And Then There Were None

A/N: Thank you to all who reviewed our story!

Disclaimer: Once again some of the plot belongs to Agatha Christie and anything HP-related is the property of JK Rowling.

In all their speechlessness, Pansy was the only one with enough gall to speak.

"What kind of sick, deranged joke is this?" she demanded.

She searched their faces, looking for any indication of mirth. None of the party were laughing. Many acted shocked, others indignant and some confused. Harry's face was hardened with anger, but he didn't say a thing.

"Well?" continued Pansy angrily.

There was a pained yell from the kitchen, and those in the sitting room were snapped out of their silent stupor.

"Goyle!" said Draco suddenly.

They ran out of the room, through the doorway and passed the foyer.

The kitchen appeared to be empty at first, but after a moment of tension, there was a groan behind the large granite island.

At the back of the island was Gregory Goyle, who lay bleeding. Hermione yelped at the sight. There was a splatter of blood pooled around his feet and a cutting knife on the ground.

"Draco," said Goyle, with effort. "You know I didn't do it. It was an accident....It's a lie--I never killed him. Potter, Weasley! You were there. It wasn't my fault. He was out of reach and...and I didn't mean it. You know I didn't mean it. I just told him to use it!"

Draco chose to ignore his former friend's pleas of innocence and instead asked, "What happened here?"

"I heard that voice--that terrible voice--that said things...and I don't know what happened. My knife just fell," he paused meaningfully. "Draco, I didn't do it."

He blankly looked at the injured man on the ground and didn't say a word.

Goyle looked up, as if suddenly realizing that others were crowded around him. He became angry at the sight.

"Which one of you did it? Who said those things? Was it you, Thomas?" said Goyle, pointing a finger at Dean. "Or you, Longbottom? Just angry bloke, aren't you? You weren't there, you don't know!"

"Now, wait just one minute!" shouted Dean. "I would never say those things."

"How dare you!" Neville yelled.

The entire room burst into outrage.

"STOP!" Hermione raised her voice, through all the confusion.

They quieted reluctantly.

"Thank you," said Hermione with a calm pretense. "Now, we'll get this all sorted and figured out, but first, Goyle needs some medical attention. Give him some space."

Hermione carefully removed his shoe and pulled off his bloody sock. The gash was wide, and blood was still flowing. Goyle groaned in pain while continuously muttering pleas of innocence under his breath.

"Neville," said Hermione abruptly.

"Yes?" he replied.

"You're a Herbology professor, correct?"

Neville nodded.

"Did you happen to bring the Essence of Dittany with you?"

"I usually bring some, but I'll have to check."

"Can you fetch some? Thank you."

Neville ran out of the kitchen.

Then Hermione turned back to Goyle and examined the wound. Her face scrunched up with confusion, before muttering, "Scorgify." The dried blood on his ankle and on the ground disappeared.

Soon enough, Neville came running back into the kitchen with a small brown bottle clutched in his hands.

Hermione used this to dab onto Goyle's injuries. Tiny puffs of green smoke emerged from the wound, before it closed up.

"Now let's get him to the sitting room," said Hermione.

Immediately, Ron and Harry came to Hermione's aid, per usual; Draco also decided to help remove him from the floor. The former Gryffindors were wise enough to keep their mouths shut.

With some struggling, they were able to transfer Gregory Goyle into the sitting room they had started at.

As they entered the room, Pansy whispered to Blaise, "What's he doing here?"

Theodore Nott was in the room, looking as if he had never left. He stood with his back to the rest of the party, observing the dusk outside.

Aloud, Blaise said, "Nott, where have you been?"

Immediately, everyone took notice of Theodore's presence, or his lack thereof while they were in the kitchen.

"Me?" he replied impassively. "I've been contemplating."

"What do you mean?"

Theodore turned around. "I know exactly why every one of us is here, on this island. Every one of us committed murder. I understand now."

Again, they burst out in fury as they did in the kitchen. Theodore, however, continued.

"You're part of it, aren't you?" He pointed to the Gryffindors. "I should have known. It takes some sort of bravery to cast the Killing Curse. Longbottom, I didn't think you had it in you to one-off your own grandmother. And Pansy, your sister? All of us, we're here to support each other. That's why we're here. That's why we're in the AKA."

"What are you talking about?" said Dean as the others quieted, looking at Theodore as if he were insane.

"Avada Kedavra Anonymous. Should have known you all were in it. It would have saved me a lot of trouble, being nervous and all. I wasn't quite sure if I was in the right place. But that voice just told it all. You are all murderers, conniving thieves of lives, just like me."

He looked into their confused faces as if he had just come to a great realization. Out of no where, Ron started laughing hysterically.

"Avada Kedavra Anonymous?" he said. "That group was taken apart years ago. The Ministry had a huge debate on what to do with it because the members seemed to just egg each other on into continuing their destructive habits. A year ago, a new Ministry-regulated, rehabilitation program for Death Eaters was established, called Death Eaters Anonymous. You didn't know?"

Theodore looked at him blankly.

"The AKA--haven't heard that in years. I was the one who helped dismantle it."

Still Theodore didn't say a word.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" Ron said. His amused smile fell from his face.

"But--it says here, right in this letter," blubbered Theodore. From his pocket, he removed a folded piece of parchment.

Ron snatched it out of the other's hand to give it a quick skim.

"It's a lie. All of it--a load of rubbish."

"It doesn't matter. It's true!" Theodore said fiercely. "The voice said that I killed her; I killed Eleanor Montague. I did! Five years ago when I left school to join my dad with the Death Eaters! It was my initiation to becoming one. She was my first kill. It wasn't a lie. For the rest of you it must be true also!"

"I beg to differ! I haven't killed anyone in my life!" shouted Pansy.

"You might be a murderer, joining AKA, but I'm not an idiot like you," said Blaise.

"Wait just one minute," Hermione spoke up. "There's no need for this type of behavior. Nott was just poorly misinformed."

"I was not! Mr. Marc wrote me this letter himself!" he protested. "If I was lied to, then he lied to everyone!"

"Hold on! We'll get to that in a moment. Now," continued Hermione. "About those accusations--where did it come from and why?"

"Well, I could care less where it came from, but I'll say this now--I didn't kill O'Malley Finnegan, and it's ridiculous to say so," said Ron. "I guess I'll have to tell you how it happened. We were all fighting after the breakout at Azkaban a year ago and I ran to pursue a Death Eater in a different direction. O'Malley stayed behind and was killed."

"So you left him to die?" asked Goyle.

"No! He chose to stay behind!" said Ron, fuming.

Hermione patted Ron on the shoulder, while a few others shook their heads, some of them clearly not believing, and turned to Harry, who cleared his throat to say something.

"Whatever that voice said, I didn't kill them," said Harry simply. "Bulstrode did."

"Edward Bulstrode," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I remember his trial particularly well. Charged with the use of the Cruciatus Curse, the Imperius Curse, and the Killing Curse on seven Aurors, three of which were mentioned today: Cormac McLaggen, Zacharias Smith, and Ginevra Weasley."

She paused to look at her two friends. Ron clenched his fists tightly and Harry refused to look her way.

"Bulstrode had a very good defender, one who consistently appealed to pathos. But that couldn't change what he'd done. Bulstrode was found guilty and sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss. I was told he died in Azkaban after smashing his head into a wall....I was the one who convicted him, but I had nothing to do with his death. Justice was duly served."

"I knew you weren't a murderer, Hermione, even on the battlefield. But I can't say the same about myself," said Dean.

He turned away in shame, but treaded on.

"What was said about me was true. It was during the Final Battle. I was running through the dungeons with Luna, and we saw a robed figure leaning over a body. We got closer. And Seamus Finnigan was on the ground, immobile. He was my best friend. What would you do if you saw your best friend lying on the ground like that? I blasted the dark, hooded figure to the wall and ran to him. But he was already dead."

Shaking his head, Dean pursed his lips together.

"And the Death Eater?" asked Hermione, delicately.

Dean scoffed. "It was Hannah Abbot under that mask."

A few seats over, Neville sucked in his breath. "She killed him?"

"The sad thing is, I never found out. I don't know whether she was helping him or hurting him under the Imperius. When she was hit with my spell, her skull opened and she died. To this day, it kills me to think that I may have murdered an innocent person, but I will never know."

There was silence among them again until Blaise stood up and spoke.

"I just have one thing to say, not that I have anything to prove to any of you. This is for my own benefit." Blaise paused to clear this throat. "I was not and never will be a murderer. What that voice mentioned was years ago. I let it slip to a couple of Aurors that a few acquaintances of mine were Death Eaters and they were captured, interrogated and executed," he said, folding his arms across his chest.

"You betrayed your friends?" asked Pansy, stunned. This was the man she thought she knew inside and out.

"Well, they weren't really my friends if they were Death Eaters, were they? I never tainted myself in that way," said Blaise with a little resentment. "And what's your excuse?"

"I don't need an excuse. My sister died of a severe case of Dragon Pox."

"You were never on good terms with your sister, were you?" asked Blaise. "I remember you wishing her death more than once."

"Being angry with someone doesn't make me a murderer."

"Wishing harm onto others..." said Neville quietly.

"Shut up, Longbottom! What about your grandmother?"

Neville turned away with his head bowed.

"Her illness was taking a toll on her, and she told me to Apparate quickly to St. Mungo's to get a Healer. By the time I got back she was..."

He sniffed loudly and wiped his nose on his sleeve. By now, the silence was heavy. They all turned to the last one to speak.

Draco took this time.

"I'll tell you the truth; I did kill those Muggles, and every day I've regretted it. But it wasn't by choice. It was You-Know-Who's bidding. He would have killed me and my family if I hadn't obeyed."

"But you were a Death Eater," Dean argued. "You wanted them dead!"

"I'll admit, I hate them but I would never willingly kill them. What would you do if yours and your family's lives were in danger?"

Dean opened his mouth to protest but Harry spoke up.

"He's right," said Harry. "I saw it. I saw Voldemort's thoughts, and it's the truth."

"That's right," Goyle bellowed. "And me! You saw Crabbe use the Fiendfyre. I only told him to use it if he got you all close enough, I didn't know that he couldn't control it."

Harry nodded and looked down at the floor again.

"Well now that we've gotten the accusations straightened out, let's have a look at our letters," said Hermione.

Theodore got up and thrust his into Hermione's palm.

"Avada Kedavra Anonymous! It's all here!" he said pointing at the letter.

"I told you it was rubbish," Ron insisted.

"Well, what about yours, Weasley?" asked Blaise. "What makes yours so legitimate?"

Ron fished into his pocket and pulled out his letter, as did Harry.

"Our letters indicate that there is a celebration honoring Influential Wizards of the 21^st Century. All signed 'Q. Marc, Order of Morgana, Second Class, Chief Warlock of the Society for Official Wizarding Celebrations Committee,'" said Hermione.

The others took out their letters and passed them around the room.

"Q. Marc, Quentin Marc, Q.M...It's all the same person," said Hermione scanning the letters. "And they all indicate a party, except for Neville, Dean and Nott's letters."

"So where's the party? It's passed the time we were supposed to be here, it's nearly dinner," said Pansy, angrily.

"Maybe our host will present himself at dinner," said Hermione.

"Then I guess I should continue my cooking," said Goyle standing up.

"Of course," said Hermione, pointing her wand to Goyle's bloody sock and shoe.

"Scorgify."

"Thanks."

Goyle pulled on his sock and shoe and headed toward the kitchen.

Within 30 minutes, dinner was served, and Goyle sat down, ready to enjoy the meal with the rest of the party. He sat across from Blaise and in between Neville and Draco.

"Do you think we should wait for our host?" asked Hermione.

"Why wait? I think he's been keeping us waiting long enough," Ron replied. He wasted no time in grabbing the various items from the table.

"Delicious!" he said, indicating his mound of food. "Isn't it 'Mione?

Hermione turned to her right and agreed. "It is very good Goyle."

The rest of the party joined in, quite enjoying themselves. Blaise had taken to staring at Goyle and his table manners. For a gourmet chef, he was certainly a brilliant cook, but he still ate food like it was going out of style.

Pansy, unable to get Blaise's attention, had started a conversation with Dean who was just as surprised as she was at how well they were getting along. Neville sat quietly eating his food next to Goyle, and Draco and Nott were talking across from each other.

Harry had taken to playing with is food, and twirling his fork in his hand.

"Didn't those Muggles that raised you teach you table manners?" asked Pansy when Harry accidentally dropped his fork.

"Oh. Sorry," said Harry, reaching for it.

"Why aren't you eating?" asked Goyle, who looked offended.

"I'm not really hungry, that's all," said Harry still fishing for his fork.

"Oh that's th..." Goyle dropped his knife and fork onto the plate and grasped his throat with his hand and began coughing. His face was starting to turn purple.

"You alright, mate?" Draco asked.

"He's choking! He's choking!" screamed Pansy.

Draco immediately jumped out of his chair and began slapping Goyle on the back as he began turning and twisting in his chair.

Hermione muttered a spell and pointed it at Goyle.

"Nothing happened!" exclaimed Pansy, grabbing a glass of gillywater and trying to get him to drink it.

Goyle got up from his chair, one hand still to his throat and other flailing about, knocking Neville on the head.

He stumbled a bit, still bright purple and then just as quickly as it had happened, dropped to the ground. The rest of the party ran to his fallen form.

"Is he...?" said Dean.

"His throat! Look at his throat!" Theodore exclaimed.

The party looked closer at Goyle, who, despite his already large girth, was sporting a neck at least twice the size it had been previously.

"Something caused his throat to swell," said Neville looking over him.

"An allergic reaction," stated Hermione. "Reducto."

The spell took the swelling down, but unfortunately it was too late.

"Why would he cook something he's allergic to?" Ron asked.

"Will you shut up?" shouted Draco. "He's dead, you idiots! He's dead!"

Suddenly shock passed over all the faces of the party, Draco put his face in his hands, and shook, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes. Blaise patted him awkwardly on the back.

"This is strange. All this talk about murder and now...and now he's dead. He's dead," said Dean shaking. "Murder...he's dead..."

"Calm down Thomas, he choked," Theodore said.

Dean just shook his head rigorously, while glancing from the purple-faced Goyle back to his seat. He began rocking steadily in his seat.

"We need something to calm our nerves," said Hermione.

Instinctively, Ron grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey from the table and took an enormous gulp. Harry, Blaise, Draco and Theodore followed suit while Hermione and Pansy shook their heads.

Taking a gulp of the firewhiskey, Dean said, "This isn't helping much."

"Neville do you have any Draught of Peace for Dean?" asked Hermione.

Neville rummaged in his bag he had brought with him during the first trip upstairs and pulled out a small bottle filled with clear liquid.

"This should be taken cautiously. It's an extremely powerful calming draught. Before you sleep, Dean, take two drops of this."

Nodding, Dean took the bottle from Neville's outstretched hand.

"We should contact St. Mungo's immediately," said Ron running over to the fireplace. "Bloody hell it's closed off!"

"Are you sure?" Asked Neville.

"Yeah, there's no Floo Powder or anything. We'll just have to wait for Mr. Marc."

"Let's move the him and get to bed. We all need rest after a..." began Hermione.

"We aren't going to bury him?" asked Neville.

"This is private property we can't do anything until Mr. Marc gets here or the boat," said Hermione.

"Then let's Apparate!" said Blaise. "I'll grab him and..."

"We can't. This island is Unplottable. The best we can do is put a preserving charm on his body for now," said Hermione.

Dean looked as if he'd vomit. "Fine, okay. I'll go now."

He hurried out of the room while the rest were left to move the body.

Pansy shook her head. "This is just rude! Mr. Marc should have been here and now Goyle's dead and we can't Apparate! The Floo Network is closed off..."

"It is rather odd," said Hermione.

"We must get a hold of Quentin Marc as soon as we can," said Draco, wiping his eyes. "Potter, Weasley, help me with Goyle."

Harry, Draco and Ron carried Goyle's body up the stairs and into one of the rooms where they found Goyle's possessions neatly stacked in a corner.

Hermione cast the preserving charm and Draco covered the body with a sheet, and they all left silently, each taking a few moments to pay their last respects to Gregory Goyle.

"Now what? There's no owls... there's nothing," said Theodore.

"We'll just have to wait, he can't be more than a day late can he?" asked Pansy.

The rest of the party shrugged. They just didn't have any answers.

"Best be off to bed then," said Harry.

The night awaited.

- - -

The nine guests walked wearily to their separate rooms, each finding their possessions in neat stacks near the foot of their beds. Pansy had just slipped on her dressing gown when she spied the very same poem from the sitting room, framed above her mirror.

"Ten little wizards going out to dine; One choked his little self and then there were nine. What a horrible coincidence," she said as she slipped into bed.

The night's events replayed in her mind, and Pansy remembered. Poesy, her best friend, but also her worst enemy. Nevertheless, no matter what Blaise might say in anger, he didn't know the relationship between the two sisters. They loved one another, albeit they fought much. That's right, Blaise just didn't understand. Sometimes she wondered why she was still with him if he understood her so little. With that thought, she went to sleep.

Hermione, like Pansy, had also noticed the poem above her mirror and was contemplating it over and over in her head coming to the same conclusion that Pansy had, but all the same she locked her door. "Rest in peace Goyle," she said, before whispering, "Nox," to the empty room.

The men, however, were far less concerned about framed poems than the women. Ron had fallen asleep the moment his body touched the bed, lulling himself to sleep with a peaceful song on his lips.

With an ease of spirit, Blaise changed into his night clothes and lay on the unfamiliar mattress for only a minute prior to falling into a dreamless slumber.

Yet not all were content with sleep. Draco sat up for a bit in his bed, Goyle's death replaying in his head. He finally put out his candle and fell asleep just as Theodore, in the room next door, recited a mantra to free him from his past.

Neville had locked his door and pulled out a picture of his Gran. He gave it a long glance before putting it on his bedside table. "I'm sorry," he said to it, when the noise of the household getting ready for bed had dissipated.

In the room over, Harry sat awake in the night, looking out to the moon. The moonlight was creating shadowy shapes on his duvet that moved with the wind outside. He didn't sleep much that night.

Dean was the last to fall asleep. He had not been friends with Goyle but still his death shook him, any death did. He closed his eyes and saw Hannah Abbott's face swim across his thoughts. An accident, it was well justified wasn't it? She had been leaning over Seamus's dead body. He did what anyone would have done. Her face was covered by the mask and Dean could hear a manic laughter from behind it. Through the jumbled thoughts, he believed he recognized it. Was that his laughter? He began to feel sleepy as Neville's potion began taking effect. He smiled to himself, ready for rest, for peace, for serenity, as he slowly drifted off.

- - -

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