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October 31, 9:00 PM: Ms. Peacock, in the dining room, with the fury's whip.
Ms. Peacock held her ground and refused the leave the room. She hunched into herself in the corner of the room furthest from Blaise's dead body, with a tight grip around her whip. Her eyes darted frantically from side to side.
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October 31, 9:15 PM: Mr. Green, in the ballroom, with a blunderbuss.
His footsteps fell against the polished wooden floor firmly but quite silently, like he was accustomed to sneaking around.
The ballroom was very large and opulent: A high ceiling, crystal chandeliers, golden pillars, etcetera. One entire side of the room was made of glass. Mr. Green placed both his palms on the panes and pushed. He rapped his knuckles against them, twice. He bent down, lifted the left leg of his trousers and pulled a wand out from his sock.
"Bombarda," he murmured. But the spell appeared to get absorbed by the glass. "Fuck." Mr. Green closed his eyes in frustration. Then he waved his wand and cast a very different spell.
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October 31, 9:20 PM: Ms. Scarlett and Draco Malfoy, in the library, with a cursed dagger.
"You really didn't have to accompany me, Mr. Malfoy," Ms. Scarlett muttered as she walked cautiously between tall bookshelves.
"Of course I did," Draco replied at once, "I couldn't stand the thought of being at the other end of this horrendous house, wondering how you were."
"How considerate of you."
"Isn't it just?"
She made a small noise that might have been a giggle, had their current situation not been so desperately bleak.
"Any reason you immediately suggested we head to the library?" she asked.
"Why, yes. We've had a very traumatic evening. I know how much being in a library calms you down, Granger."
She tripped over nothing and would have landed flat on her face if Draco hadn't deftly caught her by the waist.
"Careful there!" he exclaimed, "Are you all right?"
She spun around to face him. "You know who I am!" she gasped.
Draco smiled. "I knew the moment I saw you. The moment I saw your eyes."
"Oh dear," Hermione Granger croaked weakly, "I didn't even consider changing them! They're so nondescript and ordinary, after all. I–"
"Your eyes are anything but ordinary."
Draco hadn't relinquished his hold on her. She was looking up at him dazedly and he took advantage of her shock by pulling her closer.
"You knew it was me."
"Yes," he breathed.
"You knew..." she suddenly reared back a fraction and cried, "But you've been flirting with me all evening!"
"Granger, I always flirt with you."
"No you don't!"
He simply arched his brow at her in response. Enlightenment dawned upon her slowly.
"Oh my word," she whispered, "You always flirt with me!"
"That's right."
"Why?"
"Why does any bloke flirt with an intelligent, fascinating, beautiful woman?"
"You can't – you don't mean to say you're interested in me?!"
Draco stared down at her with hooded eyes. "Do I take the fact that you didn't even notice my interest as a sign of your lack of–"
"NO!" she all but shouted.
"...No?"
"I am interested," she mumbled, lowering her head, "I am... very... interested."
Draco took her shrouded face in both his hands and ran his thumbs across the satiny material covering her cheekbones. "I'm going to take this mask off now, Granger."
"O–Okay," Hermione stuttered breathlessly.
"And then I am going to kiss you."
Just as Draco had dragged his thumbs down to her jaw line and hooked them under the edge of her mask, a blood-curdling scream tore across the room and burst the pretty, ephemeral bubble they'd been floating in.
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October 31, 9:20 PM: Auror Mustard and Theodore Nott, in the cellar, with a wand.
"You really didn't have to accompany me, Nott," Auror Mustard griped as he shone the illuminated tip of his wand across the expanse of the dusty cellar.
"I don't trust you," Nott grumbled in return, "Not only do I think that you're the killer, I'm fairly certain that you're the bastard who's been bribing us, too."
"Huh? I'm an Auror, you twat. I don't break the law, I uphold it."
"Oh for shit's sake, you're such a–"
"AAAHHHHH!"
"WHAT?"
"AAAAHHH!"
"WHY ARE YOU SHOUTING?"
Auror Mustard thundered up the cellar stairs, and Theo was hot on his trail.
"What is wrong with you?" he demanded angrily after they'd both caught their breath.
"S–s–s–sp–spiders!" Auror Mustard squawked.
"Spiders?! Are you serious?"
"Yeah!"
"What kind of shitty Auror is scared of spiders?!
"Spiders are bloody terrifying, alright?"
"No, it's not al–"
You guessed it. They were interrupted by a deafening scream.
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October 31, 9:20 PM: Professor Plum, in the lounge, with a beater's bat.
Professor Plum was assessing the same ashwinder eggshell vase that had so intrigued Draco a few weeks ago. He stepped back and performed a 360 degree turn, taking in the whole room. He plodded over to the fireplace and helped himself to a handful of floo-powder from a bronze pot on the mantle.
"The Leaky Cauldron!" he pronounced, but got nothing but a puff of anaemic smoke for his troubles.
"Damn it!" he hissed and stomped his foot like a spoilt child. He spun in another circle, quicker and wilder than before, and this time he spotted a narrow door nestled between two bookshelves in an alcove.
On the other side of it was a study, equipped with a teak desk, file cabinets, and an enormous, golden globe. "Golly," Professor Plum gushed, and lightly spun the orb. It made a loud creaking sound, vastly disproportionate to the lightness of his touch. And simultaneously, from the other end of the room, came the grating noise of stone gliding against stone.
Professor Plum jumped a foot in the air, blindly swinging his bat around in a frenzy. "Whozzere? Show yourself! Come out right – oh!"
To his astonishment, there was an arched doorway where once there was solid wall. With dawdling, chary steps he approached the opening... and stopped. A long passageway stretched before him, with lamps floating an inch off the floor.
And that's when it came, hurtling down the passage like a freight train: An awful scream of a terrified woman.
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October 31, 9:20 PM: Ms. White, in the kitchen, with a Pukwudie arrow.
The kitchen provided warm respite from the all-pervading, atmospheric chill that afflicted the rest of the house. Ms. White stood before the roaring brick oven and toasted her fingers, almost blue with cold. The large pots and cauldrons hanging above reflected and warped her image like funhouse mirrors.
There was a sudden noise, a strange shuffling, and it seemed to be coming from behind the shelf full of heavy stone jars. Ms. White stiffened–
Screech!
The shelf swung forward like a door, revealing a dim corridor and –
"Ms. Peacock?"
"Ms. White?"
"How on earth did you get here?"
Ms. Peacock nervously wound and unwound her whip around her hand. "I'm not sure. I was pouring myself a drink when I – I accidentally knocked a candle stand over... and it hit this mounted steer head on the wall. The next thing I know, the fire place opened up and became a passageway. I thought – I hoped it would get me the hell out of here!"
"No luck, I'm afraid," Ms. White (rather unnecessarily,) informed her.
Ms. Peacock grunted angrily. "Did you find the elf?"
"Why?"
"To get our wands back, you twit!"
"Oh." Ms. White blinked. "She isn't here."
"Well, look for her! What's her name again? Um... elf? Where are you? ELF?"
They looked around the kitchen for some time; under the counter, behind shelves, inside potato sacks. Finally, Ms. Peacock wrenched open the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink. And then she let out a piercing scream of horror.
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