Disclaimer. Characters and setting belong to JK Rowling. Borrowed only.
"Why?" Hermione Granger sat down beside me at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. I could almost feel Potty's and Weasel's eyes blaze across the room, all the way from the Gryffindor table. It was just one more shock to the day. To them, it was probably bigger than the one the Professor's had just laid on us.
Draco Lucius Malfoy had been found dead at the base of the Astronomy Tower.
That little tidbit had gone through the room like poop through a goose. At first there had been a shocked silence. All eyes had turned to the Slytherin table, as if to see for themselves that his spot was empty.
Then the chatter started up again as the students turned to more important matters. I know he wasn't well liked, but my god, a human life was lost. The loss of a life, any life, even his, deserved more than this.
That was when I felt her sit down beside me.
"They think it was suicide," Granger said. For a moment there, I thought she had come over to gloat. The Prince of Slytherin had taken the easy way out. But the look in her eyes told me different. "Why would he do that," she asked.
"Why do any do it?" I raised an eyebrow. "Because they feel trapped and they see no other way out."
"There's always a way," she insisted. "He could have talked to someone."
"Who could he have talked to?"
"Professor Dumbledore.."
I barked a laugh interrupting her. "Oh that would have gone over well." Granger narrowed her eyes at me. I hastened to explain. "First off, talking would have been seen as a sign of weakness. Second, talking to Dumbledore would be seen as a betrayal. Especially by his father, who, as you may know, is not a kind and gentle man."
"But…surely, he had friends"
"His friends," I snorted. Crabbe and Goyle have barely one working brain cell between them. Parkinson, if it's not the latest fashion or gold digging her way to the top, she's not interested. Anyone else in Slytherin and word would have gotten home to his father."
I paused a bit. "No one else would have given him a chance."
"Why should they," a voice from behind us came. "After all everyone knew he was just like his father. Just another little Death Eater."
I didn't know what I had done until I saw
Weasley stretched flat out on the floor, or how he had gotten there, until I registered the pain in my knuckles. There wasn't a word spoken as Professors McGonigal and Snape pushed their way through the crowd. Everything was quiet as I spoke.
"The sins of his father were not his own."