X.
Malfoy stared over the corpse of another Death Eater. He ran his hand over his face and shook his head. It was the exact cause of death as the others. The magical scan had left traces of unknown or unfamiliar magic. It couldn’t determine if it was a curse or a potion, but it left the victim instantly dead. And unfortunately very likely to blow up into a thick mass of black gunk if too much pressure was applied to the body.
He took out his wand and began the charm he’d been practicing at home. A creation of his own magic. He’d taken inspiration from the Muggle version of an autopsy he’d been researching. He focused the magic on the vital organs of the corpse. He lowered his wand slowly and absorbed the information the scans were bringing. Epicardial hemorrhaging and intra-cerebral hematomas. He bled internally. He studied the cadaver for any signs of physical cuts, bruises, injections, or anything. Draco didn’t find any, though. If some magic inhibited him from clotting, then that could explain why, post-mortem, they tended to blow up.
Draco annotated his findings in his notebook and pulled the sheet over Gibbon. He returned to his cubicle and thought about drafting a report on his most recent findings. But something stopped him. He never hesitated with things like this. He had to remain in the good graces of the Ministry to one day buy out of his sentence. He vanished the report before it started and turned his attention back to the small scrap of parchment he kept in his pocket. Her looping cursive distracted him from Gibbon's corpse.
***
Nott was irritable. It was a rare occurrence for him. He was distracted and brooding as he joined Blaise and Draco at a small table at the pub they liked. Pansy wasn’t feeling up to a night out, so she headed home after their shift at the club.
“We need to buckle down and figure out the real issue,” Blaise said as he drank from his ale. “We’ve got to get your bloody father locked up in Azkaban for good.”
Draco snorted. His two friends knew the inner workings of the Malfoy home. Both of them saw past the illusion of the gracious “house arrest” his father was offered in exchange for small monetary favors for the ministry. As long as Lucius was willing to line their pockets with galleons, the Ministry was willing to overlook any and all crimes against humanity of his past. And present.
“How is your mum?” Theo asked.
Draco shook his head.
“I send Kippy after them most trips, but even she can’t help all the time.”
“If your father were to screw up publicly enough, the Ministry would have no choice but to lock him up,” Blaise said.
“We’d need him to slaughter an entire Muggle village for that to happen.”
“And we know slippery Lucius is too careful for that to happen,” Nott said.
They agreed and took another drink.
“Couldn’t we just hide your mum?” Blaise asked. “Surely there’s a way to create a safe house. At least until we can take care of Lucius.”
“I don’t know if she’d go,” Draco answered. “She still thinks she’s protecting me.”
“By killing herself?” Blaise scoffed. “Pull her out. Put her in hiding. You’re a big boy, you can protect yourself.”
Nott was up from the table in a flash.
“I gotta go,” he said.
Draco and Blaise exchanged glances.
“Steady on, Nott,” Blaise said. “What’s gotten into you tonight?”
“Work shit,” he mumbled as he put on his coat. “And bloody witches.”
They watched him leave and exchanged a confused glance. Blaise rolled his eyes and ordered another.
“He and Pansy have been intolerable these last two weeks,” he grumbled. “I can’t get a moment’s peace.”
“Any idea why?”
Blaise shrugged. He was a great oaf of a man, but deep down, insanely sensitive. His level of protectiveness knew no boundaries. He’d probably offer to slaughter a village of Muggles himself to pin it on Lucius.
“You don’t think they’re seeing each other, do you?”
Draco threw his head back and laughed at the notion of Pansy Parkinson-Zabini and Theodore Nott conducting an extra-marital affair.
“Pansy would kill Nott with his own bullocks if he ever tried anything,” Draco said. “And you know Nott.”
“I know,” he said, grumbling into his ale. “I just feel like I’m missing something.”
“Want me to talk to them?” Draco offered, but Blaise shook his head.
“I think we just need a week away. Reconnect. Infect her with a little growing Zabini weed.”
Draco smiled and patted him on the shoulder.
“That’s right, give her a spawn. It’ll distract her well.”
“Are you ready to be an uncle?”
“I’ve been waiting for years. It’s about damn time.”
Blaise drained his second drink and stood up.
“Go find yourself a nice one,” he winked toward the bar. “You deserve a distraction too.”
Zabini was out the door, and Draco looked at the small group of witches at the bar. One of them with coppery hair turned and winked at him. She motioned with her head for him to come closer. But he couldn’t bring himself to move. He didn’t even feel a stirring of lust as he looked over at them. He put on his coat and absently wondered if her disappearance had ruined him for good.