Good day chickidees! I'm actually posting this at a normal human time instead of 4am! I am again nervous about this chapter. I've tried to learn a lesson from the previous chapter whereby in my excitement to post, I overlooked a couple of things. Truly, this entire exercise and 2020 as a whole has been a valuable lesson in patience.

Your feedback will be greatly appreciated as always.

I can't think of any trigger warnings here. If you see any, please do let me know!

Without further ado, I shall see you on the other side.

"We tend to think of 'good' and 'evil' as equal and opposite forces…But that is granting too much to evil. Evil is always a parasite; it can only exist in something good, as a parasite can live only on a host; and if it ever did destroy the host it lives in, it would destroy itself."

- Peter Kreeft

Chapter 9 – Nonostante tutto

18:37pm, 9th of September, 1999 – 12 Grimmauld Place, Claremont Square, Islington, London, UK.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be more help," Tassa said, tucking a tight pink curl behind her ear. She looked up at Harry as he held the front door open for her, a flirtatious smile on her dark painted lips. The sun was beginning to set earlier now that summer was coming to an end and autumn was darkening their doors. The old-fashion Gaslamp streetlights that stood on the pavement of Claremont Square cast a golden glow over Tassa's smooth skin. Her smoked eyes fluttered her thick lashes, beckoning him closer.

"It's uh, no worries. You don't know what you don't know," he said, offering her a strained smile through the tick of annoyance he felt in his gut.

"Is it alright if I owl you?" she said placing a hand on his arm, "you know, just incase I think of anything?"

"Yeah sure, that would be really helpful if you do remember something," said Harry, stepping back to clear the doorway for her.

Tassa ducked her head and pulled her cloak tight around her body as she stepped through the door. "It was really nice to meet you Harry," she said turning back on his doorstep with an expectant look on her face.

"Uh," Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "Sure, you too." He offered lamely.

With a final glance, she sashayed down the steps and out onto the street. Under the glow of the lamp, she apparated away. Harry closed the door tight and rested his head against the cool wood.

Well, that was a fucking waste of time.

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuugggggghhh."

The loud groan came from the living room behind him.

"Did you just die?" Harry asked, his head still resting in despair against the door.

There was a pause.

"Potentially," Nott replied thoughtfully, his voice carrying down the hall, "I'm not sure."

Harry scrunched his nose in an attempt to abate the smirk the threatened to spread across his face.

"Well it's not something that's easy to miss," he said, "I would know" he added under his breath.

"One would hope yes, but I'm afraid my intelligence has diminished greatly over the last hour. I fear I may be too stupid to tell," Nott replied loftily.

Harry snorted and pushed himself off the door, pocketing his hands as began to amble towards the living room at a sedentary pace.

"Are you ever not dramatic?" Harry asked curiously.

"Does the sun ever fail to rise?" Nott replied, in equal question.

Harry shook his head, laughing quietly to himself as he pushed open the door to the living room. Nott was lay sprawled across the sofa, his rumpled finery pulled more askew by his drawn position, his arm tossed over his eyes in repose. He looked every bit the part of a melodramatic toff.

"She wasn't that bad," said Harry half-heartedly, as he made his way toward the kitchen in search of a fresh brew. He needed caffeine. He was mature enough to admit to himself that he didn't want to agree with Nott purely out of petty need. That being said, Tassa had been 'that bad'. Not only had she failed to provide them with any new leads (no, I'm sorry, the last I saw her was at the club, dancing her final dance on the main stage) but she'd been obsessed with going into minute detail of the dance routine that she had been performing (No, of course, I didn't see anything in the crowd, I had to focus on landing the death drop right because then it shifts into a split twerk which then leads to -), all while she had been, not so subtly flirting with Harry. It's not that Harry didn't like the attention, of course he did, he was a living being with a pulse and needs after all, and Tassa was, without a doubt, a jaw-dropping type of gorgeous, but Harry was doing his job. And Nott had been sat there. And Harry was looking for Nott's friend.

And Nott had been sat there. At the time, it had felt like two holes were being drilled into the side of his head where he felt Notts' gaze upon him. Why would he even care? Harry asked himself for the thousandth time. He wouldn't, why would he? He put the kettle on the hob. He'd probably think I was really unprofessional so he might care a little… Why do I care?

All of that being said, Harry could privately concede to Nott's point: it did indeed feel his brain was wading through molasses, trying to wake up after the deluge of vapid tripe he'd been forced to listen to.

"Did you get anything useful from her at least?" Nott asked.

"I am considering baking that cake she mentioned doing on Wednesday," Harry said distractedly, putting a tea bag in his mug in preparation.

"You bake?" Nott replied, his voice a lot closer than before. Harry looked up to see the blonde leaning in the doorway. He gestured to the kettle in silent question to which Nott replied with a nod.

"Not in the slightest," Harry said proudly, reaching for a second mug and placing a teabag in it. "I tried once for Hermione's birthday, nearly burnt the house down," he said, pointing out the scorch mark that was still evident on the wall. "But she gave us the full recipe and it sounded really nice and I haven't had cake in ages."

Nott gave a thoughtful hum from the doorway in response as Harry poured steaming water into the mugs and he strained the teabags.

As he poured the milk and watched the creamy liquid cloud and reluctantly mix with the tea-infused water, he marvelled at the peaceful domesticity that had materialised between him and Nott. When he had awoken just afternoon, he had come downstairs, made a pot of coffee and had sat by the fire making notes, collecting all of his thought on Thyrra's case thus far. Within an hour, Nott had entered the room yawning, scratching his navel. He had helped himself to the last of the coffee in the pot, bustled around the kitchen for a while making a new one, then sat opposite Harry in the other reading chair, blinking blearily over the lip of his steaming mug. Eventually, he had pulled one the books from the stack on the floor by the sofa and had settled in to read. And they had sat like that for an hour more, drinking the next pot with Harry scratching away and Nott reading quietly. That had been until Tassa's owl had appeared informing them of her imminent arrival, when they had then scrambled to make themselves presentable instead of their still bed-crumpled states. Now that she had gone, Harry found himself more surprised that he was not surprised by Nott's continuous presence.

He handed a mug to the blonde as he passed and made his way to the reading chair that was surrounded by his notes. He picked up a piece of parchment he'd written on whilst Tassa had been talking and tried to decipher what it said. The shape of his letters seemed to have lost their purpose in his haste to record the thought.

"Did anything stand out to you?" Harry asked while he squinted at the parchment. Maybe an a… or an o?

"Other than the breasts she was trying to shove in your face?" Nott replied innocently with a glint in his eye. Harry threw him a dark scowl before returning to the note. With a sigh, Nott continued, "no, nothing really caught my interest. Though I do have a newfound respect for the dancers in those killer heels," he trailed off thoughtfully. Harry nodded solemnly and hummed his agreement.

Quiet resumed once again. The fire crackled merrily between them and occasionally the sound of shifting parchment filled the room as Harry continued to decipher his notes.

"So where do we go from here?" Nott asked. Harry gave up trying and dropped the parchment in defeat. It drifted silently to the floor and settled in amongst the rest. He lifted a hand to his face, removed his glasses and scrubbed his tired eyes.

"I'm not sure. I'd like to go back to the farm, but if our suspicions about Robards are true then no doubt the place will be scrubbed clean and probably watched in some way. At this point I think we're just going to have to wait for Parkinson to point us in a direction from whatever she finds," he let out a heavy breath, "which is a sentence I never thought I'd say," he tacked on.

Nott snorted and took a sip from his mug. "I must say, I'm rather impressed. You've managed to not burst into flames yet, what with being in my sinful presence for a couple of days now," he added with a wink over his rueful grin.

Harry huffed his amusement and flicked his middle finger at Nott, who laughed quietly into his cup. "I still don't trust you," Harry said after a moment.

"And right you are not to," Nott agreed in mock-reverence.

A tap at the window alerted them to a black owl that was perched on the windowsill.

"I didn't think she'd be that quick," Nott commented as Harry let the owl in. He offered it some treats as he untied the parchment and closed the window after it swooped out again. He glanced at the roll and chucked it into Nott's lap.

"It's for you," he said, resuming his seat. Surprise coloured Nott's face as he untied the note. As his eyes scanned the parchment, a seriousness settled onto his refined features that Harry hadn't seen before.

"Everything okay?" he asked. Nott's eyes snapped to him, then back to the parchment before he began to fold up.

"Yes, yes," he replied flippantly, "I just have a job tomorrow that slipped my mind in the excitement of today."

Harry stilled his reach for his tea.

He settled back into the chair, steepled his fingers beneath his chin and assessed Nott. Though his logic had rallied against his instinct many times over the last twenty-four hours, against his better judgement he had believed Nott to be innocent. He had relaxed in his presence. He had laughed and eaten breakfast with him, while his logic had disagreed and second-guessed every step of the way, reminding Harry of the file that sat in his desk draw that was titled with Nott's name. He had shouted down his logic, time and time again, to the point that he had begun to question his own prejudices once or twice.

But.

Despite being left to rot doing admin for whatever reason, Harry was actually good at his job. Very good. There was a reason why he had passed-out of Auror training with flying colours even when a few others around him thought he was nothing but a token placement. Harry wasn't academic like Hermione, who could pull on tomes and theories to offer answers to impossible problems. Nor was he Ron, who could see ten steps ahead of those around him and figure ways to counter their moves. No, Harry was a maverick. A Marauder legacy. Harry had been taught by the greatest wizards and witches to trust within himself. To trust his instinct.

And his instinct right now was finally in-line with his logic.

Nott was up to no good.

"What's the job?" He asked. He didn't try for nonchalance, he could already see the sharp look from the corner of Nott's eye and the subtle way that his sprawled body had tensed in its relaxed position. Nott knew that Harry had him.

What Harry didn't know, was if Nott would now try to run. His wand was on the table, resting against the coffee pot, whereas Harry's was tucked up his sleeve. Nott couldn't apparate out because of the ancestral warding, but he could scramble for the floo that was five-foot to his right. Or he could fight. The living room was cluttered and cramped, with every available space covered in stacks of books or folders, or various trinkets that Harry knew better than to ask Hermione about. It would be a scrappy, messy dual and Hermione would kill him, but still…

Nott released a breath and lent forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The warmth that Harry had seen in the blonde's eyes over the short period that they'd been together was completely gone as he searched Harry's face with a deathly cold appraisal.

"What will it take for you to forget that this happened Potter?" He asked, his voice subdued by the gravity of the question.

Harry could let it go. He could! He did literally have a choice, just the same as he had done during the night when he'd chosen to follow Nott into the elevator.

But the file.

The months of suspicion.

The lack of vindication.

The number of unanswered questions he already had that were piling up.

Harry tapped his thumb against the arm of the chair twice.

"I can assure you that you do not want the answer to that question. What's the job?"

Nott swallowed, his fingers toying with the note he still held between them. "You'll still help with Thyrra won't you?" He asked, his previously colourless voice took on a hint of uncertainty.

"Yes, of course," Harry said with a frown, "just because you're up to no good, doesn't mean she should be punished because of it."

Nott nodded shortly and reached into his pocket. He pulled out his cigarettes, mumbled something under his breath, put one between his teeth and snapped it alight with a click of his fingers. Harry was about to comment when he noticed again that the smell hadn't reached him.

"I have to go to Yale tomorrow," Nott began. Harry's frown deepened. Of all the things he had been expecting, a muggle university had not been anywhere near the top of the list.

"Why?" he asked. Nott took a long drag of his cigarette, his cheeks hollowing on the pull. He released his breath with a hiss between clenched teeth, the blue smoke partitioning through the gaps.

"A client has paid handsomely for something to be brought back from there," he said, the smoke hazing his voice roughly.

"What do they want?"

Nott glanced at the note in his hand. "The Voynich manuscript," he announced as if seeing it for the time.

Harry tapped his thumb against the arm of the chair. Clearly, he was missing an important detail here because he couldn't understand why collecting a manuscript would warrant the guilt that Nott was exuding.

"What is this manuscript?"

Nott shrugged, his face momentarily lightening. "I have no idea."

No, you don't do you. Harry nibbled his lip, his gaze tightening as he assessed the puzzle. "Why do the clients want it?" he asked.

Again, Nott shrugged as he took another drag. "I don't know. I just know that they want it urgently."

Harry tapped his thumb. "Who are the clients?"

"No idea, someone else deals with that."

"Blaise then,"

"I never sa-"

"You didn't have too," Harry said cutting him off. "Been watching the club for a while remember?"

Nott huffed and took a drag of his cigarette.

"Where is the manuscript?"

Gotcha.

Nott's shoulders tensed as his chest stopped its breath for a second before it controlled the release of air from his lung in a steady, calculated stream.

"In the…" he checked the note and cleared his throat, "Beinecke Library." He looked to Harry, "I'm assuming that's on Yale campus, I've never been before," he added as he flicked the butt of his cigarette into the fire.

Harry stared at Nott who watched evenly back. Somewhere Nott was being shady, but Harry couldn't figure out where.

Suddenly, the flames of the floo erupted green and Hermione stepped through.

"Where have you been?!" Harry barked in surprise, momentarily distracted. Hermione brushed down her clothes and swiped back the hair that had fallen into her face. Harry's surprise was immediately replaced with concern and he half lifted himself from the chair as he saw the exhausted deep purple shadows under her eyes and tight set of her mouth.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing, just a long day," she said waving him off before she spotted Nott sat in the other chair looking extremely uncomfortable. Her mouth opened but no question came. Instead, she looked back to Harry, the silent question and surprise evident on her face.

"It's a bit of a long story. Want some tea?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded and moved into the room as Harry hopped up to head to the kitchen. He saw Nott stand and offer his chair to Hermione, who took it, her confusion more prominent on her features.

"I best be off Potter, I've intr-"

"Oh no, you don't! Sit down," Harry called back as he placed a tea bag and a dash of honey in Hermione's mug. A flash of movement caught his eye as he saw a bushy tail disappear into the living room.

"But-"

"Don't make me repeat myself," he growled.

Silence came from the other room in response. He eventually heard the springs of the sofa creak as a new weight settled into them. Harry poured the boiled water into the mug and strained the teabag. He picked out the custard creams that Hermione squirrelled away in an attempt to hide them from him so that he wouldn't eat them all and stepped back into the living room. He placed the steaming mug on the table and resumed his seat, now opposite a very pale Hermione with a purring devil in her lap.

"Where have you been?" Harry asked gently, eyeing Hermione with concern as she blew on her tea. Her fingers tightened slightly against the cup before her amber eyes flicked to meet his, a small smile on her lips.

"Just down in the archives. Big case just hit the wires and it's got some particulars about it," she sipped her tea. "I honestly just lost track of time and by the time I realised, it was way too late to get any sleep. So I just stayed," she curled one hand into Crookshanks' fluff and lowered the mug to rest against the arm of the chair.

Harry tutted and shook his head slightly in admonishment, " 'Mione, that's bad even for you. At least you've got the weekend to rest right?"

"Not really, I'm back in tomorrow."

"Oh come on!"

"I'll sleep when this is over," she said placating. She took another sip before her eyes wandered over to Nott who was sat awkwardly in the middle of the sofa, looking very much like a lost child. She looked back at Harry and raised an eyebrow.

" 'Mione, you remember Theodore Nott," Harry said, gesturing to Nott who offered an awkward wave. Harry rolled his eyes at him.

"I do, but I'm confused as to why he's in our living room?"

"Oh, well, Nott was about to tell me what criminality his job exactly entails."

Hermione tilted her head in confusion.

"No I wasn't," Nott said petulantly.

"Yes, you were."

"No, I wasn't."

"You were this close to telling me," Harry said, raising his hand, miming his forefinger and thumb and inch apart.

Nott scoffed, "you were nowhere near breaking me Potter."

"Yes, I was!"

"No, you were not!"

"Ye-"

"Boys!" Hermione interrupted her brows raised high on her forehead. Harry's teeth clashed as his mouth snapped shut.

Quiet reigned over the living room once more. Only the logs of the fire snapping could be heard in the background.

"What job is this?" Hermione looked between Harry and Nott. Nott shifted in his seat, leaning back and crossing his long legs whilst he dug into his pocket once again, for another cigarette. He muttered his charm and ignited it with a snap. Hermione quirked an eyebrow.

"A Croatian Latin hybrid?" she commented. Harry looked to Nott, lost on the subject matter only to see a smirk spread across his face.

"That's the one."

Hermione made a noise of interest before turning back to Harry. "The job?" she prompted.

"Oh, well Nott's just had an owl arrive reminding him that he's got a job tomorrow that involves getting a manuscript from a Yale library for some clients who are," he raised his hands in quotation and put on an exaggerated posh voice, "paying handsomely because it's urgent."

Hermione sipped her tea before she turned to Nott, her amber eyes flashing. "What library?"

Nott took a long drag of the cigarette, holding Harry's gaze. Finally, his jaw popped and his mouth tightened, displaying his discontent. "The Beinecke Library."

Hermione's eyes widened considerably. "The Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library?" Nott released his breath in a cloud that covered his face in a haze of blue smoke. The image reminded Harry suddenly of a waiting dragon. "And what could your client possibly want from there with such urgency that would bypass the rules on taking manuscripts from their protective casings and temperature-controlled environment?" She asked archly.

Oh, Harry thought. "You bastard! You were going to steal it weren't you?!" he cried accusingly.

"Were? Still am Potter," Nott replied nonchalantly with a hint of amusement lacing his arrogant voice. "Unless you're going to arrest me for a crime I haven't committed yet?"

Harry glared at the blonde who was lavishly sprawled on the sofa as if he were holding court. The blue smoke from his cigarette curled alluring around him, framing the spark of devilment in his blue eyes that set Harry's veins alight. He gripped the arm of his chair in an attempt to assuage the need to fling a hex at him.

Hermione quietly sipped her tea before asking, "what manuscript?"

"The Voynich manuscript," Nott replied without backing down from his staring match with Harry.

"Interesting, and who's your client?"

"I don't know."

"And you said they were paying handsomely for the urgency of it?"

Nott took another drag of his cigarette, exuding an arrogant air of insouciance. Harry's fingers tightened their grip on the arm his chair.

"I did, but I don't know their dealings. Blaise dealt with them and there's a 'don't ask don't tell policy' in place," he replied.

Hermione hummed thoughtfully. Much as he loathed too, he knew Hermione, he knew when she was scheming, and so he broke his staring match with Nott to glance at her. She was stroking Crookshanks absently behind the ear while staring off into the fire.

"Hermione?" He asked tentatively.

"You said that the owl arrived here for Nott, meaning he was already here. What were you two doing before that?" She asked. It took Harry a minute to catch the change of direction in the conversation. His gaze flickered back to Nott, who at the moment had leant forward, his elbows braced against his knees and was looking back at Harry with a mirrored look of curiosity underneath his arrogant veneer. Harry spent the next ten minutes recapping the events of the last twenty-four hours: from The Mumbles and the possible-definite murder to Robards' suspicious behaviour and the demise of Paperwork Mountain, to Thyrra's disappearance and the state of her apartment. Every so often, Nott added a detail that Harry had missed or was from his unique perspective.

When they had finished, Hermione returned her gaze into the fire, her eyes lost in the thought.

"This all happened yesterday?" she said. Nott and Harry made affirming noises. "And we can assume that Thyrra's gone missing in the last twenty-four to forty-eight hours?" Again, the boys agreed. Hermione lapsed into thought again. Nott looked at Harry, question evident on his features. Harry shrugged in response, then immediately remembered that he was meant to be mad at Nott. Nott rolled his eyes at Harry's sudden scowl and stretched his arms across the back of the sofa once more, pulling his shirt taut across his surprisingly defined chest.

Harry quickly turned to Hermione.

Shelve the thought.

Later.

"There's a Hebrew spell that is a lot better at preserving than the Latin stasis spell we were taught," she said, her voice distracted, her eyes were still trained on the fire. Harry did a double-take at her, while Nott looked on in equal surprise.

"O-okay?"

"Hermione!" they said simultaneously.

"What?" she replied, blinking as if to clear her thoughts as she turned to Harry.

"He's going to steal it!"

"I know, he said." She turned to Nott, "It's pronounced 'soon-tay-reh'-o' with a backward wingardeum leviosa."

"Hermione!" Harry spluttered.

"You're going with him," Hermione said, turning to Harry.

There was a pause before…

"You can't be serious?!"

"What?!"

"No, absolutely not!"

"Why would I even allow him to come along?!"

"Why would I go with him?!"

Hermione raised a hand silencing the two. "While I don't approve of theft," she said pointedly to Nott, "you need to see the bigger picture here Harry. Worst case scenario, you have evidence that Nott committed a crime, though what you could do with that I don't know,"

"Exact-"

"Why is that wor-"

"BEST case scenario," she said, talking over their interruptions, "is that you catch the people who are in want of the world's most mysterious manuscript." Harry sat back in his seat, dumbfounded at the logic. "Sometimes," she continued, as she resumed her stare into the fire, "the only way to draw a spider from the hole it lives, is to entangle yourself in its web."

Harry exchanged a look with Nott who wore a resigned expression on his face. The Auror in him could see Hermione's point: catch a small fish or catch a big one. Which, as far as Harry was concerned, was an easy decision. Where Harry struggled, was that this was the moment that his conscious decided to take a step back to analyse his existential situation and how his life had so quickly derailed in just over twenty-four hours. Yesterday morning, he had been daydreaming into the distance and reminding himself that his time would come. Then Robards had knocked his cubicle with a familiar warm smile. And now, a day later, there was a missing girl, a possible-definite murder, he didn't trust Robards and Hermione had practically suggested that he take Nott on as an informant while he went technically undercover, for a job he may or may not have quit or been fired from, to steal some manuscript from a library to possibly catch some shady people…

He tapped his thumb twice.

He felt as if he were waking from a long sleep, he bones creaking as he flexed his joints in preparation and excitement.

Decision made, he drew a breath and met Nott's wary eyes. "What time are we leaving?"

13:30pm, 10th of September, 1999 – Penthouse, Hyde Park Gardens, London UK.

Theo threw his bedroom door open and stalked down the hall, scrambling to get his arms through his coat as he went. He turned onto the balcony and blinked his eyes against the harsh sunlight that shone through a slanted glass roof that looked out onto the greens of Hyde Park. He skipped down the steps, running a hand over his hair; he had overslept and hadn't had enough time to style it. Beneath him, he saw the evidence that Pansy had come home at some point during the night. The pointed murder weapons she called shoes were strewn across the living room floor from where she must have kicked them off on her way through. He dashed to the kitchen and flicked on the coffee machine. The whir of the machine kicking into life filled the room, closely followed by the rich scent of freshly ground coffee. He tapped the fine dewy powder into the shot handle, slotted it into place over his waiting espresso cup underneath and pressed 'start'. After an overly aggressive growl of reluctance, the machine released hot water through the shot and the cup began to fill with Arabica nectar. Once done, he tapped the used powder into the bin, opened the huge French doors and took his espresso through to the balcony.

When they had bought the place, all those months ago, the penthouse had been sleek and modern, every bit the home for 'young and trendy individuals', the retailer had said. What it was, was different in every way from what they knew. It was muggle for a start. There had been a few mishaps when they'd first moved in with their magic naturally reaching out to turn on lights as they entered rooms, and thus blowing the fuse for the penthouse electrics. Over time, they had learned to navigate the circuit boards, tripping switches or circuit breakers, rather than interfering with the electrical energy itself. In the meantime, they had learnt to live as muggles do: making coffee for instance, had become a meditative practice that Theo enjoyed every day. The barista machine had come with the building and after weeks of eyeing it with suspicion, Theo had been so desperate for caffeine after a job in Beijing, that he had spent the entire day making cup after cup of coffee. Pansy had decided that the Nest, as Blaise had come to refer to it as, would be a haven. Between the Slytherin common room and the manors that they had grown up in, none of them had had light and airy spaces. So one of the main reasons for choosing the Penthouse had been the huge skylight windows that covered more than half of the ceiling, giving a panoramic view of London and opening the main open floor plan living area up to the sky. The balcony had been her project. It was now a small Eden, hidden away from prying eyes. She had cultivated the plants, ivy and foliage to grow and prosper; she'd encouraged a bushel of fairies to make their home in amongst the wild jungle. Then she'd hidden a comfy bohemian seating area at the end of the decking, hidden amongst nature, where she often practised the forms of whatever the martial art of the week was.

Theo used the area to sip his espressos and smoke his cigarettes in peace.

Theo lit his cigarette with a snap of a silver lighter before pocketing it. He took a drag, his lips pursed around the bitter end, savouring the acrid burnt taste upon his tongue. He breathed in slowly, relishing the burn in his chest as he turned his eyes to the azure sky above. So much about today was giving him anxiety. Theo was always nervous before a job – he would be a fool or not to be. But something about this job wasn't right. When he'd stolen a Monet from the Louvre, he hadn't blinked. When he'd stolen the Diamond Panther bracelet from the dying hands of the Duchess of Venice, he had done it with a smile. When he'd stolen the Relic of St Jude Thaddeus from the Vatican, he'd done it with a skip in his step and a Roman gelato ice cream in his hands.

A manuscript was nothing special.

He supposed it was the urgency in which the clients demanded the manuscript. And on top of what Granger had let slip about it being 'the world's most mysterious manuscript' and why it held that title and urging Potter to take an interest in the clients who would want it…Needless to say, Theo was feeling increasing trepidation about the entire venture.

And Potter was coming.

Plus, it was day three of Thyrra's disappearance and all they had was more questions.

If someone had told him a couple of days ago, that he would be welcomed into the Golden Boy's home, offered tea like a civilised guest and converse and laugh with him, he would have laughed them out of the room. If someone had told him that he would be taking an Auror on a job, he would have asked what they were smoking. If someone had told him that that Auror was the Chosen One and that the entire enterprise had been suggested by Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor Queen, Swot extraordinaire, he would have checked that person quickly into the Janus Thickey ward before they could harm anyone in their fit of insanity.

Except, that had happened.

Theo pulled another drag and saw movement from the corner of his eye. With a hint of a smile, he meandered down the decked path and ducked into the seating area. Lay upon one of the voluptuous cushioned pillows, was Renfield, wearing an incredibly self-satisfied look. Theo grinned as he took a seat, careful not to disturb the pillow. He took a sip of his espresso and looked over to the tufty eared cat who watched him with knowing eyes.

"Comfy?" He asked. Renfield blinked slowly and started cleaning his paw and running it behind his ear.

"I have to meet Potter in fifteen minutes," Theo muttered quietly, taking another pull of his cigarette. Renfield continued his ministrations. "I think about I'm about to do something really quite bad," he mused. "It's not that I haven't done anything like this before, but I've got a bad feeling about this one." Renfield paused momentarily to look at him.

"Should I call it off?" he asked. Renfield continued his stare, his yellow eyes piercing.

He couldn't call it off; not because of the money, it was never about the money, they had plenty between them really. The whole enterprise had started in a fit of independence, not wanting to rely on their family coffers. But now that Soteria was as successful as it was, and with the jobs that they had already done, they wouldn't need to work a day in their lives ever again. So was it the morality of the whole thing? He'd certainly done worse. In one job, he had deprived an entire lineage of its inheritance, subsequently making them homeless and he hadn't regretted it. I don't think I've suddenly developed a moral good on my shoulder. And yet, the pervading sense of unease knotted in his stomach.

No, he couldn't call it off now because Theo found himself agreeing with Potter and Granger. The reason that these people wanted whatever this manuscript was sketchy enough to pay an obscene amount of money – way above its market value - to keep it off the books. That, in of itself, was enough to warrant suspicion, and growing up in the Nott household had provided him with enough lessons about powerful men with dubious intentions and questionable items with unknown origins, to last a lifetime.

That was why he wanted to call it off. He'd walked this walk many times before in his life. Gathering some unknown item and handing it off to someone he knew to be no good, only to see moments later, that item cause harm and sometimes death, in the hands that he had placed it in.

But I'm taking an Auror with me this time… so maybe that's different.

He drained the last of his espresso and vanished the cigarette butt.

"Do you know where the others are?" he asked. Renfield chirped and twitched his tail. "Blaise has gone? Where?" He raised an inquiring brow at the feline who was busying himself with his paw. No response came until he stretched out his lithe little body, arching his back, his paws brushing against something that crinkled on the other side of the pillow. Theo reached over and pulled the Daily Prophet from where it was half-hidden under the cushion. He shook it out, unfolding it roughly and released an uncontrollable yelp at the headline:

The Secret Rendez Vous - Ministry vs Malfoy Heir in an unexpected turn of events.

Theo's pulse quickened as he devoured the words on the page, scouring for information. Draco… Trial?! Creature?! His heart plummeted as he connected the dots. Fuck. The whole creature thing wasn't really a surprise. It was more common than not in amongst the Sacred Twenty-Eight; his own father had often alluded to something more in the Nott line and his mothers. But when the Dark Lord had risen to power the second time, Theo had been banned from speaking of it. They were going to make a spectacle of Draco. The article was already banging the drum: 'pure-blooded Malfoy is a creature,' 'not really pureblood', 'hypocrite'. His hand tightened its hold, the crinkle of paper filled the peaceful garden. The irony of it all was that the propaganda that was being perpetuated by the rapacious article was the black and white, short-sighted distinction of blood purity that had been drawn by the Dark Lord. Prior to him, magical blood was magical blood. Creatures had less legal rights but bred into a family line, it was fashionable - powerful even. The family generations were then bestowed with the stronger characteristics of the creature. But to stand on the moral high-ground of the people, touting the same party line against those who were being criminalised for enforcing it, was a special type of mental gymnastics that made Theo's blood turn to ice. He had to be there. He had to be there for his friend.

But the manuscript.

Potter.

As if I wasn't already feeling shit about today.

NARCISSA!

Blaise was already there. Pansy.

He bolted from his seat, paper clutched in hand and sprinted through the house. He vaulted the stairs, two at a time and flew down the corridor. He couldn't be there with Draco. He was going to have to rely on the other two. This was how they worked. It had taken then a while, but they had come to rely on one another as a seamless team unit. He reached the closed door that was hidden in a shadowed nook. He rapped his knuckles against the solid frame, his breath puffing and waited impatiently. No sound came from within. He did so again, bouncing from foot to foot.

Fuck this.

"Sorry Pans, my eyes are closed but you've got to see this," Theo said, entering the room with a hand covering his eyes.

Silence.

He peaked uneasily between his fingers to see a perfectly made, untouched bed. He looked around the room. The wardrobe was thrown open, various clothes haphazardly thrown over the back of the sofa in apparent haste. She wasn't there. He backed out of the room and made his way down the hall once again. He cast a quick tempus and swore under his breath. He had five minutes to get to Potter's for the portkey, in order to get to the library in time.

Blaise was with Draco.

He paused his journey on the way through the living area to pull a pen and paper from the drawer of the coffee table. He scrawled a note for Pansy, explaining that he couldn't but he suspected that Blaise was already en route. He placed the paper and note on the kitchen counter that she was sure to pass on her way in.

Head in the game Nott.

With a deep, readying breath and shaking hands, he rolled his shoulders and stood before the floo. He took a healthy pinch of powder and with a barked enunciation, whizzed away, only to arrive with aplomb on the hearth of Grimmauld Place.

Theo brushed his clothes down and looked around the room. The house was quiet; a complete opposite from his hammering heart and frazzled nerves. He straightened his cuffs, more out of a nervous habit and settled into one of the very comfy reading chairs that he had grown inexplicably fond of while preparing to wait for Potter to appear. He looked around him, trying to distract his attention from the article's words that ricocheted around his mind. Every surface in the cramped space was cluttered with something of note. Be it a book or an item of intrigue, Theo had spent a lot of his time in the cosy room thus far, in a deep state of inquisitiveness.

He heard a thump from the upper floors, followed by the sound of feet thundering down the stairs. Suddenly, Potter appeared in the room, attempting to pull his head through his jumper; the struggle of which caused the black t-shirt he wore underneath to ride up, exposing a sliver of pale skin and a dark trail that disappeared in his black jeans.

Focus.

Theo swallowed around his suddenly dry mouth and looked away until he heard Potter walk into the sofa.

He still had his head stuck in the jumper.

"You're a mess," Theo commented. Potter froze his wriggling, his arms stuck upwards at an awkward angle, either side of a tuft of black hair that had actually managed to free itself from the confines of the jumper and was subsequently making the most of its freedom.

"Nott?" Came Potter's muffled voice. Theo's nose scrunched slightly in amusement at the other man's endearing confusion.

"No, this is your conscious," Theo replied in an airy tone. Potter tutted and renewed his struggle. After a moment, his head appeared through the neck and he tugged the jumper viciously into place. He spent a moment, tidying the roll of his polo neck before he hiked up his sleeves, pulled his glasses from his pocket and affixed them to his face.

"Ready?" he said brightly.

He's like a puppy, Theo mused, taking in the other man's lean frame in his fitted clothes. He stood from the chair and pulled the wrapped handkerchief that contained the portkey.

"It's interesting that the first time I've seen you truly excited is when you're about to go and break a law," Theo said offhandedly, stepping around the coffee table, unravelling the handkerchief.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Potter replied shortly, his voice taking on an immediate defence. Theo chuckled and held the gold cuff that was lay inside the handkerchief up to the light for inspection. The cuff was a simple, yet weighty, thick band of yellow gold. At either end, a crucifix with a flower, that looked like a rose, in its centre was engraved into the immaculate metal. Theo admired the exquisite craftsmanship with a critical eye and couldn't find a single flaw.

"I mean nothing by it Potter, it is merely just an observation," he said distractedly.

Again, his curiosity about the clients, peaked, adding another layer of anxiety to his day. Usually, the illegally acquired portkeys, and government-approved portkeys for that matter, were throw-away items. Only a couple of times had he received portkeys from clients that had been something of value: a Rolex, a skeleton key, crystal letter opener. But those clients had hired Theo to steal whatever because they had had a point to prove. Whatever their goal had been, the stolen item had had a function, rather than just being a coveted gem. The Relic of St Jude Thaddeus for example. The portkey for that had been a gilded pocket watch with a chain laced in sapphires and emeralds. Three weeks after he handed over the Relic to the client, the muggle Pope had fallen severely ill and ultimately passed. Thus prompting the shortest conclave in history, selecting the new Pope Clement XIII in just twelve hours, beating the prior record of one day set in 1939 following the death of Pope Pius XI.

Potter stepped into Theo's space to examine the cuff.

"That it?" he asked, squinting as the gold reflected in his glasses.

"Yep," Theo replied, popping the P.

"Do I want to know if it's legal or not?"

Theo span the cuff to see the other side. "Nope," he said, popping the P again with a smirk. Potter huffed a sigh and muttered something that sounded like a profanity under his breath.

"Let's get this over with then," Theo said too brightly, with more enthusiasm than he felt. "The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get back."

Theo hooked the cuff with his fingers and offered the other side of the loop to Potter. Once he was sure the other man was secure in his grip, he tapped the cuff with his wand and activated the portkey. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, as if it were struggling to reanimate, the buzzing of the portkey's magic gradually grew, until they disappeared from the room with an ear-popping schwip.

09:00am, EST, 10th September 1999 – Grove Street Cemetery, 227 Grove Street, New Haven, Connecticut, USA.

Harry stumbled as his feet landed on sodden earth. He took a deep breath, relishing in the clear air that calmed his roiling stomach. Next to him, Nott visibly shuddered and shook out his limbs before he righted the collar of his black dress coat. The lines of his face were tighter than Harry had become accustomed to.

"Nervous?" Harry asked, pocketing his hands against the chill in the light breeze that gathered around them.

"No more than usual," Nott said darkly.

Harry frowned. "You sure? You don't seem right." He was well aware that it was not for him to say, but he was also aware of the necessity of having to rely on a partner whose head was potentially not in the game.

Nott was quiet for a moment more as he scanned the area around them. They had landed in what seemed to be a vast cemetery, the aged stones standing proud in amongst trees with turning leaves. He started walking toward a path that cut between two mausoleums further up.

"Did you see the Prophet today?" Nott said suddenly after a moment of quiet.

"No, I stopped reading that shit ages ago. Why?" Harry asked, cutting him a glance. Nott was walking with his head bowed, his face pensive.

"It's Draco, he's uh…" Nott looked up, suddenly uneasy as if he remembered something. He wet his lips and took a sharp breath before he snapped his attention forward. "It's nothing. Sorry."

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "I won't push if you don't want to talk about it, but I'm not gonna hex you for mentioning Malfoy. Is he alright?"

Nott jerked in surprise and stopped walking. "Is he alright?" He repeated.

Harry stopped and turned to him. "How am I supposed to know, you're th-"

Nott waved him off. "No, you're asking me if he's alright?"

Harry frowned, his confusion deepening. "Well…yeah." He shrugged his shoulders, his hands still pocketed. "I'm very confused about what is happening right here," he commented conversationally, gesturing between them. Nott shook his head in disbelief.

"I just never thought you'd care enough to ask," Nott said as he resumed walking.

"Well, I owe him and his mother my life. He never should have gone to Azkaban, 'Mione and I fought with Kingsley on that, but it was too late to overturn, but we tried," Harry said. It took him a moment to realise that Nott had disappeared from his side. He looked around to no avail until he spotted Nott a few feet behind him, looking a complete picture of shock.

"You and Granger, of all people, fought with Kingsley on behalf of Draco?!" The pitch of his voice rose throughout the sentence until, by the end, it had reached a level that Harry was convinced only dogs could hear.

"History is just that Nott, history. Malfoy has many faults, which I am more than willing to list in alphabetical and chronological order, but the man saved my life at the moment where it counted the most." He scuffed his foot against the tarmacked pavement, shuffling some newly fallen autumnal leaves. "The guy deserves a punch in the face and a lifetime supply of bat-bogey hexes, not Azkaban."

Nott gawped at him, blinking owlishly for a moment before he roughly shoved back some of the dark blonde curled tendrils that had fallen into his eyes. He stalked forward, clipping a demanding, "come on," as he passed. Harry trotted to catch-up with his long strides.

"The front page of the Prophet this morning said that the Ministry was holding a surprise hearing for Draco's case to debate a potential early release," Nott said shortly, his eyes scanning the maze of paths ahead of them, choosing a direction. He took a left. "The article also exposed that he's had a creature inheritance in Azkaban."

Harry, whose mind was already tumbling over the possibilities of calling an emergency hearing, came to a grinding halt.

"Do you know what creature?" Harry asked. Nott shook his head. "Do you reckon the two are connected?"

"With a doubt," Nott replied. "Creatures don't have half as many rights as the rest of us, and now the Ministry has a Malfoy by the balls." An ugly snort came from him as he stooped his tall form under a low hanging branch, his face dark with his thoughts.

Nott was right, Harry thought. Draco was fucked. The post-war campaign had been focused on repairing the image of the government, considering that the people had lost faith in them. Kingsley had spent tireless months ridding known corrupt individuals from power and over-turning blatant blood prejudice laws that had been implemented during the war. But popularity was still low. Even though he didn't bother with politics, he couldn't avoid the rhetoric when faced with it every day from his colleagues or even just over-hearing it in a coffee shop. They needed a win. They needed a morale booster. They needed something to show that the old ways were out and something to unite a tattered country.

They were going to use Malfoy.

Harry filled with dread and the caustic taste of injustice left a sour flavour on his tongue. But even so, the Ministry was a gargantuan pile of bureaucracy. Getting anything done with 'urgency' usually meant waiting at least a fortnight. Which meant that if Malfoy's hearing was as 'sudden and urgent' as Nott believed it to be, it infact meant the exact opposite and that there was an element of planning in this. The whole thing was contrived. And to add on top, Malfoy's creature inheritance? Either that was a stroke of coincidental luck from the gods or something more was at hand.

Harry now considered it a personality trait of his, that he always tended to err towards the latter.

"We have to help him, I don't like this one bit, something's going on," Harry said resolutely. "When's the hearing?"

"It started an hour ago," Nott replied.

Harry started. "What the fuck are we doing here?!"

"Blaise has gone, and I'm assuming Pansy too, but I left her a note for her just in case. There's not a lot we can do whilst the hearing is still in session. This has to be done Potter, so we're here. We get in, grab this thing, get back. No more than an hour max. By then, there'll be more information." The tone of Nott's voice left no room for argument and the severe set of his face showed the determination in his actions. He looked over his shoulder down at Harry, his blue eyes cold and calculating. "You really with me on this Potter?"

"Yes," Harry replied with as much conviction.

Whether or not Nott questioned Harry's motives, like he had all the other times he'd asked over the last couple of days, he didn't ask this time. Instead, Nott cut off the path and across a kept lawn, hopping over a couple of graves. He led Harry to a wider path that was lined with trees on both sides. At the end of the short, shadowed walk, stood a house in a tarmacked clearing. Beyond that, a pillared entranced with brown bricks and a black, twisted spiked fence, stood imposingly as the entrance. They ducked through the tall gap and out onto the street. Harry looked back up at the hulking formation, and noted the inscription at the top read:

The dead shall be raised.

With his brows high on his forehead, he turned back and jogged to catch up with Nott's strident gait; the impressive coat that billowed behind him, cast a striking silhouette in the cold light of the overcast morning.

"How do you know where to go?" Harry asked a little breathlessly.

"They left instructions."

"Oh right, how far till the library?"

"Not far, it's just up here," Nott replied.

They walked in silence up the long straight road. The closer they got to the group of buildings ahead, the more people there were milling about. Harry could see college students carrying files, coffees in hand, laughing as they headed to their destinations, or their heads bent low over a book, headphones on as they sat under a tree on a grassy lawn. The two men trotted across the busy road and skirted to the right of an old building. The path opened up into an expansive courtyard, the ground sleek with pale stone. Ahead stood a huge strange, white honeycomb-like cube, with people entering and exiting from a gap beneath it.

"So what's the plan?" Harry asked as he danced around a group of girls who appeared from seemingly nowhere.

"We have an appointment at nine-thirty. They're expecting Doctor Engström from Uppsala University's History of Science Office," Nott replied as he smoothly stepped around a skateboarder.

"Who's that?" Harry asked. Nott threw him a dower look.

"Me, I am Doctor Engström," he said, affecting an accent.

"Oh," Harry said taken aback, "who am I supposed to be then? And what accent is that meant to be?"

"I'll have you know, I do a very convincing Swedish accent," Nott sniffed, popping his collar against the breeze that had picked up. "And you can be a research assistant or something."

"Sure okay yeah…" Harry dodged a man who was talking a loudly into his phone, "so what's my name?"

"Harry," Nott replied without missing a beat.

"What?! How come I don't get a fake name?"

"Because the only time anyone ever cares about the research assistant is when they're fucking the professor," he said with a smirk, gliding through a gaggle of women dressed in sports gear. "Other than that, they're pretty invisible."

Harry felt his cheeks heat at the sudden image that the words had conjured in his mind and his rebuttal died in his throat.

…Nope. Later.

He gruffed to clear it and swallowed clumsily around his heavy tongue.

"So uh," he ran a hand viscously through his hair, "History of Science office? Do muggles consider alchemy science?"

"I guess so," Nott replied.

Hermione had stayed up with them for an hour more, explaining all that she knew of the Voynich manuscript. Which was disconcertingly little. She had said that nobody knew where it had come from, who had written it, when they had written it, nor what they had written. It remained one of the greater unsolved mysteries of the world, as to date, no one had been able to figure the cypher for the code it had been written in. However, it was widely believed to be an alchemical scripture, featuring astrological charts as well as descriptive botanical diagrams and common alchemical drawings. All this information did was further Harry's suspicion of Nott's clients. What could they possibly want with such an impenetrable manuscript?

They approached the honeycomb building and disappeared into the gap beneath it. Further in lay a wall of glass. Nott followed closely behind a group of students who tapped their cards to unlock the door and slipped in behind them, gracing the girl who held the door for them with a charming smile that she shyly returned. Nott strode confidently across the lobby towards a large desk. Behind it sat a young woman who was clutching her Starbucks cup as if it were her only cherished thing in life.

"God Morgan," Nott said in a silken tone that curled lovingly from the back of his throat, around the hardened 'r' of his new accent. The girl did a double-take up at him, her pouty lips parting slightly.

"God… uh, yeah," she seemed to collect herself as she caught sight of Harry who offered her a kind smile over Nott's shoulder. "Sorry, good morning! How can I help you today sir?" she said brightly in her warm southern accent.

"I am Doctor Engström and this is my assistant. I have an appointment with Doctor Stephanie Philips at nine-thirty?" Harry's brow rose slightly. Nott's accent was impressive: subtly throaty, markedly not British, softer in some places and more rounded in others. It wasn't a comic-take. If Harry didn't know better, he'd believe it.

But there was also, no way that he'd be able to mimic it.

"One moment." The blue light of the screen illuminated her face as the woman tapped at the computer in front of her. Her eyes kept darting back to Nott, who was casually looking around, a pleasant, relaxed look on his handsome, aristocratic features.

"I've got you right here. I'll take you through Doctor, Doctor Philips is up on the Mezzanine floor," she said, lifting herself from her chair and coming around the desk. She led them out of the lobby and up a flight of stairs. Harry had to stop himself from staring around too wide-eyed at the sight, lest he look out of place. The light from outside shone throw the honeycomb walls, casting the space in a warm golden glow. The Mezzanine floor, as the woman had called, it was a spacious area that housed many glass displays, filled with oddities and books. Centre of it all, was a glass tower that reached to the top of the roof and was full of floor upon floor of books, all lit with in a soft ambient glow. Harry had never been one for libraries, but even he could admit the entire ensemble was enchanting.

The woman from the desk led them toward another woman who was stooped over one of the glass cases. Her raven hair fell down over her shoulders, obscuring her face as she peered through the glass.

"Doctor Philips?" The woman from the desk called. Doctor Philips straightened and Harry couldn't help the gulp of dismay he did as her dark eyes set upon them. Her expression was sharp, her dark eyes piercing.

"Doctor Engström I presume?" Doctor Philips' tone was imperious, her eyes narrowed in accusation at Nott who tensed slightly at the unwelcoming greeting.

"Yes, thank you for agreeing to meet me," he said, holding out a hand in greeting. There was a tension-filled pause as Doctor Philips assessed Nott, her eyes calculating. Until finally she reached out and shook his hand.

"I didn't agree. The Voynich has seen increasing activity over the last few months, and the last few patrons have been less than gentle with the priceless work," she said, her cold austere still apparent in her stance. "I would beg your forgiveness but I'm afraid you are not my priority. Against my advice, the committee has granted your perusal. You shall, therefore, do so only under my strict rules. Do you understand?"

"Of course, I mean no harm to come to such an important piece Doctor Philips," Nott lied as smooth as butter, his face the perfect ensemble of empathy. Harry felt physical pain from his restraint of rolling his eyes.

"This way then." Doctor Philips led them back toward the stairs that they had walked up originally, and around to descend a secondary staircase, leading them deeper into the bowels of the library.

"You're a psychopath," Harry whispered to Nott from the corner of his mouth. He heard Nott chuckle quietly under his breath.

"Glad you finally cottoned on," Nott whispered back as Doctor Philips' commanding voice barked rules ahead of them. They turned to the left and waited for Doctor Philips to input the code on a smooth touch keypad to release the door. She led them through the antechamber to another door, with a different code. Beyond that, lay a brightly lit corridor, lined with glass walls. Each side was partitioned into separate empty smaller rooms, each containing a singular desk.

Harry and Nott exchanged a glance as she led them into the glass tank. Harry had spotted at least seven cameras on the way in. His palms began to sweat. He had no idea how they were going to pull this off. There was glass everywhere leaving no place to hide from watching eyes.

Doctor Philips rounded the desk and pulled up the receiver from the phone that lay on the desk.

"Yes, we're here. Room three please." She placed the receiver back in its hold. "If I could ask you to put these gloves on please gentlemen," she said briskly as she held out two pairs of rubber gloves. There was a tap at the door before it swung open and a young bespectacled man pulled in a trolley containing a glass case. Doctor Philips nodded her gratitude sternly, before rounding the case. She pulled a heavy set of keys from her pocket and seemingly picked one at random to put in the lock. Twisting it, Harry heard the quiet schnick of the locks' release and the glass lid opened ominously. With gentle reverence, Doctor Philips lifted a thick aged book from within, its pages yellowed with its years. She placed it carefully on the stand that stood in the centre of the desk and gestured for Nott and Harry to begin, while she stepped back toward the trolley to lock it up. The young man left with a deferential half bow to Doctor Philips, who seemed to have already forgotten his existence.

Nott stood before manuscript, Harry just behind his right shoulder. Doctor Philips stood quietly on the other side of the desk, between them and the door, glowering at them under her harsh brow. From Hermione's ominous words the night before, Harry had built the Voynich manuscript up in his head to be more of a spectacle that some of the howling or growling books that he had read in Hogwarts. But the front cover of the Voynich was a sandy plain colour, the parchment creased with use. Picking up one of the tongs, Nott slipped it carefully under the cover and opened it up, revealing the inside. Harry spotted numerous pencilled notes from differing hands, faded with time. In the centre, was a starch label bearing Yale's coat of arms and a missive that read:

Yale University Library

Gift of:

Hans P Kraus

The silence of the room trembled with an atmosphere of awe as Nott flipped to the first page. Written in paragraphs of faded reddish ink, Harry could see a swirling curling alphabet he simultaneously recognised but was also entirely alien. It seemed that though neither Harry nor Nott truly understood the magnitude of the script before them, they had somehow become spellbound in the first whispers of its secrets. The pages were so thin that it was possible to clearly see a vibrant green the danced behind the neat script. Nott flipped to the second page, his attention rapt as his eyes hungrily scanned it. This page showed a drawing of a sapling of some kind; its leaves alternating between green and gold, its body growing from feathered earth until its flowering bulb stretched up the centre. Again the same scripture lay either side of it. The next page, a detailed showing of a dandelion type flower. The one after that, a lily pad. Steadily the plants grew more alien, with red petals interlaced with green rows; blue bulbous hooded heads over prickly leaves. Page after page, each annotated with the same controlled hand of scripture, until suddenly a page filled with concentric circles, each bearing notes that seemed to be a mixture of whatever code the notes had been written in, as well as astrological symbols. In the centre, lay four beings, each looking to the left of their stationed points of north, south, east and west. Spiralling from the dead centre, more notes cut each of the quadrants.

And so it went on. Bouncing back and forth between botany and astrology with no apparent structure. Harry was so engrossed in the work, trying hopelessly to fathom its meaning when suddenly Nott quietly purred in his Swedish accent.

"Are you still with me Harry?"

Harry blinked, confused. He hadn't gone anywhere. Maybe he meant I was too distracted from the mission.

Which was to steal the script.

'Are you with me Potter?' The memory sounded in his head.

"Yes." Harry echoed his response, adrenaline suddenly alighting his veins.

Nott seemed to release a slow breath until he became still. He leant forward to flip the next page, only Harry saw too late that the tongs that he had been using had been swapped for his wand.

"Confundus," Nott breathed and Doctor Philips swayed dangerously on her feet. He flicked the tip in the direction of the camera and muttered, "împiediccas."

Harry bolted around the side of the desk to steady a still swaying Doctor Philips, his suddenly rocketing pulse pounding in his ears, and noticed the red light on the camera in the corner flicker, before resuming its steady shine.

"It didn't work," Harry said. He looked over his shoulder to see Nott pull a book from his inside coat pocket.

"Dissimulatio senectus volume," Nott chanted, ignoring him, his satiny voice brushing over the chant as he circled his wand over the new book. Slowly, the neatly formatted book became more unravelled as it aged in time. In the next breath, Nott was holding a replica of the Voynich in his hand. A crease appeared between his brow as he lowered the new glamoured book to the desk and focused on the Voynich.

"Soon-tay-reh'-o," he said, his face darkened in complete concentration, as he jauntily flicked and swished his wand. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a sheen of silver settled over the manuscript, glistening in the bright light of the office. He lifted manuscript and carefully placed it in his inside pocket.

He caught Harry's confused glance at the move. "Expandable pockets are a thief's best friend," he explained with a shrug, placing the glamoured book in the trolley. Doctor Philips was turning her hands over before her as if she had never seen them before.

"How long is that glamour going to last?" Harry said, eyeing the Doctor with worry.

"Providing nobody touches the manuscript, it should last a couple of days," he said quickly. "Doctor Philips?" he called, snapping his fingers to get the woman's attention. Doctor Philips looked up at him, wobbling slightly at the motion. Harry caught her, righted her and removed his hands cautiously.

"Do you know where you are Doctor Philips?" Nott said clearly and slowly. The Doctor looked around her, her brow creasing slightly as she took in the brightened space.

"The library?" she said in a small voice, so vastly different from the voice she had greeted them with that Harry felt his first twinge of guilt.

"Is she going to be okay?" He asked anxiously.

"Yeah, it'll wear off in thirty minutes or so. She'll have a vague memory of this morning, but other than that, nothing will be out of place for her," he said to Harry before turning back to the Doctor. "Doctor Philips, you're going to take the trolley back to the book tower now okay?"

Doctor Philips swivelled her neck exaggeratedly and swayed dangerously in the direction of the trolley. She lurched forward, attaching herself to the handle, and looked back in uncertainty.

"That's right. When you've put the manuscript away, you're going to go to the cafeteria because you need coffee and doughnut. Some sugar and caffeine. You had a long night and you need something to wake you up. Doesn't that sound nice?" Nott said in a commanding but warm voice. Doctor Philips nodded slowly as if unsure of the action, a smile flickering in response to Nott's own.

"Come along now," Nott said, opening the door. He ushered Doctor Philips through, with Harry following close behind her, who was marking her every wobbly move. He felt like he was corralling a newborn deer that was still uncertain of its legs.

"Vyrezat reliz," Nott said, performing the same hand action he had done to get into Thyrra's apartment. The coded panel flickered but remained glowing as the door swung open to the antechamber. Nott pointed his wand at the camera and muttered, "împiediccas." Again, the red light flickered but remained on.

"Nott, is that meant to be turning them off?" Harry asked worriedly. Nott approached the second door and repeated, "vyrezat reliz," lowly, before ducking through. Harry trailed after Doctor Philips through the door to see the tail end of Nott's interference with another camera.

"It's like I said Potter, magic and electric is like water and oil. But each circuit has a multitude of back-up actions in case there's an interruption in the flow," he said, eyeing Doctor Philips as she cautiously approached a glass door that stood between the two staircases. He watched her critically as she pulled a lanyard from around her neck and slowly tapped it to a black box next the doorframe. She startled when the door opened as if she had merely been going through the motions without knowing the consequences of her actions. When she disappeared through the door, Nott took off up the staircase that led to the lobby with Harry jogging to keep up. They strode confidently across the lobby that was more full now than it had been and slipped out between the foot traffic of two groups passing through the main entrance.

They strode quickly across the courtyard that was emptier than earlier. Harry supposed people had gone to classes.

"I still don't get it," Harry said. "And what were all those spells?"

Nott chuckled, his shoulders a bit looser, his face lighter now that they were on the home stretch.

"Well, when there's an interruption in the flow, usually what happens in the new computer-operated systems, is that it hard resets the programme. The blip causes the computer to think there's been a glitch, so it seeks to preserve the programme by restarting, all in an attempt to flush out whatever caused the glitch," Nott explained. "With the older electrical boards that aren't all 'smart'," he said with air quotes, "the blip in the flow shorts the circuit breaker, triggering the false safe, which almost always is the release of the locking mechanism or fuse." He pulled his coat tight around him. "Security systems are all on the muggle online now. The Beinecke's is for definite. So, it's just a simple matter of resetting the entire system to the last back-up which is every midnight for servers on the East coast."

Harry felt like he understood the words that Nott was saying, but none of it was making any sense.

"As for the spells, well, there are seven language families on this earth, without counting all the tribal and creole dialects. The spells that we were taught are Latin based. Why would the Asiatic, Hungarian or Afrikaan magical population suddenly switch to only Latin based spells when they wouldn't have known about the Latin speaking world until a couple of centuries ago?" He chuckled again, his smile wide and free as he looked over his shoulder at Harry. Again, Harry could only stare on. He hadn't even considered the thought before. If felt so obvious and yet here he was. "There's a whole world of magic out there, that you have yet to explore Harry," Nott said with a wink.

The journey back to the cemetery felt a lot shorter than it had done earlier that morning. Harry skipped through the fallen leaves, his mind abuzz with the adrenaline that still coursed through his veins and the thoughts that Nott had put there. In comparison to the other man, he felt like he'd barely scratched the surface of what magic could actually do.

They ducked behind a mausoleum, sheltered by the bow of an old oak. Nott pulled the gold cuff from within his grand coat and offered it to Harry as he had done before. He tapped his wand and with a schwip, Harry felt the nauseating pull of the portkey drag him home.

14:15pm 10th of September, 1999 – 12 Grimmauld Place, Claremont Square, Islington, London, UK.

Theo stumbled and knocked over a pile of books. He felt himself overbalance before a hand wrapped around his flailing arm and yanked him back into something broad and warm. His heart pounded as his chest heaved, trying to catch his breath. I've had better landings. The warmth at his back seeped through his coat, and he felt his shoulders drop from a release of tension he didn't know he held.

"Alright?"

Nott stilled as warm breath brushed over the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. He swallowed thickly and stepped forward, physically dragging himself from the embrace.

"Ye - " Theo cleared his throat from its too high pitch, "yeah, yeah. All good. You good?" He felt his cheeks heat as he met Harry's obnoxiously green gaze.

"Yeah," he said, his voice rougher than Nott had heard it previously. Harry's eyes held his for a moment longer before Theo ducked his head at the feeling of heat building deep within him.

"So uh," Harry ran a hand through his hair making it stand-up in deranged directions. "What next?"

"Now, I'm going to see what the deal with Draco is," Theo said, "then later when Blaise gets back, he'll arrange the pick-up for the manuscript." His nerves, that had settled since they had turned their backs on the Beinecke Library, came back tenfold with the reminder of his friend's dire situation.

Harry opened his mouth to reply when a tap came from the window. Both men turned to see a tawny owl looking sternly down at them, ruffling its wings with impatience. Harry crossed the room quickly as Theo leant against the back of one of the chairs. He watched as Harry gently guided in the bird, unfastened the note and unravelled it. He saw the exact moment when dread filled his face.

"What is it?" Theo asked in concern.

Harry swallowed, refolded the note and let out a shaky breath. He threw Theo a wan smile that didn't quite reach his now dulled eyes.

"I've got to go and clear my cubicle. I've," he scraped a hand through his hair again and gave a helpless laugh, holding the note aloft for Theo to see.

"I've been fired!"

Let me know your thoughts chickidees! Constructive criticism is welcome as always! Hope you enjoyed it!