The flickering light from the fireplace cast long, wavering shadows against the stone walls of the Slytherin common room, but it brought no warmth to Draco Malfoy. He stood rigid, his silver eyes fixed on the dancing flames, as if searching for answers within them. The news of Harry's murder had hit the castle like a shockwave, but Draco felt it in ways he hadn't expected. The familiar ache in his chest that he had long buried resurfaced—an odd mixture of guilt and sorrow, emotions he had never truly confronted.
Draco wasn't sure why Harry's death unsettled him so much. Years ago, Harry had been his rival, the symbol of everything Draco had resented. But after the war, everything had shifted. Time and distance had blurred their animosity into something more complex. No longer enemies, but they had never quite become friends. And yet, the idea that Harry was gone, brutally murdered, sent a shiver of fear through Draco's spine. It brought memories of darkness, of blood on his hands, and of a past he had tried desperately to leave behind.
His knuckles whitened as he clenched the mantelpiece. The weight of the Malfoy name, of everything it had once stood for, pressed down on him like a suffocating shroud. And now, with Harry's death, that shadow had crept back, threatening to pull him under once again.
The quiet creak of a door broke the silence, followed by the soft footsteps of someone approaching. Draco didn't need to turn to know who it was. Pansy Parkinson, with her pale face and perpetually anxious expression, was as much a fixture in the Slytherin common room as the green and silver drapery that adorned the walls. She had been avoiding him since the news broke, but tonight, her fear must have gotten the better of her.
"Draco," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze meeting hers. Her eyes were wide, filled with apprehension. Pansy had never been one to mince words, and her nerves were always just beneath the surface, especially in moments like this.
"The Aurors," she began, her tone trembling, "they're looking for someone to blame."
Draco's jaw tightened. Of course they were. The Ministry had never been quick to trust his family, even after the war. His father's sins, his own mistakes—they had never truly been forgiven. And now, with Harry's murder, he knew all too well that suspicion would soon fall on him, just as it always did.
"They'll come for us," Pansy continued, her voice growing more urgent. "For you. You know they will."
Draco turned fully to face her now, his expression hardening. "Let them," he muttered through gritted teeth. But even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were hollow. He could feel the weight of it all pressing down on him—the looks of distrust, the whispers behind his back. The Malfoy name had never escaped the darkness it had been steeped in for generations.
Pansy stepped closer, her eyes searching his. "Draco, you can't pretend this won't touch you. They think one of us—"
"They think I did it," Draco cut her off, his voice low, bitter. "Of course they do. Harry Potter is dead, and the Malfoys are always the first to be blamed for anything dark and twisted at this school."
Pansy winced, her face paling even further. "What are we going to do? You need to be careful. The Aurors won't hesitate if they think you're involved. We need a plan."
Draco turned back to the fire, his mind racing. He had spent years trying to rebuild his life, to distance himself from the sins of his past. But now, it seemed like no matter how far he ran, the darkness was always just a step behind, waiting to consume him again.
The crackle of the fire filled the room, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of the unspoken fears hung heavy between them. Pansy had always been practical, calculating, and Draco knew that her worry was not just for him but for herself. Slytherins knew how to survive, but this—this was different. This was bigger than any of them.
"What do you think happened?" Pansy asked quietly, breaking the silence. "Who could have done it?"
Draco shook his head, his thoughts a tangled mess. He had been asking himself that same question ever since he'd heard the news. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice raw. "But whoever it was... they wanted to send a message."
Pansy shivered at his words, her arms wrapping around herself as if to ward off the chill. "A message to who?"
Draco didn't answer. He didn't need to. They both knew the answer. Whoever had killed Harry had done it for a reason, and Draco couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't just about Harry. It was about the legacy they had all been left with—the darkness that still clung to the edges of the wizarding world.
A soft knock echoed through the common room door, interrupting their conversation. Pansy shot Draco a worried glance, her nerves on edge. Draco straightened, his eyes narrowing. He wasn't expecting anyone.
With a flick of his wand, the door creaked open, revealing Blaise Zabini standing on the threshold, his usual cool composure masking the unease in his dark eyes.
"They're coming, Draco," Blaise said in a low voice, stepping inside. "The Aurors. They want to question you."
Pansy let out a small gasp, but Draco didn't flinch. He had been expecting this.
"Let them question me," Draco said coldly, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at his insides. "I have nothing to hide."
Blaise's gaze was steady, though his tone carried a note of warning. "Just be careful. This is bigger than we realize. They're not just looking for answers—they're looking for someone to blame."
Draco nodded, his mind already working through the possibilities. He had spent years shielding himself from suspicion, keeping his head down and avoiding conflict. But now, there was no avoiding it. The Aurors would come, and they would bring with them accusations, suspicion, and doubt. No matter what he said, no matter how much he had changed, the ghost of his family's past would always haunt him.
"Whatever happens, we stick together," Draco said, his voice firm. "We survived the war, we can survive this."
Pansy nodded, though the fear in her eyes hadn't lessened. Blaise gave a sharp nod of agreement, though his face remained as inscrutable as ever.
But as Draco turned back to the flames, a dark thought crept into his mind. He had always feared that his past would come back to haunt him, but now, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was more than just suspicion that tied him to Harry's murder.
What Draco didn't know, what none of them knew, was that he was next.
And the killer was already watching.
YOU ARE READING
The Veil of Shadows and blood
FanfictionHarry Potter fanfic , murder -mystery The people you love have not died in the war . happy? I have inserted one OC