whenhewasertainthey’dmadeitdownthepathfarenoughtobeoutofearshotofanyone,draolearedhisthroat.hewasn’tsurehowtotellthemaboutthetimepiee.hewasn’tevensureifheouldtellthemaboutit.theonlythingheknewwasthethreadswereseizing,thewayforwardnarrowed,andtheonlywaythroughwastogobak.

“there’shingthatbothersme,”potterrushedtospeakfirst.

“onlyhing?”draognedathimandsmirked.hehadtolookbakatthepathtowathhisstepsasthefadinglightdriftedbelowthehorizon,buthewasertainpotterhadsmiled.

“iftheyouldssoulswithanyoneintheworld,”potterasked,“whydidtheyhoosebertrieandakneazle?”

“maybetheydidn’t,”parkinsonoffered.“maybe—idon’tknow—maybeitwasanaident.”

potterstoppedandgrabbeddrao’sshoulder.“ormaybeyouwererightaboutthekneazle.”

draodrankintheboldnessinpotter’seyesandgrinned.“ithinkonfirmationthatthesoul-singpntsenarioisinfatsomehowrealhasestablishedthatiwasright.”

“no,”potterrolledhiseyes.“thekneazle.itwasleverage.”

igorathrewherfourthigarettedownonthegroundandstampeditout.sheknewlessthanadozenwandlessspells,butthemostusedone,disappearigarettebutt,endedupbeingmoremagithanshe’ddoneallday.standingoutsidethehotelentraneseemedtobothalmandstressher,asshewentovereverydetailoftheaseinherhead.

sheandfelixhaddoneeverythingbyproedure.sheouldn’ttellifshewasmissingsomething,ifthey’dsomehowmadeamistake,orthemlosingtheaseboileddowntosomeoneelse’sego.ormaybetheyhadsteppedonsomeone’stoes.who?igorawondered.ronweasley?thedepartmentofmysteries?shebrieflyrememberedthegoldentriohadtrekkedintothehotel.harrybloodypotter?no,whoeverhadtakentheasefromthemwasgravelymistakeniftheythoughtigorawouldstoplookingforbertrieziva

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