A/N: REALLY long chapter this time everyone. I thought about splitting it, but it seemed to fit best as one. I hope you enjoy. Thank you to all who read and reviewed for the past few chapters – I appreciate your comments and your support!

One other thing on the technical side – I have just noticed that in the 'public' version of this story, FanFiction's website seems to remove the additional line breaks and spaces that I put into the documents – usually to mark where the point of view changes or the end of a segment where there is a passage of time. I have tried to fix this in formatting on the site, but so far even if it shows on the backend it seems not to correct in the published version. So, from this chapter on, I am going to try inserting a line of 'X's' to mark these breaks (though the POV for this instalment is entirely Harry's). Hopefully, that denotation will keep. If it does, I will go back and edit the other chapters to include this formatting change at some point this week. I apologise in the interim if that formatting has made things difficult for readers until now.

Enjoy! – C.S.

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DISCLAIMER: Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

Chapter 14: The Burrow and The Alley

Dumbledore's prediction proved perfectly true. He had no sooner apparated Harry to the Weasley house than Molly Weasley swooped down upon him, hugging him tightly before holding him out at arm's length. She scrutinised him.

'I still think you're looking a bit thin, dear,' she said, sizing him up. 'You're sure he's been eating properly?' she added, giving Dumbledore a disapproving look.

Dumbledore nodded at her, smiling. 'Of course, Molly,' he said, his voice placating. 'Harry has been hale and healthy.'

'Hmm,' she said. 'Well, I'm nearly finished prepping luncheon, so we'll get some food into you soon. The boys have gone out back to de-gnome the garden. I can take you round to see them if you like, or you can come straight into the house if you're feeling tired.'

'Thank you, Mrs Weasley,' said Harry with a smile. 'I'll go see Ron, if that's alright.'

Mrs Weasley smiled back at him, patting his cheek. 'Of course, Harry dear,' she said. She turned to Dumbledore, 'Would you like to have some tea before leaving, headmaster?'

'Oh no, but thank you, Molly,' said Dumbledore with a bow of his head. 'I'd better get back to the school. We're expecting most of our professors back this afternoon, and I have to prepare for our start of term staff meeting this evening.'

She nodded, and Dumbledore turned to Harry. He placed a hand on his shoulder. 'I shall see you next week, Harry.'

Harry nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

He gave Dumbledore a small smile which the headmaster returned, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. 'Do try and have some fun, and keep well.'

He released Harry's shoulder, turning once more to Mrs Weasley. 'Molly, please be in touch if anything comes up, or if you need me for any reason.'

Mrs Weasley bowed her head toward him, her eyes twinkling a bit. 'Of course, Albus.'

Dumbledore nodded at the pair of them, and turned on the spot. He vanished without a sound.

Harry stared for a moment at the place Dumbledore had stood, lost in thought. Mrs Weasley put a hand on his back. 'Are you ready, Harry?' she asked him.

'Yes, ma'am,' Harry replied, forcing a smile back on his face and shutting his feelings about Dumbledore's departure firmly away for the moment. Mrs Weasley steered him up a little hill, toward the oddest building Harry had ever seen.

It looked rather like a former stone pigpen, to which walls and ceiling had been added, and then additional stories and outcroppings, by an exceptionally untrained architect. The entire structure – which was composed of mixed variations of stone and wood – was lopsided and as crooked as the wooden towers in the Muggle game, Jenga, that Harry remembered playing in primary school. Harry thought the house must be held up by magic. A crooked sign in the front garden read 'The Burrow.'

Harry loved it immediately.

Mrs Weasley did not go into the house, but instead led Harry around to the back of the building. He could hear Ron, Fred and George's voices, carried back to them on the breeze as they rounded the corner. His friends came slowly into view, Ron and George watching Fred, who seemed to be swinging his arm around like he was preparing to lasso a bull. As Harry watched, Fred stopped his circling and flung his hand open as his arm shot forward. Harry saw something small fly in an arch from Fred's fingers, soaring over the back stone wall and out of sight. Ron whooped, holding his arms aloft in a cheer.

'George! Ron!' Mrs Weasley scolded, putting her hands on her hips as she and Harry came to a halt at the entrance of the back garden. 'You lot would get through the de-gnoming much more quickly if you two made a bit more effort yourselves, instead of watching your brother do it!'

Fred twinkled charmingly up at her as Ron and George bent hastily toward the ground. 'That's what I've been saying, Mum,' he said in an angelic tone, giving a little sigh of resignation. Mrs Weasley glared distrustfully at him as well, but any retort was cut off as Fred continued, winningly, 'Good to see you, Harry, mate.'

Ron and George turned immediately – both having dove for a clump of untidy bushes at their mother's remonstration without bothering to look up at her.

'Harry!' Ron exclaimed in excitement, scrambling to get to his feet and come to meet them. ''Bout time, mate,' he said, making to clap Harry on the back. His mother intercepted his arm at once, grabbing his wrist.

'You're far too filthy!' She protested, stopping him from touching Harry. 'Finish here, and you can come in and greet him properly. Harry, dear, why don't you come in now, and I'll get you settled.'

'Aw, Mum, why can't I have a break?' Ron complained. 'Fred and George can finish up here – we're almost finished anyway.'

Mrs Weasley looked stern. 'Absolutely not,' she said. 'It was all three of you I caught sneaking out to the garage last night, and it'll be all three of you that finish your chores before lunch, or nobody will be able to see Harry this afternoon.'

'I'll help,' said Harry quickly. 'I don't mind gardening. I did it all the time at the Dursleys.'

'Don't be silly, dear,' said Mrs Weasley, her tone softening immediately as she addressed Harry. 'You didn't have a hand in their foolishness. Come in and have something to drink.'

'We weren't going to fly it, Mum,' said George, sounding shocked by the very idea. 'We only wanted to look at it.' Mrs Weasley snorted in obvious disbelief.

'Really, Mrs Weasley, I don't mind helping out,' Harry insisted, shucking his carry-all. Mrs Weasley considered him a moment, but relented.

'Very well, Harry dear,' she said, taking the handle of the bag. 'I'll bring your things inside. But I warn you – it's dull work. Come in whenever you want, I'll have lunch finished.' She turned for the back door of the house, leaving the boys in the garden.

Ron led Harry over to Fred and George, who were bent in the bushes again.

'Er – what is it you're doing, anyway?' Harry asked, following Ron's lead and crouching down beside the bushes. The entirety of the Weasley garden was far different than the neat flowerbeds Aunt Petunia kept. While the Dursleys' garden had been rigidly organised and impeccably tidy, the Weasleys' was overflowing with fascinating plants in varying greens and states of bloom – many of which Harry thought were magical in nature. The beds were far from organised, but beautiful in their singularity. Harry much preferred this sort of garden.

'De-gnoming,' George answered, emerging from the bush with a wriggling creature in his hand. A few inches long, the creature was humanoid in build, but brown and wrinkly, with a potato-looking head. It was waving its tiny fists at George, who was holding it upside-down by the feet.

'What is that?' asked Harry, staring at the odd creature.

'A gnome.' Ron answered at once. 'They infest gardens – you know – and they eat the worms, which Mum doesn't like because she says worms are good for the soil. She has us de-gnome a few times a season, but they always come back. Dad's too soft with them. He thinks they're funny.'

Harry considered the creature. It didn't look anything like the statutes of garden gnomes he'd seen in Muggle gardens on Privet Drive.

'How do you de-gnome?' he asked curiously.

'You throw them out,' said Fred, as George began to spin the little gnome over his head, still holding it by the ankles. As Harry watched it squeal with an arrested look, Fred quickly continued. 'It doesn't hurt them, or anything. But you've got to make them nice and dizzy, so they can't find their way back to the gnome holes in the garden.'

As Harry continued to watch, George sent the gnome flying the same way Fred had. The creature sailed over the wall and out of sight.

Ron had grasped another of the gnomes, which Harry saw with surprise had now swarmed around them. 'They're not too bright,' Ron explained as he began to swing his prize. 'As soon as they know a de-gnoming is going on, they come out to watch. Bit stupid, but it makes it easier.' He sent the gnome flying and reached for another. 'Want to try it?'

Harry enjoyed the half-hour of de-gnoming, except for a small bite he received on his first attempt, when he'd felt badly and tried to simply drop the creature over the side of the wall. Sensing weakness, the gnome sunk its teeth into Harry's finger. He'd had to shake it off, in the process sending the little thing flying farther than any of the Weasleys had done so far.

The boys made their way into the house a short while later, and Ron led Harry into the kitchen. Mrs Weasley had laid the table for lunch, and Harry greeted Percy and Ginny. Ginny, who Harry did not know well, blushed furiously and did not return Harry's hello, turning her eyes instead to the table. In short order, the group was seated to eat. Arthur Weasley joined them from the front room, greeting Harry warmly and taking the seat beside him.

'This is delicious, Mrs Weasley,' Harry said, over his plate of fish and chips. Mrs Weasley smiled at him.

'You are sweet,' she said. 'Have you brought your school list with you, Harry?' she asked. 'Arthur and I had schemed to take everyone to Diagon Alley on the 30th. Ron wrote Hermione, and I think she and her parents are intending to meet us at Gringotts so we can all do your shopping together.'

Harry nodded. 'Yes, ma'am.'

'Did you see the list for Defence?' Ron asked. 'All those Lockhart books… the new Defence teacher must be a fanatic.'

'Completely barmy,' Fred said, shaking his head. 'Bet it's a witch.'

'That's enough out of you,' Mrs Weasley snapped, as Ginny giggled a little.

'Mum fancies Gilderoy Lockhart,' George said in a whisper to Harry. 'She never lets that book out of her sight.'

He nodded his head toward the counter, where Harry saw a thick tome was positioned. The front cover read: Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests in intricate script. Most of the cover was taken over by a large photo of a good-looking wizard, with wavy golden hair, blue eyes and a dazzlingly white smile. Most unfortunately, Mrs Weasley seemed to have caught George's remark. She bristled at once.

'Gilderoy Lockhart is a gifted wizard who is a credit to society. He's put his own life at risk countless times for the benefit of those who needed help.'

Ron tried to hide his snort by taking a great gulp of his juice. Mr Weasley was staring determinedly at his fork, as though fascinated. George rolled his eyes, and Fred said in a low tone, 'Yeah… or he's a great git with perfect hair.'

Mrs Weasley's eyes flashed, but Percy – surprisingly – diffused the situation, looking up for the first time from his own dish. 'Those books are fairly expensive,' he said, with a glance at his father. 'It's a shame we'll need so many sets between us.'

'And Ginny needs all the first year supplies and everything,' Fred added.

Mr and Mrs Weasley exchanged a slightly anxious look, but they smiled at the others. 'I'm sure we'll manage,' said Mr Weasley with forced confidence.

Harry turned to Ginny, who was seated across from him. 'You're starting at Hogwarts this year then?' he asked her with a smile. She nodded, her brown eyes flicking up very briefly to meet his, before she hastily took a large bite of fish. She choked a bit, and Mr Weasley pointed his wand at her.

'Anapneo,' he said calmly. Ginny was able to swallow.

Ron rolled his eyes and said in a low tone in Harry's ear, 'She never shuts up normally. You don't know how weird this is.'

Harry shrugged, turning his attention back to the food.

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Harry's week at the Burrow went by very quickly, but he enjoyed himself immensely. Hogwarts was a highly magical place, of course, but Harry had never been inside a wizarding home before. Unlike the Dursleys, the Weasleys' house burst with the unexpected and exciting. The mirrors talked back at you, if you stood in front of them too long or looked too dishevelled. Various owls fluttered in and out of the open windows at odd hours, bringing and taking post. Fred and George's room was the site of various explosive noises or puffs of coloured smoke – which the rest of the family took in stride and usually without comment. Several important Ministry wizards ducked their heads into the Weasleys' fireplace, bringing news or greetings for Arthur. Arthur himself came home from work daily with highly interesting stories and bits of wizarding news, which he usually shared with the family to roars of laughter at the dinner table. The ghoul – who apparently inhabited the attack above Ron's bedroom on the top floor, where Harry was staying – dropped various items and clanged the pipes when things got too quiet for his taste. Best of all, in Harry's opinion, was the carriage clock on the Weasley mantle. Instead of minute and hour hands, the clock had nine hands of varying lengths, each labelled with a member of the Weasley family. Instead of numbers, the points of the clock commented on the state or location of each family. There were places for 'home' and 'work' and 'school,' but there were also positions for 'hospital,' 'prison,' and, in the prime place where the number 12 would be on a regular clock, 'mortal peril.' Harry thought the clock suited Mrs Weasley, who – though incredibly kind – was constantly in a state of worry or anxiety over one thing or another.

Harry also found that everyone in the Weasley household seemed to genuinely like him – a first for Harry, in a family home at least. Ron, of course, was thrilled to have Harry to stay. They stayed up together late into the night in Ron's absurdly orange room (the place was littered with posters of the Chudley Cannons, Ron's Quidditch team, who wore orange uniforms), laughing at each other's stories from the summer, and scheming ways to prank Fred and George in the new school team. Fred and George often joined Harry and Ron for rounds of two-a-side quidditch in the little pasture behind the garden, or exploding snap after dinner. Percy kept to his own room most of the time, but was perfectly friendly to Harry at mealtimes. Ginny was shy and withdrawn, and generally kept her interactions with Harry to the barest of conversation, but she was sweet and kind as well. Mr Weasley liked Harry to sit next to him at the dinner table, so he could quiz him on life with Muggles and get Harry to explain the complexities of things like the postal system, bank holidays, British Muggle currency and Tesco. Mrs Weasley fussed over him in a way that put even McGonagall to shame, forcing third and fourth helpings on him at every meal and ironing his socks.

The Sunday next, Harry was surprised to find upon waking that they'd already reached 30 August. Today was the day they'd set to go to Diagon Alley. Harry was excited to see Hermione again, but a little nervous when Mr Weasley announced after the delicious breakfast of bacon sandwiches that they'd be travelling to the Leaky Cauldron by floo powder.

Mrs Weasley took a nearly-empty jar of the powder off the mantle over the hearth, offering it around. Harry took his own handful hesitantly. Ron, watching him, clapped a hand to his own forehead.

'Mum, Harry's never travelled by floo powder before! Sorry mate,' he said, turning to Harry, 'I forgot.'

Harry shrugged. 'It's alright.'

Molly Weasley looked puzzled. 'Really?' she asked Harry. 'But, how did you get into Diagon Alley last year, to buy your school things?'

'Hagrid took me,' Harry explained. 'We went by the Muggle underground.'

'Really?' Mr Weasley put in, looking fascinated. 'Can you tell me exactly how –'

'Not now, Arthur.' Mrs Weasley cut him off, impatiently. 'Well, floo powder will be much quicker than Muggle travel, Harry, but if you've never done it before…' She trailed off, looking worried.

'I've seen it done before,' Harry put in quickly.

'He'll be fine, Mum,' said Fred, clapping Harry reassuringly on the back. 'Watch us first, Harry.'

Harry watched as Fred stepped to the fireplace. He threw the handful of powder into flames, climbing inside backward as the fire flared green. 'Diagon Alley!' Fred called. With a whoosh, he was pulled away up the chimney.

'You must be very clear when you state your destination,' Mrs Weasley said to Harry, as George followed Fred up the chimney. 'And try to be confident about it.'

'Don't get out too soon,' Mr Weasley warned, stepping across the hearth himself, 'Wait until you can see us.' He too vanished up the floo.

'Best to go now, dear, before Ron,' Mrs Weasley said, giving him a little push forward after Percy too had gone. 'Are you sure you're ok to travel alone? I could drop Ginny with Arthur and take you side-along if you want.'

Harry shook his head. He didn't want Ron to think he was chicken. 'Thanks Mrs Weasley, but I'll be alright.'

'Keep your elbows tucked in, or they'll get banged around a bit,' Ron said in a final piece of advice. Harry nodded, trying to keep it all straight as he walked nervously toward the fire. He turned back toward Ron, who gave him an encouraging nod and a smile.

Harry dropped the powder into the flames, as he'd seen Dumbledore do several times during his stay at Hogwarts. He stepped into the fireplace. What he hadn't anticipated, however, was the great gulp of ash he breathed in as he prepared to state his destination. The hot soot immediately irritated his throat, and he began coughing ferociously.

'D-d-ia-gon alley!' Harry gasped out through the fit, desperate not to lose the potency on his handful of floo powder. He knew immediately he'd done it wrong. The last thing he saw was Mrs Weasley's horrified face, before he zoomed away up the chimney.

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Turning and spinning through some odd sort of tunnel of ash, Harry caught glimpses of other hearths, and even snatches of conversation, as he travelled. He kept his elbows tight to his sides as Ron had warned him, and blinked ferociously to try and keep the soot out of his eyes. He was afraid to shut them entirely – scared he'd miss the exit if he did – but the constant spinning was starting to churn the bacon sandwiches in his stomach. He tried to hold his breath to avoid another mouthful of ash.

At last, the spinning slowed slightly, and he shot out of a grate. Though he welcomed the end of the ordeal, Harry had been a bit unprepared for the stop. He overbalanced immediately, toppling face first onto a flagstone floor. He felt his glasses slip from his nose and heard an ominous crack as they skittered across the stones. He barely managed to get his hands in front of him to save his face from the worst of the impact.

'Ugh,' he groaned, as he pushed himself to his knees. He reached for his glasses with one hand, wiping the worst of the soot from his face with the other. Locating an arm, he fumbled to put the spectacles on again. The right lens seemed alright, if a bit dusty, but the left was badly cracked and the frames seemed a little lopsided on his ears. His hands were also stinging a bit, and he still felt nauseated and dizzy from the journey. Looking down, Harry saw that he'd scraped his palms rather badly on the landing. Sighing, he struggled to his feet, glancing around the place where he'd come out.

It definitely was not the Leaky Cauldron.

He appeared to be in the dimly lit main room of some sort of shop. The room was littered with display cases and rows of shelves, and a counter with a till stood against the opposite wall. The items for sale in this shop were unlike any Harry had ever seen before.

He could tell the shop was certainly wizard-run. One high bookcase held many phials and jars full of glistening potions, some of which seemed to be incubating a number of slimy creatures. To the right of that shelf was a glass case in which a withered human hand holding a candle stub rested on a dusty purple cushion, alongside a deck of playing cards whose case was smattered with dried blood and a glass eye that stared up at the ceiling. One wall displayed a variety of evil-looking masks, a collection of bones – most of them human in appearance – lay in a basket next to the old-fashioned till, and an assortment of iron, spiky, medieval torture devices hung from the ceiling above him. Everything in the shop seemed to exude darkness and danger. Harry could feel goose pimples rise on his arms. The very air in this place filled him with the same sense of dread he remembered from his dreams in the forest. It was an unpleasant revelation.

Harry moved a little away from the fireplace, trying to see out the windows alongside the door across the floor of the shop. He saw a dingy street lined with unfamiliar and dodgy-looking shops. There were a number of people darting furtively about, but he didn't see the lively chatter or bustling families common in the week before Hogwarts resumed. One thing was certain – wherever he was, he had not arrived in Diagon Alley.

Harry's unease heightened. He'd better get out of this place quickly, and try to find somebody who could direct him toward the Leaky Cauldron. He felt his pockets. He had a bit of wizard gold on him – leftover from his trip to Hogsmeade last month with Dumbledore and McGonagall. It wasn't much, but perhaps he'd be able to use it to barter transport, if he was very far from Diagon Alley. The Weasleys were probably going spare by now. Bruised, battered and still covered in a good portion of soot, Harry made as quickly for the door as he could, trying not to make too much noise as he crossed the shop. He hadn't seen a shopkeeper, but he didn't want to chance it. Barely halfway across the room, however, he came to a halt. Through the little pane on the door, he could see two people making to enter – a man and a young boy around his own age. Both were very blonde, and finely dressed. Harry didn't recognise the man, but a glance at the boy brought him quickly up short.

It was Draco Malfoy.

Harry glanced hurriedly around. Malfoy was the very last person he wanted to speak to right now, lost god knew where and looking like he'd been sweeping the chimney. His eyes came to rest on a large and intricately carved black cabinet set near the wall to his left. He sprinted for it, finding it mercifully empty and darting inside without delay. He pulled the doors shut, leaving a small gap so he could peer into the room. He'd barely finished when he heard the soft tinkle of the entry bell, and Malfoy preceded his companion into the shop.

The older man, Harry saw, had the same pale, pointed face and steel grey eyes. He even wore a similar expression to Malfoy – haughty, imposing and disdainful. This, Harry realised, must be Draco's father. He'd heard Ron speak about him… he'd said Malfoy Snr had been very close to Lord Voldemort before Voldemort's downfall. After the night Voldemort had disappeared – the night he tried to kill Harry – Mr Malfoy had been among those who had pleaded ignorance, saying he'd been bewitched to do Lord Voldemort's bidding. Harry knew he was rich and well-connected, and apparently he'd never been charged with anything. Ron reckoned he'd made up the excuse. If the man was anything like his son, Harry dreaded drawing his notice.

Mr Malfoy glanced about the shop, his eyes taking in the various items with seeming disinterest. He didn't give the cabinet consideration, to Harry's great relief. After a few moments, he crossed to the counter and pushed a long finger down on a little silver bell, which chimed through the room three times.

'Touch nothing,' he said to his son without turning. Draco Malfoy, who'd been reaching toward a case displaying several ominous looking daggers, scowled as he pulled his hand back.

'You said you were going to buy me a present today,' he complained.

'I said I would buy you a racing broom, as we spoke about earlier in the summer,' Mr Malfoy corrected in his cold voice. His focus was still on the door behind the counter. Harry could tell he was impatient.

'And what am I to do with a racing broom, if I'm not playing on the Slytherin team?' Malfoy whinged. 'Harry Potter has a Nimbus 2000 so he can play for Gryffindor. Special permission from Dumbledore last year, even though he was only a first year and he shouldn't have been allowed. He isn't even that good, but famous Harry Potter is Dumbledore's favourite… famous just for that stupid scar… the great Harry Potter with his scar and his broomstick and his dead parents –'

'You have mentioned this many times this summer,' Mr Malfoy said contemptuously. 'I would remind you that to speak so of the Boy Who Lived is not advisable, when most consider him the saviour who delivered them from the Dark Lord's reign. Hold your tongue, especially when we are out in – ah, Mr Borgin.' Mr Malfoy cut himself off, greeting an oily haired and slightly hunchbacked man who had come through the little door behind the counter. Harry assumed he was the shopkeeper.

'Good day, Mr Malfoy,' the man greeted back in an unctuous voice. 'How lovely to have you in. And this must be your son. A pleasure to meet you. How may I assist? We have been lucky to procure several –'

'I am not interested in purchasing anything today, Mr Borgin. I am here to sell,' cut in Mr Malfoy. The shopkeeper looked slightly less enthusiastic, but nodded his understanding. Mr Malfoy reached into an inside pocket of his robes, pulling out a sheaf of neatly rolled parchment. He untied it, spreading the parchment flat on the counter between them. 'You have heard, I am sure, that the Ministry has been conducting additional raids,' continued Mr Malfoy.

Mr Borgin looked up from his perusal of the list, and considered Mr Malfoy over the top of his pince-nez. 'Surely the Ministry would not extend its meddling to you, sir?'

Mr Malfoy sneered. 'As of yet, no. The Malfoy name still warrants a level of respect. But the Ministry becomes increasingly unpredictable. I have heard they are debating a new Muggle Protection Act, no doubt the concoction of that ignorant, Muggle-loving fool, Arthur Weasley.'

Harry's blood began to boil as he listened. He longed to try out one of his newly-learned jinxes on Mr Malfoy – somehow, causing him injury did not bring about the same feelings of guilt that jinxing the headmaster had left him with. But that sort of rash action would probably reveal his hiding place, and he doubted Mr Malfoy would care about the lack of a springy floor either in his retaliation.

'I have a certain number of… sensitive items in my possession I'd rather they not confiscate. You see, certain of these poisons could make it seem –'

'Of course, Mr Malfoy,' Mr Borgin replied, bending closer to the list. 'I am sure we can –'

'Father,' Draco interrupted in a whinge, 'Can't I have this?'

Mr Borgin's head shot up immediately, turning to where Draco was standing above the display case he'd been considering earlier. He was pointing at the shrivelled hand in the centre. 'The Hand of Glory!' the shopkeeper exclaimed. He abandoned the father and made for the son, a predatory gleam in his eye. 'You can insert any candle, and the hand gives light only to its holder. This artefact has been the best friend of thieves and plunderers for centuries! Your son has clearly inherited your own fine taste, sir.'

'I hope, Borgin,' said Mr Malfoy icily, 'That Draco will amount to more than a mere thief or plunderer.' Mr Borgin's eyes widened as he stammered a hasty apology. 'Though if his marks do not improve,' Mr Malfoy continued, with a quelling look for his son, 'That may indeed be all he is suited to.'

'It isn't my fault, Father.' Draco whinged back. 'All the professors have their favourites. And that Granger girl –'

'I would have thought,' Mr Malfoy said, still staring coldly at his son, 'that to be bested by a child with no magical bloodlines in every examination would have shamed you, Draco.'

Hidden in his cabinet, Harry felt a surge of pride in Hermione's skill. Draco coloured under his father's remonstration.

'It's the same across the country,' Mr Borgin said in his obsequious tone. 'Blood status is counting for less and less.'

'Not with me,' said Mr Malfoy in a dangerously cold voice.

'No sir,' Mr Borgin agreed quickly, 'Nor with me, of course.' He gave a bow in Mr Malfoy's direction.

'Perhaps, Borgin, we might return to this list,' Mr Malfoy said abruptly, gesturing at the counter. 'I have business elsewhere today, and would prefer to move this along.'

Mr Borgin quickly bent over the parchment again, and the two men started to haggle. Harry kept a close eye on Draco, who was still perusing the items for sale in the shop. He saw the blond boy surreptitiously run his fingers over several of the glistening potions, then pause to read the card in front of an opulent opal necklace: Do Not Touch! This Cursed Necklace Has Claimed the Lives of 19 Muggle Owners to Date. Smirking in apparent amusement, he turned from the jewellery display and spied the cabinet. Harry backed a little away from the gap, heart hammering, hoping that Draco had not seen him watching. They were only feet from each other.

Draco moved forward, his arm outstretched –

'Agreed,' said Mr Malfoy from the other side of the shop, shaking Borgin's hand once across the counter. Draco turned at the sound of his father's voice, and Harry released his breath as Mr Malfoy called the boy to him.

'I'll expect you tomorrow at the manor, Mr Borgin. Good day.' He put a hand on Draco's shoulder, steering him out of the shop. Mr Borgin bowed his head as the Malfoys left, then raised it immediately as the door closed behind them, his eyes hard and his unctuous smile nowhere in sight.

'Good day yourself, Mister Malfoy,' he said sarcastically. Harry stared. 'If the rumours prove true, you haven't sold me half of what you have hidden in that manor.'

He swept into the back room again, still wearing his look of distain. Harry stayed hidden in the cabinet for another minute or so, listening hard and watching to see if Borgin would re-emerge. When he did not, Harry cautiously pushed the doors open again. He stepped out into the main room, waited a beat, then – quickly and quietly as he could manage – he shot for the door of the shop.

Harry emerged into the street slightly breathless, and darted a few doors down before stopping to consider his surroundings, in case the bell sent Mr Borgin out to check. He had to keep a hold on his broken glasses, which were threatening to slip off his face again due to the bend in the frame. When he paused to look around, Harry saw that the street was just as dingy as his glimpse through the window had suggested. Every shop seemed to be devoted to the Dark Arts – or at least very dubious magic. The building he'd come from was labelled Borgin and Burke's. It looked like the largest and best-kep, in the street. Harry could see other storefronts displaying various nasty arrays of objects, including shrunken heads, mouldy-looking books with bloodstained covers, and even a large cage of oversized spiders. Several witches and wizards were wandering the street as well. Some – clearly shoppers – were darting into the to shop doors with shady glances. Others seemed to be peddling their own wares to the visitors. Harry saw several come to a halt, staring curiously at him. The attention made him feel more than wary. He flattened his fringe against his forehead and walked quickly up the street – trying to look as purposeful as he could in his direction, although he had no idea where he was headed to, and keeping his head down and eyes averted as he passed other shoppers. His only thought was that he ought to get out of this particular section of town before trying to navigate to Diagon Alley.

As he made his way down the cobblestones, a low-hanging sign informed him the street was called Knockturn Alley. Harry had never heard of Knockturn Alley. He guessed that his mangled attempt to say 'Diagon' had confused the magic of the floo.

He was pulled from his frantic thoughts as a dirty and long-fingered hand closed on his shoulder. Before he could feel more than startled, he was whipped about to face an aged woman. This particular woman looked like a witch… but not in the way that comforted him. This witch looked like the illustrations in Muggle fairy stories; like the one that ate children in Hansel and Gretel, or the evil hag in Snow White. He could feel his heart in his throat as she leaned toward him.

'Lost, dearie?' she asked in a harsh whisper, making him cringe back. He noted the tray she was carrying – a peddler, it seemed. She held an assortment of what Harry recognised with a thrill of horror as entire human fingernails… some still attached to the top segment of finger. Harry broke her hold as he stepped back quickly, terrified.

'No, thank you,' he stammered. 'I was just headed –'

'HARRY!' A wonderfully familiar voice shouted. Harry wheeled round. 'What d'yeh think yer doin' down Knockturn Alley?'

'Hagrid!' Harry breathed in relief, throwing himself toward the gamekeeper. Hagrid pulled him none too gently from the woman's clutches, the tail of his jacket sending the tray skittering from her hands. Harry could hear her furiously shrieking at them as Hagrid steered him firmly away.

'Thought yeh were stayin' with Molly and Arthur until Tuesday, Harry,' Hagrid said, stopping after they'd turned a corner and brushing firmly at Harry's hair and clothing. 'Yer covered in dust.'

'I am,' said Harry. 'Staying with the Weasleys – I mean. We were supposed to go to Diagon Alley together today. I got separated – bungled in the floo.'

Hagrid shook his head. 'Still, Harry. Dodgy place, Knockturn Alley. Wouldn' want nobody ter see yeh in there.'

Harry felt a little miffed. 'It wasn't my fault!' he protested. He was beginning to feel distinctly tired from the excitement of the morning. 'What were you doing down there anyway, Hagrid, if it's such a dodgy place to be?'

'I was buyin' flesh eatin' slug repellent,' Hagrid said indignantly. 'Only place ter get it, Knockturn Alley.'

Hagrid had steered Harry up a darkened stairway between two buildings, and across several smaller streets lined with what looked to be townhouses. As they turned a final corner, Harry recognised the imposing marble outline of Gringotts bank before him. Hagrid had led them straight into Diagon Alley.

'Harry! There you are!'

Harry turned to see Hermione flying at him from down the street, her bushy brown hair whipping around her face. She threw herself at him as they met, and he nearly toppled over as her arms came around his neck.

'Hey, Hermione,' he said with a bit of a laugh as he disentangled himself.

'We've been waiting nearly half an hour. I thought you'd forgotten,' she said. 'But where's Ron, and the Weasleys? And what on earth have you done to your glasses? And… why are you covered in soot?' She sighed in exasperation as she finished her rapid fire questions, pulling the cracked lenses from his face and tapping them quickly with her wand.

'Oculus reparo,' she said, handing the repaired glasses back to him a moment later.

'Brilliant,' Harry said, putting them back on. 'Thanks, Hermione. Er – but aren't you worried about doing magic outside of school?'

Hermione shrugged. 'Not here. The trace on underage magic tracks spells based on their location – essentially, it alerts the Ministry whenever someone does magic around an underage wizard. I can't do it at home, of course, as I'm the only magical person in my house – the Ministry would know it was me. But that law's really just so underage wizards don't try using magic in front of Muggles who don't know about the wizarding world, or in places where there's no qualified witch or wizard to keep an eye on them if something goes wrong. In a place where there are overage wizards – especially somewhere like Hogwarts or Diagon Alley, where there are a lot of wizards, the Ministry wouldn't be able to tell who'd performed the spell. So we should be alright. I read about it last year when we did the Statute of Secrecy legislation in History of Magic.'

She smiled at the dumbfounded, and slightly annoyed, look on Harry's face. Correctly interpreting his indignation, she continued, 'I haven't told Ron though. I think the Weasleys have tried to keep that bit of trivia from all their children while they're at home.' Harry grinned at her. He was about to comment when she frowned again.

'But, Harry, what happened –'

'Harry!'

Hermione was interrupted as Ron came up the street, followed closely by Mr Weasley, Fred, George, and Percy.

'There you are mate! Blimey – I thought we'd lost you to Spain or something. Mum was going spare.'

'We hoped you'd only gone a grate or two too far,' said Mr Weasley, panting slightly as he too joined the group. 'Where did you end up?'

'Knockturn Alley,' growled Hagrid in answer.

'Excellent!' the twins said together, clapping Harry in unison on each shoulder.

'Boys,' Mr Weasley started, as George began ringing Harry's hand in congratulations.

'Mum won't let us in,' Ron explained, as Fred took Harry's hand in turn with profuse exclamations of respect and Harry stared, bewildered.

'I ruddy well hope not!' Hagrid said darkly. Fred and George shot him looks of deepest disappointment, while Ron laughed. Hermione looked as though she were in agreement and opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment they were all distracted by the arrival of Mrs Weasley, tearing up the street looking frantic and towing a panting Ginny behind her by the hand.

'Oh Harry, dear!' Mrs Weasley gushed, pulling Harry into a fierce embrace. 'I was so worried. Thank goodness you're alright. Arthur and I have been looking everywhere!' She held him out at arms' length, examining him critically.

'I'm fine, Mrs Weasley,' he insisted, as she began cupping his face and running her hands over his arms, searching for injury. She spotted the scraped palms.

'Hmm,' she tutted, examining his hands. 'Could do with a bit of healing up,' she said fussily, digging through her purse with her right hand as she kept hold of one of his wrists with her left. She pulled out a bottle of purple potion.

'I need to disinfect these first – you're covered in soot,' she explained, uncorking the bottle. 'It might sting for a moment.' She upturned the bottle and let three drops fall into his open hand. He held in his hiss as the potion bubbled a bit, cleaning the dirt from the scrapes. When the purple faded and the potion turned clear, Mrs Weasley tapped her wand on his hand.

'Episkey!' she said firmly. The cuts sealed immediately, new pink skin emerging.

'Thanks, Mrs Weasley,' Harry said, as she quickly sorted his other hand.

'Of course, dear,' she said. 'Any other injuries?'

Harry shook his head. Mrs Weasley gave him a distrustful look, but seemed to be satisfied for the moment. She popped the little bottle of potion back into her bag and pulled a large clothes brush out instead, beginning to work on the soot that Hagrid hadn't been able to beat away. Ron rolled his eyes at Harry in commiseration. Hermione, meanwhile, had been joined by two adults Harry thought were probably her parents. The man had Hermione's big brown eyes, and her mother the bushy hair and a similar look of clever capability.

'John Granger,' the man said, confirming Harry's suspicions as he shook hands with Mr Weasley. 'And this is my wife, Jean.' He indicated the woman next to him. Hermione quickly stepped in to introduce the group of wizards, and everyone exchanged handshakes and pleasantries.

'But, you're Muggles!' Mr Weasley said, his eyes dancing with excitement. 'We must have a drink after Gringotts.'

Mrs Weasley, meanwhile, had turned to Hagrid, thanking him profusely for his rescue of Harry. 'Honestly, Knockturn Alley!' she was saying, wringing his hand. 'I don't know what I'd have told Albus… if you hadn't found him, Hagrid –'

Hermione put an arm around him. 'You really were lucky, Harry, you know. I've read about Knockturn Alley – it's supposed to be full of dark magic shops. You of all people wouldn't want to be recognised there.'

'Yeah, I gathered that, thanks,' said Harry, still feeling a little annoyed that everyone seemed to be acting as though he'd gone there on purpose.

'Where'd you come out down there, Harry?' Ron queried, as the party began to climb the stone steps into the bank.

'In a shop called Borgin and Burke's. And you'll never guess who I ran into there.'

'Who?' Hermione asked.

'Malfoy and his father,' said Harry.

'Lucius Malfoy?' Arthur Weasley put in, breaking off his excited diatribe on Muggle travel with the Grangers and spinning to face Harry from three steps up. 'Did he buy anything?'

Harry shook his head, catching the look of distrust in Mr Weasley's expression and remembering the scathing way Mr Malfoy had referred to Arthur. 'No. He said he was selling.'

Mr Weasley looked grimly satisfied. 'So he's worried,' he said with a nod. 'I'd just love to get Lucius Malfoy for something,' he added with relish. Fred and George grinned appreciatively behind him.

'Now don't you go picking a fight with Lucius Malfoy, Arthur,' scolded Mrs Weasley, coming up the stairs and grabbing Mr Weasley firmly by the elbow to get him climbing again. 'That family is nothing but trouble.'

'You don't think I can handle Lucius?' Arthur asked indignantly. Mrs Weasley did not answer, saved her need to reply by their arrival at the doors of the bank.

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Forty-five minutes later, the group exited Gringotts into the bright sunlight of the Alley once more. Hermione and her parents had exchanged their Muggle money at the counter in the lobby, while Harry and the Weasleys had gone down into the bowels of the bank with one of the goblins. Harry had felt a little awkward, seeing the meagre contents of the Weasley vault and then having his own inheritance on display as they stopped to fill his money bag. The Weasleys were such a kind family, and they'd been wonderful to him during his stay. He knew Ron was very touchy about the family's lack of fortune and, somehow, having the Weasleys see the sizable vault his parents had left them had felt gauche. Harry didn't say much after he re-entered the cart, until they'd exited into the street again.

Mr Weasley insisted on taking the Grangers back to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink. Fred and George wanted to break off to do their shopping, ostensibly because Ginny's first year list would slow them down… though Harry suspected that they'd rather Mrs Weasley not look over their shoulders as they procured their 'supplies' for the year. She let them go, with an admonishment to keep out of Knockturn Alley and a threat to put a toddler trailing compulsion charm on them if they disobeyed. Percy muttered vaguely about visiting a stationary store on the other end of the street, drifting off as well. After a bit of needling, Harry, Ron and Hermione convinced the adults to let them complete the majority of their shopping on their own. Mrs Weasley had been reluctant to let Harry out of her sight again ('Hagrid has probably already told Albus, Arthur. Do you really want to have to explain it to him if we lose Harry twice in one day?'), but her husband had talked her round.

'We'll meet in Flourish and Blotts in one hour,' Mrs Weasley said at last. 'And we can all get your books together. Do try and stay with the crowd, alright dears?'

They nodded in agreement, and Ron pulled the others away before Mrs Weasley could reconsider. Harry bought the trio ice-creams at Florian Fortescue's parlour, starving from his morning of excitement. They visited the apothecary to refill their potion kits, then ducked into the stationary store to stock up on new parchment and quills (Hermione considerably outdoing the boys with her own stack of supplies). Ron and Harry spent a few minutes in the quidditch shop ogling the new Nimbus model, before Hermione dragged them into a little second-hand book shop to look for some reference text she'd been wanting, where they ran into Percy, looking awkward and reading the back cover of a battered-looking novel. They collected Fred and George from Gambol and Japes Joke Shop, where everyone but Harry (who still had a good stock from the summer trip) and Hermione (who disapproved) purchased a number of items. The five of them then hurried to make Mrs Weasley's deadline at the book shop.

As they skittered to a halt outside Flourish and Blotts, they saw that a large banner had been erected under the shop sign.

Gilderoy Lockhart Book Signing, the banner proclaimed. A smaller parchment tacked to the window read,

'Gilderoy Lockhart, celebrated author and defence expert, will be signing copies of his autobiography, Magical Me, today from 12:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m.'

'Ooh!' squealed Hermione excitedly, pointing at the sign. 'We'll be able to actually meet him! He's wonderful – and he's written almost the entire booklist!'

'Great!' Fred said in mock enthusiasm, his voice heavy with sarcasm. Hermione shot him an irritated look, already pulling Ron and Harry toward the queue. Harry saw that, apart from the smattering of Hogwarts-age students, the queue was made up mostly of witches around Mrs Weasley's age. A dishevelled shop employee was trying in vain to keep the witches in order as they clamoured to see over one another.

'Up here!' called a voice from three-quarters up the queue. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the twins pushed their way toward Mrs Weasley, who was standing with her husband, Ginny, and Hermione's confused-looking parents. She was dabbing at her face with a powder puff, watched darkly by Mr Weasley. She clamped the compact as they reached her, and stuffed it back into her handbag. 'We'll be able to see him in a moment,' she said in excitement, nodding her head toward the front of the crowd. Harry, Ron and Hermione each grabbed a copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 from a nearby shelf and crammed themselves in beside the Weasley family.

After twenty minutes or so, the crowd moved slowly forward enough to show Gilderoy Lockhart. He looked exactly like the photo on the cover of Mrs Weasley's book, in Harry's opinion. All golden hair, ostentatious robes, and a dazzling smile. Harry tried to count the white teeth, wondering if he had more than the average human or if he simply had trained his lips to pull back far enough so that each and every one was one display. He'd reached 22 before he was shoved roughly into Ron from the side by a harried looking camera man. Ron caught him by the shoulder, pulling him straight again.

'Sorry mate,' he said to Ron, as the latter rubbed at his foot where Harry had accidentally tread on it.

'Stand back a mo' ' the photographer shouted as he angled the camera, 'This is for the Daily Prophet.'

'Who cares,' Ron said back, sounding bad-tempered. Gilderoy Lockhart looked up from the book he'd been signing, clearly hearing the interaction. His eyes rested on Ron for a moment, then slid sideways to land on Harry. He gave an overly dramatic sound of astonishment, rising to his feet so that the gleaming emerald robes he wore swirled around him.

'My word,' he said, striding around the desk. 'It's never – Harry Potter?' Heads turned up and down the queue, excited muttering breaking out. Harry felt himself go red.

The photographer looked between them for a moment with a calculating gleam in his eye, then pushed Harry roughly forward. Gilderoy Lockhart descended immediately, diving for Harry and pulling him toward the raised platform where he'd been signing books by the arm. He turned Harry around to face the crowded shop, throwing an arm around his shoulders and grasping his right hand as the camera flashed.

'Nice big smile, Harry!' he said with a good-natured wink. 'I expect this will be the front page – you and I, together.'

Harry felt his cheeks burn. He looked toward the Weasleys, who were all staring helplessly back at him. Ron gave him a grimace, while Fred and George mimed vomiting into Ginny's new cauldron. Molly Weasley was smiling, looking a little tearful. Arthur was frowning slightly and attempting to push his way through to the platform, but his path was blocked by several large witches, who snapped at him in Dundee accents as he tried to squeeze between them.

After several agonising moments, the flashing of the camera subsided. Lockhart released Harry's hand, and he tried to inch his way off the platform and back to the Weasleys. Lockhart, however, kept his arm firmly around Harry's shoulders, preventing his escape. He held up his other hand to silence the tittering crowd.

'Ladies and Gentlemen,' he said in a ringing voice, once the crowd had fallen quiet. 'What a wonderful day this is! As fate would have it, I have been sitting on an exciting announcement for several weeks now, and I think Harry's arrival today presents the perfect opportunity to share the news with you all.'

He squeezed Harry's shoulder a bit again as he spoke. Harry wasn't sure if the gesture was to emphasise his words, or because Lockhart was ensuring Harry didn't sidle away off the stage.

'When young Harry and his friends entered Flourish and Blotts this afternoon,' Lockhart continued, 'They came thinking to purchase a copy of my new autobiography, Magical Me.' He pulled a book from the stack on the desk, holding it up for the crowd to see. The Lockhart on the front cover winked roguishly at them all. 'I shall present him a copy now, free of charge, of course.' The crowd applauded as Lockhart pressed the book into Harry's hands, and the photographer clicked madly again. 'Yes,' said Lockhart, his hand up to silence the group once more. 'But what Harry and his friends did not realise is that they will soon be getting the real Magical Me. I am excited to announce that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!' Lockhart finished.

The crowd roared its approval, and Lockhart took several small bows, beaming and waving at the witches and wizards before him. Harry finally staggered from the stage twenty minutes later, his arms nearly shaking with the weight of the entire collection of Lockhart books that the man had insisted upon giving him (all signed) before he'd allowed him to step down, and black spots still dancing in his eyes from the constant flashing of the camera. He made his way wearily back to the group of Weasleys and tipped the tottering pile of books into Ginny's cauldron.

'You take these,' he said, arranging the dropped books a bit more neatly in the belly of the cauldron. 'I'll get my own set.' He made to turn toward the overflowing table of Lockhart books, but a noxious voice pulled him up short.

'Smarming up to the new professor already are you, Potter?' Draco Malfoy jeered, appearing from the crowd.

'Shove off, Malfoy,' said Ron, moving to stand beside Harry.

Malfoy sneered at the pair of them. 'But, of course,' said Malfoy in the same jeering tone. 'Famous Harry Potter can't even go into a bookshop without his posse of faithful sidekicks.' His gaze travelled over Ron, taking in Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George as well. 'Has to make the front page everywhere he goes, doesn't he?'

'He didn't ask for that!' Ginny said hotly. Harry stared. He'd hardly heard Ginny speak at all in front of him since he arrived at the Burrow. But she was staring at Malfoy now with a glare that rivalled her mother's when she was riled.

'Bet you're surprised to see Harry here, aren't you, Malfoy?' Ron put in.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. 'Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley. I suppose your family will have to do without supper for a month, to pay for all these.' He gestured at the stacks of books in Ron's and the twins' hands.

Ron dropped his into the cauldron as well, starting toward Malfoy with a furious look. Hermione rebalanced the pile in her own arms and flung one hand out to snatch the back of his jacket. Harry was rather impressed at her strength – those books had nearly caused him to keel over, and he'd been using both hands.

'Not fighting, I hope, boys?' Mr Weasley interrupted, as he strode over to join them. 'Fred, George, bring those books up to your mother at the counter, won't you?' he said to the twins. 'It's far too crowded in here.'

'Well, well, Arthur Weasley,' said a disdainful voice. Lucius Malfoy had glided over to the group. He put a hand on Draco's shoulder as he reached them, leering down at the children in exactly the same way.

'Lucius,' Mr Weasley acknowledged coldly, inclining his head infinitesimally at the blond wizard.

'Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,' Mr Malfoy continued. 'I do hope you're getting overtime pay for all these extra raids.' He leaned over, picking up an extremely battered copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration from behind the glossy Lockhart books in Ginny's cauldron. 'Clearly not,' he said jeeringly, riffling the tattered pages. 'I wonder; whatever is the purpose of being a disgrace to the name of Wizard, if they don't even compensate you for it?'

Mr Weasley went beetroot red – whether from temper or embarrassment, or some combination, Harry wasn't sure.

'We have different ideas about what disgraces the name of Wizard, Lucius,' Mr Weasley said, sounding as though he'd maintained control of his voice with great difficulty.

'Obviously,' Mr Malfoy acknowledged, his gaze turning from the Weasleys to take in the Granger parents, who we standing behind Hermione and watching the scene, looking nervous. 'My goodness, Arthur, the company you keep these days… and I thought your family could fall no farther –'

There was a sudden clank of metal on wood as Mr Weasley pushed Ginny's cauldron roughly aside. It fell, scattering its load of books onto the ground, as Mr Weasley hurled himself at Lucius Malfoy. Mr Malfoy fell backward into one of the towering bookshelves, sending a cascade of heavy spellbooks down upon them all.

Fred and George whooped in excitement, cheering their father on. Mrs Granger pulled Hermione quickly out of the way of the toppling books, looking horrified, as Percy rescued Ginny from the line of fire. Mrs Weasley began shouting frantically, trying to call her husband to order. Harry and Ron set Ginny's cauldron upright again and followed the fight through wide eyes. Many of the shoppers had ceased their ogling of Lockhart to watch, and the cameraman was clicking away again as the shopkeeper tried in vain to end the scuffle.

'Break it up, gents, break it up there!'

Hagrid had come to the rescue again, parting the crowd easily as he stepped over the debris to pull the men apart, setting each on his feet roughly. Mr Weasley's lip was bloodied, and Mr Malfoy had a deep cut over one eyebrow. He snarled as he pulled himself from Hagrid's grip, adjusting his cloak and spitting his long blond hair out of his mouth. He was still holding Ginny's Transfiguration text.

'Here, girl,' he said, thrusting the book back into her arms. 'Take your book. It's the best your father can give you.' He beckoned to Draco, who was looking as stunned as any of the rest. The two Malfoys left the shop.

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'Honestly, Arthur, what were you thinking?' Mrs Weasley said, continuing her tirade even five minutes later, as the group made their way toward the Leaky Cauldron.

They had completed their purchases as quickly as possible after helping the proprietor set the book shop back in order. He'd ushered them out with an air of being glad to see the back of them, though he'd allowed them to complete their shopping – probably because the massive Hagrid had stayed with them until they'd finished. He'd left the group as they exited the shop to complete a few additional errands in town before heading back to Hogwarts. Mrs Weasley had thanked him profusely once more, breaking off her constant stream of scolding her husband to offer her comments to Hagrid before he departed… but she'd gone right back to it once the gamekeeper strode out of sight.

'What Gilderoy Lockhart must have thought at such a spectacle –' Minerva continued, looking murderous.

'He was really pleased,' Fred answered her. 'Didn't you see him when Hagrid had broken things up?'

'Yeah,' George agreed. 'Going on about the mad things people do when celebrities are around – said it was all publicity. He wanted that bloke to work it into the story for the Prophet.'

Mrs Weasley's face grew more sinister than ever. 'If that makes the paper, Arthur –' she began.

'I know, Molly dear, I know.' Arthur said, holding up his hands in surrender. 'I'll make a call on it when we get home.'

Mrs Weasley continued the walk in huffy silence, still shooting dark glances at her husband every few feet. She ushered them all hastily into the Leaky Cauldron, where they said goodbye to the Grangers before lining up in front of the hearth. Harry took his pinch of floo powder with trepidation, though he told Mrs Weasley he felt alright to try it on his own again.

He definitely preferred to travel by broom.