enfawk.cc 
“I haven’t seen you for days, 'Mione,” he whispered after pulling away.
She swallowed her guilt. “I know, work has been—” she tried to finish the lie, but it didn’t quite take. Perhaps she’d been operating under the mistaken belief that the curse might somehow right itself, or the Ministry would find a way to easily reverse it. But the time would come, sooner rather than later, when Hermione would have to tell Ron that something was wrong. It would have to wait until after they saved Bertrice. “We need to concentrate on this. You go follow up on the names you copied down.”
Ron’s face drew into a soft smile. “You saw that, did you?”
“Even if I hadn’t, I know you, Ronald Weasley,” she pointed a finger into his chest. “You’re a sucker for a well-organized case board.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“I’ve got to head into the Ministry,” Hermione frowned. The very fact that the ransom note mentioned a Timepiece was troubling enough, but the realization that Marwan Zivantus had still been in possession of his was terrifying. The man had been booted from the Ministry, and the only thing that saved him was the fact that they could never tell anyone why he’d been fired. Hermione knew the Iniquitous Eleven were given a wide berth, allowed to get away with any number of crimes if it meant time was protected. So Zivantus had to have done something truly horrific to be removed from the Eleven.
They made their way to the lobby. “Have dinner with me before you go?”
Hermione sighed. “You know we don’t have time for that.” She stood on her toes and kissed him goodbye. “Ron, I—” She wanted to tell him everything, to explain that she might disappear for a while if the Ministry saw fit. Instead, she smiled. “I’ll see you back here at eleven. I love you.”
“Love you.”
When she Flooed to the Ministry and made her way to Level Nine, she didn’t anticipate being met by a team of ops-agents led by Cormac bloody McLaggen.
If there was ever a question whether or not Pansy had served her penance for transgressions past, the answer would be a firm and resounding NO. She handled the glares and the judgment, not always with poise and dignity, but she generally withstood it without losing her last shred of composure.
However, after apparating with Draco and Potter to Hogsmeade, Pansy felt like she was losing her mind. The pair of them argued over everything. Only it wasn’t quite arguing. Salazar, it was almost like a lover’s quarrel. First, Draco insisted they go straight to Neville, but Potter wanted to send an owl ahead of them. “I’ve seen you at the owlery, Potter. Snails send letters faster.”
Potter huffed as they made their way down the steps of the hotel. “Oh, you mean when you lied to my face?”
“As I recall, it actually wasn’t your face, and I never once lied to you,” Draco drawled. He turned to Pansy and held out his arm. “Sidealong, dear?” Pansy took the offered arm and watched Draco quirk an eyebrow at Potter. “If you’ve got an owl to send, I suppose we will see you when we see you.” And then they disapparated.
Potter caught up to them less than a minute later. “If we hurry,” he panted, “maybe we can catch him before dinner.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes, each of them probably reacquainting themselves with the scenery. It had been ages since Pansy had come to Hogsmeade, let alone Hogwarts, in fact, it might have been years. A part of her ached with the good memories she had there, while other parts of her cracked at the thought of all the pain that followed those wonderful times.
Finally, Draco broke the silence to suggest they try the greenhouses first. Potter countered that Neville usually took his afternoon tea in the castle after lessons. Pansy sensed an affront on Neville Longbottom on the tip of Draco’s tongue, so she decided to change the subject.
“I never thought I would be rushing back to Hogwarts so soon.”
Draco let out a harsh laugh. “It’s a bit too soon for my liking.”
“No one is making you come along, Malfoy,” Potter muttered under his breath.
That was it. Pansy parked her boots in the ground and grabbed Potter by the sleeve. “What is your problem, Potter?” The action made him jerk backward and his glasses practically flew off his face.
“Piss off, Parkinson.”
“No, you piss off, Potter!” she yelled. Pansy stuck a finger into his chest and then pointed to Draco. “Can’t you see that I’m here for Bertrice? Would I trust Draco with this if for one second I believed he’d had something to do with it?” Pansy paced between them, shaking her head. “Your stupid, inflated schoolboy rivalry, your ridiculous stolen glances, the taunts, the jeers, the misplaced assumptions—can you put the idiocy aside and be adults so we can save a child’s life? This is serious!”
She saw Potter gulp and heard Draco sigh.
“If I hear another—” she shook her head and decided to let it go. “Throw you to the squid myself,” she grumbled and stomped up the path.
If Draco felt a little bit guilty after Pansy’s outburst, he blamed Potter. Draco had been baiting him all afternoon, so for that, he was at fault. But it was almost as if the very presence of Draco set Potter off. Maybe it was their close proximity and the landscape changing from the wet streets of Edinburgh to the traveled paths of Hogwarts. With each forward step, Draco could feel the weight of his own past pulling him inside himself to the places he had come to fear the most. For every level of Hell he’d experienced during the War, he supposed Potter went levels above him.
The three of them fell in step and walked in silence the rest of the way to the castle. With Pansy between them, Draco briefly imagined a world where he could commiserate with Potter on the shared wrath of her silver tongue. What a scene that would be, he thought. But that was a slippery road, imagining anything to do with Potter.
The cool Scottish air around him should have given him chills, but instead the pull of a greater purpose left Draco feeling electric. It was as if the threads of Fate were beckoning him forward. He hadn’t felt a connection to it so strong since he’d been hit with the curse.
At the entrance to the castle, Potter cast his Patronus—a large, majestic stag, clearer and crisper than Draco’s white stoat had ever been. They watched it rush off into the castle and Potter turned to Draco and Pansy. “Just letting the headmistress know we’re here.”
Draco didn’t doubt Potter maintained a close relationship with Minerva McGonagall. Perhaps that was a major difference between the two of them. Where Potter might seek to maintain his bonds to the places that held both good and terrible memories, Draco doubted he possessed the strength to rise above the darkness. Or maybe he still let the fear of its power over him prevent him from even trying.
“Draco, are you coming?” Pansy stood inside the doorway staring at him. She didn’t say anything else as he composed himself and for that he was grateful. They followed Potter inside and headed to the staff lounge.
They hadn’t got far before someone blurted, “Harry!” There in the hallway stood Neville Longbottom, tall and lean and beaming with a bright smile. Draco had barely blinked before Potter practically disappeared in Longbottom’s arms for an embrace. The familiarity between the two Gryffindors left Draco with a warm sentimentality tainted by a twinge of regret. “I haven’t seen you in months.” After they’d separated, Longbottom looked over Potter’s shoulder, his happy demeanor deflated at the sight of Pansy and Draco. “What are they doing here?”
“We’re working a case, Nev,” Potter explained, his face shifted from obvious joy to an earnest determination. “And we have some questions for you.”
“Me? I’m not sure how I can help you.”
A thoughtful expression took over Potter’s face, and he bit his lower lip. Draco gulped at the sight of it. He thanked Salazar when Pansy stepped forward and explained the time constraints, then suggested they use Longbottom’s office to discuss the case further. The Herbology professor nodded and led the way to the greenhouses. Pansy followed next to Longbottom, leaving Draco to trail behind with Potter at his side.
Trying to recover from whatever had just overcome him, Draco said, “I barely recognise you, Longbottom.” After the words left his lips, he realised in another time and place, they might have been misconstrued as mocking. Draco quickly added, “Teaching must suit you.”
He glanced sideways and smiled at the complete astonishment that had taken over Potter’s face. Draco leaned over and whispered, “Don’t die of shock, Potter.”
Harry rolled his eyes, but Draco noted the hint of a smile. The group approached Neville’s office at the back of the main greenhouse without any other conversation.
The greenhouse was just as Draco remembered it, wild yet methodically organized, with the heavy scent of earth and lively magic. Longbottom used the same office at the back that Pomona Sprout had occupied. He led them inside and gestured for Pansy to have a seat in a large armchair near the desk. She adjusted her skirt and a mild look of annoyance crossed her face. Draco could practically hear her unspoken complaint about having to galavant about in her travel apparel. Their eyes met and he grinned.
“I apologise for the lack of seating. I don’t normally get so many guests at once,” Longbottom said as he leaned against his desk. A shift of parchments near him rustled, and a large, green toad hopped out and onto Longbottom’s lap.
“Trevor?” Potter asked.
Longbottom shook his head. “This is Trevor-deux, I’m afraid.”
Potter nodded. “My condolences, Nev.”
The other Gryffindor sighed and then blinked between Potter and Pansy. “So how can I help?”
“Well,” Potter began with a long pause as if choosing his words wisely. “We need to get our hands on some inquollis anicorpus folia.” Longbottom’s eyebrows rose halfway up his forehead and his mouth fell open. His stare shifted to the ground at Potter’s feet, and he shook his head.
“That’s—that’s going to be impossible, I’m afraid.” He looked back up at Potter. “Inquollis anicorpus in all its forms has been extinct for over a century. I’m sorry, Harry. But even if it wasn’t,” he added with a stern determination, “I wouldn’t—no sane Herbologist would touch the stuff.”
Draco jumped at the admission. “Could you elaborate as to its properties, perhaps? What was it primarily used for?” Longbottom visibly tensed, as if he suddenly remembering he was under the appraisal of the two other people in the room.
“Please,” Pansy stood. “A young girl’s life is in danger.”
Longbottom digested her words and then crossed his arms. “It was called the Soul Catcher for the longest time. Not much is known about its properties, but it was the main ingredient in two potions on the first List of Forbidden Elixirs issued by the Ministry in 1709.”
“Neville,” Potter said. “What potions?” After a half a minute of silence, Potter asked again, louder.
