"I have been made to learn that the doom and burden of our life is bound forever on man's shoulders; and when the attempt is made to cast it off, it but returns upon us with more unfamiliar and more awful pressure."
—Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
ALL BUT DEATH
IV
MORE UNFAMILIAR AND MORE AWFUL
At the words, Harry slipped instantly into Auror Mode. "How long has he been missing?" he asked Hermione, who was scribbling something down in her tiny notebook.
"Stephen came in a few minutes ago," she said, glancing up. "He said that the two of them had waited until lunch was cleared away before then going to one of the bathrooms near the kitchen to wash up. He said that Terry had gone in first and was supposed to wait afterwards for Stephen, but he said that when he came out, Terry was gone. He said that he looked around a bit but couldn't find him, so he came back here."
"Did you already check his wand?" Harry asked, keeping his voice low.
"Yes," she said just as quietly, "there were no curses or anything incriminating that I could find, but as Ron pointed out yesterday, that doesn't mean that he couldn't have simply cast another spell immediately afterwards, allowing the priori to read that one instead."
Harry frowned, nodding. "And who was missing from this room at the time?"
Hermione sighed. "Honestly, Harry, quite a lot of us were. Ron and I were in the foyer trying to find a way out of here; Neville had taken Justin to look around for a bit and they're still not back. I have absolutely no idea where the Slytherins have been, other than the fact that they refuse to be in the same room as everyone else. Padma and Parvati were here, speaking with Lisa and Susan. Michael and Anthony haven't come back yet from wherever they wandered off to. Seamus and Dean said they wanted to help Neville find a way out, but I'm pretty sure they just wanted to poke around the rooms. And Zacharias and Kevin left without telling anyone where they were going."
"Fuck," Harry muttered. "How long did Stephen say Terry has been missing?"
"A little over thirty minutes," Hermione answered, scribbling something down in her notebook.
"All right," Harry nodded. "So we look for him. I think we should group up into teams of four and start combing the ground floor. If we find nothing, we'll check upstairs and the cellar. We'll all have to keep an eye out for the others as well. How about you and Ron take Lisa and Susan, and Malfoy and I will take Padma and Parvati. Deal?"
"All right," Hermione agreed. "We'll take Stephen with us as well, then." Turning to the four girls standing huddled near the sofa, Hermione quickly outlined the plan, gesturing for Lisa and Susan to join her and Ron, as well as a quiet, blank-faced Stephen leaning against the wall. Padma and Parvati made their way over to Harry and Malfoy, and Harry could see fear on both of their faces, as well as what he suspected to be relief, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of that.
"Okay," Harry called to Ron and Hermione, "let's both start in the entrance hall, yeah? We'll turn left down the main hallway and you lot can head right."
"Got it," Ron nodded, leading the way from the room. Harry and Malfoy brought up the rear, exchanging a glance before exiting.
"This could take a very long time, you realize," Draco said in a low voice. "I think you are all underestimating how many rooms there are in this house."
"Well, he couldn't be in either of the sealed rooms," Harry said, not looking forward to the daunting task of searching for what was most likely now a corpse hidden in one of the million or so rooms of Malfoy's enormous mansion. "Those have both been warded shut."
Reaching the main hall, Harry's group turned left while the others went right, and Harry did not like the ominous feel of the corridor. The air felt heavy and stifling and alive, in a strange way; it felt stale like sour breath, as though the very walls were watching, listening, breathing, aware of their every movement. Parvati shuddered and moved closer to Harry, clutching at his arm and tucking herself against his side.
"God, I'm glad we're with you, Harry," she said quietly, and he turned to offer her what he hoped was a comforting smile. He hadn't been this close to her since the night of the Yule Ball; he certainly hadn't touched her since the few dances they had shared. She smelled sweet, like cherry blossoms, and it was a welcome relief from the cold musty smell of the stagnant air around them. "If there's anyone who can get us out of here, it's you."
"I'll try, Parvati," he said—it was the most he could promise at that time. Padma moved around to Parvati's other side, and Harry could see her eyes darting fearfully around the place.
"Here's the first room," Malfoy said in a strange voice, halting before a pale wooden door with a dark brass handle. He was glaring at the door as though it had just insulted him, and Harry had no idea what to make of his sudden anger. Malfoy had been fine moments ago—what was wrong with him now?
"All right," Harry said, slipping his arm from Parvati's grasp and tightening his grip on his wand. "I'll go in first. Malfoy, I want you to stay in the back behind the girls, all right? I don't want anybody sneaking up on them from behind." He saw the sisters exchange a loud look.
"Right, because I'm clearly the expendable one," the blond muttered, moving behind the twins.
Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not actually expecting an attack from behind, this is just a precaution." Taking a breath, Harry twisted the knob and allowed the heavy door to swing open with a foreboding creak. Stepping slowly inside, the lamps in the room flared to life, throwing dim light and shadows over everything. The room appeared to be a small study, one that didn't seem to be used very often, judging by the stark neatness of everything and the impersonal feel of the decor. Harry stepped fully into the room, hearing the others shuffle in behind him, all of them checking cautiously for any sign of Terry.
"Do you really think they would try to hide him?" Malfoy wondered. "The first two murders were committed so openly; why wouldn't his body be left somewhere we would all see it?"
Harry frowned; he had wondered the same thing.
"So does that mean he's definitely dead then?" Padma asked fearfully. "You don't think we'll find him alive?"
"No," Malfoy said simply, and Harry shot him a pointed look, one the blond chose to ignore. "Boot is too smart to simply wander off alone like that; he would never have left his partner behind. Someone obviously did something to him. He's clearly already dead."
"Stop it, Malfoy," Harry hissed as Padma's dark face paled.
"I don't want him to be dead," she whispered. "Terry is so nice, how could someone do something bad to him? How is any of this happening?"
"It'll be all right, Padma," Harry told her, placing his hands on her shoulders and hoping it would snap her from her horrified shock. "We'll find a way out of here, I promise."
"Harry's right," Parvati said, moving to Harry's side and placing one hand over Harry's. "We'll be fine, I know we will. We're with Harry." She turned her head to offer him a pretty smile, one that wavered at the corners. "We're with Harry and we'll be fine."
The words made Harry uncomfortable, making him want to point out that he was only human and so far from infallible it was nearly absurd, but Padma seemed to be calming and he did not want to send her back into that state of panic she had been heading towards.
"Yes," Malfoy interrupted, "Harry Potter will save us all, it's what he does. Can we move on to the next room already?" He muttered something beneath his breath, something that Harry was certain he was glad he did not catch. Fuck, what was Malfoy's problem? Why was he so angry?
"Come on, Padma, Parvati," he said gently, sighing internally when Parvati instantly attached herself to his side once more.
Slowly, they made their way down the hall, checking every room they came across but finding nothing. Until finally, they came to a halt outside a large set of chestnut doors with shiny gold handles. A pair of voices was coming from inside, and Harry paused, holding his hand out to the others.
"Someone's inside," he whispered. "Malfoy, stay out here with Padma and Parvati. I'll check this out. It's most likely one of the unaccounted pairs but wait right here until I know for sure it's safe." His words were met with silence, which Harry took as acknowledgment.
Wand held tight in one hand, he grasped the round handle with the other and silently pushed, grateful that this door did not creak as it opened. Moving cautiously, he peeked around the door, wondering what he'd find. At the sight that met him, he instantly relaxed. Seamus and Dean stood lounging near a snooker table with cues in their hands, half the colorful balls peppered randomly across the green felt surface of the table. The sight seemed almost comically out of place during such a serious time.
"Seamus, Dean," Harry said, stepping inside and gesturing behind him for the others to follow. Both men glanced up, grinning.
"Hiya, Harry," Dean greeted. "You want next game?"
"Who the hell said either one of you were allowed in here?" Malfoy spoke up from behind Harry, stepping forward to glare at the two Gryffindors.
They both shrugged, appearing unapologetic. "We were bored," Seamus explained, bending low to take his shot. The sharp clack of the balls striking one another made Padma jump.
"Your game will have to wait," Harry frowned. "Come with us, we're rounding everybody up."
"Why?" Dean asked, bending down and studying the table before him. "Is this like a group strategy meeting or something?"
"No," Harry sighed. "Terry is missing. We're looking for him right now."
"Fuck," Dean swore, nearly launching the stick in his hands across the table in surprise. "Shit."
"Have either of you heard anything?" Harry wondered. "Any footsteps, voices, doors opening or closing?"
Seamus and Dead traded a look. "No," they both answered, laying their cues down on the table.
"And how long have the both of you been in this room?" Harry asked, trying to establish some sort of timeline for everything in his head.
"Eh," Seamus shrugged, "an hour maybe? Maybe just under?"
"All right," Harry nodded. "And the both of you have been together the entire time?" They both nodded. Nodding back, Harry did a quick sweep of their surroundings before leading the others from the room. "Let's go then." As he exited, Malfoy stepped toward him, taking the place by his side that Parvati had been occupying, and Harry saw her scowl as she fell back to walk beside her sister instead.
"How many more rooms?" Harry asked in a low voice, glancing over at Malfoy.
"Just the conservatory left now," Malfoy told him, jerking his chin further down the hall where a large set of black doors sat, both fitted with opaque panes of glass and delicate silver handles.
Striding forward, Harry grasped the handles and pushed, gasping at the sight that met him. His very first thought was that the room was bloody enormous. Stepping inside, he gazed around in awe, noting that nearly every wall in the room was made entirely of glass. A huge domed ceiling stretched above their heads, offering an unbroken view of the grey sky above. A single long, gabled hallway stretched to either side of Harry, leading to two other large, separate rooms, and Harry could see that those were constructed from thick glass as well. In the corner, a delicate spiral staircase twisted gracefully up to a second level walkway that edged the outside of the entire main room. A stone fountain lay in the very center, the water still and silent, and Harry wondered if it was meant to be that way or if there had at some point been fish living in it. Blossoming trees and unknown plants spilled around the room, but Harry thought they looked rather sad and drooping for some reason, cast in the dim grey light of an overcast sky. Even the conservatory was darker than Harry had been expecting. Did the sun simply never shine down on this house? Did it never warm the walls with its presence? The thought made Harry shiver unexpectedly, suddenly feeling cold.
"Harry?" a voice called, and Harry's snapped in the direction the sound had come from, instantly spotting Neville walking toward him from one of the other rooms connected to either end of the hallway.
"Neville," he called back, feeling relieved. "Hey, what are you doing here?"
Neville sighed. "I was hoping to find a way out. I thought the conservatory would be a pretty safe bet, considering it's almost all made of glass, but…"
"The glass is warded," Malfoy spoke up, looking around the room with a blank expression, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what the man was thinking. "Especially the glass in here. You won't be able to break through it."
"That's what I was afraid of," Neville sighed again.
"Where's Justin?" Harry wondered, peering around.
Neville jerked his chin in the direction of the other end of the hallway. "In that room still, I think."
"Hey," Harry said quietly, tugging Neville away from the group to speak with him. "Have the two of you been together the whole time over the past hour?"
Neville flicked a glance in the direction of the room Justin was in. "No," he said in a wary voice, the single word weighted with hesitation. "We came in here a while ago, but Justin left after a few minutes, saying that he needed to find a loo. I tried to go with him, but he kept insisting he would be fine and he wanted me to focus on finding a way out of here as quickly as possible."
"Did he find you immediately when he came back?" Harry lowered his voice even further.
"I think it was immediately after," Neville said, matching Harry's tone and volume. "He was gone for kind of a while though. Said he had gotten lost trying to find a toilet. Why, Harry, what's going on? Why are you asking about Justin?"
"Terry is missing," Harry told him, glancing at the others. "Stephen said they went to a bathroom to wash up and at some point, Terry vanished. We have another group checking the rooms in the opposite wing while we take this side, but we haven't found a thing yet."
"How long ago was this?" Neville asked with narrowed eyes.
"Just under an hour ago," Harry said, checking his watch.
Neville's eyes narrowed even further. "That's right around the time we came in here."
Harry's eyes narrowed as well. If they had gotten there an hour ago, and Justin had excused himself and left right after that, right around when Terry had gone missing… "Let's go find Hermione and Ron," he said. He needed to speak with them about everything and hopefully they would be able to piece together some sort of established timeline for every single person. "Come on, then. Let's head back to the lounge."
Nodding, Neville went off to fetch Justin, returning a few moments later with a puzzled look on his face. "He's not in there," he said.
"What?" Harry asked sharply. "He's not in there?"
"No," Neville shook his head. "But I know he was, I saw him go in there after he got back and I heard him casting spells."
"Could he have slipped out without you being aware?" Had Justin gone into the room and then snuck back out when Neville wasn't paying attention?
"Well, yeah," Neville shrugged, appearing uncomfortable. "We had separated to search for weak points on the walls; this place is bloody huge."
"So, Justin's now missing too," Harry mused, wondering if his budding suspicions about the Hufflepuff were about to be proven correct. "We really need to get back to the lounge and see if everyone else has found anything." Had they found the others? Had they found a body? Had Terry been sliced apart just as viciously as Hannah and Mandy? Harry couldn't seem to stop picturing their deaths—he couldn't stop seeing the look on Hannah's face right before her entire rib cage snapped outwards, punching a gaping cavity right through her and rending her entire chest in half; or the cold, glassy expression on Mandy's face as she gazed down with unseeing eyes at her insides spilled wetly across her own lap.
"All right," Neville nodded, glancing back down at the room Justin was meant to have been in.
Without another word, Neville led the way from the room and Harry waited until the others had followed before bringing up the rear, Malfoy falling into step beside him as they made their way silently down the corridor. The hallway seemed even more soaked in shadows than it had been when they had first arrived at the conservatory, every side table and painting seeming drenched in darkness. It gave the hallway a strange shrinking feeling, as though the shadows were pressing in on them from all sides, making Harry feel unexpectedly claustrophobic, certain that the walls were somehow creeping closer and closer with every soft footstep and loud beat of his racing heart. Was the hallway getting narrower? Were the edges getting nearer? Were the shadows waiting to reach out and snatch them all violently away the second they got too close?
Inhaling deeply, Harry held it for a moment before releasing the breath, the air feeling stagnant and dry in his lungs. For some reason, the corridor was reminding him of his childhood cupboard—something he actively tried to never think about. But being there in that darkening hallway was reminding him of being trapped in a tiny cramped space cloaked in darkness so thick Harry had been able to taste it; darkness so thick Harry had felt it physically wrap around his frail body the moment he entered the cupboard, smothering him with enormous arms the color of charcoal, heavy onyx fingers pressing down on his eyelids and creeping down his throat, filling his lungs with black tar so thick he had not been able to breathe through it; stuck in a tiny room where time had no meaning, where it was eternally night, eternally dark, a room permanently trapped in midnight; a room that, no matter how hard Harry tried, no matter how much he squinted and pleaded with any greater power listening, he could never find even the barest speck of light in its depths; it was a room that had no light to offer. And Harry had spent so many years confined to that room—tossed into the darkness without a second thought; shoved in with rough hands no matter how much he cried and begged not to be put in there. He could still hear the sound of the lock on the outside of the door sliding shut, could still feel the wood of the cupboard door pressed against his back, his heart racing wildly, feeling panicked and frantic and desperate not to lose himself in the heavy black of the room, desperate to keep hold of the door just to have a sense of where he actually was in the world, imprisoned in a darkness so black he had not been able to see his surroundings, he had not been able to see any part of his own body, and he had always feared losing himself in that oil-colored fog, drifting away on an ocean of black; he had been terrified of being swallowed by the shadows, the ones that seemed to loom over him with snapping teeth the color of ink, veiled hungry creatures hiding in the depths of the darkness surrounding him, hiding in the depths of his own fear of that darkness—oh god, they would snap him up without a thought, bones and all. The shadows would not hesitate to devour him, they would not hesitate to crush him between ravenous black jaws that he would not even see coming. As a child, Harry had often heard children speak about a "monster in the closet", hearing adults reassure them that there was nothing in the closet to fear, no beast hidden away, waiting to eat them up the moment they turned their backs, but Harry had always known they were wrong. There was a monster in the closet; there was a living, breathing monster hiding in every single closet, underneath every single child's bed. Darkness was that monster. Cold, empty darkness that somehow still drew breath, somehow still pulsed with hollow life; Harry had felt its icy breath against the back of his neck as a child, had felt its barbed tongue rasp over his bare arms, and he could do nothing to fight against the shadows. He had been nothing more than a tiny boy locked in a tiny room, trapped with the monster all children spoke of being so terrified of, only it had never lived in Harry's closet—Harry had been forced to live in its cage.
The memories made his head spin, and Harry could almost see the shadows reaching out to him with sharp, jagged fingers made of ebony and ice. Oh, god. He struggled to draw breath, feeling the familiar slither of the shadows trickling their way down his throat, pooling coldly in his lungs, his stomach, his veins, settling in his bones. He could feel them itch beneath his skin. He stumbled, surprised when a warm hand reached out to catch him.
"Potter?" a familiar voice asked, concern layering every syllable. "Are you all right?"
Shaking himself, Harry nodded tightly, trying to focus only on the sight of the others walking in front of him, appearing miles away, but he could still see the shadows out of the corners of his eyes, creeping closer and closer, edging nearer to him, tiptoeing on silent feet as quiet and as black as a lonely moonless night, leaving a trail of oily footprints behind in their wake; Harry could almost hear the padding of their ink-stained feet sneaking closer, could almost hear the rattling breaths they took and smell their fetid breath, icy-hot on the back of his neck.
"Seriously, Potter," a voice cut through the midnight-fog surrounding him, "are you all right?"
He startled as two hands wrapped tightly around his biceps, suddenly finding himself gazing into a pair of pale grey eyes the color of early dawn, the sight relaxing him for some reason.
"Harry," Malfoy said in a quiet voice, staring at him intensely, "What is the matter?"
"I—" Harry shook himself. "I have to get out of this hallway. I-I—oh fuck." Shutting his eyes, he allowed his head to drop forward onto Malfoy's shoulder, drawing a deep breath and trying his hardest to shove the horrid memories of his cupboard back down into the ignored corner of his mind that he normally kept them in. He hadn't thought about his cupboard in years—he thought he had been over it.
"Breathe, Harry," Malfoy murmured, rubbing his back in comfort. "I don't know where your mind has taken you, but it's okay. Just breathe. I promise you that you are safe. Just keep moving, the lounge is just ahead, I promise that it's not too much farther."
Head still resting on Malfoy's shoulder, Harry nodded, clutching the front of Malfoy's amethyst-colored robes and drawing a deep breath. Lifting his head, he nodded again at Malfoy, much more firmly than before.
"Come on," Malfoy murmured, steering Harry quickly down the hall. They saw the others up ahead, all halted in a large group, and Harry saw that Hermione and Ron's group was also just returning, all of them standing together in the corridor and speaking to one another.
Ignoring them all, Malfoy led Harry to the door of the lounge, one arm still wrapped around his upper back. Harry reached out to grasp the copper doorknob, twisting it and pushing the door open.
But in the next second, Harry was gasping sharply and stumbling back a step as Malfoy's free hand flew to his mouth in shock, his grey eyes wide and horrified.
There in the lounge, sitting before them on the sofa as though he had been waiting for them the entire time, was the bloodied corpse of Terry Boot.
oOo
Harry should shut the door; he knew that he should shut the door. But the sight was too gruesome to turn away from, too terrifying to close his eyes to. Terry sat upright in the very middle of the sofa, facing the door as though he had been put there just to greet them. His hands were flopped uselessly at his sides, his eyes wide open and glassy. His throat had been slit, drenching his body in crimson splashes and staining everything it touched red. His clothing was soaked in blood, looking wet and sticky to the touch. The floor before him was splattered with thick puddles and red stripes, forming twisting shapes and patternless patterns on the champagne-colored rug.
But it was Terry's expression that Harry could not stop looking at—his eyes were glassy and wide open, seeming to stare straight through Harry, the other man sat in the perfect position to gaze directly at the doorway. Drops of red liquid flecked his chin and jaw, his entire neck painted scarlet. Above that, two smiling lips were dotted with blood, his mouth stretched wide in an almost manic grin, and the sight sent a shudder through Harry. His smile was toothy and strange, and Harry had no idea what to make of it. Why the fuck was Terry smiling? How could someone smile as their throat was being slit?
"Oh my god," Malfoy whispered, staggering back several steps in horror. "Oh my god." Harry glanced over sharply, noting that the others had noticed Malfoy backing away from the room and were coming over to investigate.
Automatically, Harry wrenched the door shut, heart pounding viciously. So, it looked like Terry Boot really was dead, something he did not want the others to see, especially Padma. Oh, god. It felt as though Harry was going to be sick—the sight of Terry's grinning face sitting atop a bloodied body, the smile reflecting the long gaping slash stretched across his throat…Harry was certain he would never be able to forget the sight.
Fingers reached out and clutched at the fabric of his shirt, and he looked around to see Malfoy standing directly behind him, appearing paler than normal, breathing heavily and sounding as though he was on the verge of panic.
"Draco," Harry said quietly, succeeding in snapping the man's attention onto himself.
"Oh god, Harry," the blond whispered, and Harry silently agreed. His limbs felt strange and tingly, his entire body feeling odd. His insides felt numb and lifeless, while his skin felt as though it was crawling, as though something prickly and unpleasant was creeping across every inch of his flesh.
"Harry." Hermione's voice suddenly sounded right beside him, and he glanced over to find her peering at him with concern.
"Keep them away from that door, Hermione," Harry warned in a raspy voice. "Don't let anyone open it."
Mouth tightening, Hermione nodded, casting a complicated locking spell over the door.
"There's a parlor right there," Malfoy said weakly, pointing to a door along the opposite side of the wide entrance hall. "You can take them all in there."
"Okay," Hermione said, turning to speak to Ron in a low voice, who instantly began shooing everyone into the parlor. Turning back to the two men, Hermione waved her wand. "Sit down," she ordered softly, reaching out to push first Harry and then Malfoy into a seated position on the chairs she had just Conjured. "Just breathe, all right?" Conjuring two glasses, she cast an aguamenti, filling them one at a time with clear water and handing them to the two seated men. "I want you to drink some water, okay?" she said, keeping her words soft.
Sipping his water obediently, Harry was surprised to find he really was thirsty. Both he and Malfoy drained their glasses, shaking their heads when Hermione asked if they wanted more. She Vanished the empty glasses right as Ron joined them.
"Neville got them all in the parlor," he said, glancing at the lounge door. "What's in there that you don't want anybody seeing, Harry?"
At the question, both Harry and Malfoy turned their attention to the door. "Terry," Harry answered quietly. "Terry's in there."
Ron's gaze sharpened as he turned to exchange a look with Hermione. She unlocked the door with her wand, and Harry saw Malfoy turn away as Ron twisted the knob and pushed the door open. From where he was sat, Harry could see one of Terry's blood-stained hands lying on the sofa beside his body, alongside clothing darkened and still wet with crimson splashes. Copying Malfoy and turning away from the sight, Harry looked over to see a blank expression on Malfoy's face, one that made the brunet shiver.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.
Malfoy shook his head, swiveling his neck back around to give Harry an anguished look. "What the hell is going on?" he whispered. "Who is doing this? Who the hell is capable of doing something like that?"
"I don't know," Harry murmured, wanting to reach out to Malfoy in comfort but feeling himself hesitate for some reason. "We'll find them though, I promise."
"They waited until we had all left that room," Malfoy continued in a whisper. "They wanted us to find him like that. They're fucking toying with us, Potter; they're getting off on this. Whoever is doing this is fucking enjoying it; this is all just a game to them. Our lives are nothing more than a game to them. And it's someone we fucking know behind it all."
"We'll find them," Harry repeated, voice as numb as his insides.
The soft click of a door closing grabbed his attention and he glanced over to find Hermione locking the lounge once more, a grim look on her face. "Right," she said heavily. "I wasn't really expecting to find him alive, but this certainly wasn't—"
"Hey," a voice said behind her, and they all looked to the source, Harry's eyes narrowing as he saw Justin walking toward them. "There you guys are, I've been looking for you."
"Well, that's ironic," Harry said in a low voice, "because we've been looking for you."
"What do you mean?" Justin asked, sounding puzzled. "Do you know where Neville went? He just disappeared on me. I'm really worried, actually, I came back here to find someone to help me look for him."
"He's in the parlor with everyone else," Hermione told him, eyes flicking between Justin and Harry.
"Can we see your wand, Justin?" Harry pushed himself to his feet, holding out his hand.
A flicker of something crossed Justin's face at the request. "Why?" he asked, holding his wand to his chest protectively.
"Because," Harry said calmly, "Terry is dead. We're checking wands."
"What?" Justin gasped. "Terry is dead? When? How?!"
"He was found about four minutes ago," Harry told him, hand still held out. "Let me see your wand, Justin."
Justin gaped at him. "You can't think I had something to do with this!"
"We always check everyone's wands," Harry said, voice hardening, "you know this. It will only take a second, so hand it over already."
Justin stared at him for a long moment, a defiant light in his eyes, and Harry was certain he would refuse. "Fine," he finally relented with a sigh, handing it to Harry. Heart pounding with apprehension, Harry placed the tip of his wand to Justin's and cast a Priori Incantatem, noting with a small amount of relief and crushing amount of frustration that the last spell Justin had cast had been a Tempus, a simple and fast enough spell to cast that it in no way alleviated any of Harry's growing suspicions.
"Where were you, Justin?" Harry asked, handing the wand back over. "We found Neville in the conservatory, but you weren't in there."
"What do you mean?" he asked, sounding confused. "Of course I was in there."
"No," Harry corrected, crossing his arms, "you weren't. Neville went in the other room to look for you and you weren't there."
"Well, of course not," Justin responded, appearing nonplussed. "I had gone up to the second level of the main room."
"And you didn't hear us below you?" Harry asked skeptically.
"I heard someone speaking," Justin shrugged, "but I figured it was just Neville casting spells, trying to find a way out. I didn't know there was a conversation happening. That room is really tall you know."
"Neville said you left for a while," Harry continued, wondering if the man was telling the truth or not; he had no idea what to think. "He said that he tried to go with you but you insisted he stay behind."
"Well, yeah," Justin looked bewildered, "because I just needed to run to the loo. Bit embarrassing to have to drag another bloke to the toilet with you, isn't it? What's he supposed to do? Stand in there with me? Sit outside and listen? And then it took a while to find one—a toilet, I mean, not a bloke—and I got a bit turned around when I came back out. Are you—" his eyes flicked between Harry, Ron, and Hermione, "are you saying that you think I'm the one responsible?"
"Just wondering where you were," Harry answered smoothly. "I think you should go let Neville know you're all right before he gets any search parties organized."
"Right," Justin frowned at him, "yeah, okay." Without another word, he turned and headed toward the door Malfoy pointed at, opening it and glancing back at Harry one last time before disappearing into the room.
"Do you really think he's the one responsible?" Malfoy asked in a low voice, still seated in the chair Hermione had Conjured for him.
Harry sighed. "Honestly? I have no idea. All we have so far are suspicions. We don't even have enough evidence to be considered circumstantial, it's all just guesswork at this point. But I don't like the fact that he went off on his own, or the fact that Neville couldn't find him in the conservatory. I definitely didn't hear anybody walking around above us in there. And he was close by for the first two murders and conveniently missing during the third. He was the last one to join us in the ballroom last night, even though we have no idea what time he actually arrived. But he wasn't present for the dinner, which was most likely when the kitchen staff you hired were murdered." Harry sighed again. "All we can do is continue keeping an eye on him. We'll warn Neville to keep a close watch and try to make sure they're always around other people; even if we don't have concrete proof of anything, I don't want anyone going off alone with him."
"All right," Hermione nodded. "I'll speak to Neville about it."
The sound of raised voices reached their ears. "Shit," Ron sighed, "we better get in there before those idiots tear each other apart. What the fuck do you think they're arguing over now?"
"Guess we'll find out," Harry said heavily, turning to face the parlor. The voices grew louder as they neared the room, all of them seeming to sigh as one before Ron opened the door. Half the group was seated, appearing defeated and subdued, and the other half was on their feet, all glaring at one another and shouting, but everyone quieted down the moment the three Gryffindors stepped into the room.
"What's going on?" Harry asked, one eyebrow raised as he looked around at everyone.
"Boot is dead, isn't he?" Zacharias demanded, eyes flashing as he stepped forward, and Harry wondered when Hermione and Ron's group had found Smith and Entwhistle.
Trading a look with Ron and Hermione, Harry folded his arms and turned back to the angry man. "Yes," he confirmed grimly. "Terry is dead. We found him in the lounge." At the words, a layer of tense silence fell over the room like a thick velvet curtain, everyone looking at Harry in panic.
"It was him!" Zacharias spat furiously, jabbing a finger in Malfoy's direction. "We need to lock him up before he does it again! Someone grab him, get his wand! We need to—"
"You won't touch him," Harry said coldly, shifting his weight to stand in front of Malfoy, and he could practically feel Malfoy's tangible surprise at the move.
"You're fucking blind, Potter, if you think he's not the one doing all this," Smith fumed, glaring over Harry's shoulder at Malfoy. "He disappeared after lunch and this is the first time any of us have seen him since! Why are you protecting him when it couldn't be any more obvious who's killing everyone off?!"
"He was with me the entire time," Harry said in a hard voice, matching Smith's glare with one of his own. "Unlike you, who vanished right before Terry was reported missing. We have no idea where you were, but I can promise you that Draco hasn't been out of my sight once. So I'll tell you one more time, Smith, before I lose my patience—back off."
The two men glowered at one another for long moments before Smith finally shifted his weight to his back foot, looking away and muttering something beneath his breath.
"What was that, Smith?" Ron asked loudly, staring at the blond as though he would like nothing more than to hex him. "We didn't quite catch that."
Smith turned his glare onto Ron but wisely chose to say nothing.
"Is Terry really dead?"
At the question, everyone's attention snapped onto Padma, who had tears running down her face. Anthony moved to sit beside her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders in comfort, although Harry could see his own lip trembling.
"I'm sorry," Harry offered, knowing it was a hollow, useless platitude that did nothing to comfort in the face of grief; he had heard the two words often enough in his life to know how empty they really were, and how little it actually helped anything to hear them.
Turning to Anthony, she buried her face in his chest, weeping softly. Parvati stared at her sister, tears streaming down her own cheeks as she laid one hand against Padma's arm. Anthony wrapped his other arm around Padma, stroking her dark hair as his own eyes filled with tears. Michael Corner sank down onto the floor near the wall, face blank as he gazed at nothing.
"How could someone do this to Terry?" Lisa sobbed, looking desperately around the room with red eyes. "Who could be horrible enough to do this to him? Terry was so nice…he never hurt anybody. I've never even seen him angry."
"He used to help me with my Transfiguration homework," Padma wept, staining Anthony's robes with her tears as she clutched at the fabric with her fingers. "We used to quiz each other for tests. I don't understand this!"
"Terry was the first person I ever played Quidditch with," Anthony said, voice thick. "He was the first person I ever went to Hogsmeade with. Remember, Michael?" he released a shaky laugh. "Our first trip to the village? Terry took one look at Madam Rosmerta and turned bright red. He couldn't even get the drinks order out, he was stammering so bad." A loud sob suddenly tore from Anthony's throat, his arms tightening around Padma as he buried his face in her hair. "He can't be dead," he whispered, shaking his head frantically as Padma cried harder.
The sight made Harry's own eyes burn in sympathy and he turned away, feeling uncomfortable and raw at the sight of another person's grief. He had never been particularly close with Terry, but he remembered him from the DA and had certainly liked the boy well enough. He remembered Terry being helpful and patient with the others, moving through the spells quickly but always willing to help the others catch up.
"Do you remember seventh year?" Neville asked, eyes shining with emotion. "When he burst into the Great Hall during dinner one day out of nowhere and started shouting about Harry, Ron, and Hermione breaking into Gringotts and escaping on a stolen dragon and half the hall started cheering? I thought the Carrows were going to explode, they were so angry."
Michael snorted softly. "God, did he get it bad for that one," he murmured, eyes glassy and distant. "I remember taking him to the Hospital Wing afterwards and him saying he would have done it again in a heartbeat."
Padma sobbed harder, Anthony gently rocking her in place as tears dripped down his cheeks to land in the black strands of her hair. "He was our friend," she wept, "he was never unkind to anyone, he didn't have a single enemy. Who would want to do this to him?"
"They won't get away with it," Anthony said in a low voice, tears still flowing from two hardened eyes. "Whoever it was, they won't get away with it."
Glancing over to Justin, Harry noted the way the man held himself stiffly, eyes fixed on the floor and face expressionless, and he wondered what the Hufflepuff was thinking.
"So," Smith said, speaking over the sobs still echoing around the room, "that makes one Hufflepuff and two Ravenclaws now dead. Anybody else notice how none of the Slytherins have been killed yet? Or the fact that they're not even here?" He fixed Malfoy with a fierce glare. "They could have been anywhere this entire time. I think we all already know who killed Terry. And he probably never even saw it coming, because the three of you," he swung his glare between Harry, Ron, and Hermione, "keep defending them at every fucking turn! You lot are the reason he's dead! They probably didn't even have to sneak up on him! They probably just walked right up to him and he never thought a fucking thing about it, since the Chosen One," he sneered the two words, "and his pals have decided the Slytherins are innocent and it's the rest of us who are the guilty ones. Anyone who's stupid enough to trust them is an idiot. Boot should have been smart enough to have his guard up around them and this wouldn't have happened. He should've known better than to ever—" a sudden violet streak of light hit Smith and he cried out in pain, looking automatically to the three Gryffindors, but it was Michael Corner who rose slowly to his feet.
"You shut your fucking mouth, Smith," he growled, brandishing his wand threateningly. "Nobody wants to hear the sound of your whiny voice or any of the stupid shit you always spout. If you say one more goddamn word about Terry, I'll hex your entire fucking tongue from your mouth, do you understand me?"
Smith's eyes widened at the threat, glancing toward the Aurors in the room as though waiting for them to come to his defense. They were all silent.
"Do you understand me?" Michael repeated, voice as hard as granite.
Smith glared down at the floor. "Yes," he said tightly, "I understand."
"Good," Michael snarled, wand still raised. "Now apologize to Padma for upsetting her even more, you fucking insensitive arsehole."
At Smith's hesitation, Michael jabbed his wand in his direction, spitting out several colored sparks at the blond, who instantly shrank away.
"Sorry," he muttered down to the rug, flinching when Michael jabbed his wand again. "Sorry, Padma," he said louder, eyes flicking up to her.
She said nothing, still crying into Anthony's shirt. Michael glared at Zacharias for several more seconds before slowly lowering his wand and walking over to sink down next to Anthony on the sofa. Harry glanced over to Stephen, who was sitting ashen faced in the corner, not looking at any of them.
"This is my fault," he murmured, sounding hollow. "It's my fault he's dead. I was meant to be his partner and I didn't stop this. He should never have been left on his own. I don't even know what happened, he just disappeared."
"We'll find whoever did this," Michael vowed in a low voice, reaching over Anthony to squeeze Padma's arm. "We'll find them, Stephen."
"I'm sorry," Stephen whispered, tucking his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. "I'm so sorry. I left him alone. I left him all alone and now he's gone." A single tear slid down his cheek. "I'm sorry."
Still sobbing, Lisa crossed the room to kneel next to Stephen, enfolding him in an embrace. Silently, he turned his face into her shoulder, allowing himself to be held.
"You can come be with us, Stephen," she said in a trembling voice, "you can be with me and Susan. And nobody will be left on their own again, I promise."
"Can we…do something for them?" Parvati sniffed, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "Hannah, Mandy, and Terry, I mean. Can we…do something?"
"You mean like a memorial service?" Hermione asked gently, and Padma wept harder at the question. Anthony's eyes were clenched shut, face twisted in pained emotion, looking as though it hurt just to breathe, and Harry understood the feeling. He was all too familiar with the feeling grief gave a person, as though they had somehow swallowed a thousand rose stems and were trying to breathe through lungs now filled with thorns, sharp thorns like barbed daggers that slowly tore a person to pieces from the inside out. It was a feeling he could not stand to see in another person; grief was a feeling he was far too familiar with; a feeling he understood better than any other emotion—if there was one thing Harry was well-acquainted with by now, it was grief.
"Padma?" Parvati asked softly, stroking her sister's hair from her face. "Is that something you would like?"
Padma nodded jerkily, still refusing to let go of Anthony, who held her even tighter.
"Okay," Hermione nodded, keeping her voice gentle. "Tonight then, we'll hold a memorial service for the three of them. In the meantime, however, I've sealed the lounge,"—a loud cry tore from Padma's throat as Anthony clenched his eyes shut even harder—"and I'm asking that nobody go near it. Until the Aurors can get here and forensics can examine the bodies, I don't want anything contaminating the evidence."
Both Padma and Lisa wailed harder at her words, and Hermione's face twisted apologetically. "We'll also try to find a larger and more appropriate room to move to," she continued, "because I would like to start keeping closer track of where everyone is at all times, and the easiest way to do that is to remain as a group. I would also like to speak to everyone and get a more solid idea of where everybody was at the time of Terry's murder. Malfoy," she turned to face the blond, who startled at the sound of his name. "Will you and Harry go get the other Slytherins, please, and bring them down here?" Although she had said it in the form of a question, Harry knew it was not a suggestion.
"Yes," Malfoy nodded, slanting Harry a glance. "I know where they are, so it won't take long."
"All right," Hermione nodded. "While the two of you are doing that, I'm going to start speaking with everybody individually. This is not an interrogation, I'm simply trying to establish where everybody was at the time of Terry's disappearance. Ron will check wands while I do that, and Neville," his attention snapped onto her, "I'm putting you in charge of keeping the peace in this room." He nodded once in agreement. "Harry, Draco," she turned to the two of them, "hurry back. And be careful."
"Right," Harry agreed, turning to Malfoy and stepping around him to pull the door open for the blond, who shot Harry a puzzled look as though nobody had ever held a door open for him before and he was not sure how to deal with it.
Following after the blond, Harry allowed the door to click shut behind himself, falling into step beside Malfoy, who slanted him a look out of the corner of his eye.
"So," Harry began, "where are the others then?"
Malfoy raised one eyebrow at him. "Where they've been since last night. Come, Potter." He began up the enormous sweeping staircase leading to the upper level, the marble railing feeling like ice beneath Harry's hand as he trailed after the other man.
"Where are we going, Malfoy?" he wondered, curious about where they were headed. He had only ever seen the ground floor of the Manor—he had never been up to the first floor before. He had never even stepped foot on the staircase before.
Malfoy said nothing, waiting until they had reached the landing before turning to give Harry a complicated look. "We're going to my bedroom, Potter. Come."
And Harry had no idea why those words sent a shiver of excitement racing through him.
TBC