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“Yes?” she said and then her gaze fell to the ball of red fur in Harry’s arms. “Oh! You’ve found her!” The woman stepped forward in a rush, grabbed the animal, muttered a quick “Thanks” and then slammed the door in Harry’s face.
“Well,” he said, unsure of what had transpired. He took a few steps onto the walk and then peered back at the house. A pair of eyes watched him from the front window, alert and curious, and somewhat familiar. Harry took a step forward and leaned over to get a closer look at the figure. A pale, brunette young girl returned his gaze with a blank stare that sent a shiver down Harry’s spine.
It was Bertrice Zivantus. He was sure of it. He’d seen her on the missing posters. But as soon as he’d realized it, she’d disappeared from the window and in her place was a dark, swaying curtain.
Harry made his way back to his flat, his mind going in circles. How could he go to the authorities with what he knew? How could he explain the kneazle somehow leading him to the missing girl’s location? Did it have anything to do with the penthouse murders?
The whole thing was incredibly, undeniably strange.
The next morning, Harry drafted a quick coded message to Ron and rushed out of his flat to head to the owlery. He’d barely made it out the door before he caught sight of Draco Malfoy, leaning against the opposite wall of the alley.
“Busy today?” he inquired. Harry rolled his eyes and turned to the street. Malfoy approached, stood in front of him, and raised his brows waiting for a response. He looked sharp and presentable in a navy suit and waistcoat with a grey tie.
“Yeah, I’m busy, Malfoy,” Harry snapped.
“Doing what, exactly? You’ve been sacked.”
Harry wondered how on earth Malfoy knew that. His mind wandered back to their brief encounter the night before and Malfoy’s intuitive statements. “Yes, well, I’ve got to see to that now, don’t I?”
Malfoy placed himself in front of Harry and gave him an earnest look. For a moment, Harry felt disarmed by the intensity held in those grey eyes. “I know you saw what happened in that penthouse, perhaps yesterday you saw more than you’re letting yourself believe. The threads of fate have woven us together for whatever reason. You and I must follow these events to their conclusion. Which,” Malfoy paused and tilted his head, “hopefully will end with us solving the murder of Marwan Zivantus.”
“Marwan Zivantus?” Harry’s gaze snapped to Malfoy’s. The last sentence was the first thing out of the other man’s mouth that made any bit of sense. “That’s who died in the penthouse?”
“He was among the murder victims, yes,” Malfoy nodded.
Realization hit Harry. The kneazle had been at the hotel where Marwan Zivantus died. The kneazle led Harry to the dead man’s missing daughter. Harry remembered just then that Valentine had said the investigators had asked if they’d seen an animal. “Hang on,” Harry said, still utterly confused as to how Malfoy was involved. “What gives you the authority to inquire into his death?”
“Well, he hired me to do so, of course.”
“He hired you,” Harry repeated flatly.
“Yes,” Malfoy said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Six weeks ago.”
“A man hired you to investigate his own murder six weeks before it happened?”
“At the time, I myself thought it very strange as well, but here we are.” Malfoy seemed to realize something and turned back to Harry. “I seem to remember you having full knowledge of my identity, but I confess, I’ve not the slightest clue what to call you.”
Harry studied him for a moment. Perhaps if Malfoy was connected to the crimes, Harry might be able to help find the truth. “Archie Eversworn,” Harry replied.
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, as if calculating the information. His face returned to a neutral stare and he moved on. “So it’s settled then, Eversworn. You and I are going to solve…”
Harry couldn’t stop thinking about Bertrice Zivantus in the window the night before. Her blank stare haunted him. A sinking feeling settled in his stomach at the thought of her father being one of the bodies in the penthouse.
“What is it? Have you connected something to the case?” Malfoy asked, the slight hint of hope surfacing in his voice.
Harry shook his head. “There is no case, Malfoy. Good day.”
He still had to get word to Ron about the unlucky turn in their investigation, but Harry considered going to the DMLE and telling them what he knew about Bertrice. He didn’t want to lose his alias, but the safety and well being of a young girl was on the line. It took about ten minutes until he reached the owlery, maybe a little longer than usual since he kept looking over his shoulder. He wouldn’t put it past Malfoy to follow him but felt secure that the blond hadn’t tailed him.
When he arrived outside, Harry couldn’t bring himself to go in. He pulled out the letter and clutched it in his hand. Should he tell Ron about the missing girl? Maybe it was something larger at play. It certainly felt like it. He closed his eyes and pictured the sight of himself from the fourteenth floor, his uncharmed face, wearing rainbow striped trousers and a black mesh tank top. Harry replayed the exact moment his green eyes stared straight back at him. The threads of fate have woven us together for whatever reason. He almost heard that last thought in Malfoy’s voice and shuddered.
“Who on are earth is Roonil Wazlib?”
Harry jumped. Draco Malfoy had leaned over his shoulder and read the front of the letter.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Harry flushed in anger, and maybe a bit of embarrassment. He was so sure he hadn’t been followed.
Malfoy shot him a coy smile. “Yes.”
“And?”
“It’s right here with you, solving the case. So are you going to mail that or stare at it longingly all day?” Harry meant to turn and face the other man, to summon some snarky reply, but to his surprise, Malfoy pressed a hand to Harry’s lower back and urged him forward toward the entrance. He leaned in close to Harry’s ear. “I’m sure Mister Wazlib is eagerly waiting for your message.”
Harry took the final step and let himself inside the owlery. After securing the letter with a rather exuberant barn owl, he paid the postage and then turned around to find Malfoy staring at him.
“Did you have a pleasant evening after I left?” Malfoy asked. The darkened space seemed to cast shadows on the blond’s face, making him look tired and much older than when Harry had last seen him. Maybe Harry hadn’t looked at him closely until now, but Malfoy almost appeared haggard, at least as fatigued and worn as Malfoy might allow himself to look. He dismissed Malfoy’s appearance and considered his question. Bertrice Zivantus flashed across his mind. “Eversworn, the look on your face would indicate some sort of understanding, perhaps even deduction happening. It’s quite an odd look on you. Are you alright?”
“I saw Bertrice Zivantus last night,” Harry whispered.
Malfoy blinked. “Come again?”
Harry walked out of the owlery and into the brighter, overcast haze. Before he did anything else, he was going back to that house. He was going to help that poor girl.
Igora pushed her way through the overcrowded halls of the Edinburgh DMLE Main Office. From what she could tell, the vultures were swooping in on the Penthouse Incident, everyone from Improper Use of Magic to the Beast Division of the DRCMC. If it meant there’d be fresh coffee in the breakroom, she could forgive the mob.
She caught a glimpse of Auror Phillips at some point, clutching a thick file and looking like he’d slept in his clothes at the office. She didn’t envy him or the headache today would likely bring. If he was busy corralling the masses, it meant she actually stood a chance of getting ahead of the rest.
“Stramitz,” Felix greeted when she finally made it to their office at the farthest end of the building.
She didn’t give him a glance. Igora turned her back and shrugged out of her cloak, hanging it up on the rack. “I almost feel like we should share what we know, but Phillips already looks like he’s about to break under the pressure.”
A throat cleared and Igora turned around. Between their desks, in one of the ancient lounge chairs they’d stolen from Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, a very familiar man sat. The red hair gave him away immediately. If Igora hadn’t recognized him from the War, she’d have recognized his distinguished crimson auror robes.
Felix put out his hand to introduce the guest. “Stramitz, this is—”
“Auror Weasley,” Igora interrupted. Her mind raced. What could bring one third of the Golden Trio to their office? Possibly one of their open cases? Surely there was no reason for him to come himself. Igora faked a smile and held out her hand in greeting. “Igora Stramitz.”
Ron Weasley stood and towered over the room, broad and confident, smiling back at her. He reached over and shook her hand, and they exchanged forced pleasantries, inquiries about the London offices, until finally, Igora steered the conversation to the reason for the visit.
Weasley glanced between her and Felix, cleared his throat and pulled a parchment from his pocket. “I was responding to the inquiry you sent out yesterday about Archie Eversworn.”
Eyebrows raised, Igora moved to sit at her desk. She had not been expect that. “You have information about our person of interest?”
“That’s the thing,” Weasley frowned. “He’s not involved in whatever you’re looking into.”
Her brows raised higher. “And you know that because—?”
“He’s an integral part of an ongoing investigation.”
