As the saying went, it wasn't the thief stealing that you feared, but the thief setting his sights on you.
Bodo Crabbe now felt someone had set their sights on him.
Ever since Lin Ze had taken out a notebook and written a few words right in front of him that morning, Crabbe hadn't slept well for two nights running.
He kept tossing and turning, wondering just what that brat had written in his notebook.
Every possibility played over and over in Crabbe's mind, tormenting him until he looked visibly haggard.
He had even started having nightmares in which a gigantic notebook chased him, his name written on every page with a huge, bright red cross after it.
"I can't take it anymore!" On the third morning, Crabbe slammed his fist onto his desk, startling Goyle, who was dozing beside him, so badly that he sprang straight out of his chair.
"What are you doing?" Goyle rubbed his eyes, looking bewildered.
"I'm going to find that brat and get this straightened out!" Crabbe said through gritted teeth.
"If he wants to write things down, he can do it openly! What's so impressive about sneaking around? I've got nothing to hide. Am I supposed to be afraid of some little brat?"
"Didn't you say a brat fresh out of school couldn't cause any real trouble?" Goyle scratched his head.
"Shut up!" Crabbe's face turned a dark purple.
He took a deep breath, stood up, and strode toward Lin Ze's desk.
After three steps, he doubled back and hauled Goyle out of his chair too.
"You're coming with me."
"Why do I have to go too?"
"Are you coming or not?"
"I don't want to..."
"Too bad. You're coming whether you want to or not!"
"...Didn't you say you weren't afraid of him?"
"One more word and I'll hit you!"
And so the two broad, burly men, one with a brutish face and the other bleary-eyed, marched menacingly across the entire office, drawing sidelong looks from several colleagues along the way.
Yet when they reached Lin Ze's desk, he was holding a glass of orange juice and leisurely leafing through that day's Daily Prophet. Seeing them approach, he gave them what he considered a very friendly smile.
"Oh, good morning, Crabbe, Goyle. What can I do for you two senior colleagues? Would you like some orange juice too? The break room next door just got a new juicer. The Ministry's house-elves do a good job, but the oranges are a little sour. I added two spoonfuls of sugar."
The accusatory speech Crabbe had prepared caught in his throat.
Seriously, what was wrong with this newcomer?
If a normal person saw two senior colleagues clearly looking for trouble blocking their desk, even if they didn't tremble in fear, shouldn't they at least be nervous?
How was he still smiling so brightly?
"You... that... that notebook of yours..." Crabbe pointed at Lin Ze, his voice trembling slightly from a lack of confidence.
"Notebook?" Lin Ze blinked, lowered his head, pulled open a drawer, and took out a black-covered notebook, waving it in the air.
"Do you mean this one?"
Crabbe's eyes followed the notebook up and down like a cat watching a teaser wand.
"Yes! That one! What did you write in it that day? Was it something about me? You'd better tell me the truth, or-"
"Oh, this." Lin Ze opened the notebook and freely showed it to Crabbe.
The notebook was densely covered in writing:
"Diagon Alley patrol route adjustment proposal (draft)"
"Today's to-do list: 1. Complete last week's patrol logs 2. Apply to the Logistics Office for a new wand holster"
"Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans taste review: bogey flavour lives up to its name, vomit flavour earns its reputation, green apple flavour is all right"
"Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour ratings: chocolate nut 9/10, strawberry 6/10, Butterbeer flavour 4/10 (too sweet)"
"Review of today's Ministry of Magic canteen menu: mashed potatoes too salty, fried fish reasonably fresh, pea soup suspected to be leftovers from three days ago"
A spectacular array of expressions crossed Crabbe's face.
"You... that's all you wrote that day?"
"Yes." Lin Ze looked utterly innocent. "What else? What did you think I was writing?"
"I..."
"Don't tell me you thought I was taking notes on your dirty secrets?" Lin Ze suddenly widened his eyes.
His tone carried an exaggerated shock. "Good heavens, Crabbe, how could you think that? Aren't we good colleagues who fight side by side? How could I do something like that? What kind of person do you take me for? This hurts me so much."
At those words, several nearby colleagues who had been pricking up their ears to eavesdrop immediately let out muffled snickers.
Crabbe stood there, his mouth opening and closing, closing and opening, like a bighead carp slapped onto the shore.
"You... just you wait!" After struggling for ages, Crabbe managed only those words before turning to leave.
Goyle stood rooted to the spot for two seconds before catching on and hurriedly chasing after him.
"Wait for me! Why are you walking so fast?"
Once the two were far away, the smile slowly faded from Lin Ze's face.
He reached into his pocket and felt the second small glass vial.
It contained memory fragments he had extracted that very morning from the mind of a Logistics Office clerk he had "happened to run into" in the break room.
That clerk happened to be Crabbe's younger cousin.
He opened the notebook and turned to the last page.
It was densely covered in writing, but completely different from the pages he had just shown them.
"Bodo Crabbe, Malcolm Crabbe of the Logistics Office (younger cousin). The two met a hooded Death Eater at the Leaky Cauldron last Thursday evening. Malcolm is responsible for smuggling prohibited Potions ingredients in Ministry of Magic supply deliveries."
"Meeting time: every Thursday at eight in the evening. Recognition phrase: 'Today's Butterbeer is especially rich and mellow.'"
"Evan Goyle, responsible for deliberately leaving gaps in Auror patrol routes to facilitate Death Eater operations."
"Seymour Parkinson (Wizengamot administrative liaison), used his position to alter the trial records of three suspected Death Eaters."
Lin Ze closed the notebook and took another sip of orange juice.
If Crabbe had insisted on turning to the final pages just now, Lin Ze really would have had to find some way to bluff his way through.
Fortunately, Crabbe was a classic case of being fierce on the outside and weak within. He wouldn't dare use force with everyone watching.
"Some people are Aurors on the surface, but behind the scenes, they've already started doing intelligence work."
Lin Ze muttered to himself, then picked up that day's Daily Prophet.
An inconspicuous little news item was tucked away in a corner:
"Suspicious magical fluctuations in Godric's Hollow; Aurors have begun investigating"
He stared at the news item for a long time.
Godric's Hollow.
The Potter family's hiding place.
Peter's betrayal, Voldemort's slaughter-the countdown to it all was about to begin.
Lin Ze slowly closed the newspaper, his gaze falling on London's grey, hazy skyline beyond the window.
"Twenty-seven days left," he said softly.