Chapters 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 and 12 are already on Pa tr eon

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"I have the perfect room for you."

Harry Potter drove through the industrial part of the city at night. It was cold, and a thick fog enveloped the cityscape. The streets were empty, with offices and dispatch centers closed for the evening. A few semis were parked on the roadside, their drivers dozing off while waiting to enter the loading docks of warehouses.

He drove through this dull and unappealing area, searching for a motel to rest. Harry had been driving for over 12 hours and was utterly exhausted. For the past year, he had been working undercover as an Auror, aiming to dismantle a Muggle-Magical gang producing a new hybrid drug. He already knew that his assignment in the States would stretch on for several more years. But now, he needed a place to sleep. If he was being watched, he couldn't afford to use any magical conveniences. He needed somewhere cheap, clean, and quiet. Given today's crazy inflation, that might be asking too much, but he hoped.

He could use the map app on his phone to find a hotel, but Harry had always hated relying on that device. At 44, he still hadn't adjusted to how far Muggle technology had advanced, making the use of magic in non-magical areas strictly prohibited. A few years earlier, he had to send his friend Ron to Azkaban for endangering secrecy when Ron used his wand to cool his kids during a trip to a Muggle zoo. Thankfully, Ron wasn't a repeat offender, but it caused an international scandal when the husband of the Minister for Magic, Hermione, caused such an incident. Naturally, Ron was furious with Harry for intervening, and Hermione was angry that Harry didn't cover it up, despite it not being his responsibility. That's why, when the opportunity for a foreign assignment arose—one that wouldn't involve breaking the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy most of the time—Harry took it without hesitation.

Now, having a phone to tell him where to go seemed like another surrender to technology. Besides, he enjoyed wandering through strange places. It made an ordinary day feel more like an adventure.

A quiet street caught his eye. Something about it seemed promising. As he turned onto the street, a dog darted out of the shadows and stood right in front of his truck. He slammed on the brakes, stopping just a few inches from the startled dog.

Harry was about to honk and scare it away when he noticed the dog was limping. His anger immediately turned to concern. The city streets were deserted, but this dog was still in danger. People were careless while driving at night. He couldn't just let the dog wander around, especially with a limping leg.

After parking the truck, Harry opened the door and leaned out. The dog looked like some kind of mastiff or Great Dane. It was huge but seemed friendly. Its coat was smooth and jet black. It had a fancy brass and leather collar around its neck, so it must have been someone's pet, eerily reminiscent of Sirius.

"Hey, boy!" Harry called, trying to sound friendly. "Where's your owner?"

The dog nodded at him and then turned away, still limping. Harry cursed under his breath and got back into the truck. Should he just let the dog go? He didn't like the idea of letting an injured animal fend for itself in the city. He knew he wouldn't sleep well if he didn't at least try to help.

Harry decided to follow the dog for as long as he could. Maybe it was heading home, though where that might be in this part of the city was a mystery.

He put the truck in gear and followed the dog. It moved down the street at a surprisingly quick pace, turning into narrower alleys that led deeper into the industrial zone. Occasionally, the dog glanced back at him, almost as if checking if he was still following.

This was crazy, but Harry had a disturbing feeling that the dog was deliberately leading him somewhere. He checked his hidden wand, feeling the gentle flow of magic in his concealed magical friend, and felt more confident.

Don't be stupid, Harry. It's just a dog. Follow it a bit more to make sure it's safe, then go back to finding a place to sleep.

Harry followed the dog, matching its pace. Still limping, the dog turned left and went into a parking lot opposite him.

"What the hell?" Harry muttered.

The parking lot was across from a low motel surrounded by empty lots. A small, dirty sign at the front told him it was the Mirage Motel. It looked utterly out of place among the abandoned lots and industrial buildings around it. Why would anyone put a motel in such a desolate spot?

The Mirage Motel was seedy and uninviting. The single-story rooms formed an L-shape, with their doors facing the parking lot. It looked abandoned, with no cars parked outside and unlit rooms.

This place was dismal. Since his divorce, Harry had stayed in some pretty shady places, but this one was on another level. Just looking at that long row of doors and unlit windows gave him the creeps. Yet, he felt a strange relief. The Mirage Motel had something about it that appealed to him in a way he couldn't describe. Besides, he was looking for a place to sleep, right? It seemed he had found one.

Or perhaps it had found him.

Shaking off his unease, Harry drove his battered truck onto the cracked asphalt parking lot. Up close, the motel's age and neglect became even more evident. It looked like a place where you might take a prostitute for a quick transaction or perhaps to get high on meth.

A flickering red neon "Vacancy" sign buzzed and crackled above the main office, casting a faded glow on the building's grimy facade. Faint light seeped through dirty windows, the only indication that the motel wasn't abandoned. The dog he had followed was nowhere to be seen, as if it had vanished into the night in some magical trick.

Harry exhaled slowly. How the hell had he ended up here, in this part of the city, in the middle of the fucking night? He had gotten lost driving around, his mind occupied with the shitty mess his life had become since Cho left him. Twenty years of marriage down the drain. His job only added to the stress. Having to travel out of state for various assignments was just the cherry on top of the shitstorm that was his life. Now he was here, looking at a cockroach-infested motel straight out of a horror movie.

Lonely and indifferent, Harry. Isn't life grand?

"Cut it out," he muttered.

Feeling sorry for himself had become a habit he needed to break. He was a grown man in his forties. This kind of pettiness wasn't becoming of him. He knew he could handle any challenges that came his way. He was healthy, and his mind was sharp. He had no excuses for self-pity.

A thick raindrop splattered on the windshield. Then another. Soon, a heavy downpour began. The sudden change in weather did nothing to improve the motel's appearance or its amenities.

The rational part of Harry's brain was screaming at him to get the hell out of there. Just get back on the highway and leave this place in the rearview mirror. He could find a nice, well-lit, affordable motel near the highway. One with a continental breakfast bar where he could make himself waffles in the morning.

Harry Potter placed his hand on the gear shift to put it in reverse but hesitated. Something about the Mirage Motel was drawing him in, almost like a magnetic pull. He couldn't quite put his finger on what intrigued him about this place. It was just a feeling deep inside that he couldn't shake. Harry had never been here before, never even set foot in this city until tonight. Yet, the Mirage Motel seemed oddly familiar, like he had seen it before—a distant memory that slipped through his mind. A whisper at the back of his brain urged him to stay and rent a room.

Harry drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to make a decision. Through the large front window of the main office, he saw an elderly man sitting behind a desk. He looked to be in his seventies. There wasn't much to him, just skin and bones. His liver-spotted scalp was covered with thin, grey hair. A cigarillo dangled from his thin lips, and smoke curled around his gaunt face. Smoking indoors wasn't the only relic from the old days. The old man had a newspaper spread out in front of him.

Looking at him, a cold shiver ran down Harry's spine, making his balls want to crawl up inside his body. What was it about this place? The energy felt wrong somehow. Sinister. Like he would regret staying.

He almost put the truck in reverse and sped away. Almost. Instead, he opened the door and headed towards the main office. The cold rain soaked him, running down his spine as he hurried to the entrance.

A bell above the door jangled as he walked in. The sound was harsh and metallic, an ugly greeting that grated on his ears. The scent of menthol cigarillos and the sour odor of body sweat assaulted his nostrils as he stood in the doorway, blinking in the dull glow of the office's fluorescent lights.

"Shut the door, you're letting in the cold!"

The old man glanced at him from behind the desk. He didn't look pleased to see a customer.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, closing the door behind him. The old man eyed him through the haze of cigarillo smoke as he approached the desk. The cigarillo smoldered between his fingers, and his long nails were disgustingly yellow. The old man wore a filthy T-shirt that read "F.B.I., Female Body Inspector. Accept the position!"

"I saw you sitting in the truck," he said with a smile. "What were you doing? Spanking the monkey?"

He wheezed with laughter, his chuckle turning into a wet smoker's cough.

"I was trying to decide if I wanted a room here," Harry said coldly. "To be honest, I'm still not sure."

"Honesty is the best policy," the old man wheezed, wiping his mouth with the hem of his shirt. "But you're here now. I assume you've decided to take a room after all."

"Maybe. Do you have any vacancies?"

"Does it look like we're fucking busy?" the old man sneered.

Harry stiffened. "Why are you being such an asshole?"

"I'm the owner of this place. It's my home and my business. My property, my domain. I can be an asshole if I want, dipshit."

Harry clenched his fingers into a fist. The urge to punch this creepy old man was strong.

Punching an elderly man in the face? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?

Harry shook his head, suddenly realizing he was shaking with rage. He forced himself to calm down, bewildered by his reaction. The old man was rude, but that didn't explain the fury that had surged through him. He had never felt such a rush of anger before.

The long drive must have exhausted him more than he realized. He needed to get out of here before he did something stupid.

"I'll find somewhere else to stay," Harry mumbled.

"Sounds like a good idea. How did you even find my motel?"

"I was just following a dog," Harry said, heading towards the front door.

"WAIT!"

Harry froze, shocked by the old man's outburst. His rough smoker's voice was gone, replaced by a commanding tone that echoed in the small office.

"What kind of dog was it?"

Harry turned to face the old man. He was standing, leaning over the desk, his hands resting on the dusty laminate. Harry was surprised by his height. Sitting down, he had thought he was 5'6" or maybe 5'7". Instead, the old man was over six feet tall.

"What kind of dog?" he repeated, staring at Harry.

"A big, black dog. It was limping."

The old man frowned. The intensity of his gaze was unsettling. He must have been drinking because his eyes were bloodshot.

Harry's eyes must have been tired too. They were definitely playing tricks on him. When the old man licked his lips, Harry could have sworn his tongue was forked.

"There's a sign above me," the old man said. "Can you read it?"

Harry looked up. A cigarillo paper was taped to the wall next to the motel's framed business license. Strange words were handwritten on it. Harry couldn't recognize the alphabet, let alone understand what it said.

But... he could read it. The sign was like one of those magic eye posters. The longer he stared at it, the more the letters seemed to form into something he understood.

"Can you read it?" the old man asked again.

"Mafxinacytx ur," Harry said, the strange words sounding harsh and guttural on his lips. "Grolibyvatpp. Blood and Semen? What does it mean?"

The old man rubbed his stubbled jaw. His watery, red eyes were wide and fixed on Harry. Harry watched him, curious about his sudden silence.

Seconds passed as they stood there facing each other, both without words.

"I'm going to bed," the old man suddenly said. "My daughter will check you in."

"I'm not staying," Harry said.

"Yes, you are."

Before Harry could respond, the old man opened a door behind him and left, leaving him alone in the office.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The old man's cigarillo smoldered in the ashtray where he left it. Harry resisted the urge to snuff it out. Instead, he ran a hand through his wet hair, unsure of what to do.

Through the window, Harry could see his truck being pummeled by the rain. His reflection stared back at him in the glass. He was surprised at how exhausted he looked. A long sleep could...

"Hello."

Harry was startled by the sudden greeting. The voice was husky and seductive, feminine and sultry. But something was off. When he looked at his reflection in the window, he saw the mirrored image of the office behind him.

There was no one else in the room. He was alone. Harry slowly turned away from the window. Behind the desk stood the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, who simultaneously seemed familiar, but as Harry tried to remember her, a fog of forgetfulness clouded his mind.

"I have the perfect room for you," she said.

Chapters 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 and 12 are already on Pa tr eon

If you would like to read the next chapters faster, see exclusive content, or support my work, please visit

Pat re on. c om(slash)wickedbunny(delete spaces)