WARNING!: Original characters introduced. Laine belongs to me, but Lorelai belongs to my clone, Merry. HIYA MER! xD
Disclaimer: NONE BELONGS TO ME! 'Cept...Laine. The storyline even barely belongs to me. LIZZIE MCGUIRE, PEOPLE! But the writing? See, that belongs to me. ::Nod::
Get a Clue
Chapter One
Let The Games Begin
Albus Dumbledore liked the colour known as midnight blue.
In fact, one could go as far to say that he loved it, but no one ever did. That was because they were all afraid they would offend him in some way, and no one wanted to offend him.
Really.
They didn't.
But, then again, how could they not have guessed his love for that particular colour? He always went walking around, knee-deep in it, because of his trademark robes. But those were also covered in moons and stars, entirely proper attire for the Headmaster of Hogwarts to be wearing. So maybe they hadn't.
But the author is just taking guesses.
But, yes, he did have a true love for the colour, and that's why he wrote all of his personal letters in a very thick ink with that very tint. The envelopes always bled when he used it, but he didn't mind it, though the recipient usually did.
So when a few students received letters coated in it, they had all but expected it.
"But, Albus," One Minerva McGonnagall said, worriedly (though she always sounded worried and it didn't make any difference one way or the other), "don't you think we should've...asked if they wanted to participate?"
"Minerva, I've told you. No one would've wanted to participate."
"You see my point. And you don't even seem worried about it."
"And you see my true genius, Professor. Come, let's take a walk and let the selected sort themselves out."
Professor McGonnagall decided she was going to go hunting for a new job next week.
*
"Ugh...the bloody envelope is bleeding..."
"Oh, Ron, how you speak pure poetry," Hermione Granger responded, sardonically, without even looking up from Hogwarts: A History. This got a very sour look from none other than Ron Weasley.
Harry had to smirk slightly at his best friend's convorsation, even though he was pretty much used to it by now. He went back to his own letter shortly after he had managed to hold down his laughter, and carefully tore it open with a butterknife, just so he wouldn't rip up the ink-soaked letter inside.
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that (wow, this already sounded familiar, Harry thought) you and the other selected students have been chosen to participate in a school activity. However, until the students gather in the Dungeons at nine o'clock Wednesday morning, the exact school activity shall not be revealed. There the school activity shall be explained in full, and roles shall be given out. Please be there, or you will not be able to take part.
Sincerely,
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore
Before Harry had a chance to read the rest of Dumbledore's signature, he looked up.
"'S'matter, mate?" Ron said, curiously, for the letter he'd gotten had been illegible.
"Roles..." He responded simply, in a whisper that was more whimper than anything. Roles?! ROLES?! A memory came floating to him that had previously been blocked. He'd been cast in the school play in elementary school, more because the teachers pitied him than anything else. He'd gotten the part of the Prince. And suddenly, he was on stage, and he had just stood there, like a complete and total dolt, when he was supposed to be retrieving a sword from a Styrofoam stone. And suddenly, his magic kicked in, and there had been green sparks everywhere. The lighting was to blame according to most of the school, but that hadn't stopped his Prince costume from catching fire.
That little incident had made him the laughing stock of the school, as if he hadn't been already.
"Oh, honestly, Harry," Hermione scolded, "you've faced dark wizards and you're afraid of a bit part in some kind of play?"
"Yes. Yes, I am." Ron laughed at that, but Harry wasn't kidding. He was afraid. Bloody hell, he was terrified.
"Ooooh, brave ickle Potty scared of something?" That voice...it wasn't Draco's, but a slightly more shrill one. One that obviously belonged to a girl.
Lainlella Williams.
"Gasp, the world is about to come to an end." And that was her Siamese twin, Lorelai LeGrief (without all of those sticky nerve endings).
Lainlella (known to the main populous as Laine) and Lorelai (known to the main populous as...Lorelai) were partners in crime. And their mothers were friends with Mrs. Weasley, no less. Which meant they were considered as friends, and it would be frowned upon if he hexed them into next Tuesday.
It was a pity, really.
"Don't you have siblings to bother, or something?" Ron piped up.
"...They claim they're not related, so no, we don't." Lorelai smirked, and the red-head she was talking to gave her a glare from his seat.
"Sorry to inturrupt the happy convorsation, but have you noticed that this invitation thing says nine o'clock on Wednesday is when we're supposed to go down to the dungeons?" Hermione looked worriedly at her own letter, the same look McGonnagal had worn so many times.
"Er...no?"
"Wednesday, as in, today? As in, a few minutes?"
They all blinked, and then dashed off.
Ginny Weasley stared after them looking up from her own letter which nobody had noticed, and followed. Something told her it was going to be a destinctly long day.
*
Costumes were not normal at Hogwarts.
Mainly because Wizards really had no need for them. Hallowe'en was just a celebration, there was really no Trick-Or-Treating unless there was a slight possible chance that a wizard family lived in the Muggle world.
Hah.
The other big reason was that Muggles mocked Witches and Wizards with them, which is why they chose to keep a clear distance from most costume stores of any kind. Both of these factored in to the reason that there were no costumes at Hogwarts.
Until today, of course. And when Harry stepped into the dungeons, he thought he must've stepped into either a very odd dream or a very light nightmare.
There were candles, making the room flicker with a ghostly sort of light, not incomparable to the light at Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party, except the room reeked of vanilla.
Besides the horror of aromatherapy, there were costumes. All kinds. There were even a few parodying the Wizarding World sitting modestly in the corner.
Harry was, needless to say, terrified.
The red-haired girl that stood by those very costumes was a sharp contrast to the rest of the students, who looked sullen. She was practically hopping up and down.
Okay, strike that, she was hopping up and down.
Ginny Weasley had always wanted to be in some kind production. Ever since Percy had taken her to the muggle cinema in Ottery St. Catchpole (which, according to him, was to broaden her horizons. But she was sure that it was just because he wanted to see their one-time-only showing of My Fair Lady), she'd dreamt of waltzing around a stage, with the light on her, for the first time being truly alone and loved for it.
But this was far from 'some kind of production.'
She was pulled out of her thoughts when Fred became brave enough to step into the middle of the mock-circle the students had created.
"Ooo, there's a note!" Laine pointed to a cheery, wooden dresser that looked very out of place in the dungeons, even with all the light and noise.
"...Thank you, Captain Obvious."
"I do what I can."
Fred sighed, and with a shake of the head, he snatched the envelope off of the shelf. This one was written in black ink, in case you were wondering.
He began to read,
"To The Usual Suspects -
Sit down, all of you. In those chairs. No, not THOSE, those!"
They all blinked, and filed into the seats. All except for, of course, the Hogwartian Boy-toy, known to most as Draco Malfoy, who stayed leaning against the wall, smirking lightly. (who else can write themselves in by simply leaning against the wall?)
"That goes for you, too, Mr. Malfoy."
"It doesn't say that," he replied, in mild disbelief.
"Oh, but it does."
Looking extremely sour, Draco sat down, making sure to look as if he wasn't listening.
Though, the author will readily bet the reader seventy galleons that Draco Malfoy was listening more intently than anyone else in the room.
Pay up. Go on.
"Anyway. I'm sure you are all wondering why you were asked to come here today---"
"Well, no der." This came from Lorelai, who was sitting beside Laine. Both were smirking.
He raised a brow at the words on the paper, but read them anyway, "Shut up, Lorelai."
"Rude."
"Now, ANYWHO! You may all be wondering why you were asked to come here today---" He sent a look to Lorelai and Laine who looked ready to inturrupt again, "---and all of your guesses were, most likely, amiss. You see, Hogwarts has decided to do something a bit different. A Murder Mystery Weekend will take place here...well...this weekend. What did you expect? Honestly. Well, anyway, you will pick out your roles from a hat. No, not that hat. NO, NOT THAT HAT! YES! YES! THAT'S THE ONE! What are we teaching you at this school, anywa----"
"Wait a moment, there should've been a casting call! I mean, we don't even get to have a CHANCE at the roles we want! It isn't fair! And plus, there are probably some people who don't want to---" The author will be so kind as to spare you the rest, but you can tell who jumped up to 'crusade for justice.'
Hermione, of course. Silly.
"...Be quiet and sit down, Mrs. Granger." At that, everyone had a hard time containing their laughter. Ron, who was sitting beside Hermione, just couldn't.
Needless to say, she thwapped him so fast her hand was just a big motion-blur. He cried out a destinct "ow" to which she mumbled something that sounded oddly like "great idiotic prat" under her breath.
"Settle down, children. I want to read the bloody letter in this century. Right, well, when you pick out your roles, there will be a small backround on your characters on the card. The plotline is as follows: Gwendolyn Burbanks is getting married to one Garret Evans in her father's night club, where she's been preforming. The people who attend will be figured out as you go along. But anyway, the father is killed, yadayadayada, you solve the mystery. The people who haven't been selected to portray someone will be staying over in Hogsmeade, and since, oh, about ALL OF THE SCHOOL isn't portraying someone, you'll basically be by yourselves. Even without teachers, who have been sent to Hogsmeade to supervise," there was an audible whoop of joy from George, "but you do need supervision yourself. So, we're sending in graduate Percy Weasley to fill the role of the father.
And thus, the game begins."
There was a sharp pause. "Percy?" George asked, in absolute disbelief. "As in, our brother, Percy? Couldn't they have gotten someone...less annoying?"
"Oh, shut it," Hermione said, "Percy's rather nice, I think."
Ron was glaring, ears reddened, at nothing in particular after she stated her opinion on Percy.
"I suppose we should pick, shouldn't we?" Ginny offered so Hermione and Ron wouldn't get into another argument that would end in more thwapping, which would ultimately end in Ron ducking, and her getting her jaw broken.
Summer memories aren't always that fun.
Harry had been rather silent through the whole thing. But anyone could tell, he was relieved. It would still be acting, however, not in front of an audience, but instead in front of...
"Can't wait to see you embarrass yourself, Potter."
...Well, there went his only comfort. "Can't wait to see you turn into a bouncing ferret again, Malfoy."
He was pleased when Draco's cheeks went lightly scarlet in anger, and there were some mutterings, all of which are far too violent to repeat here.
"Yes, well," Fred smirked at Draco, "we'll just wait until we have to actually solve the thing, then, won't we?"
"You wish, Weasley. Or maybe, because of your lack of brain power, you can't wish."
The three Weasley boys had to be held back, while Draco stood, smirking like an idiot. It was taking an awful lot for Harry not to hex Draco, because he just looked so stupid like that.
And I'm not exaggerating.
Ginny flushed with anger, but contained it. She'd learned to contain alot of her feelings over the years.
Mainly because they went unnoticed.
"Pick out of the bloody hat, Draco," she shoved the hat at him, and he was so surprised by this sudden act of mock-bravery that he actually did what she said.
"I'm Garret Evans, the 'sweet, likeable bloke who is going to wed Gwendolyn Burbanks.'"
Harry attempted not to laugh. Sweet, likable? Malfoy? In an alternate reality, perhaps, but certainly not here.
Ron, however, did laugh, causing Malfoy to send him a look that would've killed a basilisk.
The author rests her case.
"You pick, then, Potter." Malfoy shoved the hat at Harry.
Harry picked a random card and read: "'Gwendolyn Burbanks, the witty, blushing maiden who Garret is making his own.' Oh, for the love of Merlin, can I pick again?" After the roar of laughter from Fred and George subsided, he picked again.
"'Ian Davies, the best friend of Garret Evans, is a dodgy, cynical type. He has a bad leg from the war.' Better than nothing..."
"...Wait, what war?" Hermione asked, blinking.
"Dunno. It just says...'the war.'"
"Er...congratulations?" Ron was snickering.
"Oh, shut it, Ron. You pick next." The hat was shoved into Ron's hands. He picked a card.
"'Eion Epps, the Butler that Luciano Burbanks---' I'm assuming that that's Percy---'has hired to take care of the wedding.' The butler?! Can I please pick again?!"
"...No, Weasley. I've already got rather used to the idea of you in a butler outfit..."
"You know, if we stopped fighting all the time, we may get through this weekend alive." They all stared when Ginny said this, nodded in agreement, and the hat was passed on to Hermione.
"I'm 'Hestia Morris, the bright light of the London Stage.'" Grinning lightly, she passed the hat to George.
"'Lanny Williams, the American star of stage and screen.' Forgive me for not jumping up and down in complete joy. Bad back, you know."
"LANNY WILLIAMS?! MY LONG LOST BROTHER!" Laine pounced him.
"...Laine, it's only in the game, dear."
"Right!" And she got off. He got up, and after passing the hat to Fred, brushed himself off furiously.
"Oi. 'Max Welles is another of Garret's old war buddies.' Go figure. Anyway, you pick, Laine." The hat was, in turn, shoved at Laine.
"Oooo! I get to be Nicole Veritas, the spunky girl gossip reporter of the Veritas Times. Can we say 'whoo-bloody-hoo'?"
"...I can," Lorelai offered.
"Yay! Anywho, take a caaard, any caaard, and accept your fate."
Lorelai did so. "Oooo! I'm Leah Veritas, the spunky girl gossip reporter of the Veritas Times and partner in crime and SISTER! to Nicole. Oh, fate works in wonderous ways. And I guess that's it."
Ginny, looking very annoyed, snatched the hat from Lorelai ("Rude,") and took whatever was left.
"I'm...Gwendolyn Burbanks."
Harry fell over.
*
When all had been said and done, and the rest of the group was gone, Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy had been left alone.
Not, on purpose, of course.
"So, we're getting married, are we?" Draco asked, raising both eye brows.
"I suppose so. And we're not even running off to Vegas."
"...Eh?"
"Nevermind."
"Potter sure did have an interesting reaction to it, anyway..."
"I really don't want to talk about it, Draco, but cheers anyway."
"I do what I can." He was smirking lightly.
"Riight..."
There was a short pause. "You think you're going to solve it, then?" He was still smirking at her.
"Well, yeah. I've been reading Nancy Spellman mysteries since before you could smirk, you know."
That caused his smirk to faulter.
Strike one up for Virginia Weasley.
"Very funny, Weaselette."
"I do what I can."
"Right, well, I bet you I can solve it before you can."
"...Uh-huh. In your dreams, maybe."
"Ooo, and you think you're going to do any better?"
"...Well, yes."
"I figured. Well, I'm sure we'll find out soon enough. Let the games begin."
"Let the games begin indeed, Malfoy."
And, before exchanging one last glance, they parted ways.