Chapter 3
Draco had no idea where Gwynn was, but he knew that he would never forgive her for making him deal with these oblivious first years alone. They hadn’t even begun the tour yet and Malfoy was already committed to serving a life sentence in Azkaban for murdering all of these annoying children. They gaped up at the large arched ceiling above them, eyes filled to the brim with curiosity and childlike excitement. Malfoy couldn’t stand it.
“Hello everyone, I am your prefect, Gwynn, and will be serving as your tour guide today. We are all very excited to welcome you into the Slytherin house and hope you enjoy your time at Hogwarts.”
Malfoy hadn’t even noticed Gwynn’s arrival until she spoke. He eyed her with suspicion. He did not know what she could have been doing instead of attending the feast, but whatever it was, it had delayed their tour a whole three minutes. Because of Gwynn’s little adventure he would have to spend three extra minutes with these heathens and he was not happy about it.
Gwynn had sprinted through the castle to try to make it to Draco and the first years in time. She wasn’t very late, but she knew Malfoy would gripe at her for the few minutes she lost him anyway. She sighed to herself, dreading that conversation more than she liked to admit. Typically, she’d love to have a go at Malfoy. She’d take any opportunity she could to remind him that he was a classist pig, but she wanted to make a plan for interviewing suspects and could not very well do that in the middle of tearing apart Draco’s ideology. Oh well, she’d have to skip breakfast in the morning to think things through. This was alright with her, she enjoyed having the Slytherin dormitories to herself, and the quiet would help her focus on the task at hand.
Malfoy kept silent during the tour, though he kept glaring at Gwynn. All of these looks she ignored, much to Malfoy’s annoyance. It was frustratingly hard to get under Gwynn’s skin, and Draco sure did try his best. He had only once been able to pry off her stone mask, and as soon as he had, he immediately regretted doing so.
They had been in the Great Hall and he had brought up the fact that she never went home for the holidays and how she never received any letters. For once, her so carefully constructed façade wavered. He took the opportunity and struck. “Don’t your parents want you?” He had asked. The look upon her face was pure fury. It was one that Draco could not forget. He remembered feeling (and he would never admit this) afraid. He drawled his wand, preparing for a duel, but she had instead lunged across the table and slammed his face into his mashed potatoes.
“Do not speak of things you know nothing about, Malfoy,” Gwynn hissed, hatred dripping from every word, “One day, you’re going to insult the wrong person and wind up dead. And no one at this school will mourn for you because you have been an asshole to every single person you have ever met.” She then marched out of the Great Hall, ignoring the looks she was getting. As she exited, the stares had shifted to Draco and he he felt himself flush. The humiliation he felt burned through him, and along with it was a little bit of shame, though he ignored it and focused on the anger he was feeling. For he understood anger much more than guilt.
No, he would be careful not to push Gwynn that far again. There was a line in the sand that he would constantly toe, but not dare to cross. Gwynn wasn’t his friend, but he most definitely did not want her as an enemy.
They had finally made it to the common room and all of the first years were eagerly looking around and choosing their bed. The Slytherin common room was in the dungeons (yes, the literal dungeons) and had a very gothic feel to it. There was little to no natural lighting, seeing as the only windows it had were the large glass ones that looked into the lake, which casted a green glow across the room. There were multiple lamps which offered dim light and several overstuffed couches and armchairs. The crackle of the fire could always be heard, creating a peaceful ambience. Gwynn adored it and enjoyed being there alone, something that was quite easily done considering how little the other Slytherin’s actually used it. She would often sit at the desk by the windows and stare out into the lake as she studied, the light of a candle reflecting off the glass. This was peace as she had rarely felt before. It felt like safety. It felt like home.
This feeling of comfort would always vanish as soon as she stepped into the girl’s dormitory. She often slept on the couch in the common rooms going to sleep after everyone else and waking up before they came down for breakfast, but a person could only sleep on a couch for so long. And so her illusion of safety was shattered every time she sought to rest her head.
As the common room cleared out and the first years settled down in their new dormitories, Gwynn made an attempt to escape before Malfoy could remember her tardiness. This attempt, unfortunately, was unsuccessful.
“Adler,” Malfoy snapped, grabbing Gwynn by her elbow and stopping her in her tracks. “You were late.”
Gwynn sighed, exasperated. She of course was expecting this, but had hoped to save herself a headache. “By two minutes.”
“It was three, actually.”
“So you had to wait a couple extra minutes, big deal.”
“Yes,” Malfoy all but snarled, “I did. One thing you need to know about me, Adler, is that I don’t wait for anyone. Especially not for the likes of you.”
“Oh we’re doing this, are we? Look here pretty boy, you are no better than me. I am not beneath you and I will not allow you to treat me as though I am. They call you the Slytherin Prince. You do realize that title offers no real power, don’t you? You walk around as if you own the place, but you and I both know the power you think you have comes from your father, and I’ve heard he’s been a bit indisposed as of late.”
Malfoy glared down at Gwynn with bright burning hatred. “Careful darling. You’re all bark and no bite. I’ll only tolerate so much.” He then walked past Gwynn, making sure to bump her shoulder with his as he went up the stairs into the boy’s dormitory.
Gwynn wanted to scream in frustration, but opted to punch of few of the couch’s pillows instead. He was absolutely right, Gwynn’s anger was rarely physical and the fact that Draco had pointed it out and got the last word annoyed her to no end.
“Oh well,” she thought, “There will be other arguments to be won.”
Draco slammed his fist into the wall before collapsing onto the bed. She was absolutely right. He recognized that he was a coward, but Adler was the last person he wanted to know this about him. She was unfairly observant and felt no guilt in using her deductions in arguments.
“God, that stupid muggleborn is infuriating. Why do I let her get under my skin?” Draco sighed and laid on his back, staring at the ceiling. He knew he would not get any sleep even if he tried. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in well over a year. He’d like to say that this is due to his father’s incarceration, but knew it had been a problem long before that. It had begun when he was old enough to realize that, just maybe, he didn’t want to be a death eater. He never shared these thoughts with anyone, but they plagued his thoughts every night. When his family was banished, he secretly felt relieved, though he wasn’t able to decipher the feeling as such and had assumed he was just glad to get out of going to those god awful meetings. Now he lay awake worrying about his mother. All alone in Malfoy Manor. Was she unhappy? Lonely? What if Voldemort decided that banishment is too soft of a punishment and comes for her? He turned over and closed his eyes, even though he knew it was futile. Sleep would not come, it never did.
The night, for Gwynn, was long and restless. The thought of having a murderer in their midst unsettled her. She found that she was worried about Draco despite herself. If there was a murder at Hogwarts they could very well be sleeping mere feet away from him. This was statistically plausible, but Gwynn was hesitant to think upon this theory for too long. She had gotten little sleep, but had decided to wake up early anyway. She wanted to get to the Great Hall before everyone else this morning. She still had no idea how she was going to question her Slytherin housemates, but hoped to at least overhear them talking about Samantha Day.
She sat down and grabbed a piece of toast and looked over her schedule that she had received from McGonagall. Much to Gwynn’s surprise someone plopped down in the seat beside her and reached for the plate of bacon.
“So what’s the plan?” Draco said around a mouth full of food.
“Excuse me?” Gwynn asked, confusion clear in her voice.
“What’s the plan? How are we going to solve this- murder.” He replied, glancing around the Great Hall and lowering his voice in case anyone was listening.
“We aren’t doing anything. I however need you to sit somewhere else. I have to see if your “friends” know anything about Samantha’s death, and I can’t eavesdrop if they sit at the other end of the table to avoid you”
“Sticks and stones, Adler,” Draco said, faking a hurt expression, “They wouldn’t sit near you even if I wasn’t here.”
Gwynn tried to protest at this claim, but Draco interrupted her, “Besides, why eavesdrop when you can get direct answers? Oh look, here they are now.”
Draco made a move to stand up but Gwynn quickly grabbed the sleeve of his robe, effectively pulling him back into his seat.
“I swear to Merlin, Malfoy, if you jeopardize this case I will not hesitate to hex you.”
Draco rolled his eyes and shook off Gwynn’s grip, “Relax, I’m just going to talk to them.” Draco met Gwynn’s eyes and saw a challenge, she didn’t think he could do this, and Draco never backed down from a challenge. He ignores Gwynn’s many whispered threats as he walks toward his former friends. He puts on his most arrogant smirk and stops directly in front of them.
“Pansy, Goyle, Crabbe. I didn’t get a chance to say hello on the train yesterday.”
Goyle and Crabbe nervously shuffled their feet, their eyes looking everywhere, but at Malfoy. Pansy, however, did not seem to have the same resignations that Goyle and Crabbe had.
“You know why we can’t talk to you Draco. Really, don’t take it personally.”
“Whatever could you mean, Pansy?” Draco replies, raising an eyebrow, “Are we not the best of friends?”
“Draco,” Crabbe pleaded, “You-Know-Who would not like us talking to you after your family’s… banishment.”
“Oh that?” Draco waved his hand, as if brushing away the statement, “He’s forgiven me.”
“He- he has?”
“Yes, yes, of course. He told me himself. What is it he said… Oh right. I distinctly remember. It was along the lines of ‘How could I expect your father to do what I couldn’t. It’d be unfair of me.’ He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is an understanding fellow, isn’t he.”
“I- I guess so.” Goyle says, meekly.
Draco flashes a charming smile, one that erases any of Pansy’s suspicions and claps his hands together, “Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, You-Know-Who has told me to ask you for a recap of everything I’ve missed. So tell me, did we have something to do with the death of that stupid girl?”
Gwynn slapped her forehead. He was being much too forward. They could surely see through his lies. Gwynn made a list of all the jinx’s she was going to use on him later.
“Not us. But get this,” Crabbe answers, lowering his tone, “We were in the compartment that she died in not too long before her dea-.”
“Right, right, of course. Moving on,” Malfoy cuts him off, seemingly bored. He knew that this wasn’t new information, and couldn’t stand to return to Gwynn with nothing of consequence. “But you had nothing to do with it?”
“What are you suggesting Malfoy, you think we could of done this?” Pansy said, defensively.
“Well if the Dark Lord asked it of you…”
“Do you think that all we are to You-Know-Who are pawns to do his dirty work.”
This was going south, fast, and Gwynn knew it. She rose from her seat, and quickly made her way over to where they were standing.
“Come on Pansy, you can’t be naïve enough to think that You-Know-Who is above-”
“Malfoy,” Gwynn interrupted, “We have prefect duties to attend to, and I refuse to let you slack off.”
“Look here,” Pansy said, sending a disgusted look Gwynn’s way, “This filthy Mudblood thinks she can talk to us.”
“My apologies, your Highness,” Gwynn quips, bowing dramatically, “How foolish of me to believe myself on par with your righteousness. I’ll be taking my leave at once. Coming Malfoy?” She turns and leaves the Great Hall, without checking to see if Draco follows her.
Draco was impressed by Gwynn’s composure and felt a strange surge of pride at how she handled the situation, though he would never tell her this. He turns to Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle, pretends to tip a hat, and follows after Gwynn.
Malfoy looked around the corridor, wondering where Gwynn had gone, when he was suddenly grabbed by his lapels and dragged into an empty classroom.
“That should not have worked,” Gwynn stated, crossly, “If they weren’t so daft they would see straight through your obvious lie. Has He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named ever forgiven anyone?”
“Not to my knowledge. But ignore that. The point is that we got the information we needed out of them. They had nothing to do with that seventh year girl’s death.”
“At least we got something out of your shit acting skills. They called her a traitor, did you notice? I wonder why they used that word.”
“They call people blood traitors all the time. It’s nothing unusual.”
“No, Malfoy, you don’t understand. They said traitor. No mention of blood whatsoever. If she was a muggleborn they would have called her a- well, you know, and if they thought she was a blood traitor they would’ve made the distinction. She must have been-“ Gwynn’s words trailed off, her eyes alight with new understanding.
“What must she have been?”
Gwynn’s eyes drifted off to a far off point, Malfoy knew she was in her head again, he had seen her like this on the train.
“It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data, I know that to be true. Insensibly, you begin to twist facts to suit theories instead of theories to suit facts. But- I think I may be on to something.”
“Pray tell, Adler, what is this theory of yours?.”
Gwynn shook her head, “No. If I say it aloud It’ll be much more difficult to see all the possibilities. You will know in due time, Malfoy, but I won’t share until I’m sure that I’m right. Oh- look at the time. I must be going now. I wouldn’t want to be late on the first day.” Gwynn walked past Malfoy and out the door, her long golden brown braid swinging behind her as she went.
Malfoy stared at the space Gwynn had occupied. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to help her solve this case so badly, he even lied to his former friends. He lied about the literal Dark Lord. Had he gone mad? What was so important about the death of some girl that he didn’t even know, why did he want to follow Gwynn on her investigation? He sighed to himself. He knew, deep down, that what he really wanted was a distraction. Something to keep his mind off of his father, rotting away in a cell in Azkaban, or his mother who was all alone in that big house. He shook off the thought. He had to put up an air of indifference. He couldn’t seem weak.
Gwynn walked quickly to potions, thinking over all of the information she just gained. Pansy, Goyle, and Crabbe had nothing to do with it, but that doesn’t negate the possibility of Voldemort’s involvement. This just reinforces Gwynn’s previous idea. This wasn’t planned, Samantha Day must have heard something she wasn’t supposed to. So the question is: what did she hear? And why was it so important that she didn’t hear it?
Draco walked into potions and saw that the seat next to Gwynn was open. He justified sitting with her by telling himself that they had to discuss the case, though deep down a part of him, one he wouldn’t dare acknowledge, just wanted to be near her. She was interesting. Abnormal. And he found himself intrigued by her. He sat down and saw that she was already looking through her potions book, a look of confusion on her face.
“What is it?” Draco asks, startling Gwynn from her thoughts. She hadn’t realized he was here, and was slightly bewildered that Draco had chosen to sit with her. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind and answered his question.
“It’s- It’s nothing. I just thought something was off…”
It was then that Harry and Ron entered the classroom, late, but there was no surprise there. Harry said something about not having a textbook and was given a very worn one. “ Book barely warrants the name. ” thought Gwynn, slightly amused.
“Now then,” said Slughorn, going to the front of the class to begin his lecture, “I’ve prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kind of things you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. You ought to have heard of ‘em, even if you haven’t made ‘em yet. Anyone tell me what this one is?”
He indicated the cauldron closest to where Gwynn and Draco, along with the rest of the Slytherins, sat. Gwynn peered at the liquid in the cauldron and saw that it appeared to be boiling. “Veritaserum.” she muttered to herself, so low that only Draco could hear her.
Hermione’s hand shot up and Slughorn pointed at her. “It’s Veritaserum, a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth.”
Draco shot a look at Gwynn. She had named the potion before Hermione had even raised her hand, something that is far more impressive than it sounded. He wondered why she didn’t even attempt to answer the question. Did she not want to get into Slughorn’s good graces? Draco knew that Slughorn was not afraid to show favoritism, even going so far as to invite his favorites to parties and such. Why wouldn’t Gwynn want to get ahead?
“Very good, very good!” said Slughorn happily. “Now,” he continued, pointing at the cauldron nearest the Ravenclaw table, “this one here is pretty well known… Featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately too… Who can-?
“Polyjuice Potion. honestly isn’t this supposed to be a challenging class.” Gwynn once again whispered as Hermione raised her hand.
“It’s Polyjuice Potion, sir,” she said.
Draco nudged Gwynn, making her glance up in surprise. Draco nodded his head towards the cauldrons, he used no words, but Gwynn recognized what he was trying to say. She shook her head as discreetly as possible. She had no need to prove her intelligence to anyone, even if it was slightly frustrating to see someone else get praise for an answer she herself knew.
“Excellent, excellent! Now, this one here…”
Before Hermione could even get her hand in the air Draco said, “Adler knows.”
Gwynn glared at Draco with as much hatred as she could muster. She tried her best not to shrink under the gaze of her classmates. “Curious ,” thought Draco, “she does not enjoy being the center of attention .”
“Do you know Miss Adler?” Slughorn asked, not even bothering to reprimand Draco for speaking without raising his hand.
“It’s- Amortencia sir.” Gwynn answered reluctantly.
“It is indeed.” said Slughorn looking at Gwynn with a strange look in his eye. He had seen her answering the questions and had wondered why she had not bothered to raise her hand. “ I assume you know what it does?”
“It is the most powerful love potion in the world.”
“Quite right! you recognize it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?”
“That and the pattern of the rising steam. It’s supposed to smell like the thing we are most attractive to. I can smell…” Gwynn paused, a look of confusion flitting across her face, “Peppermint. I can smell peppermint.” she says, though not with much conviction .
“May I ask your name, my dear?” Slughorn asked, ignoring her hesitation.
“Gwynn Adler.”
“And you, what is your name?” he said, looking to Hermione.
“Hermione Granger, sir.”
“Granger? Granger? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?”
“No, I don’t think so, sir. I’m Muggle-born, you see.”
Draco leaned over to Nott, a fellow Slytherin, to whisper something, but Gwynn brought her foot down hard upon his own, stopping whatever sly remark he had from leaving his lips.
“It would appear, sir,” said Gwynn, raising her voice, “That lineage does not hinder intelligence nor greatness.”
Hermione blushed at Gwynn’s compliment, but was secretly grateful. Hermione knew first hand the backlash being a Muggle-born got. She supposed Gwynn did too.
“Yes, it does appear that way Miss Adler. Twenty points to Gryffindor and ten points to Slytherin” Slughorn replied, brushing off or not picking up on Gwynn’s not so subtle dig. “Amortentia doesn’t really create love , of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in the room. We will make it later in the school year. And now.” Slughorn’s speech, it seemed, was coming to an end, “it is time for us to start work.”