Her father's hesitation and stubbornness made the conversation end on bad terms. Pansy pulled open the door and rushed out of the home where she was temporarily staying. Wind blew in through the open corridor window, and the cold air instantly swept around her.
The young Slytherin witch braced a hand on the railing, thinking about what she should do next. Aside from the very top floor, no other part of this place was off-limits to her. As for this young Dark Lord, apart from the first time she had brought supplies over, when he had praised her a few times from a distant upper floor, she had had no way to get near him again at all.
Pansy's face showed no expression, but her heart was heavy with worry. The Dark Lord keeping his residence so secret meant he had never trusted outsiders like her. Once Headmaster Harris came over, if there was no way to confirm the Dark Lord's position immediately, he would definitely choose to flee. And if she took the risk of using those strange things Harris had given her, and was discovered, this Dark Lord, whose temper seemed so good, obviously would not let the Parkinsons off either.
Pansy sighed, knowing there were only two things she could do now. One was to keep persuading dad to hurry back and throw his lot in with Harris. The other was to investigate the distribution of people here as much as possible, and figure out which rooms the ordinary Death Eaters lived in.
In the corridor on Pansy's father's side, a door closer to the staircase opened. A man opened it and looked over. He wore a wool hat and round sunglasses, had a face full of whiskers, and was holding a watering can.
"Pansy, you little