Harry felt it like the start of a toothache, really. It was an itching, uncomfortable sensation in the back of his head, almost a buzzing of worry, concern, he didn't like to say paranoia though that might be more accurate, but that made him sound unreliable, and Merlin forbid that he might be that. Still… He prowled up from his desk and over to the coffee urn, then back without looking at his fellow Aurors in the bullpen. Nobody said anything, most of his co-workers like to avoid his notice these days, and he didn't mind a bit. He'd been sorry to see Ron go in a vague sort of way, but the man had been going soft, losing that edge that was needed to really get the job done, so it wasn't any great loss. Ron had always been better at Quidditch than anything else, and having to constantly push him into making the hard choices had worn on Harry to the point that he'd nearly Crucio'd Ron in pure frustration, and somehow he didn't think their friendship would be the same after that.
The buzzing in his head continued and he rubbed at the spot in frustration and discomfort, his eyes flickering around the room. Fuck it, there was nothing he was really going to accomplish today anyway, no point in sticking around when he was sure everyone was watching him behind his back. What's Potter going to do to embarrass us today? Fuckers. He growled, making an intern jump and skitter out of his path, and stormed out, rubbing his head with his wand, muttering.
His feet directed him, they were starting to do that more and more, and sometimes he didn't really like where they went. The other day he had found himself in a park and Ginny was there with the children and her new husband. He had almost gone up to Albus before he stopped himself, frowning. Albus looked so much like him that it was uncanny. It made him nervous. He realized he hadn't seen them in most of a year, couldn't remember if he sent presents at Christmas or not. Work was hard, they would understand that, there was always something to be done. He thought of the fact that his children were growing up without their father just as he'd grown up with no parents and guilt slammed hard into him. But it wasn't his fault, he excused. There was crime, there was no one else who could do what he did. He was doing this for them. Children do not understand the big picture, his mind told him. They just know that Dad doesn't see them anymore. He felt a sudden burst of fury so strong it almost sent him to his knees and sneered at the children. What did they know of duty? Of responsibility? They should be grateful, the little demanding, whinging blighters, if only they knew… He shook his head and Apparated away, fighting the urge to run up and shake, and shake and shake them until they understood, until they stopped forcing these demands on him. He took out a bottle when he got home that night. It was gone by morning and so was most of his memory of the night. That was probably a relief.
He looked up, wondering where his feet had taken him this time and recognized that he was in the vicinity of Lucius bolt hole. He frowned. Lucius was useful, he knew all the best spells, but Kingsley was listening to him too much. Harry didn't like anyone but him listening to Lucius and he didn't want to listen to the man unless he was teaching him something. But his friends were there. He could sit among them and they would speak of sunshine and warm rocks and food and it was so simple and relaxing that he would even sleep among them. He didn't sleep well at night, hadn't even after Voldemort was dead and the nightmares stopped. Well, those nightmares anyway. There were always new ones to take their place. He heard two sharp bangs, and the buzzing in the back of his head seemed to explode in agony, then there was nothing.
He awoke not long later, his head splitting but pain free, in a doorway where he must have stumbled upon passing out. Strange, he'd lost time before, but usually it wasn't so painful. He struggled up, stiff and cold from the hard concrete of the step and struggled on.
He knew there was something amiss from the moment he walked onto the street where the safe house was located. There was magic here, not here now, but just here, magic he knew. Malfoy. Not Lucius, Draco. His teeth bared and he charged into the house, then tripped over something in the front hall and landed face down on the rug. He swore, about to pull himself up when he realized his hand was in something warm and wet. He raised his head and recoiled in disgust when he saw his hand covered in half congealed blackening blood. He staggered to his feet, only now noticing that it was Lucius' snake headed cane that he had tripped on, and stepped over it.
The body behind it had been carefully arranged on its back, robes draped modestly, hands crossed across the abdomen almost as if in repose. There were two silver coins on the eyelids to seal them shut, and even the blond hair had been smoothed back into place. Only the small round hole in the center of the forehead, and its mate placed directly over the heart, well, and the huge puddle of blood, he admitted, gave lie to the look of sleep on Malfoy's face. It was as if the murderer wanted to preserve Malfoy's dignity even in death, how pointless, he thought. Death was never dignified, and for Malfoy it was likely less so. That Draco had killed his father Harry did not doubt in the slightest, he could almost taste Draco's magic in the place, but it didn't matter. He knew he couldn't arrest the man, not for this. Malfoy senior was supposed to be dead already, so how would one go about arresting the son for the murder of the father. He thought about Shackelbolts likely reaction to the situation and laughed uproariously. It was priceless, he was going to be furious, and probably do something stupid. Harry felt little beyond a vague disappoinment that Lucius would not be around to teach him any more spells. He'd always been so interesting in that supercilious way of his. He paused then, and sped for the special room in the back of the house. A curious hissing greeted him, and he breathed a huge sigh of relief that not only had Malfoy left his friends alone, but the wards on the room had held so they could not find themselves outside in the cold London winter where they would surely die. He stepped past the wards, Lucius predicament already consigned to the realm of gossip to share with his friends. He didn't even bother to shut the front door.