Harry leaned over his desk in the Auror office, staring at the stack of case files in front of him. He hadn't slept in two days, and the exhaustion was beginning to feel permanent. His fingers trembled slightly as he traced over the photographs—the mutilated bodies of three witches, their faces unrecognizable, twisted in death. What disturbed Harry most wasn't the brutality of the murders, though that was horrifying enough, but the strange symbols carved into their skin.
Ancient runes. Dark, forbidden magic. The kind he hadn't encountered since the war.
The case had started small—a missing person here, a suspected runaway there—but when the first body turned up, everyone realized how wrong they'd been. The killer wasn't sloppy. Every move was precise, calculated. The victims were chosen for a reason, though no one could yet discern why.
"Potter," a deep voice snapped Harry out of his thoughts. Kingsley stood at his doorway, arms crossed, concern etched on his face. "We're out of time. The press is already spinning rumors. We can't let this get worse."
"I know." Harry rubbed his eyes. He could feel the weight of it all bearing down on him. "But we're nowhere close to a breakthrough."
Kingsley hesitated, then dropped a folder on Harry's desk. "There's someone who might be able to help."
Harry's stomach tightened. He already knew what Kingsley was going to say before he opened his mouth.
"Draco Malfoy."
Harry's breath caught. He shook his head immediately, pushing back from the desk. "No. He's—"
"In Azkaban, I know," Kingsley interrupted. "But Potter, Malfoy studied Dark magic in ways none of us have. He was steeped in it for years, trained by people we can barely comprehend. He might see something we can't."
Harry wanted to argue. He wanted to say no, to refuse, to turn away from the idea of even speaking to Malfoy again. But the weight of those victims, their broken bodies, hung in his mind.
"We're out of options, Harry," Kingsley added softly. "You're the only one he'll talk to."
Harry closed his eyes, the faces of the dead burned into his memory. He couldn't just walk away. No matter how much it unsettled him, no matter the buried history between him and Draco Malfoy, he had to do this.
With a heavy sigh, he nodded. "I'll talk to him."