分卷阅读1（2 / 2）

And from the gins of the workers of iniquity.

Let the wicked fall into their own nets,

Whilst that I withal escape.

(Psalm 141: 9-10, spoken by Annie in Twin Peaks episode 29, “Beyond Life and Death”)

It was a soft and subtle darkness, one that obscured and descended upon the familiar. Harry uncurled and rose from the lumpy mattress on the floor and let his eyes skirt the shadows of his dingy flat. He’d grown so used to it, he found himself able to walk around and fix his morning tea without so much as a lumos. Eight months. Eight boring months spent in a monotonous routine, undercover in Edinburgh.

It wasn’t the Edinburgh Harry knew from previous missions or holidays. Instead, he spent his days in the seedy, shadowy alleys of the Travertel Quarter, establishing his alias and making connections. Since the Aurors had been given approval to use new, charmed prosthetics for disguises in lieu of Polyjuice, there wasn’t a reason for the department to deny Harry the fieldwork he had so desperately craved. To his complete horror, he’d been stuck playing Ministry mascot, being paraded around the scenes of Dark magic raids and arrests as a familiar image to instill comfort in the masses and fear in the enemy.

It wasn’t until he botched an interview with the Prophet and was called into the Head Auror’s office that he’d finally worked up the courage to vocalize his misery.

“I’m tired of being in the spotlight, Robards.” He sat and fell into a dejected slouch. He sent a stern look at his superior. “I want to be out there making an actual difference. I want to be doing real work.” He added a cautious, “sir.”

Gawain Robards offered Harry a slight smile. With a knowing nod, he said, “I figured as much, Potter. That—uh—interview you gave at Howland’s Creek was a complete nightmare.” Robards glanced around his desk, eyed a thick folder, and returned his gaze to Harry. “You’ve never been deep undercover, I’d imagine?”

Harry couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Taking Polyjuice as a child to infiltrate the Slytherin dormitories didn’t quite count, did it? “No, sir.”

“I hear Scotland is lovely this time of year.”

It’s not, Harry frowned as he stared at himself in the mirror. Or should he say, Edinburgh wasn’t lovely for his alias, Archie Eversworn.

He looked mostly like himself, the mop of untidy black hair as haphazard as ever, long enough to tie back. But his face had been charmed with prosthetics, altered to be quite unrecognizable. His nose was much wider, his forehead more pronounced and missing the signature scar. They’d done something to his cheeks as well, making them fuller, more rounded and lessening the line of his jaw somehow. The ministry tech had insisted on charming his eye color, but Harry flat out refused to let them.

“I barely recognize myself as it is! We can leave my eyes as they are,” he protested. He’d turned to Ron for confirmation. His friend had just shrugged.

“I wouldn’t give you a second glance,” he said.

Harry pointed to the frowning lab tech. “See?” With reluctance, the lab tech agreed to his demand, but insisted he change his glasses from the signature rounds to the more stylish wayfarers. Lastly had been the vocal charm which changed his somewhat deep voice to something a bit more whiny.

A pounding on his front door echoed through the studio. Harry rolled his eyes and went to answer it. A familiar voice yelled, “I know you’re there, you wreckless fiend!”

Harry threw open the door and scowled at his neighbor from across the hall, Garland Umphrey, a sixty-something year old drunk and known criminal. “Good morning, Umphrey,” Harry said. He met the man’s beady eyes. “What have I done now?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, scoundrel. I know you’ve taken my commemorative silver etchings of the 1898 World Quidditch Emporium!”

“I’ve not the faintest idea what you’re going on about. Excuse me, I have to get to work.” Harry stepped past him and closed his door. He cast a ward on it and briskly walked towards the stairs.