A/N: I wrote this for Dramione Fanfiction Forum's Clue: A Classic Mystery Comp. It won ' Died Laughing (Best Humor)' and was the runner up for ' The Blackmailer (Best Drama)'. It's four chapters long and complete, and I'll be posting a chapter a day. Hope you like it!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, Cluedo, or Tim Curry.

.

.

October 16, 2:30 AM: The Shadow, in Knockturn Alley, with a secret.

The cobbled street was like a silver ribbon of moonlight. The rows of disreputable shops that flanked it were all locked and chained. The street lamps were doused, the rats in the sewers were silent, and stray crups lay fast asleep under soggy old newspapers.
Among this dark stillness, The Shadow was the lone animated figure. It stalked down the path, melting into the murk with a kind of fluid mutability – you could be sure that it was most aptly named. Its footfalls made no sound, and when a slight breeze rushed by, its inky black cloak did not flutter.

It glided past Borkin and Burkes, Cobb and Webb's, The Coffin House, Tallow and Hemp Toxic Tapers; its ominous reflection flashed momentarily on the tinted glass of their display windows. Finally, it arrived before a tall brick building at the end of the twisting alleyway. Here, a single window was lit.
The Shadow dodged the trail of illumination that streamed out of the window and it approached the building's scuffed black door. The door opened of its own accord, accompanied by a low creak. The Shadow slithered down a dusty hallway where broken, unwanted furniture was covered with tatty sheets, crept up an old wooden staircase, until, at last, it was outside the room from whence the light was emitting. The door was open just a crack, and through it The Shadow could see a flickering candle, a desk, and a moth-eaten armchair upon which sat a young man. He was staring off into the distance, and his discomfiture was evident in the rigidity of his posture.

Without turning he said, "I know you're out there."

The Shadow stayed resolutely behind the door. "Douse the light," it rasped in a high, steely voice that made the young man shiver.

"No."

"You are in no position to deny me," The Shadow insisted, "Douse the light."

The young man closed his eyes, and he drew in a deep, long breath. Then he stood up, slowly made his way over to the rusted candelabra in the corner of the room, and blew it out. Darkness fell suddenly, swathing the space in hues of deep blue and black. For a moment, both our characters were blind.

The Shadow slipped inside and faced off with the young man in silence as their eyes adjusted. Bit by bit, fractions of the world around them emerged, and The Shadow drew the hood of its cloak closer around itself.

"Do you have the money?"

"Do you have the pictures?"

"I told you, you fool, you have no business trying to take the lead here," The Shadow spat, "Do you have the money?"

"Of course I do!" the young man snapped agitatedly.

"Put it on the table."

"I – but – but the pictures–"

"On the table. Now."

The young man struggled with himself, and it amused The Shadow. It laughed, (an eerie, metallic sound,) which seemed to spur the young man into motion. He violently threw a small sack onto the table between them, and it jangled like one filled with coins would.

"Three thousand galleons?"

"Yes. You can count them if you like," The young man snarled.

With another short laugh, The Shadow refused. "You know what will happen if you try to short-change me, Mr. Zabini."

The young man – henceforth Mr. Zabini – turned sickly. His aggression melted into timidity, and he swallowed and begged, "The pictures. Please."

The Shadow tossed an envelope onto the table. It slid across the length of it, stopping right at the edge from where Mr. Zabini snatched it up greedily.

"Is this all of them?" he asked.

"Do you think me a fool?"

And with that, the last of Mr. Zabini's fortitude died. He wilted like a rag. "You mean... you... you have more?"

"Plenty more," The Shadow crooned sinisterly, "We will be seeing a lot more of each other, Mr. Zabini."

"No!" Mr. Zabini roared, "No! Our deal was for all the pictures–"

"I lied."

"You lied?!"

"I am blackmailing you, Mr. Zabini. Did you expect me to be ethical about it?"

"I – but – I – you – AH!"

Mr. Zabini let out a feral howl and launched himself at The Shadow. But alas, he'd taken no more than three steps before he was thrown back brutally, and he crashed against a wall.

"Watch yourself," The Shadow murmured. Then it summoned its sack of money and disapparated, leaving Mr. Zabini panting wretchedly, a crumpled heap on the floor.

.

October 19, 11 AM: Theodore Nott, in Blaise Zabini's lounge, with a hangover.

If there was one consistency in Theo's life, it was this phrase, uttered every Sunday morning: 'Shouldn't have had that last one. Ugh.'

He was draped like a tragic Greek heroine on Blaise's sofa, with one hand hanging down to the floor. His eyes were closed – keeping them open gave him vertigo – and his other hand was massaging his temples through his utterly tousled hair.

"Shouldn't have had that last one," he groaned, "Ugh."

In the midst of his moaning and grousing, the floo across the room flared to life, and another young man stepped into the room. Unlike Theo, this chap was perfectly put together. His dark grey robes, and the crisp attire underneath, were all perfectly pressed, and his shiny, shockingly light blond hair was loosely pushed to the side. With careless elegance, he loped over to where his friend was lying and said in a haughty, deliberately aggravating way, "Well, you look like shit."

"Gosh, thanks, Draco," Theo replied drily, "Always a pleasure."

Draco made a noise of disgust and settled down on an armchair opposite Theo.

"Blaise summoned you as well then?" he asked as he examined the plush room with a subtle sneer.

"Obviously. Do you think I'd be here, dying as I am, if Blaise's letter hadn't been designed to scare the fuck out of me?"

"Any idea what it's about?"

"No. Oh Merlin!"

"What?"

"I'm actually dying!" Theo lamented, "Shouldn't have had–"

"–that last one. Quite."

"Ugh," Theo said.

Bored of his friend's theatrical suffering, Draco stood up and wandered, eyes roving and calculating the net worth of the room. He stopped at the traditional Korean mother of pearl cabinet in one corner and started to mindlessly fiddle with an ornamental vase made of Ashwinder eggshells.

"I wouldn't play with that if I were you," warned Blaise, who'd suddenly appeared behind Draco as though he'd apparated there, but without the usual explosive crack that accompanied it.

"Bloody hell, man!" Draco yapped, spinning around to glare at him.

"Ashwinder eggs are dangerous," Blaise continued in his sleekly calm manner as he moved forward to pry the vase out of Draco's hands, "And freezing charms are notoriously fickle."

Draco's expression would've made lesser men cry, but Blaise just smirked. "It's good to see you again, Draco. It's been far too long."

Not long enough, Draco seemed to think, if his answering scowl was anything to go by. From the sofa, Theo barked out a disbelieving laugh. Blaise turned to him with a wide grin.

"And you as well, Theodore. Looking as charmingly scruffy as ever."

"Bugger off, Zabini."

Chuckling darkly, Blaise spread his arms in a gesture that ought to have been warm and welcoming, but really just... wasn't. "What can I offer you gentlemen? Tea? Coffee?"

"No, thank you," Draco gritted out.

"Firewhiskey?"

"Fuck, no," Theo wailed.

"Enough bullshit small talk, Blaise," Draco snapped, "Just spit out the real reason you've called us here and get it done with."

Blaise clicked his tongue. "Always so brash and aggressive. Unbecoming for a Slytherin, don't you think, Theo?"

"Nah, I'm with him." Theo dragged himself into a slightly more upright position with a great deal of agony. "What's going on? ...Better show up or we'll be sorry, eh? You can't expect us to be in a very friendly mood after receiving a letter like that."

"Fair enough," Blaise replied shortly, "Alright then, boys. Here's the thing: I know."

"You know?" Theo mimicked dramatically, "Ohhh, you know? I don't remember you being this bloody ominous in school. What the fuck do you know?"

Blaise's stunning dark eyes were narrowed when he said, "I know about The Shadow."

The impact of his declaration was instantaneous. Theo's curved spine was, at once, ramrod straight, and Draco's inherent pallor turned ghostly.

"What?" they both choked simultaneously.

"I know," Blaise shrugged, "I know it's been blackmailing you for the better part of a year. And I know exactly what it's got on you."

"How–" Draco wheezed, "How–"

"I make it my business to know things."

"Do you know who it is then?"

"Ah, that I don't know. It seems to be an exemplary hider, not even my best men have been able to fish it out."

"Hold on a damned second," Theo cried. He looked directly at Draco with wide eyes, "You as well? Why the hell didn't you say anything?"

Draco's face crumpled with guilt for no more than a fleeting instant before he shot back at Theo. "Well, you didn't say anything either!"

"The Shadow told me if I blabbed it would–"

"Send its evidence straight to Skeeter?"

"Yeah!"

"So there you are."

"What's it got on you?"

Draco fell silent, turning his eyes to the shiny marble floor. Blaise replied for him; "Draco's been supplying money to various agents of investment fraud to keep their scams running. For some pretty paltry returns, I believe."

Theo spluttered incoherently for a long time, choking on a range of exclamations of disbelief. Draco picked up the gist of what he was getting at and reared with indignation. "It's not my fault! My father was elbow-deep in this shit long before I got the company! When I tried to get out of it, they threatened to tell. I'd just... just... managed to avoid Azkaban. I couldn't – I–"

"Oh, poor little Draco," Blaise cooed, "It's never your fault. You didn't mean to sent Katie Bell into a coma, or nearly kill Weasley. You didn't want to let Death Eaters into Hogwarts."

"You're a bastard," Draco snarled.

"That's hardly news, is it? Imagine what would happen if the word got out that the Department of Mysteries biggest supplier is actually a crook?"

Draco's great fury had rendered him incapable of speech, so Blaise moved on. "Now, Theo. Oh, Theo. Shagging your way through London and beyond. How many married top ranking ministers have you had so far? If I hear correctly, your last conquest was Minister Shacklebolt's wife? Or was it the newly instated Chief Warlock?"

"Those are all private, personal matters!" Theo yelled.

"Private, personal matters are what make the best scandals, old chap," Blaise informed him cheerfully, "You would be in so much trouble."

"Fuck you."

"I have no doubt you'd love to."

"Enough!" Draco cut in thunderously, "It's all well to gloat like the arsehole you are, but The Shadow has dirt on you as well, doesn't it?"

"Ah yes," Blaise sighed as he languidly ambled over to his liquor cabinet, "Are you quite sure I can't offer you a drink? Okay, suit yourselves."

Draco and Theo seethed as they watched him pour out a hefty helping of scotch into a crystal tumbler. Then he took a long sip. And then he took another one.

"Spit it out, would you?" Theo demanded.

"Absolutely not! This is very fine, expensive stuff."

"BLAISE!"

"Oh, calm down," he chided, "So here it is. The Shadow has procured evidence of an underground business I run."

"What is it?" Draco asked eagerly.

"Did you read about the large weyr of Chinese Fireballs discovered off the coast of Portugal? Or those young Romanian Longhorns found inexplicably in the basement of that Russian crime lord...?"

"Hang it all!" Draco gasped, "You're the one behind the international dragon-smuggling ring?"

"I am." Blaise looked quite smug about it.

"That's fucking terrible!" Draco raged, "Legal repercussions aside, the trauma you're putting those poor creatures through is–"

Blaise interrupted him with a snigger. "Would you look at that? Draco cares about dragons. You've been spending far too much time hanging around a certain bushy haired advocate for all the world's underdogs."

Draco's mouth snapped shut and he a levelled a searing glare at Blaise, who only laughed louder. "Well, as I've established that we're all on the same side–"

"We are not–"

"I suggest we do something about it."

"Are you mad?" Theo – all infirmity forgotten – jumped to his feet. "Do you want to ruin our lives?"

"No, actually. I intend to rid us of this Shadow menace for once and for all. I have a plan, and I need you both to help me implement it."

"No," Theo and Draco stated at once.

"Yes," Blaise countered, "I have narrowed down my list of suspects to six people. I will invite them here under false pretences, and once we have them all in the same room, we can easily pick the culprit out."

"What makes you think they'll show up?" Draco asked incredulously.

Blaise was undeterred. "They'll show up. Nobody turns down an invite to an exclusive Blaise Zabini party."

"You're barmy!" Theo howled.

"I'm brilliant. It'll be a masquerade... to lull the perpetrator into a sense of false confidence."

"This – You're – No – What–" Theo was beside himself. "Who are your suspects?"

"I'm not going to tell."

"Why the fuck not?!"

"I don't want to."

"I'm out."

"Yeah," Draco agreed, "Thanks, but no thanks. Now if that's all–"

"That is not all." Blaise set his drink down and strode back towards them. "I'm not giving you a choice, you idiots. You help me with this, or I'll go public with your... er, misdeeds."

A deluge of abuse exploded out of the other two, which Blaise calmly and unflinchingly listened to.

"You can rage all you want," he said, "But it changes nothing."

"Let me get this straight," Draco spat, "You're blackmailing us into going along with an absolutely harebrained scheme to catch someone who's also blackmailing us."

"Precisely."

"You are barmy!" Theo cried, "And – and you're evil!"

Blaise buffed his nails against his robes. "Are you quite finished?"

"NO!" They both shouted.

"Well, too bad. Off with you tossers, go on. I have a party to plan."

.

October 21, 2:00 PM: Draco Malfoy, in his office, with a thick sheaf of parchments.

Draco stared down with rapidly increasing horror and panic at the numbers in front of him. An exorbitant amount to six scoundrels (each!) as well as a tidy sum to that fucking despicable Shadow, on top of the sky-rocketing rates of all exotic plant-based potion ingredients thanks to recent trade agreements...
He was being bled dry.

Shoving the bundle away, he buried his face in his hands and became the living, breathing embodiment of despair.

There was a knock at his door and he groaned heavily into his hands. Then he straightened, shook himself, and announced, "Come in."

In walked Theo, as lanky and bedraggled as ever. "Draco," he greeted with a nod, and sunk into a chair.
The two men regarded each other with very similar looks consisting of wariness and exhaustion in equal parts.

"How have you been?" Theo asked, by and by.

"As wretched as you look," replied Draco sullenly, "I've been actively planning to run away to Zanzibar."

Theo laughed – short and morose – and sighed. "We should tell Blaise to bugger off."

"What, and have him fuck up everything?" Draco looked horrified.

"We'll just tell him that if he leaks our secrets we'll leak his."

"No! I can't take any risks, alright? I can't end up in prison!"

Theo frowned. "You're still rich enough to pay your way out of Azkaban."

"That isn't good enough. It's my... my reputation, Theo. And I can't lose my contract with the Ministry. It's the only way I... I... I just can't."

If Draco had looked troubled before, it was nothing compared to how he looked now. Theo peered at him with narrowed eyes and huffed, "Seriously, Draco? So you actually want to do as Blaise says?"

"Well–" Draco hedged, running a hand through his hair, "If his idiotic plan works–"

"It won't."

"If it works... one of our problems will be taken care of."

"And what makes you think that Blaise won't rush in to fill the vacuum?" Theo snapped.

"He probably will."

"For Salazar's sake! How does that fix anything?"

"Better the devil you know?" he answered weakly.

They sat in silence again, staring at different spots on the wall.

"So... Zanzibar?"

"Good food, decent beaches. Yeah. Why not?"

.

October 24, 6:00 PM: The Shadow, in an unplottable den, with an invitation letter.

Mr. Blaise Zabini
requests the pleasure of your company at a Masquerade Ball,
to be held at his residence in Cringle Moor
on Friday, October 31, 2003
at 7 o'clock.

Kindly wear the mask provided with this invitation.

The Shadow's peculiar, unsettling laugh echoed around the chamber. Within its gloved hand, the expensive ivory parchment turned into ash. It fingered the mask it'd been sent, tracing the fine stitching around the eyeholes.

"A trap!" it cackled with delight, "Mr. Zabini wants to play, does he?"

Like a hunter rearing to go, The Shadow stood on the tips of its toes, practically vibrating with excitement, before three enchanted mirrors.
The first showed Theo in a disreputable, exclusive sort of bar. One hand was nursing a drink, and the other was covertly slipping inside the trousers of the gentleman standing in front of him.

"Jeremy Pergolio? Mr. Nott, you cad! He has four children!"

In the second, Draco was leaning over a desk, deep in conversation with a witch. With flushed pink cheeks and tumultuous brown hair, she was gesturing animatedly as she spoke. The moment she turned to pull something out of a small beaded bag by her feet, Draco's face took on an expression of such gut-wrenching wonder and longing that The Shadow looked away in disgust.

The third mirror... now, that was interesting. The third mirror showed the inside of a massive cavern. Four or five torches on the walls revealed that it was full of cages, within which dozens of dragon cubs were brutally crammed. Three terrifyingly hefty men marched up and down between the cages, each bearing a metal prong. The Shadow, however, was most interested in the far right corner, where Blaise appeared to be shaking hands with a Japanese man. It quickly picked up its camera and captured the moment.

.