CHAPTER 27: How To Get Away With Murder (Part 3)

Abandoned Classroom Near The Great Hall

12:45 p.m.

"Welcome, Mister Zabini," Rufus called out to the young man who entered the room, shutting the door behind him. "Please, take a seat."

Blaise Zabini. Fifth-year student of Slytherin, the first of the year he was interviewing. He'd let the students stew for a couple of hours in the Great Hall, making sure his Aurors kept an eye on them while he went over the castle trying to find more information. It turned out to be a bust. The ghosts claimed to having seen nobody roaming the hallways at night, a fact that the portraits had confirmed. And the house-elves assured them that they had found nothing suspicious when they cleaned the common rooms, the Great Hall, or any of the classrooms. Nor had they been interrupted by any commotion during their duties.

Of course, this didn't mean much. With disillusionment charms and invisibility cloaks, anyone could've been roaming the halls without been seen by the ghosts or the portraits. And, based on the reports from the house-elves, they took two hours to complete their duties around the castle, from midnight to two in the morning. After which, the elves confirmed they remained inside the kitchens, sleeping and preparing the upcoming day's breakfast. This meant that any attack would've taken place after two in the morning, but just before McGonagall arrived at the Great Hall with the rest of the Gryffindors.

The reports from the infirmary gave a similar time frame, as most of the students' injuries seemed to have been caused at sometime around three in the morning. However, Montague and Davis' wounds were still open when Pomfrey found them. Since those injuries were near fatal, they had to have been made only a few minutes before McGonagall found them. Indeed, it was possible the attacker was actually in the Great Hall when the victims were found, hidden away only to leave in the small period of time when McGonagall went to inform Pomfrey and the Headmaster.

Or it could lead to a use of potions or spellwork a student with a healing background or aspirations would have knowledge of. If it was spellwork it had to have been completely advanced, but if it was potions, this very well could have been a premeditated attack, planned in extreme detail beforehand. He wasn't sure which was the case.

There was also the issue of how the attack was committed. The Aurors had reported that all four common rooms were in consummate conditions - a fact which Nispy, the unofficial leader of the house-elves, agreed. Given the level of injuries of the victims, all fingers pointed to some sort of large-scale duel taking place. If the students somehow managed to fix the mess they created, it was in such a way that even the house-elves couldn't tell the difference.

Of course, they hadn't been successful in hiding the fact that there had been a spell fight. But the level of detail with which they were able to hide it, was there something the Aurors had missed that would be crucial to finding the perpetrators?

Then there was Graham Montague himself. It was a miracle the boy was still alive, a credit to Pomfrey's work without the resources from St Mungo's. The nature of the attack, it was ruthless and cruel. If everything else in the case felt cold and calculated, the attack was more than likely a crime of passion. Then there was the large gash on his face, in the shape of an M. It was clear there was a meaning behind it, but what could it be? Montague? Murderer? Mercy? Money? Perhaps the initial of his attacker?

It was important, that was for certain. While all the other injuries held no trace of any dark magic, it was oozing from the mark on his face. It had resisted all attempts at healing, making the injury worse at this point. The curse on it refused to let the cut close, and with every attempt at healing it, it grew larger and more violent, covering half of Montague's respective eyes at this point. He'd told Pomfrey to let it be, but they were past the point of no return. Because of its positions close to the brain, if the injury wasn't healed, and soon, it would take Montague with it.

Which meant the ticking clock to find the culprit - or culprits - was going twice as fast.

"Thank you, Head Auror," the boy said genially, casting a slight glance at the two Aurors behind him before sitting down with a grace he shared with his mother, Alessia Zabini.

Rufus took a quick second to analyse him. Zabini looked as innocuous as any other student. His uniform was pristine, there wouldn't be a single wrinkle in them even if used consecutively for a month straight. His hair was as perfect as them, a flat top that didn't have a single strand of hair out of place. There were no bags under his eyes, a trivial expression of sociability in his face as we waited for him to continue.

And yet, for the first time in the various interrogations he'd had over the past hour, there was something bothering him about the subject in question.

"Please, do not feel nervous." He recited the same words he'd told all the previous students, not wanting the silence to go on for a suspicious amount of time. "These are merely procedural interrogations, we're having them with all your peers."

"Of course," the boy smiled kindly.

A beat passed, but when the silence kept on, Rufus continued. "What was your relationship with Mister Montague? Did you know him well?"

"I can't say I did," Zabini leaned back. "He was a seventh-year, and students don't generally spend much time with those in other year-groups."

"But you knew of him?"

"Of course. He was our Quidditch captain and was rumoured to be the second candidate for this year's Head Boy position." He smiled. "It would be remiss of me not to have someone like that in my radar."

"Radar?" Rufus asked, taken off balance by the unknown term.

"Near my surroundings. Being in the acquaintance of someone like that is certainly useful."

"You don't seem particularly saddened by what happened to him."

Zabini shrugged. "I won't lie and claim I am. Don't get me wrong, the implications of the attack are… disconcerting. Knowing someone capable of that is sleeping inside the castle… it makes me wary. However, I have my full faith that you and your team will be able to find the person responsible for this heinous attack. And, like I said, I had no personal relationship with Montague. If I were to shed a tear for every bad thing that happens to someone in the world, Britain would be flooded pretty quickly."

Rufus raised an eyebrow at the boy, but after a couple of moments conceded. After all, he couldn't say he didn't share the same belief as him.

"What did you do last night?"

"Well, after classes, I spent my afternoon with Theo Nott and Draco Malfoy in the rec room. Chatting about, doing the usual, you know how it goes. We left for the Halloween feast at around eight. Theo went with Pansy Parkinson and Harry Potter, and Draco Malfoy went with Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass. I ate alone-"

"Why is that?" Scrimgeour interrupted.

"The two of them had just spent the afternoon with me, I assume they missed their friends."

"You could've joined either of them."

"I'm not particularly fond of either Potter or Greengrass, to be honest."

"Any particular reason," he asked mildly, noticing Kingsley, who had been taking notes, was paying vivid attention.

"Not really," the boy said smoothly. "They're just… too argumentative, too hostile. I like to eat in peace, thank you very much."

"Fair enough," he paused. "Was there anything noteworthy that happened during the Halloween feast? Anything you would consider suspicious or pertinent to the case?"

Zabini didn't answer immediately. He looked to the side, his eyebrows scrunching, and Rufus could almost see how he replayed the events in his head. But right before Scrimgeour started to wonder if Zabini was figuring out how to word his answer to hide something, the boy spoke.

"There was something…" he trailed off. "I don't know if it's related to the case or if it's suspicious at all, but it was certainly noteworthy. Potter had a fight with Parkinson and Theo. It was big, he was almost shouting by the end before he abruptly stood up and left the Great Hall in a hurry."

"That is interesting…" Rufus answered slowly. "Do you have any idea as to what the fight pertained to?"

"No clue. Like I said, Potter is not exactly a… friendly individual. Honestly, I don't really know why Parkinson and Theo tolerate him. They constantly fight, but it's usually more subtle than last night. They don't generally shout or make scenes - Theo's doing, most likely."

"Do you think it's related to the case? Do you know of any ill Potter may have harboured for Montague?"

"Like I said, I'm not sure. I do know that Potter and Montague used to be friends back in our first-year, but they abruptly stopped talking around two months after they became friends. After that, I've rarely seen them in the same room, much less talking. As for any ill will Potter may harbour for Montague, I think it's likely, but that's because Potter hates pretty much everyone who isn't Theo or Parkinson. Not a friendly one, remember?"

"And what did you do after the feast?"

"I finished my homework in the common room, of course." Zabini said simply. "Teachers aren't exactly lenient on the due dates and with midterms starting next week, I needed to advance as much as possible. I finished up at about eleven-thirty before going through my evening ablutions and going to bed."

"Were any of your classmates asleep by then?"

"Yeah, almost all of them. Potter, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle all had their curtains shut and the lights in the dorm were off."

"What about Mister Nott?"

"I'm not sure at what time he went to bed, but it was definitely after me. I think he was in the common room speaking with Parkinson or something. I can't remember very well."

"And at what time did you wake up?"

"Six thirty, I took a shower and got ready. The whole house was waiting in the common room for Professor Snape when Professor McGonagall's amplified voice told us that classes were cancelled and that we were to stay in our dormitories until further notice."

"Do you have anyone that can confirm your whereabouts during the whole night?"

Zabini tilted his head, and Rufus got the sense he wanted to say something that would be considered improper. "No, Head Auror, I'm afraid I don't. Unfortunately, I'm not popular enough to merit someone relinquishing their precious beauty sleep just to watch my dozed off form for the entire night."

"Very well, Mister Zabini," Scrimgeour sighed, standing up. "That will be all. Please, feel free to contact me or any one of my Aurors if you can think of something imperative to the case."

"Of course," he bowed his head while shaking his hand. "Thank you, Head Auror Scrimgeour."

"What do you think, boss?" Shacklebolt asked as soon as the door was shut.

"He knows something." Rufus said slowly. "I don't know what, but he does, of that, I'm sure. He wasn't like the others, he was too calm, too in control of everything when he should be freaking out. Even for a Slytherin, that's unusual given his age."

"You think he's involved?" Tonks asked.

"He could be… but I don't think so. He was honest about everything, reporting the same information that the older Slytherins did. He was certainly quick to implement Potter, much quicker than any of the others. If he was in on this whole thing, why would he incriminate someone who's our biggest suspect at the moment?"

"So you still think Potter's the one who did it?" Tonks asked hesitantly.

"All the Slytherins were afraid of him, walking on eggshells whenever the topic turned to Potter. Zabini was an anomaly, but perhaps he's not scared of him. That, and the fact that Montague and Potter have a past, however brief that may be… I think he's our likeliest choice. Especially given the accounts from the other houses, apparently Potter has a reputation for being a proficient dueller. If he's as good as they claim, he could've certainly taken down the Slytherins."

"I hate to say this, but that's barely circumstantial evidence." Shacklebolt spoke. "Potter's a minor. We would need concrete evidence so solid there's no question that he was the one who did it if we want the use of Veritaserum to be granted to us."

"I'm aware of that," Scrimgeour almost growled. "And we have nothing on the boy so far. But I'm sure he at least has a part in all of this."

"Do you want us to bring him in next?"

"No," Rufus exhaled. "We need further information before we interview him. We'll save Potter and his two friends for last."

Slytherin Common Room

4:10 a.m.

"Where does this go?" Theo asked his friends, picking up a large, snake-shaped torch handle. Theo rotated it in his hand, chipping off a small piece of its fang that was already half-broken.

Blaise shook his shoulder, fixing up the curtains, and Draco outright ignored the question, causing Theo to sigh.

It had been a little over twenty minutes since everyone had left for their respective tasks, leaving the three of them in charge of making sure the common room was as new and polished as it had been when Salazar Slytherin designed it. Unfortunately, they hadn't been the accomplished team Snape would have hoped for them to be.

Theo had been forced to take the lead, making most of the effort in cleaning up the room, as the other two didn't look motivated at all. Blaise was grumpy, clearly not happy about being forced into helping them cover this whole thing up. But at least he was still doing his job, even if in a manner reminiscent of how a demiguise would go about it. Draco, on the other hand, had plopped down on the couch, muttering incoherent words and cursing Potter's name, probably.

"Draco," Theo sighed, finally sick of his friend's immaturity. "Get off the couch and help us, will you?"

"Help yourselves," Draco scoffed, sitting up. "Potter fucked things up, we're all most likely going to be sent to Azkaban, and Snape would have us work as his personal house-elves. No, thanks, I have something called pride. When I get sent to Azkaban, I'll go there knowing I didn't debase myself to such… standards."

"You're sentencing us all to an eternity with the dementors… for your pride!?"

"Yes." Draco said unflinchingly.

"You arrogant arse!" Theo turned to Blaise. "Help me!"

His friend laughed, it was almost maniacal. "Help you? You're the one who got us all in this shit! If you had just backed me up when I told Potter to screw off, we wouldn't be here."

"And what? Let Harry take all the blame for this? Wash my hands as he gets taken to Azkaban, I couldn't do that, Blaise!"

"You say that as if he were innocent," Blaise flung the curtain away, making his way towards him. "He isn't! He's the one who was using dangerous spells, ones that could've easily killed the others. He's the one who blew Montague's legs off. He grabbed a cursed knife and carved his face, for God's sake!"

"And you blame him? You were there with me when Montague showed his scar. How long has he had to live with that? He used the cruciatus on Harry, for fuck's sake!"

"I'm not saying Montague was a saint," Blaise sniffed, his face just a few inches away from Theo's. "But what Potter did is just as, if not more, vile than anything Montague did to him! Sane people don't relish as they carve the flesh off someone's face, Theo! He's a sadist arsehole - a psychopath! For all we know, we could be next!"

"No," Theo shook his head. "Harry wouldn't do that. He's not like that."

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Blaise spat. "What a good friend you are. Four years down the drain because, all of a sudden, you're team Potter."

"It's not like that, and you know it," Theo said, hating the anxious edge to his voice. "Harry's my friend, just like you," Blaise looked stricken for a second before he composed himself. "And I'm not leaving him to die, not when we can help."

"If your father could hear you now," Draco drawled, and Theo stiffened slightly. "What a good Hufflepuff you would have made."

Theo forced himself to turn away from Blaise to face Malfoy. "Just because I put actual value in my friendships doesn't make me any less of a Slytherin." He said coldly. "Just because you'd betray everyone you love just to get a little ahead doesn't make you any more Slytherin than me."

"Don't act all high and mighty," Draco sneered, standing up. "You turned soft, Nott, don't forget who you were in our first years at Hogwarts. After all, if anyone taught me to look after number one, it was you."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten how I was back then… but I think you have." Theo looked down at him, towering over the blond with ease as he pierced him with a threatening gaze. "There's a reason why you could never actually take control and lead the group like you wanted. You talk a big game, but deep down, you're just a whiny ferret. Calling daddy whenever you need of him, acting as if you were the Dark Lord's second in command when you couldn't even begin to understand what it is the Death Eaters do."

Theo looked around theatrically, displaying the destruction around them.

"This, what Harry did tonight, is nothing compared to the brutality, the vile acts my father and his… friends do on a weekly basis. Tell me, when you run your mouth about the Dark Lord, and how he'll put all the Mudbloods and Blood Traitors in place, do you even grasp what that entails? Do you know all the victims your father has raped, tortured beyond recognition, killed for fun? Most of our parents," He turned towards Blaise. "Even your mother has some skeletons in her closet, I'm sure. And yet, the both of you want to paint Harry as an unhinged psychopath, when he's shown more restraint than anyone could.

"I wonder," Theo continued, eying Draco with a savage satisfaction. "What will happen to you when you finally get your wish, and you become a Death Eater? A cowardly weasel like you, you wouldn't last a day. If I were you, I'd think a lot of what being a Death Eater truly entails before waving their flag as proudly as you have behind closed doors."

There was a loud silence in which Theo forced himself to calm down. The mention and concealed threat from Draco had overpowered his resolve. He hated losing control, hated reverting to his old self. He'd been forced to learn that his attitude and world-view was wrong long ago, and he'd done everything in his power to stray from his father's path. But old habits die hard, and nothing would ever be able to fully repress the cold rage he'd felt for as long as he could remember.

"Get back to work," he forced out. "We don't have long."

Abandoned Classroom Near The Great Hall

12:45 p.m.

Rufus sat back down as he watched the retreating form of Theodore Nott close the door behind him. He could feel the headache the past forty minutes had given him, all the interviews with the Slytherins blending together. He had been naive to think they would be like any other interviews he'd had across the day.

"What is your relationship with Mister Montague? Do you know him well?"

"Mister Montague?" Vincent Crabbe asked dumbly. "Err… well, I haven't actually met him properly yet. But my father knows him, they're friends… I think. You should ask him."

"Your father?"

"Yes, Mister Montague comes by the house frequently. I think they have business together."

Rufus blinked. "Graham Montague, Mister Crabbe. Not his uncle."

"Oh."

"Of course I did," Draco Malfoy leaned back, putting an arm around his chair. "Father always said the Montagues were the right sort. A shame what happened to him."

"The right sort?"

"Of course," the boy answered simply, looking around the room. "All of us here ar- who are you?"

"What?" Dawlish asked.

"Your name? What is it?"

"Dawlish. John Dawlish."

"Oh," Malfoy drawled. "Well, still, most of us here, are. Two out of three ain't bad, you do know how to pick your team, Head Auror Scrimgeour. Father did always talk good about your family."

"I… not well." Tracey Davis scrunched her eyebrows, looking incredibly tired. "I don't think I've talked to him once, though."

"I knew him," Theodore Nott said. "Damn good player, he was my captain, you see? I'm part of the Slytherin Quidditch team."

"Do you have any idea who could have attacked him?" Scrimgeour asked.

"Attack him?"

"Yes, Mister Goyle."

"No one would be stupid enough to attack Graham Montague, he's the King of Slytherin!"

"The King of Slytherin?"

"Yeah, you know? No one can attack him, that's how things work."

"I'm afraid someone already has."

"Nah," he shook his head. "Impossible. You must have a different Graham Montague in mind."

"I assure you, I don't." Scrimgeour said tightly.

"Uh-huh," Goyle said non-committally.

"No idea." Daphne Greengrass shrugged. "I don't know him well, we talked a bit, but I never really liked him." Daphne Greengrass sneered. "He liked to… gaze at me, much like your Auror over here."

"What?" Dawlish was sent into a coughing fit. "I wasn't- I didn't-"

"Who could have?" Pansy Parkinson asked. "Well, he's a Slytherin, so probably any Slytherin. He's also a seventh-year, so he sees them a lot, I'm sure they would all have the chance. He's in the rec room and the Great Hall a lot, I'm sure they could've as well. And, well, he walks around the halls, so he could be attacked there too. Honestly, the possibilities are endless, you're looking at everyone in the castle."

"I'm aware of that, Miss Parkinson," Rufus rubbed his eyes. "I was hoping you would help me narrow the options down."

"Well, that's your job, isn't it? I can't be expected to do your job! I have midterms to study for! This is our OWL year!"

"Why would anyone want to attack him?" Millicent Bulstrode look offended at the insinuation. "Someone as handsome as Montague, that would be a crime!"

"It would be a crime regardless, Miss Bulstrode."

"Ah, well, you know what I mean." The plump girl grinned at him.

"Did you see anything suspicious this past week?" Rufus asked.

Malfoy scoffed. "You have no idea. Honestly, it's a relief the Ministry has finally decided to do something. You should've been called here ages ago!"

"Really?" Rufus asked, feeling his headache go away as he felt crucial information in his grasp. "Why is that?"

"All the Mudbloods, of course," he rolled his eyes. "They're a menace, I'm sure it was one of them who attacked Montague.

"Suspicious?" Bulstrode asked, twirling a strand of hair in her hand as she gazed hungrily at Dawlish. "Not particularly. But if you want me to say I have, I'm your girl, handsome."

"NO! NO! NO!" Dawlish exclaimed, rushing out of the room, giving Scrimgeour another headache.

"Dawlish, get back here!"

"I have, in fact." Nott said seriously. "The Weasley twins, I'm sure they're trying to jinx the Bludgers for our game next week."

"I meant relating to our case," Scrimgeour forced out.

"Yes, but that's still illegal! They would ruin Quidditch for everyone! This isn't the first time the Bludgers have been tampered with, too! You should really look into that, it could become an issue."

"Nothing suspicious. There's nothing, I swear. No reason why you guys should be here at all." Goyle said quickly.

Rufus sighed. "We're here because of the attack."

Goyle stared at him blankly for a few moments before his eyes almost bulged out of his skull. The boy began nodding his head, smiling widely. "Ahhh, yes… the attack. I understand now!"

"…I'm not entirely sure you do, Mister Goyle."

"I do, I do," he kept nodding, and Rufus felt the urge to throttle the boy. "I will keep you informed on any… attacks."

"What can you tell me about Harry Potter? Has he done anything noteworthy recently?"

"Potter?" Davis asked. "I… I don't think so? I think I talked to him yesterday, but I can't remember."

"You can't remember?"

"No. I… it's complicated. I don't remember much of yesterday."

Rufus turned to Shacklebolt, and the Auror shook his head at the unasked question. No confundus charms or the sort were in place. But obliviations… Rufus had always hated how they were impossible to detect for either the victim or an outsider.

"Rough day?"

"Yeah… I think so."

"Potter? Why do you care about Harry?" Parkinson squinted at him.

"Harry? I assume he's your friend."

"Of sorts," she said curtly. "Is he involved with the case?"

"We're trying to figure that out-"

"Will this take time away from him? He promised we'd begin studying today, and we really can't afford to waste time. Why do you want his help anyway?"

Rufus turned back to his two Aurors before leaning in. "We think Potter may be a suspect. Has he said or done anything that would make you think he's a danger to yourself or others?"

"Besides being kind of an arse at times, no, not really. Wait, does this mean that your interview with Harry will be longer? Can you try to rush it, a bit? We really need to study. Midterms are next week! And what am I doing wasting my time here!?"

"Potter?" Crabbe looked immensely focused. "I think there's a Harry Potter in my year-group."

"Yes, that's the one." Rufus said quickly. "What can you tell us about him."

"He's a big crybaby, always used to cry when we bullied him. Bullying isn't illegal, right? My father told me it isn't, but…"

"Noteworthy? Potter?" Greengrass rolled her eyes. "Please, just because he's suddenly smart doesn't mean anything. He has a couple of good subjects, I still beat him on the rest."

"No one's saying you don't. We were hoping to learn more about-"

"Potter, Potter, Potter. He's a nobody! Honestly, you have a crime to solve! Stop focusing on Potter, he wouldn't be able to pull something like that off even with the whole staff helping him."

Honestly, he had no idea what had happened after the Zabini interview. At first, he had thought that this was some sort of scheme to confuse him, but after a while he wasn't sure. He wasn't even sure about his interview with Zabini anymore, the whole thing had just posed more questions than answers, and he couldn't help but wonder how such a toxic and dysfunctional year-group filled with such self-centred brats could exist. He hoped that the Aurors interviewing the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs were having better luck than him.

Shacklebolt and Dawlish had already left to get Potter, so he didn't have much time left. Taking calming breaths, Rufus began to focus on the present. Potter was his guy, he was sure of it. Regardless of all the rubbish that had been shoved down his ear for the past hour, that didn't change the results from the previous interviews.

The boy in question had held his interest ever since his name had been repeated by many of the older years. There was a slight anticipation in him, he'd heard such different and varied accounts of him, that he couldn't help but lean forward as the door opened and Potter was led inside.

The first thing he noticed of Potter was his bright emerald eyes. Unlike any of the others he'd seen from any student, they were magnetic with a haunted quality, looking into them felt like being absorbed into an endless pit. His hair was extremely dishevelled, but Scrimgeour could tell of the massive effort the boy had put into combing it so that it was above his fringe. Slightly shorter than the rest of his peers and looking extremely malnourished, Harry Potter was the opposite of the person he was expecting.

But here he was, and completely unlike most of his peers, he was an open book. His face turned into what seemed like a permanent look of distaste, Rufus could feel every bit of emotion the boy was feeling, every emotion he would feel for the next week.

He wouldn't be able to lie to him.

"Welcome, Mister Potter," Rufus smiled, standing up and shaking the young man's hand. "Please, take a seat. Do not feel nervous, these are just procedural interrogations, we're having them with all your peers."

Potter grunted in response, sitting down and watching him expectantly.

"What is your relationship with Mister Montague? Do you know him well?"

A flare of anger passed through him. "There's no relationship. I've barely talked to him."

"Is that so?" Rufus leaned in. "Because a lot of your classmates claim you and Mister Montague were once pretty close."

Potter sneered. "Once. It was ages ago."

"Can you tell me more about your previous friendship with the victim?"

"There's nothing to tell," the boy shrugged. "Montague was a lying bitch, and he got what he deserved."

Scrimgeour was sent into a shocked silence, not expecting such a blunt answer. "Are you… confessing to this attack?"

"I did nothing of the sort," Potter said tightly. "What? Am I not allowed to bear any ill will to someone who betrayed my trust? Am I supposed to cry and beg for his speedy recovery? When did I lose my right to express how I feel, Head Auror? Because I don't appreciate you trying to pin this on me with the only evidence being hearsay and my personal grudge on him."

"That's not what I'm trying to do, but you can see how comments like that at this time can be incriminating."

"Not at all, actually. You asked me a question, I answered truthfully. If my personal opinion isn't of your liking, that's your business. But if you want to lynch me for Montague's… shortcomings, I suggest you find some actual evidence."

"You seem very adamant that I'm accusing you of something when I'm merely asking protocol questions." Rufus said calmly, standing up to tower over the young Slytherin. "Why is that?"

"I'm not an idiot." He rolled his eyes. "I can hear people talk, I know my history with Montague and my clear hatred for him has made everyone think I did it. I'm only interested in making sure Montague's shit doesn't stick to my shoe anymore."

Scrimgeour stopped and stared at the boy. He didn't seem to be lying, he wasn't bothering on hiding his opinions and appeared to be completely genuine with his words. It was true what he had said, the rumour mill at Hogwarts was infamous, not just for its ability to spread faster than Fiendfyre, but for its lack of accuracy as well. They didn't have any evidence on Potter, but there was still something bothering him about the kid.

"Tell me, would you consider yourself to be a proficient dueller?"

"Yes," the boy replied without any modesty.

"Better than your peers? Capable of, say, taking down a group of seventh-years single-handedly?"

"That's a very specific scenario," Potter eyed him warily. "But yes, I think I might be able to. I consider myself to be the best student, dueller inside the castle."

"Is that so?" A smirk tugged at Rufus' lips, though he did not know if it was because of anything he felt towards the case or more amusement about Potter's opinion on his skills. "Why is that?"

"Because I've worked hard, I've restlessly trained myself to be just that over the past four years. Because, the few duels I've had over the past couple of years, I haven't found anyone who has managed to beat me."

"And why would you do that? You're a child, and we haven't had peace like this since before Grindelwald began his movement over seventy years ago. Why on earth would you push yourself to train that hard before even leaving Hogwarts?"

"Because, unlike others, I don't have the luxury to have the Aurors visit me and solve my problems whenever I get sent into the hospital wing."

"You seem irritated by our presence here." He remarked idly.

"It's your lack of presence over the years that irritates me, Head Auror." Potter spat. "Tell me, where were you every time an older year picked on me? Where were you when my parents were insulted, when a group ganged up on me, when they threatened me for merely breathing. You might be enjoying peace out there, having the time of your life as you eat doughnuts and catch wayward thieves, but that doesn't mean my days were as joyous as yours. If I trained as hard as I did was because I needed it to survive, and the only times I've ever used my knowledge on that have been purely for self-defence after someone else has cast the first spell. And if you don't believe that, I'll be happy to submit to Veritaserum for that question."

"There's no need," Rufus placated the boy, knowing they wouldn't be able to get Veritaserum purely on Potter's request. "I believe you. But you have to understand that this is a much more serious matter than a few duels gone wrong. Mister Montague's life is truly in danger." Potter's face didn't even twitch. "How does that make you feel?"

"It doesn't. I'm indifferent to all of this. I don't care for Montague, and I trust my skills well enough to feel safe inside the school."

Rufus sighed. "In your studies, have you researched spells that would be considered dark, even if only slightly."

"No."

"Really? I find that hard to believe."

"You can find it however you want, but I have no interest in dark magic. Everything I've learnt is purely from the Hogwarts curriculum."

"And where are you now, exactly?"

"On sixth year in some classes, seventh year in DADA, the rest I'm still in fifth year. I prefer to practice the practical elements of duelling than any theory or spellwork."

There was a pause. Rufus could ask about his whereabouts last night, but he'd gotten the same answer from all the others, and there wasn't a way to prove whether someone was asleep or not. The question would be useless, especially since the portraits, ghosts, house-elves, and staff came up empty. A part of him wanted to ask the boy outright if he had been the one to attack Montague. He hadn't explicitly denied it, and there was still something off about him. But he wanted to avoid raising any more suspicions. It would be best to make the boy believe he's in the clear, rather than him leave the classroom wary. But still… there was something he needed to ask.

"One final question," Rufus sat down, staring intently into the young man's eyes. "Have you ever heard of a dark curse or weapon that would leave the victims with a large, permanent open gash?"

"No." Potter answered tightly, without hesitation.

He was lying.

Somewhere In The Hogwarts Grounds

4:10 a.m.

A fact that had become apparent ever since Harry left the Slytherin Common Room was just how much he detested invisibility cloaks. In theory, they sounded extremely useful. Why would someone choose not to have an invisibility cloak? But, after being forced to walk for twenty minutes under the cloak at a snails pace as to not trip over the cloak, crammed inside it with Daphne Greengrass impossibly close and the light from her wand blinding him - the cocoon inside as bright as a Christmas tree.

Yes, Harry certainly hated invisibility cloaks. Learning the Disillusionment Charm would be near the top of his priorities. If he didn't end up in Azkaban, that is.

The cloak was also much rougher than Longbottom's. It felt heavy and scratchy, the complete opposite to Longbottom's cloak, which was smooth and so light you could probably forget you were wearing it. He'd expected Greengrass's cloak to be top of the line, but it seemed that somehow Longbottom had gotten his hands on a much more advanced, and presumably expensive, model.

The cloak hadn't been the only thing uncomfortable about the journey. Greengrass hadn't said a word at all. Which was fine by him, he didn't care much to speak with her. But there was a tense silence between them, and he'd catch her giving him weird looks every once in a while. He'd ignored it as much as he could, but it was getting harder and harder.

"Snap out of it," he growled at her as soon as they left the walls of the castle and began heading towards the greenhouses.

She turned towards him, hesitancy flashed in her eyes, but she didn't say anything. And the quiet that hung with them only became so much more tense.

"What?" He tried again, uncaring of his unkind tone. "You want to say something, so get it out already!"

"He attacked you," she said quietly, as if what she was saying wasn't quite right.

"What?" He snapped, unsure of what she was saying.

Daphne stopped in her tracks, and Harry ran straight into her messy blond hair. He stepped back, only to see Daphne eying him speculatively, in a way that made him feel naked. Forcing himself not to fidget, Harry kept glaring at the girl.

"Montague, he-" Her eyes drifted to his chest, and he knew she was trying to picture his back. "He attacked you."

"Why do you care?" Harry snarled, leaning into her, hoping to take her eyes off his body.

Daphne's eyes turned towards his, an ice blue shade that seemed vacant of any life, as if she wasn't aware of what she was doing or what she was saying.

"He threatened my sister," she finally said. "When I told him I wanted out, that I didn't care about… this, anymore, he… he grabbed my arm and held the knife - his knife - to my throat. He- he told me I didn't have a choice, that I was the one who had come to him for help, and that I couldn't back down now. And that if I- if I tried to contact anyone, seek out help, even from my parents. He said that… he'd grab my sister, and he'd 'gut the bitch's throat out.'"

"Yeah, well, for all the talk Montague likes to give about using the Slytherin approach, he does like to use his knife a lot." Harry remarked snidely.

"Why did he attack you?" She asked him.

"None of your business."

"I don't blame you," Daphne told him abruptly, just when he was about to start walking again. "For what you did. Attacking him, carving… that on his face. I'm glad you did."

"Well, I'm glad to know that I don't scare you." He said dryly.

"I never said you didn't scare me," she said intensely. "I'm terrified of you. Terrified of what you'll do once this… thing is over. Terrified of how you'll treat me or anyone else that… annoys you. I doubt I'll manage to sleep comfortable anytime soon."

"You think I'd do this to anyone?"

"Wouldn't you? You didn't bat an eye as you attacked other students. All those retaliations you made to Malfoy and Nott and the others in our first years. You gloated about how you took care of Warrington and the others. And you smiled as you cut Montague up." Harry was shocked when he suddenly felt a hand on his face, grabbing him tightly. "When I look at you, all I see is hatred and rage. A raw anger that consumes your very being during every minute of every day." She let him go, and Harry leaned away slightly. "How heavy it must be. I can feel it, feel how much you want to act upon all that resentment you carry around. Even now, with how you are, you exert so much restraint. How easy it would be to just… snap. Give everyone in the castle a taste of that blazing rage that's burning you inside. And what will happen to all of us when you finally do?"

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, not daring to look away from Daphne lest this spell that had fallen over them break. He could still feel her cold hand on his face, and the paradoxical way it suddenly left the spot she had touched feeling cold. He could feel the tiredness of the night crashing on him, the slight effects from the cruciatus curse still coursing through his body, the pain on his back from Montague's assault, the amount of power and energy he had to push through him to be able to cast spells with Zabini's wand.

And then Daphne turned away from him, but before she could take a single step, Harry seized her arm.

Maybe it was because she was turned around and couldn't see his face. Maybe it was because she was probably one of the few people who would truly understand what being under Montague's grasp felt like. Maybe it was because he was too tired to think properly, and Daphne had opened up to him earlier. Or perhaps it was because he had been holding on to it for so long and felt as if he couldn't for much longer. Whatever the reason was, it didn't change the fact that he began talking.

"Montague… Graham. He- he was my friend, my only friend in the world… or I thought he was. I devoted myself to him, put all my burdens on his shoulder, gave him my very soul because I truly believed that he was my friend, my brother, and that he cared about me. I would've given him all the gold in my vault without hesitation if he had asked it of me… and then I found out it was all just an act. I- I couldn't believe it, I didn't want to believe it. He was my friend… and he betrayed me. I confronted him later that day. You were there, I think, in the common room. The whole house was there."

Daphne nodded.

"Montague didn't take it very well. He came into my room when I was asleep, dragged me up the stairs, laughing as I cried for help. He tortured me - he and his friends - mocked me, humiliated me in ways I had thought impossible. And then, he grabbed his knife and carved his initial in my back while his friends held me in place."

Daphne turned around, facing him. There was no pity in her eyes, no concern, and Harry was thankful for that. But there was something in them, a glint of something he couldn't quite put into place. Admiration, perhaps? Approval? Or was it respect?

"What I did… to Montague, to his friends." Harry's voice grew cold as his face hardened. "I'd do it again, a hundred times over, if need be. I don't regret it. But don't you dare judge me for it, it is what they brought upon themselves. Just because I'm the type of person to seek retribution from the people who tortured me doesn't mean I'm like them, a person that would threaten innocent people, torture them just because I'm feeling vexed. That's not me, and don't ever assume otherwise."

That's it for this chapter! We're officially past the half-way mark of this arc with only two more chapters remaining!

I hope you liked this more character and relationship focused chapter. Next time we'll see more of the Slytherin's plans to cover up their involvements in the crimes as the Aurors find major developments! Get exited!

As always, thank you for reading, favouriting, and commenting! I appreciate all of you! :)

I've decided to open my own discord server where I'm going to be active and will include the opportunity to get the chapters earlier! Please, feel free to join using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT