The snake who lived

Book 2: The Chamber of secrets

"The famous Harry Potter… can't even get in a library without making the front page."

Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter et la Chambre des Secrets, page 71

Chapter 3: Brawl Between the Books


"Now, you remember how it works, right Harry?"

"Yes, mrs Zabini. How could I forget my *favorite* mean of transportation."

Harry's tone dripped in sarcasm as his hand dug in the small pot containing Floo powder.  As much as he detested the bumpy, spinny, speedy and dirty traveling method, he had to agree that it was the fastest – and safest; 11 people flying on brooms in the air were not likely to go unnoticed by the muggles.

It was now two days after Mrs Zabini's horrible hangover. Blaise had went back to her usual, sarcastic an hyperactive self as soon as they had woken up, panicking about 'what will mom think if she sees us like this', to which Harry had calmly replied that 'It's still early enough to make it to Ginny's room'.

Their nightly excursion had gone unnoticed, although Ginny did seem to be a bit less friendly to Blaise. Her smiles had been a bit crisped all day, at least until Harry had pointed it out, whereupon the 'forget me not' bright crimson blush had appeared again.

And here he was, Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, staring a bit fearfully at the glittering powder in his hand, standing in front of the fireplace where, not a minute ago, Percy had gone through, brandishing his shiny Prefect badge between him and the two Slytherins like some kind of spiritual ward.

"We haven't got all day, Harry." Ron said.

"Is ickle Harry-duddy afraid of the little burny-burny?" Fred – or was it George? – sing-sang teasingly.

Grumbling, Harry remembered the simple steps for use of Floo powder.

1: Put the powder in the fire, wait until it turns green

2: Step in the fire. If step one is done incorrectly, you should start to feel a slight burning

3: Take a deep breath and clearly yell where you want to go

Listening to the instruction playing in his mind, he spread the powder all over the flames, waiting until they had turned bright emerald and that no heat came from them anymore. He then stepped inside the fireplace and…

"*cough*iagonalle*cough*"

…perhaps the deep breath was to be taken before walking in the fire.

The Floo network was a great thing, once you got used to it's oddities – and alikeness to a wild rollercoaster ride. It practically warped you to anywhere you wanted in England, as long as the destination had a fireplace connected to it.

…unfortunately, it did not come with a "Destination unclear, please repeat" feature.

And so, when Harry stumbled out of the fireplace, it was not in the cozy environment of the leaky cauldron, but instead in a dark, gloomy, dusty shop. His glasses slid from his nose, but with Quidditch reflexes taught/crammed by Flint, he managed to catch them before they broke. After making sure nobody had seen him, he allowed himself a look around.

Immediately, he wished he hadn't.

Bizarre and downright creepy objects were displayed around the shop, ranging from gross shrunken heads and seemed to scream in agony to skeletal hands, which made a grab for Harry which he barely dodged.

"Tshhheerffful placcce." Nemesis deadpanned.

The back of the shop was a simple wooden counter that must have had seen better days; Harry feared that, should he put his hand on it, he'd still be pulling out splinters in his tomb. As for the front, it was a wall pierced by a single door partially blocked by a black curtain, surrounded by two just as identically curtained windows. By partially, I mean that Harry was still able to see rather creepy blurs through the thin curtains, just enough to know that someone was approaching.

With a barely audible swallow, Harry looked around for somewhere to hide. Footsteps came from behind the counter as the owner began approaching. He spotted a cupboard at his right. Hoping it wasn't holding something as creepy as the rest of the shop, Harry opened it's door and, without looking inside, slipped in, partially closing the door as to not make any noise.

"Hello there, how ma… that's odd, I could have sworn someone had come in through floo…" The owner, whom Harry couldn't see, mumbled to himself.

Chimes suddenly came as the door opened. The hiding boy managed to see who it was through the small opening. He cursed his bad luck; it just had to be someone who hated him, right?

It was Lucius Malfoy.

Oh, and Draco, too.

Smiling slightly upon seeing his friend, but cursing that he wasn't able to talk to him, Harry sat back to sulk in his cupboard.

'What's with me and being stuck in those anyway?' He wondered.

"Ah, mister Malfoy…" The owner said. "What a pleasure to see you again. And young mister Malfoy is here as well! How delightful! Oh, I just have to show you something I managed to get just today, at a very reasonable price, of course…"

"Sorry, Mr Borgin," Mr Malfoy interrupted coldly. "but I'm not buying. I'm selling."

"Ah, you're selling."

Harry felt the man's enthusiasm dropping to the basement and below. Draco, meanwhile, had started walking his way, checking out the various items on sale. The expression on his face betrayed boredom, but Harry, who was well used to his friend's mask, could see a well hidden dose of disgust as he analyzed the shrunken heads.

"I believe you're aware that the number of searches the ministry is undertaking is multiplying." The sound of unrolling parchment came to his ears as Mr Malfoy continued. "It just so happens that I have a few… say… objects, that might cause me eventual problems should the ministry…"

Draco had, by now, reached the front of his cupboard. He was about to open the cupboard when Harry slipped his hand out to ward him away. Eyes wide open, Draco peered in through the small opening, nearly gasping in surprise. Harry shushed him with his finger and shooed him away with his hand, silently telling him to continue exploring. Draco gave a nearly invisible nod, his frown returning but with a small smile.

"The ministry wouldn't dare search your house now, would it, sir?"

"No one came yet, our family name still weights a lot of respect. But the ministry is getting more and more stubborn and sticking it's nose deeper than it should… They're talking about a new muggle-protection act… I don't doubt that that ragged fool Arthur Weasley is behind all this, that muggle-loving imbecile… Well, as you can see, some of these poisons could let one think…"

"Ah, yes… I see…Well, I already have a lot of Sleeping death, so I doubt I'd be able to give you a high price for—"

"What's that?" Draco suddenly demanded, pointing at a disembodied, skeletal hand laying on a pillow.

"Ahh!" Mr Borgin suddenly barged into view, moving his long, grey, oily hair from in front of his face. With a hunched back, the man picked up the hand, carefully showing it to the two Malfoys. "This is the hand of glory!"

Harry almost snorted. Figures it'd have a corny name.

"When a candle is put in it, only it's holder may see it's light, no one else… an excellent item for thieves and pillagers, your son had great taste, mr Malfoy."

Harry mentally agreed. Such an object would be quite useful during nightly adventures like he was, if last year's happenings were to be believed, certain to have.

"Well, I hope that great taste will be used in something else than petty thievery." The man declared with a small frown.

"Oh, I didn't mean to object you, mr Malfoy…" Mr Borgin began, but was interrupted.

"Although that may just be what's waiting for him if he doesn't get better grades." Draco's father said coldly, crossing his arms and glaring at the boy, who stared down at the floor. Harry could easily see how angry his friend was getting.

"It's not my fault Granger's got better grades than me, I mean c'mon! She's a walking encyclopedia! It's like studying is the only life she has. Should have been a Ravenclaw."

"None the less, I find it very disappointing that a Mudblood has better grades than my son by over twenty-five points."

Harry mentally wondered since when ninety percent was a bad score.

"It's not my fault, she's a bloody genius!"

"Mudbloods are not geniuses, Draco!" Mr Malfoy snapped. "Now be silent. I have to conclude this deal. We are a little in a rush."

"Very well." Mr Borgin said, visibly angry at having missed a sell.

As the two began to haggle, a bored Draco Malfoy shot a look at Harry, then back at his father, only to see he was currently very busy debating why a dose of lung-shrinking poison couldn't be sold only ten galleon. He turned toward his friend again, mouthing:

'What are you doing here?!'

To which Harry replied:

'Floo powder. Wrong chimney.'

Draco snorted, before turning toward his father, who, thankfully, hadn't noticed. With a sigh of relief, he mouthed

'Talk to you later. Flourish & Blotts.'

Harry nodded in agreement, just as Mr Malfoy declared "Deal." and turned toward Draco. "Come, Draco. We have other things to do."

Before opening the door, Mr Malfoy gave a last look at Mr Borgin and declared:

"I'll be waiting for you at the manor tomorrow to pick everything up. Have a nice day."

As soon as the door was closed and the Malfoys gone, Mr Borgin's voice came back, but in a grumbling that had nothing similar to the coaxing tone from before.

"Nice day yourself, mister Malfoy." Harry heard. "If what they say is true, what you sold me isn't even half of what you hide in that manor of yours."

His grumbles became incomprehensible as the man left, walking further away. After waiting to make sure he wouldn't come back, Harry silently slid out of the cupboard and, avoiding the displayed objects – and hands that tried to grab him again – he left through the front door.

The street beyond had the same 'cheerful' atmosphere as the shop he had just left, which was called Borgin and Burkes. He was standing in a small, rickety backstreet with shops on both sides. The merchandises displayed did nothing to dampen the oh-so-cheerful mood either. Live spiders, red-eyed skulls and pumpkins with snarls that wouldn't even be welcome at Halloween were being watched by odd, suspicious and shady characters, most of them in black cloaks hiding their faces. None of which would probably be very happy to see the 'boy-who-lived' there.

Fortunately, Harry was still wearing the bandanna Blaise had given him. People did give him second glances; after all, what on earth is a twelve years old kid doing in a place like this? But Harry suddenly got an idea.

"Vox Diabolus" He whispered, pointing his wand at himself.

"What are you doing here, kid?" A dark cloaked figure asked, stepping into his path. "Got lost?"

"I know perfectly well where I am, mortal." Harry growled; his spell had worked. His voice echoed a bit like it was expected from a stereotyped demon. "Get out of my path."

And the figure, after a rather squeaky apology, made itself scarce. Harry chuckled, accidentally scaring a strange-looking saleswitch into dropping her tray of human fingernails on the floor. After a quick look around, he turned toward the witch, who was staring at him, evidently terrified.

"Which way to Diagon Alley?" He asked.

"T…T…Tha…That w-way…" She blurted, pointing with her left hand, her eyes shut and sealed tight.

With a small nod, he went the way she had pointed, noticing that people strayed from his way. Wondering to himself how come they were all so… horrified, he made it to the small stairway heading out of the alley. As he was about to climb the last step, he bumped right into someone. A very large someone.

"Watch it… Hagrid!" He gasped and smiled widely, temporarily forgetting about his voice.

"Eh? What the…" The large man wondered, stepping backwards. Few people were already staring at him, already looking scared.

"Erm… whoops." Pointing his wand at his throat, he mumbled "Finite Incantatem." And let the small sparks of green magic remove the charm he had put there. "It's me, Harry!" He said, noticing with joy that his voice was back to normal.

"Ha—Harry?" Hagrid stammered in disbelief, staring at the boy's bandanna-clad forehead, much to his annoyance. As a proof, Harry slid the bandanna off his head. Hagrid suddenly seemed more certain. "What on earth were yeh doin' in 'nockturn Alley?!"

"…would you believe me if I told you I came out of the wrong chimney?" Harry said meekly, ignoring the whisperings from people around him. "And besides, what were you doing trying to get in?"

"Had teh get flesh eatin' slug r'pellent. Bloody things jus' keep on comin'… well, it can wait. Yeh came with sum'one I hope?"

"Well, I was with the Weasleys, but I kind of got lost on the floo network."

Hagrid snorted and nodded. "Nasty thin', that… stopped usin' it after I got stuck in the leaky cauldr'n's fireplace back wh'n I was a kid though…" Hagrid said, a nostalgic look in his eyes. "Well, I'll get yeh back teh them. C'mon."

And, protected by Hagrid, Harry Potter walked through the still a bit scared crowd that had amassed in front of the exit to knockturn alley. Harry blinked. He had just changed his voice a bit, how come everyone was so scared?

"Erm… Hagrid, how come they're all so scared?"

"Had teh be tha' spell yeh used, make yeh sound like a d'mon."

"Erm… demons don't exist, right?"

"Sure they do," Hagrid declared, as if Harry had claimed the sky wasn't blue. "jus' not many people talk 'bout 'em since the McKindley 'ncident…"

"McKindley incident? What was that?"

"Err…" Hagrid stammered, looking around. "Oh, we're 'ere."

Frowning a bit at their inconveniently timed arrival, Harry didn't have time to repeat his question that he was roughly picked up and squeezed agonizingly, the grasp trying to choke him being commonly known as a hug.

"Harry! Thank god! I was so worried!" Mrs Weasley gasped. "Oh, Hagrid, where did you find him?"

"'e came righ' out'a 'nockturn Alley. Tricked the lot of 'em shady people into thinkin' he was sum' demon 'n disguise."

"Good one!" Fred – or George – said. "We always wanted to go over there, but mom wouldn't let us."

"Well, she bloody well should not!" Mrs Zabini huffed. "It has to be the dodgiest place in all of Britain. The number if illegal deals I've seen there… ugh. If I was still an auror, I'd…"

"Wreck the place? Arrest everyone? Turn everyone there into frogs?" Blaise suggested.

"…good resume, Blaise." Mrs Zabini agreed, patting her daughter's head, much to the girl's annoyance. "But you removed lots of things."

Hagrid soon left, claiming that "Those darn slugs won' repel th'mselves". The rather large group went straight to Gringotts to get their money from the goblin's hands. Upon seeing the group, said goblins nearly panicked. A single cart was not nearly enough, and the others were already being used. It was decided that Harry, Mr Weasley and Mrs Zabini would go, Mrs Weasley staying behind to keep watch on her sons – and especially the twins.

The Weasley's vault was a pitiful thing. Harry could have almost counted the number of sickles with his fingers, and the only Gallion they had disappeared in the small leather pouch the nearly bald, red-haired man carried, along with most of the coins there. Harry felt a pang of pity and sympathy at them, and couldn't help but thank his parents for leaving so much behind.

His own trip to his vault was a quick thing. In, take, out. The pile had actually seemed to grow, since the last year.

'That much money must get one heck of an interest rate...' he thought, remembering the bank projects Dudley had done when he was little. 'course, his account didn't last long, since very penny sent there was automatically invested in the local candy store.

As for Mrs Zabini, their mediumly-full vault seemed to make the woman droll. A large, hungry smile appeared on her face as her hands nearly ripped her purse open.

"35 Gallions maximum." The goblin noted.

And Mrs Zabini's smile deflated. One by one, the woman picked them up, filling the purse with exactly the maximum of golden coins she could, all the while grumbling about 'paranoid husbands'.

"It's our family vault and mom has a bit of a spending problem…" Blaise had said, a year ago. Harry believed her now.

After getting some gallions, Mrs Weasley left with Ginny to get her robes and wand while the others shopped for the rest of their things. A quick visit at the apothecary later, the group stood before the towering form of Flourish & Blotts, the library. Large panels, on which the blond-haired, blue eyed, 100-watts smiled, grinning face of Lockhart was winking at the crowd massed up in front of the store, were announcing, in golden, shimmering letters,

TODAY, from 12:30 to 16:30,

GILDEROY LOCKHART

Will autograph his autobiography

MAGICAL ME

'Why do I get the feeling he likes to talk about himself?' Harry mentally asked himself, looking at the three inch thick books displayed in the windows, bearing the name 'Lockhart'.

"…How the hell are we supposed to get through?" Blaise huffed, glaring at the crowd. However, as the glare of a twelve years old isn't very impressive, nobody noticed.

"Simple. You push." Mrs Zabini said, before setting the example. Harry blinked as the woman moved a man twice her size, ignoring his glare. He turned toward Blaise.

"Are you sure she's an adult?"

"Never was." Blaise replied with a sigh, before following her mother, who was about four or five people ahead.

"Watch it!" An awfully familiar, female voice snapped, the girl glaring at Mrs Zabini's back. Harry only had to see that light brown, bushy hair to know who it was.

"Hermione!"

The girl whirled around, whipping the person previously in front of her with her hair, before grinning. "Blaise! Harry!"

"What are you doing here?" Blaise asked, looking at her. "Getting your books?"

"Erm… that and… er…" The blush on the girl's face was all Harry needed to prompt him to groan.

"Mrs Weasley, I could handle. Anyone else I could have handled easily but HERMIONE fancying Lockhart?!" Harry gasped theatrically. 

The puffy-haired girl huffed in annoyance, the blush flaring to astronomic heights. Blaise chuckled.

"C'mon, let's take the express way." She said, grabbing the other girl's arm and pulling her ahead.

"B-But…" Hermione futilely and weakly protested.

The inside of the shop were even more crowded than the outside. Along with the mass of people gathered, the piles of books laying around had never been quite as big. Most of them, Harry noticed, were Lockhart's collection. Harry scowled a bit. That guy'd better be worth it.

"Please, stop pushing and get back in the line." A security officer, dressed in bright crimson robes, told Mrs Zabini, stepping in her path. "Mr Lockhart will still be here when you'll come…"

"So, who cares?! I'm not here for that!" She snapped, attracting the attention of Lockhart on her.

"My, calm down, pretty lady, I always have time to spend with fans!" Lockhart declared, grinning.

Shooting him a glare that would have frozen hell over at least twice. Blaise was on the verge of grabbing her mom's wand arm to prevent her from cursing the man – though she had planned to be accidentally late at it – with Harry right behind her, curious of seeing in what she would transform him. Maybe a bird? Try to smile now, chicken!

Unfortunately for Harry, he had forgot his bandanna was in his pocket.

"By the gods… is that Harry Potter?" Lockhart asked.

'Oh shit.' Harry cursed mentally, looking for a way out. Too late, for Lockhart had bounced forward, ignoring the dark brown haired girl who had been patiently waiting to get her books signed, now gazing up at his scar in wide mouthed surprise and admiration. Harry mentally groaned as he was pulled forward, toward the stage, under healthy applause, much to his embarrassment.

To add to it, that annoying photograph was doing a perfect impersonation of a military machine gun, spreading purple smoke all over the crowd.

'Hopefully they won't be able to see me.' Harry thought in annoyance.

"Smile, Harry!" Lockhart said, smiling widely while shaking his hand like a washing machine. .

'Die, Lockhart.' Harry mentally retorted.

"You and me, we'll make front page!"

'Oh… gods… no.' Harry deadpanned, imagining people looking at him being greeted so warmly by Lockhart.

"WILL YOU SSSSTOP SSSSAT INFFFERNAL SHHHAKING?!!?" Nemesis bellowed from under his sleeve. Fortunately, he was unheard by all except Harry, since the applauses were much stronger.

Lockhart finally released his arm, which felt as heavy as lead and as lifeless as rubber. Nemesis nearly slid off, but caught himself just as his head peeked out, quickly sliding back in. Sneering a bit, Harry was about to extract his wand from his pocket with his good arm when Lockhart grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him to face the crowd by his side, unfortunately trapping the arm just an inch away from the wooden stick.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Lockhart declared loudly for all to hear, commanding the silence with a single wave of his hand. "This is a great occasion… the ideal moment to reveal something I have kept a secret until now… you see, when Harry Potter here walked into the store today to buy my autobiography—"

"Get real." Harry grumbled, but was unheard.

", which I will gladly give to him for free,"

Harry had his breath knocked out of him as Lockhart pushed the enormous book into his chest; It was nearly as heavy as a Budger!

"he had no idea that he would soon have much more than my book, magical me!"

'Oh, you mean you'll give me your head so Flint can use it for Beater practice?' Harry thought dryly, giving Lockhart a hateful glare.

"Yes, soon, he and his classmates will have the pleasure of having the one, true magician in person before them!"

'…Is he using sarcasm?' Harry wondered wryly, while he perfectly knew the man wasn't.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, it's my joy, my pleasure, my honor, to announce you that, coming September first…"

'Oh… gods… no…" Harry deadpanned again, fearfully. He could see where this was coming.

"…I will be his defense against the dark arts teacher this year only at Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry!"

Harry groaned out loud, but was ignored as the cheers rose to deafening levels. Sapping all the glory like a sponge, Lockhart flashed another smile at the crowd, waving.

'…that… self-obsessed imbecile… will be our DADA teacher?' Harry thought, a second before a large pile of books landed in his arms.

"Here, all my collection, free, just for you, Harry." Flashing a final smile at the boy, Lockhart pushed him back in the crowd, directly in the mass of assembled Weasleys.

Grumbling, Harry gave a hard stare at the books in his hands.

Rule #37: If fortune has presented you with an unexpected opportunity which you don't really deserve, the last thing you should do is correct the mistake.

Harry Potter's personal rule #1: Lockhart is an idiot.

Harry Potter's personal rule #2: Never accept gifts from idiots, it makes you look like one.

With a disgusted sigh, Harry dumped the load of books on the now ecstatic girl, who had been waiting to get an autograph. The dark brown-haired girl looked on the verge of fainting.

"Keep 'em," He said. "I'll get my own."

The girl gave him a wide smile, ignoring his sigh of disgust. He hated attention. He despised being publicly recognized and he execrated spotlight-huggers like Lockhart, who live off their fame for doing nothing but writing a few books.

(A/N: Apologies to all good professional writers out there, like JK. You guys keep writing.)

"I hope you don't make it to the first page, Potter." A familiar voice drawled. "It's bad for the reputation of Slytherins everywhere."

Draco Malfoy had arrived, his back on a nearby bookcase at their right, arms crossed and an arrogant smirk on his face. Some distance behind him, Harry could see Mr Malfoy arguing with the cashier, all the while keeping an eye on his son.

"It's not like I asked to get noticed by that buffoon, Malfoy." Harry hissed. "Besides, what are you doing here? Waiting to get your book autographed?"

Draco shot Harry a hateful look that clearly meant 'ouch', to which Harry replied with a glare that meant 'sorry'.

"What's up with you two?" Ron asked. "I thought you were—"

Harry stepped on his foot and nodded, ignoring his pained curse. "Maybe he's a housemate, but he's no friend of mine."

"Same to you, Potter." Draco replied with a glare and a grateful smile. "I'd rather face a three-headed dog than be a friend to you."

"Glad we agree on something." Harry replied dryly. "Heard your dad's been selling dark arts things… Is your family having money problems?"

"Certainly not, we're rolling on gold, unlike a certain someone I could point out." Draco drawled, giving a look at Ron, who clenched his fist and was about to retort when his other foot suddenly found itself attempting to keep it's height under the added weight of Harry's.

"The Weasley's house isn't so bad. It's… welcoming. More than I can say for your lot though."

"Believe what you want, I still say it's a dump infested by Gryffindors."

"Why you little…" Ron growled, taking out his wand, but Ginny held him back.

"Not here, Ron!" She hissed.

Draco looked down at her, smirking slightly. "Oh, look, fresh meat." With a small snort, he added "Red hair, more freckles than money, and hopelessly Gryffindor. You're just another Weasley."

"What's going on, here?" Arthur Weasley asked, walking up to them as Ginny colored bright red in anger.

"Oh, noth—" "My son was simply… greeting his classmates. I don't think that's a problem, is it, Arthur?" Lucius Malfoy asked, his voice dripping with aversion directed at the other man.

"Lucius." Mr Weasley simply said as greeting, nodding coldly.

"They say there's lots of work at the ministry, with all those searches… I hope you're at least getting paid overtime for it…"

Digging into Ginny's small pile of books, stored in the cauldron she was holding under one arm, he extracted an old, evidently second or third hand and hand re-sewed exemplary of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration.

"Apparently not." He noted, shuffling quickly through the faded pages, before looking upwards toward Mr Weasley with something in his eyes that Harry recognized as taunting, artificial pity. "What good does it do to shame the name of wizard if you don't even get paid properly for it?"

"I don't think we have the same vision of what a wizard should be." Mr Weasley said.

"It would appear so." He said, giving a disgusted look at Blaise and Hermione.

"Oh, and I suppose YOUR view of proper is the best one, Malfoy?" Mrs Zabini's voice asked from behind the blonde man. Her shifted hips revealed a wooden wand-holder tied to her belt.

"Zabini." Malfoy hissed in anger.

"What's wrong, Lucie? Don't want to reveal what your view of wizard is?" She taunted in a sing-song voice. "Mr 'I-kissed-the-ground-Voldemort-walked-on'?"

"You have no proof." Malfoy said with a sneer. "And besides, how's that any worse from the company you kept?"

"Don't you dare…" she hissed.

"Oh, you mean they don't know the story of the Crimson butcher?"

Mrs Zabini's face contorted in fury. Harry didn't even see her move, but she already had her wand out, roared an incantation that Harry wasn't able to understand and shot a bright yellow curse directly at Malfoy's face, which he barely dodged. Instead, it flew off and impacted against the far wall, causing a the sun to flood the shop.

"Temper, temper, miss ex-auror…" He taunted again, before turning to Ginny and pushing the book back at her. "Here, that's as good as your parents will ever be able to give you. Come, Draco. We've wasted enough time with these... commoners."

And the two Malfoys left, Draco shooting an apologetic glance at them before following his father through the crowd.

Mrs Zabini launched herself in a rather colorful tirade about Mr Malfoy's lineage and after-work activities that made everyone who heard it blush. Mr Zabini quickly stopped her by remembering her there were kids present. Blushing slightly, she ignored the awed "Whoa"s the Weasley twins gasped out.

"Excellent description!" The twin at Harry's left declared.

"Yes, especially when she called him a -----" The other twin at his left began, but his mouth suddenly found a hand in front of it, curtsey of a blushing Mrs Weasley.

"Or a -----" and the other found himself in the same predicament, under everyone's laughs.

While the group was searching for an elusive exemplary of the Standard Book of Spells, grade 4, Harry spotted something that attracted his attention.

"Diaries" said a single sign, hanging over a collection of variously colored, sized or shaped – literally, one of them was shaped like triangle, which opened in a full hexagon.

In one of the few thoughtless moves of his life, Harry picked one of them, fortunately colored green and, thankfully, shaped like a regular book, and slipped it in his pile.

After getting their books, the group left for the leaky cauldron. The crowd had massed up against the shop, wondering what the commotion was all about. Lockhart looked very delighted of this.

On the other hand, Mrs Weasley was positively horrified.

"But… Elmira, he's dangerous…"

"Molly, I know just how dangerous he is." Mrs Zabini said. "It doesn't make me afraid any, since he can't do a thing as long as his target-for-ass-kissing is gone."

"How did you meet him anyway, Mrs Zabini?" Harry asked.

"Fought him and some of his friends in the streets in downtown London. It wasn't pretty. Kept using muggles as shields, the bastard." She snapped. "Oh, sure, we arrested him, but he claimed imperio and paid Fudge's opinion. Result, he's not rotting in Azkaban."

"You arrested Lucius Malfoy?" Blaise gasped.

"Well, technically, it wasn't me. We were a group. But yes, I did help out. He's not too happy, it's the darkest stain in his records." She allowed herself a grim smile. "The only good point is that that's when I met Dario."

"What did he mean with that, calling you the Crimson Butcher?" Harry asked.

Mrs Zabini's eyes clouded over. Her fist clenched, she turned toward Harry and shook her head.

"Some things are better left unsaid, Harry."

And with that, the conversations ended.

Pretty soon, it was time to leave. The Weasleys were going back by Floo, while the Zabinis, and Harry, would be taking the car back to Privet Drive, much to the black-haired boy's relief. The last thing he wanted was to end up in the wrong chimney again.

'If I can help it, I'll never use Floo Powder again.' He vowed mentally.

The ride back was pretty much eventless. Harry, not wanting to be nosy toward the nicest people he knew, didn't press the questions further. Blaise kept humming the first tune they had heard on the way, a fast, upbeat song he hadn't caught the name of. Mr Zabini was driving, and he was driving rather loudly. Not like uncle Vernon, who yelled at people on the street, but using the radio speakers to make just as much noise.

"You didn't tell ssssem about the Malfffoy ssselling dark ssstuffff at Knockturn Alley…" Nemesis whispered, only loud enough to be heard by Harry over the radio.

"As much as I dislike Mr Malfoy, Draco's my friend. And if Mr Weasley or anyone knew, he could get into trouble for this." Harry replied, just low enough to be heard only by Nemesis.

"…I sssee. How loyal ovvv you."

"Shut up, you."

"Yesss, Massster." The snake's voice dripped in sarcasm. Harry sighed and looked out the window, where pastures made way to small woods and more pastures, along the way to Little Whinging.

'Why me?'

~~~

Author's notes: UGH!! I had TROUBLE with this one!! The characters just didn't want to act correctly… Draco seemed plain during the drafts and when I wrote him, it just wouldn't work. So was Blaise, actually. You have no idea how many times I went back and re-checked somewhere only to see I had missed something. *sigh*

Well, at least now, everything I want this chapter to hold is in here, in a nice, little package I hope you all enjoyed ^_-

ANSWERS TO THE REVIEWER'S GREAT GRANDMOTHER'S GRAND AUNT WHO WENT FORWARD IN TIME AND BECAME THE REVIEWER'S NIECE

Jordan: I'll try not to be so long, but school is interfering (And sometimes Writer's block or Reader's obsession, too)

Ian: Thanks, I will!

Blackheart Sayoran: I always answer to every review I receive, they make me feel appreciated. As much fun as writing is, knowing that people like what I write is even better. *Blink* Four books in one fic? Eeks, good luck!

ER: *Censored for the sake of suspense*

BlackDragon: Which is easy considering how little there are of Slyth!Harry stories.

Corundum Advance: *Blink* Err… ok… depends on what you think will happen, you might scream or not.

Flummox: *Smirk* Liked that quote too. Yup, it's the Dursleys. That, or Dudley by himself. McGonagall has a name that's easy to pun. It's not my fault, I couldn't resist! Lol! Does it get monotonous to hear "Great chapter" every time? Well, it's better than "Worst piece of shit I've ever read", is it? I prefer readers who write long reviews though… like you. *Sucks up*. *Gets groveled* Aaah… that's the life…

VMorticia: They wanted to buy a villa there with the money from the deal. Note that they did manage to get the deal this time.

[Nemesis, reading the part about killing something Slytherin: *Eeps* *Slithers away*]

Permission granted! You can use McGonnaflip if you want, I'm even looking forward to how! Yeah, Draco. Play nicely.

RaistlinofMetallica: *Blink* er… ok, here's more then.

Shireen Mclean: Yes, it's understandable clinical sadism. Don't worry, French is a hard language to learn. (*Grumbles about a sucky 70% grade*) Lots of people liked that quote, too ^_-. Well,… err… I'm still learning at the evil overlord school. I haven't got the anti-blushing lesson yet. *blush* ^_-. Giny/Harry/Blaise? Actually, it'll get more complicated than that. Much more. Sorry if I take a while? Hope you feel better soon!

King Jasbon: Thanks! Aah… *Blink* er… *Grumbles*

Lily Black: *Smirk* When someone is to be blamed, make sure it's not you, favorite cousin and beta of mine ^_-. Modest, you say. Modest. Hah. OH! What an insult! I'm a… legged and armed thing?! Why you little… ^_-

Angel-in-disguise: Yeah, I know, I don't take that long, but I'm still ashamed when I take more than two weeks. I mean.. c'mon. I don't write as nice as Cassandra Claire, Barb LP or J.L. Matthews, and their wait is excusable. *sigh* Oh well. Though I do agree with the second part. It's also one of the reasons why I take long sometimes; I've got off days too. *sigh*