I went to the funeral to commemorate the reburial of Kyara Malfoy and was surprised how low key it was. I was expecting something over-the-top, with a million people and endless pompous ceremony worthy of a Malfoy; something way out of proportion for a fetus that no one had ever met. But what I got was a gathering of four: Draco Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Madam Pomphrey, and myself. There was mournful music playing in the background of the completely undecorated Malfoy cemetery. The only flowers were a small bundle picked from the garden that started off in Draco's hands and ended up on top of the tiny grave. We all said our few words about how sorry we were for her loss. I included all of my feelings on what a monster I was and how she was the first and only person I have ever killed. Draco surprised me by taking the blame for her death upon himself, saying it was unfair of him to attempt to bring a child into such a bad situation and his fault again for getting in a fight with me, and thereby failing to protect her. And then it was over. He broke down crying as he asked her to forgive him. Then it was over and Draco and Narcissa went inside and didn't invite me to follow.

It was all very simple and tasteful and lulled me into a false sense of security. I thought maybe Draco had changed. I know Draco warned me that he would be pressured to paint me now that he'd seen me again, but this was his baby's second funeral, so I hoped it might be too personal for him to share. Maybe this wouldn't turn into yet another one of his famous Potter paintings.

It wasn't the funeral that was released as the next painting in the series. I groaned and had a sense of Déjà vu as I remembered the words Draco had said when I walked up to his door: "If this gets out, I'll be forced to paint it." And that was exactly what he'd painted. Our entire interaction when I'd confronted him about the bathroom painting and he'd told me of Kyara's death, from when he opened the door, to when I left, strolling sadly down that long walk. It was an emotional scene.

At least it didn't have the words, leaving some mystery as to what we discussed that day. No one knew it was the moment I found out I was a murderer. I wanted it to stay that way. I didn't want Draco to give an interview about the painting, or worse, explain the context in anyway. I tried sending an owl to that effect, but my message was returned unopened with a note.

Potter, if you would like to communicate with me, you can do so in person.

-Draco Malfoy

That is why I once again made my way to Malfoy Manor. Normally an elf lets me in, but not this time. I was left out by the gate, calling for Nobby to let me in, like a jackass or something. After it was clear the elf wasn't coming, I looked around for a knocker or a bell or something. But this wasn't a front door, only a gate, and there was nothing but the intruder alarm, which had been going off since my arrival, as usual.

I considered turning around and going home, but then thought better of it. If it was a case of the humans not being home, the elves would've answered. So the humans had to be home and ordering the elves not to answer for me. But Draco Malfoy had refused my owl and practically demanded I come in person. I wasn't going to let him now turn me away.

I used my Auror knowledge on breaking and entering to force my way past the outer wards. I then walked up the drive to the door, where I was able to knock. I stood there on the stoop for a long time, before Draco Malfoy finally answered the door.

"Oh Harry, it's you," he said coming outside and hugging me, leaving the door ajar. His eyes fluttered against the sun, thick but pale lashes fanning up and down. "I love you so, soooo very much, even though you murdered Voldemort, who would've totally made the world a much better place." There was a noise from inside the house and he turned to look at the mostly closed door with a scared expression. His lip trembled ever so slightly. Then he turned back to me and continued talking in that out of character manner that screamed of bad acting. "I know you come here every day at this time for sex, because we're sooo madly in love and have been secretly dating for ages, but I'm sorry, I can't have guests today. You have to go."

He looked at me with large pleading eyes, but I wasn't sure what he was pleading for. For me to go? For me to go along with his story? Or for me to save him from whatever was going on inside his house?

Something was definitely going on. Not only were we not on hugging terms, but we weren't having sex, and I didn't come here on a regular basis. Plus, he never called Voldemort by name, always using "The Dark Lord," and he wasn't upset about my defeat of his lord and he didn't think Voldemort would make the world a better place. That wasn't Draco.

"No, I really think we need to be having sex today. It's been so long," I said, slowly pushing the door open, taking in the scene. The house was empty and nothing looked out of place.

"But we just had sex this morning before you went to work, dear. This much sex really isn't safe," he replied, emphasizing the last word.

"That probably depends on the room, don't you think, dear? Are you worried your mother is going to walk in on us, if we do it right here in the entryway?" I asked, wand out as I entered the house. My body had begun to react to the conversation with a swelling, but I focused on the situation and did my best to clear the unwanted images out of my head.

"My mother…it's like sixth year. You know how I worry," he said following me.

I turned around to face him and he gave me a pointed look, silently begging me to understand: his mother was in danger.

"Like when I walked into the forest to meet my death," I said.

"Yes," he answered.

"Well that can't be helped. She's like that. Perhaps we should fuck in the drawing room today," I said, having reached the door.

He didn't respond to that. "Or your bedroom?" I asked. Again nothing. "Or one of the other upstairs rooms?"

"That might upset my mother," he said. "You should probably just go." I turned around and headed up the stairs. "You really shouldn't be here today. Can you come back tomorrow?"

"No, I cannot. There's the urgent matter of that sex we are supposed to be having," I replied, opening the doors one at a time, clearing the room of suspects, and moving on. I still didn't know what was going on, but my Auror training was kicking in.

"As long as we don't do it in my studio at the end of the hall," he said, cluing me into where the trouble was.

I moved along to the end of the hall and threw open the door to a large art studio. Something was off. The room was strangely empty. Normally there were finished paintings in art studios, but this one had only one mostly blank canvas on an easel. No finished works.

"Mother!?" Draco called out in anguish, dropping to his knees right there in the doorway, his hands going to cover his mouth. His eyes were wet with unshed tears.

I first checked that all of the closets and hiding places were empty, before searching the rest of the house. Once verifying that we were alone, I returned to the studio, where Draco was sitting on the floor, his legs clutched to his chest, and rocking back and forth.

"Draco, what happened?" I asked gently, but firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"He took my mother," he answered in a whispered tone of shock. His eyes were red, as if he were about to cry or had just been crying while I was checking the rest of the house.

"Who took your mother?" I pressed.

"The thief. He took my paintings and now he has my mother."

"Was the thief here when I got here, Draco?"

"Yes. He told me to get rid of you. I told him you wouldn't go without sex. He said he didn't care. 'Get rid of Potter, or else,' he said," he answered.

"What was he after?" I asked.

"The paintings. He took all of the paintings. He wanted the Potter originals. He even took my other works. He took everything. He took my Kyara." He let out a gasping sob, but then pulled himself back together as quickly as he'd begun to unravel. "But that wasn't enough."

"What else did he want, Draco?"

"He wanted me to paint the funeral," there was a slight pause and a lip tremble, "for him. I told him I haven't painted it and he said he was going to stay here until I did. I mixed the blue and was starting the sky, when you showed up. This isn't how I paint. I don't just put blue paint on a canvas. It doesn't work like that. I was just trying to make him happy, so that he wouldn't hurt my mother. He had his wand to her throat. And now she's gone," he revealed, silent tears streaking down his face.

"How did he know about the funeral?" I asked. Often knowing details like this would tell me who did the crime. Only four people were at the funeral.

"He didn't. Not really. He thought the last painting was something else. He thought we were lovers—that the next painting was going to be us together—that's why I made up the lie about you coming over for sex," he answered. When he was focusing on these other aspects of the crime, he was able to put on some of the old façade of aloof uncaring.

"Did you know him?" I asked.

"I…maybe…he looked familiar."

"Describe him."

"Blond, short, dorky, muggle fashions, camera around his neck," he said.

That was ringing a lot of bells for me. "Was he at Hogwarts with us?"

"Not in our year…I would've remembered if he was in our year."

"No, he would've been two years younger. Colin's little brother, Dennis," I suggested.

"Which one was Colin?" he asked.

"Muggleborn, camera, always following me around and taking annoying pictures."

"Oh, the one always licking your shoes!" he exclaimed, jumping up and snapping his fingers like something was clicking. "Yes, this thief looked like the shoe-licker with the camera!"

"Colin is dead though. Died in the war. I think this might be his brother," I said.

"I don't remember the shoe-licker's brother," he said.

That would explain why Draco didn't recognize the thief. I had my lead and a case to work. This is what I did best.

Author's Note: I feel like I'm living in the dark ages, because none of my relatives have internet. I had to go to a Target to post this.

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