分卷阅读21（1 / 2）

When he was certain they’d made it down the path far enough to be out of earshot of anyone, Draco cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure how to tell them about the Timepiece. He wasn’t even sure if he could tell them about it. The only thing he knew was the threads were seizing, the way forward narrowed, and the only way through was to go back.

“There’s one thing that bothers me,” Potter rushed to speak first.

“Only one thing?” Draco glanced at him and smirked. He had to look back at the path to watch his steps as the fading light drifted below the horizon, but he was certain Potter had smiled.

“If they could swap souls with anyone in the world,” Potter asked, “why did they choose Bertrice and a kneazle?”

“Maybe they didn’t,” Parkinson offered. “Maybe—I don’t know—maybe it was an accident.”

Potter stopped and grabbed Draco’s shoulder. “Or maybe you were right about the kneazle.”

Draco drank in the boldness in Potter’s eyes and grinned. “I think confirmation that the soul-swapping plant scenario is in fact somehow real has established that I was right.”

“No,” Potter rolled his eyes. “The kneazle. It was leverage.”

Igora threw her fourth cigarette down on the ground and stamped it out. She knew less than a dozen wandless spells, but the most used one, disappear cigarette butt, ended up being more magic than she’d done all day. Standing outside the hotel entrance seemed to both calm and stress her, as she went over every detail of the case in her head.

She and Felix had done everything by procedure. She couldn’t tell if she was missing something, if they’d somehow made a mistake, or them losing the case boiled down to someone else’s ego. Or maybe they had stepped on someone’s toes. Who? Igora wondered. Ron Weasley? The Department of Mysteries? She briefly remembered the Golden Trio had trekked into the hotel. Harry bloody Potter? No, whoever had taken the case from them was gravely mistaken if they thought Igora would stop looking for Bertrice Zivantus.

She lit another cigarette and stared out into the street. Felix had gone back to the office, but Igora had felt it in her bones that she was needed at the hotel. Her instincts had only ever failed her with lovers and the lottery, so she waited stoically in the cool drizzle of the early evening.

The pop of an apparition pulled her from her thoughts. Igora peered around the decorative bushes. “Helga help us,” she whispered at the sight of Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, and Harry Potter huddled together at the bottom of the Ashtyl’s steps.

“I’ll go check on Bertie,” Parkinson said. Igora dropped her cigarette in surprise. Her eyes followed the woman’s form up the steps, noted the collection of books slung under Parkinson’s arm.

“Why don’t you go with her?” Malfoy nodded to Potter. “I could use a few minutes to clear my head.” His hands were stuffed awkwardly in the pockets of his waistcoat.

Potter fixated on Malfoy. “Are you sure you’re alright?” Potter took a step and closed the gap between them. Now that was interesting, Igora cast an amplifying charm to hear their conversation — “Sonorus.”

“It wasn’t the Black Bean Hoof Brittle, was it?”

Malfoy raised a brow. “Are you implying Lovegood can’t make an adequate brittle?”

“I—I just—” Potter stammered and—Igora leaned forward, Was he blushing?—he ran a hand through his loose hair. “I guess I owe you an apology.”

“So not only do you save the entire Wizarding World, but now you apologise for Loony Lovegood’s abysmal attempts at sweets?” Malfoy smiled and stared back at Harry Potter with a gaze of reverent admiration. “Were I in your position, I doubt I’d do the same.”