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Summary
The whole mess starts with Pansy Parkinson because of course, it does.
She stumbles into my office on a Tuesday morning, all perfect makeup and sleek shiny hair, her stiletto heels striking the flagstone floor in sharp, short, deafening taps.
“I’ve been drugged,” she declares, standing in front of my desk with her arms crossed and her manicured fingers pressed tight on to the baby-blue cashmere of her sweater.
When Pansy stumbles into Harry's office, Harry uncovers the existence of an illegal potion ring that caters to pureblooded men whose daughters are either too ambitious or too gay to get married and give them grandchildren. And then, there's the small matter of the dreams he keeps having ever since he's had the excellent idea of drinking an unknown potion in a suspect shop, dreams in which Draco keeps showing up and talking to him. The only problem is: Draco's been dead for two years, and Harry isn't coping well with any of it.