The best color
Mr. Weasley's modification of the cell phone was not as easy as Hermione described. Unlike cars, cell phones also involve a signal problem. Mr. Weasley could quickly make the cell phone independent of batteries, but he could not immediately solve the signal problem. The magnetic field was as mysterious as magic.
So Harry had to break his promise to Queenie on the very first night he got the phone; he couldn't text her every night, and now it seemed he couldn't do it during the day either. They didn't know how long it would take to get the phone working properly.
He should have sneaked out again to find a place with power and signal to complete their appointment. Now his phone is still with Mr. Weasley, and it's impossible for him to take it out again.
Harry's gloomy expression made Ron feel a little guilty. "I'm sorry, I should have known better than to play for so long..."
“It’s none of your business, Ron. No need to apologize.” Harry lay back for a while, then suddenly sat up. “Let’s go find the twins and learn Apparition.”
“Huh? Now?” Ron glanced at the wall clock. “Hermione must be asleep.”
"Then let's not take her for now. She's so smart, she'll definitely learn faster than us. Missing one class won't make a difference."
"..." In the end, it might not seem like a big deal, but Hermione will be angry!
Queenie sat cross-legged on the bed, staring at her phone. Hmm? It lit up!
She quickly grabbed her phone. Okay, spam text, again.
So what is Harry doing? Why isn't he replying to the messages?
Queenie opened her text message chat with Harry for the umpteenth time tonight, clicking through each message one by one.
"Have we arrived, Harry? How's your cousin? What are you having for dinner?"
"Are you done with your work, Harry? I ordered some risotto for delivery tonight. It's not the same place we had last time, but I thought it was pretty good. We can go together next time."
"Hey Harry! I just looked at the map, that shop is near the Maritime Museum, we can go there together!"
"Speaking of Italian risotto, there's a really good Chinese fried rice place near our school. I'll take you there."
"Are you too tired to sleep? Goodnight."
The last one was posted by her ten minutes ago, while Harry's last one—Queeny scrolled up again.
"I'm almost there."
Harry wasn't a fast typist, and his sentences were usually short. But before this message, they had been chatting happily. Why did she suddenly stop replying? Was she too enthusiastic?
Queenie leaned back on the bed and looked at her messages again. Not bad, not very enthusiastic, huh? Although her text messages were all very long, that's because she was skilled at using them... Ah!
She suddenly sat bolt upright, calculating the time from when Harry left to when he said he was almost there—about thirty minutes. Queenie started looking on the map; at this time and distance, she thought she might be able to find out which hospital Harry's relative was staying at! Hey, she actually has a real talent for detective work!
Two minutes later, Queenie gave up. Forget it, there are too many hospitals in London, it's impossible to determine which one it is. Besides, if she had even a little bit of detective talent, she wouldn't have taken so long to find out that her ex-boyfriend and Freya were having an affair.
Ah, speaking of which, it seems like she hasn't thought about them for a long time. She thought that thinking about them again would make her sad.
Queenie yawned, glanced at her phone one last time, and placed it beside her pillow. She hadn't silenced it; Harry might still be busy and could reply to her message soon.
No.
Queenie's hair was a mess from sleeping, and her mind was in a mess too. Her thoughts were already wandering to: Could Harry have been attacked as well? What were the police doing?
But no matter how much she thought about it, it was no use. Queenie felt passive again. Cell phones seem to deepen the connection, but in reality, the other party can just disappear unilaterally, right?
Queenie got out of bed; she was in a bad mood and needed to go to Mason's Dessert Shop for something nice to eat.
The bus stop was just ten meters away from the apartment building. Queenie waited a few minutes, and then the number 6 bus arrived. She boarded the bus without looking up, but was almost knocked down by someone who jumped off the bus in a hurry. The person's core strength was terrifying; not only did they catch her in time, but they also miraculously prevented both of them from falling.
Queenie's nose was a little sore from the impact, and she heard the bus driver yell, "Watch out, kid, you have to get off from the back door!"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I—oh Queenie!"
Queenie rubbed her nose and looked up, the warmth and embrace fading away. "Harry?"
"Um, I—"
"Hey! Aren't you getting on the bus or not?"
It was strange. Just a minute ago she was so sullen that she needed dessert to relieve it, but a minute later she felt better as soon as she saw Harry. Before she could even react, a smile automatically appeared on her lips. "No, thank you!"
Not surprising, Queenie thought, because she liked Harry.
Bus number 6 closed its doors and drove away. Harry brushed his hair back and said, "Sorry I bumped into you, I was in a bit of a hurry."
Hmm, you're in such a hurry to see me?
She's not only better now, she's even like she's eaten two big, sweet brownies.
Queenie glanced at his damp hair. "Take your time, or should I take you to get a haircut? They look quite long. You're nearsighted, and it's not good for your hair to be blocking your eyes."
"Hmm, fine too." His hair was indeed so messy that even Queenie couldn't stand it anymore. "Will it take a long time? I can't stay out for too long." This was a completely impromptu decision. He didn't want Queenie to have any bad thoughts, so he deliberately ate breakfast and then left 12 Grimmauld Place through the window again, putting the pressure on his friend once more.
“It’s just a short haircut, it’ll be quick.” Queenie led him to a decent barbershop. “So what’s the rush to see me about? I guess it’s related to you not replying to my texts?”
"Um...actually, last night when I was almost at Bu'e Hospital, someone bumped into me, and my phone fell to the ground and broke. I've already sent it to be repaired, it might take a few days..."
"Oh, I see... Then you could have just used a public phone to tell me first—oh, you probably don't remember my phone number."
“I remember! I just couldn’t recall it for a moment.” Harry scratched his hair in frustration, making it even messier. He hadn’t lived the Muggle life in so long, he really hadn’t expected it.
"You memorized it?" Queenie tilted her head and looked at him. "Then recite it for me to hear."
Harry rattled off a string of numbers without hesitation.
Good heavens, he actually remembered it? She thought she was the only one who would consciously remember someone's number!
Harry felt embarrassed by Queenie's gaze. He cleared his throat, but before he could think of what to say, Queenie spoke up again in a low voice, "I'll remember you too."
...Why did Queenie remember his number? He meant, it was just a random, meaningless string of numbers, no more memorable than the names of fairies in the history of magic. She could have just saved it in her phone; why did she memorize it? Did she have an extraordinary memory? Photographic memory?
...Then why did he remember Queenie's name? He meant, it was just a string of random, meaningless numbers, no more memorable than the names of fairies in magical history. He could have just saved it in his phone; why did he memorize it? Did he also have an extraordinary memory? Photographic memory? How come he didn't discover this talent during his exams?
"We've arrived, Harry, come in quickly."
Queenie quickened her pace and jumped up the steps. She stood at the entrance of the hair salon, leaning against the door, and called back to him. The sunlight shone on her golden hair, making her look dazzling.
Even if he weren't a Gryffindor, he would have to admit that gold is the best color in the world, except for Malfoy's golden head.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
