questionsofmoraliity:
But she wanted to know if he was a wizard. Because she’s… a wizard.
“We’re not done with that,” he says, warningly. “The other thing.” Pull yourself together, Murdock. Maybe she really believes it, maybe — God help him — it’s true, but either way, a man is missing.
“Tell me about him. Anything that might help.”
“He had persimmons for breakfast. And coffee.”
She remembers: the juices ran down his chin and he laughed and exclaimed silly me! And did a dance in his seat, serious and silly all at once. Several drops fell onto the sofa, and he thought to apologize, but Luna had told him that the sofa told her it was hardly the stickiest substance that that sofa had seen.
After a pause, she brightens, just a tiny, miniscule, infinitesimal amount. It’s in the way her spine straightens. “Runs the Quibbler. I have the latest edition -- if you’d like to read it?” But before she’s finished the question, she is already pulling it from her pea coat. “Minister Scrimgeour has a feature.”
