Author's Note: It's kind of hard to believe that HBP is so close. Where has the time gone? Just kidding…I can't wait! Even if I can't get my friends to come with me, I'll be at a Harry Potter party, getting my book at midnight on the 16th. It will be a lot of fun! Anyway, the end is coming near for my not-so-little fic here. There are only four more chapters to go and you better believe that they'll be finished before HBP is released. Not even writer's block can hold me back (although it may stall me for a short period of time)! Many thanks as always to Nitya. She's the reason why you're getting these chapters so quickly. But before you start reading the chapter, please note that I have the horrible habit of teasing people (ask Nitya), so that might be an adequate explanation for a certain part of this chapter.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
SLEUTHING
Professor Lupin looked worse for wear when Harry, Ron, and Hermione saw him again on Monday during class. They stayed afterwards without his prompting, sensing that he wanted to speak to them.
"I can't imagine what went wrong with the Wolfsbane Potion," he told them quietly, sitting down at his desk. "I went to Professor Snape yesterday and he made me a new batch. It worked fine." He glanced up at Harry. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
Harry frowned. "Yeah, you did." Gingerly, he shifted his robes and picked up his shirt to show Lupin the bandaging. Both he and Hermione had awoken early on both Sunday and Monday so that she could redress his wounds in the common room before anyone else came downstairs.
Lupin winced and gazed at him mournfully. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I-"
"Don't worry about it," Harry said. "It was a risk I was willing to take."
"This should have never happened," Lupin said. "If only I knew why the potion didn't work!"
Hermione bit her lower lip before saying, "Is it possible that it was tainted?"
Lupin stared at her, as did Harry and Ron. "Tainted? You think that my potion was tainted?" Lupin asked. "By whom?"
"I don't know," Hermione answered. "Someone who had access to your office Saturday evening."
"No one did. Snape came and gave me the potion, then Frost came to question me. Then she left when you arrived," Lupin said.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had gone very still. "Professor," Harry said slowly, "did you ever turn your back on Frost while she was questioning you?"
Lupin's eyebrows rose up behind his bangs. "Are you suggesting that Mara Frost tainted my potion?"
"It's possible," Ron murmured.
"I was in the room with her the entire time. She could never have pulled something like that off so quickly without me noticing," Lupin said.
"Then the only other option is Snape," Harry said.
"Severus and I may not like each other, but he would never do that," Professor Lupin said.
"It is also possible," Hermione said, "that someone visited Snape while he was brewing the potion-the killer, perhaps."
"But why would the killer-" Ron began.
"To see how many people the professor would have killed or bitten before he was caught," Hermione answered him. "Then it would be proclaimed that Professor Lupin has a killer's instinct and is the one responsible for the deaths of June Winters, Sinead Cassidy, and Rocco Zabini."
"Then he'd be sacked," Harry murmured.
"Or worse," Lupin said. "If they believed that I was the murderer, I'd be sent to Azkaban."
"But the killer risked getting killed himself, or herself," Ron said.
"The killer is a Death Eater. They're so fanatical that they don't care if they die; just as long as it's in the service of Voldemort," said Harry quietly as Ron cringed.
"That's not exactly true, Harry," Lupin said. "Look at how many lied about their service to him the first time he went away? They're not as loyal as you think."
"I was thinking of a more Barty Crouch, Jr. type," Harry said. "He did everything Voldemort asked with pride."
"Crouch was a poor misguided soul who never had the affection of his father," Lupin said.
"He was also a loon," Ron muttered.
"You'd be surprised to know what lengths people would go to receive an ounce of affection if they never received any from the one they wanted it most from. They'll find a substitute and they'll do whatever it takes to please that substitute," Lupin said.
Harry sat, thinking about Lupin's words. They were very true. Suddenly Harry was happy that he never wanted affection from either his aunt or uncle. It led to the possibilities of all the people Harry could have turned to in order to get it. Voldemort could have used Harry's desperation a long time ago, and then he would be lost.
He shuddered. Yes, he was extremely happy that he didn't care about what his aunt or uncle thought of him.
It didn't matter anyway. He received all the affection he needed from Hermione, Ron, the Weasleys, Dumbledore, and a few others, Lupin included. In his mind, if he just had Ron and Hermione near him, he would be fine. They were his family and they were all he needed.
Sirius had also provided him with a lot of warmth. For the short while Harry knew him, he had been the biggest provider of the caring he craved. But now he was gone and there was nothing Harry could do about that. He had to pick up the pieces of his shattered life and move on. Harry had done that.
Lupin was looking down at his watch. "Perhaps it is time that you left. Dinner will be starting soon and I wouldn't want you to be late. As it is, with your injury, Harry, you shouldn't move very fast."
"I know," Harry said. "But I have to move fast enough so that people won't know that I am hurt."
Lupin nodded. "You're as clever as your father."
Harry grinned. "We'll see you later, Professor Lupin."
They were walking down to the Great Hall when they heard two people murmuring around the corner. Slowly, they tiptoed forward, listening closely.
"So there were only twelve people not in the Great Hall when Zabini was murdered," said the voice of Percy Weasley.
"Yes, sir," said Crow in his funny accent. "Not including Zabini himself."
"And unfortunately, your cohorts Frost and Shacklebolt are two of them," Percy said.
"I know, sir," Crow said.
"I want you to investigate all of them, personally," Percy told him.
There was a pause-"Even Kingsley and Mara?"
"How many of those twelve are students?" Percy asked.
"Nine," Crow replied. "The only adults were Kingsley, Mara, and Mr. Filch."
"Earlier we determined that a student was probably not the murderer. While we could be wrong, I want Shacklebolt, Frost, and Filch investigated the most-Filch especially. He was a suspect before," Percy muttered.
Crow sounded extremely hesitant. "Sí, señor."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione backed up several steps and headed forward again to look as if they were just then getting to that point as both Percy and Crow came around the corner.
"Ron!" Percy exclaimed. "And Harry and Hermione! How are each of you?"
"Fine," Ron replied to his older brother. He glanced at Crow. "Updating your troops on the latest decrees from the Ministry?"
Percy scowled. "It's none of your business what Mr. Crow and I were discussing. And you should be more respectful about the Ministry of Magic! Not only do I work for them but so does our father!"
"You act as though I've forgotten that fact, Percy," Ron said tersely.
"Well, you sometimes act as if you have no care for our family," said Percy.
"Oh that's rich coming from you," Ron said hotly. "You deserted us for an entire year because we supported Dumbledore when Fudge didn't! You're such a brown-nosing, two-faced-ERRGH!" he yelled as Percy slapped him.
"Don't you dare speak about me that way," Percy said, his entire face red.
Ron touched his cheek gingerly. "Don't like the truth, do you?"
Percy raised his hand again, but Crow stopped him. "Praetor, while he is your brother, I do not believe that Professor Dumbledore would approve of you slapping his students. Take his criticisms of you like a man."
Percy turned sharply and glowered at Crow. "How dare you…"
"It was with the most respect, of course, Praetor," Crow amended. "I am also thinking of your madre-"
"My what?"
"Er-mother, sir. What would she think if she learned of this incident? I'm sure she would be quite displeased to know that her sons were fighting-physically."
Percy glanced over at Ron disdainfully. "He wouldn't write home to tell her. He never writes home."
"I do too!" Ron snarled. "Now that the Ministry has decided that Harry and Dumbledore weren't lying about You-Know-Who you've gone back to being the family pansy!"
"You little-"
"Oh sod off, Percy! There isn't anything you could call me that I haven't been called before," Ron said and started to walk away.
Percy stood up straighter. "You're a horrible son!" he yelled.
Ron turned back, his face red. "No Percy, you are. You're the horrible son. You made Mum cry when you turned your back on us. You gave Dad the silent treatment whenever you two saw each other. You made their lives a living hell and yet you have the nerve to call me a horrible son." Then he turned and walked away.
Harry and Hermione looked at Percy's red face before following Ron's retreating form. In Harry's mind, Ron had just checkmated his brother.
*****
Ron and Percy's row led to a quiet dinner. Ron continuously poked at his pork chops while Harry and Hermione kept glancing back and forth between him and each other. Silently, they agreed that they needed to cheer Ron up.
"Hey Ron, how about a game of Exploding Snap when we get upstairs?" Hermione asked.
"We have homework," he reminded her grumpily. "You'd much rather do your homework."
"Not right now, I don't," Hermione said. "It'll be fun."
"Can it wait until after the pudding?"
She laughed. "Yes, of course. We can't part you from your pudding."
When they did finish their pudding, Harry, Ron, and Hermione went back to Gryffindor Tower to play the promised game of Exploding Snap. Although neither of them would ever admit it, Harry and Hermione let Ron win.
"Ha!" Ron laughed in triumph.
Harry and Hermione gave each other knowing looks. "One more game," Harry said.
Hermione grabbed the deck and shuffled them before dealing. Harry collected his cards and play began.
"So I was thinking at dinner," Ron said as Harry took his turn, "that tomorrow night after curfew…maybe we can find which broom closet that Zabini kid was killed in. We can find out if the Dark Mark is in there and maybe we can find some evidence as to who the killer is."
Hermione looked quite surprised at his suggestion. "Ron, that has got to be one of the best ideas you've ever come up with," she praised, but then she looked over at Harry. "Do you think you'll be up to it?"
He shifted in his chair slightly, cringing as pain lanced up his sides. "Honestly, I think I'll only last for so long."
Hermione nodded, reaching out and placing her hand over his. "You've been really brave about all of this, Harry. I can't help but admire your strength."
Ron was staring at their hands before he shook his head is if to clear his mind. "Plus you're a fabulous actor. If I hadn't already known you'd gotten hurt, I wouldn't believe it with the way you've been acting these past two days."
"Thanks," Harry murmured. "I say we tackle this floor by floor. I think I can last that long."
"It'll have to span over several days," Hermione commented. "The more often we go out, the bigger the chance of us getting caught."
"Not when I have the Invisibility Cloak and the Marauders' Map. Er-Ron? It's your turn," Harry said with a grin.
"Wha-oh," he said sheepishly, picking up his cards again and continuing play.
"So we'll start tomorrow evening, right?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah," Harry replied.
"It'll get really difficult soon, though, because of exams coming up," Hermione said.
Ron groaned. "Don't mention the 'E' word!"
"They're in a few weeks, Ron," Hermione reminded him.
"Then why aren't you studying like a mad woman?" he asked her.
"The same reason why I'm not doing my homework right now," she replied.
"Which is?"
"I feel like having a little fun," she said with a shrug.
"I thought homework was fun to you," Ron said.
She sighed and took her turn. "All work and no play makes for a very boring day." She glanced up at him. "I can turn homework into a game. That's what makes it fun."
He stared at her. "You really are mental."
Her response was a small snort of laughter and a roll of her eyes. "Your turn, Harry."
*****
The next evening, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped out of the common room right before curfew and covered themselves with the Invisibility Cloak. Harry got out the Marauders' Map and was just about to tap it with his wand when he asked, "Which floor do you want to start on?"
"Let's do this floor first and work our way down," Hermione said. "That way it won't be so hard on your recuperation."
"Good idea," Harry said, tapping the map. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." When the map had completed its sketch of Hogwarts, Harry looked at it closely. "It looks like there's nobody on this floor now. Let's go check the broom closets."
They headed down the corridor slowly due to Harry's injuries. It was hard to keep up the appearance that he was completely normal and some days it took a lot out of him. Whenever he had the chance, though, he'd walk at a slower pace so that the pain wasn't so horrible.
At the first broom closet they came across, they opened the door and Hermione stuck her arm outside the cloak. "Lumos Niger," she whispered before pulling on some goggles she had transfigured before they left. Harry and Ron did the same thing, peering inside the closet. Hermione scanned it thoroughly. "Not in here."
They traveled to the second closet on that floor and that time Ron stuck his wand out. He whispered the incantation and looked around. "I don't see anything," he said and ducked out.
Harry checked the Marauders' Map once again as they arrived at the third closet. It was his turn. He stuck out his arm with his wand in his hand into the closet and whispered, "Lumos Niger," before stepping in and taking a look around. Finding nothing, he stepped back out.
At the next closet Hermione found what she believed to be cat's hair. "Mrs. Norris has probably been in this broom cupboard," she murmured. "No Dark Mark, though."
They didn't have any luck in the closet after that either. Harry never realized how many broom closets there were on a floor before that night as he walked slowly into the next one. He waved his wand around and found something on the wall. "What's this?" he asked.
Hermione stepped in to check it out too. She examined it very closely before prodding it with her wand. Some of it fell off. "It's dried mud," she said. "Somebody had their shoe planted up against this wall."
Harry looked around some more. The Dark Mark wasn't in the closet, but he noticed that the bucket had been overturned.
Hermione smirked. "I think a couple of students were in here."
Harry wrinkled his nose. "Let's hope all they did was snog." He checked the map again. "Come on, there's only one closet left and then we can return to the common room."
They checked the final broom closet without incident and went back to the common room. Harry sighed. "Well, we know that he wasn't killed on this floor," he said as Ron and Hermione sat down. "We'll try the sixth floor tomorrow night. In the meantime, I'm worn out. I think I'll head off to bed."
Hermione nodded. "I'm not surprised. Good night, Harry."
"Yeah, good night, mate," Ron said.
"Good night," he murmured before slowly heading up the steps to his dorm.
When he arrived, he walked over and sat on the window sill as he looked outside. The next day would be the start of June. June's arrival would mean frantic studying by all of the fifth and seventh years as O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s were nearly upon them. June meant exams for the rest of the school and that the school year was coming to an end. But it also meant nicer weather. Students could go swimming in the lake and perhaps try to see the Giant Squid if they dared. June meant spending time outdoors having fun or lounging underneath trees.
June.
To Harry, June meant that the one-year anniversary of Sirius Black's death was rapidly drawing nearer. Was it nearly a year already? How had the time passed so quickly?
He sat on that window sill, staring up at the dark sky dotted with stars. He wished right then that he could talk to Sirius. He wanted to share his adventures with him, get his advice regarding Harry's discovery of his feelings towards Hermione…ask him what he thought about the murders taking place in Hogwarts. Harry wanted his godfather back desperately. But he could never come back. He was gone.
June.
It meant that in only a few weeks' time, Harry would be back on the Hogwarts Express. He would be riding back to London. He would be returning to the Dursleys. Then he would have to endure another summer of mistreatment by his aunt, uncle, and cousin. He would be yelled at and he would be ridiculed. He would be feared. He would be told not to utter anything that dealt with magic and that if he did, all of his magical belongings would be locked up in the cupboard beneath the stairs that used to be his sleeping quarters. He would be forced to stay in his room, away from them, and only allowed out at mealtimes and on the occasion to use the bathroom when he needed. He would be ordered to lock Hedwig in a cage for the entire summer. He would suffer.
Quite frankly, Harry didn't want June to come. He wanted it to stay May forever. He wasn't ready for it to be June. Not yet.
Sighing deeply, he stood up and walked over to his four poster. Reaching underneath his pillow, he pulled out his mother's diary as he sat down. He stared at the cover for several long moments, his thumb brushing pages. Besides the words of their best friends and the people who knew them, reading her diary had been the only way for him to get to know his parents. Sure he had seen them in Pensieves, but those were brief memories in which Harry only learned a few things about them. Reading the diary let him meet them through his mother's eyes-through her words. It was as if she were speaking to him, telling him about her life in Hogwarts and her time with his father.
He opened the diary and read for awhile. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep. When he awoke the next morning, he discovered that the diary was lying next to him on his nightstand. Perturbed, he realized that he fell asleep while reading and that somebody had taken it off of him and placed it on the nightstand. He looked around at the sleeping figures of his dorm mates. Which one could it have been?
Checking the time, he realized that Hermione had probably been up for at least ten minutes, waiting for him to come down so that she could change his bandages. Perhaps today they would decide that he didn't need them anymore. Still though, he had enjoyed the past couple of days, being so close to her.
He headed downstairs and into the common room. He was right; Hermione was sitting in her favorite chair, waiting for him. She glanced over and smiled at him when he entered the common room.
"I was wondering if you had woken up," she said as she got up. "How are you feeling this morning?"
"Not as bad as yesterday, so I'm healing little by little," he replied.
She stepped closer to him. "Erm…"
"I know, I know…shirt off." He grinned. "You're not going to blush this morning, are you?" When she blushed, he laughed. "I guess so."
She cocked her head to the side with her eyes narrowed. "Well, if I took my shirt off in front of you, wouldn't you blush?"
Immediately the image of Hermione taking off her shirt in front of him popped into his mind. He blushed. "Point taken."
"Uh-huh. Now, can we get this over with?" she asked.
"You act as though it's some sort of torture," he teased as he pulled his shirt over his head. He winced some.
"Here," Hermione said, grabbing his shirt, "let me help you." She brushed up against him as she reached up to help him with his shirt.
"Er-" he said as his shirt finally came off. She was so close to him. He didn't trust himself-he stepped back. "Er-l-let's get this over with."
She stepped closer and started unwrapping his bandages. He lifted up his arms automatically so that she could work. As the air hit his wounds, he shivered.
"What is it? I didn't hurt you, did I?" she asked, startled.
He shook his head. "No. You didn't do anything wrong. It-er-feels good."
"Pardon?"
"The air. It feels good hitting my torso. The bandages…they itch some," he said.
"Oh." She brushed her fingers over the wound, causing him to shiver again. She jerked away.
"No-it's alright. Just tickles, that's all," he said.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He craned his neck to try to get a good look at his body. "So, how bad does it look?"
She traced one of the wounds gently with her index finger. "You've got plenty of bruising now. The good news is that there isn't a milliliter of blood on your bandages."
"In other words, I'm beginning to scab over," Harry said.
She nodded. "Basically. At least I don't have to put any more bandages on you."
"Yes," he said. "Now let me get my shirt back on before somebody comes down here and wonders what we're up to."
She grinned. "That's my line."
"It's mine today," he replied, matching her grin. Then it faded away. "I think somebody else knows about my mother's diary."
She tossed the unused bandages back in her bag. "You do?"
He nodded. "I fell asleep reading it last night and this morning it was lying on my nightstand. I'd bet anything that they took a peek."
She sat down. "Well, if you could pick a person in your room that you would feel slightly comfortable knowing that you're reading your mother's diary, who would it be?"
He considered this. "Neville," he said finally, sitting down too.
She looked surprised by his answer. "Neville? Why Neville?"
He frowned. "Because he knows what it's like to not really know your parents."
She nodded in understanding. "Of course."
He fidgeted slightly. "Remember that prophecy about me and Voldemort I told you?"
"How could I forget?"
He fidgeted even more. "There was something about it that I didn't tell you and you have to promise not to tell anyone else."
She looked slightly scared. "You know I won't, Harry."
He picked at the arm of the chair he was sitting in, not looking at her. "That prophecy didn't apply to just me at first." He stole at glance at her to see what her reaction was.
She looked stunned. "Then who…" Harry could see realization dawn on her. "Neville?"
He nodded. "He was born on the thirtieth of July and his parents had defied Voldemort three times too. If Voldemort hadn't chosen me, Neville would have been the Chosen One."
Hermione frowned. "I suppose you've thought a lot about the 'what-ifs,' haven't you?"
He shook his head. "Only occasionally. During the summer I was filled with sorrow over losing Sirius. Then we went to Diagon Alley and my attention focused on my mother's diary and the blueprints for the Phoenix. Once we returned to Hogwarts, I had other things occupying my mind…and then the murders started…"
"But you have thought about it."
"Yes," he murmured. "I have briefly toyed with the idea of how different my life would have been if I weren't the Boy Who Lived. I certainly wouldn't have this," he said, pointing to his scar.
"No, you certainly wouldn't. You probably wouldn't have lived with the Dursleys," Hermione said.
"That would have been a blessing. Chances are my parents still would have been permanently injured or killed though," he said.
"I don't know-your parents were quite clever," she said. "But what if Voldemort had chosen Neville instead and successfully killed him? Then nobody would be able to stop him." She sighed. "The world works in mysterious ways, Harry. There's a reason why you were chosen."
"Yeah, to die at least sixteen years after that prophecy was made," he said cynically.
"Don't say that," Hermione said quietly.
"Why not? It's true."
"You don't know what the future holds for you," she said sharply. "So don't you give up, especially without even trying."
Just then, a few students entered the common room. Harry lowered his voice. "I've fought against him and there is nothing harder in this world. I will never be ready to defeat him. It's realistic to say that I'll die trying."
She stared at him. "When did you lose all hope, Harry?"
He blinked in surprise. "I-"
"A lot has changed since I first met you, Harry, but whatever happened to that wide-eyed boy I met on the train?"
"Stones, chambers, dementors, and tournaments. The rise of Voldemort once again taking place. And let's not forget all of the people I've watched die," he said quietly.
"In other words, war," she murmured. "Sometimes I wonder about myself too."
"Why?"
"Because of the way I've changed," she said. "I used to be terribly close to my parents, but since I came here, I've grown distant. I've lied to them. They don't know about Voldemort. They don't know that I've been petrified, or that I got injured last June. They don't know I drank a potion which made me look like a cat. They don't know that I've time traveled. They don't know that I've been put under a spell and taken to the bottom of the lake. They don't know that I've flown on a hippogriff. They don't know that I've helped a criminal escape." She sighed. "They don't know how many times I've defied a teacher. They don't even know that I had a detention in our first year."
"And yet you're the same smart witch I met on that train so many years ago," Harry said. "You've just loosened up a bit."
"Well, there are more important things than books and cleverness," she said.
"Friendship and bravery," Harry replied, a small grin playing over his features.
"Yes," she said wistfully. "And there are other things."
"Like?"
"Honor, loyalty, trust…" She looked into the fireplace. "…love."
Harry was just about to comment when Ron came down the stairs. "Morning you two," he said with a yawn. He peered down at Harry. "How're the war wounds?"
"Black and purple," Harry replied as Ron sat down in another chair.
He winced. "Rotten luck, mate. So, are we going sleuthing again tonight?"
Harry nodded. "I'll be up for it."
"Good. D'you think we'll find anything tonight?" Ron asked.
"Who knows?"
*****
In the afternoon, Hermione left to go to Arithmancy. Harry and Ron settled down to work on their Charms and Herbology essays in the common room.
"Just think, in a few more weeks, we'll be on holiday," Ron said happily. "Then it's only one more year of essays and pop quizzes."
"Uh-huh," Harry grunted, trying to finish a sentence.
Ron set his quill down. "Can I talk to you about something?"
"Hmm?" He finished off the sentence.
"Harry?"
He glanced up at his friend. "What?"
"Can I talk to you about something?"
"Er-sure," Harry replied. "What's up?"
Ron looked like he was trying to choose his words carefully. "You-er-you haven't been reading Beowulf, have you?"
Harry stared at him, frozen. Suddenly he realized that he was dripping ink onto his essay and dropped his quill.
"I-er-you fell asleep with a book on your chest," Ron said uncomfortably. "I picked it up and set it on your nightstand for you."
Harry tried to swallow, but he found that his mouth was dry. "And?" he asked feebly.
"I opened it up," Ron said quietly.
Harry took his hands off of the table and set them in his lap. "Now you know," he murmured, not looking Ron in the eye.
"I didn't know what it…I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Don't be," Harry said, a bit more strongly.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't know what you'd think. I didn't want you to think I was some sort of pansy for reading my mother's diary," Harry told him.
"I don't think that," he said.
Harry frowned. "It's my only real link to her, Ron. People can tell me things about her, but it's all secondhand information. This is her telling me about her life. It's all I have."
"Don't be ashamed," Ron said. "You deserve to learn all you can about your mum and dad. But-er-I won't tell the guys."
A small smile crept on his face. "Thanks," he replied.
*****
That night, huddled underneath the Invisibility Cloak, Harry, Ron, and Hermione inspected the sixth floor. Harry had the Marauders' Map out, scanning the area.
"The first cupboard is over there," he whispered, pointing. "Time to get started."
They walked over quietly. Ron stuck his arm out and pulled open the door. Then he stepped inside and whispered the incantation needed. Harry and Hermione waited underneath the cloak. A minute later, he returned. "Nothing in there."
Hermione checked the next one. When they got to the third one, Harry went to pull open the door when suddenly, it opened itself as Peeves came out with a bucket full of something foul-smelling.
Peeves.
Suddenly an idea sprang in Harry's head. He then said in his hoarsest voice, "Peeves!"
Peeves was so alarmed that he dropped his bucket. "The Bloody Baron?" he asked. "Is that you?"
"I require information from you, Peeves, and you will answer," Harry said.
The poltergeist saluted. "Oh yes, sir, your bloodiness. What is it that you have to ask old Peevsie?"
"In which broom cupboard did you discover that boy who was in my House?" he croaked.
"On the fourth floor, sir, near the library. It's the first door on the left of the side corridor closest to the library. Does that answer your question, Mr. Baron?"
"Indeed it does. Now go, Peeves, and leave the fourth floor alone tonight. Linger on the second until half past midnight," Harry ordered.
"Yes, your royal bloodiness. I'll not stray from the second floor," Peeves said and zoomed off.
Ron snickered. "I forgot you could do that. Absolutely brilliant, Harry."
"Come on," he said. "Let's move."
Using the Marauders' Map as their guide, they found a passage that led them directly down to the fourth floor. Harry scanned the map quickly. "I'm guessing that this is the one Peeves was talking about," he said, pointing. Then Harry saw a dot marked "Mara Frost" walking towards them. He held both Ron and Hermione back. "Wait."
They watched the map and waited until she was beyond them before walking out of the secret passage. "I wonder where she's going," Harry whispered, watching the map.
"We could follow her," Ron suggested.
"It's too risky," Hermione said. "She could hear us."
"Let's do what we meant to do and I'll keep a close eye on the map," Harry said and started forward.
To both Harry's horror and intrigue, Frost went right to the broom closet they wanted to go to. They stayed back and watched her as she opened the door and stepped inside. They heard a rustling noise as she moved things around, then, apparently satisfied, she stepped out and left after closing the door.
Harry watched her go on the Marauders' Map. When the coast was clear, he yanked the cloak off of them and walked over to the closet. "So this is the cupboard."
Slowly, he opened the door, murmuring, "Lumos." It was a chilling sight. Blood stained the floor and the walls. Buckets were bent while mops and brooms were broken.
"That poor kid," Ron said quietly, looking inside over Harry's shoulder.
Hermione looked very grim. "Look," she said, pointing at the left wall. "That scratch. It looks like a knife may have done that."
"Proving that Rocco was stabbed, just like June and Sinead. Nox," Harry murmured, plunging them into darkness. "Goggles on. Hermione?"
"Lumos Niger," she whispered, putting her goggles on.
Under the black light they saw the blood more clearly, along with the water rings that the buckets had made. But clear shining on the floor was what Harry knew they would find.
"The Dark Mark," he said grimly, squatting down and examining it.
"Our Death Eater strikes again," muttered Ron.
Then Harry started to notice other things-small swirling patterns. "Fingerprints," he whispered.
"Notice they're only on the brooms, mops, and buckets," Hermione said. "And notice that the pattern is pretty much the same on all of them. They're Filch's fingerprints, which is not surprising since he's the caretaker."
Harry nodded, accepting her explanation. Then he sighed as he got up. "I think that's all we're going to see here."
"No clues," Ron said, frowning.
"I didn't expect for there to be any," Hermione said dryly. "Our killer is very methodical. There's never any trace."
Harry frowned. He turned to close the door when something caught his eye. "Wait," he said, reaching out and plucking a single strand of hair from the door hinge. He faced Ron and Hermione. "Never leaves a trace."
Ron and Hermione stared, wide-eyed. "I'll be damned," Ron said in awe.
Harry grinned and looked at the strand of hair. "Let's get back to the common room. That way we'll actually see the color because this light isn't doing anything," Harry said, gesturing to Hermione's wand.
They nodded. Harry grabbed the Invisibility Cloak and put it over them before they walked all the way back to the common room. Once inside, Harry held the hair up to the light.
Ron examined it, as did Hermione. "Looks brown," Ron said.
"Or dark blonde," Hermione said.
They looked at each other. Then in unison they murmured, "Mara Frost."