"You said you saw me wearing a uniform, but I wasn't wearing one at all." Lin Ze sighed, his voice tinged with disappointment at someone who simply refused to learn.
"Why don't you go back and get your story straight with Senior Crabbe? Remember next time: before you make something up, check what the other person is wearing. That's basic professional ethics."
The watching crowd erupted in laughter.
Crabbe flushed with humiliation and anger. He shoved Malcolm aside and pointed at the box on the ground. "Even if the eyewitness remembered something wrong, that box isn't fake, is it? It has the Dark Mark carved into it, and you were standing beside it with your wand pointed at it. How do you explain that?"
"What do I have to explain?" Lin Ze looked utterly innocent. "I found a suspicious object on my patrol route and stopped to inspect it. That's my duty. What, are Aurors supposed to take a detour whenever they see something suspicious? Then what do we need Aurors for?"
"You-"
"Oh, right." As though something had just occurred to him, Lin Ze took a small notebook from his pocket and opened it to a page with a neatly drawn table.
"According to Auror patrol regulations, what should you do upon discovering a suspicious object? First, maintain a safe distance; second, use spells to inspect it remotely; third, report it to the supervisor on duty immediately."
He held the notebook up in front of Crabbe. "I was just doing steps one and two. Before I could get to step three, you lot rushed out. So if anyone broke procedure, it wasn't me. You interrupted my proper law enforcement procedure."
The crowd's snickering grew louder and louder.
The old man from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour simply brought out a chair and sat in the doorway, watching the spectacle with a drink in hand. His expression suggested he had never seen such a wonderful show in his life.
Bodo Crabbe stood there, his chest heaving, his face flushed crimson, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles had gone white.
He wanted to argue, but found he couldn't get a single word out.
All the evidence he had prepared, all his arguments, had become a joke in front of this brat.
It was as though he had spent days carefully preparing a seemingly perfect trap, only for his prey to arrive, walk a circle around it, and casually shove him into it instead.
What drove him craziest was that Lin Ze had been smiling the entire time.
That easy, effortless smile, as though he were teasing a child, mocked his incompetence every second.
"But I am rather curious." Lin Ze put away his notebook, his tone suddenly turning serious.
"Who exactly put this box here? Senior Crabbe, you said someone reported me. Could you tell me who? I'd like to thank him in person. Anyone who cares so much about my every move must be a true fan."
Crabbe's lips moved a couple of times, but nothing came out.
"One more thing." Lin Ze looked at Malcolm, who stood trembling to one side.
"Mr. Malcolm, you work in the Logistics Office. Under the regulations, you shouldn't be in Diagon Alley's patrol area outside working hours. You said you came on business. What business? Did you sign the entry and exit register? If not-"
He paused, leaving Malcolm a little room for imagination.
Malcolm's knees visibly buckled. If Goyle hadn't been standing close beside him, he might have collapsed straight onto the ground.
"You... you..." After struggling for ages, Crabbe finally forced out a sentence. "Don't get smug! This isn't over!"
"Of course it isn't." Lin Ze tucked his wand back at his waist and dusted off his coat.
"This is only the beginning. But I suggest you go back and give some serious thought to how you're going to explain tonight's farce to Mr. Crouch tomorrow."
He turned and waved to the watching crowd. "Move along, move along! No arrests tonight. Sorry to disappoint all you neighbors. And you, boss of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, remember to take that cup back inside when you finish your drink. Don't let the wind blow it over to Knockturn Alley again. Last time I fetched your cup, I nearly got beaten up by Death Eaters."
The ice cream shop's owner roared with laughter and went back inside, cup in hand.
Amid laughter and chuckling, the watching crowd gradually dispersed.
Diagon Alley returned to its nighttime quiet. Only Crabbe, Malcolm, and the few Aurors who had taken part in the operation remained where they were, each looking worse than the last.
Lin Ze took a few steps, then looked back as though something had suddenly occurred to him.
"Oh, right, Mr. Malcolm."
Malcolm gave a violent shudder.
"Did you leave something behind when you went to Warehouse Three this afternoon?" Lin Ze sounded as though he were showing concern for a careless colleague.
"Don't worry. I've already had someone put it away for you. You should see it when you come to work tomorrow."
With that, he walked away without looking back.
Malcolm stood rooted to the spot, his face like a patch of dried lime, white and utterly bloodless.
Crabbe turned to stare at him and asked in a low voice, "What did he mean? What Warehouse Three? Was he talking about the warehouse you went to this afternoon? He already knew back then?! How could he have known?!"
Malcolm's lips trembled, and he couldn't form a complete sentence.
At the northern end of Diagon Alley, meanwhile, Lin Ze's retreating figure had already disappeared into the night. Only the faint sound of him whistling a cheerful little tune could still be heard.
It sounded like the theme song from some Muggle film, with a lively rhythm and a slightly roguish air.
He walked quickly.
In fact, he was far more nervous than he had let on.
The back of his shirt was already soaked with cold sweat, but his coat hid it from view.
Half of all the composure, all the ease, and all the silver-tongued eloquence he had just displayed had been an act.
But he couldn't let it show. Against an opponent like Crabbe, any hint of weakness would be treated as an opening, so he had to smile. He had to smile with effortless nonchalance, smile until the other man felt he had been a clown from beginning to end.
Now he had done it.
"What a fucking rush." He finished whistling the last note, muttered the curse, then smiled again.
Tonight's battle had not only foiled Crabbe's attempt to frame him, but also tied Malcolm, his informant, firmly to him.
He had both witnesses and material evidence of Malcolm taking things from Warehouse Three. Once Harper delivered the final batch of paperwork to his desk tomorrow, Malcolm would have no way back.
"Logistics Office, Parkinson, supply allocation..."
He weighed things up in his mind as he walked.
Crabbe's frame-up had been crude, but behind it lay a whole series of problems: chaotic management of prohibited items in the Logistics Office, violations in supply allocation, falsified warehouse intake and release records, and more. None of these amounted to much on its own, but strung together, they were a string of firecrackers that could blow up nearly half of the Logistics Office.
More importantly, Parkinson was involved too.
"Just one last step." He slipped a hand into his pocket and felt a tiny glass bottle.
The fourth.
According to his plan, he would get the fifth tomorrow, and the sixth the day after.
When Voldemort fell, he would make sure this net hauled in everyone who ought to be caught, without missing a single one.
"Two weeks left." He looked up at London's murky night sky. There were no stars, only a hazy moon hanging behind the clouds, its edges fringed with a fuzzy halo.
He suddenly felt a little hungry.
That tub of ice cream clearly hadn't been filling enough, and matching wits and nerve with Crabbe had burned far too much energy.
He thought for a moment, then turned into a nearby alley and headed for the Leaky Cauldron's back door.
He was quite friendly with Old Tom, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron. Every time he came in through the back door, Old Tom would secretly give him an extra ladle of stew.
"There should be steak and kidney pie tonight," he said to himself, his pace involuntarily quickening.
As for how Crabbe and his lot were going to wrap things up tonight, he couldn't be bothered to care.
Let them stand out in the cold wind.
The wind was quite chilly tonight.