⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ RUSH a harry potter motorsport au
105; ring of fire: part one
SUMMARY
The search for Sebastian Murray continues with Harry and Alexis as they spend the day in search of one of the men behind Serpentine Racing. But the moment they finally find their bidding's worth, a disturbing horror is up for display only for Harry to watch.
wc: 8.5k
rating: mature
content: mystery, psychological mind games
characters: Harry Potter, Alexis Jones, Sebastian Murray
As the acrid weight finally lifted from his chest, Harry's hand blurred. He drew his handgun, the cold steel a natural extension of his arm. He advanced with the predatory grace of a wolf, his emerald eyes sweeping the perimeter with lethal, unblinking focus. At the threshold, he didn't hesitate, driving his boot into the spruce door with a thunderous crack that splintered the silence of the glen. He swept inside, his weapon tracking every shadow with mechanical precision. The cabin was slightly larger than the others they had searched. It had a deceptive sort of warmth to it, the kind of place that wanted to look lived-in, comfortable, ordinary. But Harry trusted none of it.
"Split up," he murmured with command, his voice a low-frequency hum. "I'll clear the south wing."
"Copy," Alexis replied, her own weapon raised. She pressed a small, sleek comms bead into his palm. "Stay on the channel."
Harry slotted the device into his ear, feeling the tiny click of technology against his skin before he vanished into the foyer. He moved like a ghost through a kitchen that clashed with the rugged exterior—all polished marble counters and the warm, elegant glow of LED strips. He cleared the living room, his shoulders squared and his gun leveled, until Alexis's voice crackled through the earpiece, tight with an unfamiliar tension.
"Harry, you need to see this." Her tone had shifted—sharper now. "I'm in the hallway."
He pivoted, his boots silent on the floorboards as he surged toward her location. He found her staring upward at a recessed trapdoor in the ceiling. Without a word, Harry stowed his gun and drew his wand. A sharp flick, a muffled explosion of wood, and the door swung down, a ladder clattering into place. He didn't wait another second before hoisting himself into the attic, his senses on a hair-trigger.
The space was eerie—the lights were already burning, casting an expectant, artificial glare over the rafters. Harry straightened slowly with every sense narrowing inside of him. The space smelled dry and dusty that felt close but not in a way of any comfort. The air felt still in that eerie way only abandoned places could manage. Turning his head to the left, a planning station dominated the room. A desk choked with papers and documents sat beneath a bulletin board pinned wall to wall with photographs, notes, maps—red thread crossing from point to point like veins. Harry moved toward it at first in silence, his gaze narrowing. The details became clear, and as it did, the world tilted on its axis.
