There was still another twenty minutes or so left in the day, and while he could easily get away with just leaving at this point, Harry decided to be a responsible adult and use the time to rewrite his letter to McGonagall. After gathering the will to lift his head from the desk, he worked on recopying the letter, fixing the various edits he'd made and making sure his handwriting was decently readable—McGonagall was used to his handwriting anyway, so he didn't have to try too hard—and then looked over the finished product.

He'd originally planned to just have the letter written and then think about it for a few more days, still not entirely sure what he was going to do, but a rush of sudden recklessness caused him to fold the letter and surge up from his desk. He soon found himself in the Ministry's owlery, choosing a small grey owl that he'd used many times before, and he scratched the feathers on her head before giving her the letter. With a soft hoot, she was off; McGonagall would get the letter the next morning, and Harry would've officially accepted the job offer.

By the time Harry returned to his office, he found a familiar face waiting in the hall outside his door. Ron grinned in greeting, prompting a surprised but delighted smile from Harry in return. "Ron! What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Harry." Ron greeted, stepping aside so Harry could open the door and follow him into the office. "Hermione's sent me to collect you while she finishes up some paperwork."

"By 'collect me' I assume that means she wants me to stay with you again?"

"You assume right." Ron affirmed, glancing around, and Harry realized it had been some time since Ron had seen his office. Not that it had changed much, aside from the exact nature and degree of disarray. "How'd your day go?" He asked, and there was a faint hint of tension in his voice that made it clear to Harry that he'd been concerned about a repeat of the day before.

"Fine." Harry assured him, stacking papers together and closing the book he'd taken from the shop, collecting everything in preparation to leave. "No visions. Parvati and I got into a brief duel with who was probably the owner of a potion shop, but no one was hurt, so it was a pretty boring day. You?"

"George is trying to harness Seamus' talent for blowing things up to make a new line of products, so there were a lot of explosions all day." Ron commented, grinning.

Harry could only imagine the chaos of the already wild store when Seamus was given free range to cause things to explode, and he hoped there would be survivors by the end of the week.

"That everything?" Ron asked, nodding his head at the pile Harry had made on the desk, and Harry nodded. Before he could scoop them up, though, Ron had grabbed them, though he made a face at the weight of the book. "Geez, who are you, Hermione?"

"It's part of the case. Besides, I didn't ask you to help." Harry remarked, unsure if he felt appreciative or annoyed by the favor. It wasn't completely unusual for Ron to carry things for him, but Harry was never quite certain how he felt about it, especially when he thought he wouldn't like the underlying reason. And he was right.

"Yeah, well. You look like you might fall down in a strong breeze, and I'm not going to be responsible for that." Ron remarked, leading the way from the office, and Harry fixed an annoyed look at Ron's back.

"I do not." He argued, despite having exactly no idea how he actually looked, which he conceded a moment later. "Do I?"

"Well, not that bad—I've definitely seen you worse—but you've got that kind of off look about you. That's kind of why I was wondering if anything had happened today."

Harry frowned a little, but shook his head. "I feel fine."

"Good. Great, even. You want these back, then?" Ron asked, offering the papers and the book, but he grinned and set back off down the hall without even giving Harry the chance to accept the offer.

They made it to Hermione's office several minutes later, finding her just finishing up a form of some sort, and she smiled brightly at them in greeting. Her smile wavered just briefly as she looked at Harry, and he mentally prepared for questions, but Ron dropped his papers and the heavy book onto Hermione's desk with a hefty thump.

"Look at this! Look at the bad influence you've been!" Ron declared, gesturing to the book. Harry rolled his eyes, but he knew what Ron was doing, and he appreciated it.

"Oh no." Hermione responded in a mild tone of fake horror, seemingly successfully distracted. "Not reading. What a terrible habit to add to his already extensive list of terrible habits."

"Hey, I'm right here." Harry remarked, and there was only a brief pause before the three descended into laughter.

A few hours later and the three were gathered around the table in Hermione and Ron's home, dinner finished and the dishes cleared, now replaced with papers and books scattered across the surface. During dinner Harry had told Ron and Hermione that he'd sent his acceptance letter to McGonagall earlier that afternoon, and their genuinely delighted reactions only encouraged Harry even more that he'd made the right decision. But Hermione had reminded him that there were less than two weeks before term began, and although McGonagall would likely provide him with some information and guidelines, he should still take advantage of the night and start planning lessons right away.

The trio had therefore spent the last hour or so writing out rough ideas of what subjects and spells were appropriate for each year of school, and some of the years' plans were going much better than others. Harry was very confident about what to teach fourth and fifth years, as Dumbledore's Army had been formed in their fifth year and been based in what Harry had picked up until that point, so he had been able to fill out basics for those two years very quickly. They'd had an excellent teacher during third year, so Harry was leaving that for last since it would be the easiest, but his experience from first and second years had been such a combination of vague and useless that Harry decided to ignore working on them entirely until he had some guidance from McGonagall.

So it was onto sixth and seventh years, which posed their own challenges. Harry and Ron had never attended seventh year at all, and sixth year had been taught by Snape, who, although an entirely competent teacher of the subject, Harry had been so annoyed about teaching the class that Harry had barely retained anything from it. But what he did remember was enough to cause his confidence to begin plummeting rapidly; both the sixth and seventh year classes had a focus on nonverbal magic, an area Harry was never all that adept in. Although there were several spells that he could consistently cast nonverbally, and he could usually hold his own in a rapid-fire duel, he still preferred to cast verbally if given the opportunity.

It therefore didn't take long before Harry's anxieties had compounded enough that he gave a groan of frustration and let his head fall to the table, curling his arms up over it. "I take it back. I can't do this. I should make up an excuse to rescind my acceptance. Maybe I can tell McGonagall I died."

"Not sure what you'd expect that to accomplish, mate; dying's never stopped you before." Ron commented, causing Harry to give a muffled scoff of laughter into the table despite himself.

"There's no need to make excuses, Harry, you're going to do fine." Hermione said, managing to sound both sympathetic and exasperated, a combination Harry heard often from her. "Even if you have trouble teaching nonverbal magic—an area you're perfectly capable in, you know, even if it might be slightly more difficult for you than most things are—Professor McGonagall has given you permission to change the curriculum, and she wouldn't have done that if she didn't mean it. You can teach them the basics of nonverbal magic, and then focus on something you're good at that another professor might never teach them."

"Like what?" Harry asked, lifting his head from the table and feeling very discouraged.

"I don't know, Harry, like casting the Patronus Charm?" Hermione chided, exasperated. "They don't teach that in school at all, usually; it's not even N.E.W.T. level, and many people who have been out of school for years can't cast one, let alone a fully corporeal one like yours. And yet you taught us, as fifth years, how to do it. I think students will forgive your struggles with nonverbal magic if you teach them to produce a Patronus."

"You couldn't test them on it, though. Just like, extra credit, like you got on your O.W.L.s." Ron interjected. "Since it's so advanced."

"Right, but it's something." Harry agreed, making a scribbled note to himself on spare parchment. "Hermione's right, it may distract them from how bad I am at something so basic."

Hermione sighed loudly. "You're not that bad at nonverbal spells, Harry, it's not like you can't—" But she was cut off as the group heard the sound of wings, the three turning toward the open window in the kitchen to see an elegant eagle owl perched primly on the sill, holding a letter in its beak.

"Were you expecting mail?" Harry asked, glancing at the clock and noting the time—just after 9 PM—and then looking back toward the owl as Hermione got up from the table and made her way over to it.

Hermione took the letter, read the name on it, and then looked up. "No, were you?" She held out the letter in Harry's direction and he blinked at her once, taking a moment to process the implication, before he got to his feet and moved to take the offered message.

His name was written on the envelope in elegant script, but there was no address written on it; instead the letter was marked with Urgent, so it made sense that the owl had come to find him at Ron and Hermione's place at this late hour instead of delivering to the Ministry the next morning. There was no indication of who the sender was, and Harry was briefly concerned that it might be from Parvati and there was some sort of emergency with the case, but he dismissed that almost immediately as she would've surely known where to find him and wouldn't have bothered with an owl. So who was it from?

Frowning, Harry turned the letter over, and there was his answer. The letter was stamped with the wax seal depicting the Malfoy house crest.

Hermione's eyes widened just slightly as she saw the seal as well, and when she looked at Harry he could see the trepidation on her face.

"Who's it from?" Ron asked, clearly picking up on the tension as he glanced from Harry to Hermione and back.

"One of the Malfoys." Harry finally answered, fixing his gaze on the letter again. Hermione shifted nervously, chewing on her lip, and Harry sense more than saw Ron getting up from the table to join the three of them in the kitchen.

To say that Harry had not been expecting a letter from any of the Malfoys would be an understatement.

The last time he'd seen any of the family had been shortly after the war, when he'd spoken at Draco's hearing in front of the Wizengamot. Harry had chosen to testify on behalf of both Draco and Narcissa in repayment for the debts he felt he owed each of them, Draco for not identifying him to Bellatrix, and Narcissa for lying to Voldemort when asked if Harry had survived the killing curse. He'd told the Wizengamot that if not for their actions—actions that had put them both at great risk if they'd been found out—Harry would've never survived to defeat Voldemort, and their roles in ending the war deserved to be taken into account.

And, in the end, the Wizengamot had acquitted both of them with the ruling that their parts in bringing down Voldemort had cancelled out their crimes. They were both free to go.

But although Harry had been willing to speak on behalf of Draco and Narcissa, he had never entertained the idea of doing the same for Lucius. While he could convince himself that Draco and Narcissa had simply joined the wrong side, and that they at least felt regret if not remorse, Harry couldn't delude himself into believing that about Lucius. Lucius was a monster, and Harry never wanted to look at his face ever again.

So although he hadn't defended Lucius, Harry had chosen not to speak against him either, both for his own sake and as a last favor to Draco and Narcissa. He'd heard about the outcome of Lucius' case a week or two later, when it was brought up by Kingsley during a visit to the Burrow; Lucius had avoided Azkaban by offering a great deal of information that would help in tracking down Death Eaters and other followers of Voldemort. Harry hadn't been sure how he felt about that, and so he'd decided not to think about it—or any of the Malfoys, really—at all since then.

But it seemed he couldn't get away with that any longer, and so Harry took a deep breath before he cut through the seal and opened the letter.

It was a single paragraph, written in elegant handwriting, and Harry only had to read his name to know immediately which of the Malfoys had written the letter.

Mr. Harry Potter,

I would not be writing to you were this not urgent. There is a matter I must speak with you about, preferably alone. If you are willing, meet me on the grounds of the Manor as soon as you are able. If you are not, send me an owl with your preferred meeting location, and I will come to you.

Narcissa Malfoy

"It's from Mrs. Malfoy. Narcissa." Harry said, looking up at the nervous faces of Ron and Hermione, both of whom immediately looked both confused and suspicious at the information. "She says it's urgent that she meet with me, preferably alone, at Malfoy Manor."

Hermione's faced paled a little, and Harry tried give her a reassuring smile, but it didn't seem to have much effect.

"Are you going to do it?" Ron asked, in the tone of someone who knew the answer, and then immediately amended his own question. "Of course you are. What do you reckon she wants?"

"I don't know, but it must be serious." Harry said, frowning as he reread the letter again.

"Serious, or a trap." Ron responded, prompting Hermione to finally join in.

"It does sound like a trap, Harry." Hermione said, now looking vaguely nauseous, and Harry suddenly remembered her tearful face from the night before. Of course she was afraid of the idea of someone she cared for going to a place that held such horrible memories for her.

Harry didn't really believe that Narcissa would be planning to cause him any harm, but it was entirely possible that she could've been coerced into sending the letter, or even that it had been faked. However, he thought it seemed like a very strange way to try to get at him, as there were many much simpler methods of luring him somewhere, but then again he'd fallen victim to much more elaborate and drawn-out plots before.

His hesitation seemed to prompt Hermione to continue, tone more firm this time, though she still looked just as distraught. "If she truly wanted to talk to you, she should've chosen somewhere else."

"It might be the only place where we wouldn't be bothered that she was sure both of us knew." Harry responded, a little hesitant, not wanting to push back against Hermione's fears too hard. "But she left it open for me to suggest a different location if I wasn't willing to go to the Manor." Which was another point in favor of it not being a trap. Location was important for being able to control the situation, and it was unlikely that even a group of people would want to threaten him in a place of his choosing.

"You definitely shouldn't go to the Manor." Ron said, it was clear he was speaking on behalf of Hermione as well, who nodded her agreement with the words. Harry wasn't about to argue with them; he had no desire to meet Narcissa at the Manor even if he'd be absolutely sure it was safe.

"I won't. I'll suggest somewhere else." Harry returned to the table and reached for a quill, scribbling a response quickly at the bottom of Narcissa's letter.

Mrs. Malfoy,

I can meet you immediately, but not at the Manor. Please find me in Godric's Hollow, near the church.

Harry Potter

"Why Godric's Hollow?"Ron asked, reading upside down as Harry wrote his response.

"It's somewhere public but quiet. I thought about Hogsmeade, but it'd still be too busy at this hour." Harry explained, folding the letter up and writing Narcissa's name on the front. He handed the letter to the owl and thanked it for the delivery, to which the owl hooted amicably before flying away.

"We should come with you." Hermione said, but Harry shook his head.

"It's okay, Hermione, really. I don't think I'm in any danger meeting with her, and it probably won't take long, but if I'm not back in an hour come looking for me. Okay?"

Hermione looked hesitant at the thought, but after a few moments she nodded. Ron did as well, a small frown on his face, and Harry gave them both as reassuring a smile as he could manage.

"I'll be fine, I promise. See you soon." Harry promised, concentrated, and then turned on his heel to disapparate.

Godric's Hollow looked just as it had a few weeks earlier, when Harry had stopped by on his birthday to visit his parents' graves. It was always bittersweet when he did so, but it had been especially so this year, as he'd been struck by the realization that, upon turning twenty-one, he'd reached the age both Lily and James had been when they'd died. If he lived until February, he would be older than James had been at his death, and if he made it to May, he would outlive Lily. It was difficult to believe, both that they had died so young, and that he had lived this long.

The village was beautiful in the summer in a way different from the winter, alive with color and activity; flowers bloomed in windowsills and on large bushes, trees were adorned with green, and during the day people wandered about running errands or, in the case of the children, laughing and playing. It was a peaceful, charming place, and Harry could understand why his parents had chosen it as their home.

Now, in August and only just past 9 PM, darkness hadn't really fallen; it was twilight, too dark for much outdoor activity but still light enough to see. The church's lights were on, making it even easier to find than it already was, and Harry slowly wandered toward it; he didn't expect Narcissa for at least a few more minutes, depending on how fast the owl reached her, and so he had time to find a section of wall around the graveyard to lean on as he waited.

He didn't have to wait long. With a soft pop, like the cork of a wine bottle, Narcissa Malfoy appeared in the road in front of the church. She looked much the same as she had last time Harry had seen her years before, elegant and composed, but with a hint of wildness deep in her eyes. Her robes were long and sapphire blue, embroidered in black and silver filigree, and she was wearing heels that made her taller than Harry, but that was all normal for her. There were other things that Harry noticed were off, compared to how she usually presented herself; she wore no jewelry, her hair was hastily clipped up instead of styled, and her nails were unpainted. They were little details that contrasted with what he'd known of her, as even in the midst of the war she'd been perfectly put together, and Harry was now confident that this was not a trap. Something had happened that had led her to contact him.

"Mrs. Malfoy, over here." Harry said, not needing to raise his voice much to draw her attention, her gaze snapping immediately toward him. She strode purposefully and without hesitation toward him, but stopped at a respectful speaking distance.

"Mr. Potter." Narcissa greeted him in a nearly unreadable tone, distant and formal, neither warm nor overly cold. But he could tell her words were clipped, distracted, and it didn't take much effort to guess that it was because of whatever she wanted to talk about. "I appreciate that you're taking the time to meet with me."

It was a polite thing to say, enough so that it almost caught Harry off guard. He'd expected civil but aloof, though he wasn't going to complain about politeness and he met it in return with his own. "It's no trouble. What can I help you with?"

Narcissa hesitated only a moment, something dark crossing her eyes, and she stated simply, "Draco is missing."

Harry wasn't entirely shocked to hear that this whole thing had to do with Draco. Narcissa's love for her son was stronger than anything else in her life, and Harry had seen that first-hand; only something to do with Draco could have prompted her to contact Harry like this so urgently. But he wasn't expecting her to say that Draco was missing.

"For how long?" Harry asked, both to prompt Narcissa to continue and to show her he was listening and taking this seriously. "When did you last speak with him?"

"Three days. He has been coming and going on a whim from the Manor for the last year, but he has never gone without contact for so long." Narcissa said, gaze shifting to the street, her entire being restrained but agitated. "I've been unable to reach him by owl or otherwise, and none of his friends know where he is."

"Do you know any reason he might've gone out of contact? Is he working on anything?" Harry asked, confusion and intrigue and a faint hint of concern all starting to rise in him as he began immediately trying to get a better sense of the situation.

"He met a girl." Narcissa said, and now her voice was slightly colder, but still not particularly harsh. "Astoria Greengrass. She has a blood malediction, and Draco has been fixated on finding a cure. He's begun studying alchemy."

Harry's fledging theories about what might've happened ground to a halt immediately at that information, not expecting any of it. Draco had a girlfriend? Greengrass sounded familiar, although Harry was never too familiar with the various Slytherins, and he had no idea if this Astoria had been at Hogwarts while he and Draco had been. Alchemy wasn't too strange—Draco had always been talented at potions, even Ignoring Snape's favoritism—but the motivation for taking up the subject was not one Harry would've guessed.

But although he could get the gist from context, Harry was unfamiliar with a part of Narcissa's explanation and so had to ask, "A blood malediction?"

"A family curse." Narcissa explained, a hint of impatience. "They are placed upon an individual, but it causes that person no ill-effects; instead, the curse shows itself generations later, afflicting the descendant."

That sounded awful, and not only awful, but unfair. Cowardly. Cursing a child, or grandchild, or further descendant for the actions of their ancestor was pathetic, and Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of both revulsion and intense sympathy for someone he'd never met. He was silent a few seconds, contemplating what he'd do in a situation like this, and then what he knew of Draco and what he might do.

"You said Draco's looking for a cure; could he have traveled somewhere unreachable for supplies or research? Can you contact Astoria?"

"I've spoken with Astoria." Narcissa confirmed. "She doesn't know where Draco is. If he had plans to be unreachable, he didn't tell her, or me."

Harry thought it was best not to mention that just because Draco hadn't told her or his girlfriend he'd be going somewhere didn't mean he hadn't. "Did he say anything unusual when you last were in contact? Anything that might hint at where he's gone?

"No. Nothing." Narcissa said, finally losing enough composure to begin to pace. "I can only assume that something has happened to him, but I was not convinced that reporting his disappearance to the auror office would produce any results. That is why I wanted to speak to you directly."

"So the issue doesn't get ignored." Harry finished, and it made sense. He wasn't sure Narcissa was wrong in her fears that reporting Draco's disappearance would've been ignored; even now, a few years after the war, the auror office was poorly staffed and extremely overworked. The disappearance of an adult who had been a former Death Eater, with no evidence he was even in danger or had left for any reason but his own desires, would not be made a priority. It may never have even reached the desk of an actual auror.

So he understood, but there were still a few major problems. "I can look into this for the next week or so, but if he hasn't been found by then, I may have to transfer the case." At the sudden flash of betrayal on Narcissa's face, Harry quickly continued. "Professor McGonagall asked me to teach at Hogwarts this year. I won't have the time or resources to devote to this—or anything else, really—but I can make sure someone stays on the case. Until then, I'll find out what I can." It was adding even more to his to-do list, but he had to agree. Narcissa just looked so genuinely distraught, under all the layers of prim aristocracy, and she'd trusted that he would do something enough that she'd put aside her pride to ask. He wasn't going to prove her faith to be misplaced.

As it was, she seemed reassured by his words, at least enough to stop pacing. But concern was still playing on her face, and so Harry continued. "We'll find him. He's probably just working on something and will show up soon, but if anything has happened to him, we'll find out."

Narcissa took a deep breath, seemingly calming further, and she gave a short, prim nod. "And you will keep me updated?"

"Yes, of course. Please send me an owl with as much information as you can put together; who he talks to, where he's been before this trip, any specifics about his research, that sort of thing. It'll help me choose the right place to start, so I can try to avoid any dead leads." Tracking someone who had simply disappeared was no easy task, but it was possible, and Harry didn't want to waste any time both for his own sake and for Narcissa's. If something had happened to Draco, the faster they found him, the better.

"I will do that. You'll have everything you need as soon as I can compile it." Narcissa's tone indicated that would likely be this same night, which worked for Harry; the sooner the better. He nodded to her in understanding and she took a step away, clearly ready to leave and begin her task, but she then stopped and looked back at him. Silence hung between them for a brief moment.

"…Thank you." She said, finally, and disappeared with a soft pop before Harry could respond.

The living room of Ron and Hermione's home materialized around Harry in an instant as he apparated in, quietly pleased with himself for appearing in exactly the place in the room that he'd planned to, though he was now acutely aware of how annoying the cracking noise was after hearing Narcissa's apparition. Harry's skill in apparating was one of those things he prided himself in, but he still clearly had room to improve.

He also thought he should really get an apparition license at some point, but who was actually going to require that of him? Certainly not Kingsley, and Harry dared anyone else at the Ministry to bring it up.

As the room came into focus, Harry saw both Hermione and Ron spring up from the table and rush toward him. Hermione looked frazzled but relieved, and Harry could see that Ron had been nervous as well, even if he hid it a little better.

"What happened? Are you okay?" Hermione asked, and Harry nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine, it was fine. She just wanted to talk, like she said." He assured them both, glancing from Hermione to Ron and back.

"Talk about what?" Ron still looked suspicious, but now that it clearly hadn't been a trap he seemed curious as well. "I reckon she wanted something?"

"Well, yeah." Harry responded as he hooked his arm through Hermione's; she looked like she needed some reassurance, and this was a tangible way to reenforce that he was here and unhurt. "She was worried that the Auror Office wouldn't take her seriously, so she wanted to talk to me directly." He paused only a moment before getting to the point. "Draco's missing."

Ron's eyebrows furrowed and he looked immediately unimpressed by this news, though Hermione seemed more concerned.

"Missing in what way?" She asked. "Did something happen, or is he just out of contact?"

"Out of contact." Harry confirmed, and headed off the immediate response he knew both would give. "I already told Narcissa that he might just have gotten distracted. She said he'd taken up alchemy lately, looking for a cure for his girlfriend's blood malediction, and had left the Manor on his own; I said he might've simply lost track of time, but she was convinced he wouldn't ignore her owls."

"So she wants you to track him down?" Ron asked, tone faintly incredulous. "Really? Quite a favor she's asking when you don't owe that family anything. And don't start—" Ron added as Harry opened his mouth to protest, anticipating what he was going to say. "You kept them out of Azkaban. She can keep track of her own kid."

Okay, fine, he wouldn't make that argument, but— "I'm an auror." Harry protested. "It's my actual job to help with things like this. But she was afraid that if she made an official report, it would be ignored."

"And she's right, isn't she?" Hermione said. "A missing former Death Eater wouldn't be a very high priority."

"He wouldn't be a priority at all." Harry affirmed. "She was just doing what she thought she had to."

Ron still didn't look convinced but he didn't argue any further, which was an indication that he wasn't pleased, but didn't have any major objections either. That was really the best Harry could hope for, so he'd take it.

"Harry," Hermione said suddenly, in a tone that indicated she'd just thought of something. "Narcissa said Draco had taken up alchemy?"

"Yeah, she—" And then Harry stopped, understanding in a sudden flash the reason for her question. "The book Parvati and I found today is not just about old magic, but alchemy too." He remembered distinctly how he'd thought that everything in the potions shop had been too convenient, and then how he'd felt paranoid for jumping to such a conclusion, but had he been too hard on himself? Was this too really a coincidence?

"And we didn't just find the book." He added, mentally going over the day's events rapidly. "We also found shipments of ingredients used for making experimental potions. Narcissa said that Draco was looking for a cure for Astoria; he'd have to be experimenting, right?"

"Do you think he's the person who attacked you?" Ron asked, and although the thought hadn't crossed Harry's mind yet, he couldn't say he didn't think that. It could have been Draco, and that would fit with the complete lack of evidence Harry and Parvati had found at Womack's home. But then where was Womack?

He was getting ahead of himself. They didn't actually have any reason to believe Draco had been in the potions shop, or that he would've been stupid enough to attack a pair of aurors—especially since he surely would've recognized Harry's voice—instead of just disapparating immediately. But it was something to consider, and Harry made a mental note to bring it up to Parvati when he saw her the next morning.

For now, he filled Ron and Hermione in on the rest of the conversation, making sure they were all on the same page, and by the time he'd finished the eagle owl had returned. Upon this visit the owl carried an entire scroll of parchment, again stamped with the Malfoy seal, and Harry unrolled the parchment to find it contained the information he'd asked Narcissa for. Everything was organized into sections and was in chronological order, which certainly made it easier to begin trying to parse, and Harry immediately began to read over it.

"Should we consider lesson planning to be on hold for the night?" Hermione asked, after a few seconds, and Harry blinked and looked up from the parchment. He'd completely forgotten about the lesson planning at this point, and it sounded far less appealing than this new mystery, which surely showed on his face considering Hermione's soft sigh of resignation. "Alright. We'll work on it more tomorrow."

It wasn't much later when Ron and Hermione decided to go to bed, saying goodnight to Harry and disappearing into their bedroom. Harry was therefore free to spend the next hour or so pouring over the information, making notes to himself and coming up with the best way to approach this investigation. He'd have to figure out how to make time for both this case and the one he was currently working, not to mention preparing for the upcoming term at Hogwarts, but he'd make it work. He was, after all, quite experienced at juggling far too many tasks at once.

But he was also exhausted. When Harry found himself suddenly jolting awake, apparently having fallen asleep at the table at some point, he realized he should probably go to bed; despite that, he still gave serious thought to the idea of just making some tea and continuing to work. It was only after he woke up again, his last memory being staring at his parchment as he went through a debate with himself, that he begrudgingly dragged himself off to the guest room.

The shelves of the library stretched infinitely in all directions, disappearing into the distance, but Harry paid them no mind; the massive book resting on the desk in front of him was vastly more interesting, its pages deep and dark like pools of water. Harry touched his fingertips to one of them and it rippled, whispers emanating from the waves and then fading as the surface returned to stillness.

"Can you see to the bottom?"

The familiar voice came from beside him, and Harry turned his head to look in the direction it had come from. Cedric was sitting next to him at the desk, his expression calm and faintly curious as he glanced at the book, then turned his gaze back toward Harry.

"It's too dark." Harry found himself responding to the question, turning away from Cedric and back toward the book, staring into the page once more as if looking harder might change the answer. But then a question struck him, and returned his attention to Cedric. "Can you? See to the bottom?"

Cedric was silent, but his gaze drifted to the page and Harry followed it with his own. Whispers emanated again, this time from the still surface, and although Harry couldn't understand the words, there was meaning there. He knew there was meaning there.

He looked back up at Cedric, but the other man was gone as if he'd never existed to begin with. When Harry glanced at the book again the pages were parchment once more, covered in unreadable but mundane text.

He opened his eyes in a dark room, suddenly awake but calm, the dream leaving him with sense of both peace and melancholy. It wasn't unusual that Harry dreamed about Cedric, but it was often more a memory than a dream, as Harry relived the night in the graveyard. It had been six years, but that memory had never faded, and Harry doubted that it ever would.

Still, he did at times see Cedric in less horrifying dreams. When he dreamed about still being in school, Cedric would sometimes show up in the crowd with other former classmates; other occasions he'd show up fulfilling some seemingly random role, as people often did in dreams. But this felt somehow different, like seeing a friend after a long time away, and Harry clung to the feeling the dream had left him with.

"I'm sorry, Cedric." He whispered into the dark, repeating the words he'd said so many times over the past six years, and which he'd said a few months earlier when he'd visited Cedric's grave. Harry never visited on the day of Cedric's death, usually both too depressed by the anniversary itself and too afraid that he might run into Amos Diggory at the gravesite, but he made sure to get there the day after. Harry liked to think that wherever Cedric was, he wasn't too bothered by the delay, considering the kind of person he had been.

A sudden jolt, as though something had landed on his bed in the darkness, dragged Harry immediately from his thoughts and he lurched upright in alarm. But the sound of purring soon emanated from the source of the movement, and Harry gave a sigh of relief before sinking back down onto the futon.

"Crookshanks, you have to stop doing that. How did you even get in here?" He asked the darkness, unable to see the cat both due to the low light and because he wasn't wearing his glasses, but he could tell Crookshanks was not far to his left. He received an answer to his question in the form of more purring, and soon the cat had flopped down onto Harry's arm and pinned it beneath a mass of soft, rumbling fur.

Harry laughed, quietly, reaching over with his free hand to scratch Crookshanks' ears. "You're on my arm. I can't get up."

Crookshanks only purred more loudly in response, and Harry rolled his eyes and sighed as he realized that had probably been the cat's plan all along. Crookshanks was sneaky that way, and while Harry could just dislodge him, why bother? It was much more tempting to allow himself to be lured back to sleep.

He didn't return to the library that night, but stars shone down onto an endless dark ocean, glittering points of light reflecting across the surface until it was indistinguishable from the sky above.