And Then There Were None

A/N: This is the first Skit Skit and Lylian murder mystery attempt, please enjoy and let us know your thoughts. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: This story is based upon the novel, And Then There Were None (aka Ten Little Indians) by Agatha Christie. Some of the plot belongs to her and the characters and any HP-related items are the property of JK Rowling. Sadly, we don't own Harry Potter.

I

Harry Potter's heart beat rhythmically in his chest, synchronizing with the bobbing heads of his nine companions. They were in a boat that was made to fit ten people perfectly. He had thought it odd in the beginning that there were only ten seats in the boat and no driver, but he shrugged it off and attributed it to magic. He turned and looked out to sea.

It had been five years since the war ended, yet the pain and suffering from the previous years still weighed heavily upon his shoulders. He knew that the suffering was over, Voldemort was dead, and Death Eaters were tried and imprisoned. Yet he couldn't stop thinking of the deaths. Death, which was so familiar to him, still haunted Harry. He had thought it was over, done with, but no. Life as an Auror and as the meant you were never free from death. He knew this, and it was a choice he had made for his career; now he was sitting in this boat because of it. He had received a letter from a Wizarding Committee inviting him to a dinner party in celebration of the Most Influential Wizards of the 21^st Century.

He thought it was very strange that it was supposed to be held on an Unplottable island, and even more strange was that select Slytherins were invited. He couldn't think of a single thing any of them had done for the Wizarding society in the last five years, except stir up trouble in the ministry hearings. He looked over at Hermione. When she and Ron were invited, he had agreed to go on their behalf. Presently, he wished he had declined the offer. He'd rather be sitting at home, not in the same boat with people whom he didn't like in the slightest.

II

Hermione looked out onto the dark water. She was excited to visit an island and spend a weekend with her friends. She had been flattered by the letter she had received; so much that Hermione reread it several times and memorized it.

Miss Hermione Granger,

Five years previously, as you know, Harry Potter defeated the dark wizard formerly known as Voldemort with the aid of yourself and Mr. Ronald Weasley. Your magical skills and mind have aided Mr. Potter on countless occasions. You have battled ministry cases and have had growing progress in the Ministry at the Department for International Magical Cooperation and the International Magical Office of Law. It is with great pleasure that I invite you to attend a dinner honoring yourself and other influential wizards of the 21^st century on the 8^th of this month at 6 p.m. The celebration will take place on Ignatia Isle. You will be arriving by boat from Hambledon Harbor. Please respond via owl as soon as possible. Thank you, Miss Granger, and I hope to hear from you shortly.

Sincerely,

Q. Marc

Order of Morgana, Second Class, Chief Warlock of the Society for Official Wizarding Celebrations Committee

Yes, she was flattered, but her good feelings were short lived as she saw Slytherins from her graduating year walk onto the boat along with them. She looked over at Draco Malfoy, who wore a permanent scowl upon his face. She wondered what he could have possibly done to be invited to this most distinguished occasion, but she wasn't going to ask to find out. She'd make sure nothing would ruin her holiday. Hermione then turned her attention to Ron.

III

Ron Weasley sat alert in his seat, looking around at the faces on the boat. He, like Harry and Hermione, had been invited to be celebrated and honored. He had jumped at the opportunity and wasted no time in buying new robes for the occasion. For once, they weren't maroon, and for once, he felt completely comfortable. At this party he wouldn't be judged; rather, he would have people shake his hand, anxious to meet him. Anxious to meet Ronald Weasley. That's what his letter had said. Yes, Ron was going to be celebrated, and after this weekend, they'd never forget his name.

IV

Numbers calculated in Draco Malfoy's mind. Hopefully the house looked as exquisite as it had in the photograph. He didn't like the little boat he was in and wished he could have just Apparated in. He shrugged his shoulders and figured that if he did purchase the estate, he'd be content. It's what he wanted. Ignatia Isle was calm, secluded, and completely private. No one would be able to bother him while he lived there. And he needed that because life never quieted for Draco.

He smiled at the thought and turned to look at the others on the boat. Mr. Marc had mentioned that he would be attending a dinner party with other guests, but Draco wasn't going to be comfortable surrounded with this lot. He would have to bare it until it was over.

V

Neville Longbottom looked nervously from Goyle to the floor. What were these people doing here, and why did he have to sit next to Gregory Goyle?

Neville sighed. It was always him who got the short end of the stick. Always. He straightened up a little. Well, this trip the Slytherins wouldn't bother him. He'd focus on his work just as Quentin Marc had asked. Identify and nurture my plants...I'm counting on you, Professor...identify and nurture... He closed his eyes and repeated these words in his head. It's all he had to worry about.

VI

Pansy Parkinson brushed her hair back, irritated at the lot she was supposed to spend the weekend with. Mr. Marc, who was hosting a party for some very prestigious wizards and witches, had name-dropped; she, being the editor of Witch Weekly, decided to make an appearance and interview the guests. Of course Potter was there, and she would probably have to interview him as well. On a separate note, Draco Malfoy, whom she hadn't seen in years, sat on the far end of the boat, turned away from everyone else, as was Harry Potter. What a curious lot this was, mixing Malfoy and Potter! Her job was going to be a difficult one. She took a deep breath. Deadlines are galleons, she reminded herself. Whatever it takes to get a good, juicy story. She laid a careful hand on the leg of Blaise Zabini, who was to be her escort.

VII

Blaise hardly took notice of the hand on his leg. He had agreed to be Pansy's escort based on obvious reasons, but he did have other motives. Much more important ones. He's grab a firewhiskey and something to eat, move along with his business, though he had doubts about getting a decent meal. Goyle...a gourmet chef! The idea was enough to make him laugh, but of course he didn't. There were other things to think about.

VIII

Gregory Goyle sat, uncomfortably close to Dean Thomas, who was now fiddling with something in his bag, nudging Goyle in the arm. He groaned inwardly; he wouldn't let himself be troubled by the other people. He was no longer a "crony," as some had described him in his school years. He was an independent person who had formed a business with is own bare hands. People would not bother him or laugh at his girth. He would do exactly as the owner of the estate had hired him to do. He would prepare and cook the food for this weekend and was more than welcome to any food supplies in the house. This made him smile. Food and money were the most important things in life. But there was one other thing that would make him happy.

IX

Dean Thomas had taken out the floor plans of a very large home and was now studying them. The owner had said that the magical foundation wasn't what it used to be. He took a cursory glance around the boat. He saw familiar faces, most of whom he had not spoken to in years. He tried to make small talk with Harry, who responded half-heartedly, so Dean quieted and moved onto other thoughts. It was a bit odd that he was checking the home during a party; he'd probably make a lot of noise and wasn't sure what old spells were securing the home.

However, he had a job to do and a purpose. There were things to be done here on the island, and with his determination, nothing would get in his way.

X

Theodore Nott avoided the gaze of Harry Potter. He couldn't help the fact that he was nervous about being near Aurors, especially the one who had defeated the Dark Lord. Theodore was a former Death Eater, like his father, and was trying to make a positive change in himself. Avada Kedavra Anonymous would be the perfect way to change his old ways. Quentin Marc must have brought Aurors to test his will. The last time he had killed, his mind had gone blank, and he remembered nothing of the murders. It was a period of temporary insanity where nothing could stop him. That was his purpose for joining AKA. It was going to be very difficult to change, but he had confidence that he would be fine. He wouldn't kill. He was safe. As long as he didn't kill, he was completely safe.

- - -

The boat pulled up to the Unplottable island, where a large estate stood erect on an even larger cliff. The passengers awkwardly rose from their seated positions to remove themselves from the boat. With her nose in the air, Pansy exited first, with Blaise trailing behind distractedly. The rest of the passengers hastily moved onto the land.

They followed the gravel path which led them to the grand estate. As the group approached the house, they could hardly miss the spectacular façade, consisting of a multitude of glass windows. After knocking on the door, a small house elf appeared. Without a word, the elf led them into the sitting room, taking their coats as they entered.

"Where is Mr. Marc? A few of us would like to discuss tomorrow's events." Hermione asked the elf, "Is he in the kitchen?"

The house elf didn't respond; instead, he scurried into another room and soon produced a large plate of cakes and hot tea. He busied himself with serving the party and then disappeared again.

Gregory Goyle followed the house elf into the kitchen, intent upon getting a head start on the food for the evening. The kitchen was more than he could ever ask for. He'd never worked with facilities this grand. He found a pantry equipped with everything he needed: potatoes, carrots, beans. He grabbed the needed items and then pulled out a small bottle from his pocket--his secret ingredient.

He looked over his shoulder before beginning the preparations, and very nearly jumped at the sight of the house elf looking up at him with gigantic green eyes.

Irritation at being caught off guard was revealed on Goyle's face. He composed himself before saying sharply, "You can leave now. Mr. Marc has hired me to prepare dinner tonight."

The elf never responded, but when Goyle looked over once more, he had disappeared.

- - -

Many of the guests were dallying around the parlor, looking out the window, tinkering with the artwork, and just looking misplaced. The group was a strange bunch; some were held in high regard with the Wizarding community and others not so much. Most were quietly glancing around and acting as if they knew exactly what they were doing.

Hermione was fingering the books on the shelves near the fireplace aimlessly, while Ron sat on the leather sofa, content with the plate of hors d'oeuvres set in front of him.

"Sit down and eat something," said Ron who was already on his second cake. "He'll show up when he's ready."

He had stuffed another pastry into his mouth. Blaise shook his head at him, rolled his eyes and muttered, "Disgusting," under his breath. He decided to ignore the bottomless pit next to him and entertain himself with the others.

- - -

Draco stirred his tea and put the cup to his lips. He had a mouthful of hot tea when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Can I help you?" asked Draco tersely, dribbling tea down his front.

"Draco, I haven't seen you in years. That's very Malfoy of you." Pansy paused for him to say something, but when he didn't, she continued, "What brings you to Ignatia Isle? You don't strike me as the type to make peace with most..." She indicated the Gryffindors across the room.

"And neither do you," he said distantly. "I'm interested in the house."

"Oh," said Pansy. "I'm interviewing the guests. I'm with Witch Weekly."

He nodded and said nothing more. Pansy shook her head at his discourtesy and joined Blaise and Theodore, who sat near the window.

"So, why are you here, Nott?" asked Blaise.

"Oh, well...I was invited and I accepted," he replied vaguely.

"How do you know the owner?" Blaise said in an attempt to continue conversation, though it was clear that Theodore was not much of a talker.

"Oh you know, family friends," he said, playing with a loose sting on his shirt. Blaise took the hint, and the conversation ended with that.

- - -

Dean walked around the sitting room, checking this and that.

Loose floor boards...ancient magic tiles. There was definitely work to be done.

"What are you looking at?" asked someone behind Dean.

He turned, surprised to see Draco Malfoy addressing him.

"Well, the owner asked me to look over the house. I'm an architect."

"How does it look?"

"It could use a few touches," Dean said tentatively.

"Expensive?"

"Maybe. Why do you ask?"

"Well I'm interested in the house, owner told me all about it and I don't want to go spending my money on less than perfect estates."

"Hmm, I'll have to survey the rest of the house before I can say exactly." And with that he nodded towards Draco and continued to inspect the room.

- - -

"So," began Neville, turning to Harry. "How've you been? We haven't talked much since I started teaching at Hogwarts."

"I've been doing well," Harry replied, half-heartedly.

"That's great. I hear you're working in the Auror Office, how's that?"

"It's fine. I'm usually really busy but I like it. It's rewarding."

"That's how it is teaching at Hogwarts," said Neville and he went on to tell stories of his students.

Fifteen minutes later, the plate of food and tea were finished, and the party still waited for the owner to appear. They were all on the edge, waiting for something to happen.

Neville was now talking to Harry, Ron and Hermione. Hermione nodded, not entirely listening. Instead she was focused on the framed piece of parchment that hung above the fire. She stood up from the sofa to get a better look. It was a strange poem; she thought she's heard it before but couldn't remember exactly when or where.

Ten Little Wizards...she read. Interesting.

Ten little wizards going out to dine;

One choked his little self and then there were nine.

Nine little wizards sat up very late;

One overslept himself and then there were eight.

Eight little wizards noticed the plants thriven;

One was strangled and then there were seven.

Seven little wizards levitating sticks;

One struck him in the heart and then there were six.

Six little wizards going for a dive;

One went too deep and then there were five.

Five little wizards wanting to know more;

One knew too much and then there were four.

Hermione squinted at the next line. The next few words were dotted with grease, but she could decipher it with some difficulty.

Four little wizards went out to sea;

One got too close and then there were three.

Three little wizards came across a skrewt;

One got blast-ended and then there were two.

Two little wizards dueling with their wands;

One wasn't quick enough and then there was one.

One little wizard left all alone;

He went and killed himself and then there were none.

Hermione shuddered. It was a terrible poem about death, terrible.

"Clever," said a voice behind her.

She turned to see Harry looking up at the poem with interest.

"What is?" said Pansy, who had been eyeing Hermione the entire time. She looked over at the poem and snorted at Hermione who had suddenly gone rigid.

Hermione ignored Pansy and turned to see the rest of the party growing restless.

"This is ridiculous!" said Blaise suddenly, standing from his seated position and frightening Theodore into tipping his teacup. "Where is Mr. Marc?"

As the words escaped his mouth there was a loud bang and then a deep voice began to speak.

"The time has come of which your dark pasts must be revealed. Do not deny the crimes you have committed. Gregory Goyle, five years ago, you brought on the death of Vincent Crabbe. Hermione Granger, two months ago you sent Edward Bulstrode to his death. Neville Longbottom, the murder that weighs heavily upon your shoulders is that of Augusta Longbottom one year ago. Draco Malfoy, five years ago you tortured and killed three Muggles. Theodore Nott, two years ago you took the life of Eleanor Montague, among others. Pansy Parkinson, you are guilty of the death of Poesy Parkinson only three months ago. Harry Potter, you are guilty of the deaths of three Aurors: Cormac McLaggen, Zacharias Smith, and Ginevra Weasley as of seven months ago. Dean Thomas, five years ago Hannah Abbott died by your hands. Ronald Weasley, you are guilty of the death of O'Malley Finnigan one year ago. Blaise Zabini, four years ago, you sent four wizards to their deaths. Do not deny the truth. The time of judgment is upon you."

The ten guests looked around in shock, some started to protest, but all the while each guest began thinking the exact same thing.