Chapter 1
Music I listened while writing : Heat Wave, House of Cards OST
Auror Harry reported to the guards at the door and stepped inside the apartment. It was a cozy, finely decorated space, with light wallpaper, radiant paintings, and fresh flowers in blue-tinted vases. As soon as he entered the hallway, a young Auror approached him.
“It’s in the bedroom, at the far right. It’s not pretty.”
Harry walked down the hallway with his slow, measured steps, aware of the eyes of all the officers on him. He arrived at the bedroom, and the charm of the apartment was shattered. A man lay on his back in the bed, half of his body hanging off the mattress, his head nearly touching the floor, his eyes rolled back. Blood stained the sheets, the headboard, and the wall. His body had been slashed. A massacre.
He saw Auror Moran, head of the operation, giving instructions to the investigative Aurors. When Moran spotted Potter, he immediately came over to greet him.
“Auror Potter, thank you for coming so quickly.”
“It’s a murder,” Harry said coldly, observing the scene. “Why contact my department?”
“Because of the motive,” Moran replied, turning toward the body. “Apparently, the young woman killed her husband in a fit of madness, after breaking the enchantment.”
Harry nodded and approached the bed, moving around it. He studied the wedding photos on the nightstand and the dresser. The dead man was smiling in his gray-blue suit, a pretty brunette on his arm, who looked twenty years younger.
“The enchantment?” Harry asked, scrutinizing the radiant face of the young bride. “She was possessed?”
“Yes, apparently for years, probably since she met him at university. She was a divination student; he was her professor... She’s been analyzed, and it was a charm, similar to a love potion, caused by this...”
The chief officer presented an object wrapped in a dark cloth. Harry took it, unfolded the fabric, and discovered a necklace. A stunning emerald set in a silver frame with threads of gold. The young woman wore this necklace in the wedding photos scattered around the room. Harry turned it over in his hand, and his breath caught. On the back of the jewel, engraved in the silver, gleamed the Malfoy family seal.
“Her husband forced her to keep it on and stay under his control,” Moran explained, his voice tinged with sadness. “We’ve searched everywhere but found no receipt or clue about its origin. We don’t know how the victim acquired it or for how long. This man didn’t have the ability to create such a spell. This is an object steeped in dark magic. Only a dark wizard would be capable of that. That’s why you’re here.”
Harry frowned, wrapped the cloth back around the necklace, and tucked it into the pocket of his long Auror coat.
“We need to question Malfoy,” Harry declared. He motioned for a young officer to approach.
“Lucius Malfoy died in Azkaban six months ago,” Officer Moran interjected. “His wife...”
“Committed and mute, I know,” Harry replied. “I’m talking about their son.” He turned to the officer who had joined them. “Call the office. We need the address of Draco Malfoy.” The man nodded and left the room.
“He doesn’t live at the Manor?” Moran asked.
“The manor was taken from them,” Harry explained as he walked the room, taking in the surroundings. “It was sealed and their accounts frozen after their trial. Court order.”
He stopped when he saw the young officer return.
“Mr. Potter, we have no address.”
“What do you mean, ‘no address’?”
“No address, no contact,” the officer clarified. “It seems he disappeared around the same time his father died...”
“That’s strange,” Harry said, concerned. “He shouldn’t have been able to leave without notifying the Probation Service. Someone messed up.”
He turned to Moran and showed him the cloth-wrapped necklace.
“I’m keeping this.”
And without waiting for a response, he Disapparated.
He landed directly in the office of the Probation Service, causing the secretary to jump.
“Mr. Potter!” the young man exclaimed, recognizing him. “You scared me.”
Harry remained stoic.
“You’re responsible for tracking the residences of former criminals and individuals under surveillance?”
“Yes, that’s me,” the boy said apprehensively.
Harry snatched the file from the desk without hesitation and flipped through it. He held it up to the young man’s face and pointed to the “residence address” field next to the name “Malfoy.”
“So could you explain to me why nothing is filled out in this field?”
The boy paled, and Harry continued:
“Apparently, he calls you every month since it says here that he’s in compliance. Unless you’re lying about that. From where I stand, it looks like you’re hiding a former criminal.”
“No!... No, Mr. Potter, I swear...” the secretary stammered, hands trembling. “He asked me... to make sure no one knew where he lived... but I keep an eye on him, Mr. Potter, I conduct the interviews myself...”
The boy started to blush, and Harry suspected it was out of nervousness.
“I need to talk to him,” he said sharply.
“You’ll find him at the corner of Wadour Street, at the bar ‘The Ship.’ He’s always there. Day or night, he has an apartment above the bar.”
Potter scrutinized the boy for a moment and then turned on his heel.
“Am I going to get into trouble?” the boy whimpered.
Harry didn’t answer and left the Auror offices.
At the Corner of Wadour Street
It was 10 p.m., and Harry stood in front of the bar “The Ship,” at the corner of Wadour Street, just as planned.
He had transformed his Auror coat into a leather jacket to avoid drawing attention, especially to avoid scaring off any potential informants. A hat pulled low over his head concealed his face. He entered the bar.
Given the late hour, he figured a pint wouldn’t hurt. He ordered one and sat at a corner table where he could observe the whole room.
The crowd in the bar, especially those gathered outside, was rough. He recognized a few ex-cons, involved in smuggling dark artifacts, illegal potion dealing, and other crimes.
And Malfoy lived among them, his apartment just above their heads.
Despite this, Harry felt strangely comfortable in this seedy environment. He waited a long time, but it didn’t bother him. He watched the people passing by outside and the customers inside.
Not having to endure the stares of other wizards, he enjoyed this moment of anonymity.
His fame had always brought him trouble—many criticisms at Hogwarts, a lot of expectations during the war, but it had been even worse afterward.
Every gesture and word from the savior were amplified, analyzed, and exploited by his colleagues, the press, or politicians. So outside, he cultivated reserve and a cold professionalism. He had built a wall between himself and others, and only those closest to him had access to his heart.
It had helped him feel better, especially in healing after the war. But now, a certain dullness gnawed at him—a lack of flavor, a boredom with existence. How could a heart so full of victories and sorrows feel so empty? He couldn’t explain it.
He was deep in this inner reflection when he saw Malfoy enter.
No one else would have recognized him. But Harry knew that walk, that silhouette, those movements...
Draco was wearing an outfit Harry never thought he’d see him in: a completely open shirt, low-rise black pants over a nearly emaciated frame, and studded boots. His hair now reached his shoulders.
Draco crossed the bar with the confident stride of someone familiar with the place, oblivious to the stares from the other patrons.
Malfoy’s presence stirred confusing emotions in Harry—terrible moments, brutal confrontations, sharp words, but also precious memories, the taste of his youth, the scent of candles and books, studious and joyful days, the cherished memory of Hogwarts.
But suddenly, Harry stopped breathing when he noticed something on Malfoy’s body that the trained eyes of an Auror could easily recognize: ligature marks on his wrists from more than a week ago, fresh finger marks on his arms and neck, and hickeys at the junction of his neck and shoulders. His pants were worn at the knees, from kneeling on the pavement too often.
Harry Potter swallowed hard. To him, it was clear: Malfoy was prostituting himself.
This realization sent a shockwave through his body. First came denial, then disappointment, and a strange, unfamiliar sensation that twisted his stomach.
Draco whistled to the bartender, leaned over the counter, and handed him a few gold coins.
A man grabbed his shoulder, and Draco flinched before recognizing him. Harry clenched his fists. He watched the exchange, focusing on the hand the stranger had placed on Malfoy’s hip, then on the lustful gaze the man directed at him, scanning him from head to toe. Harry gritted his teeth until his jaw hurt. Malfoy gave the man a charming smile Harry had never seen, and after a few words, he followed the man toward the bar’s back door. Harry abandoned his seat and followed them.
He found them in the dead-end alley behind the bar.
The man had pushed Malfoy against the wall, his face buried in his neck. Draco closed his eyes and parted his lips to let out soft moans, which grew louder as the man’s hands fumbled with his belt.
Harry felt bile rise in his throat, a quiet anger building inside him without knowing why. He summoned his Auror coat and strode toward them, his boots hitting the pavement.
Malfoy opened his eyes, and his gaze locked with Harry’s. He recognized him in an instant, grabbed the man kissing him, and shoved him away with both hands on his shoulders.
“What’s your problem?” the man grumbled, his voice hoarse with impatience.
Malfoy nodded toward Harry.
The man turned and went pale when he saw Harry and his Auror’s coat.
“I swear, it’s the first time I’ve ever done this!” the man whimpered, raising his hands, trying to look innocent.
Malfoy sneered in disgust, shaking his head.
The man had confirmed, unknowingly, that Draco was selling his “services.” And from his demeanor, he was clearly a regular customer.
“I’m not with Vice,” Harry said emotionlessly. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir.”
The man didn’t hesitate and quickly left without looking back.
Malfoy stayed leaning against the wall, impassive, his belt undone, eyes fixed on Harry.
“And here I thought my day couldn’t get any worse,” Draco said, a familiar smirk playing on his full lips.
Harry flinched imperceptibly at the sound of that familiar voice. But he didn’t show it.
“It might,” Harry replied. He pulled the necklace from his pocket and held it out to Malfoy.
Draco hesitated but took it. He examined it, and upon turning it over, he noticed the seal, running his thumb over the familiar engraving.
“We found this at a crime scene,” Harry explained, watching Malfoy closely for any reaction.
Draco lifted his eyes to meet Harry’s, his gaze hard.
“I’ve never seen it before,” he insisted, defensive. “And I don’t have access to the manor or the vaults anymore.”
“We know,” Harry said, his tone calm. “I need to know who your father was dealing with when it came to dark magic objects.”
Malfoy shrugged. One of his shirt sleeves slid down his arm, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Everyone knows it was through Borgin & Burkes in Knockturn Alley.”
“No one else?”
Malfoy thought for a moment but then shook his head.
“No. But it could have been taken from the manor. There were so many people when he made it his headquarters. We had a lot of things stolen: silverware, jewelry, paintings... Anyone could have taken it and sold it.” He raised his head, his expression haughty. “Are you planning to arrest me?”
Harry hesitated. He studied him, taking in his every reaction. He appreciated Malfoy’s presence, even enjoyed his defiance—so different from the deference every other wizard seemed to give him.
“No, I just needed to question you,” he finally replied.
“I suppose I can’t keep it?” Malfoy asked, motioning toward the necklace.
Harry shook his head.
“Evidence.”
“Shame,” Draco said with a disappointed smile, handing back the necklace. “It must be worth a small fortune.”
A car slowed down and stopped at the entrance to the street. Malfoy straightened suddenly, alert.
“Do you have any other questions?” he asked hurriedly. But he didn’t wait for a response and started toward the car... toward the tall man in a business suit who had just stepped out, smiling as if he’d been waiting for him.
As he passed Harry, Malfoy mimicked tipping an imaginary hat.
“Well, goodnight, Potter. Here’s hoping I never see you again.”
But suddenly, Harry grabbed his arm, stopping him with an iron grip. His fingers dug into Draco’s flesh, hard enough to hurt.
“How much?” he asked coldly.
Malfoy paled, his eyes glistening.
“Excuse me?”
“For the night. How much?” Harry’s voice was harsh, his gaze burning.
Draco parted his lips, letting out a short, desperate, disgusted sound.
“You’re sick.”
“You don’t have to go,” Harry said, pulling the boy closer, his breath brushing Draco’s cheek. “I won’t touch you, I swear…”
He was lying... He knew it the moment the words left his mouth.
And Malfoy knew it too.
He jerked back violently, breaking free of Harry’s hold.
“Go to hell, Potter!” Draco spat with disappointment before heading down the street toward the car.
The man had taken a few steps toward them, glaring at Harry. When Draco reached him, he murmured something, but Malfoy shook his head and climbed into the car. The man cast one last look at Harry, then got into the driver’s seat and pulled away.
Unmoving, Harry watched them disappear.
An instant later, he Disapparated and reappeared in the hallway of 12 Grimmauld Place.
Floating in front of his eyes was a message. It was from Ginny, reminding him that she’d be returning from her Quidditch tour in two days. And that she loved him.
Harry caught the note and set it on the small table beside the house keys. These simple actions, usually routine, now felt unfamiliar. He had an odd sensation as he stepped into the familiar house, as if he didn’t recognize it.
It took him a moment to realize that it wasn’t his home that felt foreign. It was himself.
For the first time in a very long while, he didn’t feel empty. He burned. He was alive.
Savoring the feeling, Harry took a deep breath and leaned back against the door, still clutching the necklace bearing the Malfoy seal in his hand.
He knew. He knew that tomorrow, he would return to the corner of Wadour Street.
End of Chapter 1
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