"Oh, Cormac’s death was a tragic accident," I recited. "He died of a rare heart defect called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. It’s well-known among muggles for making athletes drop dead after strenuous activity. Any muggle doctor could tell you about it. It’s not clear why a wizard would have it, though. It’s so rare as to be practically unknown to the Healers at St. Mungo’s, which is probably why the Dark Lord ordered them to make a very thorough autopsy. Smart of him, really, when Cormac had a concubine around who loathed him and was known to be absolutely brilliant. But they concluded that’s exactly what happened: natural causes..." I trailed off, watching Draco’s face carefully for any sign of emotion. He was hard to read—not outright worried, but as if something unpleasant were nagging at him. I let him stew for a few moments, then finished my thought: "Now, whether poor Cormac was actually born with that problem, well, that’s not something they could possibly tell from the autopsy."