Chapter 8: It is very respectable, very well dressed, but underneath it is all wrong
Hogwarts, 11 January 2022
Albus doesn't remember much from the walk back to his dorm after the questioning, after finding out about his brother and Scorpius. He's definitely not mad because of some feelings towards Scorpius! No, Scorpius is his best friend, and they tell each other everything – at least, Albus had thought they did! And…and the fact that Scorpius would go for his brother, without consulting him first, and then, keep something like that – and keep something as big as fancying men – from Albus, is…outrageous. He bristles at the thought, feeling betrayed, his mind still in a haze, his stomach still somewhat nauseous, his eyes still stinging – which he thinks is probably some after effect of the potion – and finally steps into the common room. Scorpius is nowhere to be seen.
"Hey Al," Julian says from the couch near the fire, where he's sitting with Cory and Cecil.
Albus quickly closes his mind, schools his expression into a blank one, before nodding at his friends and walking closer so his other house-mates cannot eavesdrop them. "Is Scorpius in dorm?" He asks stiffly, glancing at the direction to their dorms, suppressing the urge to grit his teeth together, forcing to stay expressionless, thinking that his friends would probably follow him if they'd think something's not right.
"Yeah," Cory says slowly, his eyes lingering on Albus's face. "Said he wasn't feeling well," he continues quietly. "How was it? The thing? You okay?"
They all watch Albus carefully, but Albus merely shrugs. "It was fine. Nothing special. I'll be back in a bit." He grunts, and then turns around, disappearing into the hall leading to the dormitories, and finally, stepping into the fifth-year-boys dormitory.
Albus glances around the room, at the four-posters decorated with green silk hangings, and sees no sign of Zabini, but sees Scorpius, slumped on his bed, leaning his head against the headboard, while reading a book.
Rage lifts its head inside Albus, as he watches how his friend looks up, and gives Albus a questioning look. That fucking liar. The rage inside Albus also makes him perhaps a bit ill-mannered, as he reaches Scorpius's bed with a couple of long strides, grabs the book and throws it forcefully across the room, before turning back to his friend, fuming, his fingers curling into tight fists that he barely can hold against his sides. He wants to throttle Scorpius so badly it nearly makes him dizzy.
"W-What the fuck, Albus?" Scorpius manages to stammer, through his surprise and annoyance.
Albus gives his friend a slightly maniacally triumphant look. "Exactly the fucking reaction I was hoping for!" He yells, but doesn't move, standing still right next to Scorpius's bed. "And, my dear friend, exactly what I was thinking after I learned what you had been doing with my brother during New Year's!" He shrieks, glaring at the boy below him.
There's a shocked silence.
"Oh fuck," Scorpius breathes faintly, looking horrified.
Albus seethes, taking a couple of steps back from Scorpius's bed, fighting the urge to punch Scorpius into his stupid, pure-blooded, straight, perfect nose. "Oh, fuck, indeed," Albus growls, leaning his back against the bedpost of his own bed next to Scorpius's.
Scorpius slowly gets up to sit on his bed, swallowing hard. "I'm – I'm sorry." He says, voice wavering a bit, his eyes wide, staring at Albus in apprehension.
"What the fuck, Scor?" Albus asks, keeping his voice steady, but unable to suppress the glare in his eyes. His chest feels heavy, and he tries to ignore it. "What the fuck were you thinking, screwing around with my brother?"
Scorpius lets out a long huff of breath, rubbing his face, before looking at Albus, regret and shock still edged on his face. "I didn't m –"
"Don't fucking say you didn't mean it to happen, Scor," Albus grits through his teeth. "I want to fucking know, what kind of potion you were on, or exactly where in the head you were hit, if you thought it was a good idea to fuck my brother when you were staying at my place, as my guest?!"
Scorpius shakes his head, giving Albus an incredulous look. "We didn't – I didn't fuck him," he says quietly.
"And if Travers hadn't interrupted you?" Albus asks darkly.
Scorpius gapes at him. "How did you find out?"
Albus narrows his eyes at Scorpius, crossing his arms over his chest. "Does it bloody matter how I found out?" He hisses, "What matters, is that you fucking went behind my back, without asking me, if it was okay to go for my brother, and then you fucking lied about it afterwards!" Albus yells, almost panting.
Scorpius lowers his gaze, looking both anxious and remorseful, shaking his head at his lap. "I didn't plan that to happen." He says slowly. "I didn't think…And, I didn't think it would happen again, so…I didn't tell you. And I didn't tell you, because I knew how you'd react!" He says, with a weary look and an exasperated voice.
Albus grits his teeth together, knowing he should listen to Scorpius, knowing that he might've overreacted a bit. But still, he needs to think this through. He needs to talk to his arse of a brother. Or yell at him. Perhaps then, he can actually hear Scorpius out. Perhaps then, he can address the wretched feeling inside his chest, the one that makes it hard for him to breathe.
"I – I have to go," Albus mutters, turning away from Scorpius.
Scorpius sighs. "Don't leave, Al," He says quietly.
Albus shakes his head, his back still at Scorpius.
"Al…"
Albus shakes his head again, and doesn't look at Scorpius. He leaves the room, before he says something hurtful.
He finds James thirty minutes later, walking towards the Gryffindor Tower. At least, Albus thinks, he's not accompanied by his girlfriend, knowing it'll make what Albus intends to do a bit simpler.
"Oi! James!" Albus yells from the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, keeping his fury in check.
James stops in his tracks, and turns around in the middle of the stairs. "Hey Al," he says easily. "What's up?"
James doesn't have time to react, before Albus has flipped up his wand, and aimed a wordless tripping jinx at his brother, glaring at him as James splutters and yells in surprise, and slips from his feet, tumbling down the stairs.
Albus quickly steps back, a shield charm already in place as James jumps up and a mere second later, throws a hex at him, roaring at the same time.
"What the bloody fuck, Al?!" James yells, and then they're openly duelling, backing towards the hallway, sending hexes and jinxes in a rapid pace, whenever they're not blocking what the other throws forward.
Albus jumps to the side as James manages to break his shield charm, growling, "What do you think, fucker?!"
James sends a mild slicing hex towards him, which cuts Albus's lip.
Albus muffles a cry of pain, and as James actually pauses to see if Albus is really hurt, the Slytherin in him sends a quick levitation charm, before throwing James sideways against the wall with a sickening crunch.
"FUUUCK!" James screams, slumping down to the floor, panting, at the precise moment when their father, their mother, and the Headmistress arrive to the scene.
There's a shocked silence, as the arrivals take in the situation. Then…
"…ALBUS?!" His mother shrieks, and Albus can't really blame her.
James is lying on the floor, with his left arm twisting into a very weird and definitely painful direction, blinking through tears of pain. Albus, however, stands there, in the middle of the hallway, breathing heavily, his wand at the ready, his lip bleeding but otherwise intact.
Perhaps, he had gone a bit too far with this.
After James's arm was fixed by an irate Madam Pomfrey, they received a thorough reprimanding from both their parents and the Headmistress. Albus and James were then directed straight into detention, to scrub out the bedpans in the hospital wing. Without magic.
"…I can't fucking believe this," James rumbles under his breath, only moments after they start their work in the small room next to the infirmary. "I could be at dinner – or – playing Quidditch – or – fuck – doing whatever the hell I want, if it wasn't for you," He hisses, giving a sour look at Albus, who bristles at his brother's words.
"Yeah, instead you decided to fucking lure my friend to snog you, so – here we are," Albus says back venomously, scrubbing one of the pans furiously with soap and a cleaning brush.
Albus briefly thinks, that the old Madam Pomfrey must've been out of her mind to think they'd be finishing the several dozens of bedpans during this evening, without magic.
James clenches his jaw. "It's not anyone's business. Not even yours, Albus," he says coldly, resuming to his pile of bedpans.
Albus scoffs, turning around to face his brother. "Not anyone's business? Not – listen to yourself, James!" Albus says incredulously. "You have a girlfriend!" Albus continues, shaking his head in bewilderment. "What does she think about your doings?"
James throws a glare at him. "Nothing, because she doesn't know," James growls, his knuckles whitening against the pan he's holding in his hands. "And she will never know. It was a fucking mistake. Do you understand?" He says, a threatening glint in his eyes.
Albus watches his brother silently for a moment. "Does Scorpius know that?" He finally asks, feeling the odd sensation gripping his chest again. He thinks it might be a form of protectiveness towards his best friend. Yes, that must be it, Albus decides, as he lifts his brows at James.
"What do you mean, does he know that?" James asks, an eye roll in his voice. "He should. I asked him to shut up about it."
Albus's eyes narrow at his brother. "And was he okay with that?" Albus asks slowly, his voice dark.
James gives him an incredulous look. "Why would you care?"
"Because he's my friend!" Albus yells exasperatedly, throwing his hands up, "Why do you think, arsehole?"
James arches a brow at him. "A friend, you say?" He asks slowly, something contemplative – which Albus doesn't really like – in his expression.
Albus looks back blankly. "Yes. A friend. In case you've missed the fact during the past five years?"
"Oh, I haven't, trust me," James says, a smug and knowing look in his expression, as if he's realised something.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Albus asks, heatedly, cursing inwardly for letting himself fall into his brother's trap once more, as the smug look on James's face only intensifies.
He grits together his teeth, knowing that he can very well suppress his feelings, and stay expressionless. But not with his brother. Yes, James, for some reason, manages to bring the best and the worst out of him. He manages, somehow, to make Albus stay open and…vulnerable, whenever they're together.
"What do you think, Al?" James says, with such an infuriating meaningfulness, that Albus wants to hex him again, and again, until the fucker in front of him will stay quiet.
Unfortunately, the Headmistress has their wands.
Albus lets out a snarl of exasperation, feels his cheeks flush red, feels the tightness in his chest wavering, but he doesn't give his brother the satisfaction of knowing exactly what the hell is going on in Albus's head – even though, he kind of gives it as he turns his back to James, and starts scrubbing the bedpans with a furious determination, in order to finish as soon as possible, so that he will be released and so that he doesn't have to see James's irritating face again.
James chuckles. "Should've known…" He mutters, and Albus practically trembles with rage.
James too resumes to his scrubbing task, and Albus breathes heavily, his mind whirling.
What the hell is he doing? What the hell is wrong with him? Why would James's words make his insides sizzling like that? Why? Albus is frustrated, is enraged, is confused.
He's – he doesn't even know what he is, anymore.
Because he's quite certain he might be in love with his best friend.
Albus realises with bitterness and resentment boiling in his stomach, that James…James knows. And possibly, James already knew when he went after Scorpius. And if James knew then, Albus isn't sure if he knows his brother at all.
Hogwarts, 11 January 2022
Harry paces in front of the classroom in the Entrance Hall, waiting for his Aurors to step inside, to go over the situation, to try to make sense of the slim evidence they've got. Both Quinn and Smith are already there, having been questioning students with Harry since this morning, both standing rigidly in place, and not minding one bit that their boss is moving there, with an anxious expression, huffing occasional words under his breath.
It is now past dinnertime, and everyone, who had come forth about seeing Travers during their train ride, has been questioned.
Which doesn't exactly make Harry at ease.
"Sir," Keir mutters, nodding at him as he steps inside the room.
Harry grunts his reply, as he does to the next nine Aurors, who sit along Keir, facing the front of the class. Smith and Quinn take their places next to their partners, as Harry flicks his wand to close the door with an added silencing spell.
"Today we questioned six students under Veritaserum, who had been reported of either having contact with Miss Travers during the holidays, the train ride, or had been otherwise close to her; Hazel Scott, Skylar Westen, James Potter, Scorpius Malfoy, Rose Granger-Weasley and Albus Potter," Harry starts with and looks over the twelve Aurors, all of them taking notes while keeping closely attention.
"None of them, nor the two students we questioned yesterday under Veritaserum; Nate Riley and Pamela Scott, had any knowledge, of what had happened to Jenna Travers – nor did they have anything to do with her death. All of them confirmed it, under Veritaserum. In addition, all of them confirmed that they did not know of anyone else, who would have had anything to do with Travers's death," Harry explains to the twelve blank faces.
"The last person, as we know of, to see Travers alive, was Rose Granger-Weasley, when she went to Travers's compartment, approximately thirty minutes before the train reached Hogsmeade," Harry says, and detects some frowns and dubious looks. He nods, already guessing what they are thinking. "According to the Crime Scene Investigator, as well as the post-mortem-scan, time of death occurred between five-thirty and six-thirty pm," Harry says grimly. "…With the blow to the head occurring possibly during a thirty-minute time range before Travers's death," Harry adds, having memorised Malfoy's summary from the first night.
Every quill is scratching violently, as Harry continues speaking. "Which means, that the time of death, as well as the blow to the head had happened between six and six thirty pm, possibly only moments after Rose Granger-Weasley left her compartment."
"Rose confirmed – under Veritaserum – that as she had left Travers's compartment, Travers had been alive and well, and that there had not been anything out of ordinary in her behaviour. She also told us, that she had not seen anyone as she had left Travers's compartment, on her way back to her own."
Harry watches at his Aurors taking in the information, before he clears his throat. "There is no reason to suspect that any of the students we have questioned during the past three days, have something to do with Travers's death. Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy had shared an argument with the victim, but that had been their only contact to her during the train ride. James Potter had not seen Travers at all during the train ride. Nate Riley had spent a short amount of time with Travers, as had Skylar Westen and the Scott sisters. All other students, who had seen Travers during the journey back to Hogwarts, were questioned during the first night and today afternoon, and each of them had seen the victim during the first hours of the trip, either with her friends, her boyfriend Riley, or alone," Harry explains wearily. "The information we have now, does not point to any specific person. It is likely, that this case –" and Harry grits his teeth as he even thinks of it "– that this case will stay unresolved, for the time being."
There are some questions, some arguments that are discussed; if it was a suicide – to which Travers's last spell nor the way she had died do not point; or if an outsider had gone to her right after the train had reached Hogsmeade – which would've been noticed by the train wards. Wards, that are put up by the Headmistress herself. Harry knows it could be possible that someone, a very skilful witch or a wizard, had somehow managed to alter the wards momentarily, and put them back up. However, as the magic would've left a trace, and there would've been another magical signature, Harry thinks it is highly unlikely to have happened. And in addition, an outsider would've likely been seen by one of the hundreds of students.
They briefly go through each of the questionings again, go through the wand inspections, along with every possible oddness Prone has seen in the Marauder's Map, but Harry feels that there's nothing new. He tells his Aurors, that most of them will be leaving the school the next morning – all but Fungbury and Berrycloth; who will be stationed in the village, as well as Keir and Quinn; who will be stationed in the school.
It is close to midnight, when they finally finish their sum up. Most of the Aurors stay in the school, and less than half go back to the village. Harry, however, makes his way back to the crime scene. He needs to see it once more, needs to be there, needs to look at it, in case anything comes up, anything he might've missed earlier.
Hogsmeade, 11 January 2022
As he steps into the dark platform, surrounded by trees and the Hogwarts Express that stands eerily still, the handful of streetlamps reveal someone standing there. That someone is in the middle of the station, leaning against the stretch of a wall separating the couple of buildings from the platform.
"Malfoy," Harry says, surprised to see the man still there. Harry blinks at him. "You're still here."
Malfoy arches a brow at him. "It appears that I am." His voice is snarky, and Harry walks up to him, still frowning at the other man.
Malfoy's gaze is at the train, and the door that is open.
Harry thinks the other man must've been there, in the compartment, for several hours.
"Why?" Harry asks, curiously, stopping close to him.
Malfoy turns his eyes at Harry, and there's something flashing behind the silvery gaze, something, Harry thinks, that wants to insult him, that wants to tell Harry how moronic he is. Instead, Malfoy sighs, and looks down. "Something doesn't add up. And…I needed some peace and quiet. To think."
Harry nods slowly, wondering what else Malfoy needed to think, besides the obvious murder inspection. "Scorpius?" He asks hesitantly, knowing that he's right when he sees Malfoy's lips twitch into a rueful smile.
Harry lets out a weary sigh, brushing his fingers through his messy hair. "I know…" He mutters, staring into the distance. His sons are both, more or less connected to Scorpius.
Harry can't stop wondering what is going on in James's head, and why would his son risk everything he has worked for; a promising career in one of the Quidditch teams in the British league, as well as his future with Charlotte. He doesn't blame James, for making a mistake – Merlin knows Harry has made them himself, even throughout his adulthood. He can only hope that James will not make decisions he'll regret later in his life.
Harry's thoughts move to Albus; there's so much…resentment in the boy, that Harry is only starting to realise it. And he thinks that a lot of it is directed at, not Harry himself, but, to what and who Harry is.
"…James and Albus…" Harry mutters, shaking his head slightly. "It feels like I don't know my sons as well as I thought..."
Malfoy hums under his breath. "Join the club, Potter…" He says wryly.
Harry looks at Malfoy, sees the closed expression on his face, and wonders, how strained Malfoy's and his son's relationship actually is.
"It was different." Malfoy suddenly says, not looking at Harry. "When Astoria lived. Scorpius was different," he says simply.
Harry watches him closely. "And you? Were you different?" He asks, not unkindly, but trying to picture the situation, knowing that how Scorpius was when his mother lived, was different from how the boy seems to be now, but knowing that a large part of it is being a teenager.
Malfoy's brows twitch slightly. "Perhaps I was."
Malfoy doesn't continue, so Harry speaks about his sons, hoping it would help Malfoy to open up to him a bit more, thinking it would help the blonde Slytherin, as Harry is quite certain Malfoy hasn't spoken to anyone about him and his son.
"I feel responsible, for what Albus feels – the anger inside him, and the stress he's been put over, because of who I am," Harry says quietly. "I wish it didn't have to be like that for him. I wish, sometimes, that I wasn't the Chosen One."
Malfoy suddenly chuckles. Harry lifts his brows at him, feeling a tinge of irritation, but quickly realising the man is not amused by what Harry had said, but by something else.
"Did you know…?" Malfoy asks then, finally looking at Harry, "Did you know that my son was being bullied during his first year? That people were saying that – that Astoria –" Malfoy's voice cracks, and he looks away again.
Harry knows. Of course, he bloody well knows about it; how some students in Hogwarts had started rumours that Scorpius was in fact Voldemort's child, claiming that Astoria had travelled back in time, to the past and had – well, Harry had been as appalled as any sensible person, when Albus had told him. Harry had been as adamant as Albus, to never show pity to Scorpius, but always make him feel welcome in their home, and make him feel accepted.
"…Yeah, I knew." Harry says softly.
"Did you know that it stopped when our sons became friends?" Malfoy asks, his eyes searching Harry's. "That after everyone had seen the paper, or heard that the Chosen One and his children were associating with the Malfoys and were in friendly terms, the rumours stopped?"
Harry gives Malfoy a tight-lipped smile. He knows about that too, and remembers feeling that for once, being what he is, had been a good thing for someone. Had helped someone.
"You realise what I'm saying, Potter?" Malfoy asks with an inpatient tone.
Harry huffs out a short laugh. "I know." He looks at Malfoy for a long while, his eyes moving over the sharp angles of his face, the aristocratic and somewhat arrogant features, thinking of their past; as rivals and enemies during their childhood, and remembers how it started to change – how Malfoy wasn't suddenly sneering at Harry every time their paths had crossed, how they had started to greet one another, whenever their eyes met. Knowing that growing up had a lot to do with it. Knowing, that both Astoria and Scorpius had been important factors as well.
There's a faint blush on tops of Malfoy's cheeks as the Slytherin looks away, evidently due to Harry's blatant staring. Harry's mind goes back to the pub two years ago, and then, to the previous night, and he feels himself drawn towards Malfoy once more, feels his pulse quickening and feels the longing that he has tried to dampen down ever since their paths uncrossed.
He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. "Can we talk about last night?" He asks, very quietly, watching Malfoy's reaction carefully.
Having thought about it several times during the past day, about Malfoy's touch and his lips, Harry has had to force everything down, somewhere deep in his mind, in order to focus on his job. And now that he finally has a moment of quietness, a moment when he can think of something else than the fates of his children, or the crime they ought to solve, he wants very much to think of the previous night. He can still go and check the compartment later.
Malfoy looks at him, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips before he speaks.
"I was in the impression that you didn't want to discuss the matter. That you swore it not to happen anymore."
Harry's insides jump slightly. "Do you want it to happen again?" He asks, somewhat surprised by his boldness, as well as his voice, which sounds lower than it had been.
Malfoy blinks quickly a couple of times, but his expression stays impassive otherwise, as he looks at Harry. "It would be highly unprofessional. Not to mention, unwise, all things considered…"
Harry licks his lips, staring at the expressionless mask on Malfoy's face, turned away from Harry. He then realises that Malfoy hasn't said 'no'. That he hasn't said if he wants it to happen again. Which…Harry thinks he does. Or…he at least hopes so.
He takes a step closer, and then another, moving to stand in front of Malfoy – who stays admiringly still, his eyes tracking Harry's movements. He's an inch or two taller than Harry is, he only then notices, and is looking slightly downwards at he stares at Harry.
"Potter…?" Malfoy asks quietly, but doesn't say more, doesn't object, as Harry steps into his space, so close that their thighs are touching. The air is charged, compressed between them.
Harry places his hand against Malfoy's shoulder, watching his reaction, his throat tight. He watches Malfoy's every movement very carefully, as he lets his hand slide upwards, his fingers moving, touching Malfoy's neck, and the line of his jaw, brushing the corner of his lips with his thumb.
A short, uneven breath leaves Malfoy's lips. "What are you doing, Potter?" Malfoy asks with a blank look, unable to hide the roughness in his voice. He doesn't move away.
He doesn't move an inch, Harry notes and swallows hard. "Kissing you," He murmurs, moving himself closer.
Malfoy gives him mild sneer. "Quite fascinating, your kissing methods – I actually can't feel a thi –"
The rest of his words are muffled, as Harry covers Malfoy's lips with his, their kisses instantly greedy and slick, their breaths hot against each other's lips. Harry grips Malfoy; his other hand against his neck, holding him in place for Harry to ravage his mouth; and the other, roaming searchingly over Malfoy's body, before finally stopping in the middle of his back, where he presses the other man slowly towards him.
Malfoy gasps against Harry's mouth as soon as their hips meet. Harry is breathless and frantic, shuddering as Malfoy's other hand tangles with his hair, while his other hand slides down to rest against Harry's arse. Harry feels feverish when Malfoy tips his chin down to press small, biting kisses onto Harry's jaw and throat.
"Fuck…" Harry groans. "Feels so fucking good…"
Malfoy lets out a muffled sigh against the junction of Harry's neck, thrusting against him – and Harry shudders as he feels Malfoy hard against him through his robes.
Harry pulls Malfoy's head up, presses his lips softly against his, "I want to fuck you," Harry whispers to Malfoy's lips.
Malfoy lets out an irritated huff. "Such a charming wizard you are, Potter, I might even swoon," He mutters dryly, but at the same time, his hand wanders down to meet Harry's crotch.
"Then what are we waiting for?" He breathes, before tracing Malfoy's lips with his tongue. "Let's go back to the pub…"
Malfoy's both hands stop at Harry's shoulders. He pulls back slightly. "What were you doing in here?" He asks, out of the blue, a hint of sharpness in his voice.
Harry blinks at him, the haziness filled by hunger and lust slightly dissipating, and glances around them, both frustrated and confused that Malfoy wants to talk about that now. "Oh. I was…um, going to check the compartment," He says, and then gives Malfoy a sheepish look. "And also, to talk to you about the investigation if you happened to still be here."
Malfoy arches a brow at him, putting more distance between them – at least, as much as he can, since he's pressed between Harry and the wall. "What about?"
Harry scratches the back of his head. "Erm. Rose said she was in the compartment around six pm…"
Malfoy gapes at Harry for a moment, and then scowls at him. "You utter imbecile." He growls, before shoving him away. "You realise what I said merely moments ago, about this –" He hisses, gesturing between them "– being entirely inappropriate." He lifts his brows at Harry, who now feels a wave of embarrassment flicker through him under Malfoy's hard stare.
"Perhaps, now you understand, why?" Malfoy continues, seething.
Harry sighs wearily, trailing a hand through his hair in order to soothe it down, knowing, it must be sticking into all kinds of directions after Malfoy's long fingers were – bloody hell, he can't think of that right now!
"I was going to talk to you in the morning, in any case." Harry says, and it is the truth, as it is quite late at night already, and he hadn't known that Malfoy had still been at the scene. And Harry could've gone to see the compartment in the morning, allowing himself a few hours of rest. He gives Malfoy a shrug, "And…you said unprofessional," He points out, the corner of his mouth twitching. He earns a scowl from Malfoy in return.
"Bloody tosspot," Malfoy grunts, already making his way back to the compartment.
Harry follows him obediently, knowing that it is for the best, that, he ought to focus on his job, and not fucking Malfoy into his mattress, however tempting it sounds in his mind. Perhaps, if he somehow manages to solve this puzzle, there will be a time for that, later.
The silence stretches between them, but neither of them speaks. Draco knows, that Potter's mind is on the case again as he sees the same look of concentration, the same ambition in Potter's eyes, that Draco knows has shone from his own every time he's been absorbed in his work. He doesn't disturb Potter.
The compartment is lit by the lamp over their heads, but otherwise the train is dark and quiet. Everything is in place – except the body and the blood – like it had been when Draco stepped in the compartment the first time. He watches, as Potter stays crouched in the middle of the room, staring at the exact spot where Travers was lying, his posture still.
Draco wonders, what Potter might be thinking, what goes around in his strategizing Auror-mind, and how he is possibly going over the events that led to this. The fact that the Weasley kid had been here, mere moments before Travers had got hit in the head and died, is…fascinating, and at the same time, infuriatingly frustrating, as the girl had not seen anyone, and Travers had been quite all right as Weasley had left the compartment. If nothing else, they had managed to shorten the time range into thirty minutes.
"Could you talk it through once more?" Potter suddenly asks, and Draco rolls his eyes.
"Naturally," He murmurs wryly, and hears an amused huff from Potter's direction.
Draco clears his throat. "The scan confirmed my preliminary analysis; A sixteen-year-old girl. Cause of death: blow to the head, resulting a massive blood loss and a traumatic brain injury. No other wounds, damage or bruising elsewhere in her body. Based on body temperature at my arrival, and what could be determined from the scan, the time of death occurred between five thirty and six thirty pm, two days ago – which we now know to be between six and six thirty, based on witness questioning. The sedative levels in her bloodstream were high; most likely Calming Draught – however," Draco says, pausing, glancing at his notes, "Those tend to be more difficult to recognise after certain amount of time."
Potter gives an agreeing sound. "And the traces of magic in her body?"
"No spells were found, no traces of any other magical signatures, but her own."
Potter nods slowly. "What about the wand analysis?"
Draco knows that Travers's wand was more carefully inspected at the Ministry, by spells more thorough than Reverse Spell, which can only display the echo of the last spell the wand has performed.
"In a backwards order; Locking spell, Vanishing spell, Levitating spell, Vanishing spell, Summoning spell, Duplicating spell, Colour Changing spell; all performed during that particular day," Draco says, reading from the report.
"Interesting, yet…all are –"
"Common spells," Draco murmurs.
Potter stands up, a small smile on his lips as he glances at Draco. Potter gives Draco a once over, and Draco feels his throat working a couple of more times than necessary as a result.
He seethes inwardly. Fucking Potter with his meaningful looks and his maddeningly soft smiles and his alluring bright eyes. Draco gives him a sneer, and Potter merely turns away, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
Potter moves to the door, trails a hand over it, feeling the magic in it, and frowns.
"What is it?" Draco asks, watching Potter closely, disregarding the sting of irritation he feels at the man, who is apparently capable of performing wandless magic, as he keeps waving his hand over the door.
"Feels different…" Potter mutters.
Draco arches a brow at him. "All magic ought to feel different, if cast by different people."
Potter hums thoughtfully, and then glances at him. "Cast a locking spell at it."
Draco takes a step back, giving Potter the most dubious look he can summon, "No. I don't want you to – to feel my magic," He says, feeling somewhat aghast. "It's…personal. You cast it." He adds accusingly.
Potter rolls his eyes. "Fine." He huffs, and flicks his wand at the door, and then, puts his wand away, and starts to inspect the door with his hands.
"Feels different." He says again, frowning at the door.
Draco lets out an impatient noise. "As expected. Did you not listen as I said that magical signatures are quite personal?" He says with a crisp voice.
Potter gives him a narrow-eyed look over his shoulder. "I knew that." He says with a hint of exasperation in his voice, and then looks back at the door. "Her spell felt weaker than mine."
Draco clicks his tongue. "Really, Potter? A sixteen-year-old girl's spell is weaker than the one cast by the Saviour of our world?" He asks, mockery dripping from his voice.
"Sod off, Malfoy," Potter grits out. "It a fucking lot weaker, trust me."
Draco watches as Potter continues the inspection. "It could be possible. That her locking spell was simply…weak. However, I doubt it could leave the signature to the door, and not lock it," Draco says simply.
Potter stares at Draco for a long moment.
The silence is interrupted by a sudden appearance of a silver crow, which, quite easily, manages to scare the shit out of both Draco and Potter.
"Sir, upon our arrival to the village, Ms Bones – the landlady – informed that Mr Travers had left you a note. I took the liberty of reading it, as he had informed it concerned the inspection." Fungbury's voice rumbles from the crow's beak.
Draco and Potter share a quick look, before turning their focus back to the Patronus.
"Mr Travers had stopped by at his home, and had inspected their potions' cabinet. He confirms that some potion vials are in fact missing. Calming Draught. Three vials."
The Patronus disappears, and Potter sighs, casting his own silvery stag, and sends a quick message back to Fungbury to thank him for the information, adding that he's still at the scene with Draco, and that they will both return later.
Potter then takes a look at the room again, his mind somewhere else. "Something…there's something, I'm missing," He mutters.
Draco watches him expectantly, until, it must be at least ten minutes later, Potter gives Draco both a harsh and an eager look.
"I have a theory I want to go through."
Draco lifts his brows in question. It's about time. He makes an unimpressed noise. "And I thought you brought me here to merely stare at the walls," he drawls.