Harry’s brow furrowed at that revelation, seeming to struggle to make sense of that. He didn’t close the file to confirm it on the indexing numbers written on its spine himself, his confusion not stemming from mistrust in Draco’s statement. He was stuck on the way the medical entry had been phrased.<br/>Towthorpe was a recent case and the pain was still vivid in Harry’s consciousness, though it had been so brief it had been hard to verbalize when asked. Harry remembered saying it felt like his oesophagus had been cut, perfectly recalling the curse slicing through him from the back of his throat down the length of his spine before dissipating with such force it had made his knees buckle.<br/>It was only when roughly bastardized by a Healer’s own interpretation that it had muddled, allowing for a degree of abstraction that suddenly had Harry’s mind reeling.<br/>Finally, Harry shifted, pushing his chair back an inch so that he could stretch behind him to pick out his own pile of crimson DMLE files.<br/>“That’s telling, then, isn’t it?” he said, a fractured thought far removed from the conversation they had actually carried out.<br/>Harry was picking through files, glancing up at Draco with a bright smile, a thrill at the possibility of progress after weeks of stagnant work. His attention was almost immediately elsewhere again.<br/>“How that phrasing describes another injury, too.”<br/>Sifting through the files, Harry found the three year old Aberdeen case, unearthing an abandoned potions brewery in the warded basement of a Muggle residential. Flipping through it, Harry picked out the pages detailing the dismantling of the cellar wards and curses, offering the rest of the content to Draco.