Noel
I scowl as tendrils of dark smog reach up to curl about my face. I definitely prefer being under the haughty eyes of my cousins in France to traipsing around Diagon Alley. I pull the hood of my cloak further over my head, Merlin forbid anyone spot me here. While my parents were known blood supremissist, the ministry had failed to find any between them and Voldemort. So, although most considered my family extremely bigoted we were not yet seen as evil. Being consistently spotted in Diagon Alley could drastically change that. And let's just say this wasn't my first trip… this week.
As we approached our destination, I reached down to pick up my long cloak; I would have to get it washed when I reached home, full of soot from the streets, as to not trip over it as I walked up the small flight of stairs leading to the door. Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary: the place you go for a little less than legal potions ingredients, or, if you're a pure blood, pigs' ears and a weak strain of the flu for testing the purity of a new relative's blood. As my parents moved toward the shop counter, I stayed at the front of the shop, peering through a hole in the dirt-stained window. I could just curse Javier for suggesting I come on these outings. "To prove my loyalty to the Avery family," was how he put it. I know he was just trying to get me back into good standings with mother and father, but Hecate I hate this place. Just as I could hear my parents finishing up their order, I spotted a more than out of place figure in the gloom outside.
Harry.
What was he doing here? I would need to buy myself a little more time to investigate.
I called through the shop, "Mother, are you not forgetting the Acromantula venom that one must use in the Futurum Pulchritudo potion? I simply want to make sure the purity test for Ceti goes only as planned."
I heard my mother speak lowly to my father, "Dearest," she gave only the single word. Her way of telling my father to fix what had been wrongly done. He swiftly turned around, already bargaining. I should have just enough time.
I seamlessly backed my way to the door and slipped out, making careful to close the door a centimeter at a time, leaving not a noise behind. I let my guard down once the door was closed, I had to get him out of here. Why was that boy always in trouble? I rush up to where he is still standing, right outside of Borgin and Burkes, now with a sales witch from Dystyl Phalanges' leering over him, her hands clutching a tray of Inferi fingernails.
"I do not think you will be of any service today, thank you very much," I said, sternly, to the witch, shooing her back to her store-front post. I then turned on Harry, "What are you doing here? It's not safe."
"You're here," he steadily retorts, "plus, I got lost." I look him over, from his soot-filled robes to his broken glasses, before grabbing him by the arm and leading him to where he most certainly belonged: Diagon Alley. As we emerge onto the candy colored lane that is Diagon Alley, I lift my face to the sunshine, letting a few dappled rays hit my face, hidden behind my still drawn hood. Then I swiftly begin addressing Harry, after all, it wasn't that hard to bargain for Acromantula venom, I am running out of time.
"I was in that place because my parents were with me and I've been there many times before. You, on the other hand, are certainly not used to such places and most definitely shopping with people here," I rambled. "Am I right, or am I right?" I finish pointedly as Harry fiddls with his broken glasses, slightly embarrassed, to say the least. I look around, a bit worried, "Who did you come with?" I question, realizing that if I did not head back soon, I would be in heaps of trouble.
"Well..." he began, before two girlish voices interrupted him.
"Harry! Harry!" The first one called.
"Over here," the second one continued.
I turn around to see Hermione and Laura waving at us from atop the steps of Gringotts. Good, Harry will be safe. I turn back around swiftly, knowing I have no time for reunions, and leave Harry without another remark. If I ran, I might be able to convince my parents that I had been waiting outside of the door the whole time. I make sure to pull my cloak tightly around me as I plunge back into the dreary streets of Knockturn. I had just situated myself at the bottom of the stairs when the door deftly clangs and my parents make their exit. My mother shoots one foreboding look at me, giving me a chance to explain myself.
"I thought it would be best to wait outside. Only proper of me to open the door for you." I sputtered. If only I had actually opened the door. Guess I was having no luck today.
My mother simply looked at my father and uttered one word, "dearest."
Caught.
Damn Javier, this was all his fault. His and Harry's.
Laura
From straight ahead, I see, who seems to be, Harry at the edge of the entrance to Knockturn Alley. Leering next to him is an odd, shadowy person, draped in a long, dark robe. Before I can make out whose face is behind the heavy hood, they sweep around and disappear back into the shadows of the forbidden alley.
Harry stands, waiting, covered in soot and dirt, but seemingly not too shaken by his newest experience. From what I had heard, growing up, Knockturn Alley hosts a black-market system for those among the darker arts.
Although I hadn't expected to see him, it genuinely didn't shock me. Today, as most other students were, I was shopping for the newest supplies on my list. Though Diagon Alley was no maze to my family, it was taking us quite some time to go around, as we happened to be hosting the Grangers. Early this day, my family – well, my parents, as my brother had rushed off to meet one of his friends the moment we arrived – had stumbled upon Hermione and her parents, struggling to find which brick to tap on the entrance. Luckily for her, my parents happened to instantaneously want to help and decided to show them the ropes of the alley.
So, there we stand, on the stairs of Gringotts bank, waiting for my parents to finish explaining the conversion process to Hermione's, when Harry just decides to stroll up out of Knockturn Alley with a strange, shadow person."
He approaches us quickly, talking as he draws near, "oh, Laura! Hermione!"
"What were you doing in Knockturn Alley?" I question, assuming there was no way Harry would have just shown up in a place like that. What would he be doing? Browsing for furniture?
"Floo powder incident." He mutters, gazing at his tarnished outfit.
"Well, at least you're here now." Hermione smiled, before turning around to see a small crowd sprinting down the street. As the hoard approaches, I can clearly make out at least six bright red heads and one sandy-brown one.
"Goodness! Harry, are you okay?" Mrs. Weasley gasps, pulling a large dust brush out of her purse and beginning to beat Harry's robes with it.
"Where did you end up?" Ron asks, appearing from the back of the group.
"Knockturn Alley," I smirk, half laughing.
"Wicked." The twins and their tall friend, the one sandy-brown head, the Ravenclaw quidditch announcer, Andrew Esterly, murmur, in unison.
"Mum never allowed us to go in." Ron add, thoroughly impressed.
Out of the bank, my parents and Hermione's emerge, still chattering about muggle trends, or something. As they approach where we stand, Mr. Weasleys face, visibly, lights up and he eagerly sticks his hand out toward the Grangers. Setting introductions to play.
"We must have a drink, sometime." He encourages, "what's that there? Oh, you're exchanging muggle money! Molly, look!"
Mrs. Weasley shakes her head, as her husband points excitedly at the money.
The adults begin to converse, as the many Weasley children depart from their crowded group. Percy quickly leaves, muttering about needing a new quill, as Mrs. Weasley starts to trail off of the conversation, guiding Ginny in the direction of a secondhand robe shop. Before completely departing, however, she managed to quickly shout to all her children a place for them to meet in an hour: Flourish and Blotts. Fred and George merely wave off their mother's reminder before continuing a, concerningly, in-depth conversation with Andrew, while walking away towards Japes Wizarding Jokes Shop. Ron decides to head out as well, and he motions for us to follow him.
We stroll down the winding, cobble road, browsing and stopping to stare at various store fronts along the way. We stop at Florean Fortescue's where Harry, despite our objections, buys an ice cream cone for each of us. Upon leaving the parlor, Ron brings us to a stop, seemingly entranced by a shop displaying a bright orange set of Chudley Canon robes. Hermione practically has to drag him away from the offensive item. Harry and I laugh, secretly, behind them as she forces him into the store next door to buy ink and parchment. After continuing our shopping spree for quite a bit longer, Ron reminds us of his mother's mention to meet in Flourish and Blotts. We quickly change our direction, on time with her set schedule, for once, and arrive at the shop ten minutes early.
Outside, a large crowd spills from the entrance, trying to get in its vicinity. Above the door there seems to show the answer why. On a large fabric banner, hanging above the door and the lower windows, it reads:
GILDEROY LOCKHART
will be signing copies of his autobiography
MAGICAL ME
today 12:30 P.M. to 4:30 P.M.
"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squeals, clearly fangirling.
I shake my head, laughing, "don't freak out, yet."
The crowd surrounding the building is, mostly, full of witches of various ages. A tall, blonde man stands in pictures that are plastered everywhere, flashing a blinding smile. Hermione, Ron, Harry and I squeezed inside the tight entrance, stepping past a long line that winds around the back of the shop. We each quickly pick up a copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2, and find the rest of the Weasleys, plus Hermione and my's parents, standing near the middle of the line.
Over time, the author, Gilderoy Lockhart, comes into our view, sitting at a long table that is covered in copies of his newest book, Magical Me, and posters of his face. The mass number of pictures all are moving, winking and flashing blinding smiles at the crowd. He, on the other hand, is wearing forget-me-not blue robes, with a matching wizard's hat, and is, somewhat creepily, throwing on a plastered, joyous, face for the crowd.
Besides us, a short man is rapidly moving around, taking nonstop photos of the author, each photo ending with a blinding flash and a puff of bog-colored smoke.
"Out of the way," the photographer snarls at Ron, stepping back to get a better angle. 'This is for the Daily Prophet."
"Big deal," Ron mutters, rubbing his foot from where the man had stepped on it.
Somehow, from feet away, Gilderoy Lockhart had heard him. He looks up, sees Ron, looks over, sees me, then he sees Harry. He stares for a moment, making me raise an eyebrow, before leaping from his seat.
"My, it can't be, The Harry Potter. Could it?"
The crowd buzzes, as Lockhart dives through the rows of people. He snatches Harry by the arm, and practically drags him to the front of the room. The photographer doesn't stop taking pictures, mind you, so the light blinds us for moments on end.
As Harry, unwillingly, smiles for photos, Lockhart begins to give an odd sort of speech. Honestly, I ignore most of it, as I already have developed a dislike for the man. But, then, I hear the ending of what he said:
"I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that, this September, I will be taking the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
I stand, mouth open, wanting to opt out of the class already. The rest of the crowd cheers and claps, as Harry walks back towards us, hands full of what seems to be every book Lockhart had ever written. He notices Ginny standing nearby, and offers her the books, when someone familiar comes down the stairs to our right.
"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" I turn to see who it is, already knowing from their cold sneer. Of course: Draco. Malfoy.
"Famous Harry Potter," he says, "can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page."
"Leave him alone." Ginny, from beside us, speaks up. It was the first time I'd heard her talk in ages, but she was staring Draco dead in the eye. "He didn't want all that!"
"Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!" He mocked, making Ginny's face turn bright red. Ron and Hermione then bustle over, Hermione carrying stacks of Lockhart's books.
"Oh, it's you," Ron drawls, looking at Draco as though he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. "Bet you're surprised to see Harry here, eh?"
"Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley," retorts Draco. "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those."
Ron goes as red as Ginny. He starts towards Draco, before Harry quickly grabs the sleeve of his jacket. I begin to get fed up with the consistent insults, and chime in.
"How is it that you become ruder and creepier each year? You just hovered upstairs, watching us – doubt money could fix a stalker," I snap.
He glares at me for a moment, no rebuttal at play. I sigh, taking the opportunity to diffuse the situation.
"Just shove off, Draco. You wouldn't want someone saying stuff like that to you."
I hold his, now confused, stare. He and my friends spent all last year arguing over nonsense, getting them nowhere. Seemed like they all were repeating the same pattern this year, already. I was too. Sometimes, I just want to laugh at their immaturity. There and then I decided: if I had to be the diffuser this year to stop them from wasting time on pitiful arguments, so be it.
"Ron!" Mr. Weasley shouts, breaking the tension. "What are you doing in here? It's too crowded; let's head outside."
"Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley." A tall, dark, blonde, almost albino man appears, and there is no doubt in me that this is, and had to be, Draco's father.
Noel
I stand stiffly between my parents as they lead me to Flourish and Blotts, one of the few shops we would visit in Diagon Alley. I had, by now, removed my long cloak, as the article that would, when in Knockturn, make me look inconspicuous, would have the exact opposite effect here. While most students wear their house cloaks over their normal, everyday, clothes, my parents refuse to see me in my Gryffindor robes, like ever. So, over my black turtleneck shirt and knee length purple skirt, I am wearing a, hood less, hunter green cloak.
As we shove through the fifty-person deep crowd and into the store, I can only hope no one I know will be inside. However, this world, much like my parents, is completely against me. Before I even step through the door, I am able to catch a glimpse of two grown men fighting and knocking down bookshelves. It isn't until an older woman - I'm assuming one of the men's wives - split them up, that I even glanced at the small hoard of children gathered around them. Merlin's beard. I could honestly spend about a minute listing off names, but to me the most horrifying faces to see had to be Laura, Hermione, and Ron. I quickly stop, allowing my parents to step right in front of me. Maybe they won't see me? One of the men, a snaky blonde, turns toward my parents.
"Lucius," my father exclaims, slightly shocked, "I didn't expect to see you here..." He trails off, as he looks to where the other man is standing. In front of the Weasleys, he must; be Ron's dad. I knew that my father's shock came from seeing another of high blood status rolling around on the floor, like some common filth, and normally I would have been quite interested to hear their conversation. But, right now, my priorities were set on not being spotted. It wouldn't do for my parents to see me talking to, what I considered, my friends, and what they considered blood traitors and mudbloods. I cautiously peer around my mother, and at the small hoard once more. Despite my efforts, I quickly make eye contact with Ron. I manage to silence him with a shake of my head before he can call my name. He looks up at my parents' grim faces, before turning back to back to me and nodding his head.
He understands.
I watch him replay the information to the others, Laura and Harry mimic Ron's somber nod as Hermione sends questioning looks in my direction. Before I can figure out a way to relay some more specific information, my mother places her hand firmly on my back, interrupting my father and Mr. Malfoy.
"Now dear, we ought to finish what business we came here for, Lucius may accompany us home, and his darling son too, but you must mind that it is not proper to have such in depth conversations in public. Not here, at least."
My heart clenches. No. I would not stand having prissy puke-ish Malfoy prancing around my house in his perfect Slytherin cloak. I can endure a lot, but I would be damned if I had to spend one moment in the same room as him. Therefore, I am much relieved to hear Mr. Malfoy's answer.
"I'm afraid Draco and I must be meeting up with Narcissa now, wouldn't want to keep her waiting any longer."
"Why, of course," my mother practically coos. "What a dear you were to take Draco shopping; I could never imagine sending Rigel here out with the children."
The three adults share a hearty, fake, and much too long laugh, before parting ways.- Finally. I make extra care not to look at any of my friends, or their many companions, as I follow my, very driven, parents through the store and back out in record time. I simply can't wait to get home, other than my impending punishment for sneaking away and my brothers stupid face, going home would be a joy. Especially when compared to the disaster of a shopping trip I had just endured.
I carefully throw my long black cloak back on as we quickly stroll back through Knockturn Alley and to the White Wyvern to floo home. I would have to remember to owl Hermione, Laura, Ron, and Harry, explaining just what had happened back there.