wosi9.cc 
McLaggen frowned. “Love can be very dangerous.”
“I bet,” Icarus said doubtfully. Frankly, the Eros Curse seemed like one of the more manageable afflictions. Manageable in that it didn’t cause immediate death or destruction, although love was known to lead to both of those things in the worst of circumstances.
He debriefed Granger without McLaggen, and when he asked if the two had a history, Granger snorted and crossed her arms. She grew increasingly frustrated and demanded to speak with the Pandora project leader.
“There was an emergency,” Icarus explained, and he tried not to laugh. He really did. Chuckling, “They found Garius Santi—let’s just say, in a tight situation.”
“Garius?” Granger questioned. “Have they identified his curse?”
Icarus thought about one of the Department of Mysteries’ senior-most officials parading down the catwalk in a dress and full makeup and nodded. He shook the thought and addressed the matter at hand. They wanted Granger to help bring in the others and then assist in breaking the curses.
“I can’t help you bring in the others!” she said. “I’m—I’m—-well, I came in as a courtesy.”
“A courtesy?”
Granger nodded. “Marwan Zivantus has been killed, and his Timepiece is missing.”
“We’re aware.” Icarus found it increasingly unsettling the amount of Unspeakables outside of the Time Chamber who knew about the Iniquitous Eleven and their Timepieces.
“Are you aware,” Granger raised her brows, “that there is some sort of soul-swapping cult scouring Edinburgh for the missing Timepiece?”
Icarus grabbed his jaw and closed his eyes. “What—?”
“I don’t have time to explain, Sableton, I just need a pocket watch resembling a Timepiece and a portkey permit for the Ministry Barracks.”
Icarus was still hung up on the soul-swapping cult in Edinburgh part. “Why—?”
“Why should you let me, Hermione Granger—a bright and loyal servant of this Ministry and a decorated war hero—have a few trivial requests in the face of a potentially horrendous Ministry blunder becoming truly calamitous?”
“Let’s go with that.” Icarus had a sinking feeling that no matter what happened after this moment, he would be doing paperwork for the rest of his life.
“If you allow me this, and you let me leave tonight,” Granger offered, “I will come back tomorrow. I will spend every waking minute helping bring in the others and finding a solution to the curse.”
“Deal,” Icarus breathed. “But you get a tail tonight.”
“Fine,” Granger agreed. “Anyone but McLaggen,” she said, just as Icarus added, “It’s gonna be McLaggen.”
Longbottom didn’t ask any other questions, but offered them a few books and suggested reading on the subject of inquollis anicorpus. He flipped through the pages of one of the books and pointed to an etching of a large, leafy plant. “Doesn’t look like anything special,” Pansy muttered.
Potter thanked his friends and followed Draco and Pansy out of the greenhouse, and the sudden shadow of the situation cast itself back over them. They stayed silent as they made their way back through the castle. Draco tried to imagine something they could do. But even if they could get Bertrice/Guinevere back safely, how would they switch them back?
Marwan Zivantus’ Timepiece. He felt around in the pocket of his waistcoat for the cool metal of a pocket watch.
A figure in the entrance hall stepped out and startled them. “There’s no way I can convince you to stay for supper, Potter?” McGonagall asked, steely gaze fixed upon the Gryffindor. She walked into the light and Draco barely recognised her. Without the strain and stress of the War, she appeared years younger, almost youthful in appearance and demeanor. Her promotion to Headmistress certainly suited her.
Potter gave her a genuine smile and shook his head. “Sorry, Headmistress. It’s this case. We have to go.”
McGonagall glanced over Harry’s shoulder and smiled at Draco and Pansy. “It’s a joy to finally see some of the best minds of your year working together at last.” They parted ways with Potter’s promise to not be a stranger. “The open invitation goes for all of you,” she called after them. Draco was perplexed by the lingering warmth from the encounter but accepted the feeling.
When he was certain they’d made it down the path far enough to be out of earshot of anyone, Draco cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure how to tell them about the Timepiece. He wasn’t even sure if he could tell them about it. The only thing he knew was the threads were seizing, the way forward narrowed, and the only way through was to go back.
“There’s one thing that bothers me,” Potter rushed to speak first.
“Only one thing?” Draco glanced at him and smirked. He had to look back at the path to watch his steps as the fading light drifted below the horizon, but he was certain Potter had smiled.
“If they could swap souls with anyone in the world,” Potter asked, “why did they choose Bertrice and a kneazle?”
“Maybe they didn’t,” Parkinson offered. “Maybe—I don’t know—maybe it was an accident.”
Potter stopped and grabbed Draco’s shoulder. “Or maybe you were right about the kneazle.”
Draco drank in the boldness in Potter’s eyes and grinned. “I think confirmation that the soul-swapping plant scenario is in fact somehow real has established that I was right.”
“No,” Potter rolled his eyes. “The kneazle. It was leverage.”
Igora threw her fourth cigarette down on the ground and stamped it out. She knew less than a dozen wandless spells, but the most used one, disappear cigarette butt, ended up being more magic than she’d done all day. Standing outside the hotel entrance seemed to both calm and stress her, as she went over every detail of the case in her head.
She and Felix had done everything by procedure. She couldn’t tell if she was missing something, if they’d somehow made a mistake, or them losing the case boiled down to someone else’s ego. Or maybe they had stepped on someone’s toes. Who? Igora wondered. Ron Weasley? The Department of Mysteries? She briefly remembered the Golden Trio had trekked into the hotel. Harry bloody Potter? No, whoever had taken the case from them was gravely mistaken if they thought Igora would stop looking for Bertrice Zivantus.
She lit another cigarette and stared out into the street. Felix had gone back to the office, but Igora had felt it in her bones that she was needed at the hotel. Her instincts had only ever failed her with lovers and the lottery, so she waited stoically in the cool drizzle of the early evening.
The pop of an apparition pulled her from her thoughts. Igora peered around the decorative bushes. “Helga help us,” she whispered at the sight of Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, and Harry Potter huddled together at the bottom of the Ashtyl’s steps.
“I’ll go check on Bertie,” Parkinson said. Igora dropped her cigarette in surprise. Her eyes followed the woman’s form up the steps, noted the collection of books slung under Parkinson’s arm.
“Why don’t you go with her?” Malfoy nodded to Potter. “I could use a few minutes to clear my head.” His hands were stuffed awkwardly in the pockets of his waistcoat.
Potter fixated on Malfoy. “Are you sure you’re alright?” Potter took a step and closed the gap between them. Now that was interesting, Igora cast an amplifying charm to hear their conversation — “Sonorus.”
“It wasn’t the Black Bean Hoof Brittle, was it?”
Malfoy raised a brow. “Are you implying Lovegood can’t make an adequate brittle?”
“I—I just—” Potter stammered and—Igora leaned forward, Was he blushing?—he ran a hand through his loose hair. “I guess I owe you an apology.”
“So not only do you save the entire Wizarding World, but now you apologise for Loony Lovegood’s abysmal attempts at sweets?” Malfoy smiled and stared back at Harry Potter with a gaze of reverent admiration. “Were I in your position, I doubt I’d do the same.”
Something simmered between the lines, and Igora wasn’t sure what it was. Weren’t these two sworn enemies? Rivals, at least? Potter had spoken up for Malfoy at his trial. But this? Igora wasn’t sure if she was really looking at the same people. Hang on, she thought. Why did Potter’s clothes look so familiar?
Potter’s face relaxed. “All the same. I guess I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” He turned around and climbed the steps. As Malfoy’s eyes followed Potter’s form, the blond dug something out of his waistcoat and gripped it in front of him.
After a few moments, he finally looked down and opened his hand to reveal a golden pocket watch. Malfoy inspected it for a moment with a shrewd eye and then fiddled with the dials.
“Look Malfoy, about what happened at Neville’s,” Igora hadn’t seen Potter descend the steps, and apparently, Malfoy hadn’t noticed either judging by the horrified surprise plastered across his face. Potter’s gaze fell to the golden watch in the other man’s palm.
Without pause, Potter lunged at Malfoy.
Igora saw the crash of limbs and then a bright, blinding white light. She blinked several times in recovery, only to see the spot in front of her completely empty. The two men were gone.
