A Dangerous Gamble On the Hogwarts Express by Professor Scroll
Summary: ** Winner of Best Mystery in the Hogwarts Express Challenge **
A body is found after the train pulls out of the Hogsmeade Depot. The investigation falls on Harry, whose shoulders are already carrying a heavy load. Can he solve the crime and find the murderer before the train reaches Kings Cross Station? Does he ask for help? Will he find some of the answers that he seeks?
Rating: PG
Categories: Hogwarts Express Challenge (2006-3)
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2006.06.17
Updated: 2006.06.30
Index
Chapter 1: The Hogwarts Express
Chapter 2: We Aren't Always What We Seem
Chapter 3: Who's Behind the Mask?
Chapter 1: The Hogwarts Express
Author's Notes: Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing. JKR created this wonderful world and I’m just borrowing it. My only reward is the review left by the reader, so please leave one.
A Dangerous Gamble on the Hogwarts Express
Chapter 1: The Hogwarts Express
Harry trudged dejectedly away from Professor Dumbledore’s funeral with Ron and Hermione flanking him. Since the murder of the Headmaster, these two friends were the only two people in the entire world that he trusted implicitly. He knew that no matter what happened in the coming months, they would stand by him. They were willing to put their lives on hold, and possibly pay the ultimate sacrifice to help him defeat Voldemort.
Was it fair?
No way!
Was it going to be easy?
Nothing had ever come easily for him, or his friends.
Did they have the knowledge that it would take to carry out this task?
Only time would tell.
He looked at Ron and saw the same blue eyes as always, but they weren’t shining with their normal suppressed laughter. When had he become so serious? When Harry had first met him, Ron had been a lanky, carrot-topped child, just a little older than Harry had been. However, raised in a loving family that had always stood beside each other, Ron had known what it took to befriend someone unquestioningly. Without him, Voldemort would have murdered Harry many times over.
Turning the other way, Harry looked into Hermione’s worried face. The same could be said for her, she had saved his life more than once. She had always been more studious than the boys had, more often then not, reading a large tome, her bushy hair pushed behind her ears out of the way. Without her, Harry probably would have flunked out of Hogwarts in his first year. He could always rely on her to find the correct Spell or Potion to save the day. He grimaced as he remembered the Polyjuice Potion that she had whipped up in their Second year. It was rumoured that she was the smartest Witch of her age, and she would need to be, if they were to survive through the summer.
Was it fair to drag them into this quest? It wasn’t as if he asked them to come along. He was quite willing to go by himself. He really didn’t want anyone else to die for him. There had been enough death around him to last him a lifetime. That was why he had wrenched his heart out and, although she didn’t realise it yet, he had handed it to Ginny to care for until- if - he returned.
As Hermione had told him multiple times in her most annoying lectures, ‘It really isn’t up to you whether or not Ron and I support you. That is our choice. And, our minds are made up.’
Hogwarts came into view as the trio turned at the far end of the lake. A miniature castle perched on a cliff in the distance, shimmering in the golden rays of summer sunshine. For just a moment, Harry thought that it had all been a dream. Just his over-active imagination conjuring Camelot, King Arthur and his Knights while his Aunt kept him locked in the closet under the stairs. Any time now, he would wake to her shrill, strident voice demanding that he help with some chore.
Drawing nearer, he saw the sandy beach that the students played on, the chairs from the funeral still lined up like a battalion of sentries waiting to be relieved. To the left, Hagrid’s hut, looking forlorn, without the usual welcoming smoke billowing from the chimney. With each step, the castle grew until he was standing in front of the tall oak double doors, each decorated with a wreath cloaked with black ribbons.
Harry turned aside from the pain of entering Hogwarts for the last time. He knew that his trunk would magically appear at the station. The House Elves, Dobby in particular, would finish his packing. With the castle at his back, his shoulders sagging, he wearily trod the path leading away from the only place that he had ever called home. The castle had called to his lonely heart the first evening as the boats approached from across the lake. Almost unbearable pain ripped through his chest, for he knew deep in his soul that he belonged in this place. Nevertheless, he continued his trek towards Hogsmeade and the train depot.
All too soon, he was sitting alone in the middle of a long bench on the platform in Hogsmeade, so aloof and isolated that no one dared approach. Wide shoulders hunched as if to ward off any more pain, his arms crossed, the muscles bunching as his hands clenched into white knuckled fists to stop their shaking, he sat as still as a statue. Ragged gasps broke the silence as he forced air into his lungs. His emerald eyes filmed with tears from the pain of his loss and he prayed that he wouldn’t break down and howl like a small child.
A small Scops Owl interrupted his self imposed solitude when it swooped towards him and settled on the back of the bench. Hooting softly, she nipped his shoulder and held out her leg so that Harry could remove the attached letter. The handwriting addressing the missive was familiar but he couldn’t place it. Looking around to see if anyone was paying attention, Harry slowly unfolded the note.
Harry,
We need to talk. It is very important. Please meet me in one hour in the third car, compartment B. No one likes to use that one because it’s across from the Prefect’s compartment, so we should have the privacy necessary. I have something for you that cannot wait until you reach The Burrow. It will explain everything.
Come alone. This is a matter of life and death.
After we talk, I will leave it up to you whether or not you share the story with Ron and Hermione.
Sincerely,
George Weasley
Harry threaded his aching fingers through his already dishevelled hair, before checking his watch. How very odd. He had spoken to George not more than two hours ago before the funeral. What could be so important that they had to speak about it today of all days. Although he didn’t expect to be there very long, he would be at The Burrow in a little over a month, on his birthday to be exact. When he turned seventeen, Dumbledore had informed him that the protection surrounding him at the Dursleys would no longer work.
Harry shoved the note deep into the pocket of his black uniform robe just as the Hogwarts Express, its whistle blowing shrilly while steam engulfed the platform, came screeching to a halt, the engine shuddering with the effort to stop. He watched as the engineer and the trolley lady stepped down from the train and crossed the road to make their way to The Three Broomsticks where they would wait for the train to fill with students and luggage.
He could now make out the excited laughter of some of the younger students as they approached the station. For them, it was the end of a school year, the holidays stretching endlessly before them. They were secure in their belief that their loving parents would be able to keep them safe. They weren’t old enough to be cognizant of the fact that no one would be truly safe until Harry destroyed the rest of Voldemort’s Horcruxes, the remaining pieces of his shattered soul, once and for all.
For now, he had spent enough time wallowing in his grief. He would mourn the loss of everyone that Voldemort and his Death Eaters murdered when the fight was over. Squaring his shoulders, Harry stood and before the youngsters came into view, he strode quickly to the steps of the nearest train car and disappeared inside. He didn’t want to talk with anyone. Passing the empty compartment where he was to meet with George, he traversed the entire length of the train without meeting another soul; it appeared to be completely deserted. Choosing a compartment at the rear of the train, as far down the track away from the depot and the Express’ noisy engine as he could find, he pretended to sleep while he waited for Ron and Hermione to join him.
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Chapter 2: We Aren't Always What We Seem
A Dangerous Gamble on the Hogwart’s Express
Chapter 2: We Aren’t Always What We Seem
Harry jerked awake. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he looked around the empty compartment. One of his greatest fears was that Voldemort would some how find out what Ginny meant to him and kill her. His dream had been so real, that he expected to find Ginny’s corpse on the floor and Voldemort standing over her sneering. He could hear the remnant of her dying scream reverberating through his mind, causing the hair on his arms to stand at attention from the shivers that were coursing through him.
Knowing that Ron and Hermione would have Prefect duties to attend to, Harry began to settle back onto the hard bench seat, his glance straying to his watch, when footsteps pounded up the hallway outside his compartment and a shrill scream of, ‘Noooo!’ rent the air. That one word was filled with so much anguish that fear clutched his heart in a vice.
“GINNY?” Harry cried. Pulling his wand out of his robes, he leapt to his feet. His nightmare fresh in his mind, he wondered if it has been a premonition rather than a dream.
He yanked open the door and joined the slow moving queue of students trying to get to the front of the train. The corridor appeared crammed with students. Time crawled by as slowly as Harry moved forward, but at least, he could still hear Ginny sobbing. Whatever had happened, she still lived.
“Excuse me,” Harry said, and managed to move a few more feet nearer to Ginny. “Please take your seats,” he implored a group of First years, who when they realized who was speaking, jumped to comply. Finally, after much pushing, shoving and what seemed like hundreds of ‘Excuse me’s,’ Harry entered the second car and was able to peer into the open door of compartment B.
One glance and he knew that he was too late to help. Ginny, Ron and Hermione were kneeling beside George’s lifeless body, tears streaming down their faces. Holding her brother’s still-warm hand, Ginny doubled over and kissed his cheek in farewell.
Harry looked at the Prefects lining the compartment and standing behind his friends. “What happened,” he cried as his knees buckled and he joined Ron, Ginny and Hermione on the floor beside George.
Ginny shook her head and cried harder. Ron’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Hermione lay her hand on Ron’s shoulder and said, “We don’t know. Ginny came and knocked on the Prefect’s compartment to see if Ron and I were finished with our duties. We were, so we decided to come and find you. As we passed this compartment, Ginny glanced in and saw George.”
“Was he in here alone?” Harry asked, he didn’t think that now would be the best time to tell them about the note George had sent him.
“Yes,” Ginny said, trying not to cry. “The movement of him falling to the floor caught my eye.” Her tears started again as she said, “He died all alone.”
“Someone must have seen something,” Harry said. His brilliant green eyes swept the room. Stopping at each person, he waited for a response before moving on. Each answer was the same, a mute shake of their head.
“Harry, would you please handle the investigation,” asked the Head Boy. “I sent someone to find the engineer, but they haven’t returned yet. You have already started asking the necessary questions.”
Surprised, Harry blurted, “Me? Why me?”
“Please Harry. I know that you will do your best to find my brother’s killer,” said Ron.
Ginny reached out blindly with her free hand and threaded her cold fingers through Harry’s. “Do this for us, Harry. Please?” she softly pleaded.
With both Ron and Ginny requesting his help, how could he do anything else? “If you want me to, of course I will.” He squeezed Ginny’s small hand before releasing it and standing. “Who was the first person through the door?”
“I was,” Ginny said tearfully.
“And no one else was in the compartment?”
“No.”
Harry stared around the small room. What should he do first? He wasn’t equipped to investigate a murder. Maybe after Auror training he would be prepared, but not now. His eyes returned to Ginny’s upturned, tear-stained face. She was looking at him with such trust, that he knew that he would move heaven and earth to uncover the murderer. He felt his heart expand and some of the abject misery that had forced him to the train station earlier fell away.
“Hermione, would you mind making a list of everyone that is in this room. I will need to speak with each of you alone. Don’t talk about this amongst yourselves. Just sit quietly and think over your impressions of what you saw when you entered.” He waited until Hermione had recorded each name, and then he continued, “Did anyone move the body? Or pick up anything? Move anything in the compartment?”
Almost in unison, the gathered Prefects said, “No.”
Nodding, Harry said, “Then, please return to the Prefect's compartment. I shouldn’t be very long.”
When the room had cleared except for the Weasleys and Hermione, Harry asked, “Did anyone else touch George?”
“No,” said Ginny.
“I don’t think so,” said Ron.
“Good. Hermione, will you please take Ron and Ginny into the next compartment. I want to search for clues.”
Hermione nodded. Helping Ginny to her feet, she assisted the younger girl out into the corridor. With Ron following meekly, she urged them into an adjacent compartment. When Harry was sure that Hermione would take care of them, he gently closed the door and locked it. Dropping the shades for privacy, he turned to look around again. It held the same dingy benches, one on either side facing each other. The smudged windows were so grimy, that they filtered the sunlight dappling the worn, threadbare gray carpet that ran between the seats where George lay. On the small dusty table beside the window, there was a half-eaten sandwich and a bottle of Butterbeer.
Harry raised his wand above his head and said, “Lumos!” With the additional light he could now see the gray pallor that painted George’s cheeks and leaning nearer, he noticed that the mischievous twinkle was missing from his flat stare. Mindful that he was the reason that George was on the train in the first place he looked for clues for his killer. Mud caked George’s shoes and the hem of his robe. From the door, he noticed that he had left muddy footprints leading to the bench on the right when you stood at the door. However, looking at the footprints carefully, he noticed that one was smudged. Whoever had stepped in the muddy spot had picked up enough mud to leave half of a print leading to the left hand seat.
He knelt beside his friend and tested the caked mud. It crumbled beneath his fingers, the shoes, robe and prints were as dry as bone. George had used a Drying Spell before he was murdered. That meant that either he knew who the other person was, or they had been invisible. Harry’s best guess was that they were under an Invisibility Cloak.
Remembering that George had stated that he had something for Harry that would explain everything - whatever that meant. Harry turned out his pockets searching for clues that would help solve the murder. In his trouser pockets, he found ten Galleons, six Sickles and one Knut, an ornate gold ring with a ruby stone that didn’t seem like something that George would wear and one large white, neatly folded handkerchief. His robe contained a conglomerate of mismatched items. A broken quill but no ink or parchment, two wands, a small crystal stoppered bottle filled with a clear liquid that was reminiscent of the vial filled with Veritaserum that Professor Snape kept in his locked cabinet, a Bezoar, and a small gold two-handled cup so tarnished that he couldn’t read the faint words etched into it. The last thing he found was one of the Headmaster’s Chocolate Frog cards, its empty frame reminding Harry that Professor Dumbledore was gone.
He sat back on his heels and stared at the items that George had felt the need to carry with him, willing them to tell their story. With a frustrated groan, he Conjured a silken drawstring bag to hold the pieces of George’s life. Next, he felt along the luggage rack and down into the space between the bench cushions, he even checked beside the windows looking for anything that he might have missed in his first cursory search.
His last act before opening the door and calling in the first witness was to gently close George’s eyes and cover his face with the handkerchief. George didn’t have an evil bone in his body and deserved respect; not left in such a degrading position.
Harry stepped out of the compartment locking the door behind him and moved to the compartment that held his three friends. Sticking his head through the door, he asked Hermione to join him and bring parchment, quill and ink with her, before he led the way to the Prefects compartment. Everyone was sitting quietly with folded hands. They looked up, their faces solemn as he entered. The Head Boy asked, “Have you found anything?”
“I’d rather keep that to myself, if you don’t mind?” Harry asked. At the Head Boy’s nod of acceptance, Harry asked the Prefect nearest the door to come with him.
Unlocking the door of compartment B, Harry motioned Hermione and the other girl inside. He watched impassively, as the Prefect sidled around George’s prone body and gingerly perched on the edge of the bench furthest away. Hermione sat where Harry believed George had been sitting to eat and placed the items on the now empty table. Picking up the quill, she dipped it in the ink and looking expectantly at Harry, she waited.
Studying the girl, Harry noticed that the hem of her robe and her shoes were clean and that she was staring with abject horror at the covered face of George Weasley. After a few questions, with very predictable answers, Harry admonished her not to speak about what had occurred and let her go. He watched her scurry from the room as if the Grim were chasing her and snapping at her heels.
The interviews continued until the Prefect room was almost empty. Harry only had one interview left, Susan Bones, a Sixth year from Hufflepuff, when Hermione asked for a moment to go to the loo. Harry nodded, and sat to keep vigil with George until she returned. No one had any mud on their shoes and they all seemed genuinely shocked by what had occurred on the train. He couldn’t believe that Susan would have had anything to do with George’s death. Hadn’t her Aunt been killed by Death Eaters? Harry was stymied. What next? Should he tell Hermione about the note he received from George?
When she returned, Harry asked her to fetch Susan from the Prefects compartment. Puzzled, Hermione said, “But she can’t be in there, I just saw her entering the loo.”
Harry bolted for the door. Leaping across the narrow corridor, he flung open the door of compartment A to find Susan sitting sedately in the corner. “Have you left this room?” he asked her hurriedly.
Susan shook her head. “No, of course not, you told us to stay until you questioned us.”
He turned and squeezing past Hermione, he sprinted down the train car. “Which loo did you use?” he asked as he flew by.
“The next car’s,” Hermione stated chasing after him.
Not caring if the room was filled with giggling Witches, Harry burst into the girl’s bathroom. Not a single person was inside. He had missed her. “Damn, damn, damn. Unless Susan Bones is a twin, which I’m sure that we would have heard about by now, the killer just got away.”
Mumbling the entire way, Harry turned and trudged back towards the compartment with George’s body. He had failed.
“Harry, whoever it is, they won’t be able to get off before Kings Cross. You have time to catch them.” Hermione interrupted his train of thought. “May Ginny and Ron come back in? They would like time to sit with George.”
Not knowing what else to do at the moment, Harry nodded. Stopping, he knocked on the door of compartment C, and motioned Ginny and Ron to precede him to the other room. His heart pounding in his chest, while his mind ran over the clues, he waited until Ginny had gracefully knelt to the floor beside her brother. Needing to stay close in case he could help in some way, he dropped beside her and wrapped his arm around her slender, shaking shoulders. Closing his eyes, he asked Merlin for the strength to help his friends through their loss.
Ginny reached out and clasped George’s left hand. The sleeve fell back revealing an ugly mark on his wrist. From deep inside of her, as if wrenched from her very soul, came a strangled cry.
At the first note, Harry opened his eyes and looked into her face. Her keening wail of pain cut straight to his heart. Her horror-filled, big brown eyes were staring at George in fear and revulsion. Wrapping his other arm around her to keep her from falling, he turned to see what had scared her so badly and froze.
George had been branded with the Dark Mark.
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Chapter 3: Who's Behind the Mask?
A Dangerous Gamble on the Hogwart’s Express
Chapter 3: Who’s Behind the Mask?
Harry stared at the coiled snake branded into George’s wrist, his mind blank. He couldn’t think of a thing to say. It couldn’t be true. Maybe it was a hoax. George must have been on an undercover mission for the Order of the Phoenix where he had to pretend to be a Death Eater. Nothing else made any sense.
He scrunched his eyes closed. Then, letting Ginny go for a moment, he rubbed his eyes thinking — no hoping — that he was still caught up in a nightmare. Opening his eyes, he stared into Ron’s horrified gaze.
The room went almost pitch-black as the Express careened around a corner and into a tunnel. With the darkness came the presence of evil. Harry heard the almost silent swish of the door as it slid smoothly open; he felt the slight movement of air, heard the slither of silk dusting the threadbare carpet.
Before he could react, the train hurtled out of the tunnel into bright sunshine. However, the sunlight did little to alleviate Harry’s dread that evil was near. Looking around the room, he found the door and windows secure and that no one else was present. In fact, he found nothing out of the ordinary, except that all four friends had their wands out and they were studying the compartment looking for any sign of danger.
“Did you feel something?” asked Ron.
Hermione nodded. “Yes. I still do.”
“Me, too. There’s evil here, but I can’t believe that it is George. I will never believe that he was a Death Eater,” said Ginny, defiantly glaring at Harry.
Shrugging off the feeling of evil, Harry held up his hands palms out. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t say that he was. He must have been working for the Order.”
“Harry, what are we going to tell Mum? We can’t let her see George with the Dark Mark on his wrist.” Tentatively, Ron reached out and rubbed the black spot that disfigured his brother’s skin.
Harry didn’t get the chance to answer. Blaise Zambini knocked and opened the door in one motion. “The Head Boy sent me. He seems to think that you can solve this murder,” he sneered. Unfazed by the dead body in the middle of the floor, Blaise sauntered across the compartment and slouched on the far bench. Carelessly, he stretched both arms out wide and rested them on the back of the seat. With a mocking grin, he scoffed, “Ask your silly questions.”
Harry reached over and twitched George’s black robe over the tell-tale mark on his arm. “What do you have to do with this?”
“Well, you see, I was that last one to see this Blood-Traitor alive.”
“Why you - ” snarled Ron.
Blaise spoke right over Ron’s angry protest. “That is, except for you, Potter.” As the silence grew, an evil, jack-o-lantern toothy grin appeared. “You didn’t know that anyone saw you, did you?”
Shaking off his lethargy, Harry stood. “I wasn’t anywhere near here. I was asleep in a compartment on the last car.”
“No, I heard shouting and saw you and George screaming. At first, you were standing toe to toe glaring at each other, then you crossed your arms and backed up until you were sitting right here. It was really funny and made me laugh when a Weasley put the mighty Potter in his place. George caught me eavesdropping and waved his wand. He must have used a Silencing Charm, because after that I couldn’t hear anything else. Then, he pointed his wand at me. I thought that he was mad enough to Curse me, but all he did was draw the shades.”
“You’re lying,” scoffed Ginny.
Leaning back, he drawled, “Why would I lie?”
“You’re trying to get Harry in trouble.” Ginny stood, a white knuckled fist resting on each hip as she glared at Blaise. “I know you’re lying because the shades were up when I walked past. That’s how I saw George fall.”
“Think what you want. If it was my brother lying on that floor, I wouldn’t want the last person to be with him in charge of the investigation of his death. I’m trying to help you.”
“Do you have anything else to add to your statement?” asked Hermione.
“No. Isn’t that enough?” Blaise stood and stared at Harry. “I think that Potter killed George Weasley. Why were you fighting? Was George mad because you used his little sister and then dropped her so publicly? Not that the Weaselette didn’t deserve everything that happened, nevertheless, I’m sure that her family wouldn’t approve.”
Beside him, Harry heard Ginny gasp. Before she could explode and send a hex at Blaise, he said, “Get lost. I didn’t kill George. I wasn’t here. I’m sure that many students saw me asleep in the last car and will support my alibi.”
When Blaise left, Harry settled next to Ginny. “I really wasn’t here. I would never hurt George.”
Ginny took his hand. “We know that Harry. Don’t let Blaise’s slander bother you.”
With his hand still in Ginny’s, Harry stared around the room. They would be in King’s Cross soon. When they arrived, someone would have to tell Mr and Mrs Weasley that George was dead and they would see the mark on his wrist. He had to solve the murder before they arrived. Like Hogwarts, no one was able to Apparate on or off the train, but as soon as they reached the platform at nine and three quarters, the murderer would escape.
Why was George carrying such a conglomeration of useless items? He didn’t have even one Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes item on him, and what he was carrying didn’t make any sense. Harry could understand the broken quill; George had probably broken it when he wrote the note. But that didn’t explain anything else.
He had two wands. Why? Could the liquid really be Veritaserum? Maybe while under cover he was supposed to administer it to someone. Did his target find out? Was that why George was killed? Who was his target? Was it someone on the Hogwarts Express?
Harry shook his head. Something was bothering him. That unattainable thought. Always just out of reach of his consciousness. A shadow covered in mist. He closed his eyes and willed the mist to fade. What was it about the items that he had removed from George’s pockets that troubled him so much?
He was just about to reach for the bag to dump out the contents when Ron asked, “Why is the evidence bag floating like that?”
As Harry turned to see what Ron was talking about, he heard a thud and felt the flow of air as if someone had rushed past. Jumping to his feet, he turned and sped out the door only to find the way blocked.
“Something off the trolley, dear?” asked the Trolley lady.
Harry shook his head. Looking beyond the trolley filled with sweets, he asked, “Did you see anyone run past?”
“No, dear.” Pointing at the queue of students clustered around the sweets, she said, “As you can see, I’ve been quite busy. We pretty much block the corridor.”
Hanging his head, Harry groaned. Mumbling to himself, his eyes roamed the corridor from where he stood to the trolley, until a muddy stain captured his attention. His mind skimmed through the clues as he slowly raised his eyes to meet Colin Creevey’s.
“Hi ya Harry. I didn’t know you were on the train,” said Colin.
“Hi Colin,” Harry said, an idea forming. “Would you mind taking a few pictures for me?”
“I was about to eat.”
Wrapping his arm around Colin’s shoulders, Harry affably tugged him towards compartment B. Once inside, he pushed him toward the far bench and said, “You can eat first. We don’t mind waiting.”
In the short space of time that he was gone, Ginny had taken all of the items out of the bag and lined them up on the table. Harry unceremoniously, shoved them to the side, carefully palming the crystal vial, and motioned for Colin to place his sandwich and pumpkin juice on the table.
Staring at the body lying on the floor, Colin pointed. “Who's that?”
“My brother, George,” said Ron.
“What happened?” Colin asked.
“That’s what Harry is trying to find out,” stated Hermione.
Harry clumsily held the vial and removed the stopper with one hand. He then poured three drops into Colin’s juice. “Where have you been since the train left the station, Colin? How come you didn’t know that George had been murdered?”
Colin lifted his glass and took a small sip. “Well, we had heard a rumour, but we didn’t really believe it. I was in a compartment with Neville, Seamus and Lavender. Do you want me to go get them?”
“No, it doesn’t matter.” Harry watched and waited for the Veritaserum, if it was Veritaserum, to take effect.
He saw Ron and Hermione staring from him to Colin. As they were still on the floor next to George, he knew that they had a clear view of his hands and would understand. Under the edge of the table, he pulled out his wand and pointed it straight at the impostor. Harry grinned as Ron tugged his wand out of his robe using Hermione to shield his movements.
He didn’t know with whom he was dealing, but he knew that the person sitting across from him wasn’t Colin. Colin wouldn’t have waited to take pictures until after he ate. He would have been all over the room, snapping pictures, hugging Ginny and offering his condolences while patting Ron clumsily on the back. He wouldn’t calmly sit and stare at a dead body while eating.
He also knew that although Colin might have been in the compartment with Neville, Seamus and Lavender, because of the mud on his shoes and robes, the person before him had been in this compartment. After a few minutes, he tried again. “Where were you when the train left Hogsmeade?”
“In here talking to him,” Colin said, pointing to the body on the floor.
Harry nodded. Now they were getting somewhere. “Were you fighting?”
Smiling, Colin took another drink. “No, he thought I was you.”
So, Blaise had been telling the truth, or at least what he perceived to be the truth. “How is that possible?”
With a smirk, Colin transformed to look like Harry. Ginny gasped. The new Harry turned and grinned. “It’s easy. I’ve been doing it for years.”
“Did you also masquerade as Susan Bones?”
“Yes.” With a giggle, Susan sat in front of them.
“Why the different identities?”
“I didn’t think that she,” she said pointing at Hermione, “would worry about Susan joining her in the loo. I was going to kill her, but she left before I got there.”
“Why you - Incarcerous!” muttered Hermione.
Susan sneered, “Do you think these will hold me?”
“Expelliarmus!” said Harry, but as she wasn’t holding her wand, nothing happened.
“Stupefy!” shouted Ron, stabbing his wand at Susan, who, after being hit with a Stunner, was now bent almost double, her body sagging towards the floor. “Who is she?”
“I’m not sure,” said Harry. He rose and rifled through her pockets until he found her wand. He handed it to Ginny who was the furthest away from her.
“Well, I’ve been reading up on Binding Spells, and I think that I can conjure some chains like the Aurors use. She shouldn’t be able to get out of them.” After another muttered incantation, large golden shackles appeared around Susan's ankles hobbling her to the floor and around her wrists chaining her to the wall, her arms above her head.
“That should hold her,” Ron said sharing a smile with Harry.
Ron and Harry carefully moved George out of her reach, and with everyone at a safe distance, Harry said, “Ennervate!”
Pulling on the chains, she snarled, “Nasty little brats, my Lord will deal with you.”
“Who are you?” asked Harry.
“Haven’t you guessed?” she teased as she changed into Tonks, with her short bubble-gum-pink hair in disarray and her pert little turned up nose. She looked at them through Tonk's big blue eyes brimming with laughter.
Ginny cried, “You’re lying. You’re not Tonks. She’s a sweet and caring person.”
Harry didn’t believe it for a second. “Who are you really?” he demanded.
She shuddered and tried to continue the lie, but the Veritaserum was too strong for her. She changed again. Slowly her hair grew out black as a raven’s wing, her eyes changed, the lids grew heavier, as the blue irises darkened until no light shone in them and Bellatrix Lestrange stood proudly before them. “You didn’t know that I’m a Metamorphmagus as well. It tends to run in families. But does it really matter who I am? You’re all dead.”
“Why did you kill George?” cried Ginny. “He never hurt anyone. He liked to make people laugh.”
“You silly little children still don’t understand. Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a Wizard who couldn’t decide where his loyalties lay. He was weak. For a while, he worked for my Master, but when things got rough, he changed sides. Many people on both sides distrusted him, but neither side could ever be sure. I never trusted him. Even though my Master trusted him implicitly, I had my doubts. I watched and I waited for him to make a mistake. But he never did. I dropped my guard, until today.”
“Enough, this isn’t getting us anywhere. Why was George pretending to be a Death Eater?”
Nodding at the floor, she said, “That man was a Death Eater, he wasn’t pretending. Once a Death Eater - forever a Death Eater. My Master never lets you go.”
“What did you fight about?”
“You, Potter. He had something for you. Alas, I had to kill him before I found out what it was though. He figured out I wasn’t you.”
“What did he say?”
Her eyes rolling in disgust, she said, “He said that he wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t the evil wizard that you thought he was; that the world was more important than the life of one wizard and, that it was the most difficult thing that he had ever had to do. I laughed then and he realised that he wasn’t talking to you. Before he could get his wand out, I killed him.”
Harry nodded. “Then you wrapped yourself into an Invisibility Cloak and levitated George into an upright position. When you saw Ginny glance through the glass, you let him drop, making her believe that he died alone. When she came through the door, you calmly walked out and changed into one of the students. A brilliant plan. As long as you didn’t meet the person you were pretending to be, you were safe.”
Staring at Bellatrix, he had the urge to Curse her. She had killed a dear friend. No - more like family - for nothing. She was wrong. He must have been acting a part; George had never been a Death Eater, and Harry would bet his life on it. “Clever. You almost got away with it, but you missed one thing. When you came in the compartment the first time pretending to be me, you stepped through the mud that George had tracked into the compartment. See the footprints and the dried mud on his shoes and robe. That was how I recognized you as the murderer. You have the same stains.”
He turned away from evil personified and began to gather up George’s belongings. He planned to give them to Mrs Weasley or Fred. He was almost finished when he picked up the delicate golden cup.
On the edge of his mind, the whisper of an idea was beginning to form. Something about this two-handled cup was important. He wished that he had Professor Dumbledore’s Pensieve handy. Holding the cup carefully by one of its finely wrought handles, he turned to Hermione to ask if she recognized it, when Bella screeched, “What are you doing with that cup. It belongs to my Master.”
Harry stared at the gold cup in his hands and realised where he had seen it before. No wonder the Headmaster’s Pensieve came to mind, he had seen the cup for the first time when Professor Dumbledore had taken him into the memory of Hokey, Hepzibah Smith’s house elf. Voldemort had murdered Hepzibah Smith and let her tiny, frail, house elf accept the blame and go to prison just to get his hands on this cup. Professor Dumbledore believed it to be a Horcrux. How did George get his hands on it? The only way was if he had been in contact with Voldemort. Could he really be a Death Eater? Harry shook his head to dislodge that disrespectful thought.
Walking over to George, Harry grasped his cold hand, the delicate cup cradled between their palms. What did it mean? What had George wanted to talk with him about? Maybe now was the time for him to tell Ginny, Ron and Hermione about the Owl from George. Carefully placing George’s hand back on his chest, Harry tugged on his robe to cover the Dark Mark and in doing so, dislodged the handkerchief resting over his face.
He lifted the piece of fine linen to drape across the face of his friend, and the final piece of the puzzle was before him. No longer was George’s gently smiling face and shocking red hair beneath the swatch of fabric. The hair was as black as midnight, and shimmered just as Hagrid’s had with axle grease slathered on it. A long protruding nose stood at attention in the center of a pale face and thin lips that looked as if they had never learned to smile frowned even in death.
Severus Snape.
Was it the face of his sworn enemy, or with Helga Hufflepuff’s cup in Harry’s hand, a partner on the side of good?
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