Warning for one instance of disgusting ableism/disability bashing, second warning for homophobic slur. Both are indicated with a bold exclamation mark at the start of the sentence in which they take place.

Harry marched into the break room and was glad to see that Tristan was still where he'd left him.

It wasn't until he'd opened his mouth that he realised that the voices he heard were coming from that very booth.

Great.

He caught the end of Quiesko's sentence: "…it's an expression."

"It's watch it, okay? I don't accept that shit." Tristan said shortly.

Harry hadn't intended to rope Quiesko into the clusterfuck he was dealing with, and that Tristan was annoyed with him confirmed his intuition.

Harry said "Hi" before he'd fully approached, not giving their conversation a chance to continue.
"Weren't you finding bodies with Johnny?" He asked the moment he could look Quiesko in the face, hoping he sounded dismissive without being an arsehole.
He had no patience for this.

! Quiesko hadn't caught on. "He's in death manor, saying hi to mister Special Needs." He smiled. "Good to see you man, not a stick anymore."

Harry responded with a vague nod, arms crossed, trying not to accidentally punch him.
The last time the two of them had spoken was months ago and they'd gotten along well enough then.

"Ayuh, I thought he'd volunteer for monitorin'?" Tristan asked.

Quiesko grinned. "The tantrum he threw when you guys took over left an impression…" He said, amused. "Robards said no."

Harry was caught by a surge of guilt at the reminder.

He'd actually intended to ask Tristan to come with him immediately, since he needed some thoughts on the impossibility of having eye-contact in a memory, but he needed to calm down first.

He'd been on the verge of smashing the Pensieve and he figured Robards wouldn't appreciate that.

Besides, Kerry was in St. Mungo's, hopefully in pain, and Luna was with Malfoy.

He ought to give him the time to write her an essay.

Harry sat down besides 'Zach'.
This positioning meant he wasn't as likely to punch him by accident, and incidentally allowed him to read Tristan's face and vice versa.

"Huh." Tristan stated. "Who's watchin' him now?"

"Himmelman and Petty." Harry spat her name.

"Ah that's all right then," Quiesko leaned back.

"You know them?" Harry whipped to face him so quickly that his neck hurt.

Quiesko shrugged and raised his mug. "I've seen Himmelman around, my kinda guy. No bullshit, straight to the point."

"I only know his face. Petty though…" Tristan shook his head in distaste, his eyes on Harry.

"What about her?" Harry asked, hardly keeping his shit together.

"She's great in the field," Quiesko said at the same time Tristan said something else.

"What?" Quiesko chuckled.

"I said she's culch," Tristan repeated. "Sanctimonious manipulative culch."

Harry wasn't sure what 'culch' was but he nodded briskly.

"What, really?" Quiesko seemed surprised.

Tristan continued; "Ayuh, finest kind of gaumy most of the time but catch her eye and it's 'target locked'."
He shook his head again, appearing in thought. "…whenever I called her out she repeated herself nice and slow, so my hick brain could catch up…" He looked at Harry, concerned. "And she's watchin' Draco?"

She'd never watch him again if Harry had anything to do with it.

"No, but she was this morning… The thing I went to check?" Harry gave him a meaningful look that must have been edged with fire.
It was answered by raised eyebrows, so he added: "Himmelman's there now. And a friend of mine, not an Auror."

Tristan seemed reluctantly relieved. "No emergency?"

"…I can spare a few minutes." Harry forced himself to remain calm. "But I need to borrow you after."

Tristan nodded, giving him a curious look.

"…so Robards won't let Johnny monitor anymore?" Harry asked bitterly.

If he would have just minded his own damn business, Malfoy might have been fine, playing the piano with Johnny clapping him on the shoulder.

…or he would have had the same kind of morning he'd had now, but then with Quiesko.

A scream burned in his throat, the kind that would lose its steam the moment he'd let it go.

Tristan looked at Harry curiously, and a loaded silence briefly hung between them.

"…he got real attached to the charge in hospital…" Quiesko said meaningfully. "Became his guard dog." He paused. "Buried his own kid nearly two years ago, hasn't worked full-time 'till we got sent over."

The tension warped into something else.

Tristan blew air from puffed cheeks. "…yeah, was my partner before he had his 'mandatory leave'…" He nodded a bit. "Good man, bit hot-headed but nothin' to worry about."

Wait, what?

"He was your partner?" Harry's anger had taken the only way out it could find, materialising in some droplets of spittle that politely went ignored.

Tristan gave him a confused look. "Ayuh, for nearly three years…?"

Harry tried very, very hard to keep calm. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Tristan turned his palms up and shook his head a bit. "…thought I did…? Didn't hide it… — what's wrong?"

"I — " Harry sighed, his rage suddenly replaced by defeat. "Nothing."

…come to think of it, Tristan had spoken plenty about his partner…

Harry just hadn't put a name with the stories.

…or he'd forgotten it…

He'd thought being an Auror would involve fighting, paperwork, and fighting paperwork… he hadn't expected this interpersonal bollocks.
But then again - of course these guys had history; they'd had careers whilst Harry had still been in school.

Did he really expect people to be blank slates until he showed up?

Was he that self-absorbed?

He knew better, didn't he?

"…you needed me for somethin'?" Tristan asked intently.

The layout of the Pensieve room reminded Harry of an extremely fancy men's room, with five wooden cabins the size of accessible toilet stalls. In each one stood a plain stone Pensieve on a plain stone pedestal, which had traces of being covered with wood in the past.

It was tradition to kick its base after you've watched a memory.

Harry didn't think he'd done it before he'd stalked out earlier, but now he was back here with Tristan, he did see a wet smudge of dirt that hadn't been there before.

It could be his …

Why didn't he think before he did things?

Was something actually pushing his thoughts aside?

It didn't feel like it, but that didn't say anything.

Maybe there was a Voldemort-shaped hole in his head that expanded during combat. During rage.

…

Well.

Fuck.

His mind went to Sirius, to the time that he'd been so angry that he wanted to set the world on fire.

'…what matters is the part we choose to act on…'

…and that would be the part that knew how to be professional.

Harry told Tristan he was fine.

He was, technically, since talking to him was a relief compared to talking to two specific other colleagues.

! Harry'd already thought that Quiesko was a dick, but learning that he'd called Malfoy a 'faggot' to Tristan's face right before Harry had shown up just made it a fact.

Anger lumped in his throat like a ball of elastic.

He showed Tristan the letter that Malfoy had written to Ginny.
He needed a few minutes without infuriating colleagues, because he might throttle Kerry in-memory somehow if he saw her face again this soon.

Tristan thought Malfoy was showing off with his writing since 'the only fanciness he still has is himself', and reckoned that he was surprisingly forthcoming and potentially shit-stirring.

…which reminded Harry of Malfoy's manipulative streak.

He should check whether Tristan thought that there was any chance that this memory had been tampered with.
Harry didn't actually think so, because there had been none of the strangeness he'd seen in Slughorn's memory or in other dodgy ones that they'd seen in training… but it was best to be safe.

Apparently 'pseudosmia' meant smelling something unpleasant that wasn't there.
It took Harry a second to remember that that was one of the words Malfoy had used in the letter.

He'd been on about the flavours of Molly's cooking and said that he was 'regretfully no longer in a position from which I can experience it to the fullest due to pseudosmia making me seem saprophagous.'

Harry was glad they'd gotten the letter over with before he mentioned the memory.

In order for Tristan and him to be able to get as much as possible out of the viewing, Harry had given a quick a run-down of what happened.

…which had triggered a twenty-minute rant from Tristan.

Initially Kerry was 'number than a hake' with not a 'scrid' of humanity, at the end she was a racist homophobic bitch he wouldn't warm to if she was Incendio'd beside him.

Harry had felt somewhat mollified by that.

Tristan gave a nod of approval when Harry told him she was injured.

When they finally went in, Harry noted that Tristan also used a fingertip for the Pensieve.

Did everyone apart from him just know not to dunk their face in it?

Fuck's sake.

It was easier to notice details on a second viewing, especially since there was someone else to point things out to him.

…such as that Malfoy had been reading the Warlock's Hairy Heart when Kerry had entered.

The only thing Tristan really knew about Bellatrix had been in the letter, so he'd been startled by her voice coming from nowhere.

He was taken aback by Malfoy's shadow arm, and reckoned that if that was caused by Residue, Malfoy needed to get out of there.
"You can't mourn a loss if it's hauntin' you."

Also, according to him, Malfoy was skinnier in the memory than he had been three days ago.

Harry didn't think that he'd changed in the meantime.

Greyback's voice growling that Malfoy still was 'a little dirty' made them both tense, and seeing Malfoy's dead eyes in response did something in Harry's gut.

He was really just broken, wasn't he?

Both of them seethed every time Kerry opened her mouth, but when she grabbed Malfoy by the neck, Tristan had just crossed his arms and flatly stated "excessive force".

He'd also provided Harry with some insight on body language:
"He's not resistin' — the way he raised his wand looks like a quelled reflex. You ever tried doin' that?"

Harry'd wondered whether what had happened during Field Training counted as a reflex.
He hadn't answered.

They decided that Tristan was going to escalate Kerry's behaviour today, before she'd even left hospital.

When Malfoy's clothes were thrown at him, Tristan had blown a lot of air from puffed cheeks.

…and when Kerry conversationally said: "I thought you were one of those who wanted to do everything himself", Tristan's eyes had nearly bulged out of his head and he'd repeated "one of those" in a low voice.

He'd cracked his neck and looked foul.

Kerry's interrogation of Malfoy about his conscience made Tristan tense too, and Greyback's and Bellatrix's near-enthusiasm to it made him reiterate that Malfoy had to get out of there.

Harry agreed.

Something Harry didn't want to consider was that Tristan didn't know whether the black veins on Malfoy's torso had grown or changed.

At all.

How could that make sense?

The two of them had… - …

…maybe it'd been dark?

Anyway.

Knowing that his colleague could see the evidence of Harry's — … That he could see Malfoy's silver scars made Harry feel exposed.
This was the first time he'd stopped seething since he'd seen the memory, but he wasn't at all comfortable.
He didn't know whether Tristan knew that he had caused them… He also didn't want to mention it… But he felt as if a private part of him was showing and it made his anger lose its bite.

Was there something wrong with his conscience?

He didn't want Malfoy to experience any of the shit they were viewing, he knew that for a fact, but the sentiment had lost its urgency.

In the forefront of his mind was now the fact that Malfoy had bullied Harry all the way through school. And then Harry had cut him up. Taken Johnny away.

Not known that Kerry was — this bad.

A few hours of forced conversation because Harry had trodden into Malfoy's life didn't mean anything, did it?

The only reason some of it'd seemed half-decent was because Malfoy hadn't had any other option at the time.

Harry swallowed hard.
Tristan was witnessing the evidence of how dangerous Harry could be…

And he had managed to successfully have a conversation with Malfoy after all, so he —-

No, Malfoy had tried to manipulate him.

Harry shuddered, disgusted by how he could have considered that in any way 'successful'.

Why had his mind even gone there?

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Tristan said he was sure that Malfoy hadn't been this skinny three days ago.

…that couldn't be good.

Feeling defeated and disgusted with himself, Harry watched the rest of the memory unfold.

When Bellatrix called Malfoy a disappointment because he hadn't killed, Tristan even paused the memory to speak.
(Because Harry was a competent professional, he'd definitely remembered that that was an option.)

"I hoped that in the U.K. the point of punishment is reintegration and not revenge… so his guardian psycho sayin' that is wicked bad."

Harry had briefly pressed his lips together. "How could he avoid her though? Azkaban? Saint Mungo's? Like I said, staff wasn't great."
He'd snapped.

Tristan had thrown his arms out in the embodiment of 'fuck if I know'.

They knew their respective anger wasn't directed at each other.

Tristan knew the spell to get dressed and seemed embarrassed he hadn't told Malfoy about it.
Harry said he'd pass it on.

Then they saw Narcissa enter a room upstairs.

Harry realised she couldn't possibly have moved from there to talking to Himmelman in the time it took for Malfoy and Kerry to descend.
So, unless Malfoy had hallucinated, this had to be one of those 'doubles on the premises' that he'd mentioned in the log.

…and then Harry had seen himself.

His In-Memory Self stood exactly where he had been when he'd followed Malfoy and Kerry during his first viewing.

His Other was wearing the same clothes he'd worn yesterday, a grey sweatshirt and jeans, and he'd appeared the moment Malfoy had turned, as if fading in from the background.

His usually green irises had been black and he'd stood there, expressionless, staring into Malfoy's eyes.

Nobody else who'd been there had acknowledged his Double's existence, and that had been that.

Memory over.

Harry had been relieved it had been a coincidence that Malfoy had looked into his eyes… until he realised that this was apparently a Residue situation, and Tristan had no idea how that could have happened either.

…and none of the books he'd read about Residue had actually mentioned it.

Tristan had wished him luck.

Thanks.

Before returning to Malfoy manor, Harry figured he should sort the Field Training report out first.
Not because it felt remotely important, but because Malfoy was definitely fine with Luna there, and he hoped temporarily setting his mind on another track would help him think of a plan.

Besides, Malfoy would be fine until he went to sleep.
There was plenty of time.

Tristan had apologised for not getting very far with the report since Quiesko'd interrupted him, but he'd still offered a parchment with some pointers.

It would help Harry produce some structured bullshit and if the result wasn't good enough, he could just blame it on not knowing how to do paperwork.
He was still in training so that wasn't untrue.

It didn't solve anything though, and the report itself hadn't been the problem.

The real issue was that he would have to make sure that he wouldn't lose his mind again…

But was that really what had happened?

The conscious Aurors had been fine, right?
They hadn't been enthused but they'd been fine, and not afraid at least, even though they'd seen the whole thing unfold.

Surely if they'd had a reason to worry they would have said something, wouldn't they?

Harry sighed.

If he'd get himself sent to the Thickey Ward to get the hole in his head sorted out, Malfoy might 'do something' in the meantime.

…and if the people watching him were at all like Kerry… —

He broke the tip of his quill and irritably cast a mending charm.

Malfoy might be a suspicious manipulative dick, but he didn't deserve this. And he definitely didn't need to die.

…

What if Harry's blackout-situation had been caused by Residue somehow?

If Voldemort would have been alive he might have had a vision at the time… but because Voldemort was dead and his sludge was still there, Harry'd been offered some of his own memories instead.

…that made sense…

Also, if that was the case, he'd be fine once the Residue was cleaned up.

With renewed determination he finished the report, handed it in with Simmons, and figured that he should attend the Criminal Investigation meeting that started at three-thirty.

It might give him some ideas for how to deal with the Residue.

It didn't.

When he returned to Malfoy manor at seven, he was surprised to find a flustered Narcissa by the Floo.

"Auror Potter, there you are," She said, relief lacing every word.

Fuck, had she been waiting for him?

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, assuming that the answer would be 'everything'.

"Nothing new, I had just thought that perhaps — " She shook her head. "Miss Lovegood is still present, as is Auror Himmelman." She seemed tense.

"All right." Harry regarded her for a few seconds. When nothing was added, he asked "Are they still in the drawing room?"

Narcissa stiffened. "They have gone to see -… the crypt. Miss Lovegood has been …"

Harry waited for her to continue, but she seemed to have forgotten that she'd started a sentence.
"Any idea when they'll be back?" He asked.

Her focus returned to him. "They departed about half an hour ago… It is not a ten minute walk, they should not be long."

"Right." Harry didn't much fancy seeing Lucius Malfoy's grave, and wondered what to do.
"…what happens if your son doesn't sleep in his own room tonight?" He asked.

Maybe it wasn't as bad as Malfoy had made it out to be…

She grimaced. "He said it is akin to disobeying a summons…" She looked at him meaningfully.

Harry nodded, hoping the stairs would have magically become safe in the meantime.
The fifth step had been solid when Kerry had held onto it this morning…

"The Mark didn't burn in hospital," Narcissa volunteered. "It's as if the house wants to put him in place."

He nodded some more and went over to the stairs. There he extended his wand to prod the step he'd been staring at.

A little dent appeared where he'd touched it.

Fuck.

Narcissa and him sighed at the same time.

"We used to own other properties," She said wistfully, "Do you suppose the Ministry would be willing to swap? There is not much point in remaining in one's family home when it ought to be condemned."

"I doubt it," Harry crossed his arms, looking at the dent.
The ministry wouldn't do anything in their favour if they could help it, judging by how they'd condemned an 18 year old to be watched in his own fucking bathroom for years.

He did not want to say that out loud.

"They put up misplaced families in homes that became available." He'd spat it, unable to restrain his rage.

He was just boiling over, wasn't he? Was this residue getting to him again?

She tensed.

Fuck, her husband had more than his share of 'available homes' on his conscience.

It hadn't been meant as a dig but it must have come off as one. "I didn't — "

"Ignore me." She said haughtily as she shook her head. "I ought to restrain my careless tongue. My apologies."

Harry sighed again.

None of this would be happening if he'd just minded his own business.

Johnny and Quiesko would be watching Malfoy, and though Quiesko had been shit, Johnny definitely hadn't been.
Petty would be doing fuck-knows-what elsewhere, and Harry'd be playing 'Spot the Death Eater' with Tristan.

…but Quiesko thought that Malfoy was going to do something to himself…

He shuddered at the thought.

It was evening already and he didn't want Malfoy to spend a night in pain.

Where could he go though?

The MACUSA lot were staying in some hotel, so Malfoy would be absolutely swarmed if he lost his shit. It would escalate horribly if Kerry and Quiesko were anything to go by.

Purge; over.

Johnny might volunteer, but even though Harry trusted Tristan's judgement on him, it still didn't seem right.

Tristan himself shouldn't even be considered after what Malfoy had tried to do…

…and in Azkaban or St Mungo's, Malfoy would be rather accident-prone…

Surely there were better options…

He crossed his arms as he thought. "Doesn't he have friends he can visit for the night? Parkinson or Goyle or something, if Robards allows it?"

Narcissa drew herself up. "Most of Draco's 'friends' have emigrated…" She trailed off and swallowed before adding "None of them have answered his letters."

Her cheeks coloured.

There might still be some other place for him to go…

"Don't you have more relatives?"

She adjusted her posture and appeared taller as she paled.

Andromeda was her sister, wasn't she?
They'd fallen out, but surely this was important enough to have a bloody chat about.
"…have you considered asking your sister for help?" Harry asked, a bit more carefully.

"…I have drafted many letters…" Narcissa swallowed and paused.
"…I do not wish for her to consider my apologies disingenuous and offered solely out of need…" She trailed off.

"So you haven't reached out." Harry stated.

She was about to respond when a sudden icy breeze made the entrance hall feel even more desolate.

The front doors had opened.

Malfoy grinned as he entered with a concerned-looking Luna at his bad side.
Harry was immediately on guard.

They were closely followed by a tired-looking Auror Himmelman.

When Malfoy spotted Harry he casually raised his hand in greeting and approached.

"I was just saying to Luna here that I ought to spend the night near Father." He said conversationally. "Might be less painful than taking up a guest room," He sounded amused. Judging from his posture, he might as well have been bragging.

As if he had anything to brag about.

"At least then if my screams do wake anyone, it'll be an improvement." He snorted and his grin became wryer.

Narcissa raised a trembling hand to her mouth and turned away.

Malfoy continued: "Besides, if Father does wake trapped under a slab, it might be good to have someone there to tell him it's all gone to Hell."
He seemed perfectly pleased, almost glib, but his eyes had a desperate sheen and he'd clearly been crying.

"You're mental." Harry said flatly, as his anger was quashed by guilt.

Be professional.

"What took you so long, anyway?" Malfoy asked with an upwards nod. "Got your head stuck in a Pensieve?"

"Shut up Malfoy." Harry said without bite, feeling like he was doing him a favour.

Malfoy cocked a brow without losing his grimace, so Harry added; "Take some Draught of Peace, you need it."
His voice sounded distant to his ears.

Was the residue getting to him again?

His skin crawled with how much he wanted to punch something, not Malfoy, and he crossed his arms tighter to restrain himself.

"Ran out this morning," Malfoy responded smugly. "Had some chamomile tea though. Would you like some? It's not quite the same, but it'll have to do."

"You've made your mother cry." Himmelman said calmly.

Harry turned to where Narcissa had been and saw her back hastily retreat towards the dining room.

When he turned back to Malfoy, any trace of amusement was gone.

He looked white as a sheet, nose and cheeks pink from the icy cold that poured in, and his eyes had lost their spark, though it had only been one of desperation.

The little vein that reached over his jaw looked darker than before.

Luna had gone over to his other side and went to take his hand, but he slowly withdrew it.

"Auror Potter, do you mind?" Himmelman said, gesturing in the direction Narcissa had rushed off to.

He'd endured a 23-hour shift at this point, hadn't he?

Malfoy and him definitely needed a break from each other.

"Go ahead," said Harry, not looking away from Malfoy.

Himmelman briskly marched away.

"Heard anything from Auror Petty?" Harry asked.

Malfoy shook his head. He swayed and when Luna tried to take his hand again, he gripped it and moved his stump as if he was trying to reach over.

Luna steadied him by also holding his upper arm. She looked worried.

"Sit on the floor," Harry suggested.

Malfoy collapsed in slow-motion, like a Jack-in-the-Box shoved back into the dark. Luna joined him on the ground and kept a hold of his hand.

Harry sat down too, sighed, and turned to Luna. "Mind if I talk to you for a minute? Privately?"

"Of course Harry," She dragged her concerned gaze away from the side of Malfoy's face and crawled a little closer to Harry.

He cast a silencing shield around them both that excluded Malfoy, who didn't look like he was fully in the room with them anyway.

Luna and Malfoy had spoken for hours, and as Luna was telling Harry that, Malfoy let himself fall flat on his back.

He'd apparently told Luna that he hadn't meant for Harry to slide to the other side of the room, which meant that he'd known that he'd caused the floor to tilt.

Also, it'd been Luna's idea to go see the crypt. Malfoy had gone along, but had refused to fully enter.

When Luna had tried to comfort him and told him that 'what was lost had a way of coming back in the end', he'd become very upset.

"I think a lot of him is missing," She concluded gravely.
She sat on her knees, so her bright shapeless dress made her look like some exotic foldy tubeworm.

Harry had sat cross-legged on the floor and nodded, trying to think.

"Are you all right Harry?"

"Yeah." He sighed. "No. But I know what I'm going to do."

She smiled. "Would it be all right with you if I leave for a bit? Dad's waiting for me, for dinner… It's been important to him since I was kidnapped."

"Of course!" Harry said quickly, feeling like a dick for not having considered her time or well-being at all.
"Sorry Luna, I didn't — " He sighed. "I assumed — There's been a lot going on…"

…had there though?
He could have not attended the courses today and saved himself at least five hours…

He bit his lip.

"I could come back later?" She offered, smiling.

"Er…" Harry tried to think.

He glanced at Malfoy who was flat on his back, his arm folded over his chest, his wand in his hand near the opposite shoulder.

Like a Pharaoh in a casket.

Drama queen.

He didn't actually look as skinny as he had in the memory, did he?

It was hard to tell since the blackness of his clothes merged with the shadows on the floor.

When Harry sighed, he could hardly distinguish him through the cloud of his breath.

"If you want…" said Harry to Luna, "Don't worry if you don't, right, but…" He sighed again, telling himself it was in resignation, "You could find us at Grimmauld."