Murder at Malfoy Manor

Chapter Six

Bumping Into Trouble

'Would you let go of my hand already? I really need it,' Harry said, as he and Pansy Parkinson climbed the stairs toward the endless corridors of the Manor's first story.

With a shake of her glossy black bob, Pansy did not relent. 'I'm scared,' she said. 'I don't want to die.'

'You're not going to die!' Harry burst, annoyed. 'You're not Lucius Malfoy, with enemies lining up the block.'

'Still,' said Pansy, 'I could be hit in the cross-fire. That was a Muggle thing! What is it called? A gum?'

'A gun. They're called guns. That one, specifically, was a revolver.'

'What's the difference?'

Harry decided it was a lost cause to explain the various types of Muggle weaponry to a pure-blooded snob like Pansy. He knew all about guns, courtesy of Dudley's many violent video games, but he was mystified as to how a revolver had gotten inside Malfoy Manor.

'Never mind,' he said. 'The point is, none of us can do magic, either to attack or defend. You're better off with someone like me. I learned from an early age how to avoid physical attack.'

'What do you mean?' Pansy asked.

Regarding her for a moment to ascertain her sincerity, Harry met her shining olive eyes and found genuine curiosity. 'My cousin, Dudley,' he said. 'Great fat porky bloke, with a talent for boxing. He and his friends are the neighbourhood bullies. I was often on the receiving end.'

'Oh,' she said in a small voice.

'That is, until Dudley learned not to get on the wrong side of me and my wand.' Harry smiled grimly at the thought. It was true; Dudley and his friends never bothered him anymore, despite the fact he was lanky, verging on scrawny, where old 'Dudders' could wallop him to the ground if he wanted. 'It's a beautiful thing sometimes, fear,' said Harry.

'Very Slytherin of you,' said Pansy. It sounded as though she approved. 'I doubt your cousin would mess with you, now that you're one of the most powerful wizards in the entire school.'

Harry looked sharply over at her. 'I am?'

Pansy snorted. 'Sure. You were the Tri-Wizard Champion, weren't you? And I heard about how you can cast a corporeal Patronus. I don't know anyone else who can do that.' It was Pansy's way of complimenting him, Harry realised. They reached a tall arched wooden door, and Pansy stopped suddenly, pulling Harry to a halt as well. 'This is my room,' she said. 'Will you check it for me? Make sure there's no one inside?'

'All right,' Harry agreed. He was, after all, the Hero. And next to him was a girl who was scared, anxious, in need of protection. He opened the door.

The guest quarters of Malfoy Manor were the best to be found in the entire country. Twenty bedrooms in all, each outfitted with the best furniture, décor, appliances that wizard's gold could buy. Pansy's quarters were no exception. Gilded in soft cream and gold, brocade drapes closed against the night and the storm, the room made Harry feel out of his league. It was a feminine place, and he averted his eyes from Pansy's open trunk, which had exploded with draped lacy undergarments. Gripping his wand out of habit, he checked underneath the bed, behind the drapes and tapestries, and inside the wardrobe. 'All clear,' he said.

'And the bathroom?' said Pansy, closing the door behind her.

'Right,' Harry muttered. The bathroom was also free of murderers, although Harry was disconcerted by the rows of female vanity products laid out on the marble countertop. 'No one here,' said.

'Phew,' said Pansy, flopping onto a loveseat by the blazing fireplace. 'Thank you, Harry.'

'You're welcome,' said Harry, nonplussed. This was not how he imagined Pansy Parkinson to be. She was almost...tolerable. Something was not right. He eased himself on the loveseat next to her, studying her face up close for the first time. Rounded cheekbones, perky nose, wide-set eyes of bright olive brown, and pouty bow lips decorated with some sort of pink gloss-thing. In all, not unattractive. 'So...' he began.

'I just thought of something,' she interrupted. 'You're not the murderer, are you?'

Harry stared. 'What would make you ask a question like that?'

'I was thinking about it,' said Pansy, 'and the thought has occurred to me that you had quite a motive to kill Mr. Malfoy.'

'Hey, you're the one who wanted to be partnered with me,' Harry said.

'I figured that even if you were the murderer, you would have no real reason to hurt me, would you? In fact, you might purposefully keep me safe, in order to direct blame away from yourself.'

'That would be very crafty of me,' said Harry.

'Well. Perhaps that's just the way I think, but you certainly had reason to murder Mr. Malfoy, didn't you? I mean, he was caught at the Department of Mysteries as a Death Eater, when your godfather - well, you know,' Pansy said.

Harry sighed. It was a sore subject, but Pansy was right; it was a perfect reason to want Malfoy dead. 'Yeah,' he muttered.

'Sorry,' she said.

'It's all right.' Harry sighed again. 'It was partially my fault, anyway. If I hadn't been so stupid as to fall for Voldemort's tricks, it never would have happened. Sirius would never have even had to be there.'

'Oh, Harry, it doesn't sound like it was your fault,' Pansy said. 'Think of it as Mr. Malfoy's fault, if it makes you feel better, because he's dead!'

Harry laughed in spite of himself. Pansy was a very practical girl, as it turned out. 'Now only Voldemort left to go,' he said. 'Although it's not as if I want to go all crazy and kill Voldemort. He's more powerful and I'm not sure I can even do it.'

'I suppose,' Pansy said. 'But why don't you let it go? You don't have to be a hero all the time, you know. Let someone else take care of it.'

'I can't,' Harry muttered. He couldn't tell her of the prophecy; she could not possibly understand the burden upon his shoulders.

Pansy looked at him with a quizzical expression, as though waiting for a better response than 'I can't.'

'He murdered my parents,' Harry said, as though that was reason enough.

For Pansy, it seemed to be. 'Very Slytherin of you,' she said again. 'Revenge! For the record, I think you'll do fine. After all, you've escaped him so many times already. It's like fate or something.' At that moment in the middle of the night, Pansy seemed ready to throw her lot in with the likely winner of the Harry-Voldemort battle; after all, Harry thought, I'm the centre of my story here! Of course I'm going to win!

He had never meant to admit so much, especially not to Pansy Parkinson. But thus far, she had finagled out of him that he used to be beaten up by his cousin Dudley, that he felt responsible for his godfather's death, and that he had deep insecurities about having to kill Lord Voldemort. Neat trick, Harry thought. Must be a Slytherin thing. Even more surprising was that Pansy was not making fun of him, or using his weaknesses against him. Not yet, at least.

'So what now?' he said. 'It's nearly midnight. You must be getting tired.'

Pansy shifted in her seat. 'Harry?'

'Yeah?'

'Where's your room from here?'

'Uhh...' Harry had not really thought about that. The truth was he had no idea. Malfoy Manor was a maze of corridors and rooms. He wouldn't have been surprised to discover that it shifted and changed, like Hogwarts Castle. 'I don't know,' he said.

'Well, maybe...er, that is, if you don't mind...maybe you could stay here with me?' Pansy blinked several times and looked away. Harry noticed that she had very long eyelashes.

'Are you really that scared of being murdered?' Harry asked, trying to defuse the implications of staying the night with her.

Pansy nodded her head vigourously.

'Okay,' Harry whispered. 'I guess I can stay.'

She smiled, looking grateful and vulnerable at once. Harry wondered if it was really Pansy, or if it was some feminine snake-house trick. Either way, he did not mind.

In silent agreement, they both stood and looked at the large bed. Awkwardness insinuated itself into the silence, and Harry was afraid of saying anything. He had certainly not expected to be sharing a bed with Pansy Parkinson that night. 'Er, I'll sleep on the floor, I guess,' Harry said.

'Okay,' said Pansy, altogether too cheerfully.

Harry scowled. It wasn't that he wanted to share a bed with Pansy, oh no, but she might have at least offered...at the same time, they reached for the silk duvet. Their hands collided.

'Sorry,' Harry and Pansy said in unison.

'Here,' she said, handing him a pillow. At the very moment their eyes locked, Harry heard it: muffled, far away, but certainly there. A scream.

'What was that?' Pansy whispered.

'Someone screamed,' Harry said, redundantly.

'Let's just stay here, Harry, please?' She moved closer to him, as though going for an embrace. 'Please?'

Harry was torn. Pansy's company was not objectionable, now that he was resigned to it. But...what if Ginny was in trouble? Or Hermione? His best friend was at the moment in the company of Voldemort. That last thought galvanised him, made up his mind for him. 'I have to go,' he said. 'Someone might be in trouble.'

'But you're supposed to stay with me!' protested Pansy.

'Well, come on, then!' Harry was nearly to the door.

Pansy dashed after him. 'This is absurd,' she said. 'Do you always go running off to save the day like this?'

As they jogged down the corridors together, Harry thought about it for only a moment before responding 'Yes.'

*****

Ginny tried in vain to get Draco to release her hand. They scurried through the secret passage in great haste, Draco muttering things to himself, heedless of Ginny aside from his tight grip. It was no wonder, thought Ginny. He had just seen his mother and his professor kissing in his dead father's study. It had to be traumatic, even for an unfeeling prat like Draco Malfoy.

After hearing the jiggling of the doorknob, and ducking into the passageway behind the fireplace, Draco and Ginny had stayed there side-by-side, peering out through the books, when they saw Mrs. Malfoy and Professor Snape enter the study. The entire time, Ginny could hear Draco's breath, growing louder by the second, and when Snape leaned down to kiss Mrs. Malfoy, Ginny had gasped aloud and Draco had been so surprised that he fell back against the other side of the wall, hands on his temples. 'What?' he had whispered.

Then Ginny had intervened, and grabbed his wrist before he could do something rash, such as interrupt the increasingly heated snog-session in the room next to them. It had been unnerving, to say the least, to witness Professor Snape in a passionate clinch, but Ginny had kept her presence of mind and whispered to Draco, 'We should go.'

That was when Draco grabbed her hand and took off at breakneck speed down the secret passage, dragging Ginny behind him.

'Malfoy, for the last time, let go of me.'

No response.

'Malfoy! I swear. If you want an excuse to touch me, well, you'll have to find a gentler way of doing it if you want me to be amenable.'

To Ginny's relief, he released her hand. 'Fine,' he said, 'just keep up.'

She stayed on his heels, the hem of her evening dress wrapped up in one hand to prevent it becoming dirty. The passage winded and twisted but fortunately, there were no stairs. After several minutes of fast walking, they came out in the front parlour, which Ginny recognised from their awkward tea-time earlier that day. The room was in shadow. 'Gringle!' Draco snapped his fingers once, and a house-elf appeared before them.

'Yes, young master?'

'Light the candles,' Draco snapped.

'You could be a little nicer,' said Ginny.

'Taking up the noble cause of that mudblood Granger, are you?' Draco said, that familiar sneer across his face. The light in the room grew brighter as the house-elf began lighting candles.

'Ugh. Malfoy, if you can't come up with a more creative insult than 'mudblood', then you're not as clever as you look.'

'So you admit I'm clever,' said Draco.

'No,' said Ginny. 'I think you're -' she broke off. She screamed, bloody murder and danger and utter shock. She screamed for several long seconds, until she felt Draco's hand clamped over her mouth. She screamed for, dangling from the chandelier of the parlour, was the body of a woman.

It was Bellatrix Lestrange. Her feet swayed ever so slightly, and for one horrible second Ginny thought the feet still twitched in their boots. Further inspection banished the thought, for Bellatrix had obviously been dead for some minutes. Her face was blue, and her black hair hung forward, limp and lifeless. The whites of her eyes had turned completely red, from burst blood vessels. A small trail of saliva hung from the edge of her mouth.

Ginny shook, and Draco wrapped his arms around her to stop her from crying out again. 'Shhh,' he said. 'Shhh.'

'I'm all right,' she said. 'I'm fine. I was just - it surprised me, that's all. I'm fine.' Ginny pulled herself together with effort. After all, she had already seen one dead body this night; what was another? She pulled away from Draco, and saw that his face, too, was pale. 'Your aunt,' Ginny whispered.

He nodded curtly. 'The murderer is still on the loose, I see.'

Then Ginny nearly screamed again, as Lord Voldemort swept into the room. She held her reaction at the last second, and reached for Draco again.

'What's this?' Voldemort hissed. His red eyes trailed up to the ceiling, where his most trusted Death Eater hung in stiff repose. 'Bella...'

'Oh, God!' Hermione's voice.

'Hermione!' Ginny said.

'Was it you who screamed?' Hermione rushed over to Ginny. 'We were in the library, and we heard you -' her brown eyes glanced up at the ceiling, and her mouth grew tight. Both girls glanced over at Voldemort.

The Dark Lord looked angry. His face was implacable, but his mouth thinned and Ginny saw his left fist clenched.

'My Lord?' said Hermione.

Ginny stared at her friend, taken aback. Only a few hours in Voldemort's company, and she was already calling him 'my Lord?'

'Are you convinced of my innocence now, Miss Granger?' Voldemort said. 'I would be the last to murder Bellatrix, would I not?'

Ginny detected the underlying fury in Voldemort's voice. For a moment, she felt him as he had once been, Tom Riddle, her false friend. Even now, his mannerisms remained familiar.

'It's the same rope that was in the drawing room,' said Hermione, ever-logical. 'See?'

'Granger's right,' said Draco, speaking up for the first time. 'My Lord?' he regarded Voldemort hesitantly.

Lord Voldemort looked over the three young people. 'It is the same rope,' he said. 'Miss Granger, come with me.'

Hermione walked to his side, a bit too quickly for Ginny's taste.

'What now?' Hermione asked in a small voice. Ginny was frightened for her.

'You and I will go back to the drawing room. I was not sorry to see Lucius dead, but this is another matter entirely. When I find the murderer, there will be nothing left of them.' Voldemort's voice was high and cold, utterly merciless.

Ginny shuddered as Voldemort swept out of the room into the dark front hall beyond, followed by Hermione, who threw a feeble look back at Ginny and Draco before she closed the door behind her.

'I want to get out of here,' said Ginny. 'Please?'

Draco sighed. 'Me, too. But I'd rather give them a little head start,' he jerked his head toward the door where Voldemort and Hermione had gone.

'True,' muttered Ginny. 'Were you close to her? Bellatrix, I mean?'

'Not really,' said Draco. 'She used to send me Christmas gifts. Books on the Dark Arts, mostly.' He let out a huff of amusement. 'She gave me Occlumency lessons for awhile. She wasn't the best teacher, though. She is, er, was a bit unstable.' His eyes flicked up to the woman's body, and he glanced away quickly. 'Never mind. Let's get out of here.' Draco walked toward the door, holding it open for Ginny, who was happy to leave the room.

The front hall was nearly pitch black, with the storm raging outside and the witch-lights unlit. Occasional flashes of lightning gave split-second glimpses of the hall, invariably followed by claps of thunder that set the chandelier glass tinkling. The bright lightning flashes followed by total darkness made Ginny feel disoriented. Her night vision did not get the chance to adjust itself.

She and Draco walked quickly down the hall. Ginny bumped into something once, and that turned out to be a large vase. Her toes budged, but the vase did not, fortunately. It would not do for her to break any Malfoy antiques. Her heels clicked on the marble floor, but the sound was largely drowned out by the increasing howl of the storm outside. Dark, dark, dark, flash of lightning, dark again...

'Ooomph!' Draco let out a muffled groan in front of her.

'Hey!' shouted a voice.

Then Ginny was bowled over by some shape, a form that hurtled down from above, (we must be near the staircase, she thought) and her heel slipped and she went over, knocking her head painfully on the floor. 'Oh!' she exclaimed. She tripped over someone else on the way down, and was now in a tangled mess of limbs. Her dress wrapped itself around her legs, and she was quite unable to move.

A moment of wounded silence, and Ginny exclaimed, 'Who is that?'

'--who are you?'

'--what just happened?' Several other voices chimed in.

From her position, Ginny could only ascertain that someone was lying beneath her legs, and someone else had landed on her chest, pressing her down so that breathing was made difficult. 'Get off me!' she said. She attempted to flail her arms, but those too were pinned.

A fortuitous lightning flash revealed that Draco was on top of her, and Ginny caught glimpses of a head of black hair also entangled, and a pair of glasses on the floor. Harry and Pansy, she realised.

'I need a goddamn light,' someone muttered, a voice Ginny now recognised as Draco's.

'Call a house-elf,' said Pansy.

'Ugh,' said Harry.

It took several minutes to untangle themselves. When all was said and done, Ginny's carefully constructed done-up hair had fallen down, and she could tell there would be bruises, but she was otherwise unbroken.

'Potter,' said Draco.

'Malfoy,' Harry replied. 'What's going on? We heard someone scream.'

'That was me,' Ginny said.

'Are you all right? What happened?' Harry's voice was full of concern. Ginny felt a wave of warmth toward him, although it was regrettably sisterly.

'I'm fine, Harry,' she said. 'It's just that, well, there's been another murder.'

'What?' Pansy shrieked. 'Who?'

'My aunt Bellatrix,' Draco said. 'Hung from the chandelier in the parlour. I'd suggest staying away. It's not a pretty sight.'

'Bellatrix?' Harry said, sounding confused. 'Really?'

'Really,' Draco said.

'Oh,' Harry said. 'I thought you might have been in trouble, Ginny. That's why we ran down here.'

Pansy huffed. 'No, that's why you ran down here. I was forced.'

'Regretting your choice to go with Potter, are you?' Draco sneered to Pansy in the darkness. Ginny could not see his face, but she was certain of its expression.

'Actually, no,' said Pansy, instantly sweet. 'Harry's been very good company.'

Harry cleared his throat. Ginny wondered if he was blushing.

'So Potter, should we switch partners now, or what?' Draco said. 'You take little Weasel here, and I'll take Pansy off your hands.'

Ginny made an indignant noise. Surely she was not such a poor companion! Just when she was beginning to think Draco Malfoy was not one hundred percent git, he said something like this. She spoke up. 'You're not getting rid of me that easily, Malfoy,' she snapped. 'I want to keep an eye on you. I don't trust you. Isn't that right, Harry?'

'Er,' Harry said.

'Oh for Merlin's sake,' Ginny said. She was unaccountably annoyed. 'Let's just go. I'm tired, and Malfoy's taking me to bed.'

In the silence that followed her statement, Ginny realised how it must have sounded. She felt a hot blush creep up her own cheeks; she was suddenly grateful for the darkness. 'That is, I meant, Malfoy is going to escort me to my door, and leave me there so I can rest.'

'Whatever,' Draco said.

'Good, then,' Pansy said. 'Harry, shall we get some sandwiches? I know where the kitchens are.'

'Sounds good,' Harry replied to her. 'Malfoy, take care.' It was a threat, not a good wish.

'Oh, don't worry about us, Potter,' Draco said. 'Come on, Weasley.' Ginny felt him fumble around in the darkness for her hand, and then they walked up the stairs together, carefully in the shadows.