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“Rapio Animam,” Longbottom finally managed to say, followed by a much quieter, “Metempsychim Compello.”
Draco’s heart sank as he translated the Latin in his head. “Draco?” came Pansy’s questioning voice, but all he could do was meet Potter’s eyes as he whispered, “It seizes the soul. It—the second one is a fusion of Ancient Greek and Latin. To compel the transmigration of the soul.”
Potter’s green eyes almost popped out of his head. “No,” his features crumbled into a grimace. “There is no way…”
“Harry,” Longbottom started to say, but Potter was still staring at Draco.
“You were right,” he finally said. And Draco looked away at the admission. Another moment, he would have relished in Potter’s acknowledgment. But nothing felt right in confirming his suspicion that Bertrice’s soul had been swapped with the kneazle Guinevere’s. While it meant they had answers, the details provided by Longbottom had no hope for a viable solution.
The room sank into silence. Draco was thankful no one else seemed to be able to recover from the revelation. He felt as if he was suddenly drowning in his own fear, as his understanding of the situation shifted from fundamentally dire to potentially catastrophic. Finding Bertrice had been the priority, the only thought in his mind. But the threads of this case had pulled him into something dark, with every step forward revealing inexplicable developments. It left Draco desperate for something pure, something that made sense. The curse urged him to push through, to follow the threads as they connected even if he didn’t understand their connections.
But every part of him struggled against it now, especially the part that recognised the nervous stare on Longbottom’s face. Draco reeled himself back to the moment at hand, clearing his mind. He asked, “Could some sort of reverse potion be formulated? Perhaps with Full Moon Fluxweed? Or—”
“It would be near impossible,” Longbottom shook his head and looked to Draco. “This is a dark, unnatural magic. It rips the self from the body and puts it somewhere it isn’t meant to be. The only reversal would be using the original potion again.” His gaze shifted to Potter’s and he asked, “Are you—is this happening? Have you come across it in your case?”
After a few moments, Draco turned to see why Potter didn’t answer. He’d gone pale and still as a stone, his eyes closed and his posture rigid. Without a moment’s hesitation, Draco crossed the room and put a hand on Potter’s shoulder. “Harry.”
He wasn’t sure if he was somewhere else. Another place or another time, a view of himself in flashes of unmoving panic and terror as he fell deep into the well of helplessness. It was happening again, he told himself.
“Harry.”
The warmth of a hand on his shoulder stopped him from spiralling. The voice pulled him back. He turned toward the sound and opened his eyes.
Malfoy wore a pained expression, his eyes searching Harry’s in an unspoken question. For the briefest of moments Harry found it strange and somehow comforting that he could read Malfoy so well. Or maybe it was the other man’s skill at Occlumency. Harry shrugged out of Malfoy’s grip and turned to Neville.
“We don’t have knowledge of the plant or potion,” Harry managed to say. “But we have reason to believe someone does. They’ve—uh—used it.”
Neville’s eyes went wide.
“Why,” Pansy broke her silence, “would the kidnappers think Zivantus would have access to an extinct plant?”
Harry rolled his eyes as she divulged too much information by asking the question.
“Zivantus?” Neville gulped. “Bertrice Zivantus?”
Harry put a hand up. That was it. Malfoy stepped forward like he had something to say, but Harry whipped around and shot him a look to stay quiet. Trying to gather his thoughts, Harry said, “Unless Zivantus did have access to the plant.” Malfoy raised a brow in question. Harry repeated the ransom note in his head and continued, “…when it wasn’t extinct. Do you think when they say ‘timepiece’ they mean Time Turner?”
Malfoy’s eyes bulged. Harry couldn’t help but throw him a slight smile. Who had the crazier theory now? He cocked his head as he felt a rush of something being shared between them, connecting them, something charged, and he almost couldn’t look away.
A knock from the door echoed through the office. Harry snapped his head to see who it was. A mess of long blonde curls poked through the opening door, “I had to wait for the mad clouds to pass outside Hagrid’s, but—”
“Luna?” Harry breathed. Stepping into the room with a basket in her arms, Luna Lovegood smiled as she took in the others.
“Hello Harry,” she greeted. “Neville. Draco. Pansy. I didn’t realize it would be a group tea today, but I think I have enough Black Bean Hoof Brittle to go around.” Luna walked in, set her basket on the desk, and pulled out a food box. “It’s said to help stop Tinsel Gnats from nesting in your armpits.”
Neville shook his head, laughing. “I thought you were waiting to try this recipe until the hols?”
Luna pulled out a thermos. “I told you Nev, we keep tinsel up at the house all year round.” She turned to Harry and Draco and said, “For some reason the Tinsel Gnats are especially bad right now.” After transfiguring enough cups for everyone, Luna poured the tea and distributed it. “So what are we consulting on today?”
Neville spit out his tea. “What makes you think—”
“Harry’s an auror. Pansy works with rare, charmed objects, and Draco—” Luna turned her perceptive gaze on the blond and sized him up in her inoffensive and impartial way. “Draco doesn’t rest until the problem has been fixed.”
Luna opened the food box and served them each a slice of the brittle. Harry wasn’t sure if it actually qualified as brittle if it oozed out of its spongy layers.
Pansy took a look at the plate and set it on one of Neville’s crowded bookshelves, then fixed Luna with a calculating stare. “How do you know what I do, Lovegood?”
The question had been lingering in Harry’s mind as well. He hadn’t had time to ask Parkinson, and unsurprisingly, their paths had never crossed since—since the days after the Battle of Hogwarts.
But Neville answered before Luna, whose mouth was occupied in an awkward looking series of movements that resembled chewing. “Hagrid won’t stop raving about that antique carved Scandinavian sideboard you found him.” Pansy blushed, and Neville turned to Harry. “It’s charmed to warm at different climates depending on what animals you need to store in it.”
The mention of Hagrid put a smile on Harry’s face. For a few minutes he was able to talk and catch up with his friends, the spiralling delirium he’d been in earlier wiped from his thoughts. After Pansy finished telling them about the strangest object she’d ever procured for a client, she asked Luna what kept her busy.
“I have an investigative article in this week’s Quibbler about celebrity changelings. It’s a real shame we lose so many figureheads to these shameless monsters.” Luna turned to Harry. “I thought you’d been a victim a few weeks ago. Someone had spotted you at that wizarding nightclub in Edinburgh dancing with a lovely mature ficus.”
“What?” Harry coughed. He was used to wild rumors but the fact that someone had put him in Edinburgh set off alarms.
Luna leaned over and patted his arm. “Don’t worry, no one believed it was you.”
Igora wondered if the Ashtyl Hotel would be able to thrive in the coming years with all the changes the New Ministry was implementing. Not only was their Floo Room spotless, but the entire place, penthouse crime scene aside, had to be the cleanest building she’d ever set foot in. But the rumors kept circulating that reforms were coming in regards to House Elves and indentured magical creatures, which would impact the Ashtyl and the larger service industry. But the Ashtyl Hotel, and Igora, were preoccupied with a murder investigation, so the Ministry would have to wait in turn.
She and Felix made their way into the lobby and headed toward the lift.
“Investigators,” rang a voice from nearby. Ignora was met by the beady eyes of the auror, Bastien Queensbury. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “It saves me the trouble of writing a formal letter.”
“You have something to share with us?” Felix cocked a brow.
“Yes,” Queensbury nodded, something shrill in his tone. “The Home Office has deemed your case a part of mine and reassigned you. I will need all your case notes and files.”
Laughing, Igora walked away.
“Stramitz,” Queensbury warned. “There is extensive evidence Umphrey was working with Zivantus to sell dangerous stolen goods on the black market. This has been deemed the highest priority and my auror task force will be solely responsible for the investigation moving forward.”
“And Bertrice?” Igora raged. “Who is going to be responsible for finding that poor girl?”
The short man frowned. “We will do everything we can.”
She huffed, her breathing a harsh rhythm bouncing between seething rage and heartbreaking disappointment. Felix stepped forward and shook his head, “Right, you’ll do what you can between raiding the warehouses and returning the high priced valuables to their rich owners.” He turned to Igora. “I forgot it was an election year.”
“Just owl me the files,” Queensbury waved them off. “Move on to your next case. That’s an order.” He walked away and disappeared down a hallway. Igora practiced even breaths.
“We are not moving on,” she said. They needed a sudden discovery to change their direction. Igora needed a break in the case. But more importantly, she needed a cigarette.
Reining in McLaggen had apparently become Icarus Sableton’s full time job. He talked him down from giving Granger Veritaserum, but her wand had been confiscated. Icarus reluctantly agreed with that action.
“We have to protect people,” McLaggen said.
Icarus nodded. “Yes, but Granger came in willingly. She just confirmed her curse is manifestly harmless.”
