Isobel bit her lip to hide a smile, thinking that they might not have missed each other quite as many times as the woman believed. Or remembered. She turned to the stairs. "Well, it was nice to meet you."
"Oh, you too," said the woman, sounding disappointed. "What's your name?"
Isobel paused, one hand on the stairway's railing. If Draco's neighbour bumped into him before Isobel managed to find him, she might mention that Isobel had been there. And Isobel didn't think that was something he should hear from a neighbour.
She could erase herself from the neighbour's memories, as Draco had clearly been doing. She could, easily. But given that her own memory loss was causing so much misery right now, to use Obliviate on the woman would feel very wrong. She didn't think she could bring herself to do that.
Facing the stairway, she combed through her mind for another blonde-haired person in Draco's life, that she might get away with passing for. "Daphne," she said finally, turning back around. "Daphne Greengrass."
The woman beamed. "Well, it's nice to meet you too, Daphne. I'm Emily."
"Could you tell him I'll be back tomorrow? Or. . ." She tried to remember if her mother worked on Thursdays. "Friday, actually. If you see him, could you tell him I'll be back on Friday?"
"Sure," said Emily. "You don't have his number?"
"Number?" repeated Isobel, confused.
"His phone number?"
Isobel tried to think back to Muggle Studies in Hogwarts. She wasn't quite sure what this meant, other than that it was a form of communication. "No," she replied, feigning nonchalance. "I don't have that."
Emily's brow knitted in concern. "Okay. Well, he never leaves for very long, if you still want to catch him today. I mean - as far as I can tell." She looked suddenly uncomfortable. "I can hear his door open and close from my apartment, that's all, so I've come to notice his schedule. I'm not, you know, a stalker or anything." She laughed.
Isobel said nothing. It occurred to her for the first time that while Draco had never noticed her from his apartment, his neighbours easily could have from theirs. Not Emily, clearly. But perhaps she wasn't as invisible as she often felt.
"What I'm saying is," continued Emily, "if you wait here, I can't think you'll be waiting all that long."
Isobel nodded. "I suppose I could wait around for a little while."
Emily stepped back into her apartment. "If you do end up leaving before he gets back - I'll let him know you'll try again on Friday."
"Thank you," said Isobel. "Really, that's very kind of you."
Emily waved her off. "You Brits," she said, smiling to herself. "Always so polite. Nice to meet you!"
"Nice to meet you," echoed Isobel, as Emily closed the door.
She sat at the top of the stairs, facing a large window that looked out over the back alley of the building. She watched the sky turn dim there, as the sun went down over the city. Winter days were short and claustrophobic. She rested her head in her hands, closed her eyes for just a second -
Then a tapping sounded from the window. An owl was perched on the narrow window ledge; a scrap of paper folded and tied to one of its legs.
Isobel slid open the window. She prayed the letter was from Ginny; groaned when she recognised her mother's slanted writing.
Isobel,
Where are you? I've been home for over an hour.
eleven
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