"Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it."
—Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
ALL BUT DEATH
VIII
AN ACCUMULATION OF ANGUISH
Harry felt it the moment Draco began to wake up. His breathing changed as he shifted closer, curling into the brunet as he sighed, and Harry wondered if he should move away before Malfoy woke up completely. What if he awoke only to be horrified at discovering that Harry had allowed him to sleep on his shoulder all night? What if he was disgusted with Harry for not waking him up to allow him the chance to spend the night in his own bed, in his own space?
But the next moment, Draco's eyes were flickering open and it was too late for Harry to do anything other than hold his breath and wait. Malfoy yawned and stretched, clutching at Harry's borrowed pyjama top with one hand and sighing contentedly before burrowing into Harry's chest for nearly a minute before suddenly snapping upright and staring at the brunet with wide eyes.
"Potter," he choked, gazing around in confusion. "What the hell are you doing in my bed?"
Harry raised one eyebrow in amusement. "I think you'll find this is actually my bed, Malfoy."
"What?" Malfoy's nose scrunched up as he looked down at the mattress. "How did I end up here?"
"Are you saying you don't remember last night?" Harry grinned. The light of dawn had not brought with it any sort of clarification on just what exactly his growing feelings for Draco meant, but Harry found that he could not resist teasing the man while he looked so flustered and sleep-soft. His cheeks were pink and his blond hair was mussed, and Harry found he could not look away.
"We were talking last night," Malfoy said haltingly, staring at Harry with suspicious eyes. "That's all that happened."
"And then you fell asleep on my shoulder," Harry shrugged with another wide grin. "Why, Draco? What did you think I meant?"
Draco flushed, muttering something beneath his breath as he looked down at his lap.
"Sorry, what was that?" Harry asked, leaning closer. "I didn't quite catch it." Despite not getting any sleep during the night, Harry was in a surprisingly good mood, considering the circumstances.
"I said, are you always such a prat in the mornings?" Malfoy huffed, twisting his spine with several loud cracks; Harry watched in fascination at the sight of Malfoy's long torso stretching and curving gracefully, at the way his pyjama top rose up just enough to almost show a sliver of pale flesh but never quite high enough to reveal skin, and Harry found himself wanting to glare at the silk fabric.
"I—I dunno," Harry said hoarsely, watching as Malfoy conjured a comb and began combing neatly through the tousled strands of his hair. "Guess you'll have to spend a few more mornings with me to find out." The moment he finished speaking, he felt his cheeks heat in embarrassment as he looked away. God, he hadn't meant to make it sound like that. Why was he now so easily flustered around Malfoy?
Draco looked over at him in surprise before a smile spread across his lips. "If that's what you want, Harry," he said in a low voice, and Harry felt himself shiver at the sound, wondering just what it was about Draco Malfoy that he was so easily affected by. How was Malfoy able to get to him in such a way? "You make a decent pillow," the blond continued, still smiling.
Harry couldn't help but grin back. "Glad I could be of some service to you."
Malfoy's smile seemed to sharpen somehow, like thorns on the stem of a rose, beautiful and dangerous. "I'm sure there are lots of ways you could be of service to me, Harry, if that's what you desire." The final word curled from Draco's mouth like velvet smoke, seductive and sweet, wrapping itself around Harry and making him want to draw closer to the man and all his pretty thorns.
Oh god, these really weren't friendly innocent feelings; Draco really was able to affect him in a way that most other people weren't. What should Harry do? Was Draco flirting with him for real, or as a joke? How could Harry tell the difference? And even if he was able to tell the difference, what did he then do with the information? Did he flirt back or ignore it? Which one would be easier? Which one would be safer? But which one did he want more? Fuck, Harry didn't know!
"So, did we all live through the night then?" a voice drawled several feet away, and Harry and Draco turned to find Zabini sitting up in bed next to a stirring Parkinson, staring at the two of them with an intensity that made Harry uncomfortable. How long had the man been awake? What had he seen and heard? What was he thinking?
"All of us up here, yes," Harry answered, heart pounding furiously. "I haven't been downstairs yet, but I didn't hear a single thing all night."
Zabini said nothing, reaching down to lightly stroke his hand through Parkinson's hair as her eyes slowly opened. She turned a soft smile on him, one that he returned, and it felt like such a private moment that Harry had to turn away, automatically looking to Malfoy only to find the man already staring at him.
"Right, well," Harry croaked, blinking rapidly and turning away from the sight of Malfoy's piercing gaze. "We should probably head down there, yeah? It's our turn to fix breakfast. We can go up to Draco's room first and get showered and changed and everything if you lot want."
"We all still alive then?" Nott asked as he sat up, eyes unexpectedly alert for how early it still was.
"No, Theo," Zabini drawled sarcastically. "Whatever would make you think that?"
"Tosser," Nott yawned, reaching out to shake Davis's shoulder, who grumbled and burrowed deeper into her nest of blankets. "Come on, Trace," he said with another shake. "Time to wake up now, sunshine."
She mumbled something incoherent before rolling farther away from him and promptly falling back to sleep. Parkinson sighed before reaching over to yank the pillow out from under her head. "Wake up, slag," she said, grinning as Davis swatted blindly at her.
"Bitch," she said, stifling a yawn as she sat up and rubbed her eyes.
"Good morning to you too, darling," Parkinson responded, tossing the pillow in her hands to the end of her mattress.
"We all still alive then?" Davis asked, opening bleary eyes to peer around at everybody.
"Yes, our Gryffindor guard dog seems to have done his job," Parkinson said, nodding in Harry's direction.
"Not a guard dog," Harry shook his head. "Also, I thought I was meant to be an honorary Slytherin now."
"Not when you're waking us up so fucking early you're not," Davis said tiredly.
"We were already awake, love," Parkinson pointed out, and Davis flopped back onto the mattress with a groan.
"Not much of a morning person, is she?" said Harry in a dry voice, and the others all shot him a flat look.
"Come on, Tracey," Parkinson coaxed, "we're all going to wash up and get changed. So unless you want to get left up here all on your own…"
Tracey immediately sat up with a glare, throwing back her blankets and climbing to her feet. The other five followed, waving their wands to return their Transfigured beds back into their original items before heading down the nearby stairs. Harry glanced around the large library, looking for any sign of blood or dismemberment, but he could see nothing. Nearby, Hermione and Neville were speaking in low voices while Ron snored lightly next to Hermione.
"Hermione," Harry said quietly, stepping close to her and gesturing for the Slytherins to go on ahead. "Was everything okay down here last night?"
"Yes," she nodded. "Most of them are still sleeping, but Neville and I have been doing head counts every hour and everybody is still alive and accounted for."
"Good," Harry said in relief. Part of him had been terrified that he would walk down that staircase to discover a sea of blood and severed limbs.
"Your group seems to have all made it as well," Hermione said, and Harry nodded.
"Yeah, they're all fine. Nobody tried to come upstairs, so that was good. And I didn't hear a single thing all night."
"No, neither did I," Hermione mused, appearing thoughtful, but there was something almost troubled about her expression.
"Well," Harry finally said, unsure what to make of the look on her face, "I'm going to go meet up with the others. They're all headed up to Malfoy's room to get washed up and then we're going to start on breakfast for everyone."
"All right," Hermione nodded. "When this lot wake up, we'll all get washed up and head to the dining room."
"Okay," Harry agreed, nodding to both Hermione and Neville before turning to exit the library, surprised to find Draco waiting for him near the door.
"The others went on ahead," Malfoy explained, shifting his weight between feet as Harry neared.
"Right," Harry said, uncertain what to make of the fact that Malfoy had waited for him. What did it mean? Was it something done out of courtesy or fear? Or were there deeper reasons behind him waiting for Harry?
"I just—wanted to make sure you didn't get lost," Draco sniffed, sounding uncomfortable as they fell into step beside one another.
"Right," Harry grinned with a shake of his head. "My hero."
"And don't you forget it," Draco agreed, returning the grin.
oOo
Breakfast was silent. Everyone was quiet as they poked at their eggs, staring down at their plates with blank looks. The Slytherins were once more huddled together at one end of the table, not saying anything as they avoided looking at every person in the room. There was an uneasy sort of calm hanging over the room, a quiet that reminded Harry of the still silence before a storm, the strange hush that overtook the earth as dark clouds gathered above. It was the sort of quiet that had the potential to break at any second with a tumultuous crash of lightning before the entire world exploded into chaos and thunder.
The anticipation of pandemonium made Harry feel as though he was only seconds away from crawling out of his skin, and he knew without needing to be told—something bad was in store for them. He could sense it in the air, taste it in the cardboard food, feel it slithering across his flesh like the promise of a threat enveloping him like smoke.
There was something malevolent in that room with them—someone who wanted to see them all harmed.
Glancing around suspiciously, Harry noted that Zacharias was glaring down at his plate of untouched food while Anthony was glaring down the table at the Slytherins. Justin's eyes were narrowed and his face thoughtful as he drummed his fingers against the wooden table impatiently. It was Stephen's expression, however, that Harry couldn't seem to look away from. He wasn't glaring or fidgeting; he didn't appear to be lost in thought or fear like the others. He looked…almost carefully expressionless, like he was trying his hardest to appear blank. His face was impassive and yet…there was something almost calculating buried deep in his eyes that made Harry want to reach for his wand. His instincts were screaming that there was something wrong with that look. The other man appeared to be actively avoiding looking in anybody's direction for too long, but Harry noticed the odd way his gaze kept lingering on Davis and Nott before flicking away. It made Harry more than uneasy, but he had no idea what to actually make of it. Glancing at others was hardly enough to condemn a man, after all.
After what felt like entire lifetimes of uncomfortable silence interspersed with the scraping of metal against glass as everyone pushed their food around their plates without really eating, they finally all seemed to decide as a group to nudge their plates away from themselves. Breakfast ended with nothing more than another final caution from Hermione to remain around as many other people as possible before the room was full of the sound of chairs screeching across the floor as everyone rose from their seats. Half the group began to gather the dishes and take them to be cleaned as the other half began to wander aimlessly from the room.
Where was everyone going?
"Are you coming, Potter?" a quiet voice asked, and Harry looked to his left to find Malfoy staring at him.
"Er, sorry, what?" he asked, attempting to shake the sticky cobwebs from his mind.
"We're going back upstairs," Zabini explained, shooting the non-Slytherins a distrustful look. "We're going back to Draco's room. We plan on staying in the one place that nobody has managed to be killed in."
"Yeah, unfortunately," Smith muttered nearby, and Harry wanted to groan in frustration as Zabini took an automatic step in his direction.
"What was that, Smith?" he asked dangerously, wand clenched tightly in one fist.
"Zach," Entwhistle cautioned, but Zacharias shook him off.
"No," he said loudly. "No, it's time someone finally said it. The only reason that none of you have died is because all of you are the ones who are doing the fucking killing! Of course it's not going to be the killers who get killed! The only reason nobody died last night was because Potter was standing guard over you lot to make sure that none of you managed to sneak away and kill one of us!"
"Zacharias," Harry warned, but Zabini was already speaking.
"If we were the ones killing everyone, Smith," he said coldly, "what the hell makes you think you would still be alive to be accusing us of it right now?"
"You would have been first on the list if it was us," Nott drawled, disdain dripping from his every word. "You probably would have been the only one on the list, Smith, if it was one of us."
"See, Potter!" Smith cried, eyes gleaming. "How many threats does that make against me now from them? And you're still going to do nothing?"
"You're the one threatening us!" Parkinson snapped.
"Oh, you'll know when I threaten you," Zacharias glared, and Zabini's face twisted in rage.
"Enough!" Harry barked, slamming one fist down on the table and succeeding in capturing everyone's attention. "Zacharias, I warned you already to stop instigating!"
Smith's eyes flashed. "They're the ones who just told me they want to see me dead!"
"I don't think there's any denying the fact that most of us here would like to see you dead," Nott retorted. "In fact, I might even be willing to pay whoever is responsible to take you out next."
"See?!" Smith cried dramatically. "He just said I'm next!"
"Then stop making yourself the loudest fucking target in the house," Zabini growled. "It's not our fault you're an unlikeable twat who makes enemies out of everyone by being the most insufferable fucking cunt to ever string a bloody sentence together!"
"You better hope none of us really is the killer, Smith," Nott added, eyes narrowed. "Because the more you run your mouth towards us, the more likely it is that you really will be next."
"He just threatened me again, Potter!" Zacharias turned to Harry. "Fucking do something already!"
Harry opened his mouth to respond but closed it as Malfoy rose from his seat with a hard look on his face. "Need I remind you, Smith," he began in an icy voice, "that you are in my home, eating my food and drinking my water and using my facilities. If it would make you feel safer to be removed from our company, I would be more than happy to set you up in the cellar, where you needn't worry about running into another living person, malicious or otherwise." The words made Harry shiver as he recalled the feeling of being trapped in that very same cellar, along with the memory of the stack of blood-soaked bodies still residing down there. "But I'm done being accused by you. Granger was right when she said that you really are dependent on us for basics such as food. Remember that the next time you decide to open your fucking mouth."
"So that's your new threat now?" Smith demanded, face flushing red. "You're going to kill me by starving me to death?"
"I'm merely reminding you that your words carry consequences," Malfoy said, eyes narrowed. "I'm simply advising you to remember that before speaking, is all."
"You have to feed me," Smith said smugly, folding his arms across his chest. "The others won't let you get away with withholding food from people just because they make you angry."
Malfoy smiled coldly. "You assume that I in any way need to open my kitchen to a single person here, Smith. You don't seem to realize that I am more than capable of closing down any part of this house at any time I like, courtesy of being the only person here tuned into the wards. Now I'm more than willing to feed those who are here on my invitation, but I am long past tired of hearing insults and accusations cast my way directly after giving that same accuser food from my personal stores."
Smith's face paled. "Potter won't let you do that. He won't let you get away with that. None of the others will either."
Both men turned to Harry expectantly, making Harry sigh. "Draco," he said quietly, giving the blond a pointed look, but Malfoy just stared back. Sighing again, Harry turned back to Zacharias. "He's right, Smith. He doesn't technically have to feed any of us, especially anyone that he has reason to be suspicious of. So unless you've figured out a way to break the rules of magic and Conjure your own food, you need to learn how to pick your battles a bit better."
"Some fucking Auror you are," Smith spat, looking incensed. "Siding with the Slytherins as always, hmm? Real fucking surprise there, Potter!"
Harry opened his mouth to ask when he had ever sided with the Slytherins before two days ago, but Nott was speaking before he could.
"You really want to be locked down in that cellar, don't you, Smith?" he drawled, slanting the Hufflepuff a disgusted look. "Trust me when I tell you, you won't like what you find down there. I'd be careful when speaking if I were you, unless you really do want to find out what's waiting for you down there in the dark. Because I, personally, would have no problem throwing you down those stairs without a wand and leaving you to stumble blindly around in growing fear and growing hunger until you finally find what's in the wine room. We may even happen to just forget you're down there once we find a way out of here. Wouldn't that be fun for you, to be left behind in the dark like that, with no food, no water, no wand, and no way out?" His quiet words succeeded in capturing the attention of everybody in the room. Smith's eyes grew wider and wider with every smooth word that fell from Nott's lips.
"You wouldn't," he said uncertainly, glancing around at the others for support; nobody said a word.
"Fucking try us," Nott responded. "I'll help Draco drag you down there myself if you keep pushing this."
Zacharias glared. "I hope you're next, Nott. I can't wait to see what the killer does to you."
Nott barked a scathing laugh. "I thought you said it was one of us though, Smith? I thought you said it was all of us. I'm hardly going to off myself just to prove a point, now am I?"
"That's enough," Harry said sharply. "No more threats from anyone! I fucking mean it!" Zacharias opened his mouth to respond, but Harry continued before he could. "And Smith, you need to learn how and when to keep your mouth shut, do you understand me? Hermione and I both meant it when we said we won't stand for anyone throwing accusations around or inciting panic. So I'm going to warn you one last time—keep your thoughts to yourself."
Zacharias glared but said nothing. "Good," Harry nodded. "Now come on, you lot," he gestured to the Slytherins. "I think you were right about going back upstairs."
Expressions tight, they nodded and began to shuffle from the room, Harry lingering behind to bring up the rear. But as he swept from the room, his gaze once again locked onto Stephen's, and the sight of his face made Harry's stomach twist. It was once again expressionless, but his eyes were sharp as they followed Nott from the room, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if Stephen had ever once moved his gaze from the man.
oOo
"You lot stay here," Harry said as the door to Malfoy's room swung open. "I need to go find Ron and Hermione and talk to them about a few things."
All five Slytherins paused. "You're leaving us here?" Parkinson asked, one eyebrow raised. "Alone? After all that shit that just happened?"
"You'll be fine," the brunet assured. "Nobody else knows where this room is and you lot can ward it behind yourselves."
"You can't wander around on your own," Malfoy reminded him, stepping closer with narrowed eyes. "You're the one who keeps bloody saying that, Potter."
"I'll be fine," Harry promised. "But I really do need to talk to them, and I'll feel better about all of you being here together, somewhere safe where I know where you all are."
"You can't wander around on your own," Malfoy insisted, shifting closer. "It's not safe."
"I'll be fine," Harry repeated, lowering his voice. "Just stay here and I'll be back. I promise that I'll be okay."
Draco stared at him for several seconds. "You fucking better be," he said quietly, eyes searching Harry's face, and Harry had to turn from the inspection before his entire body combusted.
"Lock the door after me and ward it," he said. "I'll knock four times and say 'quidditch' when I come back, yeah, and you'll know it's safe to open the door." Harry paused, waiting until the others had agreed before he continued. The sound of the door closing behind him sent chills shooting down his spine and he glanced around himself, suddenly rethinking the wisdom of venturing out on his own. The hallway felt cold and eerie around him, leaving him with the familiar prickling sensation of being watched.
Huffing, he set off, trying to shake the creeping feeling from his flesh. Of course he was being watched—half the portraits in the hallway were eyeing him with curious disdain. But still…there was something that didn't quite feel right…almost as if the shadows had eyes…as if the walls could hear his every breath…
"So, this is where you're hiding them then?" a voice suddenly asked, and Harry nearly jumped as he turned to face it. A figure was stepping out from the shadows and Harry felt himself both tense and relax at the sight of Zacharias stepping away from the wall. "This is where they've been holing up?" Using his chin, he gestured back to Malfoy's bedroom door.
"You followed us?" Harry asked flatly, tightening his grip on his wand. What the hell was Zacharias doing there? Why had he followed them and why had he left his partner behind?
"I wanted to know where they kept going," Smith shrugged. "They threatened me today."
"A confrontation you started," Harry reminded him coolly, crossing his arms.
"Stop acting like they're so fucking innocent," Smith said in a low voice. "They're the guiltiest ones here, Potter, a fact that you seem to have conveniently forgotten."
"I haven't forgotten anything," Harry said in a dangerous voice. He could feel the hairs on his arms standing up as his pulse increased. He wasn't sure why Smith was there, but Harry knew that he did not trust the man. "But if they really are as horrible and deadly as you seem to think, Smith, then why the hell are you even here in the first place? Why accept the invitation if you think so little of them? I mean—" he continued as Zacharias opened his mouth to speak, "obviously you had to trust them at least a little bit, otherwise you would never even have considered coming here. But you did. Of your own free will. Nobody made you come here, nobody twisted your arm. This victim act you keep putting on is getting old. You have nobody to blame for your being here but yourself."
"I came for one reason, Potter," Smith sneered, "and that was to watch Malfoy and the others grovel for everybody's forgiveness. I wanted to see what they looked like as they begged the others for pity or any sort of scrap of acknowledgment. I came to watch them get hated and rejected at their own fucking party. That's why I'm here."
The answer made Harry shake his head with disgust. "You are every bit the wanker you always were."
"And yet I'm not the one needing to beg the entire world for forgiveness," the other man shot back. "I'm allowed out in public. I'm not the one getting spat on in the streets. You can't be friends with filth like that," he gestured toward Malfoy's room, "and still look down on others, Potter."
"Watch me," Harry said coldly, glaring at the blond. He wasn't quite sure if he would call himself friends with the Slytherins, but he was surprised at how little he minded their company. He certainly minded it a lot less than spending time around someone such as Zacharias Smith. "Now move, Smith. We're going downstairs."
"You can't make me go anywhere," Smith said, eyes narrowed.
"Watch me," Harry repeated, lifting his wand in warning. "I don't trust you anywhere near them, so get your arse downstairs, now."
For several seconds neither of them moved, both men standing still as they glowered at one another, but eventually, Smith turned and began to stomp his way back downstairs. Sighing heavily, Harry lowered his wand and followed, wondering what it meant or how it would change things now that Zacharias knew where the Slytherins were hiding.
oOo
"I don't trust him, Hermione," Harry later said, once the three Gryffindors were ensconced in a private study. He glanced around the room, wondering if this had been Lucius's study when the man had still been alive. The room was paneled in dark wood and cased with bookshelves. The three of them were sat around a large desk with golden handles, the top covered in curled scrolls, pots of ink, and expensive-looking quills. A newly-lit fire was crackling behind Harry in the grate while across from him, a rectangular window showed a view of the expansive grounds stretched out around the house. The outside world was drenched in grey sunlight and autumnal wind, looking close enough to touch, close enough to lean into. All that separated them from the outside was nothing more than a thin sheet of glass, one that looked so easy to shatter and escape through, but Harry knew it was not that simple.
Leaning back, he heard the leather chair he was sat in creak as he gazed at the onyx vase of dried flowers next to his elbow on the desk, a sort of pointed white petal that Harry was unsure of the name of. Nearby, a set of dusty bloodred drapes hung heavy and silent where they framed the unreachable outside world. A black metal bookstand stood before the window, holding a large tome of what appeared to be ancient wizarding bloodlines, and the sight made Harry's stomach clench in discomfort. The entire room made Harry want to shy away as he thought of young Draco being sat before the large imposing desk in silence as he listened to his father recite wizarding bloodlines between lectures about what it meant to be a Malfoy.
The room made Harry feel sad, and he did not like being in it. The house felt drenched in sorrow and sadness just as heavy and clinging as the shadows that stuck to its every surface, just as ominous as the creak in the floorboards and the hushed whispering behind every curtain. Harry couldn't seem to shake the feeling of being watched, no matter where he went or how hard he tried. It felt as though the entire house had eyes on all of them.
"What's he done this time?" Hermione's voice interrupted his melancholic downward spiral.
Right. Zacharias. "Oh, er, he threatened the Slytherins again today," Harry explained, rubbing the back of his neck. "He started in on the accusations as soon as all you lot left to clear up breakfast and then started crying victim as soon as the Slytherins responded."
"Of course he did, the berk," Ron snorted, shaking his head. "Christ, he just doesn't learn, does he?"
"Draco didn't take it too well," Harry sighed. "He started threatening to withhold food if Smith kept it up, and then Smith of course turns to me and demands that I protect him from any sort of consequences for his actions."
"Do you really think he will withhold food from him?" Hermione asked in concern.
Harry shrugged. "I mean, he might. I don't actually think he will, but you can't really blame him if he does, can you? He and Nott also threatened to lock Smith in the cellar if he kept being such a prat."
"I might actually be willing to help them out on that one," Ron muttered. "Lord knows it would be quieter up here if he were stuck down there."
"Nobody is locking anybody away," Hermione said sharply, startling both boys.
"We know that," Ron frowned. "Of course nobody is getting locked away just because they're acting like irritating gits. But still, Hermione…think of the quiet."
"This is bad," Hermione shook her head. "This is not going to end well if both sides are so openly trading threats."
"That's not all," Harry sighed. "Zacharias followed us upstairs. He knows where Draco's bedroom is and where all the Slytherins have been hiding."
"He followed you?" Hermione asked, slanting him an intense look. "By himself?"
Harry nodded. "I mean, I doubt he'd be stupid enough to try anything by himself since there are five of them and one of him, but still…just the fact that he knows where they are is enough to make me uneasy."
"I agree," Hermione mused. "It's troubling, to say the least. Why would he need to know where they are unless he was planning on doing something with the information? Why would he feel it worth the risk of wandering around by himself just to learn such a thing unless he was planning on putting the knowledge to use?"
"I think the real question is how he felt so comfortable taking such a risk," Harry said quietly. "He wasn't scared when he confronted me about it, Hermione. And we all know what a coward he really is. There's no way he would have gone off by himself if he thought there was any risk to it. And if he felt it wasn't a risk to his safety to follow us just to find out where they were, then…"
"Maybe that's why none of the Slytherins have died yet," Ron cut in. "Because nobody could find them and none of them have been daft enough to wander off by themselves. Maybe Smith has just been waiting to be led there. And now that he knows where they are—"
"It's still not enough to point fingers," Hermione interrupted. "I know that none of us like Zacharias, but do you really think he's the type of person horrible enough to be able to murder his acquaintances in cold blood?"
Ron and Harry stared at her.
"Okay, let me rephrase," she conceded. "Do you really think him clever enough to be able to kill three of us here and still have gotten away with it?"
"Maybe this is where he stops getting away with it," Harry shrugged. "The invitations to this thing went out nearly two months ago—whoever is behind it has had plenty of time to get a plan in motion."
"True," Hermione conceded, "but do you really think Zacharias is patient enough for something like this? And why would he want to kill our classmates?"
"Maybe it's not about them," Harry said slowly. "Maybe none of the murders actually have to do with any of the ones who have died. Maybe it's about making the Slytherins look guilty. Zacharias was right when he said that the world doesn't trust them. Maybe he didn't like the thought of them getting the forgiveness they asked for and figured all it would take to get them locked away forever was to make them look like they were the ones killing everyone. Maybe all the bloodshed is just a way to frame them."
"I don't know," Hermione disagreed, tapping one finger against the desktop. "Multiple killings just to frame a group of people that the world already doesn't trust? It's not the strongest motive."
"Then the only other explanation is that those three were targeted specifically," Harry pointed out. "Either the killings are incidental and random, or the victims are being personally targeted."
"Well, it can't be the second one," Ron frowned. "I mean, Hannah, Mandy, and Terry? Come on, there's nobody who would want to see them dead. Especially over someone like Smith or any of the Slytherins. If we're going in terms of least popular, it'd definitely be that lot at the top of the list."
"Unless it's Zacharias who's behind it," Harry said quietly.
"Yes, but he would've started with the Slytherins."
"Unless he was doing it just to frame them."
"Enough," Hermione said, sounding exhausted. "All we have right now to go on is speculation. We have absolutely nothing solid. The only facts we know for sure are that none of the Slytherins were in the room the night that Mandy was killed, so for argument's sake, we can take them off the list of suspects for the moment and focus on the others. Now, out of that list of remaining suspects, we can cross Terry off for obvious reasons. I also know for a fact that it was none of us who killed her. That still leaves thirteen others it could have been. I feel fairly confident that we can exclude Neville from the list. But I think what we really need to be focusing on are any connections between the three victims. Do either of you know of any existing ties between them?"
"Mandy and Terry were both in Ravenclaw," Harry offered helplessly.
"Yes, but from what I understand, they weren't terribly close," Hermione said. "And I talked to Susan, who said that she never knew Hannah to really have any sort of contact with either of the other two."
"Maybe they don't have connections," Ron spoke up. "At least not with one another. Maybe they're not connected to each other, but to someone else."
"Like to the person who did this," Hermione said slowly. "You're saying the real connection between them all might be an outside individual tying them together."
"Yeah," Ron shrugged. "And maybe none of them even knew they were all connected through that person."
"Yes, but who might that be?" Hermione mused. "Out of everyone here, who would be connected to those three?"
"They didn't really have any common friends," Harry said. "I mean, Mandy and Terry are both connected to the other Ravenclaws, but I dunno if Hannah was ever really friends with any of that lot."
"Maybe not a friend," Hermione shook her head. "Maybe it's a connection of a different sort. Maybe a childhood acquaintance, or even a common enemy."
"Those three?" Ron snorted. "Please, Hermione, none of them had a single enemy, let alone the same enemy."
"Hannah and Terry were both in the D.A.," Harry suggested. "They both fought in the final battle."
"Yes, but not Mandy," Hermione said, appearing thoughtful as she fiddled with a lock of her hair. "That would have been my first guess as well for the connection if not for the fact that Mandy had no part in it."
"Maybe Mandy wasn't the real target," Harry said suddenly, sitting up in his chair. "Remember what Padma said? How they had fallen asleep right next to each other? Maybe it was really Padma they had meant to kill. I mean, it was dark. It was really dark in that room. Maybe whoever it was had gotten the beds mixed up. Both girls have dark hair."
"Yeah, but that's about as similar as their appearances get," Ron pointed out. "I mean, the only other girl here that you could really mix Padma up with is Parvati."
"Yes, who was on the other side of Padma," Harry said in growing excitement. "Maybe whoever it was thought that Padma had been Parvati and had then automatically gone for the girl in the bed right next to her, thinking that that girl was Padma! It might even have been Parvati they were trying to kill!"
"I suppose that's possible," Hermione allowed, tapping her chin in thought. "I would agree that targeting the members of the D.A. would be a more plausible motivation than random killings."
"Yeah, but why?" Ron cut in. "Why target the D.A.? Most of the people here were in the D.A."
"Then maybe we should look at the ones who weren't," Harry shrugged.
"Well," Hermione said, pulling a blank parchment toward her and unfurling it before unscrewing the lid off a pot of ink and plucking one of the fancy quills out of its holder, and Harry wanted to laugh at the dark irony of Hermione using one of Lucius Malfoy's personal quills. Bending over the parchment, she began to scribble names down across the surface. "The only ones here who were not in the D.A. other than the Slytherins are Stephen, Lisa, Mandy, and Kevin."
"Stephen was late for the dinner," Harry reminded them, "even though we have no idea what time he actually showed up. He would have had more than enough time to dispose of the hired staff and spike one of the drinks before heading into the dining room with the others. He was in the room when Mandy got killed, and he was Terry's partner. He was the last one to see Terry alive."
"Susan was in the D.A.," Hermione said, biting her lip. "And she's been paired with two of the people on our list."
"Shit," Harry said, jumping to his feet. "We need to go find them!"
"I'm not really sure if this is actually anything to go off of, though," Hermione frowned. "This is still nothing more than speculation."
"Maybe it is, but it's better than nothing!"
"You're right," Hermione conceded as she rose from her chair. "I think the best thing to do would be to assign Neville to stick with Stephen, Lisa, and Susan and keep an eye on them. Ron and I will also keep an eye on Stephen, but we can't let it slip that we in any way suspect him. Because whether he is or is not guilty, outright suspicion of anyone will only lead to panic and danger."
"You say that like we're not incredibly sneaky people," Ron scoffed.
"Of course not, Ronald Weasley," Hermione deadpanned, "nobody embodies subtlety more than you."
"Too bloody right," he said smugly, puffing out his chest. She sighed and shook her head, lips twitching, before flicking her wand and sending the scroll with the list of suspects into the fire.
"We should probably get back," she said uneasily, eyes flicking to the door. "I don't like leaving them for too long."
"Because you're afraid they're fighting or because you're afraid that another person's gone missing?" Ron asked dryly.
"Both," she said simply. "Harry, you're welcome to head back upstairs to check on the Slytherins if you would like."
"I still can't believe you're spending so much time with that lot," Ron shook his head. "I mean, what the hell do you even talk about with them?"
"They're not a bad sort," Harry shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. For some reason, he did not want to admit how okay he really was being around the five Slytherins.
"Yeah, but what do you talk about?" Ron pressed.
"Oh, you know," Harry waved one hand casually, "politics, ethics, blood purity, current events, social status, those sorts of things."
"Right," Ron grinned. "The usual sorts of things, sure."
"How are you and Malfoy getting along?" Hermione asked, snapping all attention onto her.
"Fine," Harry said, shifting uncomfortably. At the question, he couldn't help but think back to the previous night, how Malfoy had climbed into his bed to talk or the way he had fallen asleep with his head on Harry's shoulder. Harry did not want to admit to either Ron or Hermione how he had not only allowed such things to happen, but had also liked it. He couldn't help but think of his confessions to Draco about his childhood and his secret of kissing another man, something that Hermione had never been told about and that Ron had been too pissed to notice. He did not want to admit to his best friends that Draco Malfoy now knew things about Harry that Harry had never before told another living person; he did not want to admit to them that a large part of himself liked the fact that he and Draco were somehow growing closer by the minute. Part of Harry had always wondered what it would have been like if he and Malfoy had been friends during Hogwarts. He used to sometimes lay awake at night wondering if he had been sorted Slytherin, would he and Draco have ever been close? Or would they only have hated each other from less of a distance? Harry had used to wonder a lot about what it would have been like to have shared a dorm with Draco Malfoy. Would they have stayed up late into the night, whispering to one another like they did last night?
Harry had no idea.
"We're getting along fine," he said again, trying to ignore the contemplative look that Hermione was giving him.
"God, I still don't know why you chose him as your partner," Ron shook his head. "I mean, you could have been with Neville or someone, mate. I'm sure that Padma and Parvati would have loved to have had you with them, considering the fact that Parvati won't stop staring at you."
"What?" Harry asked in confusion, momentarily sidetracked. Parvati didn't stare at him. If she had ever once had any sort of interest in him, it had certainly all vanished the disastrous night of the Yule Ball.
"You could have been with Seamus and Dean," Ron continued, "or me and Hermione."
"Draco needed a partner," Harry explained, feeling uncomfortable once more. "I mean, you lot ditched me to be a couple, and Draco's friends ditched him to be a couple, so…"
"So the two of you decided to be a couple," Ron snorted, but Harry didn't laugh.
"I was worried about him," he said quietly. "I just—I figured that he would be the obvious target, you know? Because despite whatever anybody out there thinks, I don't believe it's him behind all this. But I know that most of the others do. So I just…"
"You wanted to protect him," Hermione said sadly, in a voice even quieter than Harry's had been. "Oh, Harry…"
"No, I just…I—" Harry floundered uselessly, unsure what to follow that up with. Had he wanted to protect Draco? He supposed that he did; he certainly did not want to see any harm come to the man. But what did that mean? Did that have to mean something as significant as what Hermione's tone had implied? Harry wanted to protect everyone; he did not want to see any harm come to a single person. "I should probably get back," he muttered, gesturing toward the door. He had no idea what anything meant anymore; all he knew was that the longer he was away from Malfoy and the others, the more anxious it was making him, especially now that Zacharias knew where they were. How long before Smith told all the others? What if they all took it upon themselves to form an angry mob outside Draco's bedroom door? What if they were there right now? Harry took a step toward the door. "You two go find the others and make sure they're still okay. I'll go back upstairs and—"
But before Harry could finish the sentence, he was interrupted by a bloodcurdling scream.
TBC
Oh no! Screams that curdle blood are the worst kind of screams to be trapped in a house with! Any suspicions on the killer yet, darlings? Or their motivation? Any guesses on who the scream came from or who will be the next to die? Any thoughts on your local weather or any new year's resolutions you've accomplished and/or given up on that you would like to talk about? I'm here to listen :)