Once he had inspected every set of living eyes, he allowed his gaze to filter up to where a body hung limp in midair. He had seen it the moment the door opened but refused to look, to acknowledge it. His mind needed a moment to fix its walls higher before he allowed the dread to overcome him. Even without seeing the bodies face he pictured Theo, hanging limp in the air, dried blood caking several open wounds in his neck. When the corpse rotated slightly he saw the dead unseeing eyes of Travers, one of his hands was so badly burned his fingers had almost glued themselves together. Dirt covered him from head to toe and the wounds in his neck had clumps of it sticking to his skin, the blood was black in the dimly lit drawing room. Relief, it wasn't anyone he cared about. His friends must have done this when they came earlier, they were here and had killed a death eater. For him.