The Ceiling Fan
Harry left the Weasley burrow for his own flat in Diagon Alley. It would be his first night in his own place in about a month. Dinner had been exhausting, and he felt a bit like rubbish about it all, really. He had hoped that some time with the people he cared about most would be just what he needed, but it got all mucked up, didn’t it? George… it sent a shiver down Harry’s spine just thinking about it.
On the bright side, Harry thought, if there even was one to look towards, was that he saw Teddy.
Andromeda was kind enough to send him updates every few weeks, and a picture or two alongside it, but it wasn't the same. Harry felt like an absolute failure of a godfather, not being there for Teddy at all... if Harry were to bet money on it, he would bet that Teddy doesn't even recognize him, from how little he visits.
But... I'm an auror. I have a murderer to catch. I've been busy, he told himself.
"I'll do better," he mumbled under his breath as he entered the building to his flat. "I'll see him more. I promise."
Harry stumbled into his flat, the lights turning themselves on at the flat’s awareness of his presence.
The place was horrid.
The first thing Harry was made aware of was a roach running frantically to hide as the lights went up. Gross. Harry looked up, examining his environment. The air in the room had long gone stagnant and stale. It smelt like rot. The white walls had a yellow tinge to them, as they were caked with layers of dirt and grime.
Harry looked to the side, where his minimal kitchen was, and saw a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, forks, plates, and cups caked with old food. The trash was overflowing as well, stuffed with what Harry knew to be old takeout boxes and some old papers. When Harry paid attention, he could hear and see the flies and gnats that had entered his home.
It was ghastly.
Draco wouldn't ever let his flat get this way.
The thought hit Harry like a brick. It was true. Draco would probably have an aneurysm at the sight of his place. Harry's mind drifted to him and what it was like to be there.
Certainly cleaner, he told himself.
He wondered how Draco was fairing with the new Auror. Dawlish was fairly good- very by the book, unlike Harry. He imagined that Dawlish would just be standing around like a soldier, keeping contact to a minimum.
The infernal buzz of an insect flying right past Harry's ear snapped him out of his thoughts. In an instant, he took out his wand and cast all of the cleaning and freshening charms he knew.
The flat at least seemed alright now. But the magic wasn't enough to get rid of the atmosphere of decay that was so everpresent. Harry sighed.
I don't want to be here.
And to think, for an entire month living with Malfoy, the whole time I only thought about wanting to be back here.
And now that he was finally at his own place, alone, he remembered how easy it was previously to throw himself into work and drink his troubles away whenever he wasn't at work.
Some deadwood like me doesn't get to have anything easy, anyway.
Harry went to his bedroom, noting how the sheets were half-done and the room felt dusty and drabby. Well, it's what I've got. Harry cast whatever freshening charm she could muster, toed off his shoes, and flopped into his uncomfortably warm and slightly itchy bed.
—-------
The next day was spent hunched over notes regarding the murders. The last murder was of Theodore Nott, Sr. - had associations with blood supremacy, attended Hogwarts as a Slytherin, and had ties to Death Eaters.
Just like every other victim.
The real kicker, Harry supposed, was that, on paper, all of these murders sounded justified. It almost made Harry feel like he was chasing down some vigilante hero, trying to get rid of the last of Voldemort's followers and those associated.
But then there are victims like Parkinson, the Greengrass sisters… They were never really Death eaters. There’s nothing to prove them as followers back then or today. They kept their noses clean. Especially the Greengrassees.
Then there was Draco. The most ambiguous, church-going Death eater that could possibly exist.
Harry couldn’t quite understand why any of them were on the list of victims.
Unless, of course, the killer is a Death Eater themselves.
Harry took his pen and twirled it absentmindedly, letting his thoughts wander.
None of this is adding up... Is this person going after bad people, or not? Or is everyone remotely associated with bad things just damned?
And who is this person?
Harry went back to his notes, scanning again for any identifying clues. Maybe if I look at when each person was taken?
The only really concrete thing we could get from that was that this person is definitely magical, and definitely plans his murders. He had to have been watching everyone for some time in order to decide when to get them.
Harry sighed, setting his papers down and momentarily taking off his glasses. His eyes hurt, and the words and pictures were starting to mesh together in his mind. He cast a tempus charm. 5:47pm.
He had been reading everything over for seven hours.
I need to take a break.
He rubbed his temples, feeling the onset of a headache. Maybe a shower would help.
Harry pushed himself away from his desk and stood, his body aching and sore.
…Maybe a nap, first.
—------
Harry woke with a start, his heart pounding.
He looked around, disoriented. What time is it? He reached for his wand on his nightstand, fumbling with it in his fingers.
Where are my glasses?
Harry cast a tempus with his wand. 3:45 am. He groaned.
Fuck.
As the initial shock of his abrupt awakening subsided, he could feel the stickiness of cold sweat causing his clothes to stick to him. His stomach grumbled.
When was the last time I ate?
Harry groaned as he realized he’d gone an entire day without eating. What the hell was wrong with him?
He sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
It's too early.
Harry laid back down, closing his eyes and willing his racing heart to slow. His mind, however, refused to cooperate, and his thoughts kept drifting back to the case, and to Draco.
What would he think if he saw me like this?
Harry rolled over, pulling the blanket over his head.
I'm an idiot.
After a while, Harry's thoughts began to quiet and his eyelids grew heavy. He tried to relax his muscles and fall asleep, but it wasn't until his stomach growled painfully that he realized it was futile.
"Alright, alright. I'll eat," he said aloud, as though his body would respond.
He has no food in his flat, and it's three in the morning.
Before he could even get up, he willed himself to give up on the idea of food until at least six in the morning. The rest of his night was spent tossing and turning. At four thirty, he managed to slip into a light slumber, and at five thirty, he was counting the blades of his ceiling fan over and over.
1, 2 Why is Draco the only survivor? 3, 4, And why did the killer have to fuck with his memory? 5.
1, 2, I would feel like complete rubbish if I were Draco. 3, 4, I would probably want to kill myself. 5.
1, 2 Draco has changed so much, 3, 4, I wish he didn't make it so difficult for me to get to know him better. 5.
1, I'm just trying to move past the way we used to be. 2, 3, 4, 5.
And what the Hell is his thing with cleaning? 1, 2, 3, And baking? 4, 5.
And the doors. 1, 2, and church? 3, 4, 5.
I want to get to know him better. I want to understand.
—-----
It was after around six days of feeling like a living corpse that Harry got called to Malfoy Manor. His stomach sank. What's Draco doing at Malfoy Manor? Is he alone? Alive?
It wasn't Draco at Malfoy Manor.
When Harry left Malfoy Manor, he lost the breakfast he had had. He was half-glad it didn't come up all over the floors of the scene.
All he could think of was how he needed to be the one protecting Draco. What if the murderer went after his father to try and get information about him?
Harry couldn’t be dissuaded. He was going to reinstate his position as Draco’s protector immediately. He was going to go back to Draco’s flat within the next three hours at most.
—-------
It felt like a breath of fresh air, being back at Draco's flat. The place was clean, as Harry remembered it to be. He thanked Dawlish for his week of work and walked him out the door. Then, he turned to greet Draco. "He hasn't left his room." Harry couldn't explain why he was suddenly slightly sweaty.
To say that Harry was surprised when Draco began to cry, curling into himself against the wall after trying to push away both Harry and his news of Lucius Malfoy's death, was an understatement. Harry's heart clenched as he did everything he could to calm him down and help him. He held Draco, shushed him, and told him it was going to be okay.
It felt nice, being there for Draco.
Harry supposed, at that moment, that they could get through this. They just needed to work together. He was determined now, to get Draco to open up to him, to bring this killer to justice, and to protect Draco at all costs.