分卷阅读12（2 / 2）

Harry nodded. “Yeah, it’s just the charms wearing off I guess.”

““Mione said she thinks they need to put a time limit on them. Says she doesn’t trust that the charm won’t eventually bond to the person’s magic.” Ron stopped and grabbed Harry’s shoulder. “Could you imagine, being stuck as Archie Eversworn?”

The thought made Harry sick. Or was it his stomach? Harry hadn’t realized how hungry he was. They finally reached the cafe and ordered sandwiches. When Harry asked after Hermione, Ron’s face went quite pale.

“I’m not sure. She started a project for the Department of Mysteries and I haven’t seen much of her since.”

Harry nodded. He knew from the two previous projects Hermione had worked on for the Department of Mysteries that Ron’s statement was all he was going to get on the subject. Merlin, that was probably all Ron even knew and he was engaged to her. “I saw Gin made it on to the provisional national team,” Harry said through a mouthful of ham sandwich.

Ron dropped his drink. “What? Where?”

“The Prophet had it yesterday morning.”

“No they didn’t,” Ron frowned. “They’re announcing the team tomorrow.” Harry wasn’t sure how he could be mistaken. “Maybe it was a list of potentials,” Ron finally offered.

Harry’s frown deepened and he stared at the table. The article was in his pocket in his dirty pants back at his flat. “Maybe.”

Something crept into his mind just then. Harry put down his sandwich and sat back in his chair. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking something odd was happening to him, but he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly it was. Ron interrupted his thoughts.

“I know you’re worried about this Zivantus case, but you should leave it to the professionals, Harry.”

The simple implication that Harry wasn’t up to the task unspooled his anger. “I am a professional! I’m an auror just like you, just like them.” Harry realized his voice had risen, and tried to rein himself back in. Quietly, he pointed out, “Besides, they’d rather chase down flimsy leads like Archie Eversworn than actually try to solve their case.”

Ron shoved a chip in his mouth. “I spent a lot of time with them this morning. They’re not as daft as you’d think.” Harry sent him a look he hoped showed his disbelief. “Alright, Harry. Why don’t we go to the hotel after lunch and check it out? I have access to the crime scene.”

“No,” Harry winced. “There’s no reason we need to see that horrific mess again.”

“Well is there anything else, maybe something they missed?” Ron offered.

Harry shook his head, but then it occurred to him that something had gone wrong with the warding system, something unexplainable, and it happened around the same time that he saw himself on the fourteenth floor. “Maybe there is.”

Hermione Granger hid behind her copy of Enchanted Hedgery and Why Building Well- Trimmed Walls Led to the War. For many countless reasons, she was finding it increasingly hard to finish the award-winning text. For starters, the Ashtyl Hotel Bar and Lounge was blasting the obnoxious defunct boyband Jinxes & Joes. It was also the middle of the afternoon and yet the establishment overflowed with tipsy witches and wizards, all attempting to speak over the others.

Most especially though, Hermione’s attention was drawn away for the very fact that Draco Malfoy sat five tables to the left, at the bar, huddled in deep conversation with Pansy Parkinson. Hermione took a deep breath and repeated her new mantra in her head: I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul as the pull of something cosmic tugged her in his direction.

It was no use, she knew, to try and fight it. But she still wasn’t quite used to the new reality that her autonomy was compromised. She peered around the cover of the book and stole a look at Malfoy. He looked mostly the same as the last time she’d seen him, apart from a residue of exhaustion evident in his wrinkled clothes and dark under eye circles.