-looking and blonde. Then it hit me. "She's your daughter, isn't she? I can understand an upper-crust dame such as yourself hiding a secret child from your past. God knows what you'd have to settle with if anyone knew the truth. Some third-rate half-blood potions salesman with questionable hygiene, no doubt."
Despite her crocodile tears, she managed to shoot a withering look at me. "Don't be daft. Two children would have ruined my figure."
"If you're not going to tell me who she is, then you're wasting my valuable time. I'm heavily booked up and I don't appreciate time-wasters."
"Your secretary said you were available all day for a consult. And I'll pay double."
"I'm not going to kill your husband for you."
"I'll pay you a hundred galleons."
I snorted as I laughed at her. "The Ministry must have robbed you blind if that's all you can offer me."
"Two hundred?"
"I'm sure that if you actually had that much, your nails wouldn't look so atrocious."
"You couldn't make two hundred galleons in ten years."
"Good day, Mrs M," I said, as I stood and made my way to my door. "I have some unfinished business to attend to."
The look she gave me as she left my office was killer.
**
I really didn't have any unfinished business to attend to - unless you count a half-consumed bottle of Ogden's as business. All I actually wanted was Mrs M out of my office, and for a few hours to figure out what exactly was gnawing at my better instincts.
You're being played, Lupin. By whom I didn't know. Mrs M? Hermione? Lucius Malfoy? I drained my glass tumbler of fire-whiskey, and let the liquid wash its way down my throat. Nothing good was going to come of this: the Malfoys would kill each other for certain.
Actually, I could see a distinct upside to this. I refilled the tumbler. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Down the hatch, the familiar burn, and I was one step closer to forgetting that I was running two months behind paying rent on my dingy little office, or paying Hannah her wages. One step closer to forgetting that it was almost two years to the day that I reclaimed my bachelorhood.
A shot of Ogden's is better than the strongest Cheering Charm.
Mrs M was a looker for sure, even if she was a nasty piece of work. With the lens of liquor she looked even prettier. Photo doesn't do her justice, I thought to myself, as I squinted blindly at the grainy black and white picture of her. Yet for the first time, her smile was natural, and her face didn't look half as sour as it did whenever she was in my presence. I was too stupidly drunk to even focus on the image of the other woman, and even if I were sober her back was turned to the camera, and she wouldn't turn to face me: as if she were desperate to hide her identity from me. The woman's hands ran through her hair, and I saw a long, dark fingernail toy with a flaxen lock.
A long, dark fingernail. And I was pretty drunk, but it looked fake enough for a clueless old souse like myself.
Before I closed up shop for the day, I scribbled a hasty letter on the back of an envelope, and left it in the trusty dispatch of my office owl.
***
The lights were off inside the Velvet Chameleon, but I knew that Nymphadora would still be in her office - knowing her, her social life would be as blooming as mine was. The front door was open, but Daphne wasn't at her desk to grunt a welcome at me: just as I thought she wouldn't be. I trod soft: I didn't want to get myself arrested for trespassing, so I kept my back to the walls and kept my ears pricked for the slightest sound. I heard soft voices coming from Nymphadora's office, and not for the first time, I wished that I could afford my own Invisibility Cloak.
"--sure he doesn't suffer, Daphne."
"You've got the plant wand and passport to Bulgaria, haven't you?"
"Wand material is as close to your own as possible so it's guaranteed to work. Guaranteed not to be linked to you."
"Looks pretty dodgy to me."
"Nothing will be as good as an Ollivander's wand, but it's the best I could do at short notice."
"And the money?"
I heard the soft clinking of coins - like they were being set down on a tabletop. Then: "two hundred galleons with the serial numbers charmed fake."
"Good."
Inching closer to the door, I tried to peek in the crack between the door and the frame. It was Mrs M, all right, and Daphne: looking somnolent as usual and inspecting the bag of galleons as if it were a bag of bat droppings.
Mrs M rested her hand on Daphne's shoulder. "Thank you for this."
"Whatever."
I tried to lean closer in to hear, but my current high blood alcohol level and natural low level of co-ordination and strength, combined with the forces of gravity and inertia, brought me crashing to the ground. I felt the rough carpet graze my cheek and my knees and elbows hitting the ground with great force, and I knew for a fact that my cover was blown.
I looked up slowly. The two women were staring at me in deep shock, and I realised then that my wand was presently in too difficult a location to get to quickly. "Hello, ladies," I slurred. "Um... I just... um... I just wanted to see how Tonks' renovations looked."
It was by far the stupidest rationalisation I'd ever made, and they knew it. "You," hissed Narcissa Malfoy. "You are positively the worst magical private investigator I've ever met."
"Clearly you haven't dealt with Fletcher and Associates," I said, hauling my aching body to my feet. "You need to bring your own cups if you're having a meeting in their offices."
"Shut up," said Daphne, fingering her wand and sneering at me. "If you're not man enough to kill someone, then I will be."
"As you've seen, Mr Lupin, I've taken my money elsewhere," Narcissa said, patting Daphne on the shoulder. "You're fired, by the way."
"Good. I wouldn't want your money anyway, even if you paid me for it."
"And this is why your crummy little business is failing, and the Velvet Chameleon is going from strength to strength in the wizarding underworld," said Daphne. "You're a failure, Lupin. You were born a failure, you'll die a failure."
"What would your boss say if she knew you were taking money from such a crummy family?" I started to feel the familiar pangs of drunken nausea, but I pressed on. "I know for a fact that Nymphadora wouldn't piss on Malfoy money."
An odd expression crossed Daphne's face. "You know she doesn't like being called that, Remus."
Have you ever done a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing, or bent, or covered in coffee stains, and you've still been able to see the big picture despite the imperfections? I suddenly knew the feeling as the cogs aligned in perfect order in my mind. "Of course she wouldn't, Daphne. But Nymphadora isn't here, is she? I'm surprised that you would want to give money to your niece's company, Narcissa. I thought a tacky little half-blood like her wasn't worthy of the Malfoy coin."
"Don't be ridiculous, Lupin," said Narcissa. "Daphne and I go back a long way."
"I noticed. You both look very similar. Are you related?"
Narcissa Malfoy rolled her eyes at me. "Yes, I suppose. She's my sister."
"Don't flatter yourself. You don't look young enough."
Her pale, pointed face drew itself into a deep frown. "Fine, then. An old family friend who I'd fallen out of contact with."
"An old family friend, or an old family member?"
I saw a fleeting look of horror cross Daphne's face - just as I thought it would. "I don't know what you're blathering on about, Lupin, but if you're going to stand about and waste the money I'm spending on this consult, then you've got another thing coming."
I heard two loud cracks down in the alley below, and my heart raced as my brain clouded over. "Oh, you were going to kill him all along. You only came to me with a photo so you could justify it to yourself, you stringy hag."
The naturally unpleasant expression on Narcissa Malfoy's face grew even more unpleasant. "How dare you imply--"
"Of course, someone likely put the idea in your head; someone who wanted your husband dead in the first place."
The notion of not being capable of independent thought was apparently more offensive to Mrs M than the idea that she might just want her husband dead for no reason, and her slender pale hand caught the side of my cheek with a stinging slap. "If you're suggesting that Daphne is forcing me to--"
Her words were cut off as a spark of red hit the wall above her head, and suddenly all eyes were drawn to two figures in the doorway: Lucius Malfoy, and Hermione Granger. Lucius bore an expression of blind fury; Hermione looked like she was hanging out for a coffee break and was rather bored of all the proceedings.
"You bitch," Lucius cried again, as he aimed his wand at his wife again. "I can't believe after all I've sacrificed--"
"Oh, grow up, Lucius." Narcissa sniffed haughtily, and drew her wand from her robes. "At least I'm not the one gallivanting about the countryside with women half my age and acting like a supreme lothario."
Lucius stared at her. "What are you talking about? You were having an affair with her too!"
Mrs M's pale face flushed deeply. "What I had with Daphne is a bond too complex and special for you to understand."
"Wait, what?"
All eyes turned to Daphne, who stood with possibly the world's most confused facial expression. "You were both doing... oh, for the love of..."
It seemed that Hermione and I were the only people in the room not shocked to see Nymphadora Tonks return to her most common form. She looked extremely displeased and hugely vexed. "Do you know how awkward it was to have you both sleazing onto me? You people have issues."
It took a good five minutes of horrified, awkward silence before anyone could speak. "You mean... but... you're my sister's daughter!" Mrs M let out a melodramatic wail, and for some reason latched directly onto Hermione's shoulder for support - much to Hermione's chagrin.
"But... what about the real Daphne?" Lucius normally pale face had gone an off shade of green. "Please, tell me she's real."
"Oh, shut up, you old pervert," Narcissa snapped.
"She's on holiday with her boyfriend. Annoying, really, given that she just took sick leave, but you have to deal with that I suppose."
Narcissa let out another great wail at this news, and Lucius balled his hands into fists and jammed them into his robes pockets. "This is simply appalling. I demand to know why someone would cheat me in such a manner."
"Yes, I have no idea why anyone would see it fit to do you harm," Hermione said, softly. She was fortunately not heard (or ignored, most likely) by Mrs M.
"If I may," I piped up, almost tempted to cling to Hermione's other shoulder to keep me upright, "let's not forget what you came here to do, Lucius. I mean, this woman--" I slurred, pointing at Mrs M, "--intended to kill you in order to continue an affair with some floozy receptionist. Does that not count for anything anymore? Is a man of your calibre going to take that kind of shoddy treatment?"
"You're a drunkard," Lucius said, in a dismissive fashion.
"So's your mum."
"Oh, go back to wiping your arse with leaves in a forest, you filthy old mongrel," snapped Lucius, sounding decidedly un-aristocratic.
"Please!" Mrs M sobbed, and she grabbed at her husband's arm. "I couldn't kill you," she lied, "I couldn't afford to live in the fashion to which I am accustomed to without your income."
"Narcissa, I don't know if I can forgive you. You betrayed me. How am I supposed to be able to forgive that?"
"Oh, whatever, you cheated on her too," interjected Tonks. "You're such a sexist pig."
Lucius Malfoy rounded his wand on her, and instantly she shut up. "Yes, well. That's none of your business now, is it?"
"What are you talking about? You hired me to kill your wife," said Hermione.
"Stop acting as if she's the only person to blame."
"Narcissa, I don't believe that we need marital counselling from this lot of motley half-breeds," Lucius said, his aquiline nose high in the air.
"You're right." Narcissa promptly lay her hand on her husband's arm. "God knows that none of them are smart enough to actually do the jobs they're paid to do. Let's go home." And with that, they turned and headed to the door.
"No," Hermione pleaded weakly. "Come on, just kill each other."
"Or hex each other a bit," Nymphadora added, looking more and more dejected with each step out the Malfoys took out of her office. "Give each other a case of herpes, at least."
"Don't reckon they need any deliberate hexes for that," I said glumly, as the door slammed behind Mr and Mrs M.
"Shit," said Tonks.
***
We were all too despondent to face going to an actual pub that night, so we spent the evening huddled in my office, sharing the Ogden's amongst the three of us.
"Would have been beautiful," said Tonks. "Them dead, and nobody would be able to pin it on us if it was them that killed each other. My family would have got all the Black family fortunes, and mum and dad might have been able to go on holiday."
"Really, I just didn't like the Malfoys." Hermione's annoyance was so deep that she'd taken to drinking straight from the bottle, without even wiping the opening first. "You know that Lucius tried paying me in Leprechaun gold at first? Honestly."
I realised that I was sobering up when I found myself frustrated and angry at Tonks and Hermione. "You know, you could have just spared a lot of that time and effort by just killing them yourselves."
"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" Hermione leaned back in my chair, and sighed. "I mean, what's the point in killing someone if you can't cause them at least a good week of mental anguish first? That would be a total waste."
And that was the difference between a shady - yet non-lethal - magical PI like myself, and hardened assassins like these broads. "Yeah, well. I still feel sorry for them a bit. Not sorry enough that I'd hoped that they wouldn't kill each other, of course."
"Wouldn't want to be Auntie Narcissa right about now," Tonks said. "She actually liked Daphne a lot. Imagine being stuck with someone as miserable as Lucius Malfoy for the rest of your life."
"Hear, hear," Hermione and I both said.
I checked the clock on my wall: it was past ten. Only a minute ago it felt like it was only six thirty. I would be pretty ill the next morning: a combination of both the hangover and the ripening moon. A headache played on the margins of my brain, and I rubbed my temples. "Good thing I don't really have a job to go to in the morning," I said. "Otherwise I'd probably get fired."
"So what are you going to do now?" Hermione looked at me with concern.
"Probably take Mundungus Fletcher up on his offer of partnership in his firm, I guess. I can always end my lease. Besides, they actually have a proper investigative lab at his place: if not clean cutlery, anyway." I knew that it would be a blow to the ego - if I had any left of it, that was - to close down my own company. But truth be told, I didn't like working on my own. I didn't relish spending hours in an office with so few clients that I almost took to asking my friends if they needed anything spied on. And besides, I knew that Hermione was happy to work as a lone wolf, and Tonks wouldn't necessarily want me hanging around and cramping her style either.
Tonks raised the bottle of Ogden's in salute to me. "Remus, I think this is the beginning of a financially hazardous relationship."
***
the end
Author: gunderpants
Recipient: virginia_bell
Rating: PG for some light swearing.
Characters: Remus Lupin, Narcissa Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Nymphadora Tonks, Hermione Granger
Warnings: Reference to past Remus/Tonks, though their relationship in the story is well and truly platonic.
Summary: A classy dame walks into the office of Remus Lupin, Magical PI, and the lives of many are turned around.
Author's Notes: So many thanks to my friend C, who told me this story didn't suck enough to not send in, and also to L, who suggested the title. My prompt was for 'darkfic', and because I am utterly hopeless with anything remotely angsty, I toyed with the idea until 'dark' became 'noir', and from there it just took off.
The Big Avada Kedavra
It's hard to scrape a living together when you're out on the margins. Even after the war and all that it entailed I've still got issues with getting employment. Hazards of my condition, I guess you could say. There's not much work out there for beat up, worn down old werewolves like myself.
I have Minerva McGonagall to thank for the business I do have; it's nothing flash, but it's legit enough that I can advertise on the back of light posts and notice boards in the Leaky. It's a tough job, but there's always someone out there in need of my services; a jealous husband, a suspicious housewitch, a cynical herbologist wondering why all the little family farming plots aren't getting their water.
I thought it would be another mundane case when she walked - no, she sashayed - into my office. She was pretty enough, though she looked like a sour old thing with a stick up her backside: her fur-lined robes were starting to show signs of losing their plush, and her pearls had lost their lustre. She was one of those old pureblood types for sure, by the way she carried herself, but she was living it rough - or as rough as a classy dame like her was willing to live. I thought I'd seen her somewhere before, but I couldn't place her face with a name.
"Remus Lupin?"
I nodded, and indicated to the seat on the other side of my desk. "You're right on time, Miss--"
"Mrs. Mrs M."
I could tell she was going to be a cagey one. Two could play at that game, I thought to myself, knowing full well that I could be cagier than most just about any day of the week. "But of course. How can I be of assistance?"
"Close the blinds."
I thought it was a slightly odd request, given that I had curtains, but with a flick of my wand I complied with her wishes. Almost instantly, she relaxed a little, and from my desk I charmed my office door locked. "That better?"
"Thank you. Do you mind if I smoke?"
I did. But I needed the money, so I shook my head and I let her light up. "So. What brings you to this part of town?"
The look on her face betrayed exactly what she thought of 'this part of town', but like a soldier she continued. "It's my husband." With her free hand, she reached into a snakeskin handbag, and pulled out a crumpled black and white photograph, which she handed straight to me. "He said that they let him join in with the Dark Revels again, but I've heard otherwise on the grape vine."
I frowned, as I squinted at the blurry image before me. I didn't know what to tell her: from my experience, the way that the couple were dancing in the photo did not bode well for her marriage. Yet there was a slightly familiar glimmer in her eyes: a spark of mischief and cunning that set off the warning signals straight away.
"Has his behaviour been different at home?"
"He's been more distant, I suppose."
I leant back in my chair, and chewed my tongue thoughtfully. It's magical investigation practice to never air your preliminary concerns without at least tailing the sap for a night or two, so I swallowed my feelings and held my hand out to Mrs M. "Just provide me with a list of the addresses he frequents in his day-to-day business, and I'll see what I can do for you, ma'am."
"Thank you," she said, shaking my hand and rising from the chair to leave, a trail of smoke following in her wake. She was only a few feet from my door when she turned back to face me. "And you may call me Narcissa..."
***
Beforevanything else, I needed to confirm a few suspicions of my own. You learn to spot a 'professional' pretty quickly in my field, and when you've got a girl that young with a man that old, it's either for money or for a hit. And with robes that shabby, I was betting on the latter.
And there's only one place in London you can find a girl who will provide you with such services.
The Velvet Chameleon has been called a lot of things over the years: many of which salubrious, and none of which accurate in the slightest. Sure, it looks like a greasy, sleazy, highly illegal cathouse, but it's so much worse than that.
"Not today thanks, Daphne," I said to the pretty blonde girl at the front desk. "I'm going straight to the boss today."
"She said she doesn't want to be disturbed today," she said with a bored look on her face, as she inspected a long, fake red nail.
"It would be in her best interest," I said. I wasn't in the mood for these games, and I knew that if my suspicions were correct I wouldn't have time for any messing around.
"Oh, is that so?" With a wriggle of her nose - as I suspected - the long blonde curls changed into a short brown mop, and the madam of the house revealed herself to me. "Well, I don't know if I'm in the market for helping you out with your business enquiries."
"It's nice to see you too, Nymphadora."
She rolled her eyes at me. "I always hated when you called me that."
"Does this Daphne actually exist, or is this how you've taken to screening time-wasters?"
"Oh, no, she exists. Why should I be expected to know where my staff are at all times?"
"Can we go somewhere to talk?"
"I'm getting my office painted. I've got a broom cupboard handy, though."
"How quaint," I said, as she flicked open a banged-up door in the wall. "You ought invite Harry over, for old times' sake."
"What brings you here, Remus?" She pulled the door shut behind us, and perched on an upturned mop bucket.
I pulled the wrinkled photo out of my robes pocket, and held it up for her. "Is she one of yours?"
She only had to look at it for one second: obviously, she was sharper than I was with faces. "I can't believe you couldn't recognise her. Even with the haircut and concealment charms, I thought you would have been able to pick her out."
I hadn't the foggiest about who she was speaking of. "I know her?"
"I'd hope so. I asked her to join us, but she seemed to want to work freelance."
Then it hit me: the Machiavellian mayhem in her eyes and the fiery intelligence couldn't be hidden by any spell or simple beauty trick. "Is that... Hermione Granger?"
She nodded. "Officially? Best undercover Dark Wizard hunter in all of Britain."
"I was more interested in her unofficial status."
Even though it was unlikely anybody could hear us outside, Nymphadora lowered her voice a notch. "Come on, Remus. You know as well as I do that she's only with Lucius Malfoy for one reason."
"So someone has a hit out on him?"
"Oh, no doubt about it. The rest of us in the business have been approached by plenty of people looking to wipe him. But it's too risky an operation - too easy to tie to any of us here." She took the photo out of my grasp, and squinted at it closely. "Where did you get this picture?"
"Malfoy's wife gave it to me."
"Odd," she said, turning it over. "You'd think that she'd be the one to take out the hit on him."
"I'd think so too, but she thinks Hermione's his girlfriend."
"Extremely weird, then."
"You wouldn't know how to get in contact with her, would you? Being in the business, and all."
Another eye-roll. "It'll cost you, Lupin."
"Since when was I 'Lupin' to you?"
"Fine." She pulled a scrap of parchment and a pre-inked quill from her robes pocket, looking extremely put-out for her efforts. "But if anyone asks, you didn't get this from me."
***
I've nothing on Nymphadora in terms of subterfuge and disguise, but I like to think I make do well with the limited resources I have. Of course, my office budget doesn't stretch to things like the better quality of identity-concealment potions, but you'd be surprised at how a little moulded candle-wax stuffed in your cheek can really change how you look from a distance.
All right: admittedly, not a lot. But a man's got to make do.
Hermione Granger didn't live where you'd expect a highly intelligent, highly-trained magical assassin would live - but she did live where you'd expect Hermione Granger, the Muggle-born daughter of two wealthy dentists, to live. She lived in one of those pricey up-market townhouses in the Muggle districts. I bet she probably lived as one of them too: told her neighbours all sorts of lies about being an accountant, or a systems analyst, most likely.
My first break was discovering a semi-open window leading into her bathroom on the second floor. My first major setback was not taking into account my unfit, banged-up forty-something body being unable to scale ten yards of rusty drainpipe.
My second major setback was landing flat on my back onto the concrete courtyard ground.
My head felt like splitting as I felt a sharp pain shoot up my spine. Swearing as loudly as I felt I could manage in polite society, I slowly pulled myself onto my feet and brushed dirt and moss off my backside. You'd think that private investigators would have more agility and strength than I do, but to be honest I'm really the exception to the rule. The back of my pants felt suspiciously damp, as if I'd landed arse-first into a patch of muddy soil, and when I turned around the mess on my trousers was hideously and embarrassingly apparent. I was in the middle of trying to choose the most appropriate cleaning spell when I heard the sound of a window opening above me. Before I had a chance to hide myself, a woman's head looked out the window, peering quizzically around the garden below until a familiar pair of eyes locked on me.
Hermione Granger barely looked a day older than I'd remembered her looking, give or take a couple of pounds. The only difference was that her bushy mess of curls was shorn short into a wavy bob. Her appearance was as sharp and angry as her face was upon noticing me in her back courtyard.
"Lupin?"
"Er... Hermione. Lovely to see you again."
"Were you trying to break into my house?"
"I was going to pop in and say hello at some point, of course. But... you know, private investigator business and all." The look on her face told me that I hadn't yet convinced her that I was no threat to her, so I put on a sheepish smile, and covered my clothed genitals with my hands. "Please don't hex me."
She rolled her eyes. "I'll put the kettle on. You can clean your trousers while you're here."
***
Hermione's townhouse was exactly as I thought it would be: obsessively clean and neat, save for the presence of open books laying face down on just about every spare surface in the house.
"I would have straightened the place up if I knew you were going to lurk in my garden," she said, as she filled her kettle with water. "Anyway, you really shouldn't be trying to break into peoples' houses. That's the sort of thing that can get you stripped of your magical investigator's licence."
"Good thing I'm not licensed, then," I quipped, not knowing whether it would be polite to just take a seat at her kitchen table without her inviting me to.
She looked extremely reproving as she brought me my tea. "You could go to jail for fraud, you know."
"I don't tell my clients that I'm licensed, so I figure that I'm not lying to them. Besides, you know that werewolves aren't eligible for professional accreditation."
Hermione sipped her tea sternly. "Yes, well. But that's not why you're here, is it?"
Hermione is the sort of person to make her tea too strongly under the misapprehension that it improves the flavour. It doesn't. But I was too afraid to say anything, so I drank some politely and pulled the photo out of my pocket. "I'm here because I want to know who has the hit out on this man."
Her face barely registered any kind of emotion when I held up the photo for her. "Oh. Him. An idiot if I ever saw one. But you've got it wrong this time, Lupin."
"So you haven't been hired to kill him?"
She shook her head. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but nobody's come to their right minds about him yet."
"Which begs the question: what compels an intelligent young Muggle-born - such as yourself - to hang around a half-wit bigot like Lucius Malfoy?"
"Actually, it's money," she said, quite simply and smugly. The look on my face must have betrayed my confusion, so she took a quick sip of tea and took the photo out of my hands. "He's the one hiring me for a job."
"On who?"
It was Hermione's turn to pull a photo out of her pocket, and when she held it up my heart nearly jumped out of my mouth in shock.
"I don't believe it."
"I can't recognise the other woman," she said, "but I recognised that snooty pinched face the second he gave me the photo."
"But... how does... why would she... what on earth is going on?!"
***
I almost felt sorry for Mrs M when I told her everything I knew thus far. I almost felt bad when she dabbed at her tears daintily with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. But instead, I was sick of the old broad lying to me and playing with my sympathies.
"The bastard," she said, finally, as she pocketed the hanky and attempted to look dignified. "I should have known."
"I'm very sorry for your discovery."
"He will pay, of course."
"You haven't been perfectly honest with me yourself, Mrs M," I said, as I pulled the photo I'd borrowed from Hermione out of my desk drawer. "I'd hoped that you'd give me all relevant information, but apparently not. Who is she?"
"None of your business," she said, her cheeks flushing red. "She has nothing to do with this case."
"Of course not. Why would your husband want to kill you if you're completely innocent? God knows that hugging another woman in such a manner wouldn't cause any sort of suspicion from a normal husband. God knows that a normal husband would probably make a sickening show of wishing he were there at the time. But we both know your husband is slightly to the left of the bell-curve in terms of brains and morality. I'm certain that it's an innocent hug for sure, Mrs M. Unless it isn't of course."
"You don't know what you're talking about," she said.
"Why would your husband be so enraged about this woman that a mere photo of you with her is enough for him to enlist the services of the most efficient assassin in the wizarding world?"
"It's none of your business."
She was clamping down hard, and I was getting well shot of her. "Right then, Mrs Malfoy. I'm sure that she's nobody, and that it's your cooking to blame for your husband wanting to be rid of you. Of course, why would I want to work for someone who's going to hinder my ability to do my job?"
"I don't know" she cried, and I saw her hand dip into her pocket for that dratted hanky. "Please, Mr Lupin, you have to believe me when I tell you it's an innocent matter. All that matters is that my husband is going to kill me, and I don't know where to go, or what to do--"
"I'm sure that the Ministry will provide you with adequate protection," I said, coolly.
"You know I can't go there," she pleaded, and she looked at me with tears in her grey eyes. "Please, won't you help me?"
"I don't help you until you tell me who she is."
"I will, only please, take care of Lucius for me."
Over the years, my clients have asked me to do some weird and dubious things above and beyond my usual services. Not once have I been asked to kill a man. "Mrs Malfoy, I could go to Azkaban for the rest of my life."
"But you wouldn't want anything nasty to happen to me, would you?"
Frankly, I was feeling pretty zen with the concept of Narcissa Malfoy meeting an untimely and dramatic end. "It's not going to keep me up at night, I suppose."
"Please."
Something clicked mentally as I thought back on the girl in the photograph. Pretty, aristocratic-looking and blonde. Then it hit me. "She's your daughter, isn't she? I can understand an upper-crust dame such as yourself hiding a secret child from your past. God knows what you'd have to settle with if anyone knew the truth. Some third-rate half-blood potions salesman with questionable hygiene, no doubt."
Despite her crocodile tears, she managed to shoot a withering look at me. "Don't be daft. Two children would have ruined my figure."
"If you're not going to tell me who she is, then you're wasting my valuable time. I'm heavily booked up and I don't appreciate time-wasters."
"Your secretary said you were available all day for a consult. And I'll pay double."
"I'm not going to kill your husband for you."
"I'll pay you a hundred galleons."
I snorted as I laughed at her. "The Ministry must have robbed you blind if that's all you can offer me."
"Two hundred?"
"I'm sure that if you actually had that much, your nails wouldn't look so atrocious."
"You couldn't make two hundred galleons in ten years."
"Good day, Mrs M," I said, as I stood and made my way to my door. "I have some unfinished business to attend to."
The look she gave me as she left my office was killer.
**
I really didn't have any unfinished business to attend to - unless you count a half-consumed bottle of Ogden's as business. All I actually wanted was Mrs M out of my office, and for a few hours to figure out what exactly was gnawing at my better instincts.
You're being played, Lupin. By whom I didn't know. Mrs M? Hermione? Lucius Malfoy? I drained my glass tumbler of fire-whiskey, and let the liquid wash its way down my throat. Nothing good was going to come of this: the Malfoys would kill each other for certain.
Actually, I could see a distinct upside to this. I refilled the tumbler. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Down the hatch, the familiar burn, and I was one step closer to forgetting that I was running two months behind paying rent on my dingy little office, or paying Hannah her wages. One step closer to forgetting that it was almost two years to the day that I reclaimed my bachelorhood.
A shot of Ogden's is better than the strongest Cheering Charm.
Mrs M was a looker for sure, even if she was a nasty piece of work. With the lens of liquor she looked even prettier. Photo doesn't do her justice, I thought to myself, as I squinted blindly at the grainy black and white picture of her. Yet for the first time, her smile was natural, and her face didn't look half as sour as it did whenever she was in my presence. I was too stupidly drunk to even focus on the image of the other woman, and even if I were sober her back was turned to the camera, and she wouldn't turn to face me: as if she were desperate to hide her identity from me. The woman's hands ran through her hair, and I saw a long, dark fingernail toy with a flaxen lock.
A long, dark fingernail. And I was pretty drunk, but it looked fake enough for a clueless old souse like myself.
Before I closed up shop for the day, I scribbled a hasty letter on the back of an envelope, and left it in the trusty dispatch of my office owl.
***
The lights were off inside the Velvet Chameleon, but I knew that Nymphadora would still be in her office - knowing her, her social life would be as blooming as mine was. The front door was open, but Daphne wasn't at her desk to grunt a welcome at me: just as I thought she wouldn't be. I trod soft: I didn't want to get myself arrested for trespassing, so I kept my back to the walls and kept my ears pricked for the slightest sound. I heard soft voices coming from Nymphadora's office, and not for the first time, I wished that I could afford my own Invisibility Cloak.
"--sure he doesn't suffer, Daphne."
"You've got the plant wand and passport to Bulgaria, haven't you?"
"Wand material is as close to your own as possible so it's guaranteed to work. Guaranteed not to be linked to you."
"Looks pretty dodgy to me."
"Nothing will be as good as an Ollivander's wand, but it's the best I could do at short notice."
"And the money?"
I heard the soft clinking of coins - like they were being set down on a tabletop. Then: "two hundred galleons with the serial numbers charmed fake."
"Good."
Inching closer to the door, I tried to peek in the crack between the door and the frame. It was Mrs M, all right, and Daphne: looking somnolent as usual and inspecting the bag of galleons as if it were a bag of bat droppings.
Mrs M rested her hand on Daphne's shoulder. "Thank you for this."
"Whatever."
I tried to lean closer in to hear, but my current high blood alcohol level and natural low level of co-ordination and strength, combined with the forces of gravity and inertia, brought me crashing to the ground. I felt the rough carpet graze my cheek and my knees and elbows hitting the ground with great force, and I knew for a fact that my cover was blown.
I looked up slowly. The two women were staring at me in deep shock, and I realised then that my wand was presently in too difficult a location to get to quickly. "Hello, ladies," I slurred. "Um... I just... um... I just wanted to see how Tonks' renovations looked."
It was by far the stupidest rationalisation I'd ever made, and they knew it. "You," hissed Narcissa Malfoy. "You are positively the worst magical private investigator I've ever met."
"Clearly you haven't dealt with Fletcher and Associates," I said, hauling my aching body to my feet. "You need to bring your own cups if you're having a meeting in their offices."
"Shut up," said Daphne, fingering her wand and sneering at me. "If you're not man enough to kill someone, then I will be."
"As you've seen, Mr Lupin, I've taken my money elsewhere," Narcissa said, patting Daphne on the shoulder. "You're fired, by the way."
"Good. I wouldn't want your money anyway, even if you paid me for it."
"And this is why your crummy little business is failing, and the Velvet Chameleon is going from strength to strength in the wizarding underworld," said Daphne. "You're a failure, Lupin. You were born a failure, you'll die a failure."
"What would your boss say if she knew you were taking money from such a crummy family?" I started to feel the familiar pangs of drunken nausea, but I pressed on. "I know for a fact that Nymphadora wouldn't piss on Malfoy money."
An odd expression crossed Daphne's face. "You know she doesn't like being called that, Remus."
Have you ever done a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing, or bent, or covered in coffee stains, and you've still been able to see the big picture despite the imperfections? I suddenly knew the feeling as the cogs aligned in perfect order in my mind. "Of course she wouldn't, Daphne. But Nymphadora isn't here, is she? I'm surprised that you would want to give money to your niece's company, Narcissa. I thought a tacky little half-blood like her wasn't worthy of the Malfoy coin."
"Don't be ridiculous, Lupin," said Narcissa. "Daphne and I go back a long way."
"I noticed. You both look very similar. Are you related?"
Narcissa Malfoy rolled her eyes at me. "Yes, I suppose. She's my sister."
"Don't flatter yourself. You don't look young enough."
Her pale, pointed face drew itself into a deep frown. "Fine, then. An old family friend who I'd fallen out of contact with."
"An old family friend, or an old family member?"
I saw a fleeting look of horror cross Daphne's face - just as I thought it would. "I don't know what you're blathering on about, Lupin, but if you're going to stand about and waste the money I'm spending on this consult, then you've got another thing coming."
I heard two loud cracks down in the alley below, and my heart raced as my brain clouded over. "Oh, you were going to kill him all along. You only came to me with a photo so you could justify it to yourself, you stringy hag."
The naturally unpleasant expression on Narcissa Malfoy's face grew even more unpleasant. "How dare you imply--"
"Of course, someone likely put the idea in your head; someone who wanted your husband dead in the first place."
The notion of not being capable of independent thought was apparently more offensive to Mrs M than the idea that she might just want her husband dead for no reason, and her slender pale hand caught the side of my cheek with a stinging slap. "If you're suggesting that Daphne is forcing me to--"
Her words were cut off as a spark of red hit the wall above her head, and suddenly all eyes were drawn to two figures in the doorway: Lucius Malfoy, and Hermione Granger. Lucius bore an expression of blind fury; Hermione looked like she was hanging out for a coffee break and was rather bored of all the proceedings.
"You bitch," Lucius cried again, as he aimed his wand at his wife again. "I can't believe after all I've sacrificed--"
"Oh, grow up, Lucius." Narcissa sniffed haughtily, and drew her wand from her robes. "At least I'm not the one gallivanting about the countryside with women half my age and acting like a supreme lothario."
Lucius stared at her. "What are you talking about? You were having an affair with her too!"
Mrs M's pale face flushed deeply. "What I had with Daphne is a bond too complex and special for you to understand."
"Wait, what?"
All eyes turned to Daphne, who stood with possibly the world's most confused facial expression. "You were both doing... oh, for the love of..."
It seemed that Hermione and I were the only people in the room not shocked to see Nymphadora Tonks return to her most common form. She looked extremely displeased and hugely vexed. "Do you know how awkward it was to have you both sleazing onto me? You people have issues."
It took a good five minutes of horrified, awkward silence before anyone could speak. "You mean... but... you're my sister's daughter!" Mrs M let out a melodramatic wail, and for some reason latched directly onto Hermione's shoulder for support - much to Hermione's chagrin.
"But... what about the real Daphne?" Lucius normally pale face had gone an off shade of green. "Please, tell me she's real."
"Oh, shut up, you old pervert," Narcissa snapped.
"She's on holiday with her boyfriend. Annoying, really, given that she just took sick leave, but you have to deal with that I suppose."
Narcissa let out another great wail at this news, and Lucius balled his hands into fists and jammed them into his robes pockets. "This is simply appalling. I demand to know why someone would cheat me in such a manner."
"Yes, I have no idea why anyone would see it fit to do you harm," Hermione said, softly. She was fortunately not heard (or ignored, most likely) by Mrs M.
"If I may," I piped up, almost tempted to cling to Hermione's other shoulder to keep me upright, "let's not forget what you came here to do, Lucius. I mean, this woman--" I slurred, pointing at Mrs M, "--intended to kill you in order to continue an affair with some floozy receptionist. Does that not count for anything anymore? Is a man of your calibre going to take that kind of shoddy treatment?"
"You're a drunkard," Lucius said, in a dismissive fashion.
"So's your mum."
"Oh, go back to wiping your arse with leaves in a forest, you filthy old mongrel," snapped Lucius, sounding decidedly un-aristocratic.
"Please!" Mrs M sobbed, and she grabbed at her husband's arm. "I couldn't kill you," she lied, "I couldn't afford to live in the fashion to which I am accustomed to without your income."
"Narcissa, I don't know if I can forgive you. You betrayed me. How am I supposed to be able to forgive that?"
"Oh, whatever, you cheated on her too," interjected Tonks. "You're such a sexist pig."
Lucius Malfoy rounded his wand on her, and instantly she shut up. "Yes, well. That's none of your business now, is it?"
"What are you talking about? You hired me to kill your wife," said Hermione.
"Stop acting as if she's the only person to blame."
"Narcissa, I don't believe that we need marital counselling from this lot of motley half-breeds," Lucius said, his aquiline nose high in the air.
"You're right." Narcissa promptly lay her hand on her husband's arm. "God knows that none of them are smart enough to actually do the jobs they're paid to do. Let's go home." And with that, they turned and headed to the door.
"No," Hermione pleaded weakly. "Come on, just kill each other."
"Or hex each other a bit," Nymphadora added, looking more and more dejected with each step out the Malfoys took out of her office. "Give each other a case of herpes, at least."
"Don't reckon they need any deliberate hexes for that," I said glumly, as the door slammed behind Mr and Mrs M.
"Shit," said Tonks.
***
We were all too despondent to face going to an actual pub that night, so we spent the evening huddled in my office, sharing the Ogden's amongst the three of us.
"Would have been beautiful," said Tonks. "Them dead, and nobody would be able to pin it on us if it was them that killed each other. My family would have got all the Black family fortunes, and mum and dad might have been able to go on holiday."
"Really, I just didn't like the Malfoys." Hermione's annoyance was so deep that she'd taken to drinking straight from the bottle, without even wiping the opening first. "You know that Lucius tried paying me in Leprechaun gold at first? Honestly."
I realised that I was sobering up when I found myself frustrated and angry at Tonks and Hermione. "You know, you could have just spared a lot of that time and effort by just killing them yourselves."
"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" Hermione leaned back in my chair, and sighed. "I mean, what's the point in killing someone if you can't cause them at least a good week of mental anguish first? That would be a total waste."
And that was the difference between a shady - yet non-lethal - magical PI like myself, and hardened assassins like these broads. "Yeah, well. I still feel sorry for them a bit. Not sorry enough that I'd hoped that they wouldn't kill each other, of course."
"Wouldn't want to be Auntie Narcissa right about now," Tonks said. "She actually liked Daphne a lot. Imagine being stuck with someone as miserable as Lucius Malfoy for the rest of your life."
"Hear, hear," Hermione and I both said.
I checked the clock on my wall: it was past ten. Only a minute ago it felt like it was only six thirty. I would be pretty ill the next morning: a combination of both the hangover and the ripening moon. A headache played on the margins of my brain, and I rubbed my temples. "Good thing I don't really have a job to go to in the morning," I said. "Otherwise I'd probably get fired."
"So what are you going to do now?" Hermione looked at me with concern.
"Probably take Mundungus Fletcher up on his offer of partnership in his firm, I guess. I can always end my lease. Besides, they actually have a proper investigative lab at his place: if not clean cutlery, anyway." I knew that it would be a blow to the ego - if I had any left of it, that was - to close down my own company. But truth be told, I didn't like working on my own. I didn't relish spending hours in an office with so few clients that I almost took to asking my friends if they needed anything spied on. And besides, I knew that Hermione was happy to work as a lone wolf, and Tonks wouldn't necessarily want me hanging around and cramping her style either.
Tonks raised the bottle of Ogden's in salute to me. "Remus, I think this is the beginning of a financially hazardous relationship."
***
the end