"By the way, wait a moment."
Aisling had only taken two steps when she suddenly heard Roy calling from behind her. She stopped and looked back at him in confusion.
"What is it? What now?"
Yet Roy had put away his usual frivolous, unruly smile. His gaze was sharp, his expression grave. Aisling rarely saw him like this; back in America, she had known him to keep that same flippant look even in the face of death.
Seeing this, Aisling knew Roy had something serious to say. She withdrew the forced smile from her face and once again let her icy, unapproachable aura seep out, revealing her true self.
"The Potions ingredients we've been using... you gave them to Snape, didn't you?"
Roy sighed and turned his head away, unwilling to meet Aisling's eyes.
Aisling, her face like frost, raised an eyebrow. She said nothing, merely replied in an icy voice.
"What? You look down on them?"
Roy lowered his head and scratched it listlessly, his tone weary.
"No... I just... sigh... I owe you another favor..."
At that moment, Roy looked exactly like a middle-aged man whose daughter had fallen gravely ill—unwilling to trouble others, yet powerless to do anything himself, forced to swallow his pride and beg for help. Every movement was filled with helplessness and bitterness.
Seeing Roy like this, Aisling was briefly dazed. Had the difficulty of the Potions shaken him that badly? For one fleeting moment, she felt as though she had finally seen the real Roy.
"If it weren't for you, I might really have been at the end of my rope. I only just heard from Dumbledore that those ingredients vanished from the market long ago..."
Roy stepped forward and stuffed a black parcel into Aisling's hands. Before she could speak, he began