分卷阅读29（1 / 2）

Valentine’s eyes darted to Malfoy as he said, “A few weeks ago, of course! You dropped your cloak room ticket at Club Bezemkas. The gossip columns all reported that you stayed here. Anyway, my name is Valentine de Russo, I’m the hotel manager. If you’re in Edinburgh again, I would love to offer you a room for your trip. On the house.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and faked a smile. “Yes, we had such a lovely time,” he purred. “We would appreciate it if we could have the same room on the fourteenth floor. It had such a beautiful view, didn’t it Harry?”

“Er—” Harry had barely been paying attention. All he could think about was stopping himself from tackling Valentine to the ground and arresting him for Marwan Zivantus’ murder and Bertrice’s kidnapping. A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Malfoy’s pointed out that Marwan hadn’t even been murdered yet. “Yes,” Harry agreed finally. “It was a nice room.”

“Well, let me see if we can get you back in that room,” Valentine led them to the counter. He shuffled behind and sifted through some parchments. “What room number was it?”

Harry paled. He’d never looked at the number. He knew exactly where it was but he couldn’t even think of what the number had been. Merlin, he really had made a terrible hotel porter.

“1409,” Malfoy said.

Valentine nodded. “It’s available,” he furrowed his brow. “We’ll just have to move a few things around. And what colors would you like displayed, Mister Potter? Gryffindor Red?”

“Green,” Harry said, just as Malfoy answered, “Blue.” They turned and glared at each other and then Harry realized the room had been decorated in green and blue. “Both,” he finally said but kept his gaze trained on Malfoy.

“Fantastic,” Valentine snapped his fingers and the spell key appeared in his hand. “Here you go, Mister Potter. The house elves should have it decorated by the time you get up there. Please, if you need anything, do not hesitate to ask.”

Harry turned back to him and flashed a fake smile. “Thanks, Valencio,” Harry said and walked away, his jaw clenching so hard he thought it might break. He and Malfoy didn’t speak as they waited for the lift and went up to the room.

Hermione sat outside Ron’s office in the DMLE ignoring the various people who gawked at her. Still in the ridiculous Christmas jumper, she found herself both too exhausted to move and too busy reliving the events of the day. Not only that, but she still hadn’t heard from Ron and it was well after three in the morning.

After the Edinburgh aurors took over the scene in Haddington, Hermione made sure the others were alright. They were collectively in shock, mostly that their plan had worked but also because absolutely nothing had gone wrong. Bertrice was safe and sound and Parkinson seemed to soften with every passing minute in the young girl’s presence. Pansy’s relief was almost contagious until Luna mentioned Harry and Draco.

“Whatever they did, it worked,” Pansy said. She winked at Hermione, “Even if we did most of it.” Then Igora and another official, Auror Phillips, apparated with Pansy and Bertrice to the Edinburgh Main Office and Hermione was left with an addled Cormac McLaggen, and Luna, who appeared to be settling her arrangement with one of the Solstice Fae. The small winged man glittered bright in the darkness, and judging by Luna’s increasing frown, seemed to drive a very hard bargain.

McLaggen ordered Hermione to come back to the Ministry and to her own dismay, she did so without protest. After all, she had promised Icarus Sableton she’d come back and work on Pandora. She thought maybe she’d have a moment to breathe, and maybe a moment to explain things to Ron.

““Mione?”

She bolted up from the bench and took in the sight of the love of her life. She couldn’t help the large sigh that escaped her and pulled Ron into a firm embrace. “Where have you been? I’ve been so worried, Ron.”

“I told you—” he started and pulled back to look at her. “Anyway, it’s alright now. I’ve just got in from the Edinburgh office.”

Hermione blinked. “What were you doing there?”

Ron titled his head, a proud smile on his face. “I apprehended one of the kidnappers. The one that got away, apparently. Igora Stramitz gave me a loose summary of what you did.” Ron’s gaze shined with awe. “Blimey, Hermione, I knew if anyone could pull it off, it’d be you.”

“But Ron, how did you find the kidnapper? Stramitz said the figure disapparated before they could even identify them.”