Chapter 14
"Four down and two to go," sighed Hermione, sinking down into her chair.
Riddle said nothing, he only looked at her.
Brilliant, thanks for the awkward silence, Riddle. Now she would have to struggle to fill it herself. What did people normally do in these situations? Talk about the weather, that they're hungry, tired, ask what the time is? Speaking of which, what on Earth was the time?
Hermione pulled out her pocket watch and gasped.
"It's already well past three o'clock in the afternoon!"
Riddle inclined his head slightly.
"It is indeed," he replied monotonously. "Although it is perhaps a little beyond me as to why you should express such surprise at the matter."
Hermione ignored his apathy.
"Well, for starters we haven't even had lunch or more than a minute's break," she said, her first year self's 'know-it-all' tone poking through.
"I feel in need of neither. In fact, I propose to abstain from either: the sooner we complete these interrogations, the closer we shall be to the end."
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Well, Riddle, if you truly wish to keep working on an empty stomach, I won't stop you," she said, laughingly. "But I don't think a fifteen minute break will compromise this investigation."
She stood to her feet and made her way towards the door.
"Very well," he said reluctantly, a slight tone of vexation tinging his words. "I have one or two things to be doing. I shall see you back here at half past three."
~
Her stomach actually felt as though it might pounce out through her skin. The interviews had been so stressful that they had somehow entirely suppressed her appetite. Not for much longer though - if she didn't get her hands on some food within the next minute, she would seriously contemplate tucking in on that drywall. Perhaps with the right condiments it could even be quite tasty... Striding as fast as she could without running, Hermione made her way down the corridor before turning into the dining room.
Perched on the long wooden table was a small paper bag. Hermione made her way over and picked it up into her hands, noticing that it was labelled with her name. She peered inside to find a ham and cheese sandwich, a fruit shoot and a packet of cheese and onion crisps. Once again, the kidnapper had outdone themselves. It was the classic primary school packed lunch she remembered so vividly from her childhood.
Just as Hermione began to tear into the sandwich she heard some footsteps. She looked up, mouth full of bread crust, proceeding to chew much slower now that she no longer had the privilege of being alone. It was Malfoy.
"Oh please, Granger, don't let my presence stop you from continuing to shove that sandwich down your throat like an uncivilised brute," drawled Malloy. "I was merely passing through."
Hermione glared at him and took an even larger bite of her sandwich, making a point to talk with her mouth full.
"I'd shove it up your arse instead but it seems you've already got a stick up there."
Malfoy chuckled and walked towards the table, caressing the edge of the wood with two fingers as he moved leisurely around its perimeter.
"Rough day at work?" he chuckled sarcastically. "I wonder what you have in store for me next."
He paused and turned straight to face Hermione. She merely scowled at him, popped the cap of her fruit shoot and downed it.
"Dutch courage? I must be in for quite the ride."
Hermione scowled.
"It's a fruit shoot," she barked.
Draco furrowed his brow.
"I beg your pardon."
"Muggle thing," she mumbled, tossing the empty plastic bottle into the paper bag and reaching for the crisps. "The kidnapper didn't give you one?"
Draco straightened himself up.
"They gave me a Gillywater."
Interesting, Hermione thought. The kidnapper had clearly done their research.
"For the record, I'll be asking you the same things I asked everybody else," said Hermione in a matter of fact tone, bursting open her packet of crisps and popping one crisp in her mouth. "You're not special, Malfoy."
"I'm not?" he asked with a smirk. "Then why save the best until last?"
Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head.
"The order is pretty much random and you - you're not even last. Krum is after you and urgh, of course you know that but you're such an entitled prick!" she exclaimed in exasperation.
Malfoy ignored her petty little outburst and extended his hand.
"Give us a crunchy circle then, Granger."
"You mean please may I have a crisp, Hermione?"she said in her classic know-it-all tone she had been renowned for back at Hogwarts, patronisingly exaggerating the constants of the word.
Draco suddenly looked somewhat taken aback. He no longer seemed in a playful mood.
"I have remembered that I am required upstairs. Apologies, Granger, I shall see you shortly," he stated with a cold, formal tone before sharply turning to exit the room.
What on earth was the matter with him? And had he actually just apologised? This was very suspicious behaviour indeed.
"Uh, alright, Malfoy? Come down in fifteen," she said, her face contorted with confusion.
"Noted," he mumbled, his back towards Hermione, just as he slipped out of the room.
"Huh," huffed Hermione, furrowing her brow as she bit down on the last crisp.
~
Back in the room her and Riddle had been conducting the interviews, Hermione found herself alone. She glanced down at her wristwatch to see that it was twenty-nine minutes past three. He wasn't technically late, but what could he be doing that was taking longer than her lunch?
The second hand kept ticking away until there were only five seconds left until it would be half past. Four, three, two...
The door swung open.
"Afternoon, Miss Granger," he said monotonously. "I hope you had a pleasant lunch."
"Uh, yeah, I did thanks," she replied. Riddle placed his briefcase on the table. Hermione was internally debating whether to enquire about where he had been but didn't want to pry. Riddle was a very private, very reserved individual. She didn't want to cross one of his many boundaries.
Riddle eyed her curiously.
"I was looking at the autopsy report, Miss Granger."
Hermione rushed over to where Tom was standing by the table, eyes wide and eager.
"The results came in?"
"They did indeed," he replied. Riddle then paused, straightened his posture and stared deep into Hermione's eyes. "Miss Granger, the most incredulous thing was revealed to me and I should like to share it with you now, if you will hear me."
Her mouth twitched. She swallowed.
"Of course, To- uh - Riddle."
His eyes did not left from hers, only widened fractionally, before imminently restoring themselves.
"The cause of Justin Finch-Fletchley's death was not by killing curse."
Hermione's jaw dropped.
"But Ron's wand, it-"
Riddle lifted up his hand and Hermione immediately clamped her mouth shut.
"The killing curse did in fact hit Mr Finch-Fletchley's body, but only after he was already dead."
Hermione gasped, her hand rushing to cover her mouth.
"I cannot confirm precisely how long after he had died that his body had come into contact with the curse. But I can was full certainty say that it came after his death, which the autopsy determined to have occurred between the hours of eleven pm and midnight."
"Eleven twenty-seven. The time on the watch."
"Well noted, Miss Granger. Although I find that broken watch to be very curious. I wouldn't jump to too many conclusions based on it."
Hermione nodded in agreement.
"Now to reveal to you the crucial discovery. The true cause, I discovered, what really resulted in Justin Finch-Fletchley's murder, was poison."
"Poison! W-w-what kind of poison? When could it have been administered? Did it kill him immediately?" A tangled rush of questions flew out of Hermione's mouth. This changed everything entirely and she didn't even know where to begin.
"I found his blood to contain a high concentration of a lethal but little known poison. I could find no match in any book in my possession and thus as far as I am aware, it is unnamed. All I could discern was that in its undissolved form it is white in colour and similar in texture and appearance to sugar."
"And had- had he ingested it?"
"I am coming to that," he replied calmly. "I was able to find that the poison had been circulating his body in his blood for three to four hours before his death. It did not have an immediate effect."
Hermione frowned, deep in thought.
"Between three and four hours before. Between three and four hours before a time between eleven pm and midnight. So, you're telling me the poison entered Justin's system between seven and nine pm? Which was exactly when the nine of us were having dinner."
Riddle nodded.
"Precisely, Miss Granger. And to answer a previous question of yours, the poison had in fact been ingested. Justin Finch-Fletchley unknowingly took the poison with his food, at dinner with us all."
"But how was it that only he was subject to the effects of the poison? The food was being shared among us - anyone could have fallen victim to the poison that Justin took."
"And yet they did not - to which there is a simple explanation. There was one item of food that only Justin consumed."
Hermione's face shot up.
"The coleslaw!"
"Indeed. I was able to find remnants of the coleslaw on the bowl that had been used that evening. The poison detected within that is a perfect match to that in Mr Finch-Fletchley's bloodstream."
"This. This changes everything. I mean, Justin might not even have been the true target, it could have been meant for someone else, or more than just someone else. It could have been meant, well, even for all of us."
"Miss Granger, there is no need to get carried away. This new information does change many things, but it need not change all. I am still committed to the belief that it is highly likely that the culprit intended to murder Mr Finch-Fletchley and Mr Finch-Fletchley alone. But we shall, of course, not rule out any possibilities."
"Right."
"Though there is one more piece of information I wish to communicate to you."
Hermione beckoned him to continue.
"I always found that Butterbeer cork most perplexing. Finding myself with a minute and a half to spare, I began analysing it. What I found- "
There was a knock on the door.
"That must be Malfoy," sighed Hermione. "I told him to come here in fifteen," she glanced down at her watch. "Well, fifteen minutes ago. Can it wait?"
"You spoke to Mr Malfoy just now?" he asked, his expression blank and unreadable. He did not wait for a response. Instead, he continued. "To answer your question, it can wait the duration of an interview. Bring him in."
Hermione went over to the door and opened it. As expected, Malfoy was standing behind it, looking rather inpatient.
"Well," he grunted. "I'm here."
"Do come in, Malfoy. Please take a seat."
Draco stepped smoothly into the room, not a crease forming in his perfectly pressed shirt and suit trousers along the way. When his eyes met Riddle's he stopped abruptly, his eyes squinting viciously.
"I refuse to answer any questions of yours with him in the room," he hissed, forcing the word 'him' out of his mouth with such emphasis that one could have mistook his English for Parseltongue.
Hermione looked over at Riddle intending to offer him a look of consolation, but his stare was sharp as daggers, unwavering, and all directed straight at Malfoy. She could not for one second catch his eye.
"It's just part of the process," said Hermione firmly to get her point across, but gently enough to not discourage him. "We have to make it the same for everyone - no exceptions."
Malfoy remained where he was, immobile in his posture, with only the muscles around his eyes contracting. He seemed to wish he could squint a Cruciatus curse straight into Riddle's chest.
"Draco, please!" she huffed in exasperation, the words darting out of her mouth before she realised the implication of her choice of words. Her hand quickly brought itself up to her mouth and she was just about to correct herself, but she quickly decided against it. Better to brush over it and hope no one noticed.
Right at that moment, whether it had been due to the effect of her words or not, Malfoy shifted out of his stone-like stance, without a word or a glance to Hermione, and slumped down onto the hot seat, arms crossed, legs wide and his back reclined. One might have almost found his stance irrefutably alluring if one was able to forget that this was just some posh boy in a strop, rebelling against all those posture lessons that would have surely come with his scrupulous upbringing. Accordingly, Hermione shook herself out of it.
"Alright I suppose we can start now then. How are you feeling today?"
"On top of the world," he snarled sarcastically.
Hermione ignored his tone, hoping that if she didn't give him the attention this tantrum-throwing toddler, she had to remind herself, was craving, he would stop being so difficult. Thus, she continued with the usual questions and disclaimers, as with all the interviews that had preceded this one.
As if to make some sort of point, Malfoy kept his responses short and avoided description or embellishment wherever possible, save the few exceptions made for sarcasm. They went to school together, were sorted into different houses and he had never interacted with Justin Finch-Fletchley until this lovely holiday of theirs.
"Bullied him at school? Did I not already say that I never spoke a word to that boy? You're wasting my time here."
That snake was conjured in defence during his supervised duel against Harry Potter. It was Justin's fault that he was standing there.
"So you did not target him with your Serpensortia spell?"
"Did you not just hear me? I didn't bloody mean it for him," he spat.
"I request that you moderate your tone, Mr Malfoy," said Riddle coldly.
"Fuck your request," he hissed. His previously icy stare had boiled into a fiery look of rage. "I don't answer to you."
Hermione took a deep breath and tried to steer the interview away from this conflict, turning to what she deemed to be perfectly harmless questions required by protocol.
"Malfoy, tell me, what did you do after dinner?"
He had gone upstairs with Blaise, obviously, as everyone had seen. Went to his room. Went to the toilet. Went to bed.
No, he heard nothing outside his room until the scream.
He could not give two shits whether Justin Finch-Fletchley smoked or not.
Yes, for fuck's sake, that meant he didn't know whether Finch-Fletchley had ever smoked.
Somehow, Malfoy had managed to take offence at even the most innocuous of questions. Hermione was starting to become exasperated. Taking note of this, Riddle interjected and asked the next question.
"You, Mr Malfoy, are a Pure-blood, are you not?"
A pause.
"Yes," he said quickly, but in a smaller voice than before. "What are you getting at, Riddle?"
"And as you know, Mr Finch-Fletchley was a Muggle-born," Riddle continued.
"Watch yourself."
Riddle did not, in fact, watch himself. Instead, he pushed further.
"Is it not a well known fact about you and your family, that you ardently hate and actively discriminate against those born to non-magical parents?"
"Well known fact, my arse. You know nothing about me."
Riddle's lip curved into a smile.
"Did you hate the late Mr Finch-Fletchley for his blood status?"
Malfoy froze.
"I didn't do anything to him."
"That's not answering my question, Mr Malfoy," said Riddle, clearly taking great pleasure in making Malfoy feel defensive and uncomfortable.
"I don't fucking hate Mudbloods. Not anymore or whatever."
Hermione flinched at the word.
"Interesting choice of language there. One might argue that your specific use of a slur against Muggle-Borns might contradict your claim," Riddle continued, relishing his position of power in the conversation.
"Fine, fuck. Muggle-borns. Whatever."
"Why thank you, Mr Malfoy. Your compliance in using of the politically correct term is greatly appreciated," said Riddle, sarcasm dripping in between each syllable. "But this hardly acquits you from the accusation of your hatred for Muggle-borns. After all, your family was personally involved in the persecution and murder of many wizards and witches of Muggle-born and Half-blood status."
"My family," Draco said firmly. "My family, not me."
"You by extension, no?" pushed Riddle.
Malfoy leapt out of his seat; Riddle retaliated.
"You want to keep going in circles, Riddle? The answer's no."
Slowly, and somewhat mockingly, Riddle shook his head , which was level with Malfoy's, the two of them only clenched fists apart.
"Your past is all against you, Mr Malfoy. Without any form of compelling evidence-"
"Evidence?" Draco interjected, springing closer to Riddle, talking straight into his face. "You want evidence? I fucking love her."
Draco turned to look at Hermione, panting. Riddle remained facing Malfoy but uttered not a word.
The room fell still. Hermione's mouth dropped. Her. He meant her.
"You what?" she said simply.
He didn't correct himself. Why wasn't he correcting himself?
"Forgive me," he whispered, shaking his head, making his way towards the door. "You must forgive me."
Hermione jumped out of her seat.
"Draco, wait!"
His hand was already clutching the door handle, but he glanced back behind him.
"Yes, Hermione?"
She walked over to him, clutching an item in her hand.
"Your wand." She held out the ten-inch hawthorn wood wand and placed it the hand not holding the door handle. She closed his calloused fingers around it with her two hands. He did not lift his eyes from hers. "Thank you for your time."
He nodded, tensed his hand around the wand and then relaxed it slightly, and exited the room.