ciroccoj | Fic Post: Finding Elvis Chapter 4a (Reply)

OK, here's the second-last chapter of Finding Elvis. And a big thanks to

snarkhunter, for wonderful betahood :)

Chapter 4a - Andrew Zabini

Note to North Americans: I'm using the term 'football' here as it is used in Europe, which means that to North Americans, Malfoy is playing soccer. What we call football is commonly called 'American football' in most of the world.

***

"It is Andrew Zabini you wanted, right? Not Blaise or Teresa?" asked the elderly clerk at the Ministry Second Voldemort War Records Room, emerging from the dimness of her shelves with a pile of folders and scrolls.

"Yeah, Andrew." Harry straightened up from where he'd been leaning on the counter.

"Charming family, the Zabinis," she muttered.

"Weren't they, though."

"I think that's everything you requested," she said, putting the documents on the counter. "Surveillance on Andrew Zabini while he was with the Death Eaters, his Veritaserum interrogations after he turned to our side – both times," she snorted cynically, "Files on his crime, and the Wizengamot transcript of his case."

"That's everything, yeah."

She patted her files absently with one hand as she recorded what Harry was about to borrow, possessive as all records clerks seemed to be with their dusty, musty scrolls. Harry reflected it was sometimes a good thing to be who he was; he doubted she would've handed over her precious parchments to just any Ministry employee without a great deal more than a vague 'need them for a committee' excuse.

"Andrew Zabini..." she murmured as she wrote. "Blaise was the one who got all the headlines, but you know a lot of people said it was Andrew who should've been Kissed. Hard to do it, though, what with all the deals he made, and what with him being acquitted of what little he was charged with. Of course that was before the backlash against the dealmakers and the inquiry into corruption with all of that..."

Harry smiled politely, hoping to discourage her and just leave with the scrolls. He gestured to her sign-out sheet, and she slowly brought it closer to him, still talking.

"I never thought it was a good idea, all that forgiveness and reconciliation. I know, I know, they had to do it, we certainly couldn't just kill everyone who ever sympathised with You-Know-Who, but it was a bad business. Making deals with devils, it was," she nodded, and finally placed the sign-out sheet before Harry. He smiled politely at her and signed it quickly, gathering up the scrolls and files and preparing to leave, then paused, thinking.

He'd get answers to some of the questions he had in the scrolls he'd just requested, but there might be blank spots. Blank spots that people like this might be able to fill for him. No sense wasting a good resource.

"Yeah, it was. Bad business," he leaned back against the counter, nodding sympathetically. "I always wondered why they made deals with some of them and not others," he confided, and the old woman beamed a surprised smile at him. Undoubtedly thrilled that anybody would express an interest in this stuff, or in her opinion of it. "Why the deals? Why was he acquitted?"

"I would've thought you'd know, Mr. Potter," she said, slightly shy of his fame, as a lot of people still seemed to be.

"Oh, no, I wasn't really involved in the decision making at the time; too young. They must've had their reasons..."

"Well with Andrew Zabini it all had to do with the information he gave us – when he was on our side, that is. Switched sides more often than my husband switched quills, and he was a scribe, my husband was," she blinked at Harry, her pointed hat bobbing in indignation. "I never understood how they could tell whether he was really on our side or not. And then to just forgive him for everything he did while he was on the other side – that wasn't right. What's the point, then, if people know that they can do whatever they please and as long as they go on the right side in the end, all is forgiven?"

Harry shrugged. "They had to have some incentive for switching sides."

"Hrmph." She seemed to have quickly forgotten what little awe she'd had for his fame, and only saw his relative youth. "How about just doing the right thing?"

"That wouldn't have worked with most Death Eaters."

"You'd be surprised. Old Severus Snape, for example – well, now, you knew him, didn't you?" she asked, catching his slight frown. "Would've been a teacher at Hogwarts, in your time."

"Yes, he was," Harry said neutrally.

"My grandson had him for Potions, he'd be about your age, I think," she smiled at Harry. "Snape scared the living daylights out of him, but I told him, he's a good man, or Albus Dumbledore wouldn't let him teach you."

"I suppose so," Harry said politely. "With Zabini, though, did most people agree with the official decisions? The deals, the acquittal?"

"I wouldn’t know about most people, dearie, but I know I didn't. You know all that happened was the witnesses in his case died. There was an awful lot of that going around at the time."

"Did they ever find out who killed them?"

"Didn't even find out for sure they'd been killed for sure. Just that they were dead."

"Any suspects?"

"Oh, many. Many, many. They're all in the files. Nobody they could pin it to. Andrew himself had a good alibi. They all did, when their witnesses died. Bad blood, that boy. Couldn't trust him as far as you could throw him. Couldn't trust any of that set."

"No, and he wasn't the only one accused of going back to the Death Eaters after coming over, either."

"No indeed. And he'd actually done it once before, too, so you could see he was capable of it. Him and his friends. There was the Northam boy, Clarence. And Ivan Venificus. And Lance and Gawain Moffa, and Sygmund McHarris. And Vincent Crabbe."

"Do you know if Pansy Parkinson was ever suspected of anything?"

"Didn't know her."

"I went to school with her and Vincent Crabbe. And Draco Malfoy."

"Oh, my, yes, young Malfoy. I always wondered about him, especially after he disappeared. You know there were those three Muggles who were supposed to be witnesses for that young Death Eater woman, what was her name... Rhonda, Rhondella? German? Something like that." She blinked. "Rodhilda."

"Rodhilda St. Germain, yeah, I'd forgotten all about her," Harry said, making a mental note to himself to get files on her as well.

"And then they were dead, and somebody said young Malfoy did it. You know how distinctive he was, both him and his father, hair almost white. Looked like angels, those two. Just goes to show appearances can be deceiving," she chuckled. "They were all a set, those children. Nasty business, the lot of them. Nasty business going on in Slytherin house, and Durmstrang. I hear Slytherin's one of the best houses, now. Still ambitious, still ruthless, but no more Dark Magicians coming from there." She shook her head. "Broke old Dumbledore's heart, and Snape's too, I shouldn't wonder, that so many of those children took the wrong road. But it was all because of their families. What can you do, really, against breeding like that? You get started wrong in life, and it's very hard to get right again."

"I suppose so," Harry said.

"I've always wondered what became of them, those Death Eater's children who survived. Don't you? Everything they were raised to believe, it all came to nothing. You have to wonder how they lived with that. And what they're doing today. And if they still believe what their parents believed and are raising their children to take up the fight, or whether they ever saw the error of their ways. Don't you wonder?"

Harry tapped a scroll thoughtfully. "Yeah. I do."

***
Not a bad start, thought Harry a few days later as he looked at the small stack of documents he'd gathered from various Ministry offices and Muggle police stations. Files on Andrew Zabini: his background, crimes, Ministry records. The three Muggle murders that Malfoy had been suspected of committing: when they'd happened, how, who was a suspect, as well as the sole witness statement. Files on Rodhilda St. Germain: her background, information on her during her time with the Death Eaters, and her crimes.

And files on Malfoy himself. Information on his activities as a Death Eater. Scrolls detailing his voluntary surrender to the Aurors and request to come under their protection. His own Veritaserum interrogation, post-defection. Files on the information he'd provided the Ministry. All the files that Harry had told himself he didn't have time to gather, back when he was only curious about him and didn't have any proof that Malfoy had come into contact with the Death Eaters after leaving Parkinson's home. It hadn't taken nearly as long as Harry had thought it would, to gather information on him.

And one last parchment, with his notes on all the information he'd obtained from all the various clerks he'd dealt with. Remarkable people, clerks. Most of the time you just got information from them and went on your way. But when you thought about it, their memory, their perceptiveness, their ability to link things together, and their enthusiasm when somebody showed an interest in their chosen field, were all really rather astonishing.

Harry looked at the parchment in front of him, which he'd used to clear his thoughts, writing down what he knew and what he didn't know of Malfoy's past so far.

Facts

Enmagio: March 18
released from St. Mungo's: March 22
Parkinson's home: March 22-April 12 (approx)
AZ acquitted: July 31
'proof' of DE activity post-enmagio => 1 witness to murders of 3 Muggle witnesses for Rodhilda St. Germain

Theory

if at AZ's home after Parkinson's, maybe didn't really leave the DE
maybe didn't lose magic (doubtful), or only lost it temporarily
killed 3 Muggles as part of deal with DE? to get back into the DE?

Questions

when at AZ's home?
when did Muggle murders occur?
how were Muggles killed (magical/non-magical)?
what does the witness statement say?
any contact with R.St-G, any time before/during/after war?
why kill 3 Muggles if not part of DE?
why suspected, if didn't do it?
why is this even any of my business?
why don't I turn this over to Aurors?
why am I doing this and avoiding reading the report from the Veela committee?

Harry put his quill down and sighed. Why? Because the report was dry as powdered newt's eyes, that's why.

Because it's dry as powdered- he started to write onto the parchment, then snorted at himself and scratched it out.

Enough was enough. This might be intriguing and, in its own bizarre way, rather entertaining, but he was not being paid to research Draco Malfoy's mysterious past. He firmly put away his extra-curricular paperwork and reached for the Veela scrolls with a sigh of resignation.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow after the day's conference events were over, he'd start in on the scrolls and try to fill in the blanks.

***
"The famous Harry Potter," Andrew Zabini said heartily, standing as Harry was ushered into his study. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Harry tried not show surprise at the sight before him. Andrew Zabini had not aged well at all since his last official Ministry photograph had been taken. Granted, it had been fifteen years, but while those years had given Harry a few silver hairs and lines on his face that no longer faded, Andrew Zabini most closely resembled a dishevelled and squashed beanbag chair: pudgy and lumpy in face and body, with an air of dissolution about him. In short, a sharp contrast from the portly but powerful-looking young man in the old photographs.

"I'm tracking down information about Draco Malfoy," Harry began after the minimum of social niceties, seating himself without waiting for an invitation and waving off Zabini's offer of a drink.

"Draco? Whyever for?"

"We're closing up some files at the Ministry, came across some contradictory evidence about him. His file says he was last seen at the home of Pansy Parkinson, but a witness statement from another former Death Eater's file claims he was seen in your presence after you were acquitted, which was a few months after he left Parkinson's home." There. That was sufficiently vague. And he'd kept his tone matter-of-fact and slightly bored. "We're trying to clear it up so we can put all the files that are still technically open into storage."

"And why is the great Harry Potter investigating this?" Zabini asked, refilling a small goblet on his desk from a crystal decanter.

Harry smiled briefly. "Perk of the office; I can skive off and do menial work when it suits me. Last month I handled all the Potions administration for the Department of Muggle Relations. It's a good distraction during the off-season for Quidditch."

Zabini laughed. "Slumming, are you? Tracking down the final days of your old school nemesis? Getting a little posthumous glee of revenge?"

"I suppose so," Harry said. "So, do you know why the discrepancy?"

"Who was the witness?"

Harry shrugged. "Still classified, god only knows why. So, was he?"

"Staying with me?"

"I don't believe I asked about staying with you, only about whether he was seen in your presence, but all right, I'll bite. Was he staying with you?"

Zabini's face got a rather curious expression on it, as though he couldn't decide whether to take Harry's casual attitude at face value or be on his guard. Seeming to decide the former, he smiled and leaned back in his seat. "Yes, actually, Draco did stay with me after he left Pansy's home."

"Funny. Nobody else seemed to know that, other than the one witness."

"I didn't put announcements in the Prophet."

"Why was he here?"

"I picked him up about two months after he'd left Pansy's home. A very difficult time in his life. I brought him home to take care of him."

"Why?"

"Why did I pick him up?"

"Seems odd, don't you think? He'd just about killed your brother not long before-"

"And I'd just about killed my brother a few months before that, Harry. And Blaise had nearly killed me twice. Once was even before the war. We weren't close."

"So you didn't feel the need to avenge your brother. It still doesn't explain why you felt the need to take care of the man responsible for his capture."

Zabini shrugged. "You find the last Malfoy in need of rescuing, and it's like discovering an ancient Quidditch 'blooder'. You don't know if it'll be an archaeological treasure that you can sell off to the highest bidding museum or just an old piece of skin with straw inside it. Guess which one Draco was," Zabini said contemptuously.

"I'm not following you," Harry said flatly, and Zabini rolled his eyes.

"I thought he might prove useful, Harry. His family and money were gone, but there were a lot of people who would've been happy to follow him, if he'd chosen to lead them. It's always good to have the gratitude of people in power."

"Who would've followed his lead? He had nothing by that point; not even magic."

"That's only because he didn't have anybody pushing for image enhancement for him. He still had his name. You know very well that if he'd cared to, he could've had the world at his feet as a bloody Hero of the War."

"I don't know about that. Plenty of people were still suspicious of him."

Zabini smiled, an oily, unpleasant smile. "That added to his naughty-boy appeal. It also added to his potential value. We didn't know yet, at the time, that Voldemort's forces were completely vanquished. If Draco had wanted to, he could've emerged as a leader for the other side."

Harry realized his disgust was showing on his face and decided to leave it there. He'd met enough people like Zabini in the course of the war; friendliness was treated with suspicion and contempt, hostility with a certain grudging respect. "Leader for 'the other side'? And you would've been happy to follow him there too, right?"

"War time, Harry." Harry decided he really didn't like hearing Andrew Zabini say his first name. "You had to be prepared to go with the flow, as the youngsters say."

"I don't think youngsters have been using that particular expression for a few decades, but I get your point." Harry glanced around Zabini's study disinterestedly. "So. How did you find him?"

"Would you believe, almost totally by accident. There was a small beach house near Dover, where the younger set from the pureblood families used to go. No magic wards or locators, so our parents couldn't track us down, and we'd do all the things they didn't want us doing. Drinking absinthe," he cocked his goblet at Harry, "Listening to Muggle music, dallying with Veelas, that kind of thing. Nobody had used it for a while, as far as I knew. I went there – well, let's just say I had inappropriate company, I came in, and there he was." Zabini snorted, amused. "Bloody mess. He'd just injected himself with something – injected, can you imagine that? Pushing a bloody needle into your arm without even a pain-block spell? Barbaric. He was holding his arm up, leaning back against the wall, feeling it kick in. High as a Snitch, and drunk to boot. Looked like he hadn't shaved in a while, either. Although he'd had a shower that day, apparently, thank god."

"He'd been out of Pansy's home for-"

"About two months, he said, although he couldn't even tell that accurately. Told me he'd ended up at a Muggle homeless shelter – a homeless shelter, can you believe that, a Malfoy? Poor Lucius and Narcissa would've had the vapours. He'd stumbled across it because he was hungry. Hadn't et in days, apparently. They took him in and gave him food and a shower. And somehow he'd got into this drug thing, though I've no clue what he did to pay for them. Probably exchanged all sorts of 'favours' for them, the Malfoys were never terribly squeamish about-"

"What did he think of your generosity?"

"Not much. Malfoys were never the most grateful sort either. Besides, he passed out not long after I got him home."

"What did he say when he woke up?"

"Not much. Just demanded I let him out again, because he needed more of that Muggle rubbish." Zabini wrinkled his nose. "I told him I couldn't allow him to hurt himself – acted very concerned for his welfare, which I don't think he believed for a second, unfortunately. Happily, there wasn't much he could do once I decided to keep him. It wasn't as though he could just walk past the wards I'd put around my place."

"Wouldn't he have gone into withdrawal?"

"Oh, my, yes. Fascinating to watch, if you had a strong stomach. He'd gotten himself quite – what's the word, 'hanged'?"

"Hooked."

"Hooked! Yes, that was it. He was rather uncomfortable. Shaking and throwing up and cursing me in language that would've made his dear mother weep, demanding I let him go."

"And you didn't?"

"Good heavens, no. Just let him sweat it out. Told him I was trying to track down an antidote – he told me he didn't want one, imagine that – and that they were very hard to find."

"Really? I would've thought they'd be common enough."

"They were. A friend of mine kept them on hand, as a matter of fact. I just wanted to see what happened, how far down he'd go, how grateful he'd be to me once he came back up."

"And was he?"

"Bloody hell, no. Finally stopped throwing up, but didn't let up on the cursing, not one whit. Demanded to be let out." Zabini took a slow sip of his absinthe. "I eventually convinced him to accept my hospitality. But it took a while. I think he was angriest over being so helpless."

"I can imagine."

"I've heard of the rivalry between the two of you, you know," Zabini smirked. "I'm sure it would've made up for everything he ever did to you, to see just how far down he went while he was here," Zabini laughed, a sound that grated like a quill scratching on glass. Harry nodded blandly and Zabini shook his head. "You've no idea how hard it was to maintain an air of... kindness, I suppose you'd call it, when all I really wanted was to make him see just how dependent he was on my goodwill. After all, I didn't want to annoy him so much he'd feel resentful. Luckily, he was too blind drunk most of the time to be able to figure things out. I kept him nicely supplied with alcohol. Figured it was the least I could do for an old friend."

"How long did he stay?" Harry asked.

"Not that long. A few weeks at most."

"He was here when your trial ended, wasn't he?"

"He left soon after that. I realized I wasn't going to get anything out of him. Besides, you know, I was starting a new life, free of the shadow of suspicion. Having a former Death Eater in my home... well. He was an utter mess, and he didn't want to be here. I let him go, and good riddance."

"I see." Harry cocked his head to the side. "So. He didn't come to you. And he didn't really choose to stay."

"No, but he would hardly have been at the Dover house if he was in hiding from people in our circles, would he? That was part of why I took him in; I didn't know which side he was on, and I thought he might be useful to either side. He hadn't exactly made a clean break from the Death Eaters."

"Despite the fact that he'd got your brother captured and lost his magic in the process?"

"You read the papers, didn't you, Harry? Plenty of people thought it was all an act."

"Did you?"

"I wasn't sure. The Malfoys were rather good at subterfuge."

"His drug addiction and the fact that he couldn't walk out of here didn't convince you that he'd lost his magical powers?"

"Well, yes, I suppose it did, mostly. But as for being permanently disabled... well, I imagined that perhaps he'd agreed to be un-magicked for a short while, and was having difficulty waiting it out. Or perhaps Blaise wasn't supposed to have been captured. Or who knows what?"

"Did you ask Blaise?"

"He wasn't speaking to me. I never fully believed it was for real until Blaise was Kissed, months later. Until then, I thought there was still the possibility it could've all been faked. There could've been a counter-curse."

"There wasn't."

"No, there wasn't," Zabini said, an odd expression of smug amusement on his face. "I once met the witch who invented that curse, did you know? Most creative woman. I always wished I could've gotten to know her."

"What happened to her?"

"Death by Dementor's Kiss."

"A lot of people thought you deserved to be Kissed as well. A lot of people weren't terribly keen about all the deals you made."

"Ah yes," Zabini smiled, unconcerned. "I had a legion of ardent fans."

"A lot of people also found it rather convenient that the only crime you were charged with had witnesses who died."

"I didn't. I wanted them exposed for the liars they were."

"Really."

"Yes, really."

"A lot of that was going around at the time, wasn't it? Witnesses mysteriously dying or disappearing. That's what Malfoy was accused of doing. Killing three Muggles who were going to testify against Rodhilda St. Germain. Right around the time that he was staying with you. Would you know anything about that?"

"No, of course not. I believe at the time he was also spotted playing Seeker for some Quidditch team and romancing Princess Madeleine of Sweden. He was a busy lad."

"The Muggles were killed somewhere around July 25th. Do you remember what you were doing then?"

"Fifteen years ago, around July 25th. Why, yes, I believe that on the 24th I had a breakfast of sausage and eggs, ate a lovely sole steak for lunch, accompanied my mother to get her nails done at 3:14 in the afternoon-"

"I take that as a no," Harry said calmly.

"Sorry, no."

"Do you know if Malfoy knew Rodhilda St. Germain?"

"No idea."

"Did you?"

"Beyond having been introduced at a few social functions? No."

"Well." Harry stood up, having had enough of Zabini's grating manner and confident smirk for now. It reminded him just a little too much of – of Malfoy, actually, back when they were in Hogwarts together. "Thanks for your help. It's been... illuminating. No, I'll show myself out, thanks."

"Do come again, Harry."

"Yes, I probably will," Harry said pleasantly.