Chapter Six
Draco was the next to stumble across the body.
He was tracing Hermiones assumed root to Arithmancy, Trying to puzzle out what had happened.
When he saw the body he stumbled backwards in shock.
This was far more serious than he'd thought.
He heard footsteps.
Instinct told him to duck for cover. He found it behind a mammoth portriat of dumbledore that reclined against the stone wall.
"hells bells- what are you doing back there? not graffittying, are you?" the portrait asked.
"hells bells?"Draco mimicked absently, hugging his knees to his chest to avoid rocking the painting. A spider scurried across the tapestry carpete, and draco squished it under his thumb. "evan the real dumbledore wouldn't say that." "are you quite sure--?"The portrait sounded disgruntled.
"SHHH!" Draco shushed the portrait. "If you don't stop talking I WILL find something to write pretty words on your backside with!" "pretty words?like flowers?" "no. like shut the bloody hell up." The portrait silenced just as the footprints owners came into veiw, looming over the body. Draco felt sick.
"Do you have any idea who did this?"Dumbledores voice inquired sharply.
"Yes." Draco could clearly imagine the definate air about Hermione, the way her chin would be set in a firm line, the angrey glint in her eyes as she spoke of the murderer.
Her next words jarred Draco from his subconscouis.
"Draco."She said."It was Draco Malfoy." Draco listened numbly as she told of how he had told her to take the long way to Arithmancy. How doubtless he knew she wouldn't listen to him, and had thus lurred her into a trap. Of how an illusen spell had cast false blood on her hands.
Draco knew he had to act quickly. Who's words were they going to believe? Perfect, sweet, gryfendor Hermione granger? Or cold, sinister, slytherin Malfoy? Ha! He felt cold through and through.
There would be posters. A bounty. He would have to run.
HE would be a wanted man.
"serves you right for trying to play the good boy."Draco mumbled to himself. His voice quavered. He was in state of wry shock, unwilling to admit the aqusations that had befallen him.
He sat frozen like a dear in the glare of a truck's headlights untill the duo had left. Then he botled for the Slytherinn commonroom.
Draco packed in a blurr of terror and cunfusion. Since he couldn't possibly be lugging around his trunk, he simply stuffted his pocketes with a spell book, his wand, leftover ingrediants from potions class, all his spare change and money, and whatever else he could his hands on that was small enough to fit.
Then he mounted his broomstick, through open the windows and headed for Hogsmeade.
The wind rushed past, mucking Draco's immaculate blonde hair. It stuck up almost as Harry's by the time he reached his destination. He couldn't go home. Although the senior Malfoy had commited a legion of crimes in his days, he would not want Draco to draw trouble to his home. So Draco had headed to the Hogsmeade in, a ramshackle,shady motel that was too badly in need of cash to question it's patrons or their requests. Draco exchanged a hefty fist of gold for the only key to the basement room that was normally the last to go. The clerks beady black eyes buldged at the sight of the coins and readily agreed to tell no one of his presence. If asked, he was to say the janiter lived in the basement and had asked not to be disturbed.
Draco emptyed his pocketes into the drawer of the bed side table and locked the door. He put as sturdy a glamour as could on the only, cob-webbed window so it would apear that only shadows inhabbited the room, and a flimsy sealent spell on the door. It wouldn't hold anyone for ever-let alone the esteemed headwizard, but it might buy him some time.
Then, as the enormity of what he had done set in,Draco through himself on the bed and gave in to fevered slumber.
He was tracing Hermiones assumed root to Arithmancy, Trying to puzzle out what had happened.
When he saw the body he stumbled backwards in shock.
This was far more serious than he'd thought.
He heard footsteps.
Instinct told him to duck for cover. He found it behind a mammoth portriat of dumbledore that reclined against the stone wall.
"hells bells- what are you doing back there? not graffittying, are you?" the portrait asked.
"hells bells?"Draco mimicked absently, hugging his knees to his chest to avoid rocking the painting. A spider scurried across the tapestry carpete, and draco squished it under his thumb. "evan the real dumbledore wouldn't say that." "are you quite sure--?"The portrait sounded disgruntled.
"SHHH!" Draco shushed the portrait. "If you don't stop talking I WILL find something to write pretty words on your backside with!" "pretty words?like flowers?" "no. like shut the bloody hell up." The portrait silenced just as the footprints owners came into veiw, looming over the body. Draco felt sick.
"Do you have any idea who did this?"Dumbledores voice inquired sharply.
"Yes." Draco could clearly imagine the definate air about Hermione, the way her chin would be set in a firm line, the angrey glint in her eyes as she spoke of the murderer.
Her next words jarred Draco from his subconscouis.
"Draco."She said."It was Draco Malfoy." Draco listened numbly as she told of how he had told her to take the long way to Arithmancy. How doubtless he knew she wouldn't listen to him, and had thus lurred her into a trap. Of how an illusen spell had cast false blood on her hands.
Draco knew he had to act quickly. Who's words were they going to believe? Perfect, sweet, gryfendor Hermione granger? Or cold, sinister, slytherin Malfoy? Ha! He felt cold through and through.
There would be posters. A bounty. He would have to run.
HE would be a wanted man.
"serves you right for trying to play the good boy."Draco mumbled to himself. His voice quavered. He was in state of wry shock, unwilling to admit the aqusations that had befallen him.
He sat frozen like a dear in the glare of a truck's headlights untill the duo had left. Then he botled for the Slytherinn commonroom.
Draco packed in a blurr of terror and cunfusion. Since he couldn't possibly be lugging around his trunk, he simply stuffted his pocketes with a spell book, his wand, leftover ingrediants from potions class, all his spare change and money, and whatever else he could his hands on that was small enough to fit.
Then he mounted his broomstick, through open the windows and headed for Hogsmeade.
The wind rushed past, mucking Draco's immaculate blonde hair. It stuck up almost as Harry's by the time he reached his destination. He couldn't go home. Although the senior Malfoy had commited a legion of crimes in his days, he would not want Draco to draw trouble to his home. So Draco had headed to the Hogsmeade in, a ramshackle,shady motel that was too badly in need of cash to question it's patrons or their requests. Draco exchanged a hefty fist of gold for the only key to the basement room that was normally the last to go. The clerks beady black eyes buldged at the sight of the coins and readily agreed to tell no one of his presence. If asked, he was to say the janiter lived in the basement and had asked not to be disturbed.
Draco emptyed his pocketes into the drawer of the bed side table and locked the door. He put as sturdy a glamour as could on the only, cob-webbed window so it would apear that only shadows inhabbited the room, and a flimsy sealent spell on the door. It wouldn't hold anyone for ever-let alone the esteemed headwizard, but it might buy him some time.
Then, as the enormity of what he had done set in,Draco through himself on the bed and gave in to fevered slumber.