March 2002

The next day, Harry's in the office examining evidence from the Lucius Malfoy case. Ron's with him, as he so often is, and together they sift through box after box of objects salvaged from the Manor after the fire.

The fire.

Accidental, supposedly, but Harry doesn't buy that.

It just feels convenient that the Manor should have burnt on the very night the Malfoys fled, but Harry doesn't know whether to blame them. There's got to have been piles and piles of damning evidence within those marble walls; in their situation he'd have lit the place up before he left too.

Unless it was Harry's fellow Aurors, of course. Smoking the Death Eaters out like rats. He wonders when he became so sceptical.

A dusting of marble sits soft on the tops of the boxes, and Harry blows it gently off the first object he retrieves: a weighty silver candlestick with the letter M engraved beneath it. He's seen all these items dozens of times before, but it still amuses him every time he sees the letter. Who engraves their fucking candlesticks?

He sets it down, and reaches for the next item, a small selection of Draco Malfoy's rings which have been placed into a small transparent bag.

He doesn't know what they're looking for; not really. But they're obliged to kill the time of the morning before they head out Horcrux searching after lunch. Trev doesn't like them to disappear for entire days at a time, even though Harry knows that's probably what's needed in this case if they're going to make any bloody progress.

But the rings are interesting to look at, at least. The silver is icy cool through the material of the bag as Harry weighs them up in his hands, and he likes the way the light catches on all the little jetstones and gleams off the metal curves.

It's odd to him that Malfoy wouldn't have been wearing the rings at the time of the fire, though, that he'd leave them behind. Harry's never seen him without them, not even on the Quidditch pitch at school. But things change, he supposes. It has been nearly five years since he saw the guy. He must just have taken them off to sleep, rested them on his bedside table.

This image sticks in Harry's mind for some reason.

It's delicate, humanising. The idea of Draco removing each ring carefully one by one and setting them aside before he gets into bed. Harry shakes his head to get rid of it; God, he's getting too invested in this case. He puts the rings back in the box like they're suddenly hot, and turns to Ron.

"Shall we just sneak out now?" he asks, wiping his hands off on his trousers. "This is going nowhere, we've looked over all of it fifteen times at least, and found nothing. I think we should do what we do best."

Ron nods, he rarely needs asking twice. "Let me just grab my jacket," he says.

Spring that year is bleak and frosty.

***

"Do you really believe there are Horcruxes out here?" Ron asks as they trudge over the Wiltshire farmland at the outskirts of where the Malfoy Manor used to be. The rubble has been roughly mown aside, but it's still obvious where the structures were years before.

"Not sure," Harry shrugs. He's never what he thinks on this subject, and his gaze is fixed firmly on his feet.

"Bit depressing if there are," Ron frowns. "Probably worse than depressing, actually."

"Probably," Harry allows himself a small wry smile. He's serious again seconds later though, focusing on the task at hand. Auror sensibility takes over. "This revolution will be worse though, if it's true what they're saying - about how strong Lucius Malfoy's following is."

"The real Pureblood revolution," Ron rolls his eyes and swishes the stick in his left hand in irritation. "Honestly, I'm embarrassed sometimes to be one of the Twenty-Eight."

"Malfoy does seem to think he'll do it right this time, though," Harry says. "Finish what Riddle couldn't. What was it Lestrange told us? Time to let the real Purebloods take over?"

"She was in love with Riddle, though, anyone can see that," Ron says. "Probably why she killed herself when she got to prison. Couldn't stand doing all this shit without him."

Harry decides not to dispute the suicide this time. Terrorists, the lot of them, he reminds himself. The more that are wiped out, the better.

***

They wander the moorland aimlessly for a little while longer, and sift through the marble rubble of the Manor with elm branches, though they both know they have no idea what they're looking for. If Lucius Malfoy had a Horcrux, where would he hide it? That grotesque serpent-head cane? Some obscure family heirloom?

Suddenly, Harry's reminded how many of the Malfoys' belongings must have perished in the fire, and he groans at the potential.

"Surely that's the kind of thing he'd remember to take with him," Ron says reassuringly, but Harry shakes his head.

"Only if he had that control, only if he set the fire himself," he sighs. "This is so stupid, Ron - what are we doing? There are so many unknowns here."

"There were unknowns with Voldemort too, but we managed," Ron reminds him.

"Yeah, but at least we knew there were Horcruxes," Harry replies, chewing on his lip. "And there was a sort of pattern, remember - Goodrich Gryffindor's sword, Salazar Slytherin's locket ... Lucius will have learnt from Riddle's mistakes."

"We can't give up hope, Harry," Ron insists with a supportive hand on his friend's arm. "We've got to keep looking, familiarising ourselves with this setting and with the mindset of the Malfoys, and you never know what might occur to us. We've done cases like this before - never this complicated, sure - but we're good Aurors, alright?"

"Alright," says Harry slightly weakly.

"We are," says Ron again. His voice is firm. "Come to me and 'Mione's for dinner again tonight. Take your mind off things."

"Alright."

"We're good Aurors, Harry."

***

When they got back to the office that afternoon, the building was ablaze with commotion.

"Harry, Ron!" Trevor called gleefully. "It's Malfoy - he's been arrested!"

Harry's eyes widened. "Which Malfoy?"

He's surprised how much he cares about the answer.

"Lucius," his boss replies, a triumphant smile rippling over his face. "Finally managed to track the scumbag's wand; he was in London all this time!"

"Insane!" Ron beams. "Stupid fucker going to get what he deserves, then?"

"I hope so," Rosen nods grimly. "Interrogation starts tomorrow. Let's get him singing."

"That's brilliant, Trev," Harry grins. "Really great news! You might want to watch who you let near his cell tonight though."

His boss frowns. "He's having the best possible supervision by the Dementors, Harry, I don't think you need to worry about that."

Ron rolls his eyes. "Harry's a conspiracy theorist, Trev," he says. "He thinks Malfoy might conveniently pass in the night if anyone comes to see him."

"I just think the recent deaths are a bit suspicious!" Harry protests. "If I'm right and people are getting a little easy with their wands around the Death Eaters then I couldn't just not say something - we want them alive to give evidence! But if you think it's fine, Trev, then I'm sure it's fine."

"It's fine, Harry," Ron sighs before Rosen can answer. "Come on, let's head home. And not a word to 'Mione, yeah? You know how even good news on this subject can set her off..."

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a/n: feels good to update this after a while of not writing anything! hope you guys like it:))
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~ paradisedraco