wosi9.cc 
“And don’t say you recognised him,” Zaha added. Harry felt a collective shiver run between them. The carnage in the penthouse left few defining features on the bodies.
Harry lied. “I just knew the name on the reservation.”
Zaha and Stramitz shared a look. Then Zaha held out his hand. “Well you aren’t under suspicion for that incident. But you are a person of interest in the death of Garland Umphrey.”
“Umphrey’s dead?” Harry burst.
“They’re saying the Stunning Spell that led to his death ricocheted off something from your flat.” Stramitz was still smiling and it made Harry uneasy. “Well? Do you have an explanation for that?”
Harry shook his head. After a bit of deliberation and another oddly concerning look from Ron, he agreed to let them take his wand. They made him wait in the hallway while they did the procedure. Harry wasn’t sure what Ron was doing in there, but he trusted him to have his back if anything else would happen.
Pansy stepped out of the Ministry Floo, took one look out the window, and realized she hadn’t packed for Edinburgh. The mist blanketed the outside, and she shivered just thinking about it. Everything in her suitcase was suited for business in Brussels.
“Fantastic,” she muttered to herself. She’d need to apparate to the Ashtyl as soon as she met with the investigators on Bertrice’s case, and maybe after that she could Floo home and get proper clothes. She exited the Floo Chamber and headed straight for the main desk.
After quite a bit of back and forth which included a possible slight flung at the Parkinson name followed by Pansy’s detailed opinion on the attendant’s asymmetrical face, she received a visitor’s pass after explaining she was there on behalf of Bertrice. “You could’ve opened with that,” the attendant muttered.
“I’m sorry?” Pansy glared. “I’m a witch, aren’t I? This is my Ministry, is it not?” The man just tossed her pass onto the counter and went back to a Special Edition of The Quibbler on ‘The re-emergence of soul-sucking Soblipoms! Move aside vampires! By Luna Lovegood’. Pansy rolled her eyes. “And where will I find Missing Persons?”
Without putting down the flaming rubbish bin of a publication, he said, “Straight down the main hall, all the way in the back.”
“Thank you for your service,” Pansy said through a sneer. She followed the main hall all the way to the back. She saw the brass sign indicating it was the correct office, but the door was closed. Pansy watched a man pace back and forth in front of it. She cleared her throat.
The man looked up through a mess of black hair and sighed when he saw her, stress and panic etched across his features. Is this what she was to become? A heaping mess of worry over Bertrice? She took a step forward and asked if he was alright.
As if surprised, he met her stare and stammered out a quick “Fine” before he ducked his head down again and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. For a moment, Pansy thought she’d recognized him. But the longer she looked at his face, the less she thought so.
“Have we met before?” she finally asked, unable to shake the feeling.
He fixed his green eyes on her and her stomach dropped. Blinking back the memories of another pair of fierce green eyes, and the night she’d spend her entire life trying to forget, Pansy turned away just as the door to the office opened.
A man stepped out and handed the green-eyed man a wand. “It checks out,” the man said. “But don’t leave town.”
“I won’t.”
And then, as if she hadn’t been taken back to the shadowy years of her past already, Ron Weasley burst out of the open door. If he noticed her, he didn’t acknowledge her, just quickly grabbed the green-eyed man and rushed up the hall and into another office. The door slammed and Pansy jumped. Something clawed at her, a vague thought that she’d just come face to face with the start of her reckoning. Waves of uneasiness hit her, fear, and some sort of dark, aching regret.
“Is there something I can help you with, miss?” The handsome man that had emerged from the office was staring at her with a smile.
She looked him up and down, from his delightfully fitted, well-tailored robes to his perfectly shined Ferragamo loafers. Pansy took a breath and introduced herself, watching the man’s face for when the recognition would hit.
It never did. His smile stayed steady, and a genuine warmth radiated through her as he held out his hand and shook hers. “Felix Zaha,” he said.
“Felix, I’ve just arrived from London. They named me Bertrice Zivantus’ guardian.”
His face filled with concern. “Come inside, my partner and I are working on the case.”
Pansy followed him into what looked like a typical Ministry office. The far wall had half a dozen missing posters taped across it. She finally lost it, her eyes filling with tears as the faces on those posters laughed, waved, and stared at her with hope. When she saw the last poster, of Bertrice, she couldn’t stifle her sob.
She heard Felix explain to his partner in a quiet voice, “Igora, this is Miss Parkinson. She’s been named guardian of Bertrice as per Marwan’s last will.”
“I see,” was all Pansy heard. She turned to the other person in the room. A rather beautiful older woman, wrinkled around the edges but almost timeless in her demeanor, held out her hand and motioned for Pansy to sit. Without even thinking about it, she sat in the chair across from the woman and listened. “My name is Igora Stramitz. I’ve been assigned to Missing Persons since before the First War. I have found over two hundred of my cases, one hundred and sixty four of them were alive. When I tell you right now that I believe we will find Bertrice alive, it’s not out of hope or unfounded reassurance. My experience is telling me she’s out there.”
Felix held out a handkerchief. Pansy took it, offered him a thankful look, and blotted her eyes. She hadn’t realized how many tears had spilled down her cheeks until that moment. “Thank you,” was all she could bring herself to say as she looked from Felix to Igora. She realized they were probably sincere, but they were first and foremost investigators. They were likely judging her every reaction.
Pansy figured the truth was the easiest way to get them on her side. “I’ve been in Brussels until this morning and only just heard about Marwan.” She felt another wave of emotions surface and clenched her jaw. “He and I didn’t always see eye to eye, but Bertrice has been one of the only things in this world that’s stayed pure since the War.”
“I know we can’t stop you from worrying,” Felix offered, “but we have leads on the case. We won’t stop until we’ve found her.”
“Thank you,” Pansy offered him half a smile. She gathered herself and stood to leave. “I’m staying at the Ashtyl. Please keep me updated.”
“We will,” Felix nodded.
“Ouch!” Harry swatted Ron’s hand off his shoulder.
As soon as he’d slammed the door shut, Ron’s face flushed red. “Harry, mate. What in Godric’s name do you think you’re doing?”
“Me?” Harry appealed. “I haven’t done anything! If you’d gotten my message, you’d know what happened.”
“Clearly I haven’t. So you’re going to have to explain it to me.” Harry took a breath and then recounted the events of the last twenty four hours. He left no detail out, except the scene he’d witnessed on the fourteenth floor. While it weighed on him, Harry was sure whatever it was had no relation to any of the cases, let alone would it reassure Ron, technically his handler, that all of Harry’s mental faculties were still intact. “So let me see if I understand this,” Ron said finally. “You’ve been fired from your job for walking in on Marwan Zivantus’ murder scene, only to somehow discover his missing daughter later that night? And—” Ron gazed around wildly, “—whilst you were off returning the kneazle and saw Marwan’s daughter, someone killed your neighbor while they were in your flat, which you and Draco bloody Malfoy had only just vacated.”
“I know it sounds—”
“You’ve gotta ditch Eversworn,” Ron interrupted.
Harry frowned. “No, really, I can’t—he’s the only way into the hotel.”
“There’s other ways, Harry. That face is more a liability now than an asset.”
Harry wanted to object. But he knew Ron was right. “I swear Malfoy knows more than he’s let on. I think he trusts me, er, Eversworn. It might be the only way,” Harry postulated. Ron shook his head and Harry sighed. “Fine,” he relented. The disappointment of wasting eight months on something only to fail made him a bit sick. He eyed a desk chair and pulled it forward. When he sat, he shot Ron a look of resignation. The lab tech who’d applied his charms said it would be more painful getting them removed than put on, and suddenly Harry regretted giving in so easily.
“This is going to hurt, isn’t it?” Harry gulped.
Ron nodded and handed him a vial filled with a milky chartreuse potion. Harry downed it and waited. His face began to feel very hot, almost burning. Then the stinging sensation hit him and he squeezed his eyes closed. It was as if thousands of pimples were being popped on his face. The brief agony of that was followed by something cool and light. Harry opened his eyes and realized the prosthetics had slid off his face and onto the floor, and a cold, naked sensation washed over him as the air kissed his real skin.
“Alright, Harry?”
“Yeah,” he ran his hands through his hair. “Rest in peace, Archie.”
“More trouble than he was worth,” Ron said.
They exited the building at a brisk pace, Harry eager to get away from the investigators and Ron complaining about needing lunch. They headed to a small cafe that was out of the way of the more heavily trafficked wizard areas. When Harry finally felt the sun on his face, the odd warmth made him shudder. He was certain he’d felt the sun on his face with the charms, but somehow they’d left his skin feeling so incredibly cold.
“Alright?” Ron looked over as they walked.
Harry nodded. “Yeah, it’s just the charms wearing off I guess.”
“'Mione said she thinks they need to put a time limit on them. Says she doesn’t trust that the charm won’t eventually bond to the person’s magic.” Ron stopped and grabbed Harry’s shoulder. “Could you imagine, being stuck as Archie Eversworn?”
