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Harry scoffed. “What exactly are you on about? Why are you here?”
Malfoy stood and took a step toward Harry, looming over him with the confidence and solidity of someone not on the end of another wizard’s wand. “I’m here because you’re going to be the key to helping me solve this strange case that I’m on.”
“Me? Case? What are you talking about?”
“The murder in the penthouse,” Malfoy rolled his eyes, as if Harry should’ve known. “All signs point to you being the key. But then again, if you didn’t find the state of the penthouse as odd or extraordinary, then I’m not sure I have the right person.”
“Get out!” Harry shouted again and pointed his wand straight into Malfoy’s chest.
“Alright,” Malfoy said, unphased. He made his way to the door, opened it, and then started to say something, but Harry shoved him into the hallway and slammed the door shut. He slid to the floor and banged his head against the wall. Something in the attic above him clattered, and he threw his head into his hands. “What in Godric’s name is going on?”
Icarus Sableton was not a stakeout enthusiast. At forty-three years of age, he was an operative, a planner, a man accustomed to sitting back at headquarters and watching the pieces fall where they may. While he didn’t necessarily believe stakeouts to be beneath him, five hours in Scotland with Cormac McLaggen had Icarus wishing he’d never agreed to join the Pandora assignment.
“They’re arguing.” McLaggen sat next to him with a sight magnifier trained on the window of the stranger’s flat.
Icarus closed his eyes and tried to summon more patience. At this rate, he should’ve run out hours ago. “I can hear that,” he managed to say back. His grip on the charmed listening device tightened and the voices from the flat became muffled for a moment. Icarus took a breath and loosened his fingers.
“Should we move?”
“No, the mission is observe and protect,” Icarus said, bringing the mental tally to sixteen times he’d had to repeat the basic tenant of their assignment. Silence finally settled between them, and he thought for a moment he would have some peace.
“I have a clear shot.”
“Don’t take it.” Icarus turned and saw McLaggen with his wand raised, licking his lips and smiling.
“Do I take it?”
“Don’t—” the words barely left his mouth before he heard McLaggen mutter a Stunning Spell that went flying across the alley through the open window of the flat. Icarus watched in horror as it ricocheted off a sconce near the door and flew somewhere into the ceiling inside. The stranger had shoved Malfoy through the entrance and slammed the door, missing the spell by mere inches.
McLaggen’s shoulders sagged. “Missed.”
Icarus sighed. “Thank Salazar for that. Pack up, we’re following the target.”
“Was that a spell?” Igora craned her head around to try and get a view of the building across the way from Eversworn’s flat. “What just happened?”
Felix lowered his thermos and shook his head.
They’d set up across the street from The Laughing Fox and expected a slow and boring night watching drunks fall out of the seedy pub. Upon finding out Eversworn lived above such an unsavory place, Igora felt even more justification in her belief that he was in fact hiding something. What she hadn’t expected was to watch a strange, well-dressed man expertly scale the building and break into Eversworn’s flat.
Felix pointed out the window. “Look!” The strange man in question came out of the side entrance and calmly strolled down the street. There was no mistaking the pointy features and long blond hair. Igora’s eyes bulged when she realized Draco Malfoy had just made contact with their person of interest.
A few moments later, movement from the building across the alley caught her attention. Two men in standard Ministry covert-ops robes rushed out from the entrance and crept in the shadows. They kept a safe distance from Malfoy. Igora snorted. “That looks like a standard Auror stakeout.”
Felix tilted his head and turned to her. “Is the guy we’re tailing meeting up with another guy who is also being tailed by other people?”
“That appears to be the case,” she replied, but Igora felt something entirely bigger was at play.
After having recovered from the break in and subsequent kicking out of Draco Malfoy, Harry left his flat to walk around and clear his head. He’d put up extra wards and sealed the window just in case Malfoy had any idea of coming back while Harry was gone.
At first he thought he might sneak back into the Ashtyl to spy on the card game, but his feet took him past the hotel to the border with Muggle Edinburgh. The air felt heavy around him, as if it held some sort of answer to his problem but wasn’t ready to offer it up. With every step he took away from Travertel and Cremfig Heights, Harry felt more and more at ease. He needed to start from scratch if he was going to salvage this assignment. He stopped by a pub for a pint before he headed back, wandering the smaller side streets of the area.
He wondered absently what Malfoy was up to in Edinburgh and how the man he thought was Archie Eversworn might be inclined to help him. Last Harry had heard, he had been kicked out of a Ministry training program for questionable test results in the field. Harry had felt a tinge of sympathy for Malfoy. Since the war, he had done nothing but try to right the wrongs of his family with charitable reparations, outspoken support of progressive ideas throughout the Wizarding World, and trying to join the Ministry, though Harry, for the life of him, could not remember what department he’d applied to. Hermione had mentioned Malfoy once after coming to the pub from a big meeting.
“Why would the Department of Mysteries be meeting with Malfoy?” Harry blurted.
Hermione’s eyes bulged. “Historical fact checking. The Malfoy archives go back for ages, Harry. If there is one thing Purebloods excel at more than anything, it’s detailed record keeping.”
“And Malfoy just let you rummage around in his family’s archives?” Harry frowned.
Ron snorted. “He doesn’t have much of a choice, does he?”
“Ron!” Hermione warned.
“Well, he doesn’t!” Ron protested. “If he says no to the Ministry, they’re bound to think he’s hiding something.”
Harry nodded in agreement. He took a sip of his pint and asked, “What were you even looking for, Hermione?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.” She considered it for a moment and then sighed. “But I did find some rather interesting documents about the family’s unicorn herd.”
“There are unicorns at Malfoy Manor?” Both Harry and Ron raised their eyebrows.
“There were before the Statute of Secrecy.”
Harry shook his head. “That was hundreds of years ago! What could you possibly need to know from that time?”
Hermione broke his gaze and looked down. “I found it incredibly fascinating, is all.”
“It’s a wonder how you get any work done in that place, but I guess we’d never know either way, would we?” Ron mused. He turned to Harry and started raving about the new beater for the Cannons, and they never discussed Malfoy again.
Harry could hardly believe that Malfoy had broken into his flat, even if Harry was undercover and frankly unrecognisable. What did Malfoy want with Archie Eversworn and what in Godric’s name was he talking about, ‘strange occurrences’? Why did he care about what happened in the penthouse?
While it was true that Harry had mostly been living a mundane, routine life, it was in a particular service to his actual job. While he could—maybe—have described it as having been boring the last few months (which he did in fact think that very thought only that morning before he left for the hotel), Harry certainly didn’t consider his actual life boring.
Incidentally, Edinburgh had been his first real case as an auror. He’d spent years doing one thing after another for the Ministry as their poster boy, all the while his personal life dissolved into weekly pub nights and random family gatherings. He’d been going through the motions with Ginny since the War ended and by the time she signed with the Holyhead Harpies, it was almost like nothing had changed when they ended up breaking things off.
So what if he often graciously refused to be set up with anyone? What if he told a few lies here and there to get Ron and Seamus off his back about dating? No one ever seemed to understand how difficult it was for him to find a person who could see Harry for who he was and not what he had done or what he could do for them. He wasn’t trying to be boring, boring just seemed to be the only thing available to him.
When Harry realized that everything Malfoy had said was basically the truth, he glanced up from the walk to quite unfamiliar surroundings. As he made his way back in the direction of Travertel, heavy raindrops started to fall and forced him to dash under an awning. He couldn’t remember if he had crossed into Muggle Edinburgh or not and didn’t want to chance casting an Umbrella Charm, not that he’d have much success. The weather turned torrential in a matter of moments. He settled against the wall and stared out into the bleak, grey haze.
How could Malfoy have been right? Harry thought. How did he know about the strange occurrences Harry had seen and the bizarre day he’d experienced? Once again, his thoughts flashed to the sight of himself on the fourteenth floor.
Suddenly something warm brushed up against his leg, and Harry almost jumped. Weaving its way between his legs was the bright red kneazle he’d seen earlier in the day. Three times now, he thought. Harry knelt down to pet it.
“You’ve been all over the city today, haven’t you?” he asked. His hand pet behind the animal’s ears and down its neck until he hit a leather strap. Beneath its long, thick fur, there was a collar. He turned it around and found a tag with the name Guinevere followed by an address in the city. “You’re far from home, aren’t you? Let’s see if we can get you back.”
It only took a few minutes for the clouds to dissipate and the storm to pass. Harry picked up Guinevere and headed towards the main road. He checked the time and realized it wasn’t too late to take the kneazle home, so he made his way across puddle-laden walkways and darkening streets.
As he approached the townhome on the edge of a once nice but now dilapidated neighborhood, Guinevere tensed in his arms. He placed his hand on top of her head to calm the kneazle, scratching her ears. He proceeded to knock on the door. A stout, older woman answered and peered at him through large, thick glasses.
