Auror Harry announced to the warders who were guarding the door and he entered the apartment. A cozy and finely decorated place, with clear paper, radiant paintings and fresh flowers in bluish vases. As soon as he arrived in the corridor, a young Auror came to meet him.
- It's in the bedroom, at the bottom right. It is not beautiful to see.
He walked down the hall with his slow, measured pace, aware of the looks that all the officers were putting on him. He arrived in the room, and the charm of the apartment was broken. A man was lying on his back, in the bed, half of the body protruding from the mattress, his head with rolled eyes almost touching the ground. His blood stained the sheets, the headboard and the wall. His body was lacerated. A carnage.
He saw Auror Moran, chief of the operation, giving instructions to the investigative aurors. When he saw Potter, he came to him immediately to greet him.
- Auror Potter, thank you for coming so fast.
"It's a murder," Harry said coldly, watching the scene. Why did you contact my service?
"Because of the motive," replied Moran, turning to the extended body. "Apparently the young woman killed her husband in an excess of madness, after breaking the spell."
Harry nodded and approached the bed to get around it. He was watching the wedding photographies on the nightstand, and on the dressing table. The dead man was smiling, wearing a gray-blue suit, at his side a pretty brunette woman, who looked 20 years younger than him.
- The enchantment? he asked, scrutinizing the beaming face of the bride. She was possessed?
- Yes, apparently for years, probably since she met him at the university. She was a student in divination, he was her teacher ... She was examined, it's a charm, similar to the filter of love, caused by this...
The chief officer presented an object in a dark handkerchief. Harry took it, unfolded the fabric and found a necklace. An emerald, beautiful, set in a silver mount dotted with gold threads. The young woman wore this necklace on the wedding photos exposed throughout the room. Harry turned it in his hand and his breathing stopped. On the back of the jewel, marked in silver, shone the seal of Malfoy.
"Her husband prevented her from removing it and keeping her under his control," explained Moran, whose voice betrayed sadness. "We searched everywhere but no receipt or index of its source. We do not know how the victim got it, nor since when. This man did not have the abilities to create such a spell. It is an object imbued with dark magic. Only a dark wizard would be able to do it. That's the reason you are here."
Harry frowned, closed the handkerchief and put the jewel in the pocket of his long Auror coat.
"We need to question Malfoy," Harry said. He motioned for a young officer to approach.
- Lucius Malfoy died in Azkaban 6 months ago, the officer Moran said, his wife...
"Interned in a psychiatric hospital and mute, I know," Harry replied. "I'm talking about their son." He spoke 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 does not live at the Manor? Moran asks.
"The manor was taken from them," Potter explained, walking up and down the room. Seals were laid and their accounts closed after their trial. Order of justice.
He paused when the young officer came back.
- Mr. Potter, we do not have an address.
- "No address" you say?
- "No address, no contact, said the officer. He seems to have disappeared almost at the same time as the death of his father...
"It's strange, said Harry, anxious. He should not have been able to leave without notifying the Probations Department. Someone has screwed up. He turned to Moran and showed him the fabric containing the necklace. "I keep this".
And without waiting for an answer, he shifted.
He landed directly in the office of the Probations Department, and the secretary screamed.
- Mr. Potter! said the young man, recognizing him. You scared me.
Harry remained of marble.
- It is you who will take care of listing the places of residence of former criminals and persons to watch.
- Yes it's me, said the boy apprehensively.
Harry took the file from the boy's desk without warning and flipped through it. He placed it under the young man's nose and pointed to the "address of residence" box next to the "Malfoy" name.
- Then could you explain to me why nothing is noted on the file in this box?
The boy turned pale and Harry continued:
"Apparently he's calling you every month, because here, it says he's in good standing. Unless you lie about it. From my point of view, it seems like you are hiding a former criminal.
- No! No, Mr. Potter, I swear to you ..." the secretary began, his hands shaking. "He asked me ... to make sure nobody know where he lives ... but I'm watching him Mr. Potter, I'm doing the interviews myself ...
The guy blushed, and Harry thought it was nervousness.
"I need to talk to him," he said curtly.
"You'll find him, at the corner of Wadour Street, at The Ship Bar, he's always there. Day or night. He has an apartment above the bar.
Potter watched the boy for a moment and turned on his heels.
- I'm having trouble? the boy asked behind him.
Harry did not answer and leave the Auror's office.
At the corner of Wadour Street.
It was 10 pm and Harry was in front of the bar "The Ship", at the corner of Wadour Street.
He had turned his Auror coat into a leather jacket so as not to attract attention and especially not to scare away witness. A hat hid his too famous face. He entered the bar.
The hour was well advanced, he told himself that a pint would be welcome. He ordered one and sat down at one of the corner tables to get an overview of the room.
The crowd that populated the bar and especially the outside path was bad. He recognized some criminals, for trafficking in evil things, smugglers of potions and other misdeeds.
And Malfoy lived among them, his apartment just above their heads.
Harry felt comfortable in the middle of this fauna. He waited a long time, but that did not bother him. He watched the passers-by outside and the customers inside.
No longer needing to support the eyes of other wizards, he appreciated this moment of anonymity.
His celebrity had always brought him trouble, a lot of criticism at Hogwarts, a lot of hope during the war, but it had been worse afterwards.
Every gesture and every word of the savior was amplified, analyzed, exploited, by his collaborators, by the press, or by the politicians.
So, outside, he cultivated the reserve, and a cold professionalism. He had erected a wall between himself and the others and only his relatives had access to his heart.
It had helped him feel better, especially to heal after the war. But a languor was pulling him today, the lack of flavors, a boredom of existence. How could a heart so full of victories and sufferings be so empty? He could explain it. Only live with it.
He was immersed in this inner contemplation when he saw Malfoy enter.
Another man would probably not have recognized him. But he knew too much of his approach, his silhouette, his movements ...
Draco wore an outfit that he would never have thought to see him wearing: shirt completely open, black pants very low waist on a nearly hungry shape, boots studded. His hair was now coming to his shoulders.
Draco crossed the bar of the assured step of the one who knows the place, blind to the looks that the customers were sending him.
Malfoy's presence awakened in Harry confused feelings; terrible moments, brutal confrontations, harsh words but also precious moments, the flavor of his youth, the smell of candles and books, studious and joyful days, the cherish remembrance of Hogwarts.
But suddenly, Harry stopped breathing when he saw on Malfoy's body, marks that the auror's eyes could easily analyze: traces of ligatures on wrists dating back more than a week, finger marks on the arms and the more recent gorges suck at the junction of the neck and shoulders. The pants were worn at the knees by rubbing the pavement.
Harry Potter swallowed. For him, it was clear, Malfoy was a prostitute.
This revelation caused a wave throughout his body. First the denial, then the disappointment and a diffuse and unknown sensation that twisted his stomach.
Draco called the barman with a light whistle, leaned over the counter of the bar and gave him some gold coins.
A man grabbed his shoulder and Draco jumped before recognizing the guy.
Harry clenched his fists. He watched the exchange, focusing his attention on the hand that the stranger had placed on Malfoy's hip, then on the look of desire he had on the boy, scrutinizing him from the bottom up.
Harry clenched his teeth and his jaw ached. Malfoy gave him a charming smile that Harry had never seen and after a few words he followed the guy who was taking him to the back door of the establishment. Harry gave up his place and followed them.
He found them in the endless alley behind the bar.
The guy had pushed Malfoy against the wall, his face buried against his neck, kiss his flesh. Draco closed his eyes and opened his lips to let out groans, which swelled when the guy's hands attacked his belt.
Harry felt the bile rising to his lips, a dull rage mounted in him without him understanding the cause. He made his auror coat reappear and advanced towards them, striking the pavement of his boots.
Malfoy opened his eyes and saw green eyes he knew too well. He recognized him immediately, grabbed the guy who kissed him and tore him from his body, both hands on his shoulders.
- What's the matter with you? the guy whispered, his voice rippled and impatient.
Malfoy was looking behind them and the guy turned around. He went pale when he saw Harry and the aurora cloak.
- I swear it's the first time I do that! he said, raising his hands, innocent.
Malfoy smirked at these words, shaking his head disdainfully.
The guy confirmed in spite of himself that Draco was selling "himself". And in view of his attitude towards him, he was clearly a regular.
"I don't work for the vile teams" Harry said without emotion. "I'm going to ask you to leave, sir."
The guy did not hesitate and left quickly without looking back.
Malfoy leaned against the wall, impassive, his belt still opened, his eyes focused on Harry.
"And I thought my day could not be worse," he said, a familiar grin on his full lips.
Harry flinched imperceptibly at the sound of the familiar voice. But he did not let anything appear.
"It may be getting worse," he said. He took the collar from his pocket and handed it to Malfoy.
Draco hesitated and took it. He looked at it and then turned it over, he saw the seal and thumbed on the familiar engraving.
"It was found on a murder scene," Harry explained, scrutinizing Malfoy's reactions.
The boy looked up at him, his eyes hard.
"I've never seen it," he said defensively. And I no longer have access to the manor or my vaults.
"I know that," Harry said soothingly. I need to know who your father was furbishing his dark magic pieces.
Malfoy shrugged. A sleeve of his open shirt fell on his arm but he did not seem to notice.
- Everyone knows it was Borgin & Bott's in Knockturn Alley.
- Nobody else?
Malfoy thought but shook his head.
- No. But it may have been taken to the manor. There were so many people there when HE made it his headquarters. A lot of things were robbed: silverware, jewelry, paintings ... Anyone could steal it and sell it. He looked up at Harry, looking haughty. "You want to arrest me?"
Harry hesitated. He watched him. He drank his reactions, appreciated his presence. He even liked that defiant attitude towards him, so different from the deference that all wizards seemed to give him.
- No, I just had to question you, he finally said.
- I guess I cannot keep it? Malfoy asks, showing the necklace.
Harry shook his head.
- Exhibit.
"Too bad," Draco said in a disappointed smile as he returned the jewel."It must be worth a small fortune."
A car slowed down and stopped at the entrance to the street. Malfoy straightened up suddenly, alert.
- Do you have any other questions to ask me? he asked in a hurry. But he did not wait for the answer and without waiting, he was heading for the car, to the tall guy in a business suit who had just come out and seemed to be waiting for him, a smile on his lips.
Passing by Harry's side, Malfoy pretended to greet him with an imaginary hat.
"So good evening, Potter. Looking forward to not seeing each other again."
But suddenly Harry grabbed his arm and stopped him in an iron grip. He sank his fingers into the flesh, hurting him.
- How much? he asked, cold.
Malfoy turned pale, eyes shining.
- What?
- For the night, how much? Harry said, his voice hard, his eyes burning.
Draco opened his lips and let out a short, desperate, disgusted breath.
- Are you mad?!
"You don't have to go," Harry said, pulling the boy toward him, his breath on his cheek. I will not touch you, I swear...
He was lying... he knew from the moment the words passed his lips that he was lying.
And Malfoy knew it too.
He pulled back violently to pull away from his embrace, forcing Harry to let him go.
- Fuck you Potter! he said with disappointment before running to the car down the street.
The guy had taken a few steps towards them and looked at Harry with a dark look. When Draco came up to him, he whispered something but Malfoy shook his head and got into the car. The guy took one last look at Harry, then got in the driver's seat and started.
Impassive, Potter watched them go away.
The next moment, he apparated and found himself in the corridor of Grimmault.
Before his eyes, a word floated in the air. It was a message from Ginny reminding her that she would be returning from her Quidditch tour in two days. And that she loved him.
Harry grabbed the message and put it on the small table next to his keys.
His gestures, though usual, seemed unknown to him. He felt a strange sensation as he entered this familiar place, as if he did not recognize the place.
It took him a moment to understand that it was not his house that was foreign to him, it was himself.
For the first time, for a long time, he did not feel empty. He was burning. He was alive.
Savoring this feeling, Harry took a deep breath and leaned his back against the door, still clutching the Malfoy seal's collar in his hand.
He knew. He knew that tomorrow he would return to the corner of Wadour Street.
End ... or should I continue?
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