分卷阅读4（2 / 2）

Malfoy blinked. “The window. Obviously.” He pointed to the tea kettle. “Will you make tea or shall I?”

Harry frowned. Then he realized Malfoy was breaking into Archie’s flat. Malfoy had no idea he was talking to Harry Potter. “I don’t make it a habit of inviting intruders to sit and stay for tea.”

“You think I’m intruding?” Malfoy almost sneered, but it actually looked like half a smile. He held Harry’s gaze for longer than was comfortable and then peered around the flat. “It looks as if you might need some intrusion in your life.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Harry said, suddenly unsure if he was more incensed at the slight against him or that Malfoy was expertly distracting Harry from the fact that he’d been caught breaking in. Harry looked around and reminded himself that Malfoy didn’t know who he was.

Malfoy strolled over to the couch and sat down with a graceful fluidity. He leaned back and stared at his nails. “You’ve had a sudden brush with the strange and extraordinary, haven’t you?”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Malfoy. “A strange burglar in my flat, yes.”

“A series of events have unfolded, all quite odd and seemingly unconnected, but similar in that they were peculiar or unexplainable?” Harry crossed his arms. Malfoy continued, “You have had quite a boring time as of late, unsatisfactory, monotonous, no success to speak of—at work or in the bedroom—but then today something changed. Suddenly there is a swirl of bizarre activity surrounding you.”

For a second, Harry couldn’t breathe. He thought of the lift ride and seeing some version of himself down the hall arguing with an unknown figure. His memory flashed to the scene at the penthouse. Then he shook his head and rolled his eyes. Malfoy was just deflecting, and he was most definitely up to something. Harry replied, “The only strange thing that’s happened recently is you, Draco Malfoy, breaking into my flat like you own the place.”

“I’m sorry, have we met before?” Malfoy gazed back at Harry. His head tilted slightly to the left, causing a strand of hair to fall out of place near his temple. Harry stared at it until he realized he had to answer. Then he realized he’d been staring, shocked that he almost blown his cover.

“Out!” Harry yelled and thought accio wand. It flew into his hand and he raised it right at Malfoy.

“Alright. I see this is going to be more difficult than I anticipated.”

Harry scoffed. “What exactly are you on about? Why are you here?”

Malfoy stood and took a step toward Harry, looming over him with the confidence and solidity of someone not on the end of another wizard’s wand. “I’m here because you’re going to be the key to helping me solve this strange case that I’m on.”

“Me? Case? What are you talking about?”

“The murder in the penthouse,” Malfoy rolled his eyes, as if Harry should’ve known. “All signs point to you being the key. But then again, if you didn’t find the state of the penthouse as odd or extraordinary, then I’m not sure I have the right person.”

“Get out!” Harry shouted again and pointed his wand straight into Malfoy’s chest.

“Alright,” Malfoy said, unphased. He made his way to the door, opened it, and then started to say something, but Harry shoved him into the hallway and slammed the door shut. He slid to the floor and banged his head against the wall. Something in the attic above him clattered, and he threw his head into his hands. “What in Godric’s name is going on?”

Icarus Sableton was not a stakeout enthusiast. At forty-three years of age, he was an operative, a planner, a man accustomed to sitting back at headquarters and watching the pieces fall where they may. While he didn’t necessarily believe stakeouts to be beneath him, five hours in Scotland with Cormac McLaggen had Icarus wishing he’d never agreed to join the Pandora assignment.

“They’re arguing.” McLaggen sat next to him with a sight magnifier trained on the window of the stranger’s flat.