Chapter Three
ACQUAINTANCES
By the following morning, Harry's growing suspicions had swelled into quite a large matter. He was sure there was something fishy going on, something that everyone knew about except him.
When Harry opened the bedroom door, Sirius, who was standing directly in front of that blank canvas, promptly grabbed something resting on the mantle and stuffed it into his pocket. A weak smile forced its way onto his face as Sirius addressed Harry.
"Hey there, mate! Uh, how'd you sleep?"
"Fine," Harry responded, narrowing his eyes. "So anything interesting in the papers today?"
"What did you say?" he asked with an odd look on his face.
"The daily – anything good?"
"No, not particularly…" As he responded, his hand appeared to have instinctively clenched the cloak pocket.
Harry's brows arched as he inched back into the room, bit by bit. That was curious, he thought. But Harry had a plan. Peering through the crack of the door, he noticed that Sirius had resumed his staring session with the nonexistent painting…and that his cloak was now draped over a chair. Grinning slyly, Harry scanned the bedroom and his eyes found Hedwig's iron cage. The owl was still fast asleep, her white plumage slightly covering her face. Harry managed to gently position the cage up to the open window and unlatch the door.
"Sorry, gal, but I need your help," whispered Harry before ferociously shaking the cage.
The giant snowy owl went into panic, flapping her wings furiously. Without looking back, she took off into the thicket, and then came back. She continued flying back and forth, hooting loudly and rustling the leaves. Sirius jerked his head up abruptly, directing his eyes towards a window. He snatched his wand, which he had left on the mantle, and ran outside to find the source of the commotion. He did, after all, have to stay inconspicuous...and a cranky snowy owl awake during the day didn't help that cause much at all.
With a wily look of triumph on his face, he murmured, "Better remember to thank Fred and George for that one," and rushed over to Sirius' unused cloak. His rifling soon came into contact with something – a scrap of paper. After snatching the prize he dashed back into the bedroom, locked the door, and began his inspection.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
1 THE DAILY PROPHET
Saturday, August 26th, 1995
DEATH EATER DISTURBANCES ARISE Outer Hebrides, Scotland
Late last night, several eyewitnesses reported bright lights emerging from a deep, abandoned thicket on an allegedly desolate island off the coast of the Outer Hebrides. There is much suspicion that the source of this disturbance was the wretched clan of Death Eaters who follow He-Who-Shall- Not-Be-Named. Authorities have begun questioning locals of the Outer Hebrides in hopes of tracking more precise details, but few people desire to openly testify against this ghastly group. Ministry officials refuse to comment further on the subject.
2 RECOVERY OF OUR BELOVE-
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
It suddenly seemed so obvious. Not that Harry was all too familiar with the customs of the Death Eaters, but perhaps yesterday was, in some twisted way, Draco Malfoy's "rite of passage." Harry couldn't help but shudder at the very thought. He could just picture it: within the dark shroud of the thicket, the iniquitous Death Eaters surrounded Draco – standing prideful and tall with that dreary smirk on his face. The crowd chanted recitations, performed rituals, honoured their risen leader...and now Draco was one of them.
Unfortunately, Harry's concentration was interrupted. Sirius entered silently into the bedroom, the snowy owl perched calmly upon his arm. With a distressingly quiet voice he asked, "Why the bloody hell was Hedwig outside?"
Harry bit his lip and met Sirius' burning stare, but not before he nonchalantly slipped the stolen article under his pillow. He wanted nothing more than to tell his godfather what had really happened, and everything that he found out. But then again there was the possibility that Sirius already knew. Perhaps he had seen with his own two eyes the horrors that took place in the darkness of the thicket. Either way, the words didn't come out quite right.
"I – I'm sorry. I didn't see where I was going – and I just ran right into her cage. It was entirely my fault."
Still flustered, Sirius turned around toward the window and sighed. "You're damn right, it's your fault. But I guess I am taking this security thing too far as well."
The two of them remained silent for a while, most likely at a loss of words. Eventually Harry's godfather spoke up quietly, "Well, I guess there's nothing we can do about it right now..." Harry noticed the strange tone of voice and turned to look at Sirius, only to find see a horrific sight through the window.
A band of cloaked men were walking towards the cabin. Death Eaters.
Eyes narrowed on his now twisted face, Sirius immediately pulled Harry up from the bed, pushed him out of the bedroom, and continued to force him roughly towards the fireplace. No matter how many walls he was scraped against or how many leg chairs he was pushed into, Harry remained silent.
The whole place was complete chaos. Sounds of a desperate escape clashed with the mounting pounds of footsteps outside. Cold fear ran through both of them, for surely if the Death Eaters were here, Voldemort would soon be here as well.
Pulling out his wand, Sirius hastily shouted "Incendio!" Afterward he snatched a small clay jar hanging from a torch by the fireplace and scattered some of the silvery powder from the jar into the flame. There was an abrupt gleam of light as the golden-brown flames in the fireplace changed to a brilliant green. With another push, Harry was urged toward the flame, but he stopped dead in his tracks.
"Sirius, you're coming with me! You can't take on all those Death Eaters by yourself. No one can."
"I'll be right behind you."
"Sirius, I'm not a kid anymore. No longer can I be tricked with simple words."
He sighed. "All right, I'll level with you. That blank painting, it's called a Silver Board. It's how I've kept in touch with Dumbledore and the others. This morning they sent me the Daily Prophet and warned me that the Dark Side somehow learned that we were here." As Sirius hurriedly ran through an explanation, the approaching footsteps became louder.
"Wait, do you mean to say that more people know you're in hiding? Not just Dumbledore?"
"Yes," he responded hesitantly, "a few people from a certain group. The past members were recently called back by the headmaster for an urgent mission. Arabella Figg was one of them." Out of the blue there was a violent pounding at the door.
"There's no time to argue, Harry. I put a spell on the door, but with that many people it won't hold for long. Go to Diagon Alley and don't wait up for me. Just find someone to stay with until it's time for the Express. Please, you have to trust me."
Harry looked at his godfather, whose face looked grave yet determined. He promptly nodded and jumped into the flame, clearly pronouncing the words "Diagon Alley."
As he was being swallowed into the swirling green fire, he could see Sirius poised and formidable, aiming his wand at the cabin door as dark figures came crashing through. And then everything was gone.
***
Diagon Alley was a wondrous place, with wizarding shops of all sorts: from cauldrons to potions, galleons to wands, books to snacks. It was the place where wizards went to purchase whatever they needed.
Usually Harry was full of excitement whenever he had the chance to visit Diagon Alley, but his mind was still racing with thoughts of what had just happened…and what was to come. Surprisingly he didn't even breathe a quick sigh of relief for successfully arriving at the right place after traveling with floo powder. In one piece, too.
He meandered through the crowds, rather heedlessly, obliging everyone else to move out of his way. He soon realized the need to pay attention, especially after he walked straight into the dusty display window of Flourish and Blott's, inciting a group of noticeably cute girls about his age to giggle. Harry was glad he didn't recognize any of them from Hogwarts (but then again, his glasses had fallen off and they all looked like blurry blobs anyways).
Quickly putting himself back together, he gave a quick grin at the group of girls, who were making a poor attempt at curbing their laughter. Harry's face was flushed out of embarrassment, and as such he opted not to make any conversation. Rather he continued walking and soon found himself in front of Madam Malkin's shop. He opened the door, driving away the white and brown cat that had been basking in the sun.
After a half an hour or so, Harry left the shop carrying a shopping bag stuffed with boxes. Among them was a nice dress robe for Ron, just in case. Really Harry wasn't one to squander his parents' fortune on luxuries. He then finished up purchasing the necessary schoolbooks (except for the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5 which Hermione had sent as a birthday gift earlier).
There were always plenty of young wizards and witches shopping at Diagon Alley around this time. Everyone had to prepare for the new year at Hogwarts. Harry especially enjoyed watching the first years gawk at all the schoolbooks they needed, the different exotic magical pets they could purchase, or the mystical potions and wands to which they would soon be quite accustomed. He could clearly remember his first time to Diagon Alley and to the entire world of wizardry itself four years ago.
He even remembered the way everyone had known his name by heart. In the pub, random people had come up to him, excited and shocked.
"Harry Potter! What an honour to meet you!"
"You don't know how long I've waited for this moment!"
"Harry! Over here!"
How peculiar. Harry was almost positive that the last voice was real. He glanced over his shoulder, hoping to see someone – anyone – just to make certain that he wasn't losing it. What he saw was a group of young children gaping at the newest broomstick models in the display window. One was particularly tall and lanky in the group. He was wearing a dark blue hand-made sweater, and had distinguishably red hair and a lot of freckles...
"HARRY!" Ron shouted again enthusiastically, waving his arms above his head. All the first years that were peering into the Quidditch shop window scuttled away. "Oops..."
With a raise of his eyebrows, Harry replied in jest, "Heh, nice going there, buddy."
Ron had a wide grin on his face as he walked over. Anyone who hadn't spent the last four years under a rock knew that Ron and Harry were the best of friends, with quarrels and all. No matter how horrible their arguments, both of the Gryffindor fifth years always worked around the differences.
"Why didn't you come visit last week?" inquired Ron.
"What? Did you invite me?"
After a moment of ponder, Ron exclaimed, "Ugh, it's that crikey owl again!"
"That's alright – the mail thing, I mean. Maybe I can come visit the Burrow after we finish buying all our stuff. I don't really have any other place to go anyways." Harry decided to keep the whole Sirius ordeal to himself until they could go somewhere less crowded.
"Not too sure about that. My dad had to go away for an important meeting, and my mum went with him. Percy gave us all a lift."
"Oh, well that's fine," said Harry, although disappointment was certainly present in his voice. The Weasley family, especially Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, were always warm to him, as if he were one of their own children.
"Sorry, Harry. Pig always gets lost. Make him fly more than fifty feet with a letter, and he just collapses right there on the earth. And his damn flying skills are horrible – freaking thing flew right into a muggle's post container once."
"Postbox," said Harry quietly, trying to suppress a laugh. "You know, Ron, if Hermione were here, she would be telling you off quite a bit right now."
Ron's face went a bit red. "Yeah, well if Hermione were here, we wouldn't be in this mess right now, would we? Hermione has the answer to everything."
Judging by his attitude, Harry could tell something was wrong. Hermione and Ron were usually very close. They always got along well with each other unless there was some other guy involved...
"So what has Hermione been up to this holiday? I didn't get to keep in touch with her too much," said Harry coolly.
"You want to know what Hermione's been doing? Well, I know one person she's been doin- "
"Just tell me, would you?"
"It's just that Hermione has been all over the place this summer. I haven't been able to spend any time with her at all." He looked over at Harry, who seemed sort of surprised. "What?"
"Nothing, go on," said Harry, who was grinning ever so slightly.
"Well whenever I invited her over, you know, just to hang around, she said she had plans. I finally figured out she was visiting Krum in Bulgaria to watch him practice and teach him some English and stuff." Ron kept shuffling his feet and kicking imaginary stones.
"Well, if I'd known you fancied Hermione, I would've told her something earlier!" said Harry with great enthusiasm.
"What are you talking about? I don't fancy Hermione! I just think it to be in her best interest if she didn't waste so much time with someone who calls her Herm-own-ninny and - " Ron abruptly broke off, so Harry gazed over his shoulder to see what was going on.
Now, there was nothing out of the ordinary at first: just leaving a nearby shop was bushy-haired Hermione carrying a rather large stack of books. At that point, Ron subtly gave Harry a convincing jab in the ribs to keep his mouth shut. However, when Hermione spotted her friends and gave a fervent wave, a few of her books fell to the ground. Before either of the boys even had a chance to help her, another person - tall, handsome, and pleasant – exited the same store after her and retrieved the fallen books. Beaming happily, he stood back up and handed them to Hermione, who returned the smile. Harry and Ron could only gape.
It was Lockhart.
ACQUAINTANCES
By the following morning, Harry's growing suspicions had swelled into quite a large matter. He was sure there was something fishy going on, something that everyone knew about except him.
When Harry opened the bedroom door, Sirius, who was standing directly in front of that blank canvas, promptly grabbed something resting on the mantle and stuffed it into his pocket. A weak smile forced its way onto his face as Sirius addressed Harry.
"Hey there, mate! Uh, how'd you sleep?"
"Fine," Harry responded, narrowing his eyes. "So anything interesting in the papers today?"
"What did you say?" he asked with an odd look on his face.
"The daily – anything good?"
"No, not particularly…" As he responded, his hand appeared to have instinctively clenched the cloak pocket.
Harry's brows arched as he inched back into the room, bit by bit. That was curious, he thought. But Harry had a plan. Peering through the crack of the door, he noticed that Sirius had resumed his staring session with the nonexistent painting…and that his cloak was now draped over a chair. Grinning slyly, Harry scanned the bedroom and his eyes found Hedwig's iron cage. The owl was still fast asleep, her white plumage slightly covering her face. Harry managed to gently position the cage up to the open window and unlatch the door.
"Sorry, gal, but I need your help," whispered Harry before ferociously shaking the cage.
The giant snowy owl went into panic, flapping her wings furiously. Without looking back, she took off into the thicket, and then came back. She continued flying back and forth, hooting loudly and rustling the leaves. Sirius jerked his head up abruptly, directing his eyes towards a window. He snatched his wand, which he had left on the mantle, and ran outside to find the source of the commotion. He did, after all, have to stay inconspicuous...and a cranky snowy owl awake during the day didn't help that cause much at all.
With a wily look of triumph on his face, he murmured, "Better remember to thank Fred and George for that one," and rushed over to Sirius' unused cloak. His rifling soon came into contact with something – a scrap of paper. After snatching the prize he dashed back into the bedroom, locked the door, and began his inspection.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
1 THE DAILY PROPHET
Saturday, August 26th, 1995
DEATH EATER DISTURBANCES ARISE Outer Hebrides, Scotland
Late last night, several eyewitnesses reported bright lights emerging from a deep, abandoned thicket on an allegedly desolate island off the coast of the Outer Hebrides. There is much suspicion that the source of this disturbance was the wretched clan of Death Eaters who follow He-Who-Shall- Not-Be-Named. Authorities have begun questioning locals of the Outer Hebrides in hopes of tracking more precise details, but few people desire to openly testify against this ghastly group. Ministry officials refuse to comment further on the subject.
2 RECOVERY OF OUR BELOVE-
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
It suddenly seemed so obvious. Not that Harry was all too familiar with the customs of the Death Eaters, but perhaps yesterday was, in some twisted way, Draco Malfoy's "rite of passage." Harry couldn't help but shudder at the very thought. He could just picture it: within the dark shroud of the thicket, the iniquitous Death Eaters surrounded Draco – standing prideful and tall with that dreary smirk on his face. The crowd chanted recitations, performed rituals, honoured their risen leader...and now Draco was one of them.
Unfortunately, Harry's concentration was interrupted. Sirius entered silently into the bedroom, the snowy owl perched calmly upon his arm. With a distressingly quiet voice he asked, "Why the bloody hell was Hedwig outside?"
Harry bit his lip and met Sirius' burning stare, but not before he nonchalantly slipped the stolen article under his pillow. He wanted nothing more than to tell his godfather what had really happened, and everything that he found out. But then again there was the possibility that Sirius already knew. Perhaps he had seen with his own two eyes the horrors that took place in the darkness of the thicket. Either way, the words didn't come out quite right.
"I – I'm sorry. I didn't see where I was going – and I just ran right into her cage. It was entirely my fault."
Still flustered, Sirius turned around toward the window and sighed. "You're damn right, it's your fault. But I guess I am taking this security thing too far as well."
The two of them remained silent for a while, most likely at a loss of words. Eventually Harry's godfather spoke up quietly, "Well, I guess there's nothing we can do about it right now..." Harry noticed the strange tone of voice and turned to look at Sirius, only to find see a horrific sight through the window.
A band of cloaked men were walking towards the cabin. Death Eaters.
Eyes narrowed on his now twisted face, Sirius immediately pulled Harry up from the bed, pushed him out of the bedroom, and continued to force him roughly towards the fireplace. No matter how many walls he was scraped against or how many leg chairs he was pushed into, Harry remained silent.
The whole place was complete chaos. Sounds of a desperate escape clashed with the mounting pounds of footsteps outside. Cold fear ran through both of them, for surely if the Death Eaters were here, Voldemort would soon be here as well.
Pulling out his wand, Sirius hastily shouted "Incendio!" Afterward he snatched a small clay jar hanging from a torch by the fireplace and scattered some of the silvery powder from the jar into the flame. There was an abrupt gleam of light as the golden-brown flames in the fireplace changed to a brilliant green. With another push, Harry was urged toward the flame, but he stopped dead in his tracks.
"Sirius, you're coming with me! You can't take on all those Death Eaters by yourself. No one can."
"I'll be right behind you."
"Sirius, I'm not a kid anymore. No longer can I be tricked with simple words."
He sighed. "All right, I'll level with you. That blank painting, it's called a Silver Board. It's how I've kept in touch with Dumbledore and the others. This morning they sent me the Daily Prophet and warned me that the Dark Side somehow learned that we were here." As Sirius hurriedly ran through an explanation, the approaching footsteps became louder.
"Wait, do you mean to say that more people know you're in hiding? Not just Dumbledore?"
"Yes," he responded hesitantly, "a few people from a certain group. The past members were recently called back by the headmaster for an urgent mission. Arabella Figg was one of them." Out of the blue there was a violent pounding at the door.
"There's no time to argue, Harry. I put a spell on the door, but with that many people it won't hold for long. Go to Diagon Alley and don't wait up for me. Just find someone to stay with until it's time for the Express. Please, you have to trust me."
Harry looked at his godfather, whose face looked grave yet determined. He promptly nodded and jumped into the flame, clearly pronouncing the words "Diagon Alley."
As he was being swallowed into the swirling green fire, he could see Sirius poised and formidable, aiming his wand at the cabin door as dark figures came crashing through. And then everything was gone.
***
Diagon Alley was a wondrous place, with wizarding shops of all sorts: from cauldrons to potions, galleons to wands, books to snacks. It was the place where wizards went to purchase whatever they needed.
Usually Harry was full of excitement whenever he had the chance to visit Diagon Alley, but his mind was still racing with thoughts of what had just happened…and what was to come. Surprisingly he didn't even breathe a quick sigh of relief for successfully arriving at the right place after traveling with floo powder. In one piece, too.
He meandered through the crowds, rather heedlessly, obliging everyone else to move out of his way. He soon realized the need to pay attention, especially after he walked straight into the dusty display window of Flourish and Blott's, inciting a group of noticeably cute girls about his age to giggle. Harry was glad he didn't recognize any of them from Hogwarts (but then again, his glasses had fallen off and they all looked like blurry blobs anyways).
Quickly putting himself back together, he gave a quick grin at the group of girls, who were making a poor attempt at curbing their laughter. Harry's face was flushed out of embarrassment, and as such he opted not to make any conversation. Rather he continued walking and soon found himself in front of Madam Malkin's shop. He opened the door, driving away the white and brown cat that had been basking in the sun.
After a half an hour or so, Harry left the shop carrying a shopping bag stuffed with boxes. Among them was a nice dress robe for Ron, just in case. Really Harry wasn't one to squander his parents' fortune on luxuries. He then finished up purchasing the necessary schoolbooks (except for the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5 which Hermione had sent as a birthday gift earlier).
There were always plenty of young wizards and witches shopping at Diagon Alley around this time. Everyone had to prepare for the new year at Hogwarts. Harry especially enjoyed watching the first years gawk at all the schoolbooks they needed, the different exotic magical pets they could purchase, or the mystical potions and wands to which they would soon be quite accustomed. He could clearly remember his first time to Diagon Alley and to the entire world of wizardry itself four years ago.
He even remembered the way everyone had known his name by heart. In the pub, random people had come up to him, excited and shocked.
"Harry Potter! What an honour to meet you!"
"You don't know how long I've waited for this moment!"
"Harry! Over here!"
How peculiar. Harry was almost positive that the last voice was real. He glanced over his shoulder, hoping to see someone – anyone – just to make certain that he wasn't losing it. What he saw was a group of young children gaping at the newest broomstick models in the display window. One was particularly tall and lanky in the group. He was wearing a dark blue hand-made sweater, and had distinguishably red hair and a lot of freckles...
"HARRY!" Ron shouted again enthusiastically, waving his arms above his head. All the first years that were peering into the Quidditch shop window scuttled away. "Oops..."
With a raise of his eyebrows, Harry replied in jest, "Heh, nice going there, buddy."
Ron had a wide grin on his face as he walked over. Anyone who hadn't spent the last four years under a rock knew that Ron and Harry were the best of friends, with quarrels and all. No matter how horrible their arguments, both of the Gryffindor fifth years always worked around the differences.
"Why didn't you come visit last week?" inquired Ron.
"What? Did you invite me?"
After a moment of ponder, Ron exclaimed, "Ugh, it's that crikey owl again!"
"That's alright – the mail thing, I mean. Maybe I can come visit the Burrow after we finish buying all our stuff. I don't really have any other place to go anyways." Harry decided to keep the whole Sirius ordeal to himself until they could go somewhere less crowded.
"Not too sure about that. My dad had to go away for an important meeting, and my mum went with him. Percy gave us all a lift."
"Oh, well that's fine," said Harry, although disappointment was certainly present in his voice. The Weasley family, especially Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, were always warm to him, as if he were one of their own children.
"Sorry, Harry. Pig always gets lost. Make him fly more than fifty feet with a letter, and he just collapses right there on the earth. And his damn flying skills are horrible – freaking thing flew right into a muggle's post container once."
"Postbox," said Harry quietly, trying to suppress a laugh. "You know, Ron, if Hermione were here, she would be telling you off quite a bit right now."
Ron's face went a bit red. "Yeah, well if Hermione were here, we wouldn't be in this mess right now, would we? Hermione has the answer to everything."
Judging by his attitude, Harry could tell something was wrong. Hermione and Ron were usually very close. They always got along well with each other unless there was some other guy involved...
"So what has Hermione been up to this holiday? I didn't get to keep in touch with her too much," said Harry coolly.
"You want to know what Hermione's been doing? Well, I know one person she's been doin- "
"Just tell me, would you?"
"It's just that Hermione has been all over the place this summer. I haven't been able to spend any time with her at all." He looked over at Harry, who seemed sort of surprised. "What?"
"Nothing, go on," said Harry, who was grinning ever so slightly.
"Well whenever I invited her over, you know, just to hang around, she said she had plans. I finally figured out she was visiting Krum in Bulgaria to watch him practice and teach him some English and stuff." Ron kept shuffling his feet and kicking imaginary stones.
"Well, if I'd known you fancied Hermione, I would've told her something earlier!" said Harry with great enthusiasm.
"What are you talking about? I don't fancy Hermione! I just think it to be in her best interest if she didn't waste so much time with someone who calls her Herm-own-ninny and - " Ron abruptly broke off, so Harry gazed over his shoulder to see what was going on.
Now, there was nothing out of the ordinary at first: just leaving a nearby shop was bushy-haired Hermione carrying a rather large stack of books. At that point, Ron subtly gave Harry a convincing jab in the ribs to keep his mouth shut. However, when Hermione spotted her friends and gave a fervent wave, a few of her books fell to the ground. Before either of the boys even had a chance to help her, another person - tall, handsome, and pleasant – exited the same store after her and retrieved the fallen books. Beaming happily, he stood back up and handed them to Hermione, who returned the smile. Harry and Ron could only gape.
It was Lockhart.
