Lake water and candy

Harry quickly learned what it meant to make one lie require a hundred more to cover it up.

Queenie asked him curiously about the work of a sailor and life on a ship. Harry racked his brains to recall what was said in the interview he had seen before. It was the first time he had ever discovered that his memory was so good. He could recall the images in less than ten minutes in a vivid way, to the point that Hermione would be shocked and then scold him loudly for not studying hard enough.

Fortunately, the restaurant served food quickly, and Harry and his friends received all their orders in no time. The conversation naturally turned to the flavors of the pasta and risotto.

Queenie suddenly asked, "Don't you work for a shipping company in Germany? What do you usually eat?" She and her friends had eaten German food and found the variety to be very limited. Of course, British food wasn't much better either. She personally preferred French and Italian food.

"...Stewed stew?" Is that what it's called?

"Hmm, you mean seamen's stew?"

"Yes." He wasn't sure if it was true or not, but he went along with her anyway.

Queenie suppressed her sympathy. The seaman's stew sounded complicated, but it was actually made in a similar way to a German hamburger. She had eaten it in a German restaurant; it was made by stewing various ingredients until tender and then serving it with pickled cucumbers and fried eggs. The taste was just so-so.

"Can you make it too? I hope I can try it sometime; I've never had it before," she said, without any falsehood.

"Sorry, I can't. There's a professional chef on board."

"Really? Okay then."

"..." Harry couldn't bear to disappoint his new friend, so he blurted out, "I can ask him how he did it and try it myself. I don't think it's that hard."

"Really? That's amazing! I can't wait!"

Queenie's elation made Harry forget his regret, and he went back to find out how it was done.

As the sun gradually sank, the last rays of its setting sun, carrying the last trace of heat, reflected on the banks of the Thames. The river surface shimmered with light, and cruise ships, their horns blaring, slowly glided through the heart of London.

Queenie peeked out slightly and saw the symphony.

"Would you like to go for a boat ride together to see the night view?" she invited.

Harry estimated the time; he was worried the aging potion was about to expire. "I'm afraid I can't today, I have something to do..."

"Then let's make plans to go to the station together another time. By the way, which bus do you take?"

Harry's intuition was right; he could clearly feel the flow of magic within his body. Damn it, would he have to carry a "drink" with him like Barty the Youngster next time?

Queenie noticed something was wrong with him. "Harry? What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell? You don't look well."

Harry jumped to his feet. "Sorry Queenie, I'm running late, I have to go now. See you tomorrow!"

So suddenly?

While Queenie was still in a daze, Harry had already run several feet away.

"Wait, Harry, how are we meeting tomorrow? Where and what time?"

I will come find you!

Queenie suddenly felt very passive. Harry even knew where she lived, and she didn't even know which bus he took. She had also forgotten to ask for his precious stick again—given that he hadn't provided any contact information—what if he didn't come to see her tomorrow?

But Queenie suddenly laughed. Harry looked so funny just now; he was more like Cinderella.

Because she didn't know when Harry would arrive, Queenie got up very early the next day. The morning passed without anyone knocking on the door. After Queenie finished eating the pizza she had ordered and couldn't resist taking a nap, Harry finally arrived.

"I'm sorry, I originally wanted to come in the morning, but my aunt told me I had to finish mowing the lawn in the yard before noon..."

"Oh, it's okay, I just woke up too. I stayed up late watching TV last night." So Harry has an aunt, but what about his parents? Queenie kept this in mind and didn't ask any further questions.

Harry thought Queenie was incredibly considerate. He saw her bedroom; the bed was neatly made, not like she had just woken up. Harry looked down again—Merlin's socks. Why did he have to look into Queenie's bedroom?!

"However, I still recommend that you buy a cell phone, if—no offense intended—you can afford it."

"Hmm, I'll consider it."

Harry started practicing dance steps almost from scratch.

The rudimentary dance steps he'd learned from Professor McGonagall were completely different from what Queenie had shown him. He'd heard her laugh several times, though it wasn't mockery, and Harry was still incredibly embarrassed. Merlin's beard! He must have looked like a clumsy troll!

"Alright, Harry, who stares at their feet while dancing?"

"Uh, I was just afraid of stepping on you."

"But we're all barefoot right now, so it won't hurt."

There was an activity center near Queenie's apartment, and they found an empty room there to practice. Since it was the beginning, Queenie didn't wear high heels; she took off her shoes and jumped on tiptoe to train her balance, while Harry, afraid of hurting her, simply didn't wear shoes either.

After hearing Queenie's words, Harry raised his head, but as he jumped, he would unconsciously focus his attention back on his feet.

“Harry”.

"Hmm, hmm?" he mumbled in response, taking awkward dance steps to the music, not daring to look up for fear of stepping on the wrong foot.

“Look at me, Harry.”

The person whose name was called looked up suddenly and met Queenie's smiling, honey-colored eyes. He felt as if he were surrounded by sizzling honey, Harry thought for no reason.

Queenie felt like she was the one who had plunged headfirst into the emerald green lake, experiencing a refreshing coolness on the hot summer day.

"Dancing isn't just about not stepping on each other's feet. The most important thing is chemistry and feeling. I need you to look me in the eye. Can you do that, Harry?"

“I’ll try my best…” In fact, he found it a little too sweet and had already shifted his gaze to Queenie’s eyebrows. Oh, her eyebrows… didn’t seem to be drawn symmetrically? The left one was a little longer than the right one.

"Um?"

The owner of the eyebrow raised the longer side, and Harry shifted his gaze down to the honey color. "I mean, I can do it."

"Then let's continue."

They practiced their dance steps while looking at each other. Harry thought Queenie was right; he felt much more coordinated, and his dancing skills seemed to improve rapidly during that brief but long eye contact. But at the same time, he noticed that the temperature in the room seemed to have risen.

Harry licked his lips, trying to look away from the greenery outside the window to cool down.

“Look at me, Harry.”

His attempt failed; Queenie's words had more control than his own will, and the honey-colored candy melted back into the green lake.

A strange combination.

The afternoon's practice yielded remarkable results, and afterwards, Harry excitedly said it was the best he had ever danced.

"Then I am truly honored, after all, I am your teacher?"

“Of course!” Harry exclaimed sincerely. “You’re really amazing, Queenie.”

She was truly amazing. In the end, Queenie tried twice in silver high heels and jumped even better than when she was barefoot. She was seventeen? Anyway, Harry thought that Hermione definitely couldn't jump as steadily as Queenie in such high heels when she was seventeen.

"About tomorrow—"

Harry's excitement faltered. "Still practicing tomorrow?" He thought it best to balance work and rest. To be honest, his feet were a little sore. Didn't Queenie feel anything?

"I'm not practicing tomorrow, but could you come with me somewhere?"

Where to?

"Maritime Museum, after hearing your experiences, I'm very interested in things at sea. You must know a lot about it. Perhaps you could be my guide?"

Queenie's method of getting close to him was actually fine, but Harry... wasn't a sailor!

"..."

"You're busy tomorrow? What about the day after?"

"..."

The station was just ahead, and Queenie stopped. She asked softly, "Don't you have time anymore?" She wondered if Harry had seen through her thoughts. He was a twenty-two-year-old man, and she hadn't tried to hide it.

Harry said with difficulty, "Of course not, how about the day after tomorrow? My aunt needs my help tomorrow..." He planned to go to the Maritime Museum by himself tomorrow to scout it out in advance, and try to memorize all the information! Why did he suddenly say he was a sailor?!

“Okay.” Queenie cheered again. “Then let’s meet at the Maritime Museum at nine o’clock the day after tomorrow morning.”

"Okay..." He wanted to cry.