Arc made a muffled 'rrrrrrrgh' sound of disapproval through his hands as he pressed his palms to his face. It had been five hours and he wanted to go home and collapse into bed.

He took his hands off his face and looked at the concoction before him, and the concoctions before it. "Let's start from square one, shall we..." he muttered as he picked up the bottle with its half amount of remaining solution. Silver water within, tinted blue, didn't seem to smell of anything but he wasn't putting it anywhere near his sinuses.

The difficulty of discerning the composition of this potion was not his first rodeo. He remembered a great many challenges he'd encountered over the years in his tenure as Healer on this specific floor as well as back in Hogwarts and as part of his exams. Some had been infuriating, others had just been tedious. The only reason why this bothered him so much was because all he really wanted to do was sleep. Working on hump day sucked.

But he was bent on finding out exactly what was this concoction, or at least confirming his suspicions. Arc knew he had a difficult time letting things go when he became single-mindedly focused on something that made his mind whir and curiosity pester him until he could no longer bear it and had to get his fingers on it. This was one of them and he was so going to regret staying up late.

Five hours earlier

Arcturus had been closing off his day shift with a final round of the wards, never one to let work rest until he knew it was in safe hands. He had been finishing up with making sure the night shift had sufficient information for the day shift takeover when he happened to look over his shoulder while discussing the last details and noted a familiar Healer[1] heading through their floor.

Arc knew she had been on day shift like he had. Was she also finishing up like him? He bid the night shift staff a good night and watched the corner of her lime green robes whip around a corner. She was walking hurriedly. This would not have been out of the ordinary, but Arc knew in his infinite wisdom the difference between a person in a hurry with determined purpose, and a person in a hurry from panic. Her gait suggested the latter.

Keeping a safe distance from her, he tailed her. He was oft the picture of Muggle aesthetics in the hospital often and sometimes his sneakers were the butt of jokes, but they had a purpose: absolute silence when he needed to be. Arc cared little for the jokes; they could have their fun but if it made him a better Healer than they, so be it. They would never compensate for the noiseless way he padded down the corridors, watching her every move.

She entered a room, one Arc knew the exact number of - the same room that he had met Robin trying to investigate himself. The patient was still comatose, a constant concern. Arc stayed around the corner, waiting. Watching.

Nothing.

I don't have time for this. Arc considered his options before taking a deep breath and, in the noisiest way he could possibly muster, charged through the corridor, passing by the door. It was slightly open and he knew why. He ducked into an empty room just down the passage and closed the door almost, leaving a thin sliver for him to peek out of.

She burst out and looked up and down the hallway in panic. Perfect, she fell for it. He watched her hurry away the way she came and the way he had charged, waiting until she had disappeared before emerging and heading to the room.

Everything seemed untouched at first. The patient was still the way they were, the equipment, the bed--

Hold on.

He bent down to pick up the bottle sitting on the floor. It was under the frame rather than beside the bed and lying on its side, as if someone had hastily put it down and it had toppled in the hurry. It was tightly corked, thankfully.

Arc tipped the bottle curiously, his head tilting in the exact same angle, brown eyes intently watching the silver liquid inside roll towards the cork. How the blue tint merged and swirled. How it seemed pearly in the dim light. For a moment the shiny lights tickled a little primordial part of his brain and engaged the part of him that wanted to chase these lights just because they were pretty.

"What are you, lady silver?" he murmured softly, gaze entranced by the fluid. Then he looked around as if he hadn't just been fascinated by the mere sight of liquid flowing in a glass bottle. She might be back to claim it. Perhaps she had been doing something with it and had left it there expecting to come back for it later.

She wasn't going to have it.

1.	Elliot Fudge

Six hours later

She definitely wasn't getting the bottle back. Arc had been very careful to leave enough in the vial to ensure that the evidence remained intact, but it was no longer the original amount.

He was struggling. There was one final component that he just wasn't getting despite every calculation he'd made and it was starting to grate on his nerves.

Arc's mastery of Golpalott's Laws were exceptional bar none. There were very few Healers he'd ever met who could match him for doing the entire calculation in their heads, from the foundation all the way to the various formulae branches for different situations. He had never figured out why he was so good at it, but he'd never questioned it because that was exactly what his job required him to do and know. By this point he had discovered everything he needed to know about it, except for the one component that was evading him entirely.

Perhaps it was time for him to stop disregarding his actual suspicions on purpose. Arc grimaced. So much for having something to play with, but he was getting tired and it was coming midnight.

He unsheathed his wand from the holster on his wrist and leaned forward to bring the tip of it close to the surface, holding his breath to keep his hand steady. The world too held its breath as hawthorn lowered itself until it was barely a millimetre from the surface of the silver. Arc's eyes half-closed as he focused.

Silver rose from the concoction and attached itself to the tip of his wand, curling in wisps around the tip. Slowly he lifted his hand, still not breathing, until a full strand dangled from the tip far above the surface.

He was right.

...or was he?

Arc slowly exhaled, careful not to disturb his findings. To whom did this memory belong? The patient? He wasn't about to go find a Pensieve and dunk his face into it right now. The lack of sleep was going to impair his judgement and the last thing he wanted was to go memory diving uninvited. No. Something like this was a national matter and he needed to talk to someone more trustworthy about it.

Who, though?

After a long moment, he pursed his lips. It was his responsibility as a Healer to report to his superior. Given the Potions floor hadn't had a Head Healer in a long while, there was one other person who qualified for that position.

He hadn't exactly talked to her much after the therapy he had last year, which he did not talk much about but was still deeply thankful for. As much as she intimidated him, he knew he could rely on her.