分卷阅读23（2 / 2）

“Wait,” he said. “When did Zivantus give you the Timepiece?”

“The night before his death,” Malfoy said, his tone possessing a leveled reverence.

“And?”

“And what, Potter?”

Harry turned around. “Did he say anything? Give you any hint about how he got it or—”

Malfoy interrupted, “All he said was he hoped I would appreciate its value more than he had.”

“How vague and unhelpful,” Harry muttered. He noticed the line of worry on Malfoy’s forehead, a tense wrinkle above an expectant stare. The look he gave Harry was almost a plea, as if Malfoy could tell Harry saw right through him but implored him to let it go anyway. But Harry couldn’t let it go. Malfoy had been hiding valuable information the entire time, and all Harry could think was What else?

“I absolutely will not respond to Mrs. Vistrel again, Grimbie,” a familiar voice said at the other end of the room. “I can’t comprehend why someone would bathe in pumpkin juice.” Harry twisted around and could make out the vague form of Archie Eversworn. Himself.

Realizing they had to get out of the hotel, Harry searched around for a disguise. The purple fur coat seemed as good as any. Grabbing it, he threw it on and cast a quick glamour on himself. When he glanced at Malfoy, the other wizard was doing the same. Malfoy had donned a sleek black leather jacket and a bowler hat.

They waited for the other Harry to leave and then rushed out into the lobby. A man in the guest check-in queue stared at the pair of them as they fumbled forward toward the main doors. Malfoy locked eyes with the hotel guest, then slinked next to Harry, draped his arm over his shoulder, pulled him close, and winked. The man flushed and turned away toward the service desk.

“You know,” Malfoy drawled as they made their way out onto the street. He pulled away and put a few inches of space between them. “I always thought Gryffindor red was your best color, but this,” he pointed to the purple shag coat. “This suits you perfectly, Potter.”

Harry bristled and ignored Malfoy for the entirety of the next two blocks.

Luna Lovegood held out a piece of her chicken alfredo for Bertie. “No one cared to offer you a well cooked meal?” Luna asked, still looking at the kneazle. Pansy sighed and filled her wine glass again.

They’d returned to the room and ordered dinner service. Pansy explained the details of the case, and Luna listened attentively while petting Bertrice in her lap. But as soon as the food arrived and Pansy started eating, Luna’s focus shifted to kneazle, and Pansy listened in mild annoyance as the Ravenclaw acted out a conversation with the animal. It wasn’t as if she talked at Bertie, it was as if Luna actually carried on a discourse back and forth.

The idea that Bertrice’s soul had been switched into the body of a kneazle was still an unsettling reality for Pansy. She wasn’t entirely sure if Luna’s dialogue was an attempt to assuage the situation or if the other woman truly believed she was in the middle of a conversation about birthday parties with the kneazle.

“I understand the inclination of teenage girls to get wild,” Luna nodded and put another piece of chicken out. “Your father shouldn’t have insisted the party’s location be at an urban home. And then get mad about the noise.”

The kneazle meowed and then attacked the offered piece of chicken.

Luna smiled. “You’re right. A lake house would’ve been perfect.”

Pansy froze, a surge of recollection hitting her. She’d completely forgotten Bertrice’s last letter. The young girl’s angry rants had covered a page and half of parchment, detailing Marwan’s refusal to allow Bertrice a party at their summer lake house.