GolemChapter 1By Lillith JanvierDisclaimer: The characters are Rowling's. The plot is mine. No money is being made. This story starts with a book.
Edward “Eddie” Finn was a wizard; but above all, he was, what is called in the trade, a bookman. Bookmen love books. Muggle bookmen were known to go into trances in the presence of a Hemingway first edition. Eddie tranced in the presence of obscure texts in coded and dead languages. Eddie who owned Quixotic Quills, located just across the British Museum, made no distinction between muggle, wizard, dark or light texts. He was tolerated by the Ministry because he was one of their best sources of information about obscure dark magic. In the scholarly world, Wizard or Muggle, Eddie was respected as the person who could track down a text no matter how obscure or rare. No one knew how he did it. Illegal use of a time turner was suspected, but never proven. The truth was Eddie had carefully built up a network of runners who were always aware of Auror raids on the estates of some of the more questionable members of the wizarding world. Eddie’s runners were just as well known in the Muggle world. They knew exactly when a century’s old estate was heading to Sotheby’s to pay back taxes owed to her Majesty’s government. As far as Eddie was concerned, the book was the thing One February morning, Eddie had just started to unpack the five crates of books that his best runner, Griffin, had brought to the shop early that morning when the bell over the door tinkled merrily. “Good morning, Eddie,” said Hermione Granger as she came into the shop. “I’ve got the month’s rent.” She waved a check. “Just put it there on the desk, Ducks.” Eddie’s voice was muffled by the crate he bent over. Hermione set the check on the desk and peered down on Eddie’s spiked blond head bent over the first of five crates off to the side of the desk. “Anything interesting?” she asked. “You never know with Griffin,” he said and set a group of leather covered books on his desk. “Griffin always has some surprises in his runs.” He reached back into the crate. “Hullo, what’s this then?” He pulled out and almost dropped a smallish battered brown book. “What do you make of this, love?” Hermione took the book and also almost dropped it. “There’s quite a series of wards and charms on this one.” She shook her right hand like it had been burned and carefully flipped through the pages. “Does the name, at least I think its a name, mean anything? Maharal...” She showed him the printed word on the inside front cover. “Not a thing, Ducks.” Eddie shook his head. “Thought you were the expert on wizards weird, wise and wonderful.” “Yes,” acknowledged Hermione with a smile. “But you’re the expert on books battered, borrowed and bizarre.” “Too true,” Eddie returned the smile. He was warming to their traditional game. “Though this tome is too terribly tranced for my talents” “Urrrgh,” Hermione groaned. She held up her hand to shield herself from further alliteration. “Please not before coffee.” “Spoil sport,” Eddie said in mock pout. “Seriously though,” Hermione was peering closely at the pages of the book she still held. “Can I borrow this?” She looked up. “Do you know where Griffin got this load?” “Nope,” Eddie leaned against the crate. “Griff mumbled something about an old estate library somewhere up North, but nothing specific. You know how he is.” “So you’ve told me,” Hermione was really examining the dry pages, trying to read the spiky script. “He’s coming back this afternoon,” Eddie turned back to his crates. “Take the book until tomorrow. I’ll see if I can get anymore information from Griffin. I need to know the provenance if I’m going to pay the galleons he’s asking for this load.” Eddie transformed back into his very serious, very literate bookseller mode. “Thanks,” Hermione turned to go. “If I find anything on my end, I’ll let you know.” Eddie waved Hermione from the shop, his head disappearing back into the crate. Later that day, Hermione perused the most recent issue of the Journal of Theoretical Arithmancy while absently munching her sandwich. She looked up as Agrippa Helenista, the Chief of the Unspeakable's Department, wandered into her office. Agrippa took a stack of papers from the chair in front of the desk, put them on the already tilting stack in the other chair and settled in amongst the mess. “Here’s the bacon and egg sandwich and your soda,” Hermione tossed a cellophane wrapped package to her boss. “Don’t throw the soda,” Agrippa said as she unwrapped her sandwich. “How can you stand that stuff?” Hermione motioned towards the can that Agrippa had opened. Hermione preferred her caffeine in coffee form, soda was far too sweet for her tastes. “Its the only legal drug I’m allowed.” Agrippa’s addiction to caffeine in soda form was famous through out the department. And, while the Unspeakable's tried to act like the Muggles whose building they shared, they carefully avoided the plague that was the MI5 cafeteria. However, the cafeteria did, on Thursdays, make a mean bacon and egg sandwich, the sales of which, along with Agrippa’s soda habit seemed to keep the cafeteria in business for the rest of the work week. “I’ve had a bit of peculiar news,” Agrippa said around a mouth of lunch. “Oh?” Hermione looked up from the Arithmancy journal. “Yes,” replied Agrippa. “It has the disturbing quality of seeming to be nothing, but....” Hermione waited while Agrippa chewed. “Someone seems to be making inquiries about books.” Hermione raised her eyebrows in skepticism. “Yes, that’s what I thought,” agreed her boss. “We can’t figure out if the person is Muggle or Wizard, but the texts being asked about are arcane alchemical and arithmantic texts.” Agrippa sipped her soda. “So given the unlikeliness that Quartos have suddenly become a trendy investment, I did some more checking.” Hermione nodded and continued to eat. “The person or buyer is looking for works by or about some person called Maharal. Do you know anything or anyone by that name?” Hermione looked up from her Journal and started to root around on her desk. “Hmmm,” she said. “That word sounded strangely familiar.” After moving several stacks of paper around, she held up Eddie’s book. “I borrowed this from Eddie’s shop. He had a delivery from Griffin this morning. It’s warded and looks like gibberish, but on the inside cover is the word Maharal.” Agrippa looked at the book. She was very familiar with Eddie and his shop. “It doesn't look like much does it?” She stood up to leave. “But I can feel the wards from here. If you aren’t doing anything this afternoon, would you mind checking this out?” Hermione nodded as Agrippa left her office. She spent the rest of the afternoon flipping through the pages of Eddie’s book. She recognized a few of the characters as Greek and Sanskrit. One page contained a particularly pretty poem in medieval French. The rest, however, was gibberish. When she was unsuccessful at deciphering the text, she decided that letters to the three main Wizarding libraries were in order: one to Madam Pince at Hogwarts, one to the British Library’s Montcello,Virginia Warehouse and one to the curator at the Really Rare Book Room at the Bodleian. Then, Hermione locked her office door and prepared to go home. She had just turned towards the elevator when a voice called her name. “Hey, Hermione.” It was Draco Malfoy. He had grown taller and leaner in the years since Hogwarts. The war against Voldemort had left one eye sightless, which he covered with an eye patch that gave him slightly rakish mien. “I really hate to ask, but you’re the only one around.” “Oh?” Hermione asked. “What’ s going on?” “I really need your help. Can you take the Yard duty cell phone?” Draco said. “I’m taking Ginny out to that play at the Albery for our anniversary, and then for dinner. I can’t believe I’m taking my wife out to lust after another man.” Hermione laughed at Draco’s slightly put out expression. “I’m sure she’s very appreciative, and yes, if you think it will be okay, I’ll take the phone.” Hermione said. “You’ve both been working late recently. Heard anything from her family?” “No, they don’t seem to want to forgive her. And yes, public affairs keeps her busy. You’d think things would quiet down with Voldemort dead and gone, but people clamor for the latest cauldron standards.” He rolled his eyes. “Here’s the duty phone, I don’t really expect anything to come through, so you should be all right. Chief Inspector John Proctor might call about this series of thefts and murders we’ve been working on, just tell him that I’ll get back to him tomorrow. ” “I hope you’re right about not ringing. I’m not really trained for police liaison work.” Hermione took the cell phone. “Have a good night.” They parted ways. Hermione rode up in the elevator. Once out on the street, she ducked into a corner and apparated to her block. Eddie’s shop was dark when she reached it, so Hermione walked up the stairs to her flat. She’d try to catch up with him tomorrow. Dinner was pasta and salad. At about 9pm, while just settling in to catch up with her mail and journals, the Yard phone rang. “Damn,” Hermione swore. “It would ring.” She got up from her desk and picked up the cell phone. “Hello,” she said into the small object. “Mr. Malfoy?” the gruff male voice asked. “No, this is Hermione Granger,” she replied. “I’m covering the phone for Mr. Malfoy. It’s his anniversary tonight. Can I help you?” There was a pause on the other end of the line. “This is Chief Inspector Proctor. Normally, I’d wait for Mr. Malfoy, but I’m a bit desperate tonight. What do you know about murder?” “More than I would care to admit, Chief Inspector.” Hermione said acerbically. “I’ve got a murder on my hands Miss Granger,” he replied. “And, as I said, normally, I’d wait, but the witness insisted we call the Special Branch. So, if you’d not mind popping down here and assuring him that we’re not going to muck things up, I’d appreciate it. Seems to think the Yard can’t properly investigate a murder.” “Oh, I see,” said Hermione. “Shall I meet you at the Yard?” “I’m at the scene, Miss Granger. Will you need assistance getting here?” “No, just give me the address,” Hermione said and copied down the information. Hermione stared for a few minutes at the piece of paper with the Sussex address. She sighed and gathered up her coat from the chair back where she had dropped it earlier. She took one last longing look at her study, swore that Draco was going to really owe her and apparated. Hermione appeared in front of a stone cottage. She pulled her coat closer in defense against the cold wind blowing in from the channel. The cottage was ablaze with lights against the dark sky. It appeared to be stone. Hermione crunched up the gravel drive to the door. She was stopped at the front stoop by a police constable. “Excuse me, miss,” he said. “Are you Miss Granger?” “Yes, I’m here to see a Chief Inspector Proctor.” “Yes, I know. The Inspector is waiting for you. I’m to take you right through. Come with me.” The constable lead Hermione through the front door. She walked past an open door on the right, which lead into a library. Hermione glanced through to see the disorder of strewn books. The constable was heading to the back of the cottage. Hermione followed him the through a door into the kitchen. She looked to her right as the constable announced her presence to a stocky man leaning against the counter. “Ah, good,” the Chief Inspector said. “Now, perhaps you’ll feel like answering our questions.” This last was directed to a person leaning against the opposite wall behind Hermione. She turned to see a tall figure clad entirely in black. At first, Hermione just blinked. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Then, the figure spoke. “Good evening, Miss Granger.” Severus Snape’s voice was still the same baritone purr. Hermione surpressed a shudder. She really didn’t want to remember the last time she had heard that voice. “Ah, good,” said Proctor. “You know each other. Now maybe we can get down to business.” “As I have tried to explain to the Chief Inspector,” Snape interrupted. “I had an appointment with Mr. Archimedes. He had some books and we were to discuss a possible sale price. The housekeeper, Mrs. Fogerty, let me in. She said I was expected and to please go right into the study. I went in and found Mr. Archimedes, that was when the Chief Inspector and his minions came barreling into the house.” “I fail to see why I needed to be called.” Hermione turned to the Chief Inspector. “Well,” said Proctor. “We can’t find this supposed housekeeper and the neighbors have confirmed that Mr. Archimedes lived alone. So, you see my problem, Miss Granger.” Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. She could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. She looked over at Snape who just shrugged. It’s not my problem, he seemed to say. Draco is really going to owe me, Hermione thought. She looked over at the Chief Inspector, who also shrugged. Damn it, she swore inwardly. It looks like I’m the only adult here. “Well, gentlemen,” said Hermione. “It appears we have an impasse.” Snape rolled his eyes. Hermione ignored him. She focused instead on the Chief Inspector. “Perhaps, it would be possible for me to see where Professor Snape and Mr. Archimedes were found?” She asked. The Inspector raised his eyebrows, but nodded. “It’s in the study. We found the good Professor here leaning over Archimedes body. He’s had his throat cut.” Proctor said this as he lead the way out of the kitchen. Hermione followed with Snape bringing up the rear. Proctor turned to the open left doorway into the study. Hector Archimedes’ study ran the entire right side of the cottage. The room was lined in dark wood paneling with built in shelves. Most of the books had been pulled off the shelves and dumped on the floor. A rough stone fireplace with a roaring fire, as befit the chilly weather, stood opposite the doorway. A worn turkish carpet in mellow tones of gold and blue covered the old oak floorboards in front of the fireplace. A grouping of chairs and a sofa was arranged on the carpet. Glancing left, Hermione saw set of closed french doors on the back wall. The front wall framed a large picture window. In the front right corner of the room stood a library table with the body of a man lying spread eagle on the surface. The man’s arms and legs had been tied to the legs of the table. Numbing her brain to her nausea, Hermione stepped between piles of books to walk over to the table. Hector Archimedes’ throat had been cut from ear to ear. The cut was deep, starting from left ear and slashing down to the right side of his throat. A few undamaged tendons at the back of the neck kept Hector’s head attached to his body. His face was frozen in a permanent grimace, as if he felt a twinge in an arthritic shoulder. Blood that had caked and dried to a dark red stained the front of his shirt. Even though the blood on Hector’s shirt had dried, the room’s air still held an obvious tang. Hermione turned from the desk to face the rest of the library. Inspector Proctor had seated himself on the sofa that was parallel to the fireplace. Professor Snape leaned against the shelves just inside the door. “Has anything been moved since you found the Professor in here?” Hermione asked the Chief Inspector. “No, nothing’s been moved,” the inspector replied. “The forensics fellows were waiting for you.” Hermione nodded and continued her perusal of the room. The candles in wall sconces gave off a warm glow. Shadows and light danced on the empty shelves. “Professor, where did the housekeeper person seem to be going after she showed you the study?” Hermione asked. She didn't look at him, looking instead at the books on the floor. Snape watched the shadows play on her face for a few moments before answering. “She walked to the back of the house. She said she was going to fetch tea.” Hermione nodded and turned towards the Inspector. “Chief Inspector, I believe we can allow the Professor to go. He doesn’t really seem to have any baring on this crime, except for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I would suggest that the false housekeeper was the murderer, but that just doesn’t fit.” “Why do you say that?” The Chief Inspector asked. “As much as I hate to answer a question with a question, where’s the blood?” Hermione asked. “You said,” Hermione looked at the Inspector. “that you came into the study to find Professor Snape standing over the body on the desk.” “Yes,” said Inspector Proctor. “The constables found him bending over the desk.” “Has there been any sign of a weapon?” asked Hermione. “None that we found.” “Professor, was there any sign of blood on the housekeeper?” Hermione turned to face where his tall figure was leaning against the empty shelves. “No, Miss Granger,” Snape drawled. “There was no blood anywhere.” “Well, Inspector,” said Hermione tiredly. “You have a pretty puzzle here, but, again, I don’t think Professor Snape has anything to do with this crime.” “I tend to agree with you,” agreed the Inspector. “However, he,” the Inspector jerked his head at Snape, “insisted on speaking with the Special Branch. I suppose you both can go, if, Miss Granger, you can vouch for the Professor’s locale?” “Yes, Inspector,” said Hermione. “Just call the cell phone. I’ll get the message.” Hermione walked towards the door of the study. She passed Snape, who stopped her progress by holding up a hand. “One moment,” he said. “Inspector, if you don’t mind, could you forward an inventory of the books to Miss Granger?” “Is that really necessary, Miss Granger?” the Inspector asked in confirmation. “It will take sometime.” “If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it.” She looked at Snape curiously, but she was thinking of her earlier conversations with Agrippa and Draco. “I believe an inventory might interest Mr. Malfoy.” Hermione offered the partnership with Malfoy in placation for the extra effort. The Inspector nodded. “You’re right. Malfoy would be interested. I’ll send it to the usual place, then?” “Yes,” responded Hermione. “I’ll tell him to expect it in a few days.” With those words, Hermione went around Snape and out into the hall. She wanted to get back to her apartment in London. The grotesque murder scene had effected her more than she wanted to admit. She had seen far too much death in the war. She had turned from an active career as an Auror to that of a faceless analyst because of the abiding presence of death. Lost in her thoughts of the past, she had marched out of the house and was half way down the gravel drive before she realized that Snape had kept perfect step with her. She stopped and turned towards him. “You’re free to go,” she said. She looked over his shoulder, anywhere but his face. “You don’t need to come with me. You aren’t in my custody.” “I am well aware of that, Miss Granger.” Snape looked down at her. Aware of his regard, Hermione stared out over the dark downs. She didn’t know what to say to him. She hadn’t known what to say to many of the people she had known at Hogwarts. They had all been so sympathetic and understanding -- suffocating in their attempts at empathy. The only people she saw now were Draco and Ginny. Of all the people she had expected to understand her, Ginny had been a surprise. Ginny hadn’t been sympathetic, hadn’t tried to be empathetic. Ginny had comprehended Hermione’s need for silence. She had also understood Hermione’s need for normalcy; often stopping by the office to talk about the latest stupid things the Ministry was telling the public. Soon, Draco, attracted to Ginny, had started doing the same. They had succeeded in bringing Hermione out of her shell. Again, memories of the past had taken away her focus on the present, she started and finally looked up into Snape’s shadowed face. “Why are you interested in the inventory of the books?” asked Hermione. She didn’t want Snape to inquire about how she was. She didn’t think he was like the others, but no sense taking a chance. Hermioine felt Snape's hooded gaze on her face a moment before he looked away and answered her question. “I do have an explanation, but it is not a conversation for a cold night in the middle of the country. If you are interested, I can meet you sometime tomorrow.” His silky baritone was persuasive. She nodded, curious in spite of herself. “I’ll leave word at the front desk to expect you. What time, 10 am?” “While I understand that life at the Ministry thrives on meetings, I am not asking for a meeting. Are you free tomorrow evening?” “Yes, but” “No,” interrupted Snape. “If you want the explanation, meet me tomorrow evening at the Algiers. The second seating is quieter, be at the door at nine.” He apparated without another word, leaving Hermione alone at the end of the gravel drive. Hermione stared at the spot previously occupied by Severus Snape. What was she going to do? She hated going out at night, especially going out to anything resembling a London nightclub. The thing was, she couldn’t imagine that Severus Snape went out to anything resembling a London nightclub either. She’d never heard of -- Algiers -- was it? Maybe Draco or Ginny knew something about it. She mentally went through her closet... “Bloody hell,” Hermione swore at herself and determinedly turned her thoughts to the corpse inside of the cottage. Given the wound on its throat, there should have been more blood. “Priori magicum,” she said. There wasn’t so much as a shimmer. Despite his wizard sounding name, Hector Archimedes was a muggle. No magic had been used anywhere near his cottage. “So what happened to the blood?” Hermione asked herself. Before apparating, she made a mental note to ask Draco about the series of murders and thefts he had mentioned. |