“Alohamora,” I whisper, my wand shaking as I point it at Dean’s door. I was angry when he first stood me up, but after talking to Parvati and Neville I became concerned. What finally moved me to action, however, was finding the note crammed under my door from Dean that said he’d see me at seven on Friday.

After hearing a soft click I push open Dean’s door. It concerns me that it would have only taken seconds to break into his flat. He might as well have not locked the door.

“Dean?” I call cautiously. It doesn’t look like anyone’s been in his flat this weekend. I take another step into the flat and it suddenly dawns on me that it doesn’t look like Dean’s been in his flat in months. “It’s much too clean in here,” I mutter.

There isn’t anything scattered on the floor like normal. The shelves are neat and organized. While it doesn’t look as clean as my flat, it definitely doesn’t look like Dean’s either. I feel a chill go down my spine as I consider the implications. It doesn’t look like Dean just went to his parent’s house for the weekend.

“Please be okay,” I whisper, continuing to poke around for anything suspicious. I freeze in place when I look down at Dean’s coffee table. Not only are the books on the table neatly stacked, but they’re his art books. Dean doesn’t like anyone to see his art books. He doesn’t like to discuss his art work at all. It’s been one of my biggest concerns about, well, about discussing our feelings. He’s got a past he’s keeping locked away. He would never leave that past neatly stacked in his living room.

I slowly back out of his flat, scared to touch anything that might be a clue as to where Dean is. I need to talk to people who know what they’re doing when it comes to crime scenes. Fighting the urge to start crying, I move to contact Justin and ask him for help.