Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.
Chapter 4- Draco's Detour
We remain within the confines of the Burrow's garden over the next few weeks. Spending most of our days playing two-a-side Quidditch in the Weasleys' orchard (Harry and me against Ron and Ginny) and our evenings eating triple helpings of everything Molly puts in front of us. (Well the gross amounts of food are mainly courtesy of Harry and Ron.
It would have been a happy, peaceful holiday had it not been for the stories of disappearances, odd accidents, even of deaths now appearing almost daily in the Prophet. Sometimes Bill and Arthur bring home news before it even reaches the paper. To Molly's displeasure, Harry's sixteenth birthday celebrations are marred by grisly tidings brought to the party by Remus Lupin, who is looking gaunt and grim, his brown hair streaked liberally with gray, his clothes more ragged and patched than ever.
"There have been another couple of dementor attacks," he announces, as Molly passes him a large slice of birthday cake. "And they've found Igor Karkaroff's body in a shack up north. The Dark Mark had been set over it — well, frankly, I'm surprised he stayed alive for even a year after deserting the Death Eaters; Sirius's brother, Regulus, only managed a few days as far as I can remember."
"Yes, well," says Molly, frowning, "perhaps we should talk about something diff —"
"Did you hear about Florean Fortescue, Remus?" asks Bill, who is being plied with wine by Fleur. "The man who ran —"
"— the ice-cream place in Diagon Alley?" Harry interrupts, with an unpleasant, hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach. "He used to give me free ice creams. What's happened to him?"
"Dragged off, by the look of his place."
I feel a hollow pit open up in my stomach. What could Florean have ever done to them? I can remember getting ice cream there for as long as I've been alive for.
"Why?" asks Ron, while Molly pointedly glares at Bill.
"Who knows? He must've upset them somehow. He was a good man, Florean."
"Talking of Diagon Alley," says Arthur, "looks like Ollivander's gone too."
"The wandmaker?" says Ginny, looking startled.
"That's horrible." Ariana says paling a few degrees, and I reach for her hand under the table, giving it a strong squeeze to try and reassure her.
"That's the one. Shop's empty. No sign of a struggle. No one knows whether he left voluntarily or was kidnapped."
"But wands — what'll people do for wands?" I ask suddenly.
"They'll make do with other makers," says Lupin. "But Ollivander was the best, and if the other side have got him it's not so good for us."
The day after this rather gloomy birthday tea, our letters and booklists arrive from Hogwarts. Harry's includes a surprise: He has been made Quidditch Captain. That makes me laugh out loud with joy.
"Well looks like I'm going to have to start calling you Captain Boy Wonder now." I say with a happy grin. Harry gives me a bewildered, yet happy look back.
"That gives you equal status with prefects!" cries Hermione happily. "You can use our special bathroom now and everything!"
"Wow, I remember when Charlie wore one of these," says Ron, examining the badge with glee. "Harry, this is so cool, you're my Captain — if you let me back on the team, I suppose, ha ha. . . ."
"Well, I don't suppose we can put off a trip to Diagon Alley much longer now you've got these," sighs Molly, looking down Ron, Luka's, and my booklist. "We'll go on Saturday as long as your father doesn't have to go into work again. I'm not going there without him."
"Mum, d'you honestly think You-Know-Who's going to be hiding behind a bookshelf in Flourish and Blotts?" sniggers Ron.
"Fortescue and Ollivander went on holiday, did they?" says Molly, firing up at once. "If you think security's a laughing matter you can stay behind and I'll get your things myself —"
"No, I wanna come, I want to see Fred and George's shop!" says Ron hastily.
"Then you just buck up your ideas, young man, before I decide you're too immature to come with us!" says Molly angrily, snatching up her clock, all eleven hands of which are still pointing at "mortal peril," and balancing it on top of a pile of just-laundered towels. "And that goes for returning to Hogwarts as well!"
Ron turns to stare incredulously at Harry and me as she hoists the laundry basket and the teetering clock into her arms and storms out of the room.
"Blimey . . . you can't even make a joke round here anymore. . . ."
"You have to pick the right thing to joke about." I say shaking my head at Ron's lack of tact when it comes to his mum.
But Ron is careful not to be flippant about Voldemort over the next few days. Saturday dawns without any more outbursts from Molly, though she seems very tense at breakfast. Bill, who will be staying at home with Fleur (much to Hermione and Ginny's pleasure), passes a full moneybags across the table to Harry.
"Where's mine?" demands Ron at once, his eyes wide.
"That's already Harry's, idiot," says Bill. "I got it out of your vault for you, Harry, because it's taking about five hours for the public to get to their gold at the moment, the goblins have tightened security so much. Two days ago Arkie Philpott had a Probity Probe stuck up his . . . Well, trust me, this way's easier."
"That has to be unhygienic." I say with a disgusted look on my face, dropping my piece of toast that I had been eating. Ariana runs a soothing hand along my back.
"Thanks, Bill," says Harry, pocketing his gold.
"'E is always so thoughtful," purrs Fleur adoringly, stroking Bill's nose. Ginny mimes vomiting into her cereal behind Fleur. Harry chokes over his cornflakes, having Ron thump him on the back. I cough loudly trying to cover up the snort that broke free, while Hermione and Ariana have big grins on their faces. Luka just rolls his eyes at the table as a whole acting like he's better than everyone else.
It is an overcast, murky day. One of the special Ministry of Magic cars, in which we have ridden once before, is waiting for us in the front yard when we emerge from the house, pulling on our cloaks.
"It's good Dad can get us these again," says Ron appreciatively, stretching luxuriously as the car moves smoothly away from the Burrow, Bill and Fleur waving from the kitchen window. He, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Luka, Ariana, and I are all sitting in roomy comfort in the wide backseat.
"Don't get used to it, it's only because of Harry," says Arthur over his shoulder. He and Molly are in front with the Ministry driver; the front passenger seat has obligingly stretched into what resembled a two-seater sofa. "He's been given top-grade security status. And we'll be joining up with additional security at the Leaky Cauldron too."
"Well you've certainly gone up in the world over the last few months Boy Wonder." I say rolling my eyes.
"At least this is better than being treated like a leper Harry." Ariana adds trying to make Harry feel better, not worse.
"Still I'd take a fancy care any day from someone who wants to suck up." Ron says appreciatively.
"Of course you would." Luka and Ginny grumble at the same time. Okay that was a little too freaky for me to appreciate.
"Here you are, then," says the driver, a surprisingly short while later, speaking for the first time as he slows in Charing Cross Road and stops outside the Leaky Cauldron. "I'm to wait for you, any idea how long you'll be?"
"A couple of hours, I expect," says Arthur. "Ah, good, he's here!"
I look out the window to see what has him so excited. There are no Aurors waiting outside the inn, but instead the gigantic, black-bearded form of Rubeus Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, wearing a long beaverskin coat, beaming at the sight of Harry's face and oblivious to the startled stares of passing Muggles. Well this has certainly gotten interesting.
"Harry!" he booms, sweeping Harry into a bone-crushing hug the moment Harry steps out of the car. "Buckbeak — Witherwings, I mean — yeh should see him, Harry, he's so happy ter be back in the open air —"
"Glad he's pleased," says Harry, grinning as he massages his ribs. "We didn't know 'security' meant you!"
Hagrid greets the rest of us with similar treatment. He scoops Ariana and I up into a large hug together and chuckles, "I 'new yer two 'ere good together."
He releases us and turns back to the rest of the bemused group as the pair of us try and regain function in our lungs.
"I know, jus' like old times, innit? See, the Ministry wanted ter send a bunch o' Aurors, but Dumbledore said I'd do," says Hagrid proudly, throwing out his chest and tucking his thumbs into his pockets. "Let's get goin' then — after yeh, Molly, Arthur —"
The Leaky Cauldron is, for the first time in my memory, completely empty. Only Tom the landlord, wizened and toothless, remains of the old crowd. He looks up hopefully as we enter, but before he can speak, Hagrid says importantly, "Jus' passin' through today, Tom, sure yeh understand, Hogwarts business, yeh know."
Tom nods gloomily and returns to wiping glasses; Harry, Hermione, Hagrid, and the rest of us walk through the bar and out into the chilly little courtyard at the back where the dustbins stood. Hagrid raises his pink umbrella and raps a certain brick in the wall, which opens at once to form an archway onto a winding cobbled street. We step through the entrance and pause, looking around.
"This is unreal." I breathe.
"You can say that again." Ginny says in horrified agreement.
Diagon Alley has changed. The colorful, glittering window displays of spellbooks, potion ingredients, and cauldrons are lost to view, hidden behind the large Ministry of Magic posters that have been pasted over them. Most of these somber purple posters carry blown-up versions of the security advice on the Ministry pamphlets that have been sent out over the summer, but others bear moving black-and-white photographs of Death Eaters known to be on the loose. Bellatrix Black is sneering from the front of the nearest apothecary with Augustus right nest to her. A few windows are boarded up, including those of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. On the other hand, a number of shabby-looking stalls have sprang up along the street. The nearest one, which has been erected outside Flourish and Blotts, under a striped, stained awning, has a cardboard sign pinned to its front:
AMULETS
Effective Against Werewolves, Dementors, and Inferi
A seedy-looking little wizard is rattling armfuls of silver symbols on chains at passersby.
"One for your little girl, madam?" he calls at Molly as we pass, leering at Ginny. "Protect her pretty neck?"
I wrap my arm around my sister and pull her closer to the group.
"If I were on duty . . ." says Arthur, glaring angrily at the amulet seller.
"Yes, but don't go arresting anyone now, dear, we're in a hurry," says Molly, nervously consulting a list. "I think we'd better do Madam Malkin's first, Hermione wants new dress robes, and Ron's showing much too much ankle in his school robes, the Jamie has gotten so tall, and you must need new ones too, Harry, you've grown so much — come on, everyone —"
"Molly, it doesn't make sense for all of us to go to Madam Malkin's," says Arthur. "Why don't those four go with Hagrid, and we can go to Flourish and Blotts and get everyone's schoolbooks?"
"I don't know," says Molly anxiously, clearly torn between a desire to finish the shopping quickly and the wish to stick together in a pack. "Hagrid, do you think — ?"
"Don' fret, they'll be fine with me, Molly," says Hagrid soothingly, waving an airy hand the size of a dustbin lid. Molly does not look entirely convinced, but allows the separation, scurrying off toward Flourish and Blotts with her husband, Luka, Ariana, and Ginny while Harry, Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, and I set off for Madam Malkin's.
"Robe buying what I always wanted to do. Maybe I should consider going into a career as a seamstress." I say with enough sarcasm to let my friends know that I'm kidding.
I notice that many of the people who pass us have the same harried, anxious look as Molly, and that nobody is stopping to talk anymore; the shoppers stay together in their own tightly knit groups, moving intently about their business. Nobody seems to be shopping alone.
"Migh' be a bit of a squeeze in there with all of us," says Hagrid, stopping outside Madam Malkin's and bending down to peer through the window. "I'll stand guard outside, all right?"
So Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I enter the little shop together. It appears, at first glance, to be empty, but no sooner have the door swung shut behind us than we hear a familiar voice issuing from behind a rack of dress robes in spangled green and blue.
". . . not a child, in case you haven't noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone."
There is a clucking noise and a voice I recognize as that of Madam Malkin, the owner, says, "Now, dear, your mother's quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own anymore, it's nothing to do with being a child —"
"Watch where you're sticking that pin, will you!"
A teenage boy with a pale, pointed face and white-blond hair appears from behind the rack, wearing a handsome set of dark green robes that glitter with pins around the hem and the edges of the sleeves. He strides to the mirror and examines himself; it is a few moments before he notices us reflected over his shoulder. His light gray eyes narrow.
"If you're wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in," says Draco Malfoy.
"Ah, and this reminds me why I will never go into the service industry. You can't be selective with your clientele— even the ones who absolutely disgust you." I retort slowly mimicking his lazy drawl. Two can play the disinterested pureblood Malfoy.
"I don't think there's any need for language like that!" says Madam Malkin, scurrying out from behind the clothes rack holding a tape measure and a wand. "And I don't want wands drawn in my shop either!" she adds hastily, for a glance toward the door has shown her Harry and Ron both standing there with their wands out and pointing at Malfoy. Hermione, who is standing slightly behind them, whispers, "No, don't, honestly, it's not worth it. . . ."
"Yeah, like you'd dare do magic out of school," sneers Malfoy. "Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers."
"Well it obviously wasn't you Malfoy for you don't have the guts to do anything other than hide behind your goons, who are nowhere in sight." I say again, and watch in pleasure as he flinches.
"That's quite enough!" says Madam Malkin sharply, looking over her shoulder for support. "Madam — please —"
Narcissa Malfoy strolls out from behind the clothes rack.
"Put those away," she says coldly to Harry and Ron. "If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do."
"Really?" says Harry, taking a step forward and gazing into the smoothly arrogant face that, for all its pallor, still resembles her sister's. He is as tall as she is now. "Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?"
Madam Malkin squeals and clutches at her heart.
"Really, you shouldn't accuse — dangerous thing to say — wands away, please!"
But Harry does not lower his wand. Narcissa Malfoy smiles unpleasantly.
"I see that being Dumbledore's favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you."
Harry looks mockingly all around the shop. "Wow . . . look at that . . . he's not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!"
Malfoy makes an angry movement towards Harry, but stumbles over his overlong robe. Ron laughs loudly. I smirk lightly, but this is no place for jokes now.
"Don't you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!" Malfoy snarls.
"It's all right, Draco," says Narcissa, restraining him with her thin white fingers upon his shoulder. "I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius."
Harry raises his wand higher.
"Harry, no!" moans Hermione, grabbing his arm and attempting to push it down by his side. "Think. . . . You mustn't. . . . You'll be in such trouble. . . ."
"Yeah Harry. They aren't worth it. You should save your magic for someone who really deserves it, not someone blinded by ignorance and stupidity." I tell him adding my hand to Hermione's on his arm.
Madam Malkin dithers for a moment on the spot, then seems to decide to act as though nothing is happening in the hope that it won't. She bends toward Malfoy, who is still glaring at Harry.
"I think this left sleeve could come up a little bit more, dear, let me just —"
"Ouch!" bellows Malfoy, slapping her hand away. "Watch where you're putting your pins, woman! Mother — I don't think I want these anymore —"
"She didn't even touch you baby." I mumble.
He pulls the robes over his head and throws them onto the floor at Madam Malkin's feet.
"You're right, Draco," says Narcissa, with a contemptuous glance at Hermione, "now I know the kind of scum that shops here. . . . We'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's."
"I think you're mistaken on who's truly the scum here." I say softly, but not without any anger behind my voice.
"You're not one to talk Jamie Pendragon, your family name has finally been dragged down to rock bottom ever since you aligned yourselves with the Weasleys. It was bad enough you stayed with that Auror, but this is a downright disgrace to your once proud name." Narcissa hisses at me.
My anger swells, and I can recognize the surge of power within me. It wants out— it wants to teach her a lesson in manners.
"They're worth plenty more than you." I grind out from gritted teeth.
And with that, the pair of them stride out of the shop, Malfoy taking care to bang as hard as he can into Ron on the way out.
"Well, really!" says Madam Malkin, snatching up the fallen robes and moving the tip of her wand over them like a vacuum cleaner, so that it removes all the dust.
She is distracted all through the fitting of Ron's, Harry's, and my new robes, tries to sell Hermione wizard's dress robes instead of witch's, and when she finally bows us out of the shop it is with an air of being glad to see the back of us. Personally I'm glad to be out as well since there is still a light blue glow coming from the palms of my hands, and nothing I've been trying has gotten them to go away.
"Got ev'rything?" asks Hagrid brightly when we reappear at his side.
"Just about," says Harry. "Did you see the Malfoys?"
"Yeah," says Hagrid, unconcerned. "Bu' they wouldn' dare make trouble in the middle o' Diagon Alley, Harry. Don' worry abou' them."
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I exchange looks, but before we can disabuse Hagrid of this comfortable notion, Arthur, Molly, Luka, Ginny, and Ariana appear, all clutching heavy packages of books.
"Everyone all right?" says Molly. "Got your robes? Right then, we can pop in at the Apothecary and Eeylops on the way to Fred and George's — stick close, now. . . ."
Neither Harry, Ron, or I bought any ingredients at the Apothecary, seeing that we are no longer studying Potions, but the three of us bought large boxes of owl nuts for Hedwig, Pigwidgeon, and Dionysus at Eeylops Owl Emporium. Then, with Molly checking her watch every minute or so, we head farther along the street in search of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, the joke shop run by Fred and George.
I couldn't help but start to feel excited, even though there is still an undercurrent of stressed anger running under my skin. Ariana seems to take notice though, for suddenly her free hand is at the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine, and sending any ill thoughts away.
"We really haven't got too long," Molly says. "So we'll just have a quick look around and then back to the car. We must be close, that's number ninety-two . . . ninety-four . . ."
"Whoa," says Ron, stopping in his tracks. I couldn't have put it any better myself if I actually had the ability to make coherent sentences right now.
Set against the dull, poster-muffled shop fronts around us, Fred and George's windows hit the eye like a firework display. Casual passersby are looking back over their shoulders at the windows, and a few rather stunned-looking people have actually come to a halt, transfixed. The left-hand window is dazzlingly full of an assortment of goods that revolve, pop, flash, bounce, and shriek; my eyes begin to water just looking at it. The right-hand window is covered with a gigantic poster, purple like those of the Ministry, but emblazoned with flashing yellow letters:
WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT YOU-KNOW-WHO?
YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT U-NO-POO —
THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION THAT'S GRIPPING THE NATION!
I couldn't help but double over with laughter at the mere sight of the store. I hear a weak sort of moan beside me and look around to see Molly gazing, dumbfounded, at the poster. Her lips move silently, mouthing the name "U-No-Poo."
"They'll be murdered in their beds!" she whispers.
"No they won't!" says Ron, who, like the rest of us kids (sans Hermione), is laughing. "This is brilliant!"
And Ron and Harry lead the way into the shop. It is packed with customers; I cannot get near the shelves. I stare around, looking up at the boxes piled to the ceiling: Here are the Skiving Snackboxes that the twins perfected during their last, unfinished year at Hogwarts; I notice that the Nosebleed Nougat is most popular, with only one battered box left on the shelf.
There are bins full of trick wands, the cheapest merely turning into rubber chickens or pairs of briefs when waved, the most expensive beating the unwary user around the head and neck, and boxes of quills, which come in Self-Inking, Spell-Checking, and Smart-Answer varieties. A space clears in the crowd, and I push my way towards the counter, where a gaggle of delighted ten-year-olds are watching a tiny little wooden man slowly ascending the steps to a real set of gallows, both perched on a box that read: REUSABLE HANGMAN — SPELL IT OR HE'LL SWING!
"'Patented Daydream Charms . . .'"
Hermione has managed to squeeze through to a large display near the counter and was reading the information on the back of a box bearing a highly colored picture of a handsome youth and a swooning girl who are standing on the deck of a pirate ship.
"I don't see the appeal." I mutter, and Ariana snickers from where she popped up beside me.
"That's because there isn't a certain hot female pirate captain with her arms around the girl." She breathes into my ear, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand up, and a flush to adorn my cheeks.
"Bloody hell Ari, are you trying to get us kicked out of my brothers' shop?" I whisper back part mortified, part amused.
"'One simple incantation and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic, thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable (side effects include vacant expression and minor drooling). Not for sale to under-sixteens.' You know," says Hermione, looking up at Harry, "that really is extraordinary magic!"
"For that, Hermione," says a voice behind us, "you can have one for free."
A beaming Fred stands before us, wearing a set of magenta robes that clashes magnificently with his flaming hair.
"How are you, Harry?" They shake hands. "And what's happened to your eye, Hermione?"
"Your punching telescope," she says ruefully.
"Gave us all quite a jump." I grin, only to have her slap my arm. I pout at Ariana, but she only rolls her eyes at me with a 'you deserved that' look on her face.
"Oh blimey, I forgot about those," says Fred. "Here —"
He pulls a tub out of his pocket and hands it to her; she unscrews it gingerly to reveal a thick yellow paste.
"Just dab it on, that bruise'll be gone within the hour," says Fred. "We had to find a decent bruise remover. We're testing most of our products on ourselves."
Hermione looks nervous. "It is safe, isn't it?" she asks.
"'Course it is," says Fred bracingly. Harry wandered off with Fred while the rest of us stayed around looking at the various items that were in the shop. Ariana stuck by my side commenting on all the jokes and how she believed that I had some part of coming up with them. I didn't have the heart to tell her the actual number of items that they stock that I had helped design.
Fred eventually came back with Harry after Ariana and I had come back around to the daydream potions where Hermione and Ginny still sat. They seemed to be a little too stuck on them for my taste.
"Haven't you girls found our special WonderWitch products yet?" asks Fred. "Follow me, ladies. . . ."
Near the window is an array of violently pink products around which a cluster of excited girls is giggling enthusiastically. Hermione, Ginny, Ariana, and I hang back, looking wary.
"There you go," says Fred proudly. "Best range of love potions you'll find anywhere."
Ginny raises an eyebrow skeptically. "Do they work?" she asks.
"Certainly they work, for up to twenty-four hours at a time depending on the weight of the boy in question —"
"— and the attractiveness of the girl," says George, appearing suddenly at our side. "But we're not selling them to our sisters," he adds, becoming suddenly stern, "not when one has a girlfriend and the other's already got about five boys on the go from what we've —"
"Whatever you've heard from Ron is a big fat lie," says Ginny calmly, leaning forward to take a small pink pot off the shelf. "What's this?"
"Guaranteed ten-second pimple vanisher," says Fred. "Excellent on everything from boils to blackheads, but don't change the subject. Are you or are you not currently going out with a boy called Dean Thomas?"
"Yes, I am," says Ginny. "And last time I looked, he was definitely one boy, not five. What are those?"
She is pointing at a number of round balls of fluff in shades of pink and purple, all rolling around the bottom of a cage and emitting high-pitched squeaks.
"Pygmy Puffs," says George. "Miniature puffskeins, we can't breed them fast enough. So what about Michael Corner?"
"I dumped him, he was a bad loser," says Ginny, putting a finger through the bars of the cage and watching the Pygmy Puffs crowd around it. "They're really cute!"
"They're too pink." I say disdainfully.
"Of course you'd say that Jamie." Ginny snarks back, and I roll my eyes at her.
"They're fairly cuddly, yes," concedes Fred. "But you're moving through boyfriends a bit fast, aren't you?"
Ginny turns to look at him, her hands on her hips. There is such a Molly-ish glare on her face that I'm surprised Fred doesn't recoil. I hope that I never learn to master that particular face.
"It's none of your business. And I'll thank you," she adds angrily to Ron, who has just appeared at George's elbow, laden with merchandise, "not to tell tales about me to these two!"
"That's three Galleons, nine Sickles, and a Knut," says Fred, examining the many boxes in Ron's arms. "Cough up."
"I'm your brother!"
"And that's our stuff you're nicking. Three Galleons, nine Sickles. I'll knock off the Knut."
"But I haven't got three Galleons, nine Sickles!"
"You'd better put it back then, and mind you put it on the right shelves."
Ron drops several boxes, swears, and makes a rude hand gesture at Fred that is unfortunately spotted by Molly, who has chosen that moment to appear.
"If I see you do that again I'll jinx your fingers together," she says sharply. Another note to add in my exceedingly long list of things to never be caught doing by the woman.
"Mum, can I have a Pygmy Puff?" says Ginny at once.
"A what?" says Molly warily.
"Please if you must, make it a purple one." I groan.
"Look, they're so sweet. . . ." Ginny continues completely ignoring me.
Molly moves aside to look at the Pygmy Puffs, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I momentarily have an unimpeded view out of the window. Draco Malfoy is hurrying up the street alone. As he passes Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he glances over his shoulder. Seconds later, he moves beyond the scope of the window and we lose sight of him.
"Wonder where his mummy is?" says Harry, frowning.
"Don't particularly care." I mumble.
"Given her the slip by the looks of it," says Ron.
"Why, though?" says Hermione.
"Didn't you hear, Malfoy wanted to try on his big boy pants today." I snicker rolling my eyes.
Harry looks around. Molly and Ginny are bending over the Pygmy Puffs Ariana having drifted over to them. Arthur is delightedly examining a pack of Muggle marked playing cards with Luka. Fred and George are both helping customers. On the other side of the glass, Hagrid is standing with his back to us, looking up and down the street.
"Get under here, quick," says Harry, pulling his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag.
"Oh — I don't know, Harry," says Hermione, looking uncertainly toward Molly.
"Come on!" says Ron.
She hesitates for a second longer, then ducks under the Cloak with Harry and Ron. Nobody notices us vanish; they are all too interested in Fred and George's products. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I squeeze our way out of the door as quickly as we can, but by the time we gain the street, Malfoy has disappeared just as successfully as we have.
"He was going in that direction," murmurs Harry as quietly as possible, so that the humming Hagrid will not hear us. "C'mon."
We scurry along, peering left and right, through shop windows and doors, until Hermione points ahead.
"That's him, isn't it?" she whispers. "Turning left?"
"Couldn't miss that gelled head anywhere." I huff.
"Big surprise," whispers Ron.
For Malfoy has glanced around, then slides into Knockturn Alley and out of sight.
"Quick, or we'll lose him," says Harry, speeding up.
"Our feet'll be seen!" says Hermione anxiously, as the Cloak flaps a little around our ankles; it is much more difficult hiding all three of us under the Cloak nowadays.
"We're not exactly eleven anymore." I comment.
"It doesn't matter," says Harry impatiently. "Just hurry!"
But Knockturn Alley, the side street devoted to the Dark Arts, looks completely deserted. We peer into windows as we pass, but none of the shops seem to have any customers at all. I suppose it is a bit of a giveaway in these dangerous and suspicious times to buy Dark artifacts — or at least, to be seen buying them.
Hermione gives our arms a hard pinch.
"Ouch!"
"Shh! Look! He's in there!" she breathes in Harry's (and my) ear.
They had drawn level with Borgin and Burkes, which sells a wide variety of sinister objects. There in the midst of the cases full of skulls and old bottles stands Draco Malfoy with his back to us. Judging by the movements of Malfoy's hands, he is talking animatedly. The proprietor of the shop, Mr. Borgin, an oily-haired, stooping man, stands facing Malfoy. He is wearing a curious expression of mingled resentment and fear.
"If only we could hear what they're saying!" says Hermione.
"We can!" says Ron excitedly. "Hang on — damn —"
He dropped a couple more of the boxes he is still clutching as he fumbles with the largest.
"Extendable Ears, look!"
"I'm not saving you when they come to kill you for nicking their goods." I warn him.
"Fantastic!" says Hermione, as Ron unravels the long, flesh-colored strings and begins to feed them towards the bottom of the door. "Oh, I hope the door isn't Imperturbable —"
"No!" says Ron gleefully. "Listen!"
We put our heads together and listen intently to the ends of the strings, through which Malfoy's voice can be heard loud and clear, as though a radio has been turned on.
". . . you know how to fix it?"
"Possibly," says Borgin, in a tone that suggests he is unwilling to commit himself. "I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"
"I can't," says Malfoy. "It's got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it."
I see Borgin lick his lips nervously.
"Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."
"No?" says Malfoy, and I know, just by his tone, that Malfoy is sneering. "Perhaps this will make you more confident."
He moves toward Borgin and is blocked from view by the cabinet. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I shuffle sideways to try and keep him in sight, but all we can see is Borgin, looking very frightened.
"Tell anyone," says Malfoy, "and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He's a family friend. He'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention."
"There will be no need for —"
"I'll decide that," says Malfoy. "Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep that one safe, I'll need it."
"Perhaps you'd like to take it now?"
"No, of course I wouldn't, you stupid little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don't sell it."
"Of course not . . . sir."
Borgin makes a very deep bow, and I have to contain my scoff of distain.
"Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?"
"Naturally, naturally," murmurs Borgin, bowing again.
Next moment, the bell over the door tinkles loudly as Malfoy stalks out of the shop looking very pleased with himself. He passes so close to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I that we feel the Cloak flutter around our knees again. Inside the shop, Borgin remains frozen; his unctuous smile has vanished; he looks worried.
"What was that about?" whispers Ron, reeling in the Extendable Ears.
"Whatever it is I can guarantee you that it wasn't good." I say my stomach starting to tighten with dread.
"Dunno," says Harry, thinking hard. "He wants something mended . . . and he wants to reserve something in there. . . . Could you see what he pointed at when he said 'that one'?"
"No, he was behind that cabinet —"
"You three stay here," whispers Hermione.
"What are you — ?"
But Hermione has already ducked out from under the Cloak. She checks her hair in the reflection in the glass, then marches into the shop, setting the bell tinkling again. Ron hastily feeds the Extendable Ears back under the door and passes one of the strings to Harry and me.
"Hello, horrible morning, isn't it?" Hermione says brightly to Borgin, who does not answer, but casts her a suspicious look. Humming cheerily, Hermione strolls through the jumble of objects on display.
"Is this necklace for sale?" she asks, pausing beside a glass-fronted case.
"If you've got one and a half thousand Galleons," says Mr. Borgin coldly.
"Oh — er — no, I haven't got quite that much," says Hermione, walking on. "And . . . what about this lovely — um — skull?"
"Sixteen Galleons."
"So it's for sale, then? It isn't being . . . kept for anyone?"
Mr. Borgin squints at her.
"Get out of there Mione." I hiss, not liking this at all. I will kill her if she gets out of there alive.
"The thing is, that — er — boy who was in here just now, Draco Malfoy, well, he's a friend of mine, and I want to get him a birthday present, but if he's already reserved anything, I obviously don't want to get him the same thing, so . . . um . . ."
It is a pretty lame story in my opinion, and apparently Borgin thinks so too.
"Out," he says sharply. "Get out!"
Hermione does not wait to be asked twice, but hurries to the door with Borgin at her heels. As the bell tinkles again, Borgin slams the door behind her and puts up the CLOSED sign.
"Ah well," says Ron, throwing the Cloak back over Hermione. "Worth a try, but you were a bit obvious —"
"Well, next time you can show me how it's done, Master of Mystery!" she snaps.
"There won't be a next time if I have anything to say about it. I'm likely to be killed by Molly and Ariana for wandering off as it is." I moan, not looking forward to returning to the possibility of maybe being caught.
Ron and Hermione bicker all the way back to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, where we are forced to stop so that we can dodge undetected around a very anxious-looking Molly and Hagrid, who has clearly noticed our absence. Once in the shop, Harry whips off the Invisibility Cloak, hides it in his bag, and joins in with the rest of us when we insist, in answer to Molly's accusations, that we have been in the back room all along, and that she must not have looked properly.
It only took one look at the murderous look on my girlfriend's face to know that she didn't buy a single word of the story. I am totally and completely screwed. It was nice knowing you world.
