one or the other // oneshots!!

the stalker's tango (tomarry)

tomarry. stalking/kidnapping involved. based off the song linked (;
if anyone is interested in another part or wants a specific scene, please let me know and i will definitely get to it! there's a lot i didn't get to explain fully in-depth here so i wouldn't mind doing it anyway.
onto the story !!

Harry, a journalist who connects with cases of murder and tragedy, is accustomed with a life of reading and seeing them from afar.
What he never anticipated was him becoming a part of the tragedy.

Harry left his office nearly at midnight.
It was a cool evening and there was a breeze that rode eerily into the nearby shrubs and trees that stood near the parking lot, making a ghost-like song play through the air.
He puffed out a breath of air and shoved a cold hand into his jacket pocket, the leather rubbing against itself.
He fumbled for his keys in his pocket and, once he finally managed to find it amid the mess of papers and business cards, he unlocked his car and clambered in, ignoring the squeak that resounded from the old door as he went.

Harry was a journalist who delved into the world of criminal cases, whether they were ongoing or frozen cold. It was work that interested him despite not paying much.
However, there was a reason as to why he was so intrigued by these mysteries.
He was famously known for having survived a case himself, in which his parents had been murdered in his own family home when he was a child. They had been found dead, his father downstairs with trauma to the head and his mother in his bedroom by his crib. There was no evidence other than her snapped neck and his head bashed in.
No trace of a killer was ever found, and, for some reason, Harry had been found mostly unharmed, with only a bloody lightning-bolt engraved on his forehead.
When the police arrived on scene, he was found in his crib with a bloody forehead and wide, wet eyes, crying and reaching out for his dead mother, who laid only a few feet from the piece of furniture.

Because of this, he'd been given to his aunt from his mother's side and been forced to live with her family despite having a godfather, who unfortunately was in prison for being suspected in his parents murder.
However, he'd been acquitted on charges after it was found he had not been guilty at all, and so thirteen-year-old Harry was finally freed from the confines of his horribly neglectful relatives.
After that, life had been good.
Until it hadn't.

Before his life began its decline, Harry grew up to be a proper boy. He was shorter than most men his age and was rather kept to himself. He wasn't quiet, so to speak, for he could easily be loud, but he would rather observe than engage. Not only was it a part of his nature, but he'd realized it would help him later in the career he was interested in.
He would talk when he figured it was necessary and become upset when something wrong was said (it would usually entail his friends or things he enjoyed). Needless to say, he would rather use his eyes than his mouth.
His hair always stuck up at odd angles and he had tanned skin, not too dark, not too light, but somewhere in-between. His almond shaped eyes, usually adorned by circular black glasses, were green ("they look just like your mum's did, Harry") and full of life when he sifted through both online and print media of criminal or murder cases. While he could be described as scrawny, he was simply skinny and lithe.

His unfortunate decline of sanity and safety began when he published his own family's case.
It was rather old at that point- it was nearly twenty-two years since the incident, and it would be twenty-three when Halloween would come.
He'd asked specifically to talk about his own story that day, had asked if he could discuss the details and disclose information that had been added to the case, though it remained unsolved.
Harry had been told no initially, as it was such a personal thing to write about, but, somehow (even Harry did not know how he'd done it), he'd managed to convince his higher ups, such as Lucius Malfoy, to do the piece.
It was only after he'd written it that he realized it had been a mistake.