The ABC's of Loving You [ Tomarry

Note

Note;
a short informal letter or written message.

—

Tom's a serial killer in love with Harry Potter, a twenty year old painter. Whenever he murders someone, he leaves behind a note with a red carnation flower and the name Voldemort.

Modern day AU

There's no gory details, but there's mention of murder.

Let's play a game called how does the author feel about Bellatrix, because obviously the author has no idea

—

It was a cold winter day, and Harry was amusing himself with his new painting. His easel was situated to the left of a huge window, his chair more to the right so that he could look outside.

Faintly, Harry could hear music playing from his phone, a playlist that he had made for when he painted. Humming along, he leaned back slightly to compare the painting and outside.

A knock sounded on his door, startling the tranquility away. Harry sighed and put his paintbrush down delicately. Thankfully, he hadn't had his paintbrush on the canvas when the knock had occurred, or else it would probably have been ruined, costing Harry both time and actual money.

Before he opened up for the person outside, Harry looked through the peephole. If it had been Ron or Hermione, they have have texted him, and of course, Harry wasn't expecting anyone. If he had been expecting anyone, he would have worn something other than a raggedy white shirt and some paint ruined trousers.

Harry was shocked that outside of his house was a police officer. Had he done something wrong? Did he forget to pay the taxes? Again? Fuck, they had let him off easy last time, would they for a second time?

"You're an adult, Harry," he chastised himself. "He's probably asking to see if you saw a lost kid around. Yeah, that's it."

Satisfied with his reasoning, Harry turned the doorknob and opened the door. The police officer looked up from his notepad and quirked a smile. "Harry Potter?" He asked.

"That's me," Harry said. "Would you like to come in? It's below zero and I can make a cup of tea for you."

The officer tipped his head in gratitude, and Harry stepped aside to let him in. Harry lead him to the kitchen. "Ignore the scary painting of the woman," he said. "This is my godfather's old place, and he told me not to remove it or I may be 'cursed by my dead grandma'."

"Your godfather's Sirius Black, yes?" The officer confirmed.

Harry frowned, but he didn't halter in his steps. "Yes. Is that why you're here? I know he's in the police force but I don't want to be—"

"I think it's best if we sit down with a cup of tea before I tell you why I'm here."

It was a strange plea, but Harry just accepted it. The man probably just wanted some tea as fast as he could, lord knows how long he had been standing in the cold for.

Once they reached the kitchen, Harry directed the officer to sit on one of the chairs before he went and started boiling the kettle. While waiting, Harry turned towards the other man.

"I never caught a name," he said.

The officer looked sheepish. "My apologies. My name's Kingsley."

Harry smiled. "Pleasure. Now, I don't mean to rush, but why are you here? It's not everyday that a police officer knocks on my door, you know."

"Yesterday there was a murder, a few blocks down."