Cicatrices- Marks That Remain

Flat Number 307

Harry was getting tired of the smell of rot. It was something he was getting too used to, and his gut turned before they even found the body.

He couldn't believe that the day after Astoria's funeral, they found her own sister dead in the same warehouse that they'd found her in. She must have been taken the day of the funeral, according to Mordecai. Ron didn't hesitate in beginning the procedures they'd all grown used to at this point, but Harry thought he was going to be sick.

On the bright side, he thought, if there even was a bright side, this was the first time their suspect had repeated a location.

This meant they could flag it for potential future attacks, perhaps put up detection wards that will warn them the next time somebody stepped foot in there.

"We should- guys, we..." Harry swallowed down the anxiety that crawled up his throat, attempting to speak again. "This is the first time he repeats a location. We should put up detection wards, and flag this place for any future encounters."

"Good thinking, mate."

"I'm on it," began Mordecai, his wand already out and pointed up. Harry's jaw tensed as the shimmer of magic befell the place.

"We should revisit all those at risk, offer them protection again.

"No need, mate, Robards is already speaking to Kingsley about sending them a memo." Ron paused to look at Harry. Harry was staring at the wall where the Christogram was. He didn't want to think about the chunks of soft blonde hair that'd been pulled out of her skull and the fact that she was missing a leg.

Well, missing wasn't quite right. Chunks of it were scattered around haphazardly.

Her jaw was also missing. Harry tried not to imagine the brute force that was required if not done with magic. Either way was just as terribly gruesome.

After another loss, another failure like that, Harry felt like he was just as bad as that monster if he didn't try to check on Malfoy again. He shouldn't have been surprised when Malfoy didn't answer, but he couldn't shake the feeling that each day that passed with the same result was another day closer to him possibly being next.

Harry couldn't handle that. Not him. He figured it was because, of all the people this monster has gone after, of all those on the list as at-risk, he knew Malfoy better. And he simply didn't want to lose somebody else he knew. Not since the war.

That motivation got Harry to visit Malfoy's flat every day after work at the Ministry. He would knock to no avail, then he would wait for the quietest shuffle or murmur or clatter, then he would sit outside in his car and watch the entrance for hours until he was practically falling asleep on himself. He'd go home, take a shower, fall asleep, and do it all again the next day.

When Daphne's funeral came around Harry was shocked to see Malfoy working behind the scenes, serving pastries to those who came. How's he managing to hold up when Harry could feel in his very bones that something was wrong? That he was in danger?

Harry walked up to him, then, with all of the Gryffindor courage he could muster, and asked for a pastry, waiting for Malfoy to notice just who was asking for it.

Malfoy didn't. He simply put the raspberry puff turnover on a paper plate and thrust it in his hand, never once making eye contact as he chattered away to a woman apparently named Maggie, telling her to "Please grab more napkins for everybody."

Harry didn't know what to say, so he simply left before Malfoy could have the opportunity to look up and actually see him.

Almost a week later Harry was found standing at Malfoy's door, 307, and knocking as he always did after work. However, his heart leaped to his throat when he heard somebody knocking back. His hand flew to his wand, ready to take it out at any moment, until...

"What do you want from me, huh?! What do I need to do to stop hearing things?!"

Harry's eyes were stuck wide open, his heart pounding against his chest, shocked at just how raw and distressed Malf- Draco sounded.

The pounding began again after only a brief pause and Harry glanced around, wary of any neighbors that might come out complaining. What do I do?

"Is this what you want?!" The pounding continued, though they grew weaker after a moment, and also sounded as though traveling downward. Harry took a tentative step towards the door.

...Draco?

His name was on the tip of his tongue, Harry forced it there after unsticking it like molasses against his throat, when suddenly,

"Go away, go away, go, away! Stop it!"

The whole ordeal came like a bucket of iced water over his veins. He didn't know what to do or what to say. With two shaky breaths, Harry apparated away on the spot, arriving right at the front door of Ron and Hermione's house.

"Stalking Malfoy?!" Hermione was furious. Harry and Ron simply sat on the couch and took whatever lecture Hermione was about to give, knowing they both deserved it. "And Ron, you didn't think to tell me?"

"In my defense," began Ron, "Harry made me swear not to tell." Hermione huffed angrily, her piercing gaze pinning them down.

"You're officers of the law- Ron, you're my boyfriend-" She turned back to Harry.

"You are meant to be a symbol of public safety! Ethics is not some optional thing like brownie points! You are meant to embody the philosophy and act on it!" She shook her head, turning away with a growl. "I cannot believe you two, honestly."

"I'm sorry Hermione, but-" Harry paused at Hermione's look of warning.

"Harry James, choose what you are going to say right now very carefully."

Harry cleared his throat. "He doesn't sound like he's doing alright, and I'm worried about him."

The rest of that conversation went about as well as Harry could expect. But, at least he was able to get it off of his chest, and after Hermione calmed down, she suggested trying to go up to Malfoy like a normal person, and not exhibiting unethical, stalker-like behaviors.

Harry told Hermione that he would, but as he arrived back at Malfoy's complex to pick up his car and take it home, he figured there was nothing truly unethical about actually trying to visit Malfoy like he had been doing all this time. He also figured that Malfoy not answering the door was not Harry's fault, and if Malfoy's outburst was anything to go by, it seemed Malfoy was well aware of what Harry was trying to do.

What was Harry trying to do, anyway?

Talk?

Keep him safe. Convince him to hire protection. Yes. That was what he was trying to do.

Harry continued his procedural showing up at Malfoy's house and knocking, then listening for signs of life behind the shabby door. This kept going for a long while, and Harry was beginning to fall into the monotony of it all, again.

Then one day, Harry climbed up the three flights of stairs that he'd climbed every day. He walked down the hallway that had become so familiar, now, looking for Malfoy's flat number, 307.

He gave three short knocks. There was a creaking silence that followed. Harry sighed. Now, it was time to wait for that scuttle of dishes again, or the vacuum, again, or Malfoy's own voice, again.

Shoulders sagging, Harry waited, almost bored by it all. He knocked again.

Nothing.

Harry straightened up, brows furrowing in suspicion. He knocked again, this time louder.

The only sounds that could be heard were of the joints of the Muggle flat moaning with their old age, and the soft hum of the complex's central air conditioning unit. His heart began to speed up. He knocked again.

"Malfoy?" Harry leaned in close, trying to listen to even the slightest sign that he was there. "Malfoy, are you in there?"

Harry jumped when Ron's Russel Tarrier flew into the room, his surroundings going dark save for the blue glow of the Patronus.

"Harry, mate, you'll never believe it. Mordecai's wards went off. The bastard's actually using that warehouse again. We might have a shot at catching him."