A/N: Hello, Internet! Welcome to my twisted imagination! I hope you all have a lovely time lost inside it 😊 What you are about to read is the second mystery I've ever written in my life, so yaaay! I had so much fun writing the first one that I decided another murder mystery could only be even more fun! Especially if there was lots more murder in it! 😇 Before we get into the fun murder of it all though, there are a couple of warnings to please take note of:
The first warning—surprise!—is the one regarding the violence and amount of bloodshed in this story. I'm serious. Shit's 'bout to start getting real gory real fast here, my darlings. I'm talking 80's B-movie horror level of gore. (Seriously, I might have overdone it just a bit with the death and gore. I live for an overly-violent B-horror flick.) This is going to be a very dark story, featuring a whole fuckload of character death and woe—although, like my previous murder mystery, I promise that both Harry and Draco will make it through alive, if not exactly unscathed. But the others (and there will be a lotta familiar faces here!) won't be so lucky.
There is also a warning for all the extreme profanity contained in this particular tale—I'm talking Tarantino-level profanity, muthafuckas. And a story with violence and profanity is never complete without sex! The gay kind of sex. Pretty much the gayest kind of sex imaginable. Violence, profanity, and gay sex 😊 We are in for some good times, lovers! (Unless you happen to be squeamish, overly decorous, or homophobic, in which case, maybe don't read this story.) But the latter traits are obviously not as much fun to be and we are all clearly fun people, so let's do this thing, friends!
"The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket."
― William Wordsworth
ALL BUT DEATH
I
THE GOOD DIE FIRST
Malfoy had not said a single word.
Harry glanced at him again, desperate to look anywhere but down at the blood staining his hands. Malfoy looked blank, almost numb, and Harry could see his fingers trembling in his lap. Specks of blood were splattered across the pale skin of his face, and although his expression was blank, Harry could see fear in his steel-colored eyes. It was that lost, hopeless sense of terror radiating from the man that convinced Harry that Malfoy was not the one responsible.
But if not him, then who?
"All right!" Hermione's voice sliced through the growing panic like a spell, capturing everyone's attention, heads snapping up to stare at her in open fright. "I think the first thing we need to do is check everybody's wands one at a time. We're not sure yet if that was a spell or a potion, but if it was a spell, then we need to know who cast it."
"And if it was a potion?" a frightened voice cried. "What if we were all poisoned as well?"
Hermione shook her head. "I think we would have seen similar results by now if that were the case."
"What's happening? Why won't the house let us leave?" a voice demanded, and Harry craned his neck to try to see who had spoken. There were quite a few people there that, although he had attended Hogwarts with them for years, he had had very little contact with and could hardly recognize them by name, let alone by voice.
"What is going on?" Padma Patil sobbed, and Parvati pulled her closer into her side, trying to comfort her despite her own obvious fear. "What the hell just happened in that room?"
"We need to figure out a way to get out of here!" another voice called, the crowd began to murmur as more and more people started to speak over one another, the panic beginning to grow again.
"All the doors are locked!"
"I can't Apparate!"
A sudden fusillade of bright sparks shot up overhead as Hermione cast a spell to call for attention, the sight of the sparks succeeding in quieting everyone as they once again turned to face her.
"We are going to remain calm about this," she said in an even voice, face set in a grim determination. "I know that what just happened was awful, but panicking is only going to make the situation worse. The first thing we need to do is check everyone's wands one at a time to find out who it was that cast that spell. Then we can work on finding a way out of here."
"Who the hell elected her Head Girl?" a voice muttered, and Harry glared into the crowd.
"Check the Slytherin wands first!" someone demanded hotly. "It had to be one of them! They're the ones who invited everyone here, it has to be one of them! It was probably all of them! They brought us all here just to kill us!"
"We didn't do a damn thing to that girl!" Zabini snapped, stepping forward angrily. "Do you really think any of us are stupid enough to commit murder in front of a hundred fucking witnesses?"
"Check Malfoy's wand first!" somebody shouted, and at that, Malfoy glanced up, face hardening as he slowly climbed to his feet.
"Do you really think I would be foolish enough to commit murder in my own home?" he asked in a low voice, glaring at Anthony Goldstein. "Especially with three fucking Aurors and whatever the hell Granger does in the DMLE present?"
"Yes," Goldstein said simply, crossing his arms and glaring right back at the blond.
"You need to back the fuck off, Goldstein," Zabini growled, the Slytherins all moving closer together as though expecting to be attacked by the crowd. "I already told you that none of us did it!"
"And we're supposed to just believe you?" Zacharias Smith stepped forward to speak, and Harry wanted to roll his eyes. Why the hell had Malfoy even invited that prat in the first place?
"Believe whatever the fuck you want, Smith," Malfoy snapped, fists clenching. "I don't have a damn thing to prove to you. But if it would appease your fragile sensibilities and overwhelming terror of me, I'll be more than happy to have Granger check my wand."
Marching forward, he flung his arm out to hand his wand to Hermione, surprising Harry with his readiness to hand it over so easily. He had been certain that it had not been Malfoy who had committed the horrid act, but it still surprised the brunet to see him so willing to hand his wand over to another person.
Accepting it with a nod, Hermione cast a quick Prior Incantato on Malfoy's wand, revealing that the last spell Malfoy had done was an accio. Harry couldn't help but wonder what the blond had summoned.
"Are you fucking satisfied now?" Malfoy grit out, snatching his wand back from Hermione and glaring at Goldstein and Smith. Neither of them said a word, simply glaring right back.
"Now the other Slytherins," Seamus said, shooting a hard look at the group of Slytherins huddled together on the other side of the room.
"It had to be one of them!"
"We should lock them up right now before they can do it to someone else!"
"They fucking planned this, they brought us here just to kill us all off!"
The crowd continued to yell, beginning to converge on the small group of Slytherins, and Harry could see the way their fists tightened around their wands as they prepared to defend themselves.
"Everybody just shut up!" Harry shouted, jumping to his feet. "We are not going to escalate this any further before we even know who it was that cast that damn spell! Hermione," he turned to her, holding out his wand, "check my wand and then I'll start checking the Slytherins' wands just so everyone calms the fuck down. Ron, you start on that side of the room while Hermione keeps going with this side. Is everybody okay with that?" Eyes narrowed, he glared at the crowd, waiting for some sort of comment or complaint but was only met with silence.
Taking that to mean that everybody was in approval, he waited for Hermione to check his wand and hand it back before striding over to the Slytherins, who all stepped even closer together.
"None of us cast that spell, Potter," Malfoy said, shooting a dark look over Harry's shoulder.
"I never said any of you did," Harry sighed. If he was being honest with himself, he had no idea who to suspect. The Slytherins would have been his first guess too for the guilty culprit, but there was something about the genuine fear radiating from them that was making Harry second-guess his earlier suspicion. "Let me just check each of your wands though so nobody can accuse you of anything, yeah?"
Zabini stepped forward, giving Harry a searching, complicated look, saying nothing for long moments before handing his wand to Harry without a word. Sighing again, Harry began to make his way through the group of Slytherins, feeling both frustrated and relieved as wand after wand proved innocent. It wasn't long before there were no wands left to check, and Harry turned to face the larger crowd behind him, practically feeling their gazes dragging over his back.
"None of them did it," he told the others, and saw more than one shake of a head and distrustful glare thrown their way. "None of them cast anything Dark," he repeated. "I checked every one of their wands."
"Harry," Hermione said in a quiet voice, pulling him across the room to speak with him privately. A moment later, Ron was beside them, looking grim. "Did either of you find who it was?"
Both men shook their heads.
"Neither did I," she frowned, studying the crowd.
"How is that possible though, Hermione?" Ron wondered, turning to study the crowd himself. "We checked everybody here, and we're the only ones in the house."
"It wasn't the Slytherins," Harry said, feeling worried. Who the hell had killed her?
"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Ron said darkly. "Maybe one of them cast the spell, then immediately cast another spell right after so the Prior Incantato would read that one instead."
"You could say that about any one of the others as well," Harry pointed out, not sure why he was defending the Slytherins.
"Yeah, but none of the others are psychotic," Ron argued. "I think Smith might be right about locking them all up, at least until we can figure out a way to get out of here."
"We are not locking anybody up until we know for certain that they're guilty," Hermione interrupted. "Harry said that he checked the wands and I believe him when he said he didn't find anything. We checked all the others and are allowing them to remain free, and we're going to extend the same courtesy to the Slytherins. We can't let things escalate; we have to remain calm and keep the others from panicking. Things could turn very violent very quickly if we start immediately pointing fingers, especially without any evidence to back it up."
"Right, okay," Ron sighed. "What do we all do now then?"
"So who was it?" a voice demanded, and the three of them turned to find Smith staring at them with narrowed eyes. "Who the hell cast that fucking spell?"
Exchanging a look between the three of them, Hermione answered in a heavy voice. "We don't know," she said, sounding weary. "None of us found anything incriminating on any of the wands."
"What the hell does that mean?" Smith asked furiously. "It had to be someone in this room! Aren't the three of you supposed to the most powerful witch and wizards of our generation?" he sneered the words mockingly. "And you can't find whoever it was who fucking killed her?! I still have her blood on me! Someone in this room did it!"
"Stop it, Smith," Neville cut in, stepping forward as well and folding his arms across his chest. "You're not the only one who watched her die and you're not helping anything right now."
"Yeah, Smith, shut the fuck up!" a voice called, and the crowd began to murmur once more.
"Everybody shut the fuck up!" Ron said loudly, appearing satisfied when the crowd quieted down.
"Now," Hermione said, voice calm, "I think what we need to focus on for the moment is finding a way out. I want everybody who has not already attempted Apparition to try."
Everyone nodded, and Harry closed his eyes to concentrate, picturing the sitting room of his cozy London flat and preparing to Disapparate…only to hit a wall; something was preventing him from leaving the Manor, a solid wall that he could not get past. Gritting his teeth, his eyes snapped open to find similar looks of frustration on everybody else's face.
"Well," Hermione said dryly, "based on the fact that we're all still here, I'm going to assume that nobody was successful. Malfoy," she turned to address the blond, who had been speaking quietly to Parkinson, "have you tried your Floo yet?"
Shaking his head, he crossed the room to the large fireplace, orange flames popping and crackling loudly. He picked up a large handful of Floo powder from the bowl atop the mantle, throwing it into the flames and waiting expectantly.
But nothing happened. The flames remained orange and just as hot as ever, and Harry felt the worry in his bones worsen. What the hell was happening? Were they truly trapped inside Malfoy Manor? Who the hell had trapped them and what the hell did they want?
"Harry," Hermione said in a low voice, glancing uneasily at the panicked whisperings of the crowd. "Send a Patronus to Robards explaining the situation."
"Right," Harry nodded, casting it quickly and ignoring the gasps from the crowd as they watched the moon-white stag burst to life and gallop away.
"We've sent for the other Aurors," Hermione told everyone. "Help should be here soon, and I've no doubt they'll find a way to get us out of here. For the time being, I think we should seal off the room she died in,"—strange how they all had yet to actually say her name, something Harry had not noticed until that very moment—"and then we can all wash up. I'm not sure how long it will take for the Aurors to get the message or how long it will take for them to find a way to get us out of here, so we may be here for at least a few more hours. Don't be surprised if we end up having to stay the night."
"I am not spending the night in this place!" Smith said hotly, and Harry heard several murmurs of agreement.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Hermione said in a cool voice, face expressionless as she eyed Smith, "I hadn't realized that you had come up with your own brilliant plan for getting us all out of here. I'm certain we would all love to hear it."
At her words, Smith flushed, opening his mouth to say god knows what, but a single glare from Ron silenced the annoying blond.
"Now," Hermione continued, ignoring Smith, "I think we should all spend the night together. Hopefully, we won't be here very long, but in case it comes to it, the dining room is more than large enough to fit us all comfortably, and we can all conjure beds to sleep on."
"But we still don't know who killed her!" Parkinson blurted, eyes narrowed. "And you want everyone to spend the night in a room with the murderer?"
"Would you rather spend it all alone?" Hermione asked pointedly, and Parkinson paused as she considered the words, seeming to shudder at the thought of spending the night alone after witnessing such a horrific incident.
"I'm not spending the night with them!" Smith glared at the Slytherins in the corner. "I say we lock them all together in a separate room for the night. If one of them is dead in the morning, then we know the killer is a Slytherin."
"And if one of us really is the killer," Zabini said in a smooth voice, head tilted as he gazed at Smith with burning loathing, "do you really think it wise to offend us so openly?"
"Is that a threat?" Smith demanded, pulling his wand from his robes. Zabini pulled his free as well and took a step forward, hatred etched into every centimeter of his face.
"Stop it, both of you!" Hermione said sharply, pulling out her own wand. "Nobody is getting locked up and nobody is fighting! And I will personally deal with anyone I find antagonizing anybody else or inciting any sort of panic!"
At the warning, both boys fell back a step, continuing to glower at one another.
"We're not staying here," Malfoy said, tugging Zabini back toward the rest of them. "You lot can spend the night in the dining room together; we'll spend it in my own private chambers. I don't trust a single one of you and I certainly will not allow myself to fall asleep in your company."
"We'll try not to miss you too much," Smith sneered, and Malfoy put a hand on Zabini's arm to prevent him from taking another step forward.
"You heard Hermione, Smith," Harry said quietly, unable to prevent the scorching dislike he had always felt for the other man from searing through his veins like wildfire. "If I have to hex your mouth shut, I will."
Smith glared but said nothing to the comment.
"I suppose I can't force you to spend the night in the dining room," Hermione sighed. "If it would make all of you more comfortable to spend it by yourselves, then I don't see a problem with it. But," she turned to speak to the entire crowd, "nobody should be wandering around on their own right now. We still have no idea what's going on or who was responsible for killing her. And we have no idea if something like that is going to happen again. So try to always be around at least two others at all times, at least until we start getting some answers."
"Is that everything then?" Nott spoke up, sounding bored. "I would like to go to bed and try to forget that I now know what a person's intestines look like or the fact that we're all still covered in her blood." The comment received glares and looks of outrage, but Nott ignored them all as he climbed to his feet. "Well then," he said with a gesture, "lead the way, Draco. Let's get the hell out of here."
Mouth tightening, Malfoy nodded and, without another word, swept from the room, the Slytherins trailing close behind him.
Sighing, Harry turned back to the crowd. "Well then," he said in what he hoped was a steady tone, "let's head to the dining room and get set up for the night."
oOo
The door slammed shut behind Harry, rattling the walls of his tiny flat as he flicked his wand and set a fire crackling in the grate of the fireplace. Lord, it was cold outside. He supposed he could have cast a warming charm, but he always seemed to forget until he was already back inside.
Crossing the room, he took off his jacket and tossed it over the back of the sofa, heading to the kitchen for a lager. Spelling the lid from the bottle, he took a long swallow, muscles aching from the intense training Robards had them undergoing at work. "Fucking slave driver," Harry groaned, rolling his head from side to side and feeling the muscles in the back of his neck burn—his upper body felt as though it had been set on fire.
A sudden tapping at the window drew his attention from his aching muscles, and he set the half-empty bottle of lager down on the table before reentering the sitting room. An owl stared at him from the other side of the window, and Harry crossed the room to let it in, noting that it was a very large, very handsome owl holding what appeared to be some sort of scroll with a rather fancy-looking seal and a black satin bow.
Feeling curious, Harry untied the bow and slit the seal, opening the scroll to find ebony ink as black as the bow staring up at him. The more he read, the higher his eyebrows rose, until he was certain he must look ridiculous. Is this invitation for real?
Striding to the fireplace, he threw a pinch of Floo powder in before sticking his head in the emerald flames and calling out Hermione's address. A moment and some nausea later and he was staring at the inside of her flat. "Hermione!" he called loudly, hoping she had not barricaded herself in her private study as she was so fond of doing. "Hermione!"
"I'm right here, Harry, what is it?" she asked a split second before appearing in his view. She dropped down on the floor before the fire, crossing her legs as she stared at Harry curiously.
"Did you get it too?" Harry demanded. "In the post?"
At the questions, she looked confused. "Get what in the post?"
"Some invitation thing to some class reunion thing that Malfoy is apparently throwing," Harry told her, having to fight the urge to gesture wildly. "At Malfoy Manor. Next month. It says that he invited everyone in our year and that it's for our year only. Didn't you get one?"
Hermione's brow furrowed as she rose to cross to her coffee table, littered with unopened letters and quills, pots of ink and hastily-scrawled on parchments. "Do you mean this?" She held up a similar scroll to the one that Harry had received only minutes ago.
"Yes!"
Frowning, she opened it and quickly scanned the words, frown deepening.
"Well, what do you think?" Harry demanded. "This has to be some sort of trap or something, right?"
"I'm not sure," she said slowly. "What would be the benefit for him from that? And to invite so many people into a trap so easily traced back to him? Malfoy's never quite been that obvious with his schemes. He's always been a bit more cunning in his planning."
"Yeah, among other things he's always been," Harry muttered.
"I have to admit, I'm curious," Hermione said, still staring down at the invitation. "Whether this is some sort of ill-planned trap or not."
"Yeah," Harry agreed grudgingly, not willing to admit that, although his instincts were telling him not to go, a strong part of him wanted to accept the invitation out some morbid sense of curiosity. "But it's at Malfoy Manor, Hermione!"
Hermione opened her mouth to say something before her head suddenly snapped to the side. "Hold on a second, Harry, I think there's an owl at my window." She disappeared from view and Harry waited impatiently, counting the seconds and trying his best to ignore the throbbing in his neck muscles.
Finally, she reappeared, carrying a letter. "It's from Malfoy," she said, sounding surprised as she slit the seal and shook the letter loose. "Granger," she read, "I'm certain that by now you have received my invitation regarding the get-together I am throwing in a few weeks' time—a Hogwarts class reunion, of sorts. I would like to begin this letter by assuring you that it really is genuine and is in no way some sort of trick." At that, Harry rolled his eyes. "I know that many of us are still struggling in the aftermath of the war and I am hoping that this gathering will go a long way to mending fences between everyone and hopefully putting to rest lingering resentments and allowing bygones to become bygones. I know you have no reason to trust me, but the other Slytherins and I have decided to swallow our pride,"—Harry snorted—"by extending an olive branch. You are, of course, in no way obligated to attend, but I do hope that the three of you will show. I am aware that the Manor does not have good memories for either you, Potter, or Weasley—especially you, Granger, and for that I truly am sorry. I am hoping that by coming here under happier circumstances, it will allow the three of you to see the house in a different light and perhaps put to rest any lingering shadows from your last visit here. All the remaining Slytherins are trying our hardest to move on from the past, and we would like nothing more than the chance to prove to the three of you that we truly have changed. I hope to see you in a few weeks' time. My best regards, Draco Malfoy."
Falling silent, she looked up from the letter, still appearing surprised. "Well, I was certainly not expecting any of that."
"Are you really buying that?" Harry demanded, feeling an irrational sense of hurt sweep through him at the thought of Malfoy sending Hermione a letter of apology and not sending one to Harry as well. Harry was the one who had saved the git's life! Why wasn't he also owed gratitude and an apology?
"I'm not sure," she said thoughtfully, gazing back down at the parchment in her hands. "It seems genuine. And it's like I said, what can he do to us that won't be instantly traced back to him? He's left a very open paper trail, after all. And Malfoy is nothing if not self-preserving; he wouldn't go about seeking revenge in such an obvious way. It could only hurt himself if he were to try. Maybe he really does want to attempt a fresh start."
"Is that even possible with his past?"
Hermione shrugged. "I'm certain it won't be easy, and I'm certain that it won't be possible for him to mend fences with everybody from our year. But I think the fact that he's willing to try, despite the way the entire nation still views him, is at least commendable. I think it's at least worth considering."
"But it's at the Manor, Hermione," Harry said in a quiet voice, feeling himself shudder at the memory of his one and only visit to the horrid house. "Would you really be okay with going back to that place?"
At the question, Hermione dropped her gaze, twisting a lock of hair around one finger. "I'm not sure, to tell you the truth," she admitted softly, speaking down to the floor. "But…I think he has a point, about seeing the house in a different light and hopefully getting some sort of closure to the trauma we all suffered there. I think…" she took a deep breath, glancing up at Harry, "I think that if he really is extending an olive branch as he says, then I think that I would at least like to try. I don't want the past to continue to haunt me. And maybe going there will only make the memories worse, but…" she bit her lip, "but maybe going there might just make it better. Maybe it will finally make those memories start to fade."
Harry stared at her in both shock and admiration. "You're being serious. You really want to accept his invitation."
"I'm curious," she shrugged, but Harry could see that she was attempting to make the movement more casual than it was. "And it's not as if we'll have to stay. If we get there and find it to be too much, for any of us, then all we have to do is leave. It's not like he can keep us trapped there, can he?"
"Yeah," Harry muttered, knowing that he would accept the blasted invitation if Hermione was going to. "What's the worst that could happen?"
oOo
Harry woke to the sound of screaming.
Bolting upright, he glanced around for his glasses, spotting them next to him and jamming them on his face before jumping to his feet. At first he was confused—where had everybody gone? The beds they had Conjured were still there but they were all empty.
"Harry," a voice said to his left, and he turned to find Hermione and Ron staring past him, the rest of the crowd huddled against the wall behind them gazing over Harry's shoulder in horror.
Dread crunched through him as he slowly turned, not wanting to see whatever it was that had everybody so scared. His heart stopped at the sight that met him. The first thing he saw was blood—an entire sea of blood painting its surroundings in dark splashes and forming a rust-colored puddle on the floor.
Then, Harry noticed the body.
The stiff corpse of a girl their age was leaning against the far wall, sitting right in the center of a large pool of half-dried blood, eyes wide open as she gazed down at her lap. Her hands rested on the tops of her thighs, palms facing up and fingers curled loosely. They were completely unmoving and stained crimson; her long brown hair fell on both sides of her face like a curtain, the tips looking nearly black from the amount of dried blood in the chestnut-colored strands.
But none of that was what Harry could not stop staring at. A large horizontal gash had slit her stomach open, spilling entrails and innards across her lap, and Harry had to fight the urge to be sick at the sight. Something, whether it was a knife or a spell, had slashed her apart and left her to bleed out in a room full of people, and not one of them had noticed a thing until a few minutes ago.
"What the hell happened, Hermione?" he whispered, turning away from the gruesome sight.
"We don't know," Hermione answered, sounding grim. "Padma was the one who first noticed her."
"S-someone killed M-M-Mandy," Padma sobbed, clutching at Parvati to keep herself upright. "I woke up and she w-wasn't in the bed next to m-me and so I got up to look for her, and—and—" she gestured toward the wall, unable to continue.
"Mandy Brocklehurst was in the bed next to you when you both fell asleep?" Harry asked, moving closer to Padma, who nodded in response.
"She f-f-fell asleep before me," the girl cried, "I know she d-did! I c-couldn't sleep, but I know she w-w-was still there when I finally d-did!"
"Which bed was she in?" Harry asked in a quiet voice, feeling sympathy burn through him as Parvati held her sister even tighter. "Can you show me, Padma?"
Nodding again, Padma pulled herself from Parvati's embrace and led Harry over to a bed in the very center of the group of Conjured mattresses, walking slowly on legs that trembled and shook. "She was r-right here," she told him, a fresh sob tearing its way free from her throat as she looked down at the bed.
"And you didn't hear her get up at all during the night?" Harry asked, placing a hand on her shoulder in comfort.
"N-n-n-o!" Padma shook her head.
"Did anybody hear anything at all?" Harry turned to the others. "Anything during the night? Did anybody wake up to notice her not in her bed?"
Everybody shook their heads, most still gazing at Mandy's unmoving body in horror.
"Everybody get in a line," Hermione ordered, striding to Harry's side. "I'm checking everyone's wands again."
"Yeah, because that worked so well last time," Smith drawled sarcastically, earning more than one glare. "We all know who did it," he continued, "and it wasn't anybody in this room! I told you we should have locked the Slytherins up! And now Brocklehurst is dead!"
"Why don't we start with your wand first?" Hermione suggested in a cold voice. "Because for your information, I did ward all the entrances to this room last night."
That seemed to shut Smith up for a moment, who looked as though he wanted to argue but wisely thought better of it.
"Give her your fucking wand, Smith," Ron said dangerously, straightening his spine.
"How do we know she didn't do it?" Smith replied, tone scathing. "She keeps checking wands without having to get hers checked!"
At the accusation, Ron took a threatening step forward, and Hermione quickly stepped closer to his side to place a hand on his arm.
"Let Potter check them!" somebody said, and the crowd murmured in agreement.
Hermione offered him a wry smile as she held out her wand for him to take. "Well, Harry, it seems they trust you more than me at the moment."
"You're all barking mad if you think Hermione had anything to do with this," Harry told them, accepting the wand and casting a quick Priori Incantatum. "See?"
"Now you, Smith," Ron growled, and Smith's hand tightened around his wand. "If I have to rip your whole hand from your body to get that wand, I'll do it."
"Yeah, right before you gut me just like you did her?" Smith raised his chin defiantly, and Harry and Hermione both had to hold Ron back at the accusation.
"Just give them the wand, Smith," Neville said in a hard voice. "Are you seriously accusing Ron and Hermione of being responsible for Mandy's death? You do realize who they are, don't you? And that they both work in law enforcement?"
"Yeah, Smith," Dean said behind him, "how's your job of washing dishes at the Leaky Cauldron going?"
Smith flushed at the question, marching forward angrily to hand Harry his wand without a word. Sighing, Harry checked it and handed it back.
"All right, then," he said to the group, "everybody form a line."
"How is this possible, Hermione?" Ron said in a low voice, the three of them all standing together in the corner of the lounge everybody had relocated to after the wand check. "We checked everybody again and didn't find a single thing!"
"I'm not sure," Hermione said, sounding worried. "I wasn't lying when I said I warded all the doors last night. So whatever any of them are thinking about the Slytherins being guilty, they couldn't possibly have gotten inside that room to kill her."
Harry's stomach suddenly dropped as a horrible thought occurred to him. "You don't think something happened to them too, do you?" Without waiting for a response, Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and began to stride from the room, only to be stopped by Hermione's hand on his arm.
"Harry, where are you going? We can't be wandering around on our own!" she reminded him, trying to tug him back.
"I'll be fine," Harry told her, pulling his arm free. "I have to go find them, Hermione, I need to make sure!"
"Then Ron and I are coming too," she said grimly, and Ron sighed but nodded.
"No," Harry shook his head. "You two need to stay here and keep everyone from panicking. And keep Smith from talking as much as possible. Just keep everyone calm and I'll go find the Slytherins and bring them back, all right?"
"I'll come with you, Harry," Neville said quietly, coming up behind him. "Hermione and Ron can keep an eye on everyone here and you and I will go look for the others."
"All right," Harry nodded, feeling a thread of relief at the thought of having another Auror to watch his back. "That fine with the two of you?" he asked Hermione and Ron, who exchanged a glance but nodded.
"Let's go then, Nev," Harry said, feeling a nearly frantic need to get to the Slytherins to check that everything was all right. The two men strode from the room and paused, glancing around themselves. "Um, you don't happen to know where Malfoy's bedroom is, do you?"
"I feel like I'm one of the last people you should be asking that question to," Neville said dryly, and Harry snorted. "I'm guessing that all the bedrooms are upstairs, though."
Nodding, Harry led the way to the large staircase and they began to ascend in silence. The higher they climbed, the more Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, feeling an unexplainable wariness settling over him. It felt as though the house was watching them. Even though it was morning, the sky outside was a steely grey the color of wet cement and the inside of the house was much darker than Harry would have expected. Shadows clung to the walls like a layer of ink-stained skin, and Harry found himself glancing uneasily at everything they passed, having to remind himself that nothing was waiting to jump out at them from the darkness.
A loud creak had him whirling around, wand drawn, but there was nothing in sight. The hallway was empty.
"This house is bloody creepy, isn't it?" Neville muttered, and Harry noticed how tight the man's grip on his wand was as well.
"How the hell does Malfoy live here alone?" Harry wondered, lighting the tip of his wand with a Lumos and holding it up in an attempt to dispel the shadows, but the light only seemed to create even more of them, somehow appearing to multiply the haunting shadows until Harry felt nearly caged in by the darkness.
Neville shrugged. "Maybe that's why he threw a party for so many people. Maybe he wanted the Manor to seem less empty."
"Yeah, this party has definitely cheered the place right up."
Another creak sounded, and Harry glanced around himself uneasily. It sounded as though the very house was groaning.
Without warning, Harry reached out to pull Neville to a stop. "Do you hear that?" he whispered. "I think I heard footsteps."
Both men stood silent and unmoving, listening hard for any sounds. "I don't hear any—" Neville began, only to be cut off by Harry.
"There it is again!" Harry hissed, certain that he had heard soft footsteps drawing nearer from somewhere along the hallway. Both men shifted into defensive stances, readying themselves for whatever was coming for them from the shadows.
But everything was quiet. The footsteps had stopped; nothing was moving.
Then, a voice said, "Potter," as a figure stepped forward into the light, and Harry and Neville reacted on instinct, Harry casting a disarming spell as Neville cast a shield charm over the two of them.
"For fuck's sake, Potter, why are you attacking me?!"
At the question, Harry finally recognized the voice and they both immediately backed down, Neville cancelling the shield charm as Malfoy stepped forward, glaring.
"What the fuck?" he demanded, holding out his hand for his wand.
"I didn't know it was you, sorry," Harry relented, tossing the wand back to the blond.
"Well who the fuck were you expecting? This is my home, you know," the Slytherin pointed out, tucking his wand away.
Harry and Neville exchanged a glance. "Er, is it just you out here, Malfoy?"
"Yes, because the others are cowards," Malfoy responded with a roll of his eyes. "I thought I heard someone walking around out here and I wanted to know who it was. The others were content to live in ignorance, so I left them in ignorance."
"And are all of you okay?" Harry asked, wand still held in a tight grip.
"Yes," Malfoy gave him an odd look. "We're all fine. We barricaded ourselves in my bedchambers like I told you we would."
"So nobody got in last night?" the brunet pressed, stepping closer to Malfoy to check him over for any harm. The man seemed uninjured.
"No," Malfoy said cautiously.
"And were you the first to leave your room this morning?"
"Yes," Malfoy nodded, appearing even more wary. "What happened, Potter?"
Sighing, Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Get the others and bring them back downstairs. We all need to talk as a group to decide the next best move."
"What happened, Potter?" Malfoy demanded, taking a step closer. "Something bad has clearly happened, what is it?"
Sighing again, Harry tugged on his fringe. "Mandy Brocklehurst is dead," he answered in a flat voice. "We woke up and found her lying in a pool of blood."
"What?" Malfoy paled and fell back a step. "What? She's dead? Another person died? How?"
"We don't know," Harry said honestly, wishing he had an answer to the question. "We checked all the wands again but found nothing."
"Well, it was obviously someone in that room!" Malfoy said instantly. "You lot can't blame any of us for this one, we weren't even on the same floor!"
"Nobody is blaming you, Malfoy," Neville cut in, and Malfoy turned to him with narrowed eyes. "But we need to talk this out as a group."
"Fine," Malfoy said in a cool voice. "I'll go get the others. You two head back downstairs, we'll meet you there."
"We'll come with you," Harry said, starting forward, but a hard look from Malfoy stopped him.
"Potter," he said, voice even colder than before, "somebody in that room killed her. I trust nobody who was present for that, yourself included, I'm sorry to say. The others and I will come down for your little meeting, but if we have to barricade ourselves in my bedroom again, I don't want anyone else knowing where my bedroom is."
Harry couldn't help but grit his teeth at that, swallowing down the retort he longed to make. "Fine, Malfoy," he ground out. "Just be downstairs with them in the next five minutes. We need to get this shit sorted and find a way out of this fucking house."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed but he said nothing, simply crossed his arms and stared pointedly at the two Aurors until they took the hint and turned back the way they had come, making their way back downstairs to the lounge.
oOo
"This is weird, Hermione," Harry muttered, sipping the glass of champagne he had taken from the long table at the front of the enormous room.
"Yeah, too bloody weird," Ron agreed, glancing around. "I mean, it's not like we were really that close with any of the people here back in school, were we? Even if we were in the same year. I still can't believe you convinced me to come."
"Don't be so easily convinced then," Hermione smirked, sipping her own champagne.
"I don't even want to know how you convinced him," Harry said pointedly, grinning as Seamus and Dean came up to say hi.
"Hey, Harry, we heard you three were gonna be here," Dean said with a nod.
"Wouldn't've come if you lot hadn't shown," Seamus said, looking around at their fellow classmates. "Had to see the place though, didn't we? Always been curious about what this place looked like."
"Plus, Seamus wanted all the free food and drinks," Dean added with a grin.
"Only reason Ron's here as well," Harry jerked his chin in the redhead's direction, earning a good-natured grin.
"No arguing with that," he agreed, raising his glass to Seamus before tossing the whole thing back.
"Fucking good food," Seamus nodded. "Although I could've done without that hour-long speech Malfoy made at dinner about becoming reformed and listing all the war charities he's donated to and his hope that we might set aside the past in the face of a brighter future or whatever the fuck he was twaddling on about. You'd think he thought he was fucking McGonagall or something with the way he kept talking. Now that is a woman who likes to make speeches."
"Always been a pretentious git though, yeah?" Ron said, looking for somewhere to set his empty glass before Vanishing it with a shrug. "Malfoy, I mean, not McGonagall. Not that she didn't have her moments, mind you."
"Malfoy, pretentious?" Dean asked sarcastically, pretending to sound shocked. "When did that start happening?"
They all snorted.
"Seriously though," Ron said, gesturing around the room, "we're literally standing in the ballroom of his stupidly-sized mansion right now. Who the bloody buggering hell has a fucking ballroom in their home?"
"There's definitely something weird about this house," Seamus agreed.
"I'm going up for another drink," Harry announced, copying Ron and Vanishing his empty glass. "I'll be back in just a second." Turning away from the group, he made his way across the large room toward the long table laden with glasses.
"Enjoying the party, Potter?" a voice drawled to his left, and he turned to see Malfoy leaning casually against the table, gazing at him calmly.
"It's fine enough, I s'pose," Harry shrugged, unsure what Malfoy wanted to talk about. He had never willingly engaged Harry in civil conversation before. "Although I still don't get why you threw it in the first place."
Malfoy sighed. "Did you not listen to anything I said at dinner?" At the question, Harry shrugged again. "All we want is to be able to move on with our lives. We want the past to finally stop punishing us for the stupid decisions we made as children."
"It hasn't even been two years since the war ended," Harry pointed out. "It's not like you're a decade older now or anything. Maybe just give people time to move on from things on their own schedule."
Malfoy sighed again, sounding frustrated. "Are you saying you haven't grown up at all since the war ended? We all have; none of us is the same person we were two years ago. And the other Slytherins and I just want the chance to prove that—all we're hoping for is the chance to be seen in a different light, and we figured why not start with the people we spent almost every single day of Hogwarts with?"
"So you're hoping we can all become friends?" Harry asked, raising one eyebrow and sounding skeptical. "I'm not sure if it's really as easy as just throwing a dinner party."
"No," Malfoy agreed, "but it's a place to start, at least. We're not expecting this evening to completely reverse the way people see us, all we're wanting to achieve is a step in the right direction; the beginnings of change. Is that really such a bad thing, Potter? You offered the Dark Lord the opportunity for remorse, but not us?"
The question made Harry pause as he considered it. Despite his initial suspicions of the evening, Malfoy really did seem genuine. "I'm here, Malfoy, aren't I?" he said gruffly, taking a swallow of champagne for a chance to look away from the blond.
"I wasn't sure that you would come," Malfoy admitted, picking up his own glass. "Blaise was certain the three of you would never show. He owes me five Galleons now, so cheers, Potter." He offered Harry a small smile. "You've made me five Galleons richer just by showing up."
Harry surprised the both of them by chuckling. "Yeah, because more money is just what you need, isn't it?" he said, pointedly glancing up at the crystal chandelier sparkling above their heads; Harry still couldn't believe this was someone's home.
Malfoy's smile widened. "You say that like there's a way to answer no and not be a complete imbecile for it."
Shaking his head in amusement, Harry opened his mouth to respond when a loud noise drew his sudden attention. The tinkling sound of glass shattering seemed to ring around the large room, and Harry and Malfoy both turned as one to see Hannah Abbott standing several meters away, eyes wide and terrified, one hand curled into a tight claw and the other clenched around her wand, pointed down at the floor as though she had been about to clean up the broken glass and spilled champagne littering the ground at her feet. A shriek of pain tore its way from her mouth a moment before she fell to her knees amid the razor-sharp shards of glass still spread across the floor. Hermione, Neville, and Susan all rushed immediately toward her as she screamed, sounding as though she was being tortured. What the hell was happening?
Harry and Malfoy both took an automatic step toward her as well before a sharp, ominous sound made the both of them stumble in dread and confusion as the crowd of onlookers around them began to scream in horror, nearly all drowned out by Hannah's wails and wordless sobs of anguish. Hermione reached her side first, dropping down next to her and beginning to cast a volley of spells over Hannah, seeming to grow more and more frantic as Hannah continued to scream. A sudden cracking could be heard, and Harry glanced around, wondering where it was coming from. Was the house falling apart?
"Oh my god," Hermione said in a shocked voice, and Harry tried to hurry to her side, feeling as though he was running through a pool of drying cement. Everything was moving in slow motion; why wouldn't his legs move faster?
"Hannah!" Susan screamed, and Harry wondered when she had appeared on the floor beside Hermione. "Hannah, what's happening?! What's wrong with her?!" She turned to Hermione, tears sliding freely down her face as she helplessly watched her friend collapse to the floor, landing on her back and beginning to splutter, nearly choking on the mouthful of thick blood forcing its way up her throat. She rolled to the side and spat it out as best she could, coughing and struggling to draw breath through wet lungs; Harry could practically hear them filling with blood.
The strange cracking sounded again and Harry's eyes flicked up to the ceiling, wondering if it was about to cave it on them. But a gurgling sound drew his attention back to Hannah, and he gazed down in horror as she began to convulse, uncontrollable spasms jerking her entire body as she struggled to draw in hoarse, agonized breaths through lips stained the color of burnt wine, and Harry heard himself gasp as he finally realized what the odd cracking sound was.
With a loud, piercing scream, Hannah's chest suddenly ruptured wide open, snapping in half from the inside as her ribcage burst outwards, and Harry heard Susan vomit and wretch violently at the sight of Hannah's beating heart, on clear display to the entire room. It was pulsating fiercely in her gaping chest, picking up speed in a desperate attempt to keep her alive as her body continued to jerk and twitch. The sight of her lungs, sitting there for all the world to see, made Harry nearly sick up as well, the sight reminding him horribly of raw meat.
With a final rattling gasp, Hannah's lungs stopped moving, her heart stopped beating, everything seeming to shrivel up before their eyes. The whole thing had happened so quickly, it had been over in seconds, and yet it had felt like an entire century to Harry. What the hell had just happened? What was going on?
"What…" Malfoy tried to speak, mouth hanging open in shock and eyes wide with horror.
There were screams around them, Harry knew that. People were screaming and crying and sobbing and running, and he startled as someone shouted, "I can't Apparate!" and the screams began to grow louder as others started to try.
"You can't Disapparate from inside the wards," Malfoy whispered, sounding blank.
"Ron!" Harry called, scanning for the redhead and hurrying over to him. "We need to get everyone into a different room, NOW! We need to get them away from her body and call the other Aurors!"
"Right," Ron said in a grim voice, turning to the crowd and immediately attempting to herd them from the room. Neville quickly joined his side and Harry turned back to Hermione, who had climbed to her feet and pulled a shaking Susan Bones up with her.
"Parvati!" Hermione called, stopping the dark-skinned girl in her tracks, and she turned terrified eyes onto Hermione. "Take Susan with you into the other room, all right?" Parvati nodded and came forward, wrapping one arm around Susan's shoulders, and Harry could see how desperately she was trying to avoid looking in Hannah's direction.
"Hermione, what the hell just happened?" Harry asked in a low voice, glancing at Hannah again before turning his back on the horrific sight of her mangled corpse, blood still pooling and organs gleaming wetly from between the bones of her ribcage, extending from her body like long blood-stained fingers the color of rusty sand reaching out through her chest, and Harry shuddered at the sight. "What just happened to her? What was that?!"
"I have no idea," Hermione answered, sounding bewildered. "It all happened so quickly. She had been fine; I have no idea!"
"Do you think it was something in her drink?" Harry asked. "Do you think she might have been poisoned?"
Hermione shrugged helplessly. "She didn't respond to any of the healing spells I cast, but I have no idea what it was. It was either a potion or a very powerful curse because whatever it was, it certainly was not natural."
"She's dead," Malfoy said in a blank voice, and Harry turned to him in surprise, wondering what the blond was still doing there. Why had he not left the room with the others? "She's dead."
"Malfoy," Harry said, keeping his voice soft, "you shouldn't be here."
"But…" Malfoy sounded so lost, and Harry had to fight the strange urge to wrap an arm around him in comfort, "but this is my house."
"No," Harry shook his head, moving closer and giving in to the temptation by placing a hand on Malfoy's shoulder and gently starting to lead him from the room, "I meant you shouldn't be here, in this room. Let's get you out of here, yeah?"
Malfoy did not respond or attempt to pull away from the brunet, and Harry tightened his grip, hearing Hermione cast several more murmured spells behind them before trailing after the two men. Harry wondered where the others had gone but heard the sound of panicked voices spilling from an open doorway further along the hall. They entered the room to find everybody wide-eyed and frantic, several of them with specks of Hannah's blood dotting their skin and clothing.
Face blank, Malfoy drifted over to where the Slytherins all stood together, appearing just as frightened as everyone else. Harry couldn't seem to stop staring at Malfoy; no matter where he looked, his gaze continued to drift back to the stunned, silent man.
And no matter how hard he tried, Harry could not get the image of Hannah's convulsing body and gaping chest from his mind, just as he could not stop himself from wondering just what the hell had happened in that room.
TBC
A/N: And that is the first chapter down! Lemme know any thoughts, opinions, suspicions, hobbies, fears, secrets, hopes and dreams, life goals, anything you would like to share, really. The second chapter should be up soon!
p.s. I know that Zacharias was most likely not in Harry's year, 'cos even though it never actually says his year in the books, I'm pretty sure he was meant to be in the year below, buuut I really needed a character like him in this story. Plus, I just enjoy writing douchebags. They're the most fun kind of characters to write. And nobody out-douches Zacharias Smith. He is the King Joffrey of dickheads.
Double p.s. Just in case any of you were wondering, the title of this story is taken from a poem by my most darling and beloved Miss Emily Dickinson. And if any of you lovelies have read my first mystery, I know you know just how much I treasure and adore that brilliant woman and her brilliant, gloomy brain.
All but Death, can be Adjusted—
Dynasties repaired—
Systems—settled in their Sockets—
Citadels—dissolved—
Wastes of Lives—resown with Colors
By Succeeding Springs—
Death—unto itself—Exception—
Is exempt from Change—
"All but Death, can be Adjusted"—Emily Dickinson
