There is an attack, one Muggle is dead, and the Daily Prophet screams out the news. It sends her twisting and tumbling home, but only to find that she has far more to worry about than the dead woman in the flat upstairs.

“My boyfriend’s coming over for dinner tonight.”

I can’t tell if he’s choked.

“Well, haven’t you been busy?” he says once he’s regained control of his throat. “Who’s the lucky man? Humptey Dumptey?”

I narrow my eyes. “No.” Then, dangerously, I say, “Oscar Higgins. You remember him?”

He blinks. “You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“You’re serious?”

I cross my arms. “Yes,” I say, challengingly.

“Tinkers.” He turns me to face him. I keep my eyes down. “Look at me.” I shut them. “No, look at me.”

I open them.

“You don’t love him.” He doesn't release me. "I’m giving you a way out.”