分卷阅读2（1 / 2）

A disgruntled hmph and heavy steps followed him. “Listen, boy. I know you’ve been into my things! You better return them to me or by the Pleiades you will feel my wrath!” Last week it had been his collection of goblin wedding hats that had disappeared. Harry found them at the pawn shop across the way, recently traded for a stack of Alwyn and the Briarclucks records, which coincidentally, he later heard blasting from Umphrey’s flat on his way home.

Harry turned around and gave the man a stern stare for a long moment and then broke out into song. “Hop on my broomstick, baby, don’t think twice, don’t just say maybe,” he sang, trying hard to mimic the crooning styles of Alwyn Bristleby. He wiggled his eyebrows at Umphrey and descended the stairs.

He’d spent the first days establishing himself, or Archie Eversworn, by renting a flat above The Laughing Fox. The raucous pub sat two blocks down from the suspected main base of operations of the potions ring he’d been tasked to infiltrate. It took him three weeks to figure out the half a dozen or so grunts in the Travertel Quarter were just the tip of the operation. Harry saw crates of raw materials, but never witnessed brewing taking place there. He’d spent his nights losing at cards and drinking heavily, trying to gain credibility in the underworld community. No one seemed to pay him too much attention, and he found that he blended in without having to do too much to prove himself.

“I think it’s the face,” Ron had said. “It’s just the face of someone you’d rather forget.” Harry thanked him for his honesty. “What mate? S’not like it’s your actual face.”

After another two weeks, he’d traced raw material deliveries to a more upscale neighborhood, Cremfig Heights, and the glamorous Ashtyl Hotel. Five days after that, he’d landed himself a job there.

Sadly, the hotel manager, Valentine de Russo, gave him little leeway, inhibiting the discovery of illegal activities. After months of laboring as a day shift porter, he’d been promoted to afternoons and nights. Harry could hardly believe it when Valentine slapped his shoulder, handed him the master spell key, and told him he was irreplaceable to the team. With a bit more freedom and use of the master spell key, Harry discovered the kitchen shut down early on Thursday evenings. All he’d managed to find out was the hotel’s owner liked to have a cards night with his friends, at least according to some of the other porters.

Harry made his way out of Travertel and to cleaner streets. He passed by a busy floo- cafe, a few high end clothing shops, and Higgins Handles, the premier Quidditch supply shop in the greater Edinburgh area. He averted his eyes from a new Nimbus window display and focused on the brick wall across the street. It too had changed since he’d last passed.

Giant parchments plastered the brick, MISSING—BERTRICE ZIVANTUS—PLEASE CONTACT THE DMLE. 1000 GALLEON REWARD FOR ANY INFORMATION LEADING TO HER DISCOVERY. Harry paused to stare at the face of a young girl smiling, no more than fourteen or fifteen, waving to the world. Zivantus? That was the name of a rich philanthropist who had a big disagreement with the Ministry a while back. The girl had to be his daughter.

He passed several familiar faces of pickpockets, hustlers, and otherwise low level scoundrels. Harry missed being able to walk the streets carefree and unencumbered by thoughts of who might be watching his every move.

He’d expressed his prickling paranoia to Ron during his last Floo-chat. Every other Sunday morning, Harry apparated to a tiny magical shop just outside the city. The elderly owners let him use their Floo in exchange for yard work. The Ministry had utilized them in the past, he was sure, but if they had any idea he was an undercover auror, they never admitted it.

“Now you’re paranoid because no one notices you.” Ron had shaken his head. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted, mate?”

The caress of a light downpour roused his thoughts, and Harry cast an Umbrella Charm and broke into a jog. While it was true that he found great relief in shedding his very public persona, Harry found that being undercover for so long made him feel as if he’d lost pieces of himself. As he approached the Ashtyl, he headed towards the service entrance but almost fell over when a red blur ran through his legs and threw him off balance.

“What the—”

A kneazle, a cat-like creature with deep red markings, blinked up at him and then darted away down the street. Harry thought it odd such an animal would be around the service entrance, let alone wandering the streets. It must have been lost.

Harry meant to inquire at the main desk if any guests had mentioned having the pet, but Valentine gave him a list of tasks as soon as he saw Harry. The normally chipper man was distracted. “We’ve been shuffling guests around, changing room assignments,” he explained. “It’s been a hectic morning.”

He dealt with the noise complaint on the tenth floor as best he could, but there wasn’t much to be done. Careful not to offend, he insisted that the vacationing couple should tear each other to shreds within the confines of their sound-proof warded room. On his rounds, he checked on a few house elves he’d taken a liking to, and one of them mentioned the penthouse had the Do-Not-Disturb Charm on for almost an entire day.

“That’s odd,” Harry said.

Grimbie nodded. “Yes, sirs, and we hasn’t been able to clean or deliver new items. Our routines is all messed up. Messed up, yes.”

“I’ll look into it,” Harry assured the elf. He went to the lift and then realized he’d misplaced his master spell key. Valentine seemed preoccupied when Harry told him about the penthouse and barely registered Harry’s confession that he lost the spell key.

“Here,” Valentine stretched out his arm, his spell key in his grasp. He hadn’t even looked up and was sifting through papers on his desk with his other hand. “Use mine.”