The Silence of Slytherin

by Cersei's Son

Years after the war, Harry Potter is now an Auror with a new challenge: a brutal series of murders shaking the Wizarding World. Desperate for leads, he seeks help from Draco Malfoy, now a prisoner at Azkaban, whose dark insight into the mind of the killer proves both unnerving and dangerous. Inspired by The Silence of the Lambs.

3. Chapter 3 - Dead Ends and Dark Insights

The next week was a whirlwind of dead ends and frustration. Harry poured over the case files, but every new lead seemed to fizzle out just as quickly as it appeared. The killer was precise—almost impossibly so—and always one step ahead.

He had visited Draco three times since their initial meeting. Each time, he brought more details, more photographs, more reports. And each time, Draco dissected the information with an almost unsettling ease, offering insights that felt both helpful and deeply disturbing.

"You see," Draco said, holding up a photograph of the latest victim—a young witch, her eyes wide and vacant, the runes etched into her skin in an intricate, almost artistic pattern. "This isn't just murder, Potter. It's ritual. They're choosing their victims carefully."

Harry frowned. "How do you know that?"

"Because it's beautiful," Draco murmured, his gaze lingering on the photograph. "Look at the precision. The care. Whoever did this isn't just trying to kill—they're trying to create."

Harry's stomach churned. "Create what?"

Draco smirked, his eyes gleaming. "A masterpiece."

Harry recoiled slightly, the weight of those words settling over him like a dark cloud. He had always known the killer was deranged, but hearing it from Draco's lips made it feel more real—more sinister.

He stared down at the files spread across the table. The clues were there, scattered like puzzle pieces, but he couldn't make them fit. And with each dead end, the pressure grew. Another body had turned up just the day before—a young wizard this time, his blood drained, the runes more intricate than ever before.

"Time's running out," Harry muttered to himself, his fists clenched.

"Tick-tock, Potter," Draco's voice teased, pulling Harry from his thoughts. "The clock is always ticking."

Harry shot him a glare, but Draco only smiled, his expression maddeningly calm. "What's the rush, Harry? You seem... tense."

"I don't have time for your games."

"Oh, but you do," Draco whispered, stepping closer. "Because you need me. You need someone who understands darkness. And deep down, you know you can't do this alone."

Harry's jaw clenched, the truth of those words hitting harder than he cared to admit. He hated it—hated how Draco seemed to know exactly how to push his buttons.