分卷阅读14（2 / 2）

A flash of platinum blond hair stole Harry’s attention, and he craned his neck around to see Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson leaving the lounge and heading for the lift. Harry lurched forward, an involuntary pull to confront the blond, but Ron pulled him back. “He doesn’t know it’s you, mate,” Ron said.

“What?” Harry frowned. “He doesn’t know I’m me?”

“You were Archie Eversworn,” Ron reminded.

Hermione wove her arm with Ron’s and huddled together with them. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Malfoy is up to something,” Harry said without thinking. Hermione fixed him with a confused look. “I mean—he’s connected to the murder of this Zivantus fellow and the daughter—”

“Zivantus?” Hermione frowned.

“Marwan Zivantus,” Harry repeated. “Why did you—” He stopped when the vague memory surfaced from the news, that Zivantus had been on the outs with Ministry. Harry lost his focus staring at Malfoy.

Ron leaned in close to Hermione’s ear. “Why? Did you work with him?” Harry cursed the Unbreakable Vow Unspeakables had to take. The only way around it was if someone’s life was in danger. Well, as far as Harry was concerned, Bertrice’s life was in danger. “Merlin, Harry. That’s why Hermione’s here!” Ron shook his friend and got Harry’s attention, he’d been staring after Malfoy at the lift even after the doors had closed. “They must suspect Malfoy had something to do with it and they’re—” Harry’s eyes followed the arrow above the lift as it dialed its way up the floor numbers. He waited with baited breath for the arrow to stop at fourteen.

Hermione started, “Ron, that’s not—” but Harry pushed his way passed his friends and went to the lift.

Ron caught up to him, “You shouldn’t go up there, Harry.” Hermione approached. Ron sent her a look to chime in.

“I don’t know Ron,” Hermione said. “Maybe he’s supposed to go up there.”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered as the three of them got in the lift and went up to the fourteenth floor.

The problem with having a line on the interconnectedness of all things meant Draco Malfoy experienced a disappointingly low number of surprises. In fact, he could only remember one time he’d been surprised since the curse overtook him six weeks before. But as he and Pansy stepped into the lift and turned around, a wave of something akin to surprise hit him like a bludger to the stomach when his eyes took in a very addled, angry Harry Potter in the lobby.

It didn’t surprise Draco when Marwan Zivantus had approached him to help solve his own imminent murder. Zivantus’ future thread had been weak, almost blurred. He’d half expected there to be more to the story than Marwan let on. When Bertrice went missing, Draco had already prepared by making connections to active threads and attributing them to the respective people. He still didn’t have most of them identified or know how they related back to Marwan, but it was a jumping off point. Pansy having been roped into this flaming, rubbish fiendfyre of events felt par for the course. The only thing that ranked as unexpected was when he’d followed a bright and electric thread to the hotel porter’s flat and was met with Potter’s stunning green eyes.

That was the real surprise. Draco would be lying to himself if he felt any real shock at finding Potter swept up in the current mess of events. Apart from Pansy and his parents, was there really anyone else Draco was tethered to more than Potter? They were destined to be thorns in each other’s sides, rivals, enemies, and now—well, Draco wasn’t sure what Potter was, though he always knew who he was. The Boy Who Lived, the boy who refused his offer of friendship, the boy who beat him at every game they’d ever played. The boy who saved your life, Draco almost winced.

But what was Potter even doing in Edinburgh? How was he connected to the penthouse? Wasn’t it his prerogative to soak up all the accolades and parade himself around the Wizarding World without actually ever doing anything? He’s already done enough, Draco cringed again. He saved you. He saved us all. Potter must have been working a case, but what in Salazar’s name had the Savior done to his face? When he’d seen him in the flat, Draco had to hold back a burst of laughter at how ridiculous Potter had looked.

No, Draco hadn’t really been surprised to find Potter there. His initial reaction had been one of memory, fleeting, painful, something that sent a phantom burst of pain across the skin on his chest and into his heart. But that was always his default reaction to Potter. It was something he’d grown accustomed to experiencing on the rare occasions their paths crossed. He was so used to it, Draco was sure he’d shown no visible reaction at all when he realized Potter was the porter.

Judging by Pansy’s worried brow, however, Draco had quite a visible reaction when he realized Sableton and McLaggen had been tailing him. She was still bothered by it even after he’d confronted the pair of them and then pulled her out of the lounge.

“Are you angry that they’re tailing you because it’s their job,” Pansy grabbed his arm and stared up at him, “Or because they’re tailing Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater?”