Blood Vengeance

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Published: August 31, 2022

Although Harry had rarely watched the telly growing up, he couldn't help but feel that the spa was a cliché out of a muggle police show. Complete with a shady owner in expensive designer clothes and goddy makeup. The "massage therapists" were lounging around on red sofas waiting for clients, while new arrivals were whisked down the hallway to private rooms. He probably should have changed before he walked in, as one wizard, who was chatting up two girls, suddenly got up and rushed out the door.

Fool. Harry had looked right at him, but he turned to the dominatrix, who quickly approached him. "Good evening, madam."

"Hello, Auror. We have already talked to your friends. I'm sorry, but I have seen neither individual, and I must ask you not...."

"Look, I'm sure that this is a very well-rehearsed speech, Madam...?"

"Rohama."

"Rohama, but I have on good authority that Mr. Malfoy frequents this establishment."

"No! Absolutely not! I would not allow such vermin in my shop!"

Harry paused and wondered if there was another massage shop, but the one was closer to Gringotts and Draco would've had to pass it. "Madam Rohama... if you want me to come back with a full contingent of Aurors to inspect your business... that is up to you. But I know Malfoy comes here."

Her eyes narrowed. "Listen... some people do not like Death Eaters wandering around freely."

"Just tell me who worked with him," he grunted, looking over at the massage therapists and wondering why he was investigating this place... and off the books.

"Sherrie," the woman called and a gorgeous (by most people's standards) bleach-blonde girl came over. "Sherrie is the one who has been tending to Mr. Malfoy. We are a reputable clinic, Auror Potter."

Harry's eyes narrowed at the big-breasted girl now batting her eyelashes at him. He wondered if Terry or Mike had come here and decided they wouldn't have stayed long. The girl was a ploy to distract and redirect from the line of intrigue.

"Hey there, Auror Potter... I never thought I'd see you in person. Your eyes are so... striking," she gushed, touching his arm, but Harry pulled free, done with the game.

"Madam, please," he said, gruffly. He wasn't remotely interested in her or any female. "I'm here to ask questions."

"What do you want to know, sugar?" she said, in a high-pitch voice.

His eyebrow rose. There was no fucking way that Malfoy would have abided by this... adolescent screechy, bottle-blonde girl. He knew him that much. Malfoy hated everything. He also had a feeling that he wouldn't have liked a blonde. He wouldn't have wanted competition, Harry thought contemptuously. No, she was there to drive sales and hook clients in. He could have imagined Dawlish already coaxing a massage out of her... with a happy ending.

"If you actually assisted Malfoy... tell me, what scar does Malfoy have on his chest?"

The girl gave him a look. "Umm... a burn?" She was guessing.

"A silver line slashed across his whole chest," a muscular guy with short dirty blonde hair said, from the hallway entrance.

"Aiden!" Sherrie hissed. There must be a commission to hook johns, Harry guessed, or she wanted to bang him.

"That is correct. I take it you're his actually...?"

The guy sighed, and crossed his arms in annoyance. "Yeah, he's a right prick, but he pays well."