Fic: The Case of the Cat Show Corruption
Title: The Case of the Cat Show Corruption
Author: Professor Minerva McGonagall, written for hoggywartyxmas
(edited by Therealsnape)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 9700
Characters: Minerva McGonagall, Argus Filch, and others.
Summary: A crime has been committed against Mrs Norris. I investigate the case.
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: I most certainly am the author of this story, and I resent the notion that Ms Rowling owns me. But I promise that I do not make any money from this, and that I have no intention of infringing on Ms Rowling’s copyright.
Argus Filch was grumpy, irritated, and bad-humoured.
As I write this line, I realise that readers of this tale would probably think he must have been having a good day, then. Where’s the story in a grumpy Filch?
Not that I have any readers, of course. These notes are not written with publication in mind - there is a market for mystery stories, but editors do expect a certain body count in the manuscripts submitted to them. In the few little mysteries I have solved, bodies were sadly lacking. In the only case where I had a corpse in chapter one, it sprang to life again in chapter two. Most disappointing. For readers, I mean. The body in question was quite happy that it was alive. So was I, eventually.
But if I had readers, I would point out to them that Argus Filch was grumpy and bad-humoured after a Board Meeting, and he loves Board Meeting Days. He is the only one at Hogwarts who does. They make him feel important, a result of Albus’s excellent people skills. Albus always asked Argus to prepare the Board Room - clean it, set out cups and saucers, and align the chairs and such. Argus took great pride in this job and in the fact that he, rather than the House Elves, was deemed trustworthy enough to do it. “Me and the Headmaster have everything ready,” he used to assure me.
When I became Headmistress, I naturally kept this arrangement. Argus does an excellent job, and there was no reason for change. Therefore, the day after a Board Meeting we get the closest thing to a cheerful, smiling Argus Filch that one can expect to see in this life.
But after last week’s Board Meeting Argus was very much out of sorts. When several days of grumpiness had passed, I felt the problem needed addressing. I therefore started my day with a few necessary tasks, then I did a few not very urgent ones, then I had coffee, and then I had reached the stage where further procrastination would enter the realm of neglecting one’s duties. So I set off to listen to what I expected to be a long rant on How the Whole World is Against the Working Class Man.
The story I heard left me gasping in surprise. A crime has been committed against Argus - or rather, against Mrs Norris. Perhaps ‘crime’ is not the correct legal term. Perhaps I ought to use the words misdemeanour or unlawful action. But whatever the correct word may be, I think what was done to Mrs Norris was a very wicked deed.
An investigation, therefore, is in order.
I have by now some little experience in detective work, so my first action was to take out a small, leather-covered notebook for my notes on the case. Scrivenshaft’s has an excellent range, and I always order a dozen in different colours at the start of the school year - they are uncommonly handy for other things than crimes as well.
I will now outline the basic information in The Case of the Cat Show Corruption. Yes, that title is rather ludicrously alliterative, but right now I don’t have a better one. As a working title it will do.
Here is what Argus told me, in a slightly more coherent and chronological order.
*+*+*+*+*
Board Meeting Day had passed without a hitch, as usual, and Argus had done his normal duties. He had not noticed anything strange during the day.
He had assumed that Mrs Norris, too, has spent her usual Board Meeting Day - not at Argus’s heels, where she likes to be, for Madam Muriel Prewett, one of our oldest, most venerable [and most annoying - my opinion, not Argus’s] members, is allergic to cats. Mrs Norris therefore spends Board Meeting Day either roaming the grounds in fair weather, or on foul days curled up on a hearth rug in Argus’s rooms.
However, when Argus went to look for her at the end of the day, he couldn’t find her. He checked every likely spot in the castle and the grounds. He then went to the gates to check whether she had gone into Hogsmeade. This would have been most unusual, but by then Argus was at his wits’ end. A condition he tends to reach fairly quickly, true, but he was right that Mrs Norris seldom goes off alone.
Near the gates he heard her mewling. He called, she mewled louder, and he rushed towards the sound, and found her tied to an Elder tree. And someone had shaved her - there were two large, bald patches on her skin. It had been done carefully, and she hadn’t come to any further harm. By the time Argus found her, she had already made quite some progress in biting through the rope that tied her; another hour at the most and she would have been able to set herself free.
Now, this might sound like the kind of thing a student would do. Mrs Norris is not uniformly popular, and students often do have completely misguided ideas on what is an acceptable prank and what is not.
But this week’s Meeting was the one at the end of the Summer Term, and the vacation had already begun. Therefore, my first words were, “But who can have done this? It can’t have been a student.”
It was then that Argus made his startling revelations.
It appears that on his days off he likes to visit Muggle Cat Shows. For years he just went as a spectator and enjoyed the sight of beautiful cats and the company of fellow cat-lovers. But six years ago he came into a tiny inheritance - left to him by an aunt ‘because he is a poor, helpless Squib’.
In Argus’s own words, he weren’t poor or helpless. He were underpaid, but he weren’t some poor beggar. He were going enjoy the money, in a way the old besom would proper hate. He were going to join a Muggle Cat show - as a competitor.
Since, according to Argus, the old aunt disliked both cats and Muggles, this seemed a suitable revenge. Argus bought himself a cheap Muggle suit and some stationery and entered Mrs Norris in the Household Pet category.
“And she won, the little beauty!” he said - and now I know what a real smile looks like on Argus’s face.
This first Cat Show had been a small village affair. Argus didn’t know how Mrs Norris would like it, and he is one of the few Squibs who live completely in the Wizarding world. He was concerned about his own ability to perform in a Muggle event as well.
But both Argus and Mrs Norris took to their new parts with panache, and after that first show they went from strength to strength. This year, Argus has entered Mrs Norris for what seems to be the most prestigious event of all: the Supreme Cat Show. This show is held annually in November, and Mrs Norris has been entered in the Supreme Household Pet category.
In order to compete, she needed a winning certificate from another show, and the two of them had achieved that as early as March. Argus had planned to enter another show this month as well, one he and Mrs Norris both love and attend annually. This show took place two days ago, but Mrs Norris, with her shaven skin, was obviously in no position to participate.
And now Argus is convinced someone has ‘nobbled’ Mrs Norris.
To be more precise: he is convinced Lucius Malfoy has nobbled Mrs Norris.
It was at this point in his narrative that I gasped in surprise. I don’t know what struck me as more outrageous, the idea that Lucius Malfoy participated in Muggle Cat Shows, or that his pet was entered in the Household category rather than a pedigree one. The idea of Lucius ‘nobbling’ an animal was actually the least unbelievable of the three.
But, unlikely as it may seem, Argus’s story does stand up to scrutiny.
First of all, the cat that won the show is the property of Stan Shunpike. Stan Shunpike is the driver of the Knight Bus, and I was sincerely pleased when he applied for that job shortly after leaving Hogwarts. I recommended him at the Ministry, for I knew he would enjoy driving the bus and do it well enough. I also knew there was little else he was suited to. There was no problem with the boy’s magic; he’s not a borderline Squib at all - it’s just that he was and is singularly stupid. The most taxing part for him would be to give people the correct amount of change.
During the Voldemort period Stan was sent to Azkaban. This was an act of gross injustice on two counts. First, he had not done enough to deserve Azkaban. And, second, it was perfectly clear that he barely understood what had happened and that he had merely done what others told him.
Argus and Stan have always got on well, ever since Stan’s Hogwarts days. Stan often felt ‘the stupid one’ in a class full of brighter children. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what he was. Hogwarts selects its students on magical ability, and while the very clever ones usually manage to find their way, the very stupid ones have a difficult time of it. Had he been a Squib, his parents might have managed to find him a Muggle Special Needs school, where he could have learned at his own speed.
As it stood, we teachers all tried to make the best of things. It was Filius who had come up with the idea to let Stan help Argus occasionally. It was a task he could do well, and it made him feel valued.
And while none of us ever openly admitted it, Argus, too, benefited from being with a wizard boy whom he could mentor, since poor Stan was clueless on just about anything.
Argus told me that during the last weeks of his stay in Azkaban Stan met Draco Malfoy. A friendship had sprung up. The way Argus told it, the idea was not as unlikely as it seems.
“Stan were friendly to Draco,” he explained. “Stan doesn’t judge people. Mind you, Professor, I think that’s mostly because he hasn’t got no brains to be judgmental with.
“There’s a lot of talk on how Draco is a criminal and should ‘ave known better. Well, on the one hand, he should. He did wicked and wrong things. But his parents brought ‘im up to believe all that Pureblood stuff. And it seems to me that we mostly whine that kids don’t respect their parents’ ideas. And now that we have a kid as did respect them, we whine again. I’m not saying Malfoy was right. I’m saying I can see how he got in with the Death Eaters - being the sort of kid as admires his father. And then it exploded in his face.
“Now, Stan wouldn’t have thinkety thoughts like that. He were friendly, and Draco were friendly back. And then, when the Malfoys were released from prison, Stan got invited to the Manor. In a proper tizz he were about that. I helped him clean hisself up. And told him which fork to use. And what a napkin is for. After all, I’ve seen more of the world than young Stan.
“Being with Draco was all right - they liked each other. But Stan was scared stiff of Mr and Mrs Malfoy. But in the end it were all right. You see, Mrs Malfoy has always had cats. Long-haired Persians. Pedigree, of course. You won’t find no half-blood things in that household. But while they were in prison, the Ministry used the Manor. So when they got home the house were filthy, the garden were a mess, and the cat were up the spout.
“She had her kittens that night. And Stan, he loves cats, Stan does, he helped with the delivery. One kitten were still-born. The other was all right - but useless in a household that breeds pedigrees, of course.
“Stan told how he loved cats, and how his own cat had died when he were in Azkaban. Cried when he told that story. And Mrs Malfoy said, would he like the kitten. Stan said yes, and everyone was pleased as punch. Draco and Stan are still friendly and he eats at the Manor from time to time - because they all love cats. And they’re really nice, Stan says.
“Well, Professor, the whole point with Stan is that he is so easily taken in by bad friends. That’s how he got into Azkaban in the first place.
“I say they gave him that kitten so that they could enter it in Muggle shows. Not for the prize money, that ain’t nothing, but because Muggles take bets on anything. I know; I read Muggle papers sometimes. Last time they had a Royal baby, they even took bets on the name of the little nipper. Jason some people betted on, but it weren’t that, of course. I remember the name: Harry. Like our Harry.
“Anyhow, I dare say Lucius Malfoy wants to make a lot of money betting on the results of the Supreme Cat Show. And he needs to get his cat in. So he nobbled Mrs Norris to keep her out of last week’s show - now his cat is qualified, and if Mrs Norris had competed, she would have won.
“And I know he’ll try to get at her again before November. Or maybe he didn’t just shave her - maybe there’s spells as stop her fur from growing back. Do you think he might have done that, Professor? He’s a right bastard. Sorry for speaking plainly, but he is.”
I immediately promised Argus I’d set up an appointment for him with Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, which reassured him fully. He knows Professor Grubbly-Plank from her spells as a teacher here, and he knows she’s an exceedingly capable woman who will have Mrs Norris all right again in no time.
And I promised Argus I would set up a full investigation, as well. I think that Lucius has got away with far too much already - Shacklebolt is the best Minister we’ve had in decades, but I don’t agree with everything he does. Reconciliation is all very well, but there are times when retribution is in order.
If I find that Lucius Malfoy has nobbled Mrs Norris, I have no intention of letting him get away with it.
Tying her to a tree, indeed!
*+*+*+*+*
So, let us examine the current list of suspects.
Lucius Malfoy had the opportunity, for he is on the Hogwarts Board again as a result of one of the Ministry’s many Reconciliation projects. He had been at Hogwarts that day.
If Argus’s theory is correct, Lucius also has a handy scapegoat in case things go wrong - a very Malfoy thing to have. As crimes go, this is in character.
The one thing that still baffles me is motive. For I really cannot believe that whatever bets are made on the results of a cat show would offer sufficient financial inducement for Lucius Malfoy. He needs money for the restoration of the Manor, true. But I have a strong feeling this would not even get him enough to restore the front door.
On the other hand, there’s Stan Shunpike. He has a motive, if he is fanatical about his cat winning the contest. Argus claims the lad would never do such a thing, but Argus is prejudiced in his favour.
But Stan Shunpike most assuredly is not on the Hogwarts Board; he had no opportunity.
Unless he took a day off from work and went to the Castle, of course. This must be checked.
I have asked Argus whether he could think of any other suspects, and he told me the only one “what fair hates Mrs Norris, ‘cos she never wins when we compete” is a Mrs Cavendish. Her cat has not qualified for the Supreme Cat Show - in fact, if Stan hadn’t entered his cat, Mrs Norris’s absence would probably have meant a winner’s certificate for Mrs Cavendish.
But Mrs Cavendish is a Muggle - she would not be able to find Hogwarts, nor could she enter it.
It seems the culprit must be found in the Wizarding world, and despite the lack of convincing motives, Lucius Malfoy is a suspect.
I do want to have more information on Stan and Mrs Cavendish, though.
*+*+*+*
In the past two days, I made some progress in my investigations.
Stan Shunpike was on duty on Board Meeting Day, from 9 AM until 6 PM. The Department for Magical Transport confirmed this. The information was easy to obtain; I have spent more than half a century teaching young witches and wizards, and the convenient result is that the Wizarding world is full of people who are in the habit of answering when I ask a question. Some still haven’t lost the habit of blushing when the answer is, “I don’t know, Professor”.
As to Mrs Cavendish, Argus told me there is another Cat Show coming up. Normally Mrs Cavendish does not go there. She is a snob, according to Argus, and this show does not attract ‘her kind of people’. But now that her cat hasn’t qualified for the Supreme Show yet, there’s every chance that she will attend.
Therefore, so will I. I have donned a Muggle outfit, Argus has checked that it’s the kind of thing Muggle ladies wear to such an event, and I’m all ready for Apparition. Argus will not come with me. He was perfectly willing to show me around, and he could have given me valuable background information. But we have decided it’s too great a risk. If, in some mysterious way, Mrs Cavendish is involved, she will not expect to see Argus at today’s show - so she must not see him.
*+*+*+*
What a thoroughly disagreeable woman this Mrs Cavendish is!
I managed to locate her fairly quickly at the Cat Show - Argus has a certain pithy way of describing people. “Dresses as if she’s the Muggle Queen, only the Queen knows how to smile, and Mrs Cavendish looks like she’s pissing vinegar,” he told me, and true enough, there was a lady in a sedate pastel-coloured suit, complete with court shoes and a pearl necklace. And with a facial expression that fully justified the last part of Argus’s description.
Several people greeted her - but she barely nodded, except to one or two people whose style of dress clearly exuded wealth. And she used the word ‘common’ in almost every other sentence, and very loudly, too. The stands were common, the tea was common, and her fellow competitors were common.
I was sorely tempted to say that of all things common this kind of behaviour takes the biscuit. But I wanted to be as unobtrusive as possible, so I restrained myself.
Arguably the only thing more common than calling things ‘common’ is making disparaging remarks to one’s partner in public. It’s why I have never been able to warm to Molly Weasley, fellow Order member though she is. The things she says to Arthur - in the presence of others, and sometimes even in the presence of their children!
The reason I mention this is that Mrs Cavendish is the Muggle equivalent of Molly in the way she treats her husband. From what I gathered, Mr Cavendish - I might have to call him ‘Professor’ Cavendish, even - is a lecturer at a Muggle university. His subject is Medieval History.
I overheard Mrs Cavendish talk to a friend in the tea tent, and she complained that ‘poor’ Lionel never made it to a proper university like Oxford or Cambridge; that he spends all his time with his ‘musty old books’, and that his own books are ‘so boring they’re musty and old from the moment they’re printed, aren’t they, darling?’ Followed by the kind of tinkling laugh that reminded me of Dolores Umbridge.
I warmed to Professor Cavendish at once. (I don’t know if this is his title, but he deserves respect, if only for not murdering that woman.) His subject interests me, and I love old books. And he looked attractive - in an ugly way. Tall, thin, with sharp features - not conventionally handsome, but an intelligent face.
Now that I think of it, he vaguely reminded me of Severus Snape. That’s why I liked his face. Severus lives in France these days, and I usually spend part of the holiday with him. We have been very good friends for many years now.
He will enjoy the story of this investigation, and he will enjoy it even more if I fail - he always claims I’m not a proper detective, since I can only detect things when people intentionally leave clues for me, as he did when he wanted me to find his little bolting hole in France.
Severus’s claim is completely unjustified, of course. I did solve a mystery where no-one left clues, as I often point out to him. Severus’s reaction is that in that case the culprit was Mundungus Fletcher, and whenever a petty crime is committed, going after Mundungus almost guarantees success. A reasoning that shows that one can take the man out of Slytherin, but one can’t take Slytherin out of the man. I will succeed in solving this case, and I shall look forward to some quiet gloating.
But to return to Professor Cavendish, first impressions are not entirely reliable. A few minutes later Cavendish took his leave of the ladies because he had to meet an acquaintance. “Another old book?” complained his wife. “You spend far too much on them! Really, if I didn’t stop you half the time …”
This, however, was an occasion where the Professor wouldn’t let anything stop him, he said cheerfully. “I’ve had a longing for a Malleus Maleficarum for years, and this is too good a chance to miss.”
Ghastly book, that Malleus. And not just a ghastly book, but one that caused untold sufferings. Torture, death, the Statute of Secrecy - that book was at the bottom of so much misery.
But, of course, the fact that Cavendish wanted to buy it didn’t mean he believes every word. His interest might have been purely scholarly, and I didn’t condemn him outright. The presence of a Malleus at a Muggle cat show, however, seemed highly suspicious. I therefore decided to shadow the man.
The result was above expectations.
For whom did Cavendish seek out? None other than Lucius Malfoy. There he stood, on the edge of the show ground, in a very sleek Muggle outfit, his hair in a pony-tail - every inch the mildly-eccentric Muggle aristocrat.
I disappeared at once. The risk of Lucius recognizing me was far too great. And I had what I wanted: an astonishing amount of information.
There is a link between Lucius Malfoy and Muggle cat shows.
There is a link between Lucius Malfoy and the one Muggle who might harm Mrs Norris.
And while the Malleus hardly qualifies as a book on witchcraft, there is a very feeble link between witchcraft and the Cavendishes.
I cannot ignore Lucius Malfoy as a suspect any longer. My first task tomorrow will be to find out everything there is to find about his movements on Board Meeting Day.
I will start by interviewing Augusta Longbottom. She is razor-sharp and very observant. And she’s fanatically opposed to having Lucius on the Board - she watches him like a hawk.
Or rather, like a vulture - I must admit I can’t resist the pun.
*+*+*+*
I may have been a bit hasty when I decided to go and interview Augusta. What will I tell her? What I want to know is easy enough: what did Lucius do, and was he in sight of others at all times? But I can’t just go to Augusta and blurt out these questions. I’m not an Auror, and this isn’t a formal investigation.
And Augusta loves a good rumour. What if Lucius Malfoy is innocent after all? Nothing has changed about his lack of a good motive. If I go around asking questions about him, people - Augusta especially - will gossip. He would be accused unjustly, and I would make a fool of myself. I ought to mind the first part more, but in all honesty I’m more concerned about the second.
Now, how would my great detective example, Miss Jane Marple, deal with this?
She would go and have an innocent chat, that’s what she would do. And her ‘cover’, if that is the term, would be that she looks like a vague elderly dear who is chatty by nature and just a bit lonely.
Unfortunately, Augusta knows me only too well. The only word in that description she would fully agree with is ‘elderly’, since I am the older by three months. In a moment of youthful foolishness, during my year as a Prefect, I’ve once advanced those three months as an argument as to why I was wise enough to see that a certain prank would land Gussie in trouble. She did not listen - when did Gussie ever listen to words of wisdom? - And she pulled it off after all. Naturally, she has never allowed me to forget it and frequently tells me that ‘at my advanced age’ I may well be unable to do or understand things.
Now, what kind of excuse could I use to approach Augusta? Not Neville - he is doing perfectly well. It was an excellent decision to make him Head of Gryffindor.
A school-related issue? But Augusta knows there’s nothing urgent to discuss after the last Board Meeting, even if she didn’t take any notes on account of her hand.
That’s it! Her hand! She had sprained a wrist - her wand-arm, too. It was bandaged, and I shall drop by as a Concerned Friend. If need be, I shall be a Ministering Angel, even.
Perfect. Off I go. Minerva McGonagall, Spinster Detective, has found a way yet again.
Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Severus.
*+*+*+*
The plot thickens. My visit to Augusta has brought all sorts of new information. The Concerned Friend ploy worked like a Charm - considerably better than Augusta’s Charms ever worked, I might add. There was no need for her to be quite so surprised that I have it in me to be a concerned friend, but she never doubted my motive for visiting her.
We spoke briefly of the arm, exchanged some useful background information on Muriel Prewett’s attitude during the last Board Meeting. Yes, one might call that ‘gossip’. But it was useful information, and besides, any gossiping I did was for a good cause.
And then I mentioned Lucius. Augusta’s dislike for him proved ideal for my purpose. She immediately started to complain that Lucius took no interest at all in Hogwarts.
This was completely untrue, and Augusta based it on the fact that he did not join the Board when they went to inspect Pomona’s new walled herb garden. I had not even noticed that Lucius stayed behind; I was busy talking to Muriel Prewett. And later, when we were in the grounds, I spent my time guiding Mrs Creevey.
On the one hand, it is one of the better Post-War notions to have parents of Muggleborn children on the Board. They do trust their children to our care. And no-one has greater rights to a Board seat than Mrs Creevey, who had the great courage to let Dennis stay on at Hogwarts, even after Colin’s death.
On the other hand, though, it is a great responsibility for us - getting them a suitable form of magical transport, and ensuring no harm comes to them at the Castle. I’ll never forget the terrifying moment when one of the stairs moved suddenly and Mrs Creevey didn’t notice. A student - everyone at Hogwarts - watches the stairs when they mount them; it’s automatic. When Kingsley and I did a risk assessment beforehand, we never even thought of those moving stairs. All went well, thank heavens, but I nearly had a heart failure in the process.
Therefore I had all my attention on Mrs Creevey, but Augusta had noticed that Lucius stayed behind.
“Well, he’s not a very outdoorsy sort of person,” I said. “And Pomona dislikes him cordially and openly; in staying away he spared us all the tension and barbed remarks his present would have caused.”
“Exactly. Pomona is always so spot-on when she criticizes him. I had looked forward to those remarks. And he can be outdoorsy if he wants to - I saw him cross the lawn. I dare say he took himself off to The Three Broomsticks for a quickie.”
“You saw him go towards the gate?” I asked. I wanted to be quite certain of the facts. A detective must never assume nor put words in people’s mouths. “Surely not to go to Rosmerta’s? Quite frankly, the sherry we serve you before lunch is of better quality. As Lucius well knows - he drinks enough of it.”
Augusta grinned. “Aye, he can put it away. And stay perfectly in control, too. He’s a bastard, but he’s what my father would have called ‘a real gentleman’, too. Not that Papa ever managed to look beyond the ability to put away drink, fight a duel, and wear dress robes elegantly, more’s the pity.”
“Quite,” I said quickly. I wasn’t interested in a repeat of the long story of how Augusta married her poor-but-pureblood Frank despite violent opposition of her family, and how that proves she is completely unprejudiced.
Augusta was without prejudice on exactly one occasion, and no-one has ever been able to repeat the experiment. Every true scientist knows what this means.
“But that Lucius was making off towards the gates. Maybe the quickie he wanted didn’t come from a bottle?” said Augusta. She positively cackled over this idea, and in the cause of a greater good I may have cackled a bit as well.
“Mind, there’s one thing to say for the man, he’s not a groper like his father,” added Augusta. “Abraxas was dreadful. And that’s the kind of fella my father wanted me to marry, can you imagine?”
I was in for the Romance of the Century after all. The details about Abraxas at the Summer Hunt Ball of 1946 were fun, though. And we had a good laugh about my own Groping Abraxas story. Unlike a good wine, but much like Augusta herself, Abraxas had not improved with age, and when I started teaching in 1956 he was already a member of the Board.
New teachers are introduced to the Board Members during the Board lunch, and Abraxas didn’t miss a moment. A very smooth groper he was - just a touch, highly satisfying to him, no doubt, but not something for which you could actually call him to order. Not without being seen as ‘prudish’ or ‘hysterical’. The first time even I wondered whether it was groping or an accident.
The second time I knew.
And had my wand ready.
The sparks hit him squarely on the toes of his elegant boots, and he yelped. Albus noticed and asked him what was wrong.
“I’m afraid it’s my fault, Sir,” I said demurely. “Mr Malfoy touched me accidentally, and I got startled.”
“You had better be careful with that,” sneered Abraxus. “Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t want a Member of the Board to get injured by a junior teacher, now, would he?”
“Indeed, I would not,” agreed Albus. “I would hate to see a badly injured member. Or, Merlin forbid, a permanently incapacitated member. And that might so easily happen, for when my young teachers get startled, I tend to get startled, too. Now it was your toes. Who knows where my wand might hit you?”
Augusta loved the story. She has always admired Albus, and this certainly was one of his better moments. We chatted some more, but I got no other information - that is to say, nothing pertaining to the Case of the Cat Show Corruption. There were, of course, other interesting matters we discussed.
After an hour or so I took my leave. “Do you need anything - from Hogsmeade, say?” I asked as I gathered my things. “It won’t be easy to Apparate with that arm of yours. How did you even manage to get to the meeting, you poor dear?” I added for good measure. Every inch the concerned friend.
“I took the Knight Bus,” said Augusta. “And I must say young Shunpike did a fairly decent job. None of that crazy driving, and he offered his arm to help me in and out. Not that I needed that. I’m still young enough to manage with one arm. Truly, dear, it’s incredibly kind of you to come and see me, but someone my age isn’t helpless because of a sprain, you know.”
I ignored the at-your-advanced-age remark. “You took the Knight Bus?” I said. “I’m glad to hear Stan did well. I once recommended him for that job. Keeps him quite busy, and he likes travelling up and down the country. Where did he go next?”
“Nowhere,” said Augusta. “I was the only passenger, and he said he’d take his coffee break at Rosmerta’s, now that it was quiet. I liked that too in the lad. Shows a proper concern for his employer’s interests, to take a break when it fits in with work, not when he’s ‘entitled’.”
And that bit of information puts Stan Shunpike right on the spot, and with a bit of free time in which to commit the deed.
And I now also know that Lucius Malfoy was seen near the gates, or at least, going in the direction of the gates. To Rosmerta’s? I doubt it.
Still, I think a visit to The Three Broomsticks is in order.
*+*+*+*
“Morning, Headmistress, that’s a rare treat for you,” said Rosmerta as I entered. It was very perceptive of her; strolling through Hogsmeade on a midweek morning is a pleasure I cannot often indulge in during term time. Sitting down for a leisurely coffee is an even rarer treat.
I had timed my arrival carefully, and there was no-one else in the pub. I inquired after Rosmerta’s vacation plans, and we chatted a bit on the delights of Dublin, where she wants to spend a few days.
I had planned to bring the subject to chance meetings with former students during one’s vacation, a thing that happens to Rosmerta almost as frequently as to me. From there I hoped to introduce Stan Shunpike into the conversation.
But I was lucky. Rosmerta herself brought him up. “Did you see Stan Shunpike last week?” she asked. “He was here - or was it the week before that? Time flies, doesn’t it?”
I agreed that time did, and added that I hadn’t seen Mr Shunpike. Had he been around, then? Rosmerta said that he had, and he had set out to visit me. What a pity I had missed him!
I mentioned the Board Meeting as the only day on which he might, indeed, not have been able to see me, had he come to Hogwarts. A bit of quick thinking on Rosmerta’s part, and she agreed that Board Meeting Day it had been, “for he came here on account of how Mrs Longbottom needed the Knight Bus. Had hurt her arm, Stan said. Nothing serious, I hope? Stan said it was her wand-arm, and for an elderly lady that’s a very bad thing.”
Rosmerta looked as if she fully expected a decline into tottering old age for Augusta. Since Augusta is three months younger than I am, I was tempted to correct her. But my investigation was more important than a discussion on age and its consequences. I assured her that Augusta was doing very well and asked after young Shunpike.
“He’s doing very well for himself, that I’ll give him,” said Rosmerta. “Enjoys his job, and he seems to make a pretty Knut with it, too, for he left me quite a tip.”
This surprised me. Driver of the Knight Bus is not a highly-paid job. “Did he, now,” I said.
“Oh, yes. Left eleven Sickles. That is to say, he had to pay six Sickles, he put down a Galleon, and he didn’t wait for change. Mundungus Fletcher was surprised, too. Said I shouldn’t expect such generosity from him. And I sure didn’t, that Mundungus is as mean as they make them.”
“Mundungus?” I asked sharply. Mundungus on the spot and in some sort of connection with Stan Shunpike? This clearly called for clarification.
“Yes, Mundungus was there when Stan entered. They talked for a bit - there wasn’t anyone else, it was still fairly early. Stan said how he liked his job and told about Mrs Longbottom and her arm. He was ever so nice about her. Defended her, even. Because Mundungus called her an old besom - but a spunky old besom, he added, and he said that Dawlish still shakes like an aspen when he hears her name.
“But Stan would have none of it. ‘Mrs Longbottom is a real lady,’ he said, ‘and she spoke kindly to me. More than you can say for some.’ And he’s right, the poor chump, there are still people who won’t talk to him because he’s done time in Azkaban. But things weren’t always what they seemed in those days, were they, Professor?”
The last bit sounded somewhat plaintive, and I knew Rosmerta was not just thinking of Stan Shunpike. She herself had been the victim of an Imperius curse once. I assured her that things were certainly not always what they seemed and asked whether Stan said why he left such a large tip - had he been lucky with something?
“I don’t know - I was in the cellar for a few minutes, stacking away some crates of beer. When I got back here, Mundungus was alone. Said Stan had left in the direction of Hogwarts and the money was on the counter. I wasn’t too best pleased to find Mundungus alone - that man would steal the drink from your glass, and I only went down because Stan was there. He’s an honest lad, Stan is.
“But it seems that for once I haven’t been fair on Mundungus. He could have nicked that Galleon and left the right amount on the counter, and I’d never have known. But he didn’t.”
After that we chatted some more, I drank my coffee, and left.
I must admit that my first reaction upon hearing that Mundungus had been in Hogwarts on Board Meeting Day was ‘oh, damn’. As Severus Snape so aptly put it, whenever a petty crime is committed, going after Mundungus almost guarantees success. And while I certainly hope to succeed in solving this case, having Mundungus as the culprit once again will mean some highly sardonic smiles from Severus.
Lucius Malfoy, now, that would have been a feather in my cap.
But facts are facts. Mundungus had been on the spot. Also, Rosmerta had not been there when Stan left. The story of his going in the direction of Hogwarts depends entirely on the testimony of Mundungus.
And Rosmerta is right: it is highly surprising that Mundungus didn’t nick that Galleon. The most in-character course of action for him would be to pocket it and say that Stan had left without paying. Mundungus would be the first to point out that Stan had done time before.
The way I see it, there are two possible explanations. The first: for whatever reason, Stan tipped very generously. He then left to resume his duties on the Knight Bus, and Mundungus planted the false information that he wanted to go to Hogwarts - so that, should an investigation happen, there would be witnesses who could put Stan on the spot. Mundungus didn’t touch the money because a large tip would be remembered.
The other possibility is that Stan paid for his coffee and left a small, sensible tip. Mundungus took that money and put down a Galleon for the reason described above, and then started to spread the rumour that Stan had left for Hogwarts.
If the second possibility is true, and if Mundungus is guilty of nobbling Mrs Norris, then he must be very eager to blame someone else. Mundungus and his money are not easily parted.
But, as I said, years ago Mundungus and I crossed wands in a matter of what is technically called ‘petty crime’, but what I call ‘a wicked deed’. It is to that occasion that Severus Snape refers occasionally. For various reasons Mundungus could not be brought to justice then, but I like to think I put the fear of God into him where further misdemeanours were concerned.
If someone paid him to nobble Mrs Norris on what the Muggle police would call ‘my beat’, I can see why he would want a scapegoat badly enough to spend eleven Sickles on it.
But who would pay Mundungus to nobble Mrs Norris? Stan has a motive - but would he have enough money to make it worth Mundungus’s while? If that is the case, Mundungus might rather enjoy pocketing Stan’s money and then using him as scapegoat. It’s exactly the kind of thing that man would do.
Could Lucius have paid Mundungus? Certainly. Paying someone like Mundungus to do the dirty work is entirely in character.
But then, paying Mundungus would diminish his profits - and I still do not believe that Lucius could make enough money from entering a cat in a Muggle competition to make it worth his while. Also, if Stan Shunpike is now a personal friend of Draco and his parents, framing him would be a very stupid move. Lucius wouldn’t like it at all.
Of course, Mundungus may not know about the friendship.
Or could Mundungus work for someone else entirely? Is there a small, a very small possibility that he knows the Cavendishes? Mrs Cavendish has a motive I can readily believe in: a fanatical desire to see her cat win. Worse, on quite a number of occasions she has lost from Argus Filch. Anyone as snobbish as Mrs Cavendish would dislike that even more. I can see her pay Mundungus out of sheer spite and venom.
But how can they have met? I think it’s time to talk to Lucius. But I cannot approach him outright, either. I need an excuse. Something along the lines of Miss Marple’s fluffy-old-lady act.
*+*+*+*
Lucius Malfoy will arrive at Hogwarts in a few minutes, so I have just enough time to get into my part. I think I’ve come up with a very believable approach.
Once again I could not use Miss Marple’s highly effective doddering old lady act. But I had come to realise that the essence is not the old lady. It’s the prejudices and ill-conceived notions people have. Miss Marple played with those, and I followed her example.
I made a mental list of the more common delusions regarding spinster school teachers, and very soon I found a perfectly suitable one.
You would be amazed how often it has been suggested (and, in the case of some singularly unpleasant mothers, actually said) that a teacher’s pupils are a wonderful compensation for missing out on motherhood. I well remember the many occasions where mothers told me they ‘simply knew I would look after the dears as if they were my own children’. I’ve never actually said, “No, I don’t. I teach them manners.” But the temptation was strong.
My plan of action where Lucius is concerned plays on exactly this notion of ‘motherly devotion’. I will inform him that I know about the friendship between Stan and the Malfoys - I will have heard it on the Wizarding grapevine. A very fruitful one, and Lucius will not doubt it.
I will then inform him of the connection between Stan and Mundungus, as observed by Rosmerta. I will remind him that Stan was in my House once, that I’m still very concerned about him, especially after the problems he’s had in the Voldemort years, and that this liaison between poor, innocent Stan and wily Mundungus worries me very much.
I will ask Lucius to talk to Stan - give him advice. If necessary I will tell him Stan would sooner listen to a man he looks up to than to his old teacher. I may even use the words ‘man of the world’. Oh, I’ll be all motherly concern.
And then I will observe his reactions.
One of the things people tend to forget when it comes to schoolteachers, and especially Deputy Heads and Headmistresses, who have to manage large numbers of adult staff as well, is that we are exceedingly good at spotting lies.
Believe me, after more than half a century in which both students and staff have tried every possible excuse under the sun, I know the difference between a lie, a half-truth, and true innocence.
*+*+*+*
Lucius clearly felt ill at ease.
He looked at the hearth rug with discomfort.
He looked at the tea with distaste - though it was an excellent, fragrant Earl Grey, the blend he is very partial to.
And he looked at his spoon with the guilt-ridden expression of someone who has taken sugar on day one of their diet.
That, more than anything, convinced me of the absolute truth of what he told me.
Never, ever believe people who look straight into your eyes with a pleasant, open expression. If they give you a firm handshake as well, it’s worse.
The story Lucius told me was one he would much rather not tell - because it was the absolute truth.
Lucius was selling out. “Not everything - not the manor, Merlin forbid,” he hastened to tell me. “But there were damages from the time … from the last months of that time,” he said, and I nodded my understanding of which time he meant.
“And then the Ministry used it for several years. They were too busy to bother with maintenance - or to care. I don’t hold with all of the Ministry’s new Muggle notions, but in the Muggle world, the government does seem to realise that places like this are part of the nation’s heritage. It’s a notion singularly lacking in our powers-that-be.
“The roof needs repairs. The roof always does, and the costs are crippling. There’s a spot of dry rot in the rafters - that needs addressing very soon. And the garden needs work or there will not be a garden left. A design by Capability Brown, you know. Surprising, really, that the Muggles never realised just what sort of talent made him so capable. “
“He was one of us?” I asked in spite of myself. Completely beside the point of my investigation, but I’ve always been an admirer of his work.
“Borderline Squib, from what I gather of my great-grandfather’s notes. Very intelligent, great vision, a keen eye for Transfiguration - and not much strength behind his spells. At our place the old man had to step in and do most of the work. On Brown’s instructions, of course - the vision was his. But that’s what a lot of wizards resented: having to do what they saw as ‘manual labour’ themselves. In the Muggle world Brown could just ask for an army of gardeners and workers. But I digress.
“Since we’ve returned to the Manor, I find myself in need of quite considerable sums. Unfortunately, most of my income goes to the Ministry - reconciliation payments, they call it. That situation will last for several years to come, and given the alternatives, we did get off lucky; I’m fully aware of that.
“However, I do not wish to be the Malfoy who loses the estate. So I have taken the only course open to me: I’ve sold off some of our artefacts. To Muggles. They pay more, and the Ministry stays out of it. Even with the little I’ve sold I’ve diminished Draco’s inheritance, but it was the only option left.
“I have used Fletcher to make the initial contacts. Fletcher has done this sort of thing for years, you know. Whenever something was too hot to handle in the Wizarding world, he flogged it to Muggles.
“Once the contact was firmly established and an opening offer was made, I took over myself and dealt with the final negotiations and the transfer of the goods.
“Fletcher probably knows Stan and Draco are friends. Neither one of them makes a secret of it, and they occasionally go to the Leaky Cauldron for a pint.
“You’re right to worry about that connection, Professor. Fletcher is a little … an unspeakable little crook, and Stan can be influenced quite easily. If Fletcher has thought of a way to steal objects from the Manor, he may well want to use Stan. It’s exactly the sort of thing he would do.
“Is there a way of stopping this without my … business dealings … being discussed in any way? You see, I … I didn’t tell either Narcissa or Draco. They would hate the idea. Draco might want to try to prevent it. Draco’s sense of family obligation has landed him in terrible problems before. And Narcissa would be worried to death that Draco would try something. She … she should not worry about Draco again.”
“Let me see,” I said, nodding understandingly. I needed a few moments to compose my thoughts after this surprising story.
The salient facts were these: Mundungus knew Cavendish, since he set up the book transaction between Cavendish and Lucius. And while doing so, he may well have met Mrs Cavendish, too. And Mrs Cavendish is the only one who truly has a completely convincing motive for nobbling Mrs Norris.
Also, whenever Lucius spoke about Stan, there was sincere warmth in his voice. He liked the lad for what he had done for Draco. True, there had been more than a touch of the ‘my faithful servant’ attititude in Lucius’s tone when he mentioned the boy, but for my designs that wasn’t a bad thing. If Lucius would feel that noblesse oblige, I could make him my ally. And a very useful ally, too.
Too bad this has turned out to be another ‘Mundungus Did It’ case, though. After Augusta’s evidence, I had had high hopes of Lucius as a culprit. Now that would have been one for the books. Instead, he had been …
“Sorry, what did you say?” asked Lucius. “Something about a herring?”
Oh, dear. That’s what comes from being alone quite often - one sometimes whispers to oneself.
There was nothing to be done about it. I told Lucius the whole story - I had planned to do that, anyhow. But now that I knew him to be not guilty, I included that I had thought of him as a possible culprit. With a very weak motive, true, but with an astonishing number of opportunities and connections to the case. Finally, at his request, I explained the Muggle detective notion of a red herring.
“I see,” said Lucius, grinning at my discomfiture. “Well, I absolutely refuse to end up as ‘the red herring’. If I must play a part in this investigation, it will be as a second-in-command, at least. Do they have a word for that?”
“Side-kick,” I told him.
“As in, I’m at your side to kick the living daylights out of Fletcher?” he suggested.
“We’ll have to think about a suitable way to deal with Mundungus, but it will be very useful if he believes that either of us might do just that,” I said.
We both agreed to bring Argus Filch in on our discussion - we would pool our information and set up a plan. I therefore went to fetch Argus and brought him up to date with the latest facts. Once we were all sitting in my study with a fresh supply of tea, we went down to business.
“I knew Stan had participated in a Muggle Cat show,” said Lucius. “It would seem that he had heard about them from you, Mr Filch.”
“Aye,” said Argus. “The lad takes me there, usually. With the Knight Bus. I send an Owl to his digs, and he picks me up, seeing as how …”
Seeing as how Argus couldn’t use a wand to summon the Bus. Lucius and I both nodded.
“Mind, I always paid for it,” said Argus. “Stan offered to take me for free. He’s kind-hearted, Stan is, and that’s what gets him into trouble. I had to explain that giving free rides to his friends were the same thing as stealing from his boss. But that’s how he knew about cat shows, all right.”
“Draco helped him complete the registration form,” Lucius told us. “Stan didn’t want to ask you, Mr Filch, since he was afraid that you would disapprove. Of having two magical people at a Muggle event, I mean.”
Poor Argus looked extraordinarily pleased at being called ‘magical’.
“Now, the first meeting between Professor Cavendish and Fletcher took place in March, and that was at a cat show, too,” said Lucius. “I think it may well have been the show where you won, Mr Filch.”
“And Mundungus must have recognized me. He probably heard what Mrs Cavendish had to say about us winning, and that weren’t pretty, I’m sure,” said Argus. “And then the little shit - sorry, Professor - Mundungus realised that he could go to Hogwarts and nobble Mrs Norris, and Mrs Cavendish couldn’t. And he set it up.”
“Quite,” Lucius agreed. “This means that we’ll need to deal with Mrs Cavendish. I suggest I take care of that side of things. Mrs Cavendish is the most frightful snob - she was positively gushing when we met. Said she would love to see me at her house. Well, she’ll have that pleasure - and I will make it perfectly clear that I know what she’s been up to. And that any further attempt will result in public exposure. Very public exposure. That should stop her.”
We agreed this was the best solution. I would not have minded exposing Mrs Cavendish then and there, but that would lead to a great number of difficulties - we would have to give evidence of the nobbling to whatever authority exists in the world of cat shows, and the evidence involved two wizards and the most secret magical residence of Britain.
“Now, about Mundungus,” I said. “We can’t expose him to the Muggle Cat Show authorities - for the same reasons, and besides, exposure wouldn’t be a punishment for him. And unfortunately shaving a cat is not a deed that will bring him before the Wizengamot. If we could prove that he had endangered the Statute of Secrecy - but we can’t. Not without explaining why he was at a Muggle event to begin with. What can we do to make him pay - surely there must be something?”
“He fair hates honest work,” said Argus.
“Argus, my dear fellow, what an excellent idea,” said Lucius. I noticed it was ‘Argus’ now - who would have thought it? Lucius really took to his fellow-conspirators part with the greatest possible gusto.
“I will summon Fletcher - he’ll be pleased to come, he’ll think I have another commission. And I’ll tell him I know what he did to Mrs Norris. I’ll tell Fletcher how excessively displeased I am with his behaviour. And I’ll suggest that spending - say - a week or two working for Mr Filch might be just the sort of atonement I’d like to see. I’ll get him to understand that only the most glowing of reports from Mr Filch will stop me from performing … quite a different type of atonement on him.”
“Will stop us I corrected Lucius.
“Us?” he asked, looking somewhat surprised.
“I would not dream of doing anything illegal,” I told him. “But Mundungus finds it particularly hard to believe that there are people who live within the law of their own free will. We have crossed wands before, Mundungus and I, and on that occasion I have reminded him of my war record, and I’ve assured him that if he gave his victim any further trouble, I’d know where to find him. He’ll remember that occasion. It may well be why he wanted poor Stan as a scapegoat.”
“I see,” said Lucius. “I had wondered about that bit with the over-large tip. So unlike Fletcher. You must have made quite an impression.”
“He couldn’t sit for a week,” I said.
Both men smiled. “That’s all right then,” said Argus. “He’ll be scared stiff of Mr Malfoy, and if that wears off at some point, I’ll remind him that I haven’t told you yet, Professor, but that I just might. With Mr Malfoy to back up my story. That’ll keep him busy for a week or two. The boiler needs cleaning. And the gutters. Nice job for him - he can fly up on a broom.”
“And you can supervise on the lawn,” I said. “In a deck chair.”
Argus positively beamed at the thought.
“I will drop by occasionally,” said Lucius. “For a chat with you, Argus. A very visible chat. Fletcher must know that I take a … continued interest in your welfare - and that of Mrs Norris. You may even have more visitors - young Stan would be most eager to share the story of his triumph with you - if you allow me to tell him you’re in on the Cat Show Secret? Draco and Stan will come for lunch this Sunday, and I know he’d be most relieved to hear you know all and are not angry with him or Fifinella.
Fifinella? Stan Shunpike had called his cat Fifinella? How utterly amazing.
”Fifinella?” asked Argus. “Where in Merlin’s name …”
“My wife’s idea,” said Lucius. “It was she who gave Stan the kitten. She said it looked like a Fifinella, and Stan was rather enamoured of the name.”
“I see,” said Argus. “Ladies can be a bit whimsical in their notions, sometimes.”
“I can see you are a man of the world, Argus,” said Lucius. And with those words he bowed his way out of my study and out of this story.
And now I finally have a perfect title. The Case of the Red Herring.
Unfortunately, it would give far too much of the plot away.
And it would upset Lucius.
Hmmm….
No. Whatever his many faults, he has been a true ally in this case. This story will remain The Case of the Cat Show Corruption.
Author: Professor Minerva McGonagall, written for hoggywartyxmas
(edited by Therealsnape)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 9700
Characters: Minerva McGonagall, Argus Filch, and others.
Summary: A crime has been committed against Mrs Norris. I investigate the case.
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: I most certainly am the author of this story, and I resent the notion that Ms Rowling owns me. But I promise that I do not make any money from this, and that I have no intention of infringing on Ms Rowling’s copyright.
Argus Filch was grumpy, irritated, and bad-humoured.
As I write this line, I realise that readers of this tale would probably think he must have been having a good day, then. Where’s the story in a grumpy Filch?
Not that I have any readers, of course. These notes are not written with publication in mind - there is a market for mystery stories, but editors do expect a certain body count in the manuscripts submitted to them. In the few little mysteries I have solved, bodies were sadly lacking. In the only case where I had a corpse in chapter one, it sprang to life again in chapter two. Most disappointing. For readers, I mean. The body in question was quite happy that it was alive. So was I, eventually.
But if I had readers, I would point out to them that Argus Filch was grumpy and bad-humoured after a Board Meeting, and he loves Board Meeting Days. He is the only one at Hogwarts who does. They make him feel important, a result of Albus’s excellent people skills. Albus always asked Argus to prepare the Board Room - clean it, set out cups and saucers, and align the chairs and such. Argus took great pride in this job and in the fact that he, rather than the House Elves, was deemed trustworthy enough to do it. “Me and the Headmaster have everything ready,” he used to assure me.
When I became Headmistress, I naturally kept this arrangement. Argus does an excellent job, and there was no reason for change. Therefore, the day after a Board Meeting we get the closest thing to a cheerful, smiling Argus Filch that one can expect to see in this life.
But after last week’s Board Meeting Argus was very much out of sorts. When several days of grumpiness had passed, I felt the problem needed addressing. I therefore started my day with a few necessary tasks, then I did a few not very urgent ones, then I had coffee, and then I had reached the stage where further procrastination would enter the realm of neglecting one’s duties. So I set off to listen to what I expected to be a long rant on How the Whole World is Against the Working Class Man.
The story I heard left me gasping in surprise. A crime has been committed against Argus - or rather, against Mrs Norris. Perhaps ‘crime’ is not the correct legal term. Perhaps I ought to use the words misdemeanour or unlawful action. But whatever the correct word may be, I think what was done to Mrs Norris was a very wicked deed.
An investigation, therefore, is in order.
I have by now some little experience in detective work, so my first action was to take out a small, leather-covered notebook for my notes on the case. Scrivenshaft’s has an excellent range, and I always order a dozen in different colours at the start of the school year - they are uncommonly handy for other things than crimes as well.
I will now outline the basic information in The Case of the Cat Show Corruption. Yes, that title is rather ludicrously alliterative, but right now I don’t have a better one. As a working title it will do.
Here is what Argus told me, in a slightly more coherent and chronological order.
*+*+*+*+*
Board Meeting Day had passed without a hitch, as usual, and Argus had done his normal duties. He had not noticed anything strange during the day.
He had assumed that Mrs Norris, too, has spent her usual Board Meeting Day - not at Argus’s heels, where she likes to be, for Madam Muriel Prewett, one of our oldest, most venerable [and most annoying - my opinion, not Argus’s] members, is allergic to cats. Mrs Norris therefore spends Board Meeting Day either roaming the grounds in fair weather, or on foul days curled up on a hearth rug in Argus’s rooms.
However, when Argus went to look for her at the end of the day, he couldn’t find her. He checked every likely spot in the castle and the grounds. He then went to the gates to check whether she had gone into Hogsmeade. This would have been most unusual, but by then Argus was at his wits’ end. A condition he tends to reach fairly quickly, true, but he was right that Mrs Norris seldom goes off alone.
Near the gates he heard her mewling. He called, she mewled louder, and he rushed towards the sound, and found her tied to an Elder tree. And someone had shaved her - there were two large, bald patches on her skin. It had been done carefully, and she hadn’t come to any further harm. By the time Argus found her, she had already made quite some progress in biting through the rope that tied her; another hour at the most and she would have been able to set herself free.
Now, this might sound like the kind of thing a student would do. Mrs Norris is not uniformly popular, and students often do have completely misguided ideas on what is an acceptable prank and what is not.
But this week’s Meeting was the one at the end of the Summer Term, and the vacation had already begun. Therefore, my first words were, “But who can have done this? It can’t have been a student.”
It was then that Argus made his startling revelations.
It appears that on his days off he likes to visit Muggle Cat Shows. For years he just went as a spectator and enjoyed the sight of beautiful cats and the company of fellow cat-lovers. But six years ago he came into a tiny inheritance - left to him by an aunt ‘because he is a poor, helpless Squib’.
In Argus’s own words, he weren’t poor or helpless. He were underpaid, but he weren’t some poor beggar. He were going enjoy the money, in a way the old besom would proper hate. He were going to join a Muggle Cat show - as a competitor.
Since, according to Argus, the old aunt disliked both cats and Muggles, this seemed a suitable revenge. Argus bought himself a cheap Muggle suit and some stationery and entered Mrs Norris in the Household Pet category.
“And she won, the little beauty!” he said - and now I know what a real smile looks like on Argus’s face.
This first Cat Show had been a small village affair. Argus didn’t know how Mrs Norris would like it, and he is one of the few Squibs who live completely in the Wizarding world. He was concerned about his own ability to perform in a Muggle event as well.
But both Argus and Mrs Norris took to their new parts with panache, and after that first show they went from strength to strength. This year, Argus has entered Mrs Norris for what seems to be the most prestigious event of all: the Supreme Cat Show. This show is held annually in November, and Mrs Norris has been entered in the Supreme Household Pet category.
In order to compete, she needed a winning certificate from another show, and the two of them had achieved that as early as March. Argus had planned to enter another show this month as well, one he and Mrs Norris both love and attend annually. This show took place two days ago, but Mrs Norris, with her shaven skin, was obviously in no position to participate.
And now Argus is convinced someone has ‘nobbled’ Mrs Norris.
To be more precise: he is convinced Lucius Malfoy has nobbled Mrs Norris.
It was at this point in his narrative that I gasped in surprise. I don’t know what struck me as more outrageous, the idea that Lucius Malfoy participated in Muggle Cat Shows, or that his pet was entered in the Household category rather than a pedigree one. The idea of Lucius ‘nobbling’ an animal was actually the least unbelievable of the three.
But, unlikely as it may seem, Argus’s story does stand up to scrutiny.
First of all, the cat that won the show is the property of Stan Shunpike. Stan Shunpike is the driver of the Knight Bus, and I was sincerely pleased when he applied for that job shortly after leaving Hogwarts. I recommended him at the Ministry, for I knew he would enjoy driving the bus and do it well enough. I also knew there was little else he was suited to. There was no problem with the boy’s magic; he’s not a borderline Squib at all - it’s just that he was and is singularly stupid. The most taxing part for him would be to give people the correct amount of change.
During the Voldemort period Stan was sent to Azkaban. This was an act of gross injustice on two counts. First, he had not done enough to deserve Azkaban. And, second, it was perfectly clear that he barely understood what had happened and that he had merely done what others told him.
Argus and Stan have always got on well, ever since Stan’s Hogwarts days. Stan often felt ‘the stupid one’ in a class full of brighter children. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what he was. Hogwarts selects its students on magical ability, and while the very clever ones usually manage to find their way, the very stupid ones have a difficult time of it. Had he been a Squib, his parents might have managed to find him a Muggle Special Needs school, where he could have learned at his own speed.
As it stood, we teachers all tried to make the best of things. It was Filius who had come up with the idea to let Stan help Argus occasionally. It was a task he could do well, and it made him feel valued.
And while none of us ever openly admitted it, Argus, too, benefited from being with a wizard boy whom he could mentor, since poor Stan was clueless on just about anything.
Argus told me that during the last weeks of his stay in Azkaban Stan met Draco Malfoy. A friendship had sprung up. The way Argus told it, the idea was not as unlikely as it seems.
“Stan were friendly to Draco,” he explained. “Stan doesn’t judge people. Mind you, Professor, I think that’s mostly because he hasn’t got no brains to be judgmental with.
“There’s a lot of talk on how Draco is a criminal and should ‘ave known better. Well, on the one hand, he should. He did wicked and wrong things. But his parents brought ‘im up to believe all that Pureblood stuff. And it seems to me that we mostly whine that kids don’t respect their parents’ ideas. And now that we have a kid as did respect them, we whine again. I’m not saying Malfoy was right. I’m saying I can see how he got in with the Death Eaters - being the sort of kid as admires his father. And then it exploded in his face.
“Now, Stan wouldn’t have thinkety thoughts like that. He were friendly, and Draco were friendly back. And then, when the Malfoys were released from prison, Stan got invited to the Manor. In a proper tizz he were about that. I helped him clean hisself up. And told him which fork to use. And what a napkin is for. After all, I’ve seen more of the world than young Stan.
“Being with Draco was all right - they liked each other. But Stan was scared stiff of Mr and Mrs Malfoy. But in the end it were all right. You see, Mrs Malfoy has always had cats. Long-haired Persians. Pedigree, of course. You won’t find no half-blood things in that household. But while they were in prison, the Ministry used the Manor. So when they got home the house were filthy, the garden were a mess, and the cat were up the spout.
“She had her kittens that night. And Stan, he loves cats, Stan does, he helped with the delivery. One kitten were still-born. The other was all right - but useless in a household that breeds pedigrees, of course.
“Stan told how he loved cats, and how his own cat had died when he were in Azkaban. Cried when he told that story. And Mrs Malfoy said, would he like the kitten. Stan said yes, and everyone was pleased as punch. Draco and Stan are still friendly and he eats at the Manor from time to time - because they all love cats. And they’re really nice, Stan says.
“Well, Professor, the whole point with Stan is that he is so easily taken in by bad friends. That’s how he got into Azkaban in the first place.
“I say they gave him that kitten so that they could enter it in Muggle shows. Not for the prize money, that ain’t nothing, but because Muggles take bets on anything. I know; I read Muggle papers sometimes. Last time they had a Royal baby, they even took bets on the name of the little nipper. Jason some people betted on, but it weren’t that, of course. I remember the name: Harry. Like our Harry.
“Anyhow, I dare say Lucius Malfoy wants to make a lot of money betting on the results of the Supreme Cat Show. And he needs to get his cat in. So he nobbled Mrs Norris to keep her out of last week’s show - now his cat is qualified, and if Mrs Norris had competed, she would have won.
“And I know he’ll try to get at her again before November. Or maybe he didn’t just shave her - maybe there’s spells as stop her fur from growing back. Do you think he might have done that, Professor? He’s a right bastard. Sorry for speaking plainly, but he is.”
I immediately promised Argus I’d set up an appointment for him with Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, which reassured him fully. He knows Professor Grubbly-Plank from her spells as a teacher here, and he knows she’s an exceedingly capable woman who will have Mrs Norris all right again in no time.
And I promised Argus I would set up a full investigation, as well. I think that Lucius has got away with far too much already - Shacklebolt is the best Minister we’ve had in decades, but I don’t agree with everything he does. Reconciliation is all very well, but there are times when retribution is in order.
If I find that Lucius Malfoy has nobbled Mrs Norris, I have no intention of letting him get away with it.
Tying her to a tree, indeed!
*+*+*+*+*
So, let us examine the current list of suspects.
Lucius Malfoy had the opportunity, for he is on the Hogwarts Board again as a result of one of the Ministry’s many Reconciliation projects. He had been at Hogwarts that day.
If Argus’s theory is correct, Lucius also has a handy scapegoat in case things go wrong - a very Malfoy thing to have. As crimes go, this is in character.
The one thing that still baffles me is motive. For I really cannot believe that whatever bets are made on the results of a cat show would offer sufficient financial inducement for Lucius Malfoy. He needs money for the restoration of the Manor, true. But I have a strong feeling this would not even get him enough to restore the front door.
On the other hand, there’s Stan Shunpike. He has a motive, if he is fanatical about his cat winning the contest. Argus claims the lad would never do such a thing, but Argus is prejudiced in his favour.
But Stan Shunpike most assuredly is not on the Hogwarts Board; he had no opportunity.
Unless he took a day off from work and went to the Castle, of course. This must be checked.
I have asked Argus whether he could think of any other suspects, and he told me the only one “what fair hates Mrs Norris, ‘cos she never wins when we compete” is a Mrs Cavendish. Her cat has not qualified for the Supreme Cat Show - in fact, if Stan hadn’t entered his cat, Mrs Norris’s absence would probably have meant a winner’s certificate for Mrs Cavendish.
But Mrs Cavendish is a Muggle - she would not be able to find Hogwarts, nor could she enter it.
It seems the culprit must be found in the Wizarding world, and despite the lack of convincing motives, Lucius Malfoy is a suspect.
I do want to have more information on Stan and Mrs Cavendish, though.
*+*+*+*
In the past two days, I made some progress in my investigations.
Stan Shunpike was on duty on Board Meeting Day, from 9 AM until 6 PM. The Department for Magical Transport confirmed this. The information was easy to obtain; I have spent more than half a century teaching young witches and wizards, and the convenient result is that the Wizarding world is full of people who are in the habit of answering when I ask a question. Some still haven’t lost the habit of blushing when the answer is, “I don’t know, Professor”.
As to Mrs Cavendish, Argus told me there is another Cat Show coming up. Normally Mrs Cavendish does not go there. She is a snob, according to Argus, and this show does not attract ‘her kind of people’. But now that her cat hasn’t qualified for the Supreme Show yet, there’s every chance that she will attend.
Therefore, so will I. I have donned a Muggle outfit, Argus has checked that it’s the kind of thing Muggle ladies wear to such an event, and I’m all ready for Apparition. Argus will not come with me. He was perfectly willing to show me around, and he could have given me valuable background information. But we have decided it’s too great a risk. If, in some mysterious way, Mrs Cavendish is involved, she will not expect to see Argus at today’s show - so she must not see him.
*+*+*+*
What a thoroughly disagreeable woman this Mrs Cavendish is!
I managed to locate her fairly quickly at the Cat Show - Argus has a certain pithy way of describing people. “Dresses as if she’s the Muggle Queen, only the Queen knows how to smile, and Mrs Cavendish looks like she’s pissing vinegar,” he told me, and true enough, there was a lady in a sedate pastel-coloured suit, complete with court shoes and a pearl necklace. And with a facial expression that fully justified the last part of Argus’s description.
Several people greeted her - but she barely nodded, except to one or two people whose style of dress clearly exuded wealth. And she used the word ‘common’ in almost every other sentence, and very loudly, too. The stands were common, the tea was common, and her fellow competitors were common.
I was sorely tempted to say that of all things common this kind of behaviour takes the biscuit. But I wanted to be as unobtrusive as possible, so I restrained myself.
Arguably the only thing more common than calling things ‘common’ is making disparaging remarks to one’s partner in public. It’s why I have never been able to warm to Molly Weasley, fellow Order member though she is. The things she says to Arthur - in the presence of others, and sometimes even in the presence of their children!
The reason I mention this is that Mrs Cavendish is the Muggle equivalent of Molly in the way she treats her husband. From what I gathered, Mr Cavendish - I might have to call him ‘Professor’ Cavendish, even - is a lecturer at a Muggle university. His subject is Medieval History.
I overheard Mrs Cavendish talk to a friend in the tea tent, and she complained that ‘poor’ Lionel never made it to a proper university like Oxford or Cambridge; that he spends all his time with his ‘musty old books’, and that his own books are ‘so boring they’re musty and old from the moment they’re printed, aren’t they, darling?’ Followed by the kind of tinkling laugh that reminded me of Dolores Umbridge.
I warmed to Professor Cavendish at once. (I don’t know if this is his title, but he deserves respect, if only for not murdering that woman.) His subject interests me, and I love old books. And he looked attractive - in an ugly way. Tall, thin, with sharp features - not conventionally handsome, but an intelligent face.
Now that I think of it, he vaguely reminded me of Severus Snape. That’s why I liked his face. Severus lives in France these days, and I usually spend part of the holiday with him. We have been very good friends for many years now.
He will enjoy the story of this investigation, and he will enjoy it even more if I fail - he always claims I’m not a proper detective, since I can only detect things when people intentionally leave clues for me, as he did when he wanted me to find his little bolting hole in France.
Severus’s claim is completely unjustified, of course. I did solve a mystery where no-one left clues, as I often point out to him. Severus’s reaction is that in that case the culprit was Mundungus Fletcher, and whenever a petty crime is committed, going after Mundungus almost guarantees success. A reasoning that shows that one can take the man out of Slytherin, but one can’t take Slytherin out of the man. I will succeed in solving this case, and I shall look forward to some quiet gloating.
But to return to Professor Cavendish, first impressions are not entirely reliable. A few minutes later Cavendish took his leave of the ladies because he had to meet an acquaintance. “Another old book?” complained his wife. “You spend far too much on them! Really, if I didn’t stop you half the time …”
This, however, was an occasion where the Professor wouldn’t let anything stop him, he said cheerfully. “I’ve had a longing for a Malleus Maleficarum for years, and this is too good a chance to miss.”
Ghastly book, that Malleus. And not just a ghastly book, but one that caused untold sufferings. Torture, death, the Statute of Secrecy - that book was at the bottom of so much misery.
But, of course, the fact that Cavendish wanted to buy it didn’t mean he believes every word. His interest might have been purely scholarly, and I didn’t condemn him outright. The presence of a Malleus at a Muggle cat show, however, seemed highly suspicious. I therefore decided to shadow the man.
The result was above expectations.
For whom did Cavendish seek out? None other than Lucius Malfoy. There he stood, on the edge of the show ground, in a very sleek Muggle outfit, his hair in a pony-tail - every inch the mildly-eccentric Muggle aristocrat.
I disappeared at once. The risk of Lucius recognizing me was far too great. And I had what I wanted: an astonishing amount of information.
There is a link between Lucius Malfoy and Muggle cat shows.
There is a link between Lucius Malfoy and the one Muggle who might harm Mrs Norris.
And while the Malleus hardly qualifies as a book on witchcraft, there is a very feeble link between witchcraft and the Cavendishes.
I cannot ignore Lucius Malfoy as a suspect any longer. My first task tomorrow will be to find out everything there is to find about his movements on Board Meeting Day.
I will start by interviewing Augusta Longbottom. She is razor-sharp and very observant. And she’s fanatically opposed to having Lucius on the Board - she watches him like a hawk.
Or rather, like a vulture - I must admit I can’t resist the pun.
*+*+*+*
I may have been a bit hasty when I decided to go and interview Augusta. What will I tell her? What I want to know is easy enough: what did Lucius do, and was he in sight of others at all times? But I can’t just go to Augusta and blurt out these questions. I’m not an Auror, and this isn’t a formal investigation.
And Augusta loves a good rumour. What if Lucius Malfoy is innocent after all? Nothing has changed about his lack of a good motive. If I go around asking questions about him, people - Augusta especially - will gossip. He would be accused unjustly, and I would make a fool of myself. I ought to mind the first part more, but in all honesty I’m more concerned about the second.
Now, how would my great detective example, Miss Jane Marple, deal with this?
She would go and have an innocent chat, that’s what she would do. And her ‘cover’, if that is the term, would be that she looks like a vague elderly dear who is chatty by nature and just a bit lonely.
Unfortunately, Augusta knows me only too well. The only word in that description she would fully agree with is ‘elderly’, since I am the older by three months. In a moment of youthful foolishness, during my year as a Prefect, I’ve once advanced those three months as an argument as to why I was wise enough to see that a certain prank would land Gussie in trouble. She did not listen - when did Gussie ever listen to words of wisdom? - And she pulled it off after all. Naturally, she has never allowed me to forget it and frequently tells me that ‘at my advanced age’ I may well be unable to do or understand things.
Now, what kind of excuse could I use to approach Augusta? Not Neville - he is doing perfectly well. It was an excellent decision to make him Head of Gryffindor.
A school-related issue? But Augusta knows there’s nothing urgent to discuss after the last Board Meeting, even if she didn’t take any notes on account of her hand.
That’s it! Her hand! She had sprained a wrist - her wand-arm, too. It was bandaged, and I shall drop by as a Concerned Friend. If need be, I shall be a Ministering Angel, even.
Perfect. Off I go. Minerva McGonagall, Spinster Detective, has found a way yet again.
Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Severus.
*+*+*+*
The plot thickens. My visit to Augusta has brought all sorts of new information. The Concerned Friend ploy worked like a Charm - considerably better than Augusta’s Charms ever worked, I might add. There was no need for her to be quite so surprised that I have it in me to be a concerned friend, but she never doubted my motive for visiting her.
We spoke briefly of the arm, exchanged some useful background information on Muriel Prewett’s attitude during the last Board Meeting. Yes, one might call that ‘gossip’. But it was useful information, and besides, any gossiping I did was for a good cause.
And then I mentioned Lucius. Augusta’s dislike for him proved ideal for my purpose. She immediately started to complain that Lucius took no interest at all in Hogwarts.
This was completely untrue, and Augusta based it on the fact that he did not join the Board when they went to inspect Pomona’s new walled herb garden. I had not even noticed that Lucius stayed behind; I was busy talking to Muriel Prewett. And later, when we were in the grounds, I spent my time guiding Mrs Creevey.
On the one hand, it is one of the better Post-War notions to have parents of Muggleborn children on the Board. They do trust their children to our care. And no-one has greater rights to a Board seat than Mrs Creevey, who had the great courage to let Dennis stay on at Hogwarts, even after Colin’s death.
On the other hand, though, it is a great responsibility for us - getting them a suitable form of magical transport, and ensuring no harm comes to them at the Castle. I’ll never forget the terrifying moment when one of the stairs moved suddenly and Mrs Creevey didn’t notice. A student - everyone at Hogwarts - watches the stairs when they mount them; it’s automatic. When Kingsley and I did a risk assessment beforehand, we never even thought of those moving stairs. All went well, thank heavens, but I nearly had a heart failure in the process.
Therefore I had all my attention on Mrs Creevey, but Augusta had noticed that Lucius stayed behind.
“Well, he’s not a very outdoorsy sort of person,” I said. “And Pomona dislikes him cordially and openly; in staying away he spared us all the tension and barbed remarks his present would have caused.”
“Exactly. Pomona is always so spot-on when she criticizes him. I had looked forward to those remarks. And he can be outdoorsy if he wants to - I saw him cross the lawn. I dare say he took himself off to The Three Broomsticks for a quickie.”
“You saw him go towards the gate?” I asked. I wanted to be quite certain of the facts. A detective must never assume nor put words in people’s mouths. “Surely not to go to Rosmerta’s? Quite frankly, the sherry we serve you before lunch is of better quality. As Lucius well knows - he drinks enough of it.”
Augusta grinned. “Aye, he can put it away. And stay perfectly in control, too. He’s a bastard, but he’s what my father would have called ‘a real gentleman’, too. Not that Papa ever managed to look beyond the ability to put away drink, fight a duel, and wear dress robes elegantly, more’s the pity.”
“Quite,” I said quickly. I wasn’t interested in a repeat of the long story of how Augusta married her poor-but-pureblood Frank despite violent opposition of her family, and how that proves she is completely unprejudiced.
Augusta was without prejudice on exactly one occasion, and no-one has ever been able to repeat the experiment. Every true scientist knows what this means.
“But that Lucius was making off towards the gates. Maybe the quickie he wanted didn’t come from a bottle?” said Augusta. She positively cackled over this idea, and in the cause of a greater good I may have cackled a bit as well.
“Mind, there’s one thing to say for the man, he’s not a groper like his father,” added Augusta. “Abraxas was dreadful. And that’s the kind of fella my father wanted me to marry, can you imagine?”
I was in for the Romance of the Century after all. The details about Abraxas at the Summer Hunt Ball of 1946 were fun, though. And we had a good laugh about my own Groping Abraxas story. Unlike a good wine, but much like Augusta herself, Abraxas had not improved with age, and when I started teaching in 1956 he was already a member of the Board.
New teachers are introduced to the Board Members during the Board lunch, and Abraxas didn’t miss a moment. A very smooth groper he was - just a touch, highly satisfying to him, no doubt, but not something for which you could actually call him to order. Not without being seen as ‘prudish’ or ‘hysterical’. The first time even I wondered whether it was groping or an accident.
The second time I knew.
And had my wand ready.
The sparks hit him squarely on the toes of his elegant boots, and he yelped. Albus noticed and asked him what was wrong.
“I’m afraid it’s my fault, Sir,” I said demurely. “Mr Malfoy touched me accidentally, and I got startled.”
“You had better be careful with that,” sneered Abraxus. “Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t want a Member of the Board to get injured by a junior teacher, now, would he?”
“Indeed, I would not,” agreed Albus. “I would hate to see a badly injured member. Or, Merlin forbid, a permanently incapacitated member. And that might so easily happen, for when my young teachers get startled, I tend to get startled, too. Now it was your toes. Who knows where my wand might hit you?”
Augusta loved the story. She has always admired Albus, and this certainly was one of his better moments. We chatted some more, but I got no other information - that is to say, nothing pertaining to the Case of the Cat Show Corruption. There were, of course, other interesting matters we discussed.
After an hour or so I took my leave. “Do you need anything - from Hogsmeade, say?” I asked as I gathered my things. “It won’t be easy to Apparate with that arm of yours. How did you even manage to get to the meeting, you poor dear?” I added for good measure. Every inch the concerned friend.
“I took the Knight Bus,” said Augusta. “And I must say young Shunpike did a fairly decent job. None of that crazy driving, and he offered his arm to help me in and out. Not that I needed that. I’m still young enough to manage with one arm. Truly, dear, it’s incredibly kind of you to come and see me, but someone my age isn’t helpless because of a sprain, you know.”
I ignored the at-your-advanced-age remark. “You took the Knight Bus?” I said. “I’m glad to hear Stan did well. I once recommended him for that job. Keeps him quite busy, and he likes travelling up and down the country. Where did he go next?”
“Nowhere,” said Augusta. “I was the only passenger, and he said he’d take his coffee break at Rosmerta’s, now that it was quiet. I liked that too in the lad. Shows a proper concern for his employer’s interests, to take a break when it fits in with work, not when he’s ‘entitled’.”
And that bit of information puts Stan Shunpike right on the spot, and with a bit of free time in which to commit the deed.
And I now also know that Lucius Malfoy was seen near the gates, or at least, going in the direction of the gates. To Rosmerta’s? I doubt it.
Still, I think a visit to The Three Broomsticks is in order.
*+*+*+*
“Morning, Headmistress, that’s a rare treat for you,” said Rosmerta as I entered. It was very perceptive of her; strolling through Hogsmeade on a midweek morning is a pleasure I cannot often indulge in during term time. Sitting down for a leisurely coffee is an even rarer treat.
I had timed my arrival carefully, and there was no-one else in the pub. I inquired after Rosmerta’s vacation plans, and we chatted a bit on the delights of Dublin, where she wants to spend a few days.
I had planned to bring the subject to chance meetings with former students during one’s vacation, a thing that happens to Rosmerta almost as frequently as to me. From there I hoped to introduce Stan Shunpike into the conversation.
But I was lucky. Rosmerta herself brought him up. “Did you see Stan Shunpike last week?” she asked. “He was here - or was it the week before that? Time flies, doesn’t it?”
I agreed that time did, and added that I hadn’t seen Mr Shunpike. Had he been around, then? Rosmerta said that he had, and he had set out to visit me. What a pity I had missed him!
I mentioned the Board Meeting as the only day on which he might, indeed, not have been able to see me, had he come to Hogwarts. A bit of quick thinking on Rosmerta’s part, and she agreed that Board Meeting Day it had been, “for he came here on account of how Mrs Longbottom needed the Knight Bus. Had hurt her arm, Stan said. Nothing serious, I hope? Stan said it was her wand-arm, and for an elderly lady that’s a very bad thing.”
Rosmerta looked as if she fully expected a decline into tottering old age for Augusta. Since Augusta is three months younger than I am, I was tempted to correct her. But my investigation was more important than a discussion on age and its consequences. I assured her that Augusta was doing very well and asked after young Shunpike.
“He’s doing very well for himself, that I’ll give him,” said Rosmerta. “Enjoys his job, and he seems to make a pretty Knut with it, too, for he left me quite a tip.”
This surprised me. Driver of the Knight Bus is not a highly-paid job. “Did he, now,” I said.
“Oh, yes. Left eleven Sickles. That is to say, he had to pay six Sickles, he put down a Galleon, and he didn’t wait for change. Mundungus Fletcher was surprised, too. Said I shouldn’t expect such generosity from him. And I sure didn’t, that Mundungus is as mean as they make them.”
“Mundungus?” I asked sharply. Mundungus on the spot and in some sort of connection with Stan Shunpike? This clearly called for clarification.
“Yes, Mundungus was there when Stan entered. They talked for a bit - there wasn’t anyone else, it was still fairly early. Stan said how he liked his job and told about Mrs Longbottom and her arm. He was ever so nice about her. Defended her, even. Because Mundungus called her an old besom - but a spunky old besom, he added, and he said that Dawlish still shakes like an aspen when he hears her name.
“But Stan would have none of it. ‘Mrs Longbottom is a real lady,’ he said, ‘and she spoke kindly to me. More than you can say for some.’ And he’s right, the poor chump, there are still people who won’t talk to him because he’s done time in Azkaban. But things weren’t always what they seemed in those days, were they, Professor?”
The last bit sounded somewhat plaintive, and I knew Rosmerta was not just thinking of Stan Shunpike. She herself had been the victim of an Imperius curse once. I assured her that things were certainly not always what they seemed and asked whether Stan said why he left such a large tip - had he been lucky with something?
“I don’t know - I was in the cellar for a few minutes, stacking away some crates of beer. When I got back here, Mundungus was alone. Said Stan had left in the direction of Hogwarts and the money was on the counter. I wasn’t too best pleased to find Mundungus alone - that man would steal the drink from your glass, and I only went down because Stan was there. He’s an honest lad, Stan is.
“But it seems that for once I haven’t been fair on Mundungus. He could have nicked that Galleon and left the right amount on the counter, and I’d never have known. But he didn’t.”
After that we chatted some more, I drank my coffee, and left.
I must admit that my first reaction upon hearing that Mundungus had been in Hogwarts on Board Meeting Day was ‘oh, damn’. As Severus Snape so aptly put it, whenever a petty crime is committed, going after Mundungus almost guarantees success. And while I certainly hope to succeed in solving this case, having Mundungus as the culprit once again will mean some highly sardonic smiles from Severus.
Lucius Malfoy, now, that would have been a feather in my cap.
But facts are facts. Mundungus had been on the spot. Also, Rosmerta had not been there when Stan left. The story of his going in the direction of Hogwarts depends entirely on the testimony of Mundungus.
And Rosmerta is right: it is highly surprising that Mundungus didn’t nick that Galleon. The most in-character course of action for him would be to pocket it and say that Stan had left without paying. Mundungus would be the first to point out that Stan had done time before.
The way I see it, there are two possible explanations. The first: for whatever reason, Stan tipped very generously. He then left to resume his duties on the Knight Bus, and Mundungus planted the false information that he wanted to go to Hogwarts - so that, should an investigation happen, there would be witnesses who could put Stan on the spot. Mundungus didn’t touch the money because a large tip would be remembered.
The other possibility is that Stan paid for his coffee and left a small, sensible tip. Mundungus took that money and put down a Galleon for the reason described above, and then started to spread the rumour that Stan had left for Hogwarts.
If the second possibility is true, and if Mundungus is guilty of nobbling Mrs Norris, then he must be very eager to blame someone else. Mundungus and his money are not easily parted.
But, as I said, years ago Mundungus and I crossed wands in a matter of what is technically called ‘petty crime’, but what I call ‘a wicked deed’. It is to that occasion that Severus Snape refers occasionally. For various reasons Mundungus could not be brought to justice then, but I like to think I put the fear of God into him where further misdemeanours were concerned.
If someone paid him to nobble Mrs Norris on what the Muggle police would call ‘my beat’, I can see why he would want a scapegoat badly enough to spend eleven Sickles on it.
But who would pay Mundungus to nobble Mrs Norris? Stan has a motive - but would he have enough money to make it worth Mundungus’s while? If that is the case, Mundungus might rather enjoy pocketing Stan’s money and then using him as scapegoat. It’s exactly the kind of thing that man would do.
Could Lucius have paid Mundungus? Certainly. Paying someone like Mundungus to do the dirty work is entirely in character.
But then, paying Mundungus would diminish his profits - and I still do not believe that Lucius could make enough money from entering a cat in a Muggle competition to make it worth his while. Also, if Stan Shunpike is now a personal friend of Draco and his parents, framing him would be a very stupid move. Lucius wouldn’t like it at all.
Of course, Mundungus may not know about the friendship.
Or could Mundungus work for someone else entirely? Is there a small, a very small possibility that he knows the Cavendishes? Mrs Cavendish has a motive I can readily believe in: a fanatical desire to see her cat win. Worse, on quite a number of occasions she has lost from Argus Filch. Anyone as snobbish as Mrs Cavendish would dislike that even more. I can see her pay Mundungus out of sheer spite and venom.
But how can they have met? I think it’s time to talk to Lucius. But I cannot approach him outright, either. I need an excuse. Something along the lines of Miss Marple’s fluffy-old-lady act.
*+*+*+*
Lucius Malfoy will arrive at Hogwarts in a few minutes, so I have just enough time to get into my part. I think I’ve come up with a very believable approach.
Once again I could not use Miss Marple’s highly effective doddering old lady act. But I had come to realise that the essence is not the old lady. It’s the prejudices and ill-conceived notions people have. Miss Marple played with those, and I followed her example.
I made a mental list of the more common delusions regarding spinster school teachers, and very soon I found a perfectly suitable one.
You would be amazed how often it has been suggested (and, in the case of some singularly unpleasant mothers, actually said) that a teacher’s pupils are a wonderful compensation for missing out on motherhood. I well remember the many occasions where mothers told me they ‘simply knew I would look after the dears as if they were my own children’. I’ve never actually said, “No, I don’t. I teach them manners.” But the temptation was strong.
My plan of action where Lucius is concerned plays on exactly this notion of ‘motherly devotion’. I will inform him that I know about the friendship between Stan and the Malfoys - I will have heard it on the Wizarding grapevine. A very fruitful one, and Lucius will not doubt it.
I will then inform him of the connection between Stan and Mundungus, as observed by Rosmerta. I will remind him that Stan was in my House once, that I’m still very concerned about him, especially after the problems he’s had in the Voldemort years, and that this liaison between poor, innocent Stan and wily Mundungus worries me very much.
I will ask Lucius to talk to Stan - give him advice. If necessary I will tell him Stan would sooner listen to a man he looks up to than to his old teacher. I may even use the words ‘man of the world’. Oh, I’ll be all motherly concern.
And then I will observe his reactions.
One of the things people tend to forget when it comes to schoolteachers, and especially Deputy Heads and Headmistresses, who have to manage large numbers of adult staff as well, is that we are exceedingly good at spotting lies.
Believe me, after more than half a century in which both students and staff have tried every possible excuse under the sun, I know the difference between a lie, a half-truth, and true innocence.
*+*+*+*
Lucius clearly felt ill at ease.
He looked at the hearth rug with discomfort.
He looked at the tea with distaste - though it was an excellent, fragrant Earl Grey, the blend he is very partial to.
And he looked at his spoon with the guilt-ridden expression of someone who has taken sugar on day one of their diet.
That, more than anything, convinced me of the absolute truth of what he told me.
Never, ever believe people who look straight into your eyes with a pleasant, open expression. If they give you a firm handshake as well, it’s worse.
The story Lucius told me was one he would much rather not tell - because it was the absolute truth.
Lucius was selling out. “Not everything - not the manor, Merlin forbid,” he hastened to tell me. “But there were damages from the time … from the last months of that time,” he said, and I nodded my understanding of which time he meant.
“And then the Ministry used it for several years. They were too busy to bother with maintenance - or to care. I don’t hold with all of the Ministry’s new Muggle notions, but in the Muggle world, the government does seem to realise that places like this are part of the nation’s heritage. It’s a notion singularly lacking in our powers-that-be.
“The roof needs repairs. The roof always does, and the costs are crippling. There’s a spot of dry rot in the rafters - that needs addressing very soon. And the garden needs work or there will not be a garden left. A design by Capability Brown, you know. Surprising, really, that the Muggles never realised just what sort of talent made him so capable. “
“He was one of us?” I asked in spite of myself. Completely beside the point of my investigation, but I’ve always been an admirer of his work.
“Borderline Squib, from what I gather of my great-grandfather’s notes. Very intelligent, great vision, a keen eye for Transfiguration - and not much strength behind his spells. At our place the old man had to step in and do most of the work. On Brown’s instructions, of course - the vision was his. But that’s what a lot of wizards resented: having to do what they saw as ‘manual labour’ themselves. In the Muggle world Brown could just ask for an army of gardeners and workers. But I digress.
“Since we’ve returned to the Manor, I find myself in need of quite considerable sums. Unfortunately, most of my income goes to the Ministry - reconciliation payments, they call it. That situation will last for several years to come, and given the alternatives, we did get off lucky; I’m fully aware of that.
“However, I do not wish to be the Malfoy who loses the estate. So I have taken the only course open to me: I’ve sold off some of our artefacts. To Muggles. They pay more, and the Ministry stays out of it. Even with the little I’ve sold I’ve diminished Draco’s inheritance, but it was the only option left.
“I have used Fletcher to make the initial contacts. Fletcher has done this sort of thing for years, you know. Whenever something was too hot to handle in the Wizarding world, he flogged it to Muggles.
“Once the contact was firmly established and an opening offer was made, I took over myself and dealt with the final negotiations and the transfer of the goods.
“Fletcher probably knows Stan and Draco are friends. Neither one of them makes a secret of it, and they occasionally go to the Leaky Cauldron for a pint.
“You’re right to worry about that connection, Professor. Fletcher is a little … an unspeakable little crook, and Stan can be influenced quite easily. If Fletcher has thought of a way to steal objects from the Manor, he may well want to use Stan. It’s exactly the sort of thing he would do.
“Is there a way of stopping this without my … business dealings … being discussed in any way? You see, I … I didn’t tell either Narcissa or Draco. They would hate the idea. Draco might want to try to prevent it. Draco’s sense of family obligation has landed him in terrible problems before. And Narcissa would be worried to death that Draco would try something. She … she should not worry about Draco again.”
“Let me see,” I said, nodding understandingly. I needed a few moments to compose my thoughts after this surprising story.
The salient facts were these: Mundungus knew Cavendish, since he set up the book transaction between Cavendish and Lucius. And while doing so, he may well have met Mrs Cavendish, too. And Mrs Cavendish is the only one who truly has a completely convincing motive for nobbling Mrs Norris.
Also, whenever Lucius spoke about Stan, there was sincere warmth in his voice. He liked the lad for what he had done for Draco. True, there had been more than a touch of the ‘my faithful servant’ attititude in Lucius’s tone when he mentioned the boy, but for my designs that wasn’t a bad thing. If Lucius would feel that noblesse oblige, I could make him my ally. And a very useful ally, too.
Too bad this has turned out to be another ‘Mundungus Did It’ case, though. After Augusta’s evidence, I had had high hopes of Lucius as a culprit. Now that would have been one for the books. Instead, he had been …
“Sorry, what did you say?” asked Lucius. “Something about a herring?”
Oh, dear. That’s what comes from being alone quite often - one sometimes whispers to oneself.
There was nothing to be done about it. I told Lucius the whole story - I had planned to do that, anyhow. But now that I knew him to be not guilty, I included that I had thought of him as a possible culprit. With a very weak motive, true, but with an astonishing number of opportunities and connections to the case. Finally, at his request, I explained the Muggle detective notion of a red herring.
“I see,” said Lucius, grinning at my discomfiture. “Well, I absolutely refuse to end up as ‘the red herring’. If I must play a part in this investigation, it will be as a second-in-command, at least. Do they have a word for that?”
“Side-kick,” I told him.
“As in, I’m at your side to kick the living daylights out of Fletcher?” he suggested.
“We’ll have to think about a suitable way to deal with Mundungus, but it will be very useful if he believes that either of us might do just that,” I said.
We both agreed to bring Argus Filch in on our discussion - we would pool our information and set up a plan. I therefore went to fetch Argus and brought him up to date with the latest facts. Once we were all sitting in my study with a fresh supply of tea, we went down to business.
“I knew Stan had participated in a Muggle Cat show,” said Lucius. “It would seem that he had heard about them from you, Mr Filch.”
“Aye,” said Argus. “The lad takes me there, usually. With the Knight Bus. I send an Owl to his digs, and he picks me up, seeing as how …”
Seeing as how Argus couldn’t use a wand to summon the Bus. Lucius and I both nodded.
“Mind, I always paid for it,” said Argus. “Stan offered to take me for free. He’s kind-hearted, Stan is, and that’s what gets him into trouble. I had to explain that giving free rides to his friends were the same thing as stealing from his boss. But that’s how he knew about cat shows, all right.”
“Draco helped him complete the registration form,” Lucius told us. “Stan didn’t want to ask you, Mr Filch, since he was afraid that you would disapprove. Of having two magical people at a Muggle event, I mean.”
Poor Argus looked extraordinarily pleased at being called ‘magical’.
“Now, the first meeting between Professor Cavendish and Fletcher took place in March, and that was at a cat show, too,” said Lucius. “I think it may well have been the show where you won, Mr Filch.”
“And Mundungus must have recognized me. He probably heard what Mrs Cavendish had to say about us winning, and that weren’t pretty, I’m sure,” said Argus. “And then the little shit - sorry, Professor - Mundungus realised that he could go to Hogwarts and nobble Mrs Norris, and Mrs Cavendish couldn’t. And he set it up.”
“Quite,” Lucius agreed. “This means that we’ll need to deal with Mrs Cavendish. I suggest I take care of that side of things. Mrs Cavendish is the most frightful snob - she was positively gushing when we met. Said she would love to see me at her house. Well, she’ll have that pleasure - and I will make it perfectly clear that I know what she’s been up to. And that any further attempt will result in public exposure. Very public exposure. That should stop her.”
We agreed this was the best solution. I would not have minded exposing Mrs Cavendish then and there, but that would lead to a great number of difficulties - we would have to give evidence of the nobbling to whatever authority exists in the world of cat shows, and the evidence involved two wizards and the most secret magical residence of Britain.
“Now, about Mundungus,” I said. “We can’t expose him to the Muggle Cat Show authorities - for the same reasons, and besides, exposure wouldn’t be a punishment for him. And unfortunately shaving a cat is not a deed that will bring him before the Wizengamot. If we could prove that he had endangered the Statute of Secrecy - but we can’t. Not without explaining why he was at a Muggle event to begin with. What can we do to make him pay - surely there must be something?”
“He fair hates honest work,” said Argus.
“Argus, my dear fellow, what an excellent idea,” said Lucius. I noticed it was ‘Argus’ now - who would have thought it? Lucius really took to his fellow-conspirators part with the greatest possible gusto.
“I will summon Fletcher - he’ll be pleased to come, he’ll think I have another commission. And I’ll tell him I know what he did to Mrs Norris. I’ll tell Fletcher how excessively displeased I am with his behaviour. And I’ll suggest that spending - say - a week or two working for Mr Filch might be just the sort of atonement I’d like to see. I’ll get him to understand that only the most glowing of reports from Mr Filch will stop me from performing … quite a different type of atonement on him.”
“Will stop us I corrected Lucius.
“Us?” he asked, looking somewhat surprised.
“I would not dream of doing anything illegal,” I told him. “But Mundungus finds it particularly hard to believe that there are people who live within the law of their own free will. We have crossed wands before, Mundungus and I, and on that occasion I have reminded him of my war record, and I’ve assured him that if he gave his victim any further trouble, I’d know where to find him. He’ll remember that occasion. It may well be why he wanted poor Stan as a scapegoat.”
“I see,” said Lucius. “I had wondered about that bit with the over-large tip. So unlike Fletcher. You must have made quite an impression.”
“He couldn’t sit for a week,” I said.
Both men smiled. “That’s all right then,” said Argus. “He’ll be scared stiff of Mr Malfoy, and if that wears off at some point, I’ll remind him that I haven’t told you yet, Professor, but that I just might. With Mr Malfoy to back up my story. That’ll keep him busy for a week or two. The boiler needs cleaning. And the gutters. Nice job for him - he can fly up on a broom.”
“And you can supervise on the lawn,” I said. “In a deck chair.”
Argus positively beamed at the thought.
“I will drop by occasionally,” said Lucius. “For a chat with you, Argus. A very visible chat. Fletcher must know that I take a … continued interest in your welfare - and that of Mrs Norris. You may even have more visitors - young Stan would be most eager to share the story of his triumph with you - if you allow me to tell him you’re in on the Cat Show Secret? Draco and Stan will come for lunch this Sunday, and I know he’d be most relieved to hear you know all and are not angry with him or Fifinella.
Fifinella? Stan Shunpike had called his cat Fifinella? How utterly amazing.
”Fifinella?” asked Argus. “Where in Merlin’s name …”
“My wife’s idea,” said Lucius. “It was she who gave Stan the kitten. She said it looked like a Fifinella, and Stan was rather enamoured of the name.”
“I see,” said Argus. “Ladies can be a bit whimsical in their notions, sometimes.”
“I can see you are a man of the world, Argus,” said Lucius. And with those words he bowed his way out of my study and out of this story.
And now I finally have a perfect title. The Case of the Red Herring.
Unfortunately, it would give far too much of the plot away.
And it would upset Lucius.
Hmmm….
No. Whatever his many faults, he has been a true ally in this case. This story will remain The Case of the Cat Show Corruption.