Cicatrices- Marks That Remain

Muggleborn Family

Harry was not happy. Not one bit.

How stupid did Malfoy have to be to deny Auror protection? How could he not take something like this seriously? Didn't he understand that his life might be on the line?

Harry tried not to let it bother him when Malfoy kicked him and Ron out of the house without signing the request form. He got back to the Ministry to punch out and went right to his flat in Diagon, tossing a pile of unfinished paperwork onto his desk, peeling off his work robes, and microwaving some leftovers from the icebox.

When he peeled back the adhesive foil of the box dinner, releasing the sour and rotten stench of old, soggy greens and aged cheese. Harry found himself with the urge to vomit, and tossed it in the trash, swapping dinner out for a glass and some Firewhiskey.

He sat down on his sofa with a sigh, throwing his head back an closing his eyes, his drink close at hand, and tried to decompress.

Why, why haven't I figured this out, yet? Why can't I stop people from dying? The weight of his failure was weighing him down. He felt no relief, no pride in any of his actions. He simply felt shame. Shame over his ineptitude to solve the case.

At least three bodies now, three mutilated, absolutely destroyed bodies, left to rot for us to find, almost as though the murderer wants to make a show of it.

And even after Draco Malfoy's girlfriend becomes the latest in a string of victims, he still denies protection.

Harry can't shake the feeling that he's going to be the next victim.

Harry found the initial glass he'd served himself was empty, and he decided to accio the bottle over to him, pouring another glass.

Another terrible, gruesome murder. Another innocent life he couldn't save. Another, and another,

and another... When they'd gotten the report of suspicious activity he didn't think he'd find Astoria Greengrass slashed up in an abandoned warehouse.

And they weren't getting any closer than they were when Pansy Parkinson, the first murdered, was found. What they thought was a one-off tragedy was quickly turning into a connected mass conspiracy coupled with absolute, utter hopelessness, to Harry.

Harry tossed back another drink, the bottle quickly losing volume.

And just when he'd decided he wanted to quit, too. How convenient.

At least he hadn't told anybody of his plans. He hadn't even requested the forms for his two weeks notice. Kingsley would have asked too many questions.

It didn't take long for Harry to get absolutely sloshed.

He'd make Harry feel guilty enough to stay. Harry had to get Terry Boot to pick up an extra copy when he had quit six months ago. Terry Boot moved on to become a healer. Harry doesn't know what job he would get when he quit. Did he even need a job? He has more money than he knows what to do with, anyway.

What wanker can't even last one year doing a job that he was basically born to do?

Harry fell into a fitful sleep on the couch that night, and he woke up the next morning feeling no better as he dragged his feet to the Auror offices.

There was no Owl from Malfoy.

Harry had hoped that Malfoy might come to his senses by morning. Why was he even so bothered by this, anyway?

Three more days passed until Harry found it just infuriating that Malfoy was seemingly still stupid enough to not request protection. Especially when Ron came busting into the office with word of a dead body found in one family's basement, which seemingly appeared there while they were on holiday. Harry sprang up from his desk, only one thing on his mind. What if it was Malfoy?