分卷阅读6（2 / 2）

“Yes,” Malfoy said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Six weeks ago.”

“A man hired you to investigate his own murder six weeks before it happened?”

“At the time, I myself thought it very strange as well, but here we are.” Malfoy seemed to realize something and turned back to Harry. “I seem to remember you having full knowledge of my identity, but I confess, I’ve not the slightest clue what to call you.”

Harry studied him for a moment. Perhaps if Malfoy was connected to the crimes, Harry might be able to help find the truth. “Archie Eversworn,” Harry replied.

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, as if calculating the information. His face returned to a neutral stare and he moved on. “So it’s settled then, Eversworn. You and I are going to solve…”

Harry couldn’t stop thinking about Bertrice Zivantus in the window the night before. Her blank stare haunted him. A sinking feeling settled in his stomach at the thought of her father being one of the bodies in the penthouse.

“What is it? Have you connected something to the case?” Malfoy asked, the slight hint of hope surfacing in his voice.

Harry shook his head. “There is no case, Malfoy. Good day.”

He still had to get word to Ron about the unlucky turn in their investigation, but Harry considered going to the DMLE and telling them what he knew about Bertrice. He didn’t want to lose his alias, but the safety and well being of a young girl was on the line. It took about ten minutes until he reached the owlery, maybe a little longer than usual since he kept looking over his shoulder. He wouldn’t put it past Malfoy to follow him but felt secure that the blond hadn’t tailed him.

When he arrived outside, Harry couldn’t bring himself to go in. He pulled out the letter and clutched it in his hand. Should he tell Ron about the missing girl? Maybe it was something larger at play. It certainly felt like it. He closed his eyes and pictured the sight of himself from the fourteenth floor, his uncharmed face, wearing rainbow striped trousers and a black mesh tank top. Harry replayed the exact moment his green eyes stared straight back at him. The threads of fate have woven us together for whatever reason. He almost heard that last thought in Malfoy’s voice and shuddered.

“Who on are earth is Roonil Wazlib?”

Harry jumped. Draco Malfoy had leaned over his shoulder and read the front of the letter.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Harry flushed in anger, and maybe a bit of embarrassment. He was so sure he hadn’t been followed.

Malfoy shot him a coy smile. “Yes.”

“And?”

“It’s right here with you, solving the case. So are you going to mail that or stare at it longingly all day?” Harry meant to turn and face the other man, to summon some snarky reply, but to his surprise, Malfoy pressed a hand to Harry’s lower back and urged him forward toward the entrance. He leaned in close to Harry’s ear. “I’m sure Mister Wazlib is eagerly waiting for your message.”

Harry took the final step and let himself inside the owlery. After securing the letter with a rather exuberant barn owl, he paid the postage and then turned around to find Malfoy staring at him.

“Did you have a pleasant evening after I left?” Malfoy asked. The darkened space seemed to cast shadows on the blond’s face, making him look tired and much older than when Harry had last seen him. Maybe Harry hadn’t looked at him closely until now, but Malfoy almost appeared haggard, at least as fatigued and worn as Malfoy might allow himself to look. He dismissed Malfoy’s appearance and considered his question. Bertrice Zivantus flashed across his mind. “Eversworn, the look on your face would indicate some sort of understanding, perhaps even deduction happening. It’s quite an odd look on you. Are you alright?”

“I saw Bertrice Zivantus last night,” Harry whispered.