As usual, I do not own anything that comes from the original Harry Potter franchise; JK Rowling (and her publishers) own that material. Everything else is mine. This silly crackfic was inspired by a Harry Potter-themed murder mystery party that I attended last weekend and will probably make no sense by the end. Hope you enjoy!
Soundtrack for Chapter I: Here Comes Revenge by Metallica
I - Here Comes Revenge (Even if It's a Silly Schoolboy Prank)
Draco crept up one of the eighth-year boys' dormitory stairwells towards Longbottom's room, Goyle standing watch at the bottom of the stairs. At the top of the landing stood Crabbe, also on the lookout in case they had to flee or come up with a plausible alibi for why they were creeping around where they weren't invited. When Draco reached the top, he raised an eyebrow and Crabbe nodded once, turning the doorknob. The door swung open easily.
What a moron, Draco thought delightedly. This'll teach him to lock his door!
Draco slipped into Longbottom's room and immediately wrinkled his nose in disgust. It was a mess, with both dirty and clean clothes strewn across the floor indiscriminately. A huge, gaudy Gryffindor banner took up the entire left-hand wall. The curtains of the four-post canopy bed were half-thrown open, scarlet bedsheets in a lump on the floor. The sword of Gryffindor lay propped against one of his closet doors; the other was wide open, revealing that his closet was just as messy as the rest of his room. To the right, the curtains were pushed open to let light fall upon the huge collection of potted plants clustered around the window. A warm spring breeze wafted in from the grounds and ruffled the loose papers sitting on the desk in the corner.
Draco kicked at a pile of clothes on the floor, sneering at the mess. At this rate, Longbottom wouldn't even be able to tell that someone had messed with his room; it was too cluttered. Still, Draco was determined to get in some fun. He whipped out his wand and pointed it at Longbottom's desk, delighting in how easily each drawer popped out and dumped its contents on the floor. He did the same to Longbottom's closet, strewing the idiot's clothes across the room. Then he lifted his wand and said dramatically, "Accio Remembrall!"
For a second, he feared that Longbottom had lost the stupid thing long ago; then, a small, clear ball came whizzing out from under the bed. Draco stretched out his hand and caught it (not without difficulty, it might be added, although he wasn't going to admit that to anyone). With a quick glance around the room, Draco nodded triumphantly and pocketed the Remembrall deep within his robes.
Striding out of the room, Draco jerked his head in Crabbe's direction. "I've got it. Let's go."
The Slytherins crept back down the stairs and down another stairwell into the Slytherin's quarters, snickering and giving each other high fives the entire way. In Draco's opinion, it served Longbottom right to have his room ransacked; he had become such a nuisance after the war, swaggering around puffed up with pride over cutting off Nagini's head. People saw him as a war hero, and girls swooned over him in the same infuriating way as they did over Potter. Draco scowled to himself. It wasn't as if Longbottom had acted more extraordinarily than anybody else. For Merlin's sake, Draco thought, I defected from the Dark Lord's side and tossed stupid sodding Potter my wand when I realised he was alive! If anything, I should get some recognition! But nooo, Draco was a slimy Slytherin and Longbottom was a courageous Gryffindor, a sodding war hero. (Nevermind the fact that Longbottom had fought bravely for the entire war, whereas Draco and his family had defected at the last minute to save their own skins; in Draco's mind, this wasn't relevant.)
Of course, Draco had reasons for disliking Longbottom other than his new rise in popularity; he also contributed to Draco's parents getting stricter sentences for their war crimes. Both Lucius and Narcissa were on house arrest for the next five years instead their original sentence of two and a half. While Potter had testified on behalf of Narcissa and Draco, Longbottom had insisted on testifying against all three Malfoys. Draco resented him greatly, hence why he was ransacking Longbottom's room. He knew it was petty and reminiscent of his young schoolboy pranks, but unfortunately, he was limited as to what he could do for revenge. He had been lucky to escape house arrest, but only on the condition that he would return to Hogwarts for his eighth year and then perform community service for two more years. He wasn't about to mess up his chances by doing something too extreme to Longbottom. So, instead, Draco was doing what he did best: toeing the line and hoping to evade punishment.
Draco flopped down on his bed as Crabbe sat in his desk chair and Goyle sat on the ground.
"I can't wait until Longbottom finds his room," Draco said, tossing the Remembrall lazily into the air and catching it almost as lazily.
Crabbe and Goyle chuckled, but before Draco could continue, there was a sudden sharp rap on the door. Draco fumbled and almost dropped the Remembrall, shoving it deep in his inner robes. "Who is it?" he called, annoyed. "Come in."
The door swung open, revealing a sullen-looking Pansy Parkinson. "Professor Snape says that there's an emergency meeting in the Great Hall, effectively immediately." She wrinkled her nose. "I can't imagine what it could be. Some stupid Hufflepuff got themselves hexed, probably."
Draco's brow furrowed. It couldn't have anything to do with him breaking into Longbottom's room, could it? How could they find out not even a minute after it happened?
"That's stupid," he muttered, sliding off his bed. "They usually only do that for serious occasions, like when the Weaslette got sucked into the Chamber of Secrets or that mass murderer snuck into the Gryffindor common room. Come to think of it," he added thoughtfully as the Slytherins climbed the stairs, "all of the emergency meetings that I can remember were because of the Gryffindors. I wonder what they've gotten themselves into this time?"
Sure enough, when they settled in the Great Hall, there was a sombre air about that seemed to hover especially over the Gryffindors' table. The ceiling above swirled with heavy black clouds, and instead of Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall was standing at the middle of the Head Table. Her face was drawn taught with worry, and when she spoke to the students gathered in the Hall, her voice had a raspy quality to it.
"It's Neville Longbottom," Professor McGonagall said, her eyes glinting strangely in the candlelight. "He's — he's dead."