~CHAPTER 10~

Gone

Harry had a hard time breathing as icy emptiness brimmed over in his chest and a heavy weight settled in his stomach. What on earth had just happened? After the night they'd spent together, full of promises and brilliant perspectives for the future, everything had crumpled in an instant around something that was at best a massive misunderstanding.

He was rooted into place, his eyes roaming Draco's room as he pondered on the next thing to do. Draco's words had hurt, opening wounds that had never really closed after the war. Everything Draco had said, Harry wished they were wrong, but they weren't. Draco was right: nobody really trusted former Death Eaters or suspected Voldemort sympathisers. And for good reason.

But Draco wasn't his father. Draco hadn't been able to kill Dumbledore, he had never found joy in torturing other people, whereas Lucius… Lucius was a whole different story. And even if the man was the father of the person Harry was in love with, Harry would never be able to trust him.

But that didn't mean he didn't trust Draco. Because he did. He'd trust him with his life.

He let out a low sigh and closed his eyes briefly.

Going after Draco wouldn't do anything: Draco was far too angry with him to listen to whatever explanation Harry had for him. He knew Draco enough to know not to push him. No. There would be no point in running after him. That left Harry with two options: staying here at the manor to fulfil his duty and protect Lucius, or going back to his office and try to find a link between the three victims.

After what had happened over breakfast, Harry didn't feel enthusiastic at the idea of staying a moment longer at the Manor. On top of that, it would be much easier for him to find information in the archives room of the Ministry rather than having to wait for someone to send him documents via owl.

In the end, the decision was easy to make. He went back to his room using the Track-Me-Down spell, focusing all his energy on the case, pushing all thoughts of Draco away for now.

He stuffed what little clothing he had brought with him in his duffel bag and put it on his shoulder, not even bothering to Shrink it. He closed the door to the small room he had not even slept in and walked through the dark corridors. He was almost at the front door when a familiar voice called after him.

"Are you already leaving us, Mr Potter?" Narcissa asked in a soft voice.

Harry turned around to face her, her blue eyes piercing as she scrutinised Harry.

"I, er…" Harry started, unsure of what to say. He scratched his head. "Yes."

She tilted her head slightly to the side and looked deep in his eyes. "My son has a strong personality, and he can be stubborn at times," she said. "But his tantrums are often short-lived and he knows how to listen."

"Thanks, Mrs Malfoy. I'll…" Harry pulled his bag back up on his shoulder. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Please." She put a surprisingly warm hand on his arm. "I believe the two of you are good to each other. Please give my son time. Do not give up on him just yet."

Harry nodded. "I won't. I'll do my best, I promise."

"Good." There was a ghost of a smile on her lips as she kept her eyes fixated in his before she let go of him.

"Do you…" Harry hesitated, shuffling his feet. "Do you know where he's gone?"

"He doesn't wish me to tell you."

"Okay," Harry said in a breath, a stab of something painful coiling in his gut at the thought.

"However." Harry lifted his head and hated the spark of hope that rose inside him at the word. "I showed him something that seemed to be of great interest to him regarding the case you two are currently working on."

Harry's curiosity was piqued as he let go of his bag. It fell to the floor with a soft thud. "What is it?"

"A few days ago, Vera gave me a pot of cream, telling me it had properties my husband might find of interest." Harry's heart beat faster at her words. "When I handed it to my son earlier, he looked beyond himself with excitement and asked me if he could bring it back to what he calls his 'lab,' whatever that is."

"Mrs Malfoy," Harry said, trying to tame the surge of excitement that rose from his stomach and made his voice tremble a little. "What did the container of the cream look like?"

"Oh, it is a rather simple design. Just a wooden round pot with the picture of a Devil's Snare on it."

Harry's heart thrummed so hard in his chest he was sure Narcissa could hear it. "Do you know where Mrs Crabbe got it?"

Narcissa shook her head. "I am afraid I do not have this information."

"That's okay," Harry said hastily, curling his fingers around the handle of his bag again, and lifted it to his shoulder. "Thank you for your help, it is very precious."

"You are most welcome, Mr Potter." She turned back from where she'd come, but paused at the corner of the corridor, resting a delicate hand on the wall. She turned to look at Harry one more time. "And please remember what I told you about my son."

"I will."

She smiled at him one last time and then she was gone.

Change of plans, then. Harry would first go to Grimmauld Place, hoping against hope that Draco would be willing to put their fight aside to focus on the case.

Harry went through the gates of Malfoy manor without difficulty, silently thanking Narcissa for letting him out. The new information she'd just given him was changing the game.

The poison was in the Devil's Snare pot, Harry was now sure of it. Draco hadn't been able to analyse the contents of the one they'd found at Jugson's because it had been empty, but now, they had a very fresh lead. Harry's trepidation was huge as he entered the dark hallway of Grimmauld Place, not even paying attention to Mrs Black when she yelled her welcome at him.

He rushed to Draco's lab, but disappointment soared through him at Draco's absence from the room. Harry raised his wand and whispered an unconvinced "Homenium Revelio," but nothing happened. The house was empty.

Harry had missed Draco, but not by long. Thick steam still emanated from the pewter cauldron at the other end of the table, and right next to it was the wooden pot with the cream in it. Harry unscrewed the lid and brought it to his nose absentmindedly. The smell of the cream, much more potent now than when Harry had smelt it from the empty pot, once again rushed through his nostrils. He knew that scent, he was sure of it. He'd smelt it somewhere. But where?

He put the pot back onto the table, and his eyes stopped on a piece of parchment resting on an open book. Draco's scribble was hasty, and in some places, the ink hadn't even had time to dry up. Draco had left mere moments before Harry had arrived.

Harry's heartbeat increased ten-fold as he read the words Draco had written:

Lethal ingredient: Indijin Ants venom. And right next to it, underlined three times: Ask Mrs Devon.

So, that was where Draco was, then. The first impulse had Harry want to follow Draco and question Mrs Devon again, but that wouldn't be really helpful. Draco knew what he was doing—he was a very good Auror after all—and he didn't need Harry for that.

Harry discarded the piece of paper on the side and focused on the book beneath, opened on a page related to the Indijin Ants venom and its characteristics. Harry skimmed over it, ignoring the text to focus only on what Draco had circled with his quill. Harry took the book in his hands and read: The Indijin Ants have many common points with the regular species that can be found in northern Europe. Like their European cousins, they are eusocial insects forming colonies built around division of labour, communication between individuals, and the ability to solve complex problems.

Harry moved to the next circled passage. The Indijin Ants are not as strong as the common ants, in part due to the fact that they're a mutating species that appeared over the past fifty years. Therefore, they are more sensitive to changes and are easier to disturb. If danger arises, the Indijin Ants tend to flee and hide… "No shit," Harry muttered, remembering how he'd spent a whole afternoon on all fours chasing the bloody insects. The Indijin Ants are particularly afraid of fire. However, if threatened or enjoined to fight, they might attack, their venom first paralysing their prey before gradually poisoning its blood leading to a certain death under an hour if nothing is done to counter its effects."

He skipped the rest in favour of the last circled passage. "Known side-effects of the venom include loss of appetite, depressive behaviour, swelling of the upper respiratory tracts leading to breathing problems and a modification of the tissues of the skin, including, in the deadliest cases, the appearance of a small green mark on the victim's ankle." Harry couldn't believe how everything fell in place so perfectly. He read on. "However, the effects are not limited to the victims. Precautions must be taken by the brewer to avoid irreversible effects, the most notable of them being the creation of an indelible mark turning the brewer's fingertips black as coal."

Black fingertips.

Harry closed his eyes. He had seen them somewhere, recently even, but no matter how hard he tried to place them, he couldn't think of anything relevant right now. He shook his head and discarded the book on the table.

He wasn't of any use here and should instead go back to the Ministry. He Flooed directly to the Atrium—that wasn't as busy as it was on weekdays even if it was still buzzing with people. His mind was reeling as he made his way down to the archives room. It was a very large room, barely lit by a few gas lamps hung on either side of it that cast long shadows on the endless rows of shelves holding all the archives of the DMLE.

The room could be overwhelming for someone who wasn't used to its functioning, but Harry knew it by heart, and he easily made his way through the rows of archives. He found what he had been looking for in aisle F-203, the restricted section where all the classified information about the war was kept.

Harry took a moment to think clearly. The murderer targeted Death Eaters. He or she made a lethal cream that former Death Eaters would use to erase their Mark. Harry could see the irony in that. And also something of a motive... The murderer probably sought revenge. A personal affair, then? Maybe he or she looked to avenge someone who had died because of those Death Eaters?

Harry placed his wand against the shelf and lifted the wards. He selected a few volumes that were all related to either the Second Wizarding War or the Death Eaters.

So far, there were three victims: Jugson, Crabbe and Avery, all of them faithful Voldemort followers. All of them, Harry had already met on several occasions: at the graveyard where Cedric had died, during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries and of course, during the final battle at Hogwarts.

That wasn't much to go from, but Harry decided to go for it. He whispered, 'Mobiliarbus!' and the heavy volumes of archives rose about a foot in the air and followed him all the way up to his office. When he pushed the door open, a small part of him expected to see Draco working at his desk, but no. Draco wasn't there, and Harry tried not to let disappointment overwhelm him as he discarded his scarlet robes in a heap on the sofa.

He set to work on the floor of their office, where he would have more space, carefully displaying the files of the three victims he kept on him at all times. He had looked at them so much that he knew them by heart and therefore, they didn't offer him any more information than he already had.

He went through the heavy volumes of archives he'd brought up with him next. He combed through every single event related to Voldemort since his return, patiently reading each and every piece of information he found about the victims. After about an hour, Harry stood up, his numb limbs not as cooperative as he would have liked them to be as he struggled to keep his balance. His eyes were burning from the thousands of words he had skimmed over and he rubbed them under his glasses.

This was leading him nowhere. He did find information related to the three victims, but nothing stood out. He sighed as he cast a fleeting glance at Draco's desk. Despite their heated argument in Draco's room, he wished Draco were here with him. He brought his wrist closer to his face and for the umpteenth time this morning, tapped his wand on it, hoping to see Draco's face appear on Ron's watch. But nothing: the line was dead.

He was about to go and get tea to clear his mind when something caught his eye. It was amongst the pile of articles Harry had dismissed but where before he hadn't seen anything worthy of interest, a small caption he had missed caught his attention. He sat on the floor again and grabbed the book. The small caption came from an article from the Prophet.

"'TRAGIC DEMISE OF MINISTRY OF MAGIC WORKER'' Harry read the title in bold letters before he avidly started reading the article.

"St. Mungo's Hospital promised a full inquiry last night after Ministry of Magic worker Broderick Bode, 49, was discovered dead in his bed, strangled by a potted-plant." Harry paused and lifted his head, but Draco wasn't here to communicate—non-verbally or not—with him right now.

He sighed and read on. "Healers called to the scene were unable to revive Mr Bode, who had been injured in a workplace accident some weeks prior to his death. Healer Miriam Strout, who was in charge of Mr Bode's ward at the time of the incident, has been suspended on full pay and was unavailable for comment yesterday, but a spokeswizard for the hospital said in a statement, "St. Mungo's deeply regrets the death of Mr Bode, whose health was improving steadily prior to this tragic accident. We have strict guidelines on the decorations permitted on our wards but it appears that Healer Strout, busy over the Christmas period, overlooked the dangers of the plant on Mr Bode's bedside table. As his speech and mobility improved, Healer Strout encouraged Mr Bode to look after the plant himself, unaware that it was not an innocent Flitterbloom, but a cutting of Devil's Snare—" Harry's eyes widened and his heart-rate increased significantly. "—which, when touched by the convalescent Mr Bode, throttled him instantly. St. Mungo's is as yet unable to account for the presence of the plant on the ward and asks any witch or wizard with information to come forward. A celebration of life service will be held in St Mungo's at 11:30am on January 12th, with interment to follow at Highgate Cemetery, London. Friends and family only."

Harry let go of the article, his hands trembling in excitement. Devil's Snare. The plant that was on the pot of cream.

This wasn't a coincidence. He Summoned a piece of parchment from his desk and wrote down the words:

Jugson - Avery - Crabbe.

Green tinge. Black fingertips.

Devil's Snare.

Broderick Bode.

Were the three victims linked to Unspeakable Bode's death in some way or another? He searched frantically through the different volumes he had brought up from the Archives room, using the Scarpin's Revelaspell on them to retrieve only what was related to Broderick Bode.

He soon found himself with four books opened on various articles related to Bode. He read them avidly, but couldn't find anything interesting: they merely recounted Bode's exploits as an Unspeakable, but his death remained relatively obscure, having been regarded as a tragic accident. At the time, the Ministry had other fish to fry, so the case had been closed without much ceremony.

Harry stared at the mess in front of him. Despite spending the whole morning on the case, he had not progressed significantly. And he still hadn't heard of Draco. Uneasiness slowly made its way in his body. Like Narcissa had said, Draco's tantrums were usually short-lived. And it had been about three hours…

He raked his fingers nervously in his hair, pacing the room as he tried to focus on the case again and find the missing link in all that. Bode's death. Somehow Harry was sure it all came back to him. He remembered the sinister Unspeakable he had met in the lift of the Ministry as Arthur Weasley brought him to his hearing back in fifth year. And he also remembered seeing him later that year, probably days before his death, when he, Ron and Hermione had visited Arthur Weasley after Nagini's attack in the Hall of Prophecies.

Arthur Weasley.

That was it! Arthur Weasley had been friends with Bode, so maybe he could tell him something Harry couldn't find in formal Ministry files? It wasn't much, but it was worth a try.

He grabbed his robes on the sofa and slammed the door of their office.

It had been ten years since Arthur's promotion as the Head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. At the time, Harry had been suspicious as to Scrimgeour's real motivations behind Arthur's appointment, but his skills left no doubt on the fact that he was the perfect person to do the job.

Harry knocked gently on Arthur's door and was welcomed by a warm, "Come in!" that made Harry feel instantly better. The smile on Arthur's face widened at the sight of Harry as he closed the door behind him.

"Harry!" Arthur stood, rubbing his palms on his trousers before rounding his desk and taking Harry into a warm hug. "It's so nice of you to come and say hello! Please take a seat."

"Thanks." Harry sat in one of the two comfy chairs that faced Arthur's desk. Harry had always loved Arthur's office: it was of course similar to those of the various Heads of Departments of the Ministry in its architecture, but none of them looked like it. The room was filled with various Muggle objects—from board games to packs of chewing gum to enormous Muggle appliances (among them a Muggle fridge with the Union flag painted on its door occupied one of the corners of the room.) It reminded Harry of Arthur's garage back at the Burrow, even wilder still, since Mrs Weasley wasn't around to contain her husband's enthusiasm for everything Muggle.

Arthur's desk was as encumbered with Muggle artefacts as the rest of the room, including a bunch of little metallic cars that Harry had craved at one point when he had been a child—the ones that would move on their own after a little friction was applied to them.

"So, what brings you here, Harry?"

Harry leaned back in his chair and took a breath. "I need to know about a former colleague of yours." Arthur raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, resting his elbows on what little space was left on his desk. "Broderick Bode. It's for a case."

"Brodie…" Arthur trailed off, a frown forming a cleft between his eyes. "It's been a while since I've heard him mentioned." He cleared his voice. "You do know he's dead?"

"Yes." Harry nodded. "Of course, yes."

"What can I help you with, then?"

Harry told him about their current case and the three Death Eaters that had been found dead over the past days. Arthur listened attentively, nodding in several places and reacting to what Harry told him.

"So," Harry finished. "I suspect these deaths are linked with Bode's death."

"All right, let me think for a moment. It's been ten years, so it's been a while, and if you remember well, I wasn't at my best at the time."

Harry smiled. "Indeed."

Arthur took one of the little cars and rubbed it on the blotter of his desk absentmindedly, the creaking sound of the gears distracting Harry. "Ah, yes. That's it." Arthur let go of the car that bolted at once and raced across his desk before crashing onto the thick carpet, its wheels still spinning in the air. "Bode had been used by Voldemort at the time when he wanted to get the Prophecy."

"Yes," Harry confirmed. "Voldemort had tried to put his hands on it, without much success."

"Indeed. And do you know what was their first attempt?"

"No?"

A small smile graced Arthur's features. "Dear old Malfoy had Imperiused Brodie to have him get the Prophecy for him."

"Lucius?"

Arthur shrugged. "Oh yes. Although I've heard that it wasn't his idea in the first place."

"True," Harry replied. "It was Avery's."

"Trying to get back into Voldemort's good graces, absolutely." Arthur smiled. "But dear Lucius outranked him, I imagine."

"Do you know what happened then?"

"Well, the attempt failed, and Voldemort punished Avery. It didn't stop him from trying again a few weeks later, by—"

"Breaking into the Department of Mysteries. Yeah, I remember it well." Harry managed to stop the clenching in his heart when he thought about Sirius, killed by Bellatrix on that terrible day. "But what became of Bode after the first failed attempt?"

"Bode resisted the Imperius curse, although if I remember well, when he touched the orb, the defensive spells around it triggered—as prophecies can only be obtained by those about which they are made. Bode suffered spell damage that affected his mind, although the shock of it lifted the Imperius Curse."

"And he was then taken to St Mungo's…" Harry said again.

Arthur bit his lips. "At first, he was making progress."

"Until one day," Harry muttered. "Someone offered him a Devil's Snare in disguise and it throttled him in his sleep."

Arthur nodded. "Precisely."

"And the perpetrators were never found?"

"No. The death was ruled as accidental and the case closed shortly after."

Harry leaned back in his chair, his fingers playing with the invisible watch. "Did he have family? Bode?"

"Well, he had a partner."

"A partner?"

"Yes."

Harry frowned at the slight reddening on Arthur's face and the way he avoided his eyes. "Oh. You mean, a male partner?"

Arthur looked at Harry again. "Yes." The Weasleys were among the first people Harry had told he was gay, and of course, they knew about Charlie as well—even if they didn't know what had happened between Harry and their son that summer—they still had a hard time discussing the matter around Harry. Although Harry wasn't sure it was completely due to his sexuality, or rather a form of some sort of parental shyness on the subject.

"Did you know him? Bode's partner?"

"Not really. I think he was a Healer or something. I saw him once when Brodie was buried. He was inconsolable of course, and I think he moved out of the country shortly after."

"Do you remember his name?"

Arthur shook his head. "No, sorry."

"Okay." Harry stood up. "Thank you very much, that was enlightening," he said, shaking Arthur's hand. His heart jumped in his chest as the mirror on the watch turned into Ron's face.

"Harry?" Ron called through the watch.

"How come you can reach me? Is Draco with you? Is this his watch?"

"Malfoy?" Ron looked behind him and Harry recognised Ron's office at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. "Oh, no. This is another prototype. I've just connected it to your watch."

"Right." Disappointment washed over Harry. "What's up, mate?"

"I found something that might be of interest to you. Are you busy or could you come over now?"

"Now's fine." Harry lifted his eyes to Arthur. "I'm with your dad, by the way."

"Tell him I say hi," Arthur said.

"Dad, you know I can hear you, I've already explained it to you."

"Ah yes, of course." Arthur smiled. "I tend to forget."

"Well why don't the two of you come over and have lunch with me here?"

"Okay," Harry said.

"Dad?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," Arthur replied, hesitating. "I have this file I—"

"Dad," Ron said. "You haven't been to the shop in ages. I'm almost sure you haven't stepped a foot since the beginning of the year."

"All right, then." Arthur smiled.

"Good," Ron said again. "I'll go and get sandwiches, then. See you soon."

Ten minutes later, Arthur and Harry made their way inside the shop that was rather crowded, like every Saturday. Unidentified objects flew over their heads, as a couple of little boys marvelled at the animated vending machine of the Puking Pastilles's stand. They made their way through the shop, waving at George who was busy with a couple of customers in the Muggle Magic Tricks section before they joined Ron in his office.

"Hey," Harry said as he entered the room, followed closely by Arthur.

"Hi Harry," Ron said, sitting at his desk. "Dad."

"How are you, son?"

Harry and Arthur sat in the chairs on the other side of the desk. "So, why did you call me?" Harry asked as he bit into his sandwich.

"I have something to show you," Ron replied, his mouth full of bread that he swallowed in haste. "You remember when I told you yesterday that I had troubles with the numbers not adding up properly?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, I found where the problem came from." He looked up at Harry. "And you were right. It was Frank."

"Frank?"

"Yes. I went through all the orders for the De-Ageing creams over the past six months. Look at the charts." Ron handed him a piece of parchment. "The first couple of months, nothing special happened, but it changed over the past three months when Frank was in charge of the orders."

Indeed, Frank apparently placed orders for more creams that usual, not enough to raise suspicion though, but enough to bring confusion.

"Does it coincide with Frank's arrival at the shop?" Harry asked.

"Not exactly", Ron replied. "Frank was hired five months ago."

"He could've waited a little though, testing the waters before taking the plunge."

"But why?" Ron asked. "Why would he do that? Why steal a handful of De-Ageing creams every month?"

"Oh my God." Harry slumped back in his chair and hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. "I can't believe…" He turned to Ron. "What if he used the De-Ageing creams and mixed them with the Ants' venom?"

"I'm sorry, mate, but you're not making much sense right now."

Harry ignored him and stood. "Where is he now? Frank? I need to check something."

"I have no idea." Ron shrugged. "He didn't show up today. That's also why I've called you."

"Do you—" Harry froze as his eyes fell on the pictures behind Ron's desk. He jumped out of his seat and rushed to the pictures, his eyes roaming along Frank's hands, up to his fingers. "There!" he said triumphantly. "I knew I had seen them somewhere!"

"What?" Ron squinted his eyes in an effort to see what Harry was talking about.

"Look at his fingertips," Harry said again excitedly. "They're deep black!"

"And?" Ron scratched his head as his father joined them behind the desk.

"This morning Draco found out that the lethal cream responsible for the victim's death contained Indijin Ants venom. And one of the side effects of the venom is to leave a black mark on the brewer's fingertips."

"Shit." Ron said as he slumped back into his chair. "I can't believe it. Frank? A murderer? But why?"

"I think I have the answer to that question," said Arthur, his face so pale Harry was afraid he would collapse any time.

"What? What is it?"

Arthur bit his lips. "This is Frank Leonard. He was Broderick Bode's partner."

Arthur's words were like a bombshell. It set Harry into motion.

"Okay." Harry closed his eyes and pressed his fingers on each one of his temples. "Let's get things straight." He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, letting his arms go down. He started pacing the small room, his hands on his back. "Broderick Bode was killed by a bunch of Death Eaters who sent him a Devil's Snare plant that strangled him after their plans to Imperius him to retrieve the prophecy had failed."

Harry stopped in his tracks and took a look at Ron and Arthur who were both listening intently.

"Continue," said Ron.

"Right. So Frank, Bode's partner, was inconsolable. He was a Healer, you said?" Harry asked Arthur who nodded. Do you know what his speciality was?"

"No. Sorry."

"That's fine. So, after Bode's death, you said that Frank left England."

"Where he resurfaced a few months ago," Ron said.

"On the tenth anniversary of Bode's death." Harry exhaled as he rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "Wow. That's one hell of a long time for a revenge."

"Wait. I wasn't the one to hire him, but I'm sure George has his resume somewhere." Ron ran his fingers on colourful files neatly organised on the nearest shelf. Harry had often wondered if Hermione's sense of organisation had rubbed off on Ron or if she was the one responsible for the filing. "There!" he said triumphantly.

Harry grabbed the paper from Ron and started reading it. "Oh my God."

"What?" Ron asked.

"Guess where he used to work at St Mungo's?"

"No idea."

"The Third floor: the Potions and Plant Poisoning Department." Harry looked at Ron and his father. "He had an E in Potions for his NEWTs, look, it's right there!"

"Bloody hell," Ron said. "I can't believe we hired someone like him."

"I need to go back to the Ministry right away," Harry said, voice filled with tension. "I'll issue a warrant to find Frank and in the meantime, I'll search his past."

Harry barely had time to acknowledge the fact that he still hadn't heard from Draco that he ran to the archives room for the second time that day. He had a name, finally, after all this time. And he was going to make the most of it.

"Come on," he muttered to the shelves scanning for the information he was looking for. "It shouldn't be that hard."

His foot tapped impatiently on the floor as rows and rows of shelves moved in harmony. From time to time, the shelves expelled a file that fell on the floor by Harry's feet. After a couple of minutes, and a handful of sheets about Frank Leonard, the shelves stopped moving and the silence fell back in the gigantic room.

Harry didn't lose time to scan through what he had. Every bit of information confirmed what he had feared, and everything made sense in his head. It was all there: Frank's motive, the victims he targeted, everything in his past led to what Harry had discovered about the case.

He rose to his feet, Shrank the evidence he had found and stuffed them in the inside pocket of his robes. He had done everything he could on his side, but now, he needed Draco to get the last pieces of the puzzle.

He knew it wouldn't be simple, that Draco was probably still very angry with him, but it didn't matter. Draco would know to put things in perspective and put the work first. At least, Harry hoped so.

He tapped his wand on Ron's watch, and tried to contact Draco again, but the watch remained still. Harry pushed away the latent feeling of worry that bubbled in his gut. Fine. If he couldn't reach Draco via the Watch, he would go and get him.

After all, he knew where Draco had gone. All he needed to do was to go back to Mrs Devon's, the Ant lady.

Harry Apparated a couple of streets away from Mrs Devon's building and walked at a brisk pace to where the old lady lived, ignoring the wrathful glares the passers-by sent him as he ran into them, absorbed as he was in his thoughts.

He had to ring the bell three times before Mrs Devon dared open the door—only a crack, though—and asked him to identify himself.

Harry was getting impatient by the minute and finally, after Mrs Devon had put her glasses back on her nose and realised that yes, it was indeed Harry, a full-fledged Auror from the Ministry itself, and someone who had spent an entire afternoon in her flat only a few days before, did she let him in.

Once inside, Harry didn't waste a second. "Mrs Devon," he started, scanning the flat and expecting Draco to appear at any moment. "I have a few questions for you."

"How nice of you to visit me. You will have some tea?" Mrs Devon asked as she moved achingly slowly, bent almost completely in two in the direction of the kitchen.

"Er, no, thanks, I'm fine." Harry drummed his fingers on his thigh. "I'm actually in a hurry."

"I am very glad to hear it," she said as her knotted hand grabbed the kettle and she poured water in it. "Will you take sugar with it?"

"I'm very sorry, Mrs Devon, but have you seen my partner, Draco Malfoy? Tall, blond?" Flirtatious, Harry nearly added.

"Oh he was here earlier on, but I'm afraid you've missed him." She shoved a chipped cup into his hand. "Hold this for me, my dear."

"How long ago did he leave?" Harry discarded the cup on the table and grabbed Mrs Devon by the shoulders. "Please. It's very important. Do you know where he went?"

"Oh, no. He didn't tell." She frowned as she took the cup and pushed it back into Harry's hand. "Hold. This, I said."

Harry sighed. "Did he say anything?"

"Oh, we chatted a little. He is ever so charming!" she cooed. "He was once again very interested in my Indijin Ants. Do you wish to see them again?"

"No, thanks." Harry's eyes filled with horror as he thought of the damn Ants. "Did he say anything about them?"

"Sit here, my dear," Mrs Devon ordered Harry, pointing at an armchair that must have been at the top of fashion in the seventies. Harry didn't know what exactly Mrs Devon had done to him, but as she turned back to the kitchen, his legs gave in under him and he dropped in the ugly armchair, raising a cloud of dust around him that made him sneeze inelegantly.

After what felt like long, agonising hours but was only mere minutes, Mrs Devon came back with a tray holding a ceramic teapot and a plate of biscuits. She was walking so slowly, her slippered feet sliding over the marble tiles one after the other, that it seemed to Harry that she was moving in slow motion.

Finally, she reached Harry's armchair and disposed the tray on the coffee table in front of him. She then settled on the sofa covered with a crocheted blanket that had seen better days.

Harry rushed to the teapot, intending on accelerating things a little by doing the work, but Mrs Devon slapped his wrist. "Oh no, you don't," she growled, a scowl on her face. "I am the one in charge here." And then, her expression changed, and she was once again the lovely granny from before.

When she was done serving them, a century later, Harry brought the scalding tea to his lips and sipped. He nearly spat it all over Mrs Devon but managed, at the very last second, to hold it in before he discreetly spat it all out back into the cup. The liquid—because nobody in their right mind could ever call that tea—was so bitter that Harry had to wonder how many years it's been since the date had expired. He put the cup back on the tray and turned to Mrs Devon, determined to get some answers from her.

"Mrs Devon," he said, trying to conjure his most charming smile, the one that had won him the Witch Weekly's Smile of the Year award in 1999. "Has Draco told you anything else? Apart from the ants?"

"Well, let me see, my dear." She frowned exaggeratedly, turning her already wrinkled face into something that reminded Harry of the pug the Dursley's neighbours had when he was a child. "Ah!" she said in a high-pitched tone, her face brightening. "Yes. He was very interested in my family. Do you wish to see some pictures?"

"Oh, no Mrs—"

She glared at him, her lips forming a tight line. "I insist."

He sighed. "Fine."

She came back five minutes later holding an enormous album that was so big Harry was sure she'd used some sort of spell to make it lighter.

"So, this is me, with my sister, and that's my nephew when he was a child."

"Yes, yes," Harry said impatiently. "But what about Draco—"

"Auror Malfoy was very interested in my family. Especially when I told him about my nephew."

"Why?" Harry leaned forward. "I mean, I'm sure your nephew is very—"

"Oh!" she beamed at Harry's attention. "My nephew is a bit instable." She brought her face closer to Harry, and he stared, fascinated, at all the wrinkles that covered her face. "You see," she added, opting for compassion as she put her hand on Harry's knee. "I'm a bit worried. My nephew is the only family I have but he's been behaving strangely lately."

"How come?" Harry pressed her.

"Well, he's never really been the same since Brodie died, all those years ago. Shame, really, they were such a beautiful couple."

Harry's heart stopped in his chest at the name. "What did you just say?"

"I said he's so moody these—"

"What's his name?" Harry cut in.

"My nephew?" Mrs Devon looked surprised. "His name's Frank. Why?"

Harry couldn't believe his ears. "Frank Leonard?"

"Oh you know him too!" Mrs Devon pressed her hands together as if in prayer.

Harry's blood ran cold and he stood at once. There wasn't a minute to spare.

"Where are you going?" Mrs Devon asked, berated.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Devon, but I've really got to go," Harry said as he grabbed the handle of the door. "Thanks for the tea!" he shouted above his shoulder.

Harry didn't stop to contemplate the feeling of dread that took hold of him and wouldn't let go again as he rushed to the Ministry again. If Draco had gone after Frank, who knew what had happened?

As he ran to the closest Apparition point, Ron appeared on his watch again. "Harry?"

Harry didn't have time to stop, so he brought his hand to his mouth, hoping the Muggles surrounding him wouldn't pay too much attention to him, which shouldn't be the case. He was in London, after all. "Ron. What's going on?"

"I've got news for you." Harry's steps slowed for a second before he started again at a brisk pace. "Apparently Malfoy went to see George and asked him about Frank earlier on."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised," Harry replied, nearly running into an old man, but managing to avoid him at the last moment. "He's after him."

"Harry."

There was something in Ron's voice that made Harry's throat tighten significantly. "What?" he asked in a breath, dodging pedestrians the best he could without losing contact with him. "What's wrong?"

"You know we have a backroom in the shop, where we put our stuff?"

"Yes." He almost ran into an old lady and muttered an apology. "What about it?"

"Well, after what you told me this morning, George and I decided to open Frank's locker."

Of course. He should've thought about it. "And?" he asked impatiently.

"We found a list in the door."

"What's on the list?"

"Names."

Harry's blood ran cold as he walked faster still. "Let me guess: Andrew Jugson, Robert Avery, Vincent Crabbe and Lucius Malfoy."

"Correct. The first three are crossed out."

"Not surprising. They're the Death Eaters responsible for Bode's death and that he killed."

"Yes, but that's not all." Ron hesitated. "There's another name on it."

Harry froze in the middle of the pavement. The man behind right behind him cursed at him but Harry ignored him. "Who is it?" he asked, trying his best to conceal the tremor in his voice. "Ron. Who is it?"

"It's Malfoy. Your Malfoy, I mean."

"He's after Draco." Harry briefly closed his eyes and cuffed a hand in his hair. "And Draco's gone right after him."

"Sorry, mate."

"Shit." Harry started walking again, finally catching sight of the Apparition point in the distance. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit."

"Do you know where they've gone?" Ron said through the watch again.

"No, but I'm on my way to the Ministry and will check all the Apparitions from here as soon as I get there." Just a few feet to go now.

"All right. Please be careful, okay?"

"I will." Harry cut the communication and Apparated away.

As soon as he landed in the Atrium, he jumped into the nearest lift and braced himself for the ride. The trip seemed never-ending to him. When finally the golden grilles opened and the witch announced he had arrived in the Department of Magical Transportation, he ran past the various offices—the Floo Network Authority, the Broom Regulatory Control and the Portkey Office—before he finally reached the Apparition Centre.

There were about half a dozen witches and wizards queueing at the only desk open—because of course, this was Saturday—but his scarlet robes combined with the scar on his forehead bought him time and he was able to skip the queue altogether.

"Auror Potter," a young, blond witch said. "What can I do to help you?"

"I need to get the record of all the Apparitions that occurred over the last four hours from this Point," Harry said, giving the witch the address of the Apparition Point near Mrs Devon's flat.

"Of course, just a moment." Harry raked his fingers in his hair, making a mess of it. "Would you also like me to check for the Side-Alongs?"

Harry had not thought of that. "Yes. Yes, please." Come on, he thought, nervously glancing at his watch again. Where are you? he muttered under his breath.

"There you are." The witch handed him a sheet of paper with the names of all the people who had Apparated from there. "Next!" she called behind him and Harry walked out of the room, scanning the names feverishly.

His heart nearly stopped when he saw Frank's name, followed, less than a minute after, by Draco's. He went to the end of the line, looking for their destination. The blood pounded in his ears as he read: Highgate Cemetery, North London.

Highgate Cemetery. The place where Broderick Bode had been buried ten years ago.