Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not my mine, but if it were I would be a published novelist and not writing fanfiction.

A/N: Read, review, and most importantly, enjoy.

A/N2: A/U. Takes place in sixth year. I've borrowed a few plot elements from Half-Blood Prince, but those won't begin to show up for another chapter or two.

One

Severus Snape was having a bad day. This in itself was nothing significant, because when you're Severus Snape, bad days are pretty common. Between students that didn't know wormwood from asphodel, Harry Potter, Dumbledore's demands, and Harry Potter, not much had gone right for him since 1977.

"Fool," Severus said, taking a vindictive pleasure in pointing out another error in the most recent essay turned in by Harry Potter.

"I've got you again, Potter." Severus laughed, taking another opportunity to point out where and just how badly Harry Potter was mistaken.

A knock at the door interrupted him from his task.

Severus glanced at the clock and went to answer the door, muttering to himself. "Eleven-thirty? Who would be disturbing me at this hour?" He wrenched open the door. "This better be important."

He was shocked to find the pale visage of Minerva McGonagall staring back at him.

"Minerva? Is something the matter?"

She looked unsure of herself. The Minerva McGonagall that Severus knew only looked unsure of herself only during the most troubling of times. Outside of the constant threat of the Dark Lord, there was little Severus could think of that could shake Minerva. There was no way the Dark Lord had struck at Hogwarts yet, though. Not with the lack of progress Draco was making.

"I…um…" she took a deep breath, steadying herself. "You ought to just come and see for yourself, Severus. It's too much for me to explain."

"Minerva?" said Severus, following her out of the door.

The cold stone corridors of Hogwarts were dark as Severus followed Minerva to their destination. Their way was lit by the occasional flickering torch, and the echoing click of their heels cloaked them in an ominous feeling. Severus had been in his share of unsettling situations, but he had never quite become accustomed to the castle at night. The corridors were lit equal parts with flickering torchlight or nothing, leaving them in pitch black darkness. He did not experience the willies very often, but this was one of those occasions.

They stopped at a third floor classroom that, if Severus recalled correctly, was rarely, if ever, used.

"What exactly are we doing here?"

"You'll see," said Minerva, still pale. She opened the door for Severus, gesturing him inside.

Severus stepped inside and quickly covered his face. His nose had been assaulted by not only the musty air of a dusty, rarely used room, but also the overpowering stench of blood. Severus peered through the semi-darkness of the room and noticed someone hovering over a crumpled form.

"Severus, is that you?"

"Headmaster?"

He heard Dumbledore sigh. "You'd best come here and see for yourself."

Severus slowly wove his way through the maze of desks, dreading what the shape lying on the floor could be. When he reached the mess on the floor, he looked down, hardly believing his eyes.

"Albus," stammered Severus, uncharacteristically addressing the headmaster in an informal manner. "It can't be…"

The Headmaster cleared his throat. "We checked the body for tampering or any sort of illusion. I'm so sorry, Severus."

He looked down at the body. "No. This can't be. Not Draco."

Albus stood up and put his hand on Severus' shoulder. "We'll find the person who did this, Severus."

"How did you find him, Albus? It would appear that this classroom hasn't been used for quite some time."

He looked around the room, which was lit with a bright, shining light of the Headmaster's making. He noticed an omnipresent layer of dust, disturbed only be a scattering of footsteps, drag marks, and bloodstains.

"Mr. Filch noticed the door ajar on his final sweep of the castle for the evening."

They stood in silent contemplation, both at a lost of what to do next: never before had a student been murdered within the halls of Hogwarts. Accidents and injuries, they were relatively commonplace. Virtually every member of the staff had served in the First and Second Wars in some capacity, but coldblooded murder inside the hallowed halls of the school was outside the experience of all.

"The Aurors, Albus?"

"Filius left before you arrived to call them; they should be here shortly." He paused. "I wanted to give you a chance to see him before the Aurors and Narcissa started poking around."

"Thank you, Albus." Severus' eyes were shining with unshed tears in a rare display of emotion. "But do you have any idea as to whom? Any at all?"

Albus looked uncomfortable, avoiding Severus' gaze.

"Albus? Who is it?"

"I don't know, Severus."

"You have absolutely no idea?"

"I'm afraid not."

So this is what it had come to. The great Albus Dumbeldore, one of the most powerful wizards in the United Kingdom; quite possibly the world, completely at a loss for the cause of one of the most violent occurrences Hogwarts had seen in quite some time.

"When we find this person," said Severus, voice full of venom, "I won't be held responsible for my actions."

"I know, Severus. I know."

They stood in silence, both lost in thought. Severus gripped in emotions he rarely allowed himself to experience; Dumbledore steeped in shock of how such an atrocity could be committed under his watch. They stood like this, heads bowed, until the Aurors arrived and McGonagall had to gently guide them from the room. They stood in the corridor for a moment, listening to the quiet murmurs of the Aurors investigating the crime scene until Dumbledore finally raised his head, a trace of the trademark twinkle returning to his eyes.

"Come, Severus, Minerva. We have much to discuss, and but little time." Dumbledore turned and strode away in the direction of his office, Severus and Minerva following quickly in his wake.


"There is no way," said Ron, bits of egg flying from his fork as he gesticulated wildly, "that Tutshill can do it again."

"Who's going to beat them? Chudley?"

"I'm telling you, Harry, this is their year. Gordon is a fantastic Keeper and the new Seeker we brought over from Poland…"

Ron trailed off as he noticed the Great Hall had fallen silent. Through the doors strode a tall, blonde figure. Her wardrobe spoke of wealth, her expression of disdain. Disdain for the cold stone of Hogwarts, for the eyes of each and every student upon her, and of the sight of Professor Dumbledore, who rose from the staff table to greet her. They left the Great Hall together, headed towards his office.

"What is Narcissa Malfoy doing here?" asked Harry, as the volume in the Great Hall returned to its normal level.

"I don't know," answered Hermione, "But if she's risking a public appearance, it can't be anything good."

Harry looked around the Great Hall, his eyes coming to rest on the Slytherin table.

"Hermione, look over at the Slytherins."

Hermione sighed exasperatedly. "Yes, I see them, Harry. They've been sitting on that side of the hall for the past six years."

"I know they're over there. What I'm talking about who isn't over there."

Ron's head came up from his meal to comment. "Are you on about this again, Harry? Malfoy isn't up to anything out of the ordinary. He probably just lost his bottle of hair gel or something."

"This isn't funny, Ron," Harry said, frustrated. "Don't you think it's strange that Malfoy just happens to miss breakfast the same day his mother shows up at Hogwarts, leaving to talk to Dumbledore?"

"Maybe he's just sick or something," said Hermione. "You need to stop obsessing over Malfoy. I think it's starting to get to you a little bit."

"I'm telling you, Hermione, something is up…"

"Just lay off mate," interjected Ron from Hermione's side. "Even if he was up to something, it's not like he could actually accomplish anything. He may be a slimy git, but he's still only Malfoy."

"I'm telling you…"

Harry was interrupted by the arrival of the very people they were discussing.

"Potter."

He turned around to face the person. "Parkinson? What are you doing over here? Isn't your den on the other side of the Hall?"

"You should know very well, Potter. You may be the hero of Gryffindor and the rest of this school, but I know," she said, pointing at herself, "what you did, and have no intention of letting you get away with it."

He watched them walk away, confusion etched into his brain. If they were blaming him for something, it couldn't be good. "Something bad happened to Malfoy, and the Slytherins think I'm the cause of it."

"They're barmy, the whole lot of them," said Ron, pushing himself up from the table. "Just forget about it, we don't want to be late for Care of Magical Creatures."


"Get up, everybody. Snape is downstairs," said a voice from the doorway.

One angry voice penetrated the sleepy murmuring and the rustling of four teenage girls being awoken at the crack of dawn.

"It's five in the morning, why does Snape have to be here now?"

"I don't know, Pansy," said Tracey Davis, as her face appeared from behind the green hangings of her bed. "But it must be important."

"It better be," muttered Pansy.

Daphne Greengrass laughed as she pulled on a dressing gown. "I'm sure he'll be very apologetic when he hears of how he awakened you before you wished to be. Now come on, we need to get downstairs before Snape gets even more upset."

"Upset? How do you know he's upset?" asked Millicent Bulstrode from the doorway.

"Why else would he wake us up this early to speak with us?" Daphne asked. "He could have easily waited another hour or two. Or better yet, until after classes. Now come on, we need to get downstairs."

Pansy, Daphne, Tracey, and Millicent all left the sixth year girls dormitory in single file, and stifling their displeasure over bare feet on ice cold stone, they quietly made their way out into the hallway and down the stairs, the quiet voices echoing up the stone stairway letting them know that they had missed the beginning of the meeting. Pansy stopped at the foot of the stairs, motioning the others to do the same. She heard a voice that sounded like Blaise Zabini's.

"What was that, Professor? I don't think I heard what you were saying."

"Don't be a fool, boy. You heard perfectly well what I just said." Snape paused, taking a deep breath, "Draco Malfoy is dead."

Pansy gasped, and eyes rolling back in her head, collapsed down the last few steps.

The sixth year girls on the staircase who remained conscious heard Snape sigh. "She best not be dead, as we've already had quite enough of that for one morning."

"No, Professor," came the voice of Daphne Greengrass, "She just passed out is all."

"Bloody wonderful," muttered Snape. "Bring her down here and lay her on the couch."

Daphne and Tracey grabbed Pansy by her arms and legs and placed her on the couch that Snape had indicated. He knelt beside her, and removed a vial from his robes. Pansy coughed as Snape placed the uncorked vial underneath her nose.

"Wha…What happened? The last thing I remember is the Professor saying…"

"Yes, Pansy. It's true." Snape said, and then leaned closer to her. "I'm sorry, I knew what was in store for the two of you."

Pansy noted the rest of her housemates watching closely, trying to catch a whisper of the conversation between her and their head of house. "Let's not talk about that now, Professor."

"Yes, of course." Snape stood up. "I know this comes as a shock to you all, and I will not ask you to fake remorse if you do not feel it. Draco Malfoy was a polarizing figure in this common room, but do not go out of your way to make light of his death when there are some that have been touched so closely by this tragedy." He cleared his throat. "All of you get ready for classes. I expect you at breakfast at the usual time. We will show the school a united front as usual, for the student body will not be told of Draco's death until dinner time; the Headmaster wishes to inform his mother first. My door is open if any of you wish to speak with me."

Snape turned and walked out of the Common Room, leaving a group of speechless Slytherins in his wake.

"I would bet anything Potter had something to do with this. Maybe Dumbledore did too."

"Shut up, Goyle," said Zabini's irritated voice. "Just because Malfoy is dead doesn't mean his obsession with Potter and Dumbledore needs to be inherited by you. I'm sure it was just an accident or something of the sort."

"Accidents happen all the time at Hogwarts," said a third year boy who was standing in the corner of the room with a group of his friends. "Snape would have told us how he would have died if it had been an accident."

An uneasy silence settled over the group as his words sunk in. After a few moments, Pansy, from her place on the couch, began to speak.

"No, I think Andrew might have a point. Snape would have told us if it had just been some sort of horrible accident. There's definitely something more sinister going on here."

Blaise sighed. "Come on, Parkinson. We all know how you obsessed over the little bastard, but that doesn't mean you have to look for a way to avenge his death. I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. Snape said the student body wouldn't be informed until later. I'm sure the professors just want to be sure of what happened to try and eliminate some of the wild speculation that would undoubtedly occur."

"Shut it, Zabini. Just because you didn't care for Draco the way I did doesn't mean that you should dismiss his death. There's definitely something going on here, and I intend to find out."

"And how do you intend to do that? Attempt to threaten and bully Potter and his friends before they put you in their place, just as they did to dear old Draco?" He walked over to the door. "Be sure to tell me if you plan on taking that course of action, as I'm sure I'll be able to get a laugh or two out of it."

Pansy noticed that the rest of the room was staring at her expectantly, but she ignored them, walking up the stairs to get dressed for breakfast. She knew that she was going to have to attempt to take up the mantle left behind by Draco's demise, lest that insufferable Zabini stepped in and destabilized the image of Slytherin Draco's influence had worked so hard to craft. With the Dark Lord back, it was more important then ever to define themselves as something apart from the general Hogwarts' population. These thoughts occupied her throughout her morning routine.

"Pansy?" Daphne's voice shook her from her reverie. "We need to talk."

Pansy sighed. "Alright. But can we do it on the way to breakfast?"

Daphne nodded her ascent and the two walked out of the dungeons. The sound of their footsteps echoed eerily off the underground corridors, as they did seemingly every morning since their first night at Hogwarts, five years ago. So much had changed since then. Pansy was no longer the bright-eyed girl, so full of curiosity and optimism, she was when she was 11. Five years of influence from the darker elements of Slytherin had seen to that.

"What are you going to do, Pansy?"

Pansy gave a cheerless little laugh. "Do? What can I do? Without Draco, Slytherin will fall to the moderating influences of Dumbledore and Potter and soon enough we'll all be killed by the Dark Lord for failing him."

"The Dark Lord wouldn't dare."

"When exactly has he shown compassion when dealing with his followers? He thinks that we grow on trees, Daph. Don't begin to consider yourself indispensible, because you aren't. No one is."

They finished readying for the morning in silence, Pansy forcing herself to calm down. There would be time to mourn later in the day, once the scrutiny of the school would not be an issue. Now was time to show the school that she could be a force by herself, without Draco's backing. She would not allow Potter free reign in this school now that Draco was gone. She intended to prove that she could be just as effective as a counterbalance, if not more so, than Draco had been.

Pansy noticed Daphne leaving their dormitory, and she hurried to follow her. They walked in silence to the Great Hall. Upon reaching it, Daphne asked, "What do you plan on doing?"

Pansy paused at the entrance to the hall, surveying the crowd for something. Daphne followed her gaze. "You can't be serious."

"I am, Daphne. Draco may not have been able to curtail Potter's influence and damage his reputation, but perhaps I can succeed where he failed."

"You're crazy."

Pansy ignored her, striding quickly over to where Harry Potter and his friends were sitting. It was time to show him that his free reign in this school was coming to an end. He had murdered Draco, and convinced of this fact, it was only a matter of time before she would be able to make this clear to the rest of the school.

"Potter," she said.

He turned around to face the person. "Parkinson? What are you doing over here?"

"You should know very well, Potter. You may be the hero of Gryffindor and the rest of this school, but I know," she said, pointing at herself, "what you did, and have no intention of letting you get away with it."

She walked back to the Slytherin table and sat down next to a group of first years.

"Pansy?"

"What is it?" she said, irritated, and unable to remember the name of the child speaking to her.

"How did Draco die?"

"I don't know for sure…"

"Stacey." Stacey supplied.

"I don't know for sure, Stacey. But I have my suspicions."

"What are they?"

With a smile, Pansy Parkinson leaned over and told the group of first years exactly what those suspicions were.