Roses (A Drarry FanFiction - Roses are Red, Violets are Blue Part 1)

Chapter Nine

   Harry wasn't sure how long he'd been standing around making his statement. It seemed like as soon as his finished talking to one department, another would pop up. He and Draco hadn't had a chance to get their story straight, so he was being as vague as possible about the hours they had spent in the cottage since their entrapment. It didn't help that the Curse Breakers had set up camp in the kitchen so Harry couldn't see what was going on.

He knew the case was more important, he knew he should have been jubilant that he'd finally caught his quarry after so many months of hard work, but he just couldn't shake the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, wishing he knew what Draco was thinking.

"Hey," said Ron, coming over and breaking him from his reverie. "I think we might know why they came back to the house." He waved a small roll of parchment that Harry guessed had just been delivered by owl.

That had been bothering Harry, and his interest piqued. "Why?"

"I reckon they didn't think it was you that poking about. I think they thought they were coming back for Mrs Hathaway."

Harry blinked. "Mary Hathaway? I assumed she was dead."

"Yeah," Ron said, pleased and handing over the parchment. "So did we. Turns out she's a tough old bird – she caused most of this damage when the Pontiacs arrived, before giving up and apparating away. Her handbag was like that one Hermione used when we were looking for the Horcruxes, she had an emergency tent stored in there so she's just been living out on the Isle of Skye."

"And she didn't bother to tell anyone about it?" Harry marvelled, shaking his head.

Ron shrugged. "Locals reported her earlier today, apparently, she can't see what the fuss is all about."

"But, the blood?" Harry pointed to the splatter up the wall.

Ron laughed. "Apparently, the handbag packs a mean swing as well as camping gear. The blood is Ourson Pontiac's according to her statement."

Harry puffed out a breath. Well that was something. He felt much better about having wild sex in her bed now she wasn't dead. Actually, maybe that made it worse.

Urgh, the whole thing was making him feel tired and irritable. He just wanted to get away from this place, away from Draco. If he wasn't even going to look at him then he'd rather just not be here at all.

"Do you think we're done here?" Harry asked his superior Kingsley Shacklebolt. The older man thought a moment and flicked through his notebook.

"I think you can relieve yourself for the night," he conceded. "We can carry on with the rest."

Harry gave him a nod, grateful, and turned back to Ron. "See you tomorrow?" said his partner.

"Tomorrow," Harry agreed. "Though I might take the morning off, get some sleep. Give my love to Hermione?"

"Always do," Ron said, clapping his shoulder.

As he walked out into the corridor, Harry couldn't help but glance towards the kitchen. As luck was have it Draco was facing his way, with various people talking around him but he was still, perched against the counter top. Their eyes met for just a moment, but there was no emotion behind Draco's grey ones, and he quickly dropped them to the floor again.

Harry squashed down the hurt and frustration. Fine, he promised himself he wouldn't be mad, so he wasn't.

Well he was, but maybe by tomorrow afternoon he might convince himself otherwise.