Harvest Moon

A hand waved over the scrying mirror, turning it to black once again.



“So, you’ve come to that knowledge. No one ever said you were stupid, Lucius. But I’m still smarter than you are. Your next move will be to come looking for your dear departed brother. Whom you’ll never find.”



“Liren?”



“Yes, my angel. What is it?”



“I’m going out. Is there anything you’d like?”



“Lucius’ head on a silver platter. Barring that, I’d like the address to one Ms. Arabella Smythe’s place of residence.”



“Why?”



“Suffice it to say it will be necessary in my scheme of things. I do hope Lucius and the auror get together soon. I’m running out of his lovers to kill.”



***



Lucius sighed heavily and shook his head as he read the morning paper on November first.



“Well, it couldn’t be expected they’d keep it quiet forever,” he grumbled and started to read the article.



BLOODY CORPSE FOUND ON MALFOY ESTATE



Read the headline on the front page of the Daily Prophet. “The corpse wasn’t bloody at all, you twit,” he said to himself before reading on.



It has often been said that an invitation to Lucius Malfoy’s Samhain celebration is the mark that one has arrived in the eyes of the wizarding world’s high society. This reporter doubts, however, that even the ever well prepared Mr. Malfoy could have suspected the arrival of an unwanted guest in the form of a headless corpse at the party.

Several guests at the posh gathering stated the poor woman’s body was posted up on the Malfoy mausoleum like a ghastly rag doll. There are several conflicting stories as to the state of the body. Certain individuals stated that she was torn to bits, others simply that she was missing her head. All, however, said that they were shocked and thoroughly horrified by this turn of events. One has to wonder if an invitation to Mr. Malfoy’s parties from here on out will be a coveted thing.

No details concerning the woman’s identity could be uncovered at the time of this printing. Neither Mr. Malfoy nor aurors working on the case could be reached for comment.



“As though anyone even tried to contact me concerning the matter,” Lucius growled under his breath. “Tweak!”



Tweak appeared in the doorway. “Yes, Master?”



“Bring my owl, a quill and some parchment.”



“Yes, Master. Tweak is doing so right away, sir,” Tweak said before scurrying out of the room.



Lucius leaned back in his chair. “If the Prophet wants a comment, I’ll most certainly give them one,” he said, eyes narrowing dangerously. “They’ve obviously forgotten who they are dealing with.”



A large eagle owl soared into the room and landed neatly next to Lucius’ plate. Tweak came into the room a moment later with quill and parchment in hand.



“Thank you, Tweak,” Lucius said absently. He was startled when the little elf burst into tears. “What the . . .”



“Tweak is sorry, Master,” she said, wiping at her enormous eyes. “But Tweak is worried. Bubble is saying strange things about the muggle lady and the police miss. Tweak is afraid for them, sir.”



Lucius’ heart stopped for a moment, knowing she could only mean Arabella and Hermione. “What did Bubble say, Tweak?”



“He is . . . he is saying things Tweak is not understanding, sir.”



“Tweak, try to remember exactly what he said about Arabella and Hermione. It’s important.”



“Tweak will try, sir. He says . . . Hair of gold turned red and eyes of blue no longer see. That he says to the house elves in passing. And he says to the police miss herself she should be careful because dark one wants her most of all.”



Lucius was out of his chair in a flash. Having quite forgotten to apparate he had taken the stairs two at a time to the guestroom where Arabella had spent the night. He flung open the door and then sagged in relief against the frame when he saw she was unharmed.



Arabella had rolled over and was staring at him as though he’d lost his last functioning brain cell.



“Sweet goddess, Lucius, what time is it?” she groaned, shoving her pillow away from her face. “What’s wrong?”



“You know one of my house elves is a seer.”



“Yes, I’m aware. What does that have to do with you bursting in on me at this hour?”



“It’s ten thirty, Ara,” Lucius said. “Some of his visions have been about you and Hermione apparently,” he said, stalking over to the fireplace. The embers leapt to life as he flicked his wand at them and he grabbed a handful of flu powder from the mantle. Tossing it onto the flames, he stuck his head in and called, “Draco’s office.” When the room came into view it was empty of both his son and his partner. “Draco? Hermione?” Lucius called. Receiving no answer he pulled his head out of the fire and thought for a moment, trying to discern where they might be. After a moment he tried again, this time calling out for the MME’s office.



Luna was startled out of her doze by Lucius’s voice. “Dr. Lovegood.”



“Mr. Malfoy! You startled me.”



“Obviously. Have you seen my son or Hermione recently?”



“Define recently. I haven’t seen them since very early this morning when they said they were both going home to get some rest,” she said, stifling the yawn that threatened.



“It looks as though you could do with some sleep too,” Lucius said, noting her disheveled state and the exhausted look on her face.



“I will as soon as I finish here. Murder and mayhem are no respecters of persons, I’m afraid,” she said, grinning ruefully at the statement.



“Obviously not. Thank you. I’m sorry your date was ruined by this.”



“That’s quite all right. I’m sure there will be other opportunities.”



“One does hope,” he said. He pulled his head back out of the fireplace and sighed heavily. “Gods, this is a nightmare.”



“That is a certainty. Are you finished being paranoid now, Lucius, so I can go back to sleep? I was up all night defending your good name, you know,” Arabella said grumpily. “The Ministry wanted to hang you out to dry immediately.”



“I know, Ara,” Lucius said, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “I am forever in your debt concerning that.”



“Of course you are. I’d spank you for being naughty but I rather imagine my days of doing that are numbered. I’ll just be happy when you finally admit how utterly silly you are over Hermione and get it over with.”



“I admit to nothing,” Lucius said, smiling down at her.



“Hmpf! Impossible man. Go away so I can sleep,” she said, pulling the covers over her head. “And make sure you put a stop to whatever those blithering ninnies at the Prophet are printing.”



“You’re muffled but I understand. How did you know they’d said something?”



“They had to. There were too many people who were witnesses.”



“That there were. You’ll excuse me, Ara. I have a letter to send,” he said, getting up and walking back downstairs.



He went into his study and used the fireplace there to contact his son, finding him already up again and moving about his kitchen.



“Draco.”



Draco turned around to look at his father’s head. “Quiet, Father. Granger’s still asleep on my couch.”



“Ah. Good, she’s with you then.”



“Yes. We were discussing the case and she fell asleep. I saw no point in waking her. What is it?”



“Bubble has apparently seen a few things concerning her and Ara that aren’t pleasant. Liren is evidently planning on hunting them at some point.”



Draco nodded. “That makes an odd sort of sense. Are you sure it’s him, Father? Even for our family, it sounds outlandish from all sides.”



“It does. But my brother could never do anything in a simple way.”



“If you say so, Father. Should we be worried about Mother in that regard as well?”



Lucius snorted. “I doubt that most heartily. Liren would never hurt Narcissa.”



“Well, that’s one less thing I’ll have to worry about. Let me know if you think of anything pertinent,” Draco said.



“I shall,” Lucius said before pulling his head out of the fireplace.



He walked back into the dining room, pondering what exactly he should say to the oh so annoying staff of the Daily Prophet. They had most definitely forgotten whom they were dealing with but he would not so gently remind them. A nasty little smile played across his lips as he sat down to write one word in heavy, bold letters. LIBEL.