分卷阅读6（1 / 2）

Suddenly something warm brushed up against his leg, and Harry almost jumped. Weaving its way between his legs was the bright red kneazle he’d seen earlier in the day. Three times now, he thought. Harry knelt down to pet it.

“You’ve been all over the city today, haven’t you?” he asked. His hand pet behind the animal’s ears and down its neck until he hit a leather strap. Beneath its long, thick fur, there was a collar. He turned it around and found a tag with the name Guinevere followed by an address in the city. “You’re far from home, aren’t you? Let’s see if we can get you back.”

It only took a few minutes for the clouds to dissipate and the storm to pass. Harry picked up Guinevere and headed towards the main road. He checked the time and realized it wasn’t too late to take the kneazle home, so he made his way across puddle-laden walkways and darkening streets.

As he approached the townhome on the edge of a once nice but now dilapidated neighborhood, Guinevere tensed in his arms. He placed his hand on top of her head to calm the kneazle, scratching her ears. He proceeded to knock on the door. A stout, older woman answered and peered at him through large, thick glasses.

“Yes?” she said and then her gaze fell to the ball of red fur in Harry’s arms. “Oh! You’ve found her!” The woman stepped forward in a rush, grabbed the animal, muttered a quick “Thanks” and then slammed the door in Harry’s face.

“Well,” he said, unsure of what had transpired. He took a few steps onto the walk and then peered back at the house. A pair of eyes watched him from the front window, alert and curious, and somewhat familiar. Harry took a step forward and leaned over to get a closer look at the figure. A pale, brunette young girl returned his gaze with a blank stare that sent a shiver down Harry’s spine.

It was Bertrice Zivantus. He was sure of it. He’d seen her on the missing posters. But as soon as he’d realized it, she’d disappeared from the window and in her place was a dark, swaying curtain.

Harry made his way back to his flat, his mind going in circles. How could he go to the authorities with what he knew? How could he explain the kneazle somehow leading him to the missing girl’s location? Did it have anything to do with the penthouse murders?

The whole thing was incredibly, undeniably strange.

The next morning, Harry drafted a quick coded message to Ron and rushed out of his flat to head to the owlery. He’d barely made it out the door before he caught sight of Draco Malfoy, leaning against the opposite wall of the alley.

“Busy today?” he inquired. Harry rolled his eyes and turned to the street. Malfoy approached, stood in front of him, and raised his brows waiting for a response. He looked sharp and presentable in a navy suit and waistcoat with a grey tie.

“Yeah, I’m busy, Malfoy,” Harry snapped.

“Doing what, exactly? You’ve been sacked.”

Harry wondered how on earth Malfoy knew that. His mind wandered back to their brief encounter the night before and Malfoy’s intuitive statements. “Yes, well, I’ve got to see to that now, don’t I?”

Malfoy placed himself in front of Harry and gave him an earnest look. For a moment, Harry felt disarmed by the intensity held in those grey eyes. “I know you saw what happened in that penthouse, perhaps yesterday you saw more than you’re letting yourself believe. The threads of fate have woven us together for whatever reason. You and I must follow these events to their conclusion. Which,” Malfoy paused and tilted his head, “hopefully will end with us solving the murder of Marwan Zivantus.”

“Marwan Zivantus?” Harry’s gaze snapped to Malfoy’s. The last sentence was the first thing out of the other man’s mouth that made any bit of sense. “That’s who died in the penthouse?”

“He was among the murder victims, yes,” Malfoy nodded.

Realization hit Harry. The kneazle had been at the hotel where Marwan Zivantus died. The kneazle led Harry to the dead man’s missing daughter. Harry remembered just then that Valentine had said the investigators had asked if they’d seen an animal. “Hang on,” Harry said, still utterly confused as to how Malfoy was involved. “What gives you the authority to inquire into his death?”

“Well, he hired me to do so, of course.”

“He hired you,” Harry repeated flatly.