"It is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more attached to one another." —Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

ALL BUT DEATH

II

WE SHALL BE MONSTERS

"You goddamn bastards!" Smith shouted the moment the Slytherins entered the lounge. "Which one of you did it?! Which one of you killed her?!"

"If it was one of us," Zabini narrowed his eyes, "we must certainly be talented, hmm? Considering we weren't even fucking there last night."

"Like you lot don't know how to do Dark magic from a distance," Smith sneered, and Zabini took a step forward.

"If you really do believe we can kill her from so great a distance, maybe you shouldn't be so quick to anger us from only several meters away," the dark-skinned man said in a low voice, and Smith's eyes flashed in response.

"You all heard him threaten me!" he cried dramatically as he turned to the others, clearly expecting them to back him up.

"Christ, Smith," Michael Corner stepped forward, glaring at the blond, "I'm about ready to threaten you myself. Just shut up for once in your life already. None of them were there and you heard what Granger said about the wards on the room."

"Is this your confession then?" Smith glared right back. "Are you saying it was you who killed Brocklehurst?"

"You know," Ron interrupted loudly, "the more you continue to point fingers at others for no reason, Smith, the guiltier it makes you look."

"Are you seriously saying there's no reason to suspect the Slytherins?" Smith stared at him with incredulous eyes.

"Why the hell did you even come here then?" Parkinson snapped, stepping forward to stand next to Zabini. "Nobody forced you to! None of us even wanted you to!"

"And yet I still got an invitation," Smith shot back.

"And we're all definitely regretting that now," Michael said, sounding disgusted.

"Plenty of people got invitations who didn't show up," Zabini drawled. "You should have been selfless for once in your life and spared us all the misery of your fucking company. I mean, fuck, Smith, how do you honestly spend that much time with yourself? I would have taken my own wand to my head years ago if I had to hear the sound of your annoying fucking voice every time I opened my mouth."

"It's not too late," Smith growled, looking furious, "I can take my wand to your head for you right now."

"I meant what I said last night, Smith," Harry said quietly, stepping forward as well. "I will hex your mouth shut if I need to."

Smith turned his enraged eyes on Harry, opening his mouth to speak before he was cut off by the sound of Michael's voice. "Yeah, Smith, great idea, go ahead and goad Harry Potter. You do realize he's a trained Auror, don't you?"

"Yeah," Dean spoke up, sounding amused, "and you never did answer that question about how your dishwashing job is going. Let's see how that particular skill set faces off against the bloke who brought down You-Know-Who."

"Enough!" Hermione cut in, fixing everybody with a hard look, one that reminded Harry of her days as a prefect. "We are not going to start turning on one another! And, Zacharias," her expression sharpened, "you really do want to start thinking before you speak, especially in regard to the Slytherins. You do realize that until we are able to leave this house, you are entirely dependent on Draco Malfoy for essentials such as food, don't you?"

At her words, Smith's eyes widened, and Harry could tell he had truly not considered such a thing. Harry turned to find Zabini giving the Hufflepuff a smug look.

"So don't make us angry, Smith," he drawled, "because whether we're the killers or not, if you offend us, you either get murdered or you starve. Either way, you're not setting yourself up to win."

Harry looked to Malfoy, noting that blond was not saying a thing. The others continued to talk, all interrupting one another and cutting everybody else off, and Harry moved closer to Ron, tugging on his sleeve and gesturing toward the far wall. The two men crossed the room to speak in private, Harry keeping his voice low to not be overheard.

"The other Aurors should have been here by now," he said, glancing back at the crowd. "We should have had some sort of signal that they're here. But everything's been so quiet."

"Maybe they're still trying to break through the wards," Ron suggested uneasily. "Who knows how long that will take?"

"Malfoy," Harry called as softly as he could, nodding when the blond glanced over. He gestured for him to join the two Aurors, and confusion flashed across the man's face as he crossed the room to stand beside them. "Malfoy, can you tell if anyone has tried to get through the wards from the outside?"

"Yes, of course I can," he nodded. "But nobody has yet."

"Nobody?" Ron's voice was sharp. "Are you sure?"

The look Malfoy gave him spoke volumes. "Quite sure, Weasley, yes, considering I am the only one tuned in to them," he said dryly.

"Fuck," Harry swore. "Okay, then maybe Robards didn't get my Patronus last night. We'll both send one this time. And Hermione too. Your wards wouldn't prevent those being sent, would they?" He turned to Malfoy, watching the man's nose scrunch up in thought.

"I wouldn't think so, but it is possible, I suppose," he shrugged. "I've never actually seen one sent from inside the house, though, so I couldn't answer with complete certainty, but I doubt the wards would prevent such a thing. I've never had cause to wonder such a question before."

Ron suddenly grinned unexpectedly. "You can't cast a Patronus, can you, Malfoy?"

At the question, the blond grit his teeth. "What an astoundingly appropriate time for mockery, Weasley. Merlin, you certainly do know how to pick the best moments to be an arse, don't you? Your parents must be very proud of your extreme level of intelligence and tact."

Ron shrugged. "'Bout as appropriate a time for mockery as it is for sarcasm, yeah?"

"What's the situation on food, Malfoy?" Harry asked before the blond could reply to Ron; he did not want to be present for some ridiculous hair-pulling bickering between the two.

"It's fine for now," Malfoy answered, turning to Harry and pointedly ignoring Ron. "The kitchen was stocked right before the party, actually."

"What about house-elves?" Ron said suddenly, sounding excited. "They can Apparate through a lot of wards that wizards can't! They can go for help! They can—"

"No," Malfoy interrupted. "They can't."

"Yes they can," Ron frowned, "Dobby Apparated us out of here once before."

At the reminder of Dobby's death, Harry turned away, unwilling to allow his mind to stray down such a dark path at a time such as that; things were already bad enough without dwelling on the awful, painful past.

"Yes, he did," Malfoy agreed, giving Harry an odd, careful look, "but such a thing would not work again, considering I don't actually own any house-elves."

"What?" Ron sounded gobsmacked. "What do you mean you don't have house-elves? You have to have house-elves! I mean, fuck, look at your house! You used to have house-elves!"

"Yes," Malfoy said dryly, "emphasis on used to. All of them were killed during the war. Not a single one survived."

"Oh," Ron said in a subdued voice. "Right. Well, that plan won't work then. But who cooked the dinner last night?"

"I hired a company," said Malfoy, staring into the distance. "They prepared the food and set everything up and left before any of the guests arrived. There hasn't been a single house-elf on this property in nearly two years."

"What about owls?" Harry asked.

Malfoy sighed. "Yes, owls I have, but unfortunately, they're all kept on a different part of the estate in a building separate from this one. And I'm not sure how many of you tried the doors or windows last night, but we're completely trapped in the main house."

"Fuck," Ron swore, reaching up to rub his temples. "So, we can't use the Floo, we can't use an owl, we can't use the doors, we can't Apparate, and we can't send a Patronus. I have to say, Malfoy, this is the worst party I've ever been to."

Malfoy's mouth tightened as he dropped his gaze, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive move as though expecting to be attacked. "Trust me, Weasley," he muttered, "it hasn't exactly gone how I pictured it, either."

"I'm sorry, Malfoy," Harry said softly, not liking the way Malfoy seemed to hunch in on himself at the reminder that it had been him who had originally brought everyone into an environment that was quickly unfolding into a nightmare. "I know this is the exact opposite of what you wanted to achieve with this party."

Malfoy's head snapped up, gazing at Harry with wide eyes, and Harry was surprised to find that they were actually a pretty color, as far as eyes went. Harry had never really paid attention to a person's eye color before, despite how often strangers seemed to praise his own eye color. But Malfoy's eyes were the color of silver-tipped clouds at dawn, and Harry thought that was a much prettier color than his own plain green.

"Fuck, he's arguing with Hermione again," Ron sighed, sounding frustrated as he glanced past Malfoy, and Harry wondered how Ron was not also struck by the man's eye color. Had he not noticed? "I'll be back after I punch Smith in the face." He strode away, leaving Harry and Malfoy in a strange silence; Harry had no idea what to say.

"Do you really not think I'm the one responsible then?" Malfoy asked quietly, head tilted as he considered Harry.

"No," answered Harry honestly, "I know you're not. I don't believe it's any of you lot."

Malfoy's gaze intensified. "Why not?" he finally asked, studying Harry as though the brunet had been transfigured into an open textbook. "I'm not surprised that we would be everybody else's first suspects. So why don't you agree with them?"

Feeling uncomfortable from the scorching gaze still stabbing into him, Harry shrugged. "I dunno, I just…don't. I'm not saying it's because I suddenly trust the lot of you, but…I dunno. I saw your face last night when it happened, and I honestly don't believe you could have done something like that. I know you're not a killer, Malfoy, even when you had to be, let alone for some sort of sick sport."

Malfoy looked stunned; he looked shocked; he looked…Harry couldn't even think of a word strong enough to describe the other man's astonishment. He stared at Harry for nearly a full minute in absolute silence before opening his mouth to speak. "Well," he said weakly, "thank god there's at least one person left in this world who has not yet condemned me to hell."

Harry grinned, hoping to somehow lighten the tense atmosphere between them. "I don't think I ever said that, Malfoy."

Malfoy shook his head, grinning reluctantly. "I suppose my scores back down to zero then."

"Eh, think of this way," Harry's grin widened, "the three of us showed up, so you're still five Galleons richer than you were yesterday."

Harry had meant the words to be taken lightly, but at his comment, Malfoy's face fell, appearing closed off once more. "Yes," he muttered, "who needs to be liked when one has money, right?"

Harry frowned, shifting closer on instinct; he had not meant to upset the man. "Malfoy—"

"I better get back over there," Malfoy cut him off, turning back to eye the other Slytherins, "before Blaise decides to rip out Smith's tongue with his bare hands." Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode away from the brunet, leaving Harry feeling sad for some reason.

oOo

"We're all going to starve to death, aren't we?" Ron asked with a shake of his head as they trailed after Malfoy and the other Slytherins.

"Of course not, Ron," Hermione frowned. "Malfoy said that his kitchen is well stocked and I believe him."

"That's not the part I'm worried about," the redhead said. "No offense, Hermione, but I've tasted your cooking before."

"Yes, if only your mother could have been there to feed you instead," Hermione responded wryly, and Harry chuckled.

"Yeah, exactly my point!" Ron snapped his fingers. "I don't cook, you don't cook, Harry doesn't cook—"

"Excuse me, I can cook!" Harry cut in, feeling offended. "I'm a bloody decent cook!"

"Are you?" Ron sounded surprised—insultingly surprised. "I've never seen you cook! You practically live off takeaways!"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Well, that's because I don't like to cook." He hoped that Ron would not ask why—years of cooking for the Dursleys had left him with decent cookery skills, but it was not something he enjoyed doing now that he wasn't constantly being ordered to.

"I never knew that about you," Ron shrugged, still sounding surprised. "Well, we learn new things every day, don't we?"

"It's not like we'll have to cook every single meal," Hermione said. "We're going to take it in shifts until we can figure out a way out of here. For now, I think we should keep it simple. I'm not sure how much people are really going to want to eat after what happened earlier this morning."

"Here it is," Malfoy announced, coming to a stop outside a plain-looking chestnut door. He twisted the bronze handle and pushed open the door to reveal the kitchen, and the three Gryffindors stepped inside, staring around in interest. It was a high-ceilinged room with several windows cut into the beige walls, showing a view of the flint-colored skies above. A long, scrubbed oak table stood near a black iron stove, possibly the largest stove Harry had ever seen. Two tall cabinets stood on either side of the stove, loaded with delicate, fancy-looking dishware and gleaming copper pots. A large wooden knife rack sat perched on one of the cabinet shelves, holding an array of sharp, lethal-looking knives.

At the sight of the knives, Harry turned to Hermione. "Should we really be giving everyone access to those?" he asked in a low voice, nodding toward the knife rack. "We still don't know who to trust or who to even suspect."

She eyed the knives in silence for several long seconds. "I don't see what they could do with a knife that they couldn't also do with their wands. Perhaps we'll simply have to keep strict track of the number of knives there are and count them before and after every meal shift. And besides," she gestured toward the wall at the head of the table, where a long row of black pans hung, "you can just as easily kill someone with one of those frying pans as you can with a knife."

"So, you're saying kitchens are basically murder traps?" Ron asked, drifting forward to peer inside a drawer of the cabinet; by the metallic clinking, Harry guessed it to be a silverware drawer.

"No, Ronald," Hermione sighed, "that's not what I'm saying at all. Kitchen tools are not the only things that can be turned into weapons; most objects have that capability."

"Yeah, Weasley," Zabini cut in, turning to the Gryffindors with a smirk, "she's saying that people are murder traps, not the room they happen to be in at the time."

"Let's just get this over with," Parkinson said, shooting the stove a dirty look. "God, I hate cooking. All that measuring and chopping reminds me of Potions. And you all remember how much I hated that class."

"You too, eh?" Ron grinned. "I thought it was only the three of us."

"I didn't hate the class," Hermione objected.

"Just the dickhead teacher," Ron finished for her. "Can't blame you there, he was definitely the most bastardy professor in the school."

"Don't," Harry and Malfoy both said simultaneously, and everyone turned to them in surprise. Malfoy shot Harry a complicated look before crossing the room to a large wooden icebox and beginning to pull food out.

"I assume everyone is fine with making a simple fry-up," he called over his shoulder, emerging with several tomatoes and a tin of pale mushrooms.

"Didn't know you'd ever eaten a fry-up in your life," Ron said casually, leaning back against a cabinet as he watched Malfoy continue to pile ingredients on the table.

"Normally not, but we seem to be out of pheasant," Malfoy deadpanned. "And it looks like we're short on swan as well, so I suppose I'll have to make do with a fry-up." Ron snorted loudly and Malfoy shook his head. "Did you not hear me when I said that there hasn't been a house-elf in the Manor for nearly two years? How do you think I ate, Weasley?"

"You're saying you can cook?" Ron raised both eyebrows at that. "You can cook?"

"Yes, I can fucking cook," Malfoy snapped. "And since you seem to be the most useless in a kitchen out of everyone here, you can be the one to wash the vegetables. Blaise, you and Pansy cut everything up. Granger will measure and proportion everything correctly. Potter and I will do the actual cooking, seeing as how we're the only ones capable of actually succeeding in creating anything edible. Tracey and Theo will get all the appropriate dishes and silverware out and help dish the food when it's ready."

His words were met with silence. "I meant now," he said with a roll of his eyes, crossing the room to fetch two large frying pans down from the wall, handing one to Harry. Everyone began to move into their assigned roles, and Malfoy moved closer to speak to Harry. "Now, Potter, I mostly cook with magic, but I'm assuming you'll want Muggle utensils to cook with, yes?"

"You have Muggle utensils?" Harry asked in shock.

Malfoy rolled his eyes again. "Muggle cookery utensils are not strictly Muggle, you know. I only refer to them as such because they don't have the option of cooking with magic. I, however, find it easier. But since you have the choice, which do you prefer?"

"Er, the utensils," said Harry, still feeling surprised. Malfoy gestured to a drawer on the far left of the long table, and Harry pulled everything he felt he would need from it, turning to find that Malfoy had procured a slim bottle of amber oil and had drizzled the bottoms of both pans with the liquid.

Cooking with Draco Malfoy, Harry thought to himself, unsure what to make of the situation, who the hell would ever have predicted this?

oOo

"So what does that mean?" Dean frowned, crossing his arms as he stared between Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They had all finished eating several minutes ago and the group was still sat in the informal dining room, the larger formal dining room sealed off now that it held the dead body of one of their classmates.

"It means," Hermione sighed, "that we're not sure how long we'll be here."

"You said one night!" Goldstein said loudly, shooting dark looks around the room they were sat in. "We did one night and someone died for it! I can't do another one in this house! You said one!"

"Yes," Hermione said, and Harry could hear her trying her hardest to remain patient, "but that was before we were fully aware of the situation. We have no way of contacting anybody from the outside world. Harry, Ron, and I have all tried to send out a Patronus, but they don't seem to be making it to the Auror department."

"So we're stuck here forever?" Seamus demanded, exchanging a look with Dean.

"No, not forever," she responded, glancing around at everyone. "Sooner or later they're going to start noticing that we're all missing and when they do, someone will trace at least one of us to Malfoy Manor."

"Yeah, Seamus," Parvati said with a shaky smile, "someone's bound to notice when Harry doesn't show up at work. He's going to be the first of us to be reported missing, and someone will definitely come for him. The entire Auror department will come for him."

Harry frowned and dragged a hand through his hair. "I didn't actually tell anybody I was coming here, though. And we all had to bring the invitations along to get through the Manor wards, so I don't know what they could actually trace anyone here with. Not to mention that the wards on my flat are pretty damn thick, so it might take them some time to even get inside if I'm the one they're going to be focusing on."

"Oh," she said quietly, shaky smile vanishing.

"But there are a lot of us here," he continued, regretting his earlier words, "so the department will know that something is up when we all get reported missing at the same time."

"Yeah, Parvati," Dean said with a gentle grin, "the wards on mine and Seamus's flat are rubbish, so if either of us gets reported missing, they'll definitely be able to get inside. And I wrote down the date of the party on our calendar, which they'll definitely find. Along with Seamus's porn collection."

Ron snorted. "See?" he said, gesturing toward the dark-skinned man. "We'll get out of here in no time thanks to Dean's shoddy wards. So thanks, Dean, for being an unparanoid trusting bastard."

"Selflessness is why I was put in Gryffindor," he replied with another grin.

"Anyway," Hermione said loudly, glancing between the two men with an air of exasperation, "I think the main thing here is to work out certain details. I think we should come up with a schedule for meal shifts; I've already taken inventory of everything in the kitchen that could be used for a weapon, which will be checked before and after every shift. I also think it would be a good idea to establish a partner system. Everybody picks one person to be responsible for, and they, in turn, are responsible for you. We don't go anywhere without our partners; I do not want a single person wandering around on their own."

Seamus and Dean both turned to one another at the same time, saying "Partner?" and laughing. Harry saw Padma and Parvati immediately clutch at one another, as did Ron and Hermione, and the sight made Harry feel lonely.

Glancing over at the Slytherins, he was surprised to see Zabini and Parkinson standing together, holding hands. Harry would have assumed that one of them would have paired themselves with Malfoy; was he not still dating Parkinson? But no, the way she was gazing at Zabini, as though she trusted him with her life, made Harry begin to suspect that no, perhaps she was not involved with Draco Malfoy any longer.

Malfoy shot them an unhappy glance, and Harry understood the feeling all too well. It didn't feel too great being the one left out. He noticed that Davis and Nott appeared to have paired themselves together as well, and Harry took a breath before striding over to Malfoy, wondering why he was feeling so nervous about approaching the other man.

"Hey," he said quietly, and Malfoy turned to him in surprise. "Er, it looks like we both got left out a bit by our friends. You wanna pair up?"

The surprise on Malfoy's face grew more pronounced. "You—you really want to be paired up with me?"

"Stranger things have happened, haven't they?" Harry shrugged, aiming for casual and missing the mark by several miles. "And I know you're not the killer, so…"

Malfoy's gaze was nearly intense enough to scorch; it reminded Harry of the heat from the large stove in the kitchen earlier, hot enough to sear the flesh from his bones if he got too close.

"All right, Potter," he said in a soft voice, continuing to study Harry's face. "I suppose I'm willing to accept responsibility for someone as brash as yourself."

A grin slid across Harry's face before he even had time to register his amusement. "And I'm willing to accept responsibility for someone as pretentious as yourself."

Malfoy grinned back. "God, we really are selfless people, aren't we?"

Harry chuckled. "Not as selfless as whoever gets paired with Smith."

At that, Malfoy laughed, and Harry felt oddly pleased with himself at the sound.

"All right," Hermione called, and the two men turned their attention onto her, "is everybody paired up then?" Murmurs of agreement were heard around the room. "Okay, I'm going to write all the partnerships down so we're all aware of who is responsible for whom." From somewhere in her robes she pulled a small notebook and a Muggle biro free, flipping open to a blank page and beginning to walk around the room writing names down.

"Any idea so far who's behind this?" Malfoy murmured after Hermione had written their names down with only a single strange look between the two men.

The question made Harry sigh. "Honestly? No idea. I really can't see anyone in this room being a murderer."

"And yet…" Malfoy trailed off, and Harry sighed again.

"And yet," he agreed.

"Okay," Hermione said, walking back to the center of the room. "I have everyone written down. I'll read the names off so we all know who's partnered together. The pairs are Ron and me, Padma and Parvati, Seamus and Dean, Lisa and Susan, Michael and Anthony, Tracey and Theodore, Blaise and Pansy, Stephen and Terry, Justin and Neville, Zacharias and Kevin,"—Harry noticed that Kevin did not look particularly pleased by this—"and Harry and Draco." There was more than one gasp of shock at the final two names, making Harry want to roll his eyes. How much of a surprise could it really have been? They were the very last names to be mentioned, of course they were paired together. "So, now that we have partners, we don't go anywhere without them, agreed?" More murmurs of agreement sounded, and Hermione appeared satisfied.

Malfoy cleared his throat and everyone turned to him with narrowed, wary eyes as he stepped forward to speak. "There are several baths and showers throughout the house, if anyone would care to freshen up." More than one expression shifted into surprise at the offer, but Harry noticed even more morph into blatant suspicion, and he wanted to snap at them all. Malfoy was feeding them and allowing them the comfort of cleaning up, and they were still searching for ulterior motives behind his every word. "All of the bathrooms have gas lamps on either side of the doors so you can always tell which rooms they are."

"Thank you, Draco," Hermione said, nodding to the blond, and Harry was not the only one to look at her in surprise. A moment later, however, and he thought he might just understand. By referring to everyone by their given name instead of their surnames, Harry thought she might be trying to erase the distance between them that last names gave. She was most likely trying to establish the basis for trust in the simplest way she knew how, although Harry knew that trusting another person was not as easy as calling them by their first name. "Okay," she continued, "I want everyone on the first half of the list who did not help cook the food to take the dishes down to the kitchen and wash everything. We'll rotate separate cleaning and cooking shifts. The rest of you can go wash up first and then the second group can wash up after the kitchen and the dishes are clean."

As she began to divide the remaining people into two groups, one to clear everything away and one to wash up, Harry caught Ron's attention and jerked his head. Ron wandered over, keeping one eye on the group near Hermione to make sure everybody was following her directions.

"I think we should go check out where Mandy was killed," Harry said in a low voice. "Look for any sort of clues we can find, any spell residue, sign of a struggle, anything. I want to know how she was taken from her bed and killed all the way on the other side of the dining room without anybody hearing anything."

"Right," Ron nodded. "We're gonna need Hermione for most of that then. God, this is gonna be tricky without the other Aurors. We're not usually the ones who deal with those sorts of in-depth details about a case, are we?"

"What, they don't train Aurors to know how to check for those sorts of things?" Malfoy asked in surprise, and Harry glanced over, not even realizing that he had followed the two Gryffindors.

"No, they do," Harry shrugged. "They give all Aurors an overall level of training, but there are different subdivisions within the Auror department who focus on different areas, and you're given much more in-depth training for whatever subdivision you're placed in. Ron and I are much more field agents than anything. We're certainly not trained in forensics."

"Yeah," Ron wrinkled his nose. "I hardly even know where the lab is, let alone any of the work that goes into what they do there."

"Well," Malfoy frowned, "it's a good thing we have Granger here, then, isn't it?"

"Definitely a good thing," Ron agreed, turning to watch as Hermione finished separating everyone into two groups.

"We all need to work together while we're here," Hermione said, glancing at every single person in the room in turn. "I know that not all of us are close and have not all gotten along in the past, but we're all stuck in the same situation now and the only way we'll be able to get through this is as a group. If we allow our fear to get the better of us, I doubt a single one of us will make it out of here unscathed. We cannot allow fear to control us or allow paranoia to win, because all those two things will do is drive every one of us apart and make us easier targets. So there will be no fighting whilst we're here, does everybody understand?" She pinned everybody into place with a hard look, refusing to let up or speak until everyone had murmured an affirmation. "Good. Everybody sticks with their partners then."

Turning her back on the group, she walked over to where the three men stood together. "We need to go look at Mandy's body," she said without preamble, and the three men nodded.

"Yes, Potter here was just saying the same thing," Malfoy said.

"Let's go now then," Hermione sighed, "while everybody else is busy doing something. I don't want them following out of morbid curiosity or in a misguided attempt at helping. I think the details should be kept between the three of us. Oh," she continued as Malfoy opened his mouth, "and you as well, I suppose, Draco, seeing as you're Harry's partner and are now responsible for looking out for him."

Malfoy gave her a strange look but nodded, gesturing for her to lead the way.

oOo

Mandy was even worse than Harry remembered, and he was glad that he had hardly touched any of the food he had helped prepare. Her skin had noticeably paled, her limbs looking stiff and cold to the touch, and Harry could see the bottoms of Mandy's hands and arms beginning to purple as gravity pulled all the blood left in her body in the direction of the earth.

"Based on her body's current temperature versus the current temperature of the room, as well as the stage of rigor mortis her body is in at the moment," Hermione said, momentarily lit up by the blue flash from her wand as she continued casting diagnostic spells, "I would guess she's been dead around six hours, maybe seven."

At her conclusion, Harry shuddered. "You're saying that we were all asleep with the body of a dead girl within plain sight for over three hours and none of us noticed a thing?"

"Yes," Hermione said, brow furrowed. "And there are definite traces of magic on her, so this was definitely a spell. I just can't tell which one."

"Does it matter?" Malfoy asked, gazing down at Mandy with a sickened expression.

"Yes," Hermione responded. "If this was a simple severing charm or a standard slicing spell, then everyone is still a suspect because everybody here knows the spells and are capable of casting them. But if it was a more powerful, lesser-known spell, it would help remove some of those names from the list."

"Right," Malfoy said, turning away from the sight.

"Were any of her organs damaged, Hermione?" Harry wondered, leaning in. "Or was it just the skin?"

"It doesn't look like any of the organs were lacerated," Hermione said thoughtfully, bending down to peer closer. "So based on that, I would say this would most likely be a severing charm as opposed to a stronger curse, albeit a rather strong severing charm."

Harry hummed, looking down at the mound of organs bulging from the gaping cavity in Mandy's abdomen. Intestines were strung across her lap and hanging from the open wound in thick slimy ropes, all varying shades of pale and dark, reminding Harry of the color and texture of flobberworms. The intestines were discolored in places and looked wet to the touch, making Harry want to recoil at the same time he could not turn away from the sight. He could see the glistening, rounded lower half of an organ that he assumed to be her stomach dangling just above the grotesque mess spilling from her body.

"So," Hermione continued, rising to her feet; Harry copied her and stood as well. "Out of everyone who was in that room last night, I know that it was not any of the three of us who killed her. That leaves us with Seamus, Dean, Parvati, Padma, Susan, Lisa, Stephen, Zacharias, Terry, Michael, Anthony, Kevin, Justin, and Neville."

"You don't actually think Neville did it, do you?" Harry asked skeptically.

"No, of course not," Hermione sighed. "But I would say the same thing about the rest of the list as well."

"Justin was talking to Hannah only a few minutes before she died," Harry said, thinking back to the previous night. "And both Michael and Anthony were standing next to her."

"Smith was standing pretty close to her as well," Malfoy pointed out.

"There's no other way inside this room other than these three entrances, right, Draco?" Hermione turned to him, gesturing around the room. He shook his head. "I warded all of them pretty heavily last night. So for now, I think we can ignore what everyone else is saying about the Slytherins and focus on the ones who were inside this room last night when it was warded shut."

"Okay," Malfoy said, and Harry heard relief in his voice. "Thank you. For giving us the benefit of the doubt."

Hermione gave him a wry half-smile. "I really don't believe you would have tricked us all here to kill us off one-at-a-time whilst also locking yourselves inside the house with us."

"Well, I'm glad we invited at least one person able to keep their cool in a situation such as this and think everything through rationally," he said, and Hermione's half-smile twitched wider at the compliment.

"Hey," Harry protested, "I haven't accused any of you lot either!"

"No," Malfoy said in an odd tone, turning to give Harry a strange look, "you haven't, Potter."

"Is there anything else you can tell from her body, Hermione?" Harry turned back to Mandy's corpse, feeling oddly flushed from the gaze Malfoy was still leveling him with.

"I honestly don't know," she said grimly, turning to face Mandy as well. "I am certainly no forensic, so I only have a basic idea of what to check for. But as far as I can tell from my rudimentary examination, I can guess that she died sometime between three and four a.m. There are traces of a spell in the air around her, which I'm guessing to be a silencing charm, which would explain why none of us heard her die. The beds were Transfigured, so there's no point checking the area around the one she slept in for traces of any spells used since it will show positive signs of magic due to the Transfiguration spells. And there's no point in checking for traces of foreign magic on either her or the bed since I never received the training to track or even read a magical signature." She sounded frustrated with herself, as though she should always have every single answer for every question. Ron came up behind her, placing both hands on her shoulders in comfort.

"I checked the other doors like you wanted, Hermione," he said quietly, glancing back the way he had just come from, "and the wards are all still there. You said you only took down the one ward, right? To let us out of the room after we found her?"

She nodded, gaze drifting between Mandy's body and the exits.

"Well, the other two doors are still warded," Ron finished, frowning.

"And the one I unwarded this morning was very much still warded before I took it down," she said softly. "It really was someone in this room then that did it."

Harry swore. "But why? Why would someone do that? And to Hannah and Mandy? Did they even have any enemies? Ever, at all, for any reason? I don't think I ever even heard Mandy speak before the party last night! And Hannah's got to be the nicest person I've ever met! This doesn't make any sense!"

"Maybe it had nothing to do with them," Malfoy said, voice quiet. "Maybe they were chosen randomly, or maybe they were specifically picked because of all those reasons you just listed—maybe whoever did it was simply aiming for the highest shock value. Maybe that's why someone like Smith wasn't killed last night. Because unless he's the guilty one, I don't think there's a single person here whom he has not upset or offended at least once in the past. But those two girls never upset anyone, and nobody would have expected them to be the first to die, would they?"

"So you're saying you expect another person to die?" Ron raised an eyebrow.

"I'm saying we'll then know for a fact that this is about us as a group and not them as individuals," Malfoy said dryly. "Two is coincidence, but three makes a pattern."

"You're right," Hermione agreed. "I agree that this is going to happen again, and probably sooner rather than later. I—"

But before she could finish her statement, she was cut off by the sound of screaming, high-pitched and hysterical and growing louder.

"Oh, god," Harry whispered, and without another word, all four of them turned and sprinted from the room.

TBC