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Notes: Written for the Contrelamontre's 'Letters' challenge, which had to focus on some form of correspondence.

Letters
by

When the first letter arrives, it is signed in Percy Weasley's blood.

The words are as expected--petty, vicious, taunting--and Harry imagines that he can see Malfoy's face behind them, hear Malfoy's voice.

They have every Auror they can find on the job--but Malfoy is nowhere, nowhere, not in his mansion and not in Knockturn Alley, not with his wife and children, not anywhere in Muggle London. Voldemort is dead, but that doesn't seem to have stopped him--he seems to slip in and out of the shadows, striking everyone Harry Potter holds dear.

It's a conspiracy, some people whisper. It's a madman, others say.

When the third letter arrives, it is signed in Luna Lovegood's blood.

The same words, again, again, again, and Harry doesn't pay any attention to them. Don't you know why I'm doing this? Malfoy's letter asks him, in the same tone Malfoy had used years ago, mouth hot and open against his, desperate, before Harry had pushed him away. Harry casts every detection spell he knows on the parchment, but it tells him nothing of where Malfoy is.

Wards are set up. Around everyone Harry can think of, and a few people more. Malfoy's nowhere, he's everywhere. I'm hunting a ghost, Harry thinks, and the killings don't stop, until the fifth letter arrives, and the seventh, and Harry finally goes to visit Malfoy's home. It takes days, precious days, to burn through the wards--Malfoy's near-flawless wards, obviously protecting what he holds most dear. When Harry's done he takes the steps up to the main entrance, dusted with ash and arms quivering with exhaustion.

A child opens the door. Not a house-elf: and Harry is vaguely surprised at this, but then he looks up and sees Parkinson behind the child, arms crossed over an elegant dress.

'May I help you?' she asks.

Harry Potter doesn't say Can you tell me where Malfoy is because that's just fucking stupid. He remembers Percy's blood, and Luna's, and Ginny's, and he steps quietly inside.

'Just a moment of your time,' he says calmly, and takes out his wand.

When the first letter is sent, it is signed in Pansy Parkinson's blood.

Don't you know why I'm doing this? Harry asks.

* FIN *