zebiks.cc 
Icarus stepped forward, hands raised, and replied, “This isn’t up to you.”
“What?” Malfoy dropped his wand arm back to his side and casually put his other hand on his hip. “They think I’m dangerous, do they?”
“No one said that, Malfoy,” Icarus said, just as McLaggen chimed, “Yes.” Icarus turned to the other ops man and glared. McLaggen shrugged. “We don’t understand what exactly is going on with you,” Icarus clarified. And he knew Malfoy understood, so why was he angry?
“As opposed to what is afflicting Santi, Tresden, Larson, or Granger?”
“Malfoy—”
The man crossed his arms and looked almost petulant. “Larson’s affliction, now tell me, do you have an ops-team following him around or are you just letting him run wild like Tresden?”
Icarus didn’t know what to say. Howard Larson had been an Unspeakable with the Department of Mysteries for almost fifteen years, with not a single thing tarnishing his record of service. He’d been in the room with the others, knocked out cold when they’d found them. All the Department knew was when he woke up at St. Mungo’s, Larson had left a path of stone bodies in his wake.
“You’re the only one who has stayed on the grid, Malfoy.”
“Imagine that. Could it possibly be because I haven’t turned anyone to stone with my stare? Or brought famine to a horticulture show and caused a riot? Inspired a Ministry work retreat to break into a sudden orgy?” Malfoy raised an eyebrow.
McLaggen stepped forward and glowered at Malfoy. At first, Icarus thought Malfoy had got a rise out of him. But Cormac took a breath and shook his head. “You might not be an obvious threat to public safety. But each artifact and curse in that box had the potential to be cataclysmic, Malfoy. At least with Larson and some of the others we know what they’re capable of.” McLaggen turned to Icarus and then back to Malfoy. “We’ve been watching you for days. Do you even know what you’re doing?”
Malfoy paled and stared at the floor. In a less combative tone he said, “Do not keep following me.” In an even smaller voice, he added, “I will come back with you as soon Bertrice Zivantus is found and the next of Eleven comes to get Zivantus’ Timepiece.”
“We don’t take orders from you,” McLaggen smirked.
“Leave,” Icarus directed at McLaggen. The man furrowed his brows but Icarus just said, “Go.” With a look of confusion and suspicion, McLaggen left the corner of the kitchen and went out into the lounge. He didn’t have the clearance to hear what they were about to discuss. Icarus took a step forward and stared at Malfoy, who had managed to make his face neutral once more. “You know about the Timepiece?”
Malfoy scoffed. “The worst kept secret in the Department is that Zivantus still had it.”
Icarus Sableton shivered at the thought of the Iniquitous Eleven and what it meant that one of them would be coming. “Do you know where it is? Where Zivantus kept it?”
Malfoy studied him and replied, “No. Of course not. Do you think he would trust someone like me with that information?”
“If you don’t know where it is, then who does?”
Malfoy shrugged. “I’m just a lowly junior Unspeakable afflicted with an ancient Grecian curse.” He smirked. “What do I know?”
Harry felt a bit odd walking in through the main entrance of the Ashtyl Hotel as himself. He and Ron had apparated there and decided to try and poke around under the guise of aurors in the Penthouse investigation. Harry wasn’t sure if they were looking for clues to the murder or to Bertrice’s situation, or some way to connect the two together concretely. He just had the feeling he would know it when they saw it. And that Draco Malfoy was somehow very much a part of it.
“Hermione?” Ron exclaimed. Harry looked at Ron and followed his gaze to the entrance of the hotel lounge. Harry’s mouth dropped.
Hermione rushed over to them, a large book clutched in her arms. “Oh thank God you two are here. I’ve just run into Cormac McLaggen and—”
“Blimey, Hermione, what are you doing here?”
“Well I—” she looked back and forth between them with her mouth open.
“You’re here for work?” Ron offered.
“I am, yes,” she nodded, though Harry thought something about her seemed off. Hermione gestured around with one of her hands. “I’m here for work.”
A flash of platinum blond hair stole Harry’s attention, and he craned his neck around to see Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson leaving the lounge and heading for the lift. Harry lurched forward, an involuntary pull to confront the blond, but Ron pulled him back. “He doesn’t know it’s you, mate,” Ron said.
“What?” Harry frowned. “He doesn’t know I’m me?”
“You were Archie Eversworn,” Ron reminded.
Hermione wove her arm with Ron’s and huddled together with them. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Malfoy is up to something,” Harry said without thinking. Hermione fixed him with a confused look. “I mean—he’s connected to the murder of this Zivantus fellow and the daughter—”
“Zivantus?” Hermione frowned.
“Marwan Zivantus,” Harry repeated. “Why did you—” He stopped when the vague memory surfaced from the news, that Zivantus had been on the outs with Ministry. Harry lost his focus staring at Malfoy.
Ron leaned in close to Hermione’s ear. “Why? Did you work with him?” Harry cursed the Unbreakable Vow Unspeakables had to take. The only way around it was if someone’s life was in danger. Well, as far as Harry was concerned, Bertrice’s life was in danger. “Merlin, Harry. That’s why Hermione’s here!” Ron shook his friend and got Harry’s attention, he’d been staring after Malfoy at the lift even after the doors had closed. “They must suspect Malfoy had something to do with it and they’re—” Harry’s eyes followed the arrow above the lift as it dialed its way up the floor numbers. He waited with baited breath for the arrow to stop at fourteen.
Hermione started, “Ron, that’s not—” but Harry pushed his way passed his friends and went to the lift.
Ron caught up to him, “You shouldn’t go up there, Harry.” Hermione approached. Ron sent her a look to chime in.
“I don’t know Ron,” Hermione said. “Maybe he’s supposed to go up there.”
“Bloody hell,” he muttered as the three of them got in the lift and went up to the fourteenth floor.
The problem with having a line on the interconnectedness of all things meant Draco Malfoy experienced a disappointingly low number of surprises. In fact, he could only remember one time he’d been surprised since the curse overtook him six weeks before. But as he and Pansy stepped into the lift and turned around, a wave of something akin to surprise hit him like a bludger to the stomach when his eyes took in a very addled, angry Harry Potter in the lobby.
It didn’t surprise Draco when Marwan Zivantus had approached him to help solve his own imminent murder. Zivantus’ future thread had been weak, almost blurred. He’d half expected there to be more to the story than Marwan let on. When Bertrice went missing, Draco had already prepared by making connections to active threads and attributing them to the respective people. He still didn’t have most of them identified or know how they related back to Marwan, but it was a jumping off point. Pansy having been roped into this flaming, rubbish fiendfyre of events felt par for the course. The only thing that ranked as unexpected was when he’d followed a bright and electric thread to the hotel porter’s flat and was met with Potter’s stunning green eyes.
That was the real surprise. Draco would be lying to himself if he felt any real shock at finding Potter swept up in the current mess of events. Apart from Pansy and his parents, was there really anyone else Draco was tethered to more than Potter? They were destined to be thorns in each other’s sides, rivals, enemies, and now—well, Draco wasn’t sure what Potter was, though he always knew who he was. The Boy Who Lived, the boy who refused his offer of friendship, the boy who beat him at every game they’d ever played. The boy who saved your life, Draco almost winced.
But what was Potter even doing in Edinburgh? How was he connected to the penthouse? Wasn’t it his prerogative to soak up all the accolades and parade himself around the Wizarding World without actually ever doing anything? He’s already done enough, Draco cringed again. He saved you. He saved us all. Potter must have been working a case, but what in Salazar’s name had the Savior done to his face? When he’d seen him in the flat, Draco had to hold back a burst of laughter at how ridiculous Potter had looked.
No, Draco hadn’t really been surprised to find Potter there. His initial reaction had been one of memory, fleeting, painful, something that sent a phantom burst of pain across the skin on his chest and into his heart. But that was always his default reaction to Potter. It was something he’d grown accustomed to experiencing on the rare occasions their paths crossed. He was so used to it, Draco was sure he’d shown no visible reaction at all when he realized Potter was the porter.
Judging by Pansy’s worried brow, however, Draco had quite a visible reaction when he realized Sableton and McLaggen had been tailing him. She was still bothered by it even after he’d confronted the pair of them and then pulled her out of the lounge.
“Are you angry that they’re tailing you because it’s their job,” Pansy grabbed his arm and stared up at him, “Or because they’re tailing Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater?”
Draco had kept his gaze cooly trained on the pair of green eyes staring back at him in the lobby. Potter had removed his charmed disguise, and Draco felt a twinge of relief at the sight of him, if only because Eversworn’s bloated face had no business harboring those eyes. When the doors to the lift finally closed and broke the trance he’d been in, he shook himself and answered, “The two aren’t mutually exclusive, Pans. I am Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, and I work for the Department of Mysteries.”
“I know you can’t tell me anything,” Pansy sighed. “But maybe you can explain why a disguised Potter was being questioned in relation to Bertrice’s disappearance?” Draco turned to her then, the soothing relief of her fierce and inquisitive mind a consolation, and he felt his features soften in affinity for her. She quirked an eyebrow and added, “And maybe why you couldn’t take your eyes off each other just now?”
“Irrelevant,” Draco rolled his eyes. The lift doors opened and ushered them out.
Pansy followed him to his room and watched him use the spell key followed by a series of precise wand movements to open his door. He glanced at her, but she maintained her unimpressed Get on with it look, pushing past him into the room as soon as the locks were undone.
“How do you know this is Malfoy’s room?” Hermione asked.
Harry’s jaw clenched. “I just know, okay.” The scene of himself, oddly dressed and irritated, flashed across his memory.
