"Where there is mystery, it is generally suspected there must also be evil." —Lord Byron
ALL BUT DEATH
X
THERE MUST BE EVIL
"What the fuck are they doing here?" Smith asked in a hard voice the moment the Slytherins stepped into the room behind Harry.
"Trust me when I tell you, it's not because we missed your company," Zabini drawled, matching the other man's tone.
"Then don't be near it," Smith shot back, and Harry forced himself not to grind his teeth.
Zabini raised one eyebrow at the blond. "Are you forgetting whose fucking house you're standing in, Smith?"
"Is it the one that five of us have been murdered in so far?" Smith asked sarcastically, and Harry held out one arm to stop both Zabini and Malfoy from taking a step forward.
"Don't make me have to start threatening to hex your mouth shut again, Smith," Harry said quietly, clenching his wand tightly in one fist. "You just can't seem to help yourself, can you?"
"At least I'm worth helping," Smith glared. "Unlike them."
"Yeah, so says you," Seamus muttered.
"Fuck off, Finnigan," Smith snapped, and Harry wanted to growl as Seamus rose to his feet in anger.
"Stop it!" a voice called, and everyone fell silent as Padma stood from the couch and made her way into the center of the room, glaring at everybody through tear-filled eyes. "For god's sake, just stop it! Zacharias," she turned her stare onto him, and although his expression did not relax, Harry noticed that he seemed to have trouble meeting her gaze. "Please, Zacharias, just stop it already. This isn't helping. S-Susan and Lisa are b-both d-d-dead now," she sobbed, allowing the tears to flow freely as a heavy silence fell over the others. "So for god's s-sake, show some respect!"
Quiet enveloped the room like thick, heavy fog, clinging to everything it touched with icy fingers stinking of horror and fear and memories best left unremembered.
"Anything else to say, Smith?" Ron finally asked, breaking the century-long silence.
The other man hesitated, appearing torn over whether to voice whatever he was thinking, and Harry wondered if he really would be stupid enough to force a fight.
"Yeah," Zacharias said in a quiet voice after several long moments of debate. "Only that everything you just said is such absolute fucking shit, Padma. You don't know what the hell you're talking about."
The outrage was immediate. Michael jumped to his feet, brandishing his wand in one hand. Parvati raced to her sister's side to glare at Smith so fiercely that Harry was amazed the man had not already burst into flames from the force of it. Along the wall, Harry saw Justin and Kevin shrink back from the group, as though not wanting to be connected in any way with Zacharias, even through House affiliation.
"You don't speak to her that way, you fucking arsehole!" Michael shouted, eyes blazing as he marched closer to Smith, and Harry and Ron hurried to step between the two men.
"Why?" Smith sneered, "Can she not handle hearing the truth? She's the one being disrespectful to the dead, not me! Ignoring what happened is not respect! The only real way to respect any of them is to find whoever fucking did it! I'm sick of you lot and your disgusting need to put politeness over practicality! We're all going to be killed because of people like her!"
"How about I just kill you right here then and save the real killer the trouble?" Michael snapped, trying his hardest to push past Ron, who had a firm grip on the man's upper arms. "You are useless, Smith! All you do is try to force rifts everywhere you go! Is it because you haven't got any fucking friends of your own? Is that why you can't seem to stand it when the people around you aren't as bitter and spiteful as you are, you fucking arsehole?"
"Yeah?" Smith taunted, "Are you gonna kill me like you killed Terry and the others? Is this your way of confessing, Corner?"
Every line of Michael's face was carved in hatred as he glared at Zacharias. Breaking away from Ron, he lifted his wand and opened his mouth to cast a spell that Harry knew he would ultimately regret. Reacting on pure instinct, Harry raised his own wand and quickly disarmed both men, clutching the caught wands in his left hand as he kept a steady hold on his own wand, unwavering as he grasped it tightly in his right fist.
Ignoring the fact that his wand was now gone, Michael launched himself forward, tackling Smith and sending them both crashing to the floor. He drew back his arm and managed to smash one fist into Zacharias's angry face before he was pulled off the man by Neville and Ron. "YOU DON'T FUCKING TALK ABOUT TERRY!" Michael screamed, struggling against the Aurors holding him. "YOU DON'T FUCKING TALK ABOUT PADMA! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU IF I HEAR YOUR FUCKING VOICE ONE MORE TIME, YOU STUPID FUCKING WASTE OF LIFE! I WOULD TRADE YOUR USELESS LIFE A THOUSAND TIMES FOR JUST ONE OF HIS, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"
Still glaring but now appearing rather shocked, Zacharias picked himself up off the floor and wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of one hand, sniffing loudly as blood continued to trickle from his nose. For a moment it looked as though he intended to respond, but Harry silenced him with a glare and a threatening gesture of his wand.
"Michael," a soft voice said, and everyone turned to find Padma walking up to Michael, who began to slow his struggles as he stared at her with helpless eyes, breathing heavily. "Michael," she repeated, stepping close enough to cup his jaw with two trembling hands. "It's okay, Michael," she whispered. "It's okay."
With a shudder, he collapsed into her, wrapping her in an embrace and weeping into her shoulder, and she did not hesitate to hug him back, lifting one hand to his head to comb lightly through his hair. "Shh, it's okay," she whispered, voice thick with tears. "I know, Michael. I know. It's okay. I miss him too."
"He shouldn't be gone, Padma," he whispered, voice soft but still so heavy with anguish. "Fuck, he shouldn't be gone!"
"I know," she wept, clinging to him as though he was a life raft. "I know, Michael, I know."
"He should still be here. He should still be here with us, Padma. Fuck, I'd do anything to have him back here with us!"
From a meter away, Smith made a soft scoffing noise, and Harry turned to him in disgust. "One more word, Smith," he said quietly, "and I promise you that we won't stop him the next time."
Glaring through the large bruise beginning to darken his cheek, Zacharias flushed angrily but fell silent once more.
"Are you finished now, Smith?" Hermione's voice cut in, and they all turned to find her gazing coolly at the scene before her.
"Yeah, Hermione, he's finished," Ron answered for the man, crossing his arms. "Right, Smith?"
Zacharias said nothing, choosing to glare down at the floor instead.
"Good," Hermione said briskly, turning away from Zacharias. "Now, there is actually a reason that we've gathered everybody together."
"Lisa and Susan," Parvati whispered, and Hermione nodded sadly.
"Yes," she agreed. "Lisa and Susan. But also because Stephen and Anthony are still missing." The statement earned a loud sob from Padma, and Harry noticed Michael's fingers clench into fists against Padma's back.
"Nobody found them?" Harry wondered, feeling disappointment, worry, and suspicion swirl through him in a muddled mess of shifting emotion.
"No," Hermione said with a shake of her head. "Both groups came back empty-handed. So I thought we would check again more thoroughly as one group."
The words made Harry uneasy as he glanced between Smith and the Slytherins, wondering if more prolonged contact would only result in another row. "Has anybody checked upstairs?" he asked.
"No, only the ground floor."
"Right then," Harry nodded. "I'll take the Slytherins and we can check upstairs while you lot comb down here for them."
"They wouldn't be upstairs," Malfoy interrupted. "Why would they go up there?"
Harry shrugged with obvious discomfort, not wanting to state the only two reasons he could think of aloud, which was that the two of them might have gone upstairs to look for the five Slytherins, or they had been killed and hidden somewhere up there. "It's worth a look," he said instead.
"As long as it gets us away from Smith," said Zabini casually, and the other Slytherins murmured agreements.
"Let's go then," Harry said before Smith had a chance to respond. Stepping forward, he began to shuffle the Slytherins from the room before a loud voice stopped him.
"Potter?" Turning back, he saw Smith staring at him expectantly, one hand held out. "My wand?"
"Oh, right," Harry mused, glancing down at the two wands held in his left fist. "You know, I think I'll let Ron hold onto both of these, actually, at least until we've found Stephen and Anthony. We'll wait to return these until you and Michael can get a bit of space from each other."
"You can't keep our fucking wands!" Smith hissed, eyes flashing fury as Harry handed the wands over to Ron, watching as Ron tucked them away out of sight.
"He's actually one of the few here who legally can," Hermione corrected. "As an Auror, Harry does have the right to confiscate a wand from a dangerous individual in a life-threatening situation. And you have clearly marked yourself as a dangerous individual, Zacharias."
Still glaring, Zacharias responded by muttering several things beneath his breath.
Ignoring him, Harry turned to speak to Ron and Hermione instead. "Send me a Patronus if you need help with anything."
"'Course," Ron nodded. "You send us one if you find anything."
Returning the nod, Harry swept the Slytherins from the room toward the direction of the large staircase. They followed behind him like hushed shadows, none of them saying a word. The only sounds Harry could hear were the muffled scrapes of their feet against the hard floor beneath them, and the occasional eerie creak of the old house around them. A sudden rumble of thunder broke overheard, startling the six of them. The hallway they were in was dark and cold, without a single window or hint of the outside sky in view, only yellow gas lamps throwing weak puddles of light every few meters. Every door along the corridor was closed tight, and Harry wondered if Stephen and Anthony were behind any of them. But would they be found dead or alive? The house was so impossibly large, how long would it take everybody to find the two missing men? How long would it take to conduct a proper investigation in a house this size?
Another creak sounded directly above Harry's head at the same moment a deafening crack of thunder tore through the air. Once again, he could not shake the feeling that they were all being watched by the creeping shadows. The dark huddled shapes clung to the walls and spread across the floor like an ominous black puddle, sucking up any scrap of light or warmth or comfort that was foolish enough not to run from the black, overpowering presence taking over the hallway and swallowing up everything in sight.
In fact, Harry thought, listening to the house groan and creak around them, it felt as though the entire house had swallowed everything inside it and tore it away from the rest of the world—at that moment, nothing felt real to Harry. The outside world did not exist. None of them still existed. The manor they were trapped in had become a world of its own, a dangerous world, one that so many had already not survived. The soft gas lamps cast tiny pools of light on their surroundings, trying desperately to pierce the ever-encroaching darkness that seemed to be shifting closer and closer towards them. It seemed that every time Harry took his eyes off one of the many long-fingered shadows stretching from the walls, it appeared to have moved closer the next time he looked in that direction. Was it all in his head? Was he simply imagining it? Had the old house and the threatening atmosphere gotten to him?
The wooden steps beneath their feet seemed to creak grim cautions to them as they ascended the staircase, groaning out a pained, portentous warning, but Harry simply could not tell what the house was attempting to say. The landing they now stood on was drenched in grey darkness, and Harry could see through the tall windows farther along the corridor that the sky outside was the color of cold cement, every cloud in the tempestuous heavens swollen with both rainwater and an ill-boding sort of virulent ire that seemed to match the air hanging over the heads of everybody locked away from the approaching storm, trapped behind dark walls the color of prison bars.
"Nobody splits away from the group," Harry said, finally breaking the tense silence that had been sitting stagnant between them all, and although his voice was soft, the other five still jumped at the sound. "Not for anything."
"I hardly think any of us are going to start wandering around on our own at this stage," Nott responded dryly.
Nodding, Harry turned to Malfoy. "Okay, Draco. This is your house. Where should we start looking, do you think?"
Malfoy turned to him with a blank look, blinking for several seconds before gesturing to his right. "We can start with this wing."
"Okay," Harry nodded again. "I think we should take one side of the hallway and work our way through those rooms, and then we can check the rooms on the other side when we come back up this way." Without waiting for a response, Harry marched across the hallway to the nearest door, standing a meter away and opening it with a spell before pausing, holding up a cautious hand to the others as he waited for any hexes to be aimed at the open door, but nothing happened.
Stepping forward carefully, Harry entered the room with wary steps, head swiveling in all directions as gas lamps flared softly to life, casting a yellow glow over the gloomy room he stood in. It appeared to be an unused bedroom, one that looked to have not been touched in years. There was a thick layer of dust over the furnishings, as well as a sort of staleness in the air that seemed to have a taste and texture to it, coating Harry's tongue and feeling heavy in his lungs.
"I don't think they're in here," he said quietly, crossing the room to open the large ebony wardrobe, unsurprised to find it empty.
"Do you really think they would be stashed away like that?" Parkinson wondered, and Harry turned back to find the others all huddled in a close group. "I mean, all the others have been practically put on display for us. Why would whoever did this hide them?"
"That's operating under the assumption that they're dead," Harry said, leading the way from the room and toward the next door, noting that all five of the Slytherins were following closely behind.
"So you're saying you do suspect them then?" Davis asked in a low voice.
"I've never trusted Cornfoot," Nott said, sounding bored. "There's always been something off about that one. He's far too annoyingly cordial, is he not?"
Harry raised both eyebrows. "And you think that's a reason to mistrust someone?"
"Of course," Nott said smoothly. "That sort of over-congeniality is unnatural, Potter. It's obviously a mask for something. It's more than enough for me to suspect an individual of ulterior motives. You've gotten far too used to dealing with Gryffindors and taking everything they say at face value. Oftentimes, you have to look beneath the surface to truly understand what a person is saying. You have to hear between the words, Potter; you have to understand what they're not saying first."
"You have to understand what someone isn't saying in order to understand what they are saying?" Harry asked sarcastically as they exited the second empty room and continued on.
"Exactly," Nott shrugged.
"Lord, how exhausting it must be for you lot to hold simple conversations with people," Harry muttered, spelling the next door open and entering first.
"Well," Zabini snorted bitterly, "now you're assuming that we even have conversations with people outside of the five of us, Potter. You clearly underestimate how much society dislikes us."
"Can I ask you lot a question?" Harry wondered, his words colored with hesitation. He wasn't sure if his question would be a difficult or painful one to answer, but there was still so much that he did not know about them.
"Go ahead," Malfoy allowed cautiously after several moments of silence.
"Where are the other Slytherins?" Harry asked as they exited yet another empty room and continued on. "Where's Goyle and Greengrass and Bulstrode? Why aren't they here?"
"Millicent was never close with any of us," Parkinson answered, and Harry did not miss the shared glance between them. "And Daphne won't associate herself with us any longer. Not since the end of the war."
"And Goyle?" Harry prodded, uncertain if he should be asking about the man. What if it was something that none of them, Malfoy especially, wanted to think about?
"He hasn't stepped foot in this house in years," Malfoy said flatly, and Harry turned to him in surprise, unsure of what to make of the man's tone.
"Can I ask why?" Harry stepped closer to the man, speaking in a soft, hesitant voice.
Draco mouth twisted in a bitter smile, although he did not move away. "He hates me, Potter. To be perfectly frank, he blames me for Vincent's death. He believes that it's my fault that Vincent died, and he's never quite been able to get over that anger and resentment he still holds for me."
"But it wasn't your fault," Harry said in surprise, blinking at the other man. How the hell was Crabbe's death Malfoy's fault? Yes, Crabbe had been there with Malfoy. But based on Crabbe's actions in the Room of Requirement, he would have been there trying to kill the three Gryffindors regardless of Malfoy's involvement in it.
The statement made Malfoy's mouth tighten as he turned away. "I'm afraid that your misguided take on the matter is not enough to sway him from his fury, Potter."
"It's not misguided," Harry argued, shifting closer. "I was there, Draco, I know it wasn't your fault. And I don't know how Goyle can blame you for Crabbe's death when you're the only reason Goyle made it out of there alive in the first place."
"Yes," Malfoy said in a distant voice, holding himself stiffly. "It clearly had nothing to do with the trio of Gryffindor idiots who had nothing better to do than to come back through a raging inferno just to save two people they hated, right?"
"But you didn't let him go," Harry said softly, stepping several inches to his right in order to try to catch Malfoy's eye. "We never even would have had the chance to get him out of there if you hadn't pulled him up those desks with you, Draco. He was unconscious and you still dragged him up those desks with you. You were the one who pulled him out of the fire. I fail to see how I'm any more responsible for saving his life than you are."
Malfoy's head whipped around to stare at Harry with wide eyes the color of the stormy sky outside, eyes full of a thousand different emotions that Harry did not know how to read. What was the man thinking? Was he finding any comfort in anything Harry was saying or was Harry simply embarrassing himself?
The silence stretched as he continued to stare at Harry, and Harry could not remove his gaze if he tried. There was an entire hurricanic sea of emotions storming in the depths of Malfoy's grey eyes, and Harry could not turn from the sight. He wanted so badly to understand the man, to know what he was thinking and how he was feeling. How could he learn more about him?
"This room is empty, if you two hadn't noticed," Zabini drawled, and Harry's head snapped around to find the man leaning against the doorframe watching them. "And so is the next one. We checked that one about an hour or so ago while you were having your little staring contest."
Rolling his eyes, Harry cleared his throat and took a step away from Malfoy. "I told you lot not to split from the group."
"I'm pretty sure it was the two of you, actually, that failed to remain with the group," Nott spoke up from the corridor, and Harry flushed as he wondered what the four Slytherins were thinking. He did not want them jumping to any conclusions about what they had interrupted; at least not until Harry himself was actually sure of what they had interrupted.
"Come on then," Harry said gruffly, sparing one last look for Malfoy out of the corner of his eye before exiting the room.
And he wondered again what Malfoy was thinking.
oOo
"How many rooms have we checked by now?" Harry complained, shutting the door behind himself. He was certain that had to have been at least the seven-hundredth room they had checked, and they still weren't even halfway through the opposite wing. "Seriously, Malfoy, how many rooms are in this bloody house?"
"Do you mean upstairs or downstairs?" Malfoy drawled. "And would you like me to include all the properties on the estate, or are we just talking the main house?"
"Christ," Harry muttered. "Stephen and Anthony could be hiding in this place for years before we find them. They could be hiding here for years without us ever finding them."
Malfoy said nothing as he strode to the next door. It was a deep walnut brown, so dark it was nearly black, carved with patterns and twisting shapes spread across its surface. A thin line of gold edging ran around the entire frame, seeming to glimmer in the dim light of the lamps in a way that made Harry shiver. There was something about that door that made him want to step away. The handle was matte black and made from heavy iron. It looked cold to the touch and just the sight of it made Harry's palms tingle as an icy feeling swept over him.
"What room is this?" Harry asked quietly, studying the looming door as though there were clues spelled out and hidden amongst the carvings.
Malfoy said nothing for a very long time. "This was my aunt's bedroom," he finally responded, keeping his head turned away from Harry, who couldn't help but inhale sharply and take an automatic step back. The other four Slytherins all looked to Harry, hooded gazes heavy with caution.
A sudden loud crack sounded, accompanied by a flash of lightning, and Harry fell back another step. The doorway seemed to loom even larger than before, appearing to be growing before Harry's eyes until it was all he could see. This was where Bellatrix had lived. It was where she had lived and where she had slept and where she had plotted and cackled and rejoiced in every horrible thing she had done. This was the bedroom of the woman who had killed Sirius and laughed about it. The bedroom of the woman who had ordered her own nephew to kill the Snatchers who had taken Harry to the manor. The woman who had killed Dobby and a hundred others without a second thought. And Harry did not want to take a single step closer.
"We'll go in," Parkinson said in a quiet voice, succeeding in capturing Harry's attention. He wrenched his gaze from the door to land on the woman who had spoken, who was watching him with a furrowed brow. "We'll go in and do a quick check. Just…stay out here, Potter." Without another word, she turned back to the door and reached for the knob, looking to Draco in surprise when the door did not budge.
"It's sealed," he explained, still not looking in Harry's direction.
"Should we even bother checking then?" Nott wondered, gazing at the door in disinterest. "How would they have gotten in if it was sealed?"
"No," Harry said in a low, scratchy voice. "We need to check."
Nodding, Malfoy raised his wand and began to murmur a stream of incantations, tapping the doorknob as he cast a succession of spells without drawing a single breath, until the doorframe trembled and Harry heard a lock click open. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and began to step forward before suddenly coming to a halt as Draco threw out an arm to prevent him from entering the room. He gestured for Zabini and Nott to go inside, still refusing to look in Harry's direction as he kept one arm barring Harry's path.
"Malfoy," he said quietly, frowning when the man still did not turn to look at him. "Draco." At the sound of his name, Draco's head snapped in his direction, staring at Harry with a strange combination of emotions—it seemed to be an odd mixture of contrition, sorrow, and regret, along with an uneasy fear that Harry did not know the source of. "It's fine," the brunet continued, looking back to the doorway. "I can go inside."
"They'll be back out in a second," Malfoy murmured, finally lowering his arm back to his side.
Opening his mouth to inform Malfoy that Harry really was okay, he was stopped as he heard a voice from inside the room call his name. "Potter!" Zabini called sharply. "You might want to get in here."
Nodding to himself, Harry stepped past Malfoy without a word and marched inside, unprepared for the sight that met him. The first thing he noticed was how large the room was. It was even bigger than Draco's but somehow much darker, and Harry wasn't sure if that was because of the storm raging outside or if the room simply received less light because of where it was located. Perhaps the light avoided entering it, just as Harry had been wont to do. The nearby bed jutted from the wall like a slab of stone, looking uncomfortable and hard and reminding Harry of a burial plot, for some reason. The curtains were an emerald green dark enough to appear black; the bedding and pillows were stark white and the blanket was a deep ebony edged in shimmering gold. Every piece of furniture in the room was made from black wood, and it wasn't until Harry noticed that that he realized just how cold the room was. He could practically see the breath in front of his face.
Taking a closer look around, he also noticed that there was a heavy layer of dust over everything, including the bed. Every surface in the room was coated, reminding Harry of an early-winter snowfall. Even the carpet beneath his feet seemed to puff up small clouds of dust with every one of his footsteps.
"Potter!" a sharp voice called, and Harry's head snapped up to find Zabini and Nott standing near a doorway along the distant wall, staring at him with narrowed, serious eyes. Without hesitation, Harry hurried over to them, trying his hardest to brush all thoughts away of whose bedroom he had found himself inside.
But as he neared, he slowed, feeling his heart begin to race and pound as he noticed a foot lying on the floor of the next room, and as Harry drew closer, he realized the connected room was an en suite. Every beat of his heart was stuttered and frantic as he stepped nearer and nearer, wondering whose body that was. Who was now dead? Was it only one body, or were both Stephen and Anthony in there, lying cold and lifeless on Bellatrix Lestrange's bathroom floor? Harry's lips felt numb and his fingers tingled as he finally reached the threshold of the bathroom. Gazing down, he felt his heart stumble as he recognized Anthony's face, head turned to the side and eyes closed. The next moment, however, Harry's breath caught in shock as he realized that Anthony's chest was moving.
Falling to his knees, Harry hurriedly reached out to feel for a pulse, sagging in relief when his fingers found a steady beat. "He's alive," he whispered, quickly fumbling for his wand and casting a hasty Ennervate over the unconscious man.
Two year-long seconds ticked past before Anthony's eyes flickered open, drawing a startled breath as he noticed Harry leaning over him. Another second passed before he seemed to notice Zabini and Nott standing directly behind him and his eyes grew wide as he scrambled backwards on his hands, hitting the porcelain sink behind him.
"Anthony," Harry said in a low voice, holding up his hands to show he meant no harm. "It's fine, you're okay. It's just us."
"What the hell?" Anthony mumbled, glancing around himself. "Where am I?"
"Somewhere you shouldn't be," a voice said behind Harry, and he turned to find Draco frowning down at Anthony, arms folded across his chest. "How did you get in here, Goldstein?"
Anthony's eyes narrowed at the accusation in Malfoy's voice. "I don't even fucking know where 'here' is, Malfoy, so how would I have any idea how I got inside whatever this place is?"
"What happened, Anthony?" Harry interrupted before Malfoy could respond. He did not need petty bickering to deal with when all he wanted from the man on the floor was answers. "What's the last thing you remember?"
Anthony's face scrunched up as he thought. "Um…I don't really…I'm not sure…"
"We've all been looking for you for hours," Harry said quietly. "You and Stephen disappeared ages ago."
"Stephen is missing? Is he here too?" Anthony's face suddenly drained of color. "Oh god, please tell me nothing happened to him! Please tell me you've found him!"
With a small shake of Harry's head, Anthony's shoulders slumped in defeat. "But I'm not sure about the others," Harry said. "We've been checking upstairs for you. The others are still checking the ground level."
"Upstairs?" Anthony's face twisted in confusion. "What do you mean upstairs? I never went upstairs!"
"But that's where you are," Malfoy said coolly. "You're upstairs, Goldstein, in a room that should have been sealed."
"A room that was sealed," Harry corrected with sudden realization. "It was still sealed when we got here."
"Then how the hell did I end up here?" Anthony demanded, his words edged with panic. "I don't remember coming here! I swear to god, Harry, I didn't go upstairs! Especially not alone!"
"I believe you, Anthony," Harry soothed. "Just tell me the last thing you remember."
"I don't know!" Anthony cried, shaking his head frantically and clutching two fistfuls of hair. "Fuck, Harry, I don't know! I think…I mean, we had breakfast this morning, didn't we? I think I might remember that…but, fuck! I'm not sure if I actually remember it or if I just think I remember it!"
"Do you remember playing snooker at all today?" Harry asked.
"Snooker…?" Anthony repeated, gazing into the distance as he thought back. "Is there a snooker table in this house?"
Harry turned to exchange a glance with Malfoy. "Yes, there is," he said, turning back to Anthony. "There's a snooker room downstairs. You and a bunch of the other blokes went in there today to play a few rounds. But they said that you and Stephen left to find a bathroom and never came back."
The more words that Harry spoke, the paler and paler Anthony was becoming. "But…" he said through bone-white lips, "but then…how am I still alive, Harry? Why aren't I dead right now? Fuck, Harry, I don't remember any of that!"
"I don't know, Anthony," Harry said honestly, climbing to his feet and holding out one hand to help pull Anthony up. The man swayed, a bit unsteady on his feet, but Harry held him still until he was able to shake his daze enough to stand on his own. "We need to go find the others though. Hermione can take a look at you."
Nodding weakly, Anthony allowed himself to be led through the doorway, staring around at the large bedroom with curious eyes. "Whose room is this?" he wondered, studying the dusty surroundings with a narrowed gaze.
Nobody said anything for several moments. "My aunt's," Malfoy finally responded.
The moment the two words fell from Malfoy's lips, Anthony turned even whiter. "Your aunt?" he whispered fearfully, a sharp glare cementing itself onto his face as he looked at the room with fresh eyes, his expression now one of suspicion and disgust. "You mean that Death Eater bitch who escaped from Azkaban and tried to kill half of Hogwarts?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Malfoy's mouth tighten as his fists clenched. "That's the one, yes," he said in an unexpectedly calm voice, shoulders trembling just slightly.
"What the fuck?" Anthony exclaimed, hurrying from the room and into the hallway. Once he was past the threshold, he took a deep breath, as though the air in the corridor was somehow more breathable. "How the hell did I end up in there?!"
"I've been wondering that myself," Malfoy responded in the same even tone, but Harry could see the way he was clenching his jaw.
"Let's just go find the others," Harry said to them both, offering Draco's shoulder a brief squeeze before shepherding Anthony up the corridor in the direction of the stairs. He heard the others following behind him. Every step he took away from Bellatrix's bedroom made him feel as if he could breathe just a bit easier, and as he walked away, he did not glance back once.
oOo
They had been waiting in the parlor for less than two minutes before Hermione burst inside, breathing heavily. "Where is he?" she demanded. "Where did you find him?" The moment they had gotten back downstairs, Harry had sent Hermione a Patronus explaining that they had found Anthony. Behind her, Harry could see the others pushing forward to try to catch a glimpse of the man, and Harry wondered how many of them were expecting to see a corpse.
Harry and Draco exchanged a glance as he crossed the room to pull Hermione into a distant corner. "He was upstairs," he said quietly, turning his head as he saw Malfoy come up behind him. "But where we found him, Hermione…"
"Where was it?" she asked cautiously, tucking a loose curl back into the bun atop her head.
"It was my aunt's bedroom," Draco said in a soft voice, speaking down to the floor beneath his feet. Harry saw Hermione's eyes widen before a sudden shudder wracked her entire frame.
"What the hell was he doing in there?" she whispered, voice distant and eyes glassy. Harry and Draco exchanged another look.
"He has no idea," Harry said heavily. "He was unconscious when we found him, and he says he can't remember anything."
Jaw tightening, Hermione nodded before walking over to Anthony and beginning to speak to him in a low voice.
Turning back to Malfoy, Harry noticed that the man was paler than normal; there did not appear to be a single drop of blood left in his face. "Are you okay?" Harry asked, reaching out to touch Draco on the arm.
At the touch, Draco's eyes shot up to land on Harry's face before a shaky laugh escaped him. "I think I should be asking you that, shouldn't I?"
Harry tilted his head in confusion. What did that mean?
"I'm sorry, by the way." The words were blurted in a rush, and Harry felt his confusion deepen.
"What are you apologizing for?" he wondered.
Draco shrugged. "I should have given you more warning about whose bedroom we were approaching. I did not intend to shock you with it."
"It's fine," Harry said automatically, unsure how he was feeling about the entire thing at that point. He felt strangely numb, although there was a large part of him that was relieved at how much distance was now between him and Bellatrix's bedroom, which was a place he did not want to think about. He had never before really thought about her having a bedroom, which he supposed was a bit daft since he knew that she had lived in the Manor after her escape from Azkaban. And while, when he had first entered the Manor, he had been hesitant about seeing the room that they had been taken to by the Snatchers and afraid of being forced to relive every awful memory from that night, Harry had never once considered the fact that he might have to see where Bellatrix had slept. He would never have guessed that seeing a place like that, a place that he had never before seen, might just be harder than seeing the place that the three Gryffindors had experienced actual trauma in.
But trying to picture Bellatrix in her bedroom, doing normal things like brushing her hair and sleeping, were all far too out of place and made Harry's skin crawl attempting to imagine it. He could imagine her killing and maiming and screaming with mirth at the sight of blood, but the thought of her having somewhere she was comfortable enough to lower her guard and actually sleep made his head spin. He did not want to think of her doing normal things like brushing her teeth and preparing for bed, because she was not a normal person. She was evil, and Harry did not like seeing anything to counter that fact. And he did not like to think about her sleeping in her enormous bed in her enormous room of the enormous mansion that she had lived in. For some reason, it was much more disconcerting to picture that than the uncountable acts of violence she had committed whilst alive.
"It's not fine," Draco argued in a low voice, shaking his head. "It's not fine, Harry. I know how not fine it is. I know the things she did…" he paused to shudder, squeezing his eyes shut tight. "There was a reason her room was sealed. It's been sealed since the night of the final battle when she…And so I know what it's like to see it…to be in such a place…where such a person lived…where she slept…"
"Draco," Harry murmured, surprising them both by pulling the man into a quick embrace. It was over just as quickly as it had happened, and Malfoy's eyes snapped open in surprise, staring at Harry with caution and shock and a strange gleam that Harry thought might just be hope embedded deep within their silvery depths.
"Why are you doing this, Potter?" Draco whispered, a tremor present in his words. "Why are you being so kind to me right now? I would have expected you to—"
"What, be angry at you for things that were never your fault?" Harry finished, raising both eyebrows. "I know that you weren't the one who broke her out of prison, and you weren't the one to invite her to stay here. And I can tell by your reaction how much you didn't like having her live under the same roof as you. And I can understand you not wanting to say anything about her bedroom before you had to. It's okay, Draco."
Malfoy said nothing in response, staring at Harry with disbelief and wonder warring in his gaze. "Harry…" he breathed, continuing to gaze at Harry in a way that made the brunet want to step closer and farther away at the same time. The way he was looking at Harry…as though he meant to…but no. No, there was no way that Malfoy meant to kiss him, was there?
"And what are you two doing secreted away in the corner like this?" a voice asked, and both men's heads snapped to the side to find Zabini and the other Slytherins staring at them curiously.
"Er, nothing," Harry said, taking an automatic step away from Malfoy, whose expression tightened, leaving Harry feeling unexplainably guilty.
"Draco, are you okay?" Parkinson asked softly, reaching out to stroke the backs of her fingers down Malfoy's cheek. The sight made something hot and uncomfortable clench tightly in Harry's stomach.
"Fine," Draco answered brusquely, stepping away from all of them. "Your friend is wanting to speak with you, Potter."
Glancing up, Harry was surprised to find that Malfoy was right. Hermione was heading toward him with a grim expression on her face, gesturing to him. The moment he reached her side, she pulled him away from everybody else, flicking her wand up in a privacy ward. "What did you find?" he asked, unsure if he really wanted to hear an answer.
"He's been Obliviated," she said flatly, folding her arms. "I don't know by whom, but I'm familiar enough with the spell that I know that his memory has been tampered with."
Harry shook his head. "There's only one person it could have been then, Hermione."
"Stephen," she agreed.
"And we still don't know where he is."
"But why wouldn't he simply kill him?" Hermione said thoughtfully. "That's the thing that keeps irritating me about the whole situation. Why would he wipe Anthony's memories instead of simply disposing of him as he did with all the others?"
"Maybe he never intended for Anthony to be there," Harry suggested. "Maybe Anthony saw him kill Lisa and Susan so Stephen Obliviated him as a result."
"But that still doesn't explain why he didn't simply just kill him," she argued. "He had no problem killing Terry, after all, and Terry was his partner."
"Fuck," Harry sighed. "I was thinking that we would at least get one answer for one of our thousand questions when we found either of them, but now we have even more questions and fewer answers than we did an hour ago."
"And I honestly don't know how to proceed from here," Hermione confessed, biting her lip. "I don't know what the next best thing to do will be. I don't know how to keep us safe, Harry."
"Is there any way you can restore his memories?" Harry asked desperately, feeling his stomach drop as Hermione shook her head.
"No," she said in a low voice. "Restoring another person's memories is extremely difficult, if it not outright impossible. It took me well over a year to be able to restore my parents' memories, and that was only because I was the original caster and knew exactly what and how everything was altered. And even then…" she blinked rapidly, "there are still such large gaps…so many things that they'll never…I'll never be able to restore it all…"
Eyes burning in sympathy, Harry pulled her into a hug, feeling her trembling in his arms, and he wondered how much pressure she was putting on herself to solve everything. He knew with certainty that not a single person in Hermione's life had ever put more pressure on her to have all the answers than she put on herself.
"We'll get out of here, Hermione," he murmured. "We'll make it out of here." He couldn't promise her that one day her parents would remember everything, and he couldn't promise that every single one of them would live to see the outside world, but he knew that he would sacrifice everything to keep Hermione and Ron safe. His friends would live; Harry would make sure of it.
Glancing back over at the group of Slytherins, Harry felt his heart constrict as his gaze landed on Malfoy, and he knew that, no matter what, Draco would also make it out alive.
Harry was determined.
Draco would live.
TBC
A/N: AAHHH, so many questions! What are we thinking? Does this change anyone's suspicions? Has it made anyone hate Zacharias even more? Don't worry if it hasn't, he's not done yet :)