The way Harry's expression distorted told that even he had had his doubts in including that in his final selection.<br/>"That -" he dragged, ending the sentence with a breath rather than a constructive explanation.<br/>He turned towards the table Coote had aparated into the room for him, either the dinette from the kitchen or a true copy; on it was a scatter of gutted journal covers, and Harry added to the pile the two photographs Draco had dismissed.<br/>"The fountain pen only has a trace amount of magic latched to it," Harry eventually admitted, returning both mentally and physically to the scatter of papers. His hands restlessly found the pleat of his shirt sleeve, absentmindedly redoing the fold. "There's been several opinions on whether or not the pen itself was ever cursed, or if it is residual magic from the ink it carried."<br/>The case itself had been a throwaway, a halfblood witch having contacted the department when her dog had stumbled upon it in her garden and cowered away from it, uneasy. It had been concluded it had been tossed in passing, not an intentional attack on her life, though she had been so distraught Harry had been asked to handle the case personally as a sign of reverence. "But the effect of the curse seems transferable from one mass to another, even as is; the dog who found it fell ill a few days later, but I've been told it made a full recovery."