CHAPTER III
Curiosity Kills Other Things, Too

"Will you hurry up?"

"Move!"

"Ron, get your bony arse out of the way—"

"Shhh!"

"I still don't see why we can't just leave her here; she's just going to get in the way."

"She said she'll rat us out if we don't—she'll do it, too."

The three Weasley boys tried their best to tiptoe down the stairs at The Burrow, avoiding creaky floorboards and speaking quietly so as not to wake their parents. They all crammed themselves on the small landing just outside Ginny's room and Fred pressed his ear to the door carefully. He knocked softly.

"Gin?"

The door flew open immediately. Fred wheeled backward and knocked into Ron, who had to grab hold of the rickety banister to keep from slipping off the landing and tumbling down the stairs. Catlike, Ginny stepped out and closed the door silently behind her.

"I'm not going to get in the way," she hissed insistently. "And if you idiots keep making this much of a ruckus you'll wake Mum and Dad."

Ron grumbled a response and the four of them very quietly made their way downstairs and out the back door into the yard. The sun hadn't begun to rise yet and the sky was a cloudy, inky color; the Weasley children looked like shadows as they fled across the weedy lawn and into the trees on the far edge of the property. Occasionally someone would shoot a furtive glance over their shoulder to make sure no lights had come on in the house. Once they reached the brush and bracken, George dropped to his knees and began feeling around at the base of a large, knotty hickory tree.

"What are you doing?" Ginny asked, watching her brother as if he were an idiot.

"Portkey," George mumbled, digging through the grass. "Aha!" He sat back on his heels and grinned triumphantly. "Found it." He parted the grass to reveal a tiny brown mushroom tucked between the bases of two roots. It was hardly two inches tall, and it was a wonder he found it in the first place.

"We're not seriously using a Portkey?" Ginny said disapprovingly. "D'you have any idea how much trouble we could get in for using an unauthorized one? We could get fined, Dad could get in trouble at work—!"

"Right, right, and we'll all end up in Azkaban or be exiled from the Wizarding world. We get it."

"Relax," Fred chimed in. "Dad's had this one authorized for years now. I don't think he thinks we know about it, now I think about it," he frowned thoughtfully. "What do you think, George?"

"I think you think you're cleverer than everyone else thinks," George snorted.

"I think you're both idiots," Ginny said with a roll of her eyes. "Can we get on with it? It's chilly out here."

"Yeah yeah, don't get your panties in a bunch," George muttered. "Alright everyone, gather round." His siblings complied silently, aside from a disbelieving huff from his sister. "Fingers on in three... two... one."

Simultaneously they all touched the tiny mushroom and instantly felt a jolt behind their stomachs. Ron clapped a hand over his mouth, shutting his eyes tight to block out the scene before him as his surroundings shifted back and forth in a dizzying fashion.

"Where does this take us, anyway?" Ginny asked as her vision started to swirl.

Fred shrugged. "Dunno. Somewhere in Diagon Alley, we hope."

"You hope?!"

Fred's reply was lost in the rushing roar in their ears as the trees began to spin violently. Ginny too squeezed her eyes shut and after a moment heard a cheerful pop! She cautiously opened one eye and looked around. Books upon books were stacked high on tables, chairs, and overflowing from shelves. Piles of parchment and displays of ink wells sat near the window, and the smell of ink and dust caught their noses. Fred was right: they had been transported to Diagon Alley, and by the looks of it, they were in Flourish and Blotts.

"Well, that was lucky, wasn't it?" Fred murmured cheerily.

Ginny shot him a glare that could have frozen most of England over and punched his arm roughly. In turn he pinched her side and danced away from her before she could retaliate. They exited the shop as quietly as they could and made their way through the cobblestoned street toward Knockturn Alley, trying to look the part of inconspicuous early-morning shoppers. They looked about carefully before slipping down the alleyway, immediately feeling the change in the air. The sun, which had just begun to rise, didn't seem to reach this far. The air in Diagon Alley had been crisp, a bit warm, and fresh; here, however, it was cold and clammy, and had an odor of must about it. Everything felt heavy and stagnant, as if people never came this way.

"Sheesh, no wonder Mum never let us come down here," Ron breathed. "You can feel the... evil, I suppose."

George shook his head. "Nah, this isn't evil," he said. "This is just rotten, putrid personality. I'd be willing to bet every customer who comes here was once a Slytherin." He glanced behind him; for some reason he felt like someone was watching him, even though there was no one in the street and no shops were open.

"Come on, let's keep moving," Ron urged. "This place creeps me out."

George nudged Fred with a grin. "See, told you he'd be scared."

"I'm not scared!" Ron insisted. "Just... unnerved."

"Scared. S'okay Ronnie, you can admit it," Fred taunted.

Ron grabbed him and put him in a headlock, grinding his knuckles into his brother's skull.

"Arrgh—get off me!" Fred growled, trying to throw Ron off of him.

"Would you two knock it off?" Ginny hissed. "Someone's going to hear us!" She and George pulled the two apart and dragged them down the alley, wands out just in case, looking for Borgin's shop.

It didn't take them long to find it. It was the only shop that looked as though it had been the victim of some sort of natural disaster. The large windows had been shattered and shards of glass lay everywhere, both inside the shop and out. Black and sooty scorch marks marred the once green brick façade of the building and even blemished the faces of the shops on either side. The sign over the door that should have read 'Borgin and Burkes, Purveyors of Fine Magical Artifacts' had been blown off its hinges and now lay on the other side of the alley. George stepped forward cautiously and tapped the doorframe with his wand to check for jinxes or protection spells. When nothing happened, he shrugged and muttered "alohomora." The door swung open with a creak and the four of them stepped in, cautiously peeking around and gripping their wands tightly.

The exterior of the building didn't begin to prepare them for what was inside. The wooden counter near the window was completely blown apart; the wall behind the counter, in addition to being scorched, was spattered with a good amount of blood and human remains. Ginny covered her mouth with a gasp and looked away; she wasn't necessarily squeamish, but she didn't want to see the inner parts of a person, either.

"Jeez," Fred breathed. "And here I was, thinking Death Eaters wanted to do a clean job of killing someone."

"Why would they do something like that?" Ginny whispered, horrified. She still couldn't bring herself to look at the sight.

"A warning, maybe?" Ron guessed.

"They were making a point," George said solemnly. "The Killing Curse is clean... dignified, almost. They wanted people to see what they can do."

They stood there, staring at the gruesome destruction before them, until they heard a shout from the back of the shop.

"Check out some of this stuff!" Ginny called. The boys turned to see her holding up a shriveled hand, clenched in a claw-like gesture.

"Ginny, put that down! You don't know what it can do!"

Nonplussed, Ginny placed the mummified hand back on its pedestal and continued to explore the back of the shop, where many of the artifacts had been moved to keep them out of the way. She had noticed that there didn't seem to be a single item that had been damaged or destroyed in the attack on the shop; many of them were dusty or covered in soot from the blast, but in essentiality everything was intact.

Ron made his way over to where his sister stood, now examining a ring with a ruby the size of his thumbnail. He pulled up behind her and read the tag on the ring's display: "Ring of Vulpecula," he recited, "circa four hundreds... passed down through the Malfoy family."

"Well, that's reason enough not to touch it, isn't it?" George quipped. "Whoever wears it automatically gets a stick up their butt and a bad case of the 'we're-better-than you's." He bent down and poked at a small wrought-iron cage. "The Soul-Keeper," he read from its display card. "Now that's just off."

"Hey, I wonder what's wrong with this?" Fred called, waving around a small red candle. "What evil can somebody do with a hunk of wax?"

Ginny frowned. "What's the card say?"

"There isn't one."

Fred, still holding the candle, hopped over a long, narrow bench on display and joined his siblings. Ginny reached out to touch a glittering diamond necklace with an awestruck "ooh!" and Ron slapped her hand away.

"Honestly, what do people do with these things?" Ron asked, pulling Ginny away from the necklace again; she kept trying to touch it when she thought no one was looking. "Who in the world needs a soul cage?"

Fred felt the candle sliding around in his hand and glanced down at it, wondering for a second if it was alive. Instead he saw red trails of thick liquid oozing from between his fingers, running down the back of his hand. "Oh, that's disgusting!" he cried. "It's—ugh—it's BLOOD!" He threw the candle on a nearby table as if it had burned him and wiped his stained hands on his trousers, his face twisted in revulsion.

"Eww," George moaned. "Whose blood is it?"

"I don't even want to know," Fred replied, scrubbing his hand with a nearby scarf, which immediately wrapped around his wrist and tried to cut off his blood flow. He yelled and yanked it off him, throwing it to the floor where it lay innocently in the dusty sunlight.

"Let's get out of here," Ron muttered. "I've had enough of the Dark Arts for one morning—oh, for the love of Merlin, Gin!" He ripped the diamond necklace out of Ginny's hands and tossed it in the corner of the room with a clatter.

Ginny blinked several times and shook her head, staring up at Ron. "What the hell's the matter with that thing?" she asked, somewhat hysterically. "I swear it was talking to me in my head—or something, right? Or did you guys hear it too...?"

George stared at her with raised eyebrows. "Right, we're leaving," he announced, grabbing her hand. He marched her toward the door and out into the shadowy alleyway. Ron followed with Fred close behind, but not before he reached back and pocketed the strange red candle.


Three weeks later the Weasley family plus Harry was gathered outside Florean Fortescue's, comparing textbooks and conversing happily about the upcoming school term. Fred and George had gone to get Harry the night after the newspaper report after receiving a letter with Dumbledore's consent about bringing him to the Burrow. The Dursleys had been frightened out of their wits to see two boys in (what looked like to them) tattered blue bathrobes appear in the middle of their living room during dinner, but they were happy enough to relinquish Harry if it meant not having to see him for another ten months after that.

"Checkmate."

"You bastard."

Ron and George were currently engaged in a heated battle of Wizard chess. They had had grand plans to go to Zonko's for "supplies," but Fred had been acting increasingly lethargic and withdrawn over the past few weeks, and had said he didn't feel up to going. Even as they sat in the brilliant summer sunshine he rested his head on his arms and shielded his eyes in the crook of his elbow, looking pallid and gaunt as if he'd been ill.

"So Harry, have you given any thought to what you'd like to do after school?" Arthur asked curiously. "This year you get to start taking advanced classes in the fields you prefer, correct?"

Harry nodded, fighting to swallow a large bite of his ice cream. "Auror" was all he was able to mumble, dribbling a bit of ice cream down his chin.

Ginny snorted and handed him a napkin. "Suave," she said sarcastically.

Harry just responded by shoving the tip of his ice cream cone against her cheek.

"You know," Arthur continued loudly over Ginny's huff of mock horror, "I wonder how far a good word from Kingsley would get you in the Auror's department."

Harry paused mid-bicker with Ginny, who was trying to smash her ice cream in his hair, and looked at Arthur interestedly. "You'd do that for me?" he asked.

Arthur nodded proudly. "I don't see why not," he said. "We're both members of the—well, you know... the Order," he said quietly so no one nearby would hear, "and I really think he could help you get started before you graduate."

Harry was both honored and humbled, especially since the entire family was watching for his reaction. "Wow, uh, I really appreciate it, Mr. Weasley," he stumbled, turning red. "Thanks."

"Not a problem, Harry, not a problem," Arthur replied.

Suddenly a very large stack of books came crashing down on the table and a large bunch of bushy brown hair collapsed on top of it.

"Merlin's beard, Hermione!" George exclaimed.

Harry stared at the stack of books in amazement. In all he counted ten, but they were only allowed to take seven classes. And since Hermione had supposedly given her Time Turner back to Dumbledore at the end of their third year, he wasn't quite sure how she was going to manage that.

"You can only take seven classes, you know," Ron said, voicing Harry's thoughts.

"Oh, I'm well aware," Hermione said rather breathlessly. "These are for classes," she gestured to the seven textbooks on the bottom, "and these are just supplemental readings." The "supplemental readings" in question were thinner than the others, but only slightly so. "I think I'm going to need a bigger backpack though," she speculated lightly. Ron just stared at her in horror; she sounded happy about that fact.

"Have you two gotten your books yet?" she asked, eyeing Harry and Ron expectantly.

"No," they replied together.

Hermione looked affronted. "Well why not?" she asked. "Do you have any idea how long the line is in there?"

"Well, all the more reason not to go in," Ron said brightly. At Hermione's disapproving look he sighed. "It's fine, Hermione. We've got a few more days before we go back."

Hermione took on an air of smugness and let a small smile cross her face. "Which wouldn't be a problem if they weren't running short on Defense Against the Dark Arts books," she informed.

"What do you mean?"

Rearranging her books meticulously and lovingly, Hermione shrugged. "There was a problem with the order. Apparently instead of ordering forty-two for the fifth years they only ordered twenty-four."

She had barely finished her sentence before Harry and Ron were out of their seats and hurrying across the street toward Flourish and Blotts, arguing over who would get to keep it if they could only find one.

"Did they mention being short on any other years?" Ginny asked Hermione concernedly, her eyes darting over to the bookshop. She couldn't see much through the window and open doorway and was wondering if it would be best to go in there and get it over with.

"Actually, they're not short at all," Hermione said smartly. "But it got them in there rather quickly, didn't it?" She flashed Ginny a clever smile before turning her attention back to her books.

Once inside Flourish and Blotts, Harry and Ron made a mad dash for the Defense Against the Dark Arts section only to find that, although the line was very long indeed, there was no such shortage of fifth-year books.

"Harry, I believe we've been tricked," Ron said flatly as he stared at the twenty some-odd copies of Defensive Magical Theory. "I'm going to hide one of her books tonight, I think. Seems like an appropriate punishment."

Harry grabbed two copies from the shelf and handed one to Ron. "She'll kill you when she finds out, you realize," he pointed out.

"It'll be worth it."


Several aisles over, Jessie was picking out the last of her books. "Astronomy..." She scanned over the row of books in search of the one she needed. Advancements in the Wizarding World, Ancient Aristocracy, Arithmancy I've already got... She finally spotted it at the end of the row, almost hidden between the monstrously large books on either side. She stood on her toes to reach for the book, carefully cradling her other textbooks in the opposite arm. Just when she was about to grab it another hand shot out from behind her and snatched it from her reach.

"Hey!"

Jessie spun to see who the book snatcher was; even though he was already halfway down the aisle on his way to the register, Jessie would have recognized that blonde head anywhere. She hurried to catch him, trying to avoid crashing into other people in the aisle.

"Malfoy!" she called exasperatedly. If there was anyone in the world who could drive her up the wall, it was bloody Draco Malfoy. Just the sight of that arrogant smirk made her want to beat him with something—anything.

His pace slowed a bit and Jessie, still running at full speed, took the opportunity to seize the book from his hand once she caught up to him.

"Hey, that's mine!" he said hotly, spinning to face her. "Give it back."

He's such a prat. Everything's his, isn't it?

"I had it first," Jessie scoffed. She tucked it under her other books and raised her eyebrows coolly. "You're perfectly capable of waiting until the next shipment comes in."

Draco sneered. "And so aren't you!"

They both paused to size the other one up. He had gotten taller over the summer, Jessie decided. For some strange reason she always enjoyed analyzing Malfoy. He wasn't necessarily bad looking, but that constant sneer he kept on his face certainly didn't improve anything. His white-blonde hair was, as always, perfectly smoothed back, and the sleeves of his oxford were neatly and identically rolled up to his elbows. Everything about him practically screamed 'money.' And compared to Jessie's t-shirt, worn jeans, and scuffed trainers, his perfected appearance made them seem as though they were from completely different worlds.

Everyone knows he's bloody richer than the Muggle Prime Minister, she thought. What's the point in showing it off all the time?

"Actually," he drawled, "I believe I had the book in my possession first. So why don't you go skip on out back and find another one?"

Jessie narrowed her eyes at him. "Sod off, you prat," she said. "Why don't you go find another book? After all, I've got this one, don't I?" she mocked, wiggling the book at him.

Without waiting for a reply she stalked past him and made her way over to the line waiting to check out. There were two people in front of her: one she recognized as Neville Longbottom, the dim-witted Gryffindor boy who always got picked on. He looked like he was going to lose his hold on a chin-high stack of books that he was balancing with one hand; the other was clamped tightly around a squirming toad. The other person in line was a tall Ravenclaw girl with the air of aristocracy who was apparently demanding a new schoolbook versus a "dirty used one." Jessie sighed, knowing it would be a while before she got out of the shop and away from Malfoy.

"You know, you could just end this whole problem by giving me the book. We'll call it even and I'll rid myself of your lovely company," he said from behind her.

Rid himself? What a bloody joke.

Jessie turned toward him and fought the urge to beat him with the very book he was trying to take from her. She was used to his snobbish bravado—it was all anyone ever saw of him. However, over the course of the summer she had forgotten how annoying it was.

"Trevor, knock it off!" the boy in front of her cried. In his efforts to control his grip on the toad he dropped his books, which went tumbling to the floor.

Malfoy snorted. "Brilliant, Longbottom. Looks like you could use a few extra arms. I could arrange that—aargh!"

Jessie, who had just about had enough of Draco Malfoy for one day, kicked him swiftly in the shin before kneeling to pick up the fallen textbooks. With a dejected sigh Neville bent down beside her.

"Thanks for that," he mumbled.

Jessie gathered up the books nearest her and held them in her palm while cradling her own in her left arm. "You should get a cage for him or something," she added, indicating to Trevor, who was still squirming.

"Oh, no. I meant him," Neville nodded in the direction of Malfoy, who was rubbing his shin with a pained look on his face.

"That was for me."

Neville laughed nervously. Apparently he was scared of Slytherins, Jessie decided. He kept shooting her the same apprehensive look that plainly asked 'why are you helping me?'

"Right. So, um... how's your family? Must be hard with your brother gone." At the look on Jessie's face he turned bright red and began to stammer. "Oh—I'm sorry, that was really a dumb—forget I said anything—I mean, I'm still sorry—"

Jessie blushed. "No, it's—we're—look, do you need me to hold these for you or what, Longbottom?" she asked testily, quickly changing the subject.

"Oh, um... if you could, thanks." Neville awkwardly managed to balance his books against his chest while Trevor croaked loudly in his hand.

Jessie glanced behind her at Malfoy, who was staring at her with an incomprehensible expression on his face.

"What?" she spat.

He quickly looked her up and down, the way a jeweler appraises a customer when they first walk through the door of the shop. He coolly turned away from her and engaged himself in a conversation with some fellow Slytherins behind him in line.

Neville rolled his eyes at Malfoy's back and hefted his books in his arms again. It wasn't lost on Jessie that he refused to look her in the eye; after what he said just a moment ago she didn't blame him.

"Next in line please," the shopkeeper called rather impatiently to Neville.

Neville and slid his books on the counter and Jessie placed the ones she had been carrying on top of those. Neville counted out the change required for his books and passed it to the shopkeeper. "Thanks," he said to the shopkeeper, clumsily gathering up his books and heaving them off the counter. "See you," he mumbled over his shoulder before hurrying away.

"Are you all set, miss?"

Jessie spared one glance at the retreating hopeless boy before she stepped forward to the counter and quickly glanced down at the list of supplies she needed. "Uh, yeah... do you have an order for Diggory ready?"

"Diggory?" The shopkeeper frowned. "Diggory... ah, yes! I have them right here." He turned to the shelf behind him and checked the tags attached to each pile of textbooks. Finally he slid a large stack of thick books from a shelf and placed them on the counter with a heavy thud.

Jessie handed him the correct amount and awkwardly heaved the books off the counter, catching Malfoy watching her from the corner of his eye again. It's okay, she thought, don't make an effort to help or anything. We wouldn't want to wrinkle your clothes, now, would we? She positioned the books against her hip as best she could and slowly made her way out of the busy shop, minding the people around her so as not to knock into anyone.


Harry poked his head around the edge of the bookshelf curiously. Diggory? He hadn't seen her since the night of the Triwizard Tournament in St. Mungo's. She hadn't said a single word to him, or even looked at him, he remembered. She had looked at anything, everything except him the whole time, sitting in a chair in the corner; even though Mr. Diggory had been insistent upon talking to Harry, Jessie had been off in the corner, comforting her hysterical mother. Even now she paid no attention to him as she gathered her books in her arms. Harry continued to watch her until she disappeared into the crowd of people outside in the street with, for some strange reason, Malfoy hot on her heels.

"What're you lookin' at?" Ron asked, eyeing him strangely.

Harry pulled back behind the bookcase and shook his head. "Nothing."


Jessie slowly made her way across the street, trying to ignore the numbing pain in her arms from the weight of her books.

Fine day to forget the bottomless backpack, she thought ruefully. Dad bought it for you for a reason.

She heard quick footsteps behind her and groaned loudly. "What do you want?" she said, annoyed.

Draco shrugged. "My book," he said simply.

"Did you even pay for that one?" Jessie asked, quickening her pace a bit.

Draco stared down at the book in his hand. "No, actually. I was so bewitched by you I completely forgot. I mean, you're a fantastic conversationalist and all..."

Jessie clenched her teeth, resisting the urge to pull out her wand and hex him. "You haven't spoken to me for four years," she pointed out, "and I was quite enjoying it. I don't really see why you need to break that habit now."

"Actually, it was three," Draco corrected. "I called you a blood traitor in second year for talking to that Mudblood in Ravenclaw."

"Oh, that's right. How could I forget your shining moment of wittiness and originality?" Jessie snapped. "Piss off, Malfoy."

"Why so hostile?" Draco cooed, falling in step beside her. "Don't you miss me at all?"

Jessie sighed. "Look, I know you have nothing better to do than torment people, but it really does get quite old after a while. And to be perfectly honest, I'd rather gouge my own eyes out than listen to you keep talking. So why don't you bounce along like a good little ferret and go pick on some first years?" She waved her hand at him dismissively. "They're the only ones who are afraid of you."

Draco whipped out his wand and stepped directly in front of her, holding it under her nose. "Say it again and watch what happens," he dared, glaring at her.

Jessie tried to sidestep him, but he blocked her. She rolled her eyes. Was that really supposed to intimidate her? "What is it going to take to get you away from me?" she asked tersely.

Draco smirked and backed away from her a little, lowering his wand. "My book."

"Fine." Jessie shoved the Astronomy book roughly into his stomach. "If it makes you disappear, then by all means." She stepped around him and stalked off, pulling her wand out in case he followed her again.

Draco smirked and hefted the book in his hand as Jessie stormed off. It bothered him a little bit that she didn't take his threats seriously, but at least he knew how to annoy her easily enough. He turned on his heel and strode right by the entrance to Flourish and Blotts. Perhaps he would go find some first years.


Hermione watched from her and Ginny's table as a girl emerged from the bookshop entrance, followed closely behind by Draco Malfoy. Hermione was too far away to see her closely, but she knew the girl was a Slytherin—she had never spoken to her, but she knew the girl hung around with Pansy Parkinson and therefore wasn't a good person.

"Doesn't he have anything better to do than bother people?" she asked, watching as Malfoy pointed his wand at the girl.

Ginny looked confused. "What?"

Hermione nodded to the street, where the two could faintly be heard—arguing, by the looks of it. "Them," she said. "Malfoy's trying to hex people in his own House now."

"Oh, her?" Ginny's voice was tinged with dislike. "She probably deserves it. The girls in my year say she's friends with that Parkinson girl who follows Malfoy around. Emily told me she heard those two used to date and that's why they hate each other."

Hermione raised her eyebrows as the girl smashed a book into Malfoy's stomach and walked away from him angrily. "Isn't that Cedric Diggory's sister?" she asked quietly.

Ginny shrugged. "Is she? I've never talked to her. All the girls I know who have say she's just as bad as the rest of the Slytherins though."

Hermione watched the girl as she marched past the ice cream shop; probably headed toward Knockturn Alley, she supposed.

"Either way, I'll be staying away from her," Ginny continued.

Soon after Ginny changed the subject to Quidditch, the boys returned from Flourish and Blotts. All thoughts of Slytherins were pushed from Hermione's mind as she buried herself in one of her supplemental readings, which, she wasn't willing to admit, weren't for school at all.