Chapter 3
Hogwarts Castle, England
"I can't believe there's nothing down there," Harry said glumly, hiding his face in his hands.
He, Ron, and Hermione had searched the Chamber of Secrets thoroughly, an endeavor which took about three days. Hermione had insisted on searching Hogwarts thoroughly as well, especially the Slytherin common room. Ron and Harry had declined, thinking for sure that there would be nothing at Hogwarts or it would have been found already.
"Cheer up, Harry," Ron said wearily. "At least that's one place we can cross off the list."
"Yes, but how many more of the places on our list are we going to cross off?" Harry asked. "What if we cross off all of them without any luck? Then what will we do?"
They sat in silence for several minutes before Hermione burst in the door. She threw herself onto a chair and stared dejectedly at her hands.
"No luck, I take it," Harry said.
"None," Hermione replied irritably. "And I was so sure I'd find . . . well . . . something."
"I know what will cheer us all up," Ron said with a grin. "Let's go down to the Three Broomsticks and have a drink!"
"Ronald!" Hermione cried.
"What? It's not as if we're prefects any longer, Hermione!"
"I'm with Ron," Harry said, standing up. "Let's go."
Hogsmeade, England
A young woman walked into the Three Broomsticks and settled down at a table. The bar's owner, Madam Rosmerta, eyed the newcomer warily. There was something about the woman's supremely pale skin, something about the way her almond shaped hazel eyes flicked around the rest of the occupants of the bar, something about the way her full lips seemed to twitch as if in hunger . . . that Rosmerta didn't like. But a customer was a customer . . . and she had had stranger.
"What'll you have?" Rosmerta asked the woman.
"Firewhisky, on the rocks," the woman said with a beautiful accent that Rosmerta couldn't place. "And make it your best."
Rosmerta walked over to the bar and poured a generous amount of her best firewhisky into a glass, along with some ice. She glanced furtively at the woman, who was now drumming her slim white fingers on the table, before taking the whisky over to her.
"Here you go," Rosmerta said crisply. "Anything else?"
The woman shook her head. "None, thank you. How much?"
"Four Knuts," Rosmerta told her. The woman drew a pouch from her waist and shook out the required amount. She tossed her red-brown curls.
"Actually, there is something else," the woman said. "I would like to get a room for the night."
Rosmerta looked at her for a moment. "All right," she said, a bit hesitantly. "It's a Galleon a night, the rooms are clean and neat. Will it be just yourself?"
The woman nodded. "It will." She pulled out the bag and handed Rosmerta a Galleon. From the clinking sound in the bag, Rosmerta could tell there was a lot of money in it.
"Are you traveling somewhere?" Rosmerta ventured to ask.
The woman nodded again. "I am."
"Where are you from, if you don't mind my asking?"
"I am from Slovakia."
"Oh," Rosmerta said. The look on the woman's face told her that she had better not ask any more questions. "I'll leave you to your drink." She walked away quickly.
The woman watched Rosmerta's retreating back with a smile and then took a long gulp of her firewhisky. The door to the bar opened and three figures came in. Rosmerta seemed rather happy to see them. They took seats across from the woman and began chatting with Rosmerta as if they were old friends. The woman squinted as she scrutinized the boy with the dark hair. A grin spread across her face.
It was Harry Potter.
