Whose Corpse Is It?

Midmorning in Diagon Alley, Hermione sat at her desk or, more accurately, leaned back with her feet up reading another journal. The article was on magical forensics of hair with particular regard to identifying lycanthropes. Fascinated, Hermione turned the page, but her reading was disturbed by the entrance of visitors to the reception room outside.

She heard Harry and Draco greet Hannah, who knew to show them right in. Hermione hastily sat up at her desk and slipped her stockinged feet into her shoes. She looked expectantly at them as they entered her office.

"Hullo, Hermione."

"Good morning, Harry. Draco. You're here on business, I presume?"

"That's right, Hermione," Harry told her. "A case has come up, and the MLE needs your particular skill set. There was a body found this morning; we're pretty sure it was the Killing Curse. Based on the identity, we think the case is going to be pretty hot and will need the best minds available. Can you come?"

"Whose corpse is it?"

"Albus Dumbledore," Harry told her.

Hermione barely blinked before answering, "Snape did it.

"That will be two hundred Galleons. My minimum billable time is an hour, so if you have anything else, you might as well ask me."

"Hermione, the body is fresh, not dead eight years. You'd better come see."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Really? I guess I better had, then. You don't really think it's him, do you?"

"I haven't been there, but I don't see how it's possible. I...we both saw him die."

Hermione nodded. "So, transfiguration or illusion then, or possibly..."

Standing up from her desk, she took the witch's robe from the rack and threw it over her office clothes, then took her gloves and handbag from her drawer and went to the outer office, followed by Harry and Draco.

"Hannah, I'm going with these gentlemen to a crime scene; please call Hector and have him meet me at..." She turned to Harry and looked questioningly.

"Knockturn Alley, by the Witch's Tit," Harry said.

"By the Witch's Tit, then." Hermione said. "Have a seat here and wait a moment, Harry; I need to get a few things to bring with me."

Harry and Draco sat in the comfortable chairs in the outer office while Hermione went back into her office and returned with a book, flipping through it as she walked. Finding what she wanted, she marked the place with a scrap of paper and shoved it into her bag. "Let's go."

---

The three of them turned together from Diagon to Knockturn Alley towards the pub. Hector, Hermione's favorite photographer for these sorts of occasions, was already waiting for her near two trainee Aurors who had been dispatched to guard the crime scene. Harry nodded to them, and they stepped back to allow Hermione and the Aurors into the alley. Hermione beckoned Hector to follow them.

About the middle of the alley lay a crumpled heap of purple and grey. Approaching more closely, Hermione could see that it was indeed a body that looked exactly as she remembered Professor Dumbledore in life. She'd seen him wear that very robe countless times at school. He was lying prone, and his face was partly hidden by his hair and beard, so she couldn't see it very clearly. His right arm was out to the side, with a wand still in it; his left hand was under his body.

She turned to look up at Harry and Draco. Harry was obviously shaken, and Draco looked like he might be sick at any moment.

"Is that... the Death Stick?" Hermione asked in a shaken voice.

"Can't be," Harry said. "He wouldn't be dead now."

"Why not? He had it before, but was killed," Hermione answered. "At least, I think he was."

"Harry and I were both there," Draco answered. "He was dead. Snape..."

Hermione stepped aside for Hector to take pictures; she wanted them from all possible angles before disturbing anything.

"That's odd," Harry said distractedly, looking at Dumbledore's feet where they stuck out from the hem of his robe.

"What is?"

"His socks match."

"Hmm. So they do. Be sure to get a picture of that, Hector. Can I turn him, Harry?"

Harry nodded, then took a deep breath. "Unless you want me to," he offered gallantly.

"It's okay, I'm not the squeamish type," Hermione said. Squatting down, not wanting to kneel in the filth of the ally, she took the body by the shoulder and turned it over onto its back. That was Albus's face all right. Her brow furrowed in concentration, then she reached down and pushed up both sleeves. "Look!"

"I see arms," Harry said.

"Exactly. Two of them. His arm was cursed when he died, remember?"

"That's right! From the ring," Harry answered. "What do you think happened?"

"This can't be Albus Dumbledore," Hermione said seriously. Standing, she reached into her bag and took out the book she'd shoved in it before leaving. Ignoring Harry and Draco, she flipped it open to the place she'd marked and read it over, looking up from time to time at the corpse before them.

Sticking the journal back in her bag and handing it to Draco to hold for her, she took her wand and faced the corpse. Concentrating carefully, she moved her wand in the motions described in the journal and recited an incantation under her breath.

The body before them shimmered and started to change shape, becoming shorter and more muscled. One leg vanished into the robe, and the face became scarred and worn, an eye and part of the nose vanishing. In a few moments they all recognized whose body was before them...

"Mad-Eye Moody!" Harry and Draco said in unison. Hermione stared with them.

Hector piped up, "Have we really just gone from one fresh corpse that should have been years rotted, but isn't, to a different one? Wicked!"

Hermione rolled her eyes but answered. "Yes, Hector, that about sums it up.

"What now, gentlemen?" she asked, turning to Harry and Draco. "It would appear that Alastor Moody has not been dead all these years. It is very odd, but I find it more plausible than that the Headmaster was alive. You saw Alastor fall, Harry, but you didn't see him die. What is wildly strange is that he was wearing Albus's clothing and had transformed himself with Polyjuice Potion at the time he was killed."

"How can it be Polyjuice?" Harry asked. "It would have worn off by now, and we'd have just found Moody's body in Dumbledore's clothes."

"I read an article in a journal on magical theory a few months ago. It included an abstract on experiments done with Polyjuice and lab animals. Apparently, if the subject dies before the potion wears off, the change stays permanently unless it is countered. The working theory is that the potion draws on the drinker's magic – so Polyjuice wouldn't work for a Muggle at all, by the way – to both do and undo the transformation. If the drinker dies, his magic is gone and the body is just stuck that way, unless a live witch or wizard helps it get back.

"Of course, the author only experimented on animals, so he could only speculate on the effect in humans. I'll have to write to the journal that his theory was correct."

"But if the potion needs magic, how did it work on animals?"

"He used puffskeins and the like."

"How did he get a puffskein to drink the potion?"

"You probably don't want to know. Are you gentlemen finished with me? Do you need me to keep working, or will the MLE handle it from here?"

Harry and Draco looked at each other. Harry, as the more senior Auror, responded for the team.

"I think we'll want your help checking Moody's body for evidence. Nobody even knew he was alive; we don't know where he lived or why he'd want to stand around Knockturn Alley in the middle of the night pretending to be Albus Dumbledore."

"All right, then. Hector, we'll need pictures of the new body, please."

Hector repeated what he'd done before, snapping pictures of Moody from all angles. When he was finished, Hermione closed Moody's eyes, then examined him closely. She found a clot of mud stuck to the side of his shoe which didn't match the dirt of the alley and scraped it into a sample jar for testing.

---

Several hours later, Hermione stood in her lab with her blouse rumpled and her hair hanging in strings from sweat. She pushed it behind her and straightened her back at the sounds of someone entering the outer office and Hannah Abbott's voice greeting him.

"Miss Granger is in the lab, Mr. Potter; if you'll wait a moment, I'll see if she can step out?"

Hermione stepped out. "It's okay, Harry, I'm done in here for now. I'll tell you what I've learned, but it doesn't help much."

"That's okay, I've got some information for you that might help."

"Good, I could use some," Hermione told him, smiling. "Come into my office."

Harry followed Hermione into her sanctum and sat down in one of the chairs at her desk while she walked around and sat behind.

"You first, Harry."

"Sure. Ginny and I had dinner at the Burrow last night, and we told how you'd discovered Moody's body. You'll never believe this, Hermione, but Molly knew Moody was alive."

"She knew? And she never told anyone? Why?"

"He made her promise not to. She'd run into him entirely by accident. You've heard how she's been volunteering at this orphanage for were-kids, right?"

"Yes, Bill told me when I was there a few weeks ago. It sounds really good for her."

"It has been, but it does take more than your average parenting skills to help out with the kids there. She said it happened a few months ago. One night one of the kids ran away. She was very little, only four or so, and she wanted to find her real mother. Problem was, it was very close to the full moon."

"Wow," Hermione said. She may not have been on the best of terms with Molly since her breakup with Ron, but there was no questioning her bravery, especially where little ones were concerned.

"Exactly. So anyway, she was chasing after this kid – and you know after raising Fred and George, there's no way any four-year-old is going to evade her for long – she followed her into a very sketchy neighborhood."

"Why'd the kid go there?"

"Looking for her parents. Molly doesn't think she came from right there, but probably another poor area that looked like it. Anyway, she saw Moody there. Recognized him in an instant. He couldn't see her coming because he'd lost his magical eye."

"So what did he tell her? How did he survive the fall, and how'd he stay hidden?"

"He didn't tell her much, only that he was in hiding from a surviving Death Eater. He made her swear not to reveal that he was still alive. Molly didn't exactly say, but I got the impression she owed Moody a lot and he called in the chit on it."

"I guess I can see her agreeing under those circumstances, although she must have found it very hard keeping the information from you, knowing how you'd felt about Moody's death."

"Yeah," Harry said uncomfortably. "It hurts a bit that she didn't tell me, but I guess I understand. So, what were you going to tell me that you learned?" Harry asked, changing the subject.

"The clump of mud from Moody's shoe – I broke it up for testing and found a couple of grey hairs embedded in it. I had just finished the protocols when you came in."

"And?"

"They are werewolf hairs."

"Wow, that's... interesting," Harry said, sounding as confused as Hermione felt.

"Interesting, yes, but I don't know how much of a lead."

"Hey," Harry said. "Maybe it means he was around the neighborhood of that orphanage recently?"

Hermione brightened. "That could be. In that case, maybe he shopped regularly in the area Molly met him. He must have gotten his Polyjuice Potion somewhere, or the ingredients to make it, from a dodgy apothecary. Do you know where it was she met him?"

"Yes, in the town a few miles from Shell Cottage. Draco and I will go, or maybe I'll send Draco alone. He'll have better luck with dodgy shopkeepers than you or I, and it will help keep your bill to the Ministry in bounds," Harry told her with a wink.

Hermione smirked. "Take a photograph of Moody with you – he probably wasn't using his right name – and ask if anyone's seen him.

"That much I can figure out," Harry told her, rolling his eyes, but smiling. "I'll come back with a report as soon as we learn anything."

---

Harry didn't return, but he did send an owl. One of the Ministry owls, Hermione thought with a pang of grief for Hedwig. She gave the owl a treat from the dish she kept by the window to cover her regular correspondence, retrieved the roll of paper from its leg, and sat back at her desk to read it.

Hermione, we have a lead on Moody. Draco found a guy at a black-market shop who admitted to recognizing the picture. You were right, he'd been buying boomslang skin. The shopkeeper knew him as Jack Cameron.

Unfortunately, the trail goes cold there. 'Cameron' always paid cash and picked up his supplies in person. I've checked the Ministry records, and that name isn't listed in any of the registries – not for property, or employment records, or anything. There's no Gringotts account under that name either. He must have been using a different alias for his regular living, but I don't know how we're going to learn what it was.

Hermione leaned back at her desk, tapping her cheek with the rolled up note. She had a few resources the Ministry didn't. No point wasting time, Hermione thought, standing. She went to the fireplace and tossed a handful of Floo powder in. "Granger residence" she announced and stepped through to her parents' living room.

Hermione's parents had been understandably shocked and upset when she had returned their memories. They had been estranged for some time, but that was years ago now. The Grangers had returned to England, and Hermione was again on good terms with them.

Over tea, she asked her father for help finding a reputable Muggle investigative agency. He didn't know offhand, but had a dental patient who was a criminal attorney. A few phone calls later, and Hermione had an appointment with Michael Cox at his office for the next day.

As it turned out, Michael found Moody via the dustbins – which Hermione thought rather ironic. He had to pay council tax, which included emptying the bins, so he was on the electoral role.

It had taken several weeks; Jack Cameron was not exactly an uncommon name, and with Moody being the paranoid sort, he'd have paid cash as much as possible. Michael had had to visit quite a few council offices to review the records, as they weren't online. He had found three Jack Camerons who seemed to be likely candidates, reclusive and with no known means of income. Two, he observed and photographed; Hermione held the pictures of two strangers in her hands. Michael was not able to find the third Jack Cameron; no one entered or left the remote hunting cabin in Cornwall which was his legal residence.

It had all amounted to quite a bit of travel and work, which Hermione was thankful she didn't have to do herself. She mentally translated the figure into Galleons and added it to her growing bill for the Ministry. Hermione then wrote up the results so far and sent an owl to Harry.

Harry and Draco arrived in Hermione's office shortly after receiving her owled message. They brought a detailed map of the area surrounding Moody's cabin. Hermione was putting together a sampling kit. She told them she had also owled Hector to come.

When Hector arrived, they Apparated together to the vicinity of the address and walked up to the door.

It took Hermione the better part of an hour, with Harry and Draco's help, to dismantle the wards. Eventually they succeeded and were virtually certain that all the traps were now dormant. The three looked at each other; then Harry opened the door. When nothing happened, they stepped out of the bright sunshine and into the gloomy cabin. Nothing untoward happened as they stood waiting for their eyes to adjust to the gloom. When she could see, Hermione gasped in shock.

The entire cabin looked like some weird shrine to Severus Snape.

Every available wall surface had photographs and newspaper clippings pinned to it. Hermione turned slowly in place. Everywhere she looked, Snape sneered at her, or smirked, or just stared with fathomless eyes. Most of the pictures were clipped from the Daily Prophet and still attached to articles about him – how he had murdered Albus Dumbledore, his career as Headmaster, his tragic demise on the day of the final battle. Tragic in the sense that it deprived the Wizarding world of the satisfaction of trying him and condemning him to life without parole in Azkaban, according to the articles immediately following the battle. After those came the exoneration. Harry had shown Snape's memories to Kingsley and had spoken for him, as had others. When all the evidence had come to light, Snape had received an Order of Merlin, First Class, Posthumous.

She'd read all these articles, of course, when they'd been published. She'd grieved, first for Albus, and then for Snape. Even if he'd been guilty, he'd met the most horrible end. She'd felt almost... bereft at the time. When his medal had been awarded, she'd actually cried.

Harry and Draco were both staring around at the walls, equally stunned.

Hermione shook her head. It was just bizarre to see the life of Snape laid out like this in chronological order. But... wait... they were in order. There was his death, and his Order of Merlin, and ... some more to the right of it. No more newspaper articles; over there it was photographs and handwritten notes. Hermione walked slowly towards that wall, her heart thudding in her chest. There was a photograph of a tall, thin, dark-haired man in trousers and a shirt standing in a garden outside a cottage on a windswept bit of landscape. The man didn't move; it was a Muggle photograph. He looked extremely familiar, despite the setting and garb. Hermione removed the thumbtack and looked at the back. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the date there – April 2003.

Hermione turned to meet Harry and Draco's eyes; they could both see the shock in hers. "Snape... He's alive!"