ᴅɪsᴘᴇʟ ᴍʏ ʙᴏʀᴇᴅᴏᴍ | ᴍᴀʀᴀᴅᴇᴜʀs' ᴇʀᴀ

Chapter 41: Post-Mortem

A few days before, during the pixies' raid

Emily Parker got out of the narrow passage and inhaled clean, not smelling of dampness and rats air. Her robe was grey with dust and dirt, and before stepping into Dumbledore's office she had to clean it so as not to leave unwanted traces.

"Why do we hope that the old man didn't close the move?"

"I wouldn't have closed."

"Why?"

"Because more stupid place to store suicider's corpse than a headmaster's office doesn't exist. And he should understand that the Ministry of Magic's expertise conducted by the Death Eaters' flunkies would have no effect."

"That's why he relies on seventh-years? Like, they figure it out and come here themselves?" Beata snorted.

"This is the essence of such an unfamiliar word for you as strategy."

"He wants too much from us."

"That's just one of the reasons. The second is more interesting. The one who's guilty can't fail to understand that girl's examination is capable of providing evidence."

"So, they will come to cover up the crime?"

"Yes."

"And since Narcissa is from Slytherin and this someone is too, then..."

"They will surely find out about the hidden move. Let's hope that we managed to be the first."

"And that Cissy doesn't play a double game."

Emily nodded briefly and waved her hand. The opening in the wall drove away. It looked as if Dumbledore had sharpened the stone so that it didn't grind and the girls were able to penetrate the room unimpeded.

Spacious office filled with incomprehensible rustling, trembling and jumping junk was warm and dusty. It smelled of mummifying potion. In the middle of the office, a glass coffin was erected. The girl lying in it was almost like a sleeping beauty. If, of course, not for strangely turned neck.

Her body was forbidden to touch before the arrival of the ministerial staff. Emily and Beata had to get as much information as possible, leaving as few traces as possible.

"So," seeing the guinea pig, Emily was filled with dry scientific confidence. "We have to check her blood for dark magic at first. Take samples for analysis. Look under the nails ─ is there any dirt or blood ─ maybe she was fighting? And also check the emotional background. If this glass box is the one I think it is, everything should've been preserved."

"I can see you in a couple of years busily cutting off your arm and writing the results with your other one. Heartbeat increased, blood normally splashing on the walls─"

"We don't have time for jokes," Emily frowned. "Check her emotions, I'll examine the blood."

Beata shrugged as if she was studying corpses every day and, walking to the coffin, knocked at the glass. Emily jumped looking fearfully at the door, but there was only a horrible hubbub outside and wild squeaking.

"What the hell?" she whispered.

"What if she wakes up?"

"Idiot!"

"This thing," Beata narrowed her eyes. "It's blocking my magic."

"It's a special glass," Emily said, examining the coffin in search of the lock. "Everything inside remains unchanged."

"It's like with butterflies under the glass?"

"Sort of."

Latches were found, two on each side. Fifteen minutes to unravel the spell, another fifteen to deactivate it. Parker became more and more nervous with every second. Beata smoked her pipe carelessly, lounging in an old colorful armchair covered with a quilted blanket.