Something a little different this time. 3 parts. Thanks to MalfoysMuggleMrs for beta reading for me!
Crackle. Fizz.
"We interrupt this regularly scheduled broadcast of "Which Witch?", I repeat, we interrupt this broadcast to bring you a live report from The Ministry of Magic's Annual Post-War Commemoration Ball."
"It is utter pandemonium here as more and more Aurors arrive at the scene. Ginny Weasley has been murdered. I repeat, Ginny Weasley, Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies has been murdered – here. Tonight. Her body was found in a hallway close to the festivities."
Crackle. Fizz.
"All guests are being held under questioning, including her inconsolable mother and the remaining members of the Weasley clan in attendance."
Click
The lights in interrogation room six left an ire glow across the darkened face of its only occupant. His dark hair was thoroughly disheveled, most likely from repetitively running his sweaty palms through it, hoping to calm his nerves.
Gone.
She was gone. He's barley caught site of her lifeless body before being dragged away from the scene of the crime.
Murdered.
The blood rushed to his ears again. Slowly reaching a hand into his right pocket, he fingered the small, velvet box tucked away mere hours earlier.
Tears formed in the inside corners of his newly dimmed green eyes. He was alone again. Harry Potter would forever be the man without a family.
A shiver ran up her back at she stared blankly at the grey, padded wall in front of her. Her once-elegant French twist had come loose, leaving a haggard aura about her. How could this have happened? Had she really become so complacent with her life after the war that she simply thought she'd never again lose another friend? Perhaps. At the very least, not one so young.
With her elbows planted firmly on the metal table, Hermione Granger's head fell into her hands once more. Ginny Weasley was gone; her body mangled in some hallway just feet from where Hermione spent the evening grabbing glass after glass of champagne.
Guilt built up inside of her, stomach lurching violently as her thoughts raced.
"I'm going to be sick."
A buzzer rang as the steel door flew open, an Auror rushing in to place a bucket in Hermione's trembling hands. Her bile barely made it inside the bin.
"I know my rights! I've been here all day! This is criminal profiling. I want to be released immediately, or you'll be hearing from my attorneys! I keep them on retainer for this reason!" His blonde hair had flopped into his eyes. Attempting to huff it out, he leant back in the metal chair, arms crossed on his chest.
"This is absurd. If I'd killed the little firecracker, do you honestly think I would have stuck around to watch the fireworks? Any normal person would have got the fuck out of there. You imbeciles are looking in the wrong place. But honestly, what surprise is that? The Ministry can't get their shite together. What a fucking surprise! And on tonight of all nights?! Guess you wasted all that money on security, Shacklebolt."
The steel door rattled, the bolt on the other side unlocking. "Draco Malfoy?"
"Yes?"
"You have the right to remain silent. Were you aware?"
"I was read my rights when I was dumped in this bloody room by you lot, was I not?"
"Indeed. We suggest you use those rights."
"I beg your pardon."
"Shut your ungodly trap, Malfoy." The door slammed with a thud, the lock clicking back into place.
"Oh FUCK OFF!"
Her cheeks, normally so full of life, held the stains of her blackened tears; waves of blonde hair once held perfectly in place were now an uncontrollable mane. She made no move to pull the thin strap of her pale blue dress back up her left shoulder.
Luna was broken.
A noise in the corridor snapped her head to attention, but the footsteps were gone as quickly as they had come. How long had she been locked away in this cold room? Minutes? Hours? The cold she once felt on the back of her arms had numbed into a dull pain, much like the feeling in her chest.
Her mind rushed through the events of the evening; a quick flash of a smiling redhead appeared. Throat suddenly dry, Luna reached for the glass of water left behind by whatever Ministry employee shoved her into interrogation room seven. Her fingers moist with condensation, she slowly brought the glass to her lips. A sob escaped her, and the glass went flying across the room, shattering as it hit the two-way mirror.
"Tell me what you want to know. Come on! Just ask. Yeah, she was a friend of mine. More recent but I don't see how any of that concerns you lot. She had a screaming match with Potter out on the promenade. Pouring rain. I told her to wear a bleeding jumper, but she had the audacity to tell me it didn't match her dress. Bleeding pain in the arse she is," his throat caught. "Was, I mean."
He brought his left hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it for a moment, his dark eyes fixed on the table. For a moment the room was completely silent. Taking a deep breath, Blaise brought his eyes up to meet the interrogators.
"I – um. I loved her. I was going to tell her tonight…Before her fight with Potter. I thought she deserved to know."
"You bloody arseholes, let me out of here right now! She's my sister dammit; there's no motive for this crime!"
His fists banged against the door once more. His hair was up on all ends from the numerous times he'd run his fingers through it since being locked away in interrogation room five.
Pacing the floor, he hoped the ugly varnish wore off by the time they released him. His sister, his BABY sister, gone. Anger roared inside of him once more at the thought of her. Before the guards had a chance to come in and restrain him, Ron's fist collided with the two-way mirror – the glass spider webbing on impact.
He didn't even blink as he watched the blood trickle down his hand.
Her body shook, her eyes never leaving the wall in front of her. She couldn't remember the last time she blinked, the last time she breathed. Was she even still alive? At the thought, her fingers twitched, just for a moment. The movement caught her eye, bringing her attention down to her blood stained hands.
Where had all this blood come from? Was it hers? She didn't remember getting injured. Dropping her eyes to her chest, the once beautiful silver spider silk gown was splattered with red stains. Pansy could feel the tears stinging her eyes; her mind frantically trying to recall what happened. Flashes of red hair blocked her vision.
What had she done to Ginny Weasley?