"But we who live in prison, and in whose lives there is no event but sorrow, have to measure time by throbs of pain, and the record of bitter moments. We have nothing else to think of. Suffering ― curious as it may sound to you ― is the means by which we exist, because it is the only means by which we become conscious of existing; and the remembrance of suffering in the past is necessary to us as the warrant, the evidence, of our continued identity." —Oscar Wilde
ALL BUT DEATH
III
NO EVENT BUT SORROW
"Where's it coming from?" Harry shouted as they ran down the corridor in the direction of the screams. The blood was thundering in his ears and his heart was hammering in his chest and everything around him appeared unnaturally sharp and in focus.
"Draco!" a voice suddenly called, and everyone turned to find Theodore Nott standing in an open doorway, panting. "It—it's Tracey! She—she—"
"Take us," Malfoy ordered, and without another word, Nott turned and hurried off, the others following close behind.
"Oh, god," Harry gasped, realizing where they were going the moment they reached a familiar set of steep steps leading down a familiar darkened stairwell. "She's in the cellar."
He and Ron both exchanged a weighted glance, and Harry saw Ron take a deep breath before he started down the steps after Hermione. Creeping fingers of panic and fear were beginning to slither a path through Harry's veins, making him feel cold and alone, as though his insides had somehow turned to thick fog and he had become lost within the obscure darkness of himself. The room was filling with fog, and he couldn't seem to find anyone else. Where had everyone gone?
Reminding himself that he was not alone and that everything horrible that had happened in the cellar of the house they were in had happened years ago, Harry took a deep breath and threw himself down the stairs after the others, careful not to trip and tumble down the steep steps. He reached the bottom to find everyone halted in place, wands lit as they gazed around the room.
"Where is she?" Harry demanded, raising his wand higher.
Nott pointed to a corner of the pitch-black room, and Harry wandered over slowly, unsure of what exactly he was about to stumble across and preparing himself for the worst. Suddenly, a blinding ball of light was floating up near the ceiling, illuminating the entire room, and Harry cast a quiet Nox on his own wand, assuming it was Hermione who had cast the brighter light spell. He saw Tracey huddled near the walls as he continued approaching, but he could not see any blood. What had happened?
Without warning, her head snapped around at the sound of his footsteps and he halted uncertainly. Her face was tear-streaked and eyes wide and horrified, but she was still alive and Harry was confused. If she hadn't been the one killed, then what had happened to make her scream like that?
"What happened, Nott?" Ron asked, sounding as confused as Harry felt. "I thought you said she had been attacked?"
"No," Nott answered in a low voice. "We were down here, and—"
"What were you doing down here?" Malfoy asked sharply, looking between Davis and Nott before shooting Harry an odd glance.
"We were looking for wine," Nott admitted, sounding unapologetic. "But I forgot how fucking huge your cellar is, so Tracey and I split up to look for it. And she…"
"What happened?" Hermione asked, and at the question, Tracey jumped to her feet and flung herself into Nott's arms, who looked a bit surprised but hugged her back.
"In there," he said in a quiet voice, tightening his hold on Davis as he gestured with his chin further down a narrow adjoining hallway from the main room they were in.
Wands out, Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way down the hallway and into a low-ceilinged stone room, flickering shadows dancing across the walls from the small orb of white light floating above Hermione's head. Dozens of oak casks of what Harry assumed to hold wine were stacked against the walls, directly behind what Harry could only describe as a blood-soaked pile of corpses.
"Oh my fucking hell," Ron breathed, falling back a step at the sight.
Relighting his wand, Harry bent down low to see if any of the faces were familiar, peering closely at the maimed pile. At the bottom of the stack was a man lying face-down in a small pool of dried blood, and Harry could see an arm sticking out of the pile that was stained with so much blood he could honestly not even tell the color of the skin. A woman was lying on her back near the top of the pile, arms flung out and fingers nearly touching the floor. Her eyes were half-open and glassy as they stared up at the three of them; the skin of her face had purpled from the way her head hung down, onyx hair falling like a sheet toward the ground, tips brushing the stone floor of the cellar. Her fingertips had reddened and bruised from the pull of blood through her body after her death, and Harry had trouble removing his eyes from the sight. A man lay beneath her, head pillowed on the thigh of another, and Harry could guess from his mangled, scarlet-soaked neck that his throat had been slit messily. Another man was lying in the middle of the stack face-down, a large open wound on the side of his head, temple crusted with dried blood the color of crimson-tinged clay. His mouth was hanging slightly open, and Harry could see the sight of broken teeth and bloodied gums nearly hidden behind indigo lips. A woman lying beneath him had a dark bruise covering an entire cheekbone, one side of her face looking oddly flat and misshapen, as though she had been struck with something hard.
Making a quick circle around the pile, Harry did not recognize any of the faces he could see. And from what he could see of the corpses, they all appeared to be significantly older than the three Gryffindors, all appearing to be at least one, even two or three decades older than everyone else who had been killed. Who the hell were these people?
A loud gasp from behind had Harry whirling around to find Malfoy standing in the doorway gazing at the pile in horror, and Harry watched as he stumbled back out into the narrow hallway, hitting the nearest wall and sinking to the floor.
"Do you know who they are?" Hermione asked quietly, looking down at Malfoy.
Slowly, still appearing horrified, Malfoy nodded.
"Who are they?" she prodded in a gentle voice.
"They—they were here last night," he breathed, and Harry wondered if the man might sick up right there. "They were the ones I told you about, the company I had hired to prepare the food. I thought they had all left…they were supposed to stay and clean everything up after the party, but I didn't see them again after everything had been set up and had assumed that they had simply left and would be back in a few hours to clean everything then. But…"
"Is there a reason they're all down in the cellar?" Ron wondered, glancing at the bodies in open disgust. "I mean, was there a reason they would have been down here? Or were they moved down here after they were killed?"
"Maybe they were brought down here to be killed," Harry said quietly.
"But who would have known they were here?" Hermione mused, glancing at the corpses. "Were they killed on purpose, or had they perhaps witnessed something somebody didn't want them to see?"
"Malfoy, how long was the window between when they finished setting up and when the first guests started to arrive?" Harry asked, kneeling down to look him in the eye.
Malfoy stared at him blankly, and Harry reached out to place a careful hand on his shin, hoping his touch would snap the man out of his shock. The moment his hand touched Malfoy, the blond sucked in a sharp breath and seemed to shake himself from his daze. "A few minutes," he whispered, "not very long at all. They set up the dinner and while we were eating, they were meant to move to the ballroom and set up the drinks in there, which they did. But since I was at the dinner and then moved to the ballroom with everybody else, I never saw them again and had thought them to have relocated to the kitchen to wait out the party. But when they never resurfaced after our initial panic, I assumed that they had simply left last night and had not been able to get back in once the house had trapped us."
"How could this many people be murdered in a house full of people and none of us heard a damn thing?" Ron asked, turning his back on the bodies.
"You mean like how Mandy was killed in a room full of people and none of us heard that either?" Harry pointed out, and Ron sighed.
"Yeah, just like that."
"Was there anyone missing from dinner last night?" Hermione said in a sharp voice. "Or anyone who arrived late?"
"Cornfoot," Malfoy shrugged. "He only arrived right as dinner was ending."
"Stephen?" Hermione mused, appearing to think the name over.
"Finch-Fletchley!" Malfoy said suddenly, head snapping up. "He didn't show up until after dinner was over and we had already moved to the ballroom!"
At that, Hermione appeared interested. "And who was the first to arrive?"
"Well, the other four Slytherins, of course," Malfoy said, dropping his gaze back down to the floor. "Blaise and Pansy were both here for most of the day, and Tracey and Theo showed up a few hours before everyone else arrived."
"Did they show up together?" Hermione pressed, pulling out her notebook and beginning to jot notes down on a blank page.
"No," Malfoy shook his head. "Separate."
"Okay, and then who?"
"I think it was Corner and Goldstein next, and then the Patils, maybe? I'm not sure if they arrived before or after Thomas and Finnigan, it was all within a few minutes of each other. And then it was the three of you. After that, I have no idea of the order."
"All right," Hermione nodded, tucking her notebook away and turning back to the corpses with a heavy sigh. "Well, I already checked, and there are definitely magical traces still lingering on the bodies, but that doesn't tell us if they were killed with magic or moved here with magic. I wish I could tell which, because there are a few people here whom I know would not think to kill using Muggle means."
"Unless they would because they know they wouldn't be suspected for it," Ron said with a shrug. "Maybe they were trying to kill them in a way that would never be associated with them."
"Good point," Hermione conceded, and Ron looked pleased with himself for a moment before glancing back at the bodies and frowning.
"Can you identify the bodies, Malfoy?" Ron asked, still frowning at the pile of corpses.
Malfoy looked up at him with a lost expression on his face. "Identify them?"
"Yes," Hermione said softly. "How many caterers were here last night?"
Malfoy thought for a moment. "There were six of them. Compared to what their company normally does, this was a relatively small party, so not many people were required for the preparations."
As he spoke, Harry pulled his hand away and rose to his feet, staring at the corpses as he wondered if anyone would be missing. What would it mean if all the caterers were there in that pile?
Hermione nodded. "And there are six corpses here. Do you remember what they all looked like?"
Malfoy nodded. "I was careful when I hired this company. I don't like strangers coming in and out of my home."
Without any prompting, Malfoy pushed himself to his feet, taking a deep breath before stepping closer to the pile of bodies. He circled it slowly, bending close to peer at each face, even pulling out his wand to levitate the bodies stacked on top in order to see the ones on the bottom more clearly.
"This is them," he finally said in a low voice. "All six of them are here." As he spoke, he backed out of the room, falling back against the same wall he had been leaning against earlier. Harry placed one hand on his shoulder in comfort, somewhat surprised when Malfoy did not shake it off.
"Great," Ron sighed. "I was hoping one of them would be missing and the mystery of the killer would be solved, but I forgot the universe apparently hates us all and wants us to suffer."
"So now we have fewer answers and only more questions?" Harry raised one eyebrow at Hermione, not moving his hand from Malfoy's shoulder.
"It appears that way," she sighed. "I think we just need more time to think it all over and space with which to do that. For now, I think we should get out of here and check on Tracey."
Nodding, Ron followed her from the room, leaving Harry and Malfoy alone near a pile of blood-soaked bodies.
"Are you all right?" Harry asked softly, noticing that his hand was still on Malfoy's shoulder, whose eyes had glazed over with the same blank look from earlier. "Draco?"
At the sound of his given name, Malfoy's eyes cleared and his head snapped up, staring at Harry in shock.
"Come on, Draco," Harry said, keeping his voice low. "I think we should get out of here too."
The blond nodded slowly, still staring at Harry without blinking. Harry squeezed Malfoy's shoulder in comfort, letting his touch linger for several more seconds before finally dropping his hand.
"Come on," Harry repeated, leading the other man from the room. "Let's get out of this place."
oOo
"We need to get out of this place, Hermione," Harry said in a low voice, panting.
"What do you think we've just spent the last hour trying to do, Harry?" She shot him a pointed look as she took a deep breath. "Nothing is working! The windows will not break. Reducto has no effect on the doors, either! We can't Apparate, the Floo still isn't working, and we've sent dozens of Patronuses! I've tried Vanishing the walls, I've tried Transfiguring the walls, I've tried spells I could be suspended from the DMLE for using! I honestly don't know what else we can try at this point!"
"Not all of those are new, you know," Malfoy spoke up, and Harry turned to face him, noting that the blond still looked blank. "There are specific wards on both the windows and the doors to keep them from breaking as well as to keep anyone from entering the house through anything but the front door."
"Yeah, that seems to have backfired a bit," Ron muttered, rolling his shoulders with a grimace.
Malfoy said nothing, dropping his gaze to the floor, and Harry wanted to reassure him that any previously placed wards on the house were not his fault.
"But the front door is now warded just as heavily," Hermione frowned.
"When was the last time it was opened?" Harry wondered, stepping closer to Malfoy. "You said that Justin was the last person to arrive at the party, didn't you?"
"Yes," Malfoy nodded. "But I wasn't the one who answered the door. It was charmed to open upon the visitor presenting their invitation."
"Yes, just like the gates," Hermione mused.
"What if it wasn't really them?" Ron asked, shooting the front door a hard look. They were stood in the grand foyer, layers of Hermione's silencing charms draped over the four of them as they all took turns trying unsuccessfully to convince the front door to open. "What if someone else managed to get a hold of one of the invitations? What if they even came here looking like one of us?"
"You think someone here is under Polyjuice?" Harry wasn't quite sure what to make of the idea. On one hand, he much preferred the idea that it was not actually anybody in their year committing the murders; on the other hand, he really, really hated the idea that some unknown person was committing the same murders hidden behind another person's face. How would they ever figure out if that was true? They couldn't watch everybody at all times to make sure they weren't drinking from mysterious flasks like they had seen the fake Mad-Eye doing throughout fourth year.
"There might be a simple way to find out," Hermione shrugged, taking a step forward and pulling out her wand. "Accio Polyjuice Potion!"
They all seemed to hold their breath as they waited, the silence feeling tense and hanging heavy in the air as nothing happened. Nothing zoomed toward Hermione, nothing slapped into her hand; Harry could not even hear anything approaching.
"Of course," she frowned, "that doesn't necessarily mean there is no Polyjuice in the house. There are spells to prevent objects from being summoned."
"Incredibly difficult spells," Malfoy pointed out. "You would essentially have to ward the object against being summoned, but in order for those wards to work, you would have to spell it in the exact same way that the caster was attempting to summon it." Raising his wand, he said loudly, "Accio container the Polyjuice Potion is in!"
"Clever," Hermione said approvingly, offering him a smile. Harry couldn't help but smile at the pleased expression that Malfoy tried to keep hidden at her praise.
But nothing zoomed toward them.
"Maybe it's not Polyjuice," Harry sighed. "I mean, they would have had to bring an entire massive supply with them, wouldn't they? And it's not like they could make the potion here, that stuff takes a bloody month! Even a week's supply of Polyjuice is too much to be able to sneak in."
"Plus they would need somewhere to make it," Ron added, but Malfoy shook his head.
"I have a potions lab here, of course. It's on this floor."
"You have your own potions lab?" Hermione breathed, looking at him with impressed eyes. "I had to expand one of my closets to make enough room to fit everything I would need to brew, but it's still hardly anything!"
"It's bigger than your bedroom," Ron pointed out, and Harry chuckled.
"Do the two of you not live together?" Malfoy asked in surprise, and the couple shook their heads.
"Nah, Hermione lives alone," the redhead answered. "Her bloody books take up too much room and I would never have fit." She rolled her eyes as he sniggered. "I live with George and Lee near their shop. I'll stay over sometimes when Hermione manages to find her furniture beneath all the books she owns." He nudged her playfully with one elbow, earning a reluctant smile.
"You and Potter don't live together?" The confusion in Malfoy's voice had only deepened.
Harry shook his head with a grin. "I couldn't deal with how loudly Ron chews his food."
It was Hermione's turn to snigger at that.
"And I can't deal with how much of that tolly stuff Harry watches," Ron wrinkled his nose as Harry laughed.
"Telly, Ron," he corrected.
"Yeah, whatever," the other man rolled his eyes. "All I know is that it gives me a headache. I dunno how you bloody watch it all the time. It makes me love Hermione even more for being raised by Muggles and never feeling the need to own a tolly box."
"Television box, Ronald," Hermione sighed fondly.
"Yeah, whatever," he emphasized. "Tolly boxes,"—both Hermione and Harry rolled their eyes at him—"are these evil things, Malfoy, that all Muggles are addicted to. They can only go so long without staring at one or they go mad. I once saw a man in the tolly talking about how evil tolly was and how it rots the brain or something! But the only way you could hear how evil tolly is is by watching it to find out how evil the thing is! Barking mad, I tell you." Ron shook his head. "The tolly boxes are like these big, square…well," he paused to scratch his head, "boxes, really, with these tiny people trapped inside who spend all their time killing each other."
"Do they get to go free if they're the last ones left?" Malfoy wondered curiously, eyes narrowing as Hermione and Harry laughed at him.
"I dunno, I try not to look," Ron shrugged. "The ways they kill each other are disgusting. But they have entire worlds inside the tollies, like entire miniature worlds. I have no idea how Muggles do it and Harry either won't explain it or isn't smart enough to."
"They're not even real people!" the brunet objected.
"They're definitely real people," Ron argued. "One time I saw some tiny Muggle bloke cut off another man's head with a spade! And then somehow bring both the head and the body back to life with a giant needle! And then talk to the head! And then another time some bloke got eaten by his own bed! And then I saw another bloke who had been locked up for eating people! And he kept talking about someone who liked to skin women and wear the skins around! It was fucking nasty, I dunno how that stuff doesn't give you both nightmares every night. And it still never explains why whoever is controlling all those Inferi always wants them to fucking eat people. I never got that. Especially the bit about brains. That sounds like the least appetizing body part they could eat. Muggles are a bit mad sometimes, aren't they?"
"First of all," Harry said, holding one finger up in emphasis, "there are other things on telly besides violence and zombies. Second, I don't even watch those sorts of shows."
"That sounds like a rather cruel thing to own, Potter, I'm surprised," Malfoy cut in, folding his arms. "You watch imprisoned Muggles decapitate one another as some form of entertainment?"
"They're not real!" Harry exclaimed. "They're just actors! And they don't live in the box!"
"No," Ron agreed. "They die in the box."
"They don't live or die in the box," Harry grit his teeth. No matter how long and how well he knew Ron, some things were just impossible to explain. Harry often forgot how goddamn pureblooded Ron really was, despite his family's fierce non-traditional stances on most things and his father's love of the Muggle world. But some cultural differences were simply too wide a gap to bridge so easily. "Nobody is in the box! Those people are actors and everything they do is being acted hundreds and thousands of miles away! None of it is real!"
Both Ron and Malfoy stared at him. "I still don't get it," Malfoy finally said, brow furrowed in confusion.
"Don't bother," Ron shrugged. "I've seen the blasted thing and even I still don't get it."
"Oh, you're just scared of television," Harry said, wanting to be done talking to purebloods about such inane things such as television.
"I am not!" Ron instantly said, sounding outraged. "Just 'cos I don't like 'em doesn't mean I'm bloody scared of 'em! I just think they're stupid. And unnecessary. And all the moving pictures give me a headache. And all the people in it spend all their time killing each other!"
"All right," Hermione interrupted, shooting both men hard looks. "I'm not even sure that I know how this turned into an argument, but television is one of the least relevant things we could be discussing at the moment."
"I agree," Malfoy nodded. "None of us has had a chance to wash up and I think we should go do that. Afterwards, we can find everybody else, assign a group to start on lunch, and maybe try to find a way out again after that."
"Yes, Draco, I think that's an excellent plan," Hermione agreed, and Harry and Ron exchanged a glance at her continued usage of the blond's first name.
As they began to wander down the entrance hall, Ron slipped an arm around Hermione's shoulders and pulled her into his side. "I'm still glad you don't have a tolly box," he murmured, and Harry couldn't help but grin.
oOo
"So, Potter," Malfoy said an hour later, once the two of them were both bathed. Malfoy had changed into a new set of clothing, while Harry had been forced to cast several cleaning charms over the outfit he had already been wearing.
"So, Malfoy," Harry said, staring around the large hallway of the ground level they were wandering along. Lunch had been made, served, and eaten, the dishes all washed, and Harry had needed desperately to stretch his legs a bit and move around, to which Malfoy had instantly agreed.
"So, your girlfriend doesn't mind all the tolly," Malfoy's nose wrinkled as the word passed his lips, "that you watch?"
"Telly," Harry corrected automatically. "And girlfriend? Hermione is Ron's girlfriend."
"Yes, I know that," Malfoy sighed. "That's not the girlfriend I meant."
"What, you mean Cho?" Now Harry was really confused.
"Chang?" Malfoy sounded shocked. "You're dating Chang again?"
"What? No!" Harry shook his head. "Why do you think I'm dating Cho?"
"Um, maybe because you just said her name when I brought up your girlfriend?" Malfoy said slowly, making Harry feel like a moron, which was most likely Malfoy's intention.
"Yeah, because I thought you were talking about her," Harry said, still sounding confused.
"I never said names, why would you think I meant her?" Now Malfoy sounded confused.
"I dunno, she was my date to the last Ministry function I went to," Harry shrugged. "I mean, who else would you have meant?"
"Obviously, I meant Weasley's sister!" Malfoy glared at him. "I don't get invited to any Ministry functions, and I certainly don't keep up-to-date on your personal life!"
"Ohhh, you mean Ginny," Harry nodded. That made more sense. "We broke up at the end of sixth year, she hasn't been my girlfriend in years."
"Oh." Malfoy still sounded confused. "But you're dating Chang now?"
"No!" Harry half-shouted, offering the man a sheepish look at his loud tone. "No, we're not dating. Definitely, definitely not. I mean, she's pretty and I like her well enough as a person and everything…"
"So what happened then?" the blond pressed, and Harry grimaced at the realization that he would not be finished asking questions any time soon. Why was everyone always so interested in Harry's dating life? "I thought you said your last date was with her?"
"It was," Harry rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "She asked me, so I said yes. But it really didn't take very long to remember why things had never worked out between us. She has this awful habit of trying to make me jealous, for some reason. I don't really get it, apparently it's a thing some people do. Hermione tried to explain it to me once, but I still don't understand."
"Did she flirt with someone else?" Malfoy smirked, but his eyes were sympathetic in a way that Harry had not been expecting.
He nodded. "Yeah, she spent half the night talking to this one bloke and shooting me these strange looks, like I was supposed to march over there and punch him in the face or something for daring to be too close to her, and then she agreed to dance with him right in front of me. And she spent most of the song staring at me over his shoulder!" He grimaced as Malfoy laughed. "I just don't get women, I really don't. I decided that Luna is going to be the only woman I will ever attend another stupid function with."
"Hmm," Malfoy hummed, and Harry had no idea what that was supposed to mean.
"What about you?" he asked, wanting to get the subject away from himself, but also curious about what Malfoy had been up to since his acquittal. "I always thought that you and Parkinson were together, but she and Zabini chose to be partners and were holding hands."
"Yes," Malfoy smiled wryly. "They, ironically enough, got together at the very end of sixth year. They live together in one of Blaise's mother's various houses. I believe that one was a gift from her fifth husband."
"Ah," Harry said, unsure how to take the information or what he was even really feeling about it. "Right. Well, you know, good for them." His mouth snapped shut as he realized that maybe Malfoy wouldn't agree it was good for either of them; maybe he still wanted Parkinson. At the thought, Harry was once again unsure what it was that he was feeling, only that he didn't particularly like it.
"Yes," Malfoy said quietly.
"I mean, I know what that's like," Harry continued, wanting to stop talking but somehow finding himself unable to prevent the words from spilling from his mouth, "being the third wheel and everything."
"Third wheel?" Malfoy turned to him with a confused look. "When did wheels come into any of this? You do realize that we were talking about people, Potter, don't you?"
Harry laughed. "Sorry, Muggle expression," he explained, grinning. "What I meant is that I know what it's like to be the odd one out around a couple."
"Oh, right," the blond nodded. "Hence why you and I are partners, having been deserted by our closest friends."
"It's nice to have something in common, isn't it?" Harry asked in a dry voice, still grinning. "Even if it is only the one thing."
"We're both only children," Malfoy pointed out, sounding thoughtful.
"Yeah, but I wasn't actually raised as such," Harry said with a shrug. "I was raised with a cousin my age."
"Oh," Malfoy's face fell, as though he had been wanting the two of them to have more things in common, and Harry couldn't help but feel unexpectedly pleased at the realization.
"We were both Seekers for our House teams," Harry told him, and Malfoy flashed him a brief smile. "And we were both born in England."
"We both live alone," Malfoy added, "and are both currently not dating anyone."
"Yeah," Harry chuckled, "we both live alone, but my flat's about the size of your bedroom." Malfoy shot him an odd look, one eyebrow raised. "I mean, I'm assuming," Harry added hastily. "I've never actually seen your bedroom, but I'm guessing it's the same size as my flat. Probably even bigger."
"There's another one," Malfoy smirked, "Neither of us has seen each other's bedrooms."
"God," Harry laughed, "we really do have so much in common, don't we? It's like we're the same person."
"Only one of us has better hair," the blond grinned.
"And one of us has better manners."
"And one of us has seventeen bank vaults."
"And one of us was offered a position on the England team as Seeker without even having to try out."
"And one of us owns our own Quidditch pitch."
"No way, do you really?" Harry asked in surprise, forgetting their banter. "That's incredible! Where is it?"
"On the other side of the estate," Malfoy drawled, eyes twinkling. "Past the stables. And next to the entire shed full of racing brooms and the personalized Quidditch equipment."
"Well, fuck," Harry laughed, shaking his head. "All right fine, you win. That is one thing I wish my flat had come with."
"I'll make you a deal," Malfoy smiled, "once we find a way out of here, I'll show you the Quidditch pitch and allow you to try it out if you show me that blasted tolly box. I can't even imagine what I'm meant to be picturing."
"Telly, Malfoy," Harry laughed again. "And deal."
Malfoy smiled and Harry couldn't help but smile back.
"Who would have guessed that a partnership between the two of us would somehow be the least problematic part of this entire party?" Malfoy mused.
"Who would have guessed any single one of the most problematic parts of the party?" Harry said, regretting it when Malfoy's mouth tightened.
"I promise you, Potter, I really did have nothing to do with anything that's happened so far," he said quietly, and Harry nodded.
"I believe you," he said in a voice just as soft, and Malfoy's head snapped to the side, staring at Harry in surprise.
"You really don't think I tricked everybody into coming here just for the opportunity to kill them off one at a time for some sort of sick sport?"
"I know you're not a killer, Malfoy, not even when you have to be, let alone out of nowhere and in cold blood like this," Harry told him, glancing away and feeling oddly vulnerable for admitting such a thing as having faith in Malfoy, no matter how unexpected that faith was for the both of them. "I asked if you wanted to be partners because I trust that you're not the killer, not because I think you are and wanted to keep an eye on you."
Malfoy's surprise grew more pronounced. "Well, that—that's good," the blond stammered, appearing unsure how to respond.
"Maybe we should head back to the others now," Harry suggested, still feeling uncomfortable.
Silently, Malfoy gestured to lead the way, both men turning around and beginning to tread the path they had just come from.
"So," Harry said after several minutes of tense silence, "do you really live here all alone?" His words seemed to bounce off the darkened walls and echo back to him. The house was large and intimidating, with a threatening feel to the air, and Harry had no idea how someone could live in such a home by themselves. It seemed to always be cold in the Manor, and Harry did not like the sound of their footsteps reverberating along the large hallway, the one half-cloaked in darkness. The entire house seemed to be constantly cobwebbed in clinging shadows, no matter the time of day, giving everything an ominous feel. It felt like the shadows were watching them; it felt like the walls could hear them; it felt like even the air was aware of their presence. Everything about the house felt sinister and bleak, funereal, almost, in a way that Harry had never known a house could be. How could Malfoy live in such a place all alone?
"Yes," Malfoy said in a low voice, shooting an odd look around the walls, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking.
"Why don't you live somewhere less…" Harry struggled to find an appropriate word that wouldn't offend the other man.
"Less…" Malfoy prodded, giving him a knowing look.
"Less…like this?" The final two words tripped their way free as Harry gestured around himself helplessly.
"Less lonely and depressing, you mean?" the blond drawled, one eyebrow raised, and Harry gave him a shrug in response, wanting to agree without having to say the words aloud.
"It's just…such a big house for one person to be living in," he mumbled.
"There have been Malfoys living in this house for centuries," Malfoy said in a faraway voice, tone strange. "I can hardly be the first one to desert the ancestral home, now can I?"
"Fuck the ancestral home, Malfoy," Harry frowned. Was that really the reason the man stayed in such a miserable place? "We're talking about your comfort here! You should live somewhere you're comfortable actually residing in!"
"And who says I'm not comfortable here?" Malfoy asked dryly, and Harry rolled his eyes, shooting him a pointed look.
"I…don't know why I don't leave," Malfoy whispered, determinedly not looking at Harry. "I've thought about it. I think about it a lot. But…I don't know. Maybe I really should leave, but I just…never do. I've lived here my entire life, Potter. I wouldn't know where else to go."
Harry glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, noting the flush in the man's cheeks. "Well, maybe it's time," he suggested softly. "Once we get out of here, I mean. Maybe it'll finally be time to put this place behind you. Weren't you the one talking about how much you've changed and how you want the world to start recognizing it? Maybe you should start by recognizing it yourself. You're living in the exact same place you've always lived, in a place with a history that I know wasn't all happy for you. Maybe you should be the first to fully put the past behind you before expecting others to do the same in regards to you."
Malfoy said nothing for a very long time, and Harry couldn't help but worry that he had offended the man and that the newfound truce between them was now shattered forever because of Harry's apparent inability to mind his own business. Seriously, who told another person where to live? How arrogant did that make Harry sound?
But finally, Malfoy slanted a glance at him, appearing thoughtful. "Maybe you're right, Potter."
Harry grinned. "Keep saying that statement, Malfoy, and this partnership might just work out after all."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "All right, I take it all back. Nobody changes; you're still the same prat you've always been."
Harry chuckled. "If I was a prat, Malfoy, what would that make what you used to be?"
The sound of Malfoy's unwilling laughter and the sight of his smile sent something warm shooting through Harry's stomach; he wasn't sure what it was, but it made him want to make Malfoy smile again. And again. Who knew Draco Malfoy had a nice smile? Harry thought to himself, wondering what else he would discover about the man. And who would have guessed we could get on so well?
"What do you think the others have been doing?" Harry wondered aloud.
Malfoy shrugged. "I'm sure they've been doing nothing more than sitting around blaming all the Slytherins or going mad from boredom. If any of them cared to ask me in a civil tone what there is to do in this house, I could show them to the snooker room or the library or the music room. The conservatory is also an impressive room to visit."
Without meaning to, Harry suddenly came to a halt. "The conservatory! Malfoy, how many walls in that room are made of glass?! Maybe we can—"
"Won't work," the blond shook his head. "I already told you—all the windows have been reinforced with wards that were built into the very foundation of this house, they won't break, not even from the inside. And the conservatory is even more heavily warded against the off-chance of intruders."
Harry deflated in disappointment, sighing as he began forward once more. "So are you saying that nothing like this has ever happened before?"
Malfoy gave him a strange look. "What, you mean the house locking a bunch of people up with a murderer?"
"No," Harry sighed again, wondering how much of an idiot Malfoy thought him to be, "I mean, has nobody in your family ever needed to escape the house quickly? I guess that locks work well enough at keeping everyone outside from coming in, but what if the people you want to keep out have already gotten in? What did your ancestors intend you to do then?"
Malfoy said nothing for several moments. "To my knowledge, nothing like this has ever happened before. We've somehow been entirely cut off from the Floo network, which I can assure you was not my doing. And unfortunately, we cannot get reconnected without being able to contact the Ministry. And whilst the windows in the house are not able to be broken, they should be able to be opened from the inside, which now seems impossible, based on the countless windows we attempted to open last night. The doors have never locked like this—it's like something is holding them shut, but I have no idea what. And although Apparating in and out of this house is impossible for most people, I, at least, should be able to. But I can't, no matter how many times I try. I don't know what this is, Potter, I really don't. I don't have even the slightest idea of what's happening or who's behind it all. I don't have any idea why someone would even want to do this."
"Maybe that's the first thing we should look at," Harry mused thoughtfully. "Who would want to do this to us? Why us? Is it a coincidence that we're being attacked at a party full of people from our year, or are we being specifically targeted for the year we were in?"
"Well, Granger said she warded the dining room last night," Malfoy said slowly, "so the second murder had to have been committed by someone who was already in there."
Harry sighed. "Which leaves most of the people here a suspect."
"Well," Malfoy shrugged, "as awful as this sounds, we may need at least one more death to occur before we can really start narrowing the list down."
Harry stared at him. "Yep, you're right," he finally said, "that does sound awful."
"Hey, I'm not saying I want that to happen!" Malfoy immediately defended. "Especially in my home! But Granger was very clever splitting us up into pairs—we're all unconsciously keeping wary eyes on our partners in case they're the guilty ones just as much as we're keeping eyes on them to make sure they're all right. If we're constantly with the other person, there can be much less chance of murder without someone else finding out."
"We all picked partners we trust though," Harry pointed out, "of course we're not waiting around to see if they're the guilty one."
Malfoy raised one eyebrow, and Harry flushed. "I mean, you know, most of us picked partners we trust. I mean—" he flushed darker, "I trust you not to kill me."
"Your faith in me is very moving," Malfoy drawled.
"What if it's not just one person behind all this?" Harry asked slowly. "Or what if the ones who have been murdered were never the real intended targets?"
"What do you mean?" Malfoy's nose wrinkled. "How do you accidentally kill the wrong person?"
"I dunno," Harry said honestly, "but what if Mandy had gotten up in the middle of the night and someone mistook her for somebody else? And what if what happened to Hannah really was a potion and not a spell? If it was a potion, it had either been deliberately put in her specific glass, or it had been placed in any one of the glasses and she just happened to pick it up."
"But that would make her the intended target by default," Malfoy argued, "if it was placed there to be picked up by chance. You can't potion just one of the glasses intending it to be drunk by a specific person, there were dozens of glasses laid out. So maybe you're right and there has been nothing specific about the choice of victims—but wouldn't that still make them the intended targets if random chance is the whole point of this?"
"You make it sound like a game when you say it like that," Harry frowned. "Like someone's ending lives on a roll of the dice, or something."
Malfoy shrugged. "Maybe that's the whole point of all of this. Maybe it's not about bloodshed so much as it is about playing a game. It seems as sensical a reason as any other for mass murder, frankly."
"But if it was about a game and not murder," Harry said distantly, mind spinning, "why would the company you hired have also been killed? That's not really random chance, is it?"
Malfoy shrugged again. "Maybe they saw whoever is behind this do something guilty and were killed as a result."
"Malfoy," Harry surprised the both of them by reaching out to grasp Malfoy's upper arm, forcing the two men to a halt, "when did you say the champagne glasses were laid out in the ballroom?"
"It was being done during dinner," Malfoy said slowly, gaze darting between Harry's face and the hand Harry still had on the man's bicep. "They set up the dining room first and then moved to the ballroom while we were eating."
"And you said that Cornfoot was late, didn't you?" Harry asked, and Malfoy nodded.
"But Finch-Fletchley was the latest—he wasn't at the dinner at all."
"That's right," Harry mused, not sure why he was still holding onto Malfoy. "But since you didn't answer the door, nobody knows when he actually got here. Or Cornfoot, for that matter. All we know was that Justin got here in time to join everyone in the ballroom, but we don't know if that's actually when he arrived."
"Yes," Malfoy agreed, still staring at Harry's hand, "but that doesn't mean you can cross everyone else off the list. Everybody had access to that drink's table, it still could have been anyone. Nobody was guarding it last night, everybody had the opportunity to spike one of the drinks. We don't even know if it was a potion."
"Yes," Harry nodded, "that's true. But this at least gives us something to go off, doesn't it? It at least gives us two people to keep a closer eye on instead of staring blindly at nothing."
A hum of agreement was Malfoy's only response, and it was not until that moment that Harry realized how close the two of them were standing; Harry still had one hand on Malfoy's arm, and he wasn't even sure when that had happened or how long it had been there. Flushing, Harry dropped his hold, shifting his weight onto his back foot.
"Well, come on then," he said gruffly, feeling oddly embarrassed, "the room's right there," he jerked his chin in the direction of the room, only several feet up the hall from them, "let's go see what the others are up to."
"All right," Malfoy said in a quiet voice, and Harry shot him a look out of the corner of one eye, wondering what the man was thinking. The short walk to the lounge was silent, both men stealing quick glances at one another before turning away, an odd sort of energy building between them. Harry had no idea what it meant and was grateful when they finally reached the door, allowing himself to relax.
But the moment it was pushed open, Harry was instantly alert once more. Everybody in the room was standing, appearing coiled and tense, every single person's body language screaming that something was wrong.
Before Harry could ask what it was, though, Hermione was walking over to them. "Harry," she said grimly, and at her tone, Harry instantly reached for his wand, knowing something was very wrong.
"What is it?" he asked, gazing around with sharp eyes.
"Terry is missing," she said simply.
TBC
A/N: The kill list is only getting longer with every chapter! My bad. Any suspicions yet? Any predictions? Anyone catch those movie references? For anyone wondering, it was Re-Animator, Nightmare on Elm Street, and Silence of the Lambs. I do so love a good horror film!