He raised an eyebrow and tried to look cunning. But he didn’t look cunning.

The truth was… The truth was.

Nope, I wasn’t going to go there. Today was hectic enough, without having a mind melt.

Lack of sleep must be getting to me. Holiday romances were not my style. Not even romances, really. Even with cute British boys who wore bad knitted stuff because they’d promised their friend.

Get a grip, Elle. I didn’t get feelings for people. Especially when, in less than three days, I’d never see them again.

I downed my Coke and focused on the plan.

When we pulled into King’s Cross, we headed straight for Platform 9¾, but the line was a hundred people long. Not a great start. The helper wizards recommended coming back in the evening, so with no choice, we had to move on. Maybe I could talk Dove out of that one?

We raced to Buckingham Palace then headed to the park and did the bumper cars at Winter Wonderland that looked like sleighs (good, but it was so early that there was only one scared-looking kid to crash into). Everything in London was so cute—even the lampposts and trash cans looked museum-worthy. The Tower of London put Hogwarts to shame, even though it was right in the middle of normal London. Like, Tube stop, busy road, INSANE MASSIVE CASTLE THING THAT THE ROYAL FAMILY USED TO LIVE IN. Fred really hit his stride telling me all about the murders there. They had an ice-skating rink outside—I was nowhere near as good at skating as Nick, but I still had some skills, so I pulled out some spins and backward skating. Fred was meant to be filming but ended up falling backward over a kid clinging to a giant penguin. Then we went top deck on a double-decker bus past St. Paul’s Cathedral and over the Thames. The view was incredible. On the left was Tower Bridge, and on the right was the rest of London, its jagged skyline piled up around the river, like a theme park of really old stuff. By the time we got to the South Bank Christmas market, despite not stopping at all, we were running late, so we decided to have a quick lunch.

“Okay, so the option seems to be…” Fred looked around the wooden stalls along the river. “German sausage or…German sausage.” He turned to the long line of restaurants behind me. “I mean, there’s a zillion other places, but the people serving in them aren’t dressed as elves, so I’m guessing I already know how you feel about that.”

I nudged him with a giant gingerbread heart I’d picked up for Mom.

“Hey. You’re making me sound like Holly!”