EDITED: July 10th, 2020

06 — Flourish and Blotts

"This is really nothing like Apparating, right?" I asked.

Ron rolled his eyes and finished tying his shoelaces. "For the last time, Anne, no! It's like stepping through a doorway – it will be over in the blink of an eye."

I puffed my cheek. "If you say so," I said, sceptical. After all, Ron had never Apparated in his life, so he didn't know how ugly it truly was, how suffocating.

Tying my hair and zipping my jacket, I walked toward the fireplace, where the rest of the Weasleys and Harry were crowding. Mrs. Weasley was looking down into a flower pot.

"We're running low, Arthur," she told her husband. "We'll have to buy more today... ah, well, guests first! After you, Harry dear!"'

She offered him the flower pot.

"W-what am I supposed to do?" he asked, looking around nervously.

"He's never travelled by Floo powder," Ron said, joining us. He looked at me. "Have you?" I shook my head. "Sorry guys, I forgot to ask."

"Never?" asked Mr. Weasley. "But how did you two get to Diagon Alley to buy your school things last year?"

"I went underground –"

Mr. Weasley's eyes lightened. "Really? Were there escapators? How exactly –"

His wife cut him off. "Not now, Arthur. Floo powder's a lot quicker, dears, but goodness me, if you've never used it before..."

"They'll be all right, Mum," said a twin. "You two, watch us first."

Accepting the flower pot from his mother, Fred took a pinch of green glittering powder, stepped up to the fire, and threw the powder into the flames. With a roar, the fire turned green.

Fred stepped right into it, shouting, "Diagon Alley!"

With another roar of green flames, he vanished.

The Weasleys each took a turn to give Harry some advice while I silently panicked. The fire – now green – didn't feel as hot as before, but my hands throbbed in reminiscence of what happened with Quirrell. Unwittingly, an image of Carol burning my journal came to mind.

And Harry vanished. Because guests apparently went first, I had to go right after him. But my knees were shaking; my breath grew laboured, and by the time I was a foot away from the fireplace, I was starting to heave.

God, for all you care – don't let me throw up.

I threw the powder into the fire, shouted my destination, and literally jumped blind into the fire.

Ron had been right. It could've been a second, but when my other leg moved forward, I fell into George's arms.

"You all right, Anya?" he asked quietly, turning his back to the fireplace as Percy and Ginny arrived.

I gasped but nodded. Not quite convinced, he let me go, but I could feel George's eyes on me as Mr. Weasley made a headcount.

"Ah, Molly dear?" he said, finger faltering in the air. "Where's Harry?"

Mrs. Weasley panicked. Because this was the first time I'd heard of Floo powder, I had to watch them try to guess which store's fireplace had Harry likely landed. Walking tightly knit, we stuck our heads in each shop but there was no sign of him.

Finally, when Mrs. Weasley looked like she was about to faint, Ginny pointed ahead of us excitedly.

"There he is, Mum!"

Harry Potter was standing in front of Gringotts' entrance, and next to him was Hagrid, the gamekeeper at Hogwarts, and Hermione Granger, my roommate and close friend. Nearing, I noticed the dust on Harry's clothes and the dirt on his face.

Mr. Weasley came to a stop, panting. "Harry! We hoped you'd only gone one grate too far..." He whipped his head. "Molly's frantic – she's coming now –"

"Where did you go?" I demanded, after hastily greeting Hermione and ignoring her unimpressed look. "Do you know how many shops we had to look at for you?"

"So?" Ron asked Harry.

"Knockturn Alley," Hagrid said.

"Excellent!" Fred and George said at the same time.

"We've never been allowed in," said Ron enviously.

I rolled my eyes as Hagrid growled, "I should ruddy well think not."

After Mrs. Weasley and Ginny arrived, we all set to enter Gringotts' Bank, waving goodbye at Hagrid and telling Hermione to meet us later.

None of the Weasleys were allowed to come with me to my vault. I was escorted by Atkins, the young goblin who assisted Professor McGonagall and me last year. This time, I was prepared for the ride, and instead of cowering in fear, I whooped in a few turns.

The Weasleys were already waiting for me when I returned to the surface. We separated, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I strolled off along the pebbled street. Harry bought us all strawberry-and-peanut ice creams, which we happily slurped as the boys glued themselves to the Quidditch shop's window, looking longingly at the newest broom model, the Nimbus Two Thousand, and One. The broom was sleeker, the wood painted black, and there were silver markings at the twigs' ends. In my opinion, Harry's broom had more personality than this one.

Dragging them away wasn't easy, but it was quite the battle to keep up with Hermione, who was nothing but a bushy streak as she bought her own supplies and snatched books before people reached them.

We went to different shops and found Ron's brothers at different ones: the twins in the joke shop with their friend Lee Jordan, and Percy in an antique shop, where he read a book at the back of the store. He was so immersed in and looked deeply wounded when Ron made fun of him that I decided to pay for the book, and told the shopkeeper to tell Percy it was a gift from him.

When we had nothing else to buy and had looked into the most interesting shops, we finally headed to Flourish and Blotts. To my immense surprise, there was a crowd of witches squealing outside the windows, jumping or standing on their tiptoes to look inside. The reason for this became apparent when Harry pointed out the large banner hanging above the upper windows.

GILDEROY LOCKHART

will be signing copies of his autobiographyMAGICAL MEtoday 12:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m.

Hermione literally squealed. Her hand tightened on my forearm as she jumped excitedly.

"Anya, it's him!" she said. "He's the writer I told you about – Gilderoy Lockhart!"

I narrowed my eyes at the picture outside in a canvas. Like with Mrs. Weasley's book, the man was winking and smiling. I remembered then why the name was so familiar: Hermione did talk about him a couple of times, but it hadn't been so important to really remember it. "Lockhart – the guy whose books we're forced to buy?"

"Yes!"

I sighed, rolling my eyes. "Yippee."

Harry and Ron looked as happy as I felt. A man outside was trying to keep order as we pushed through the crowd. He was unsuccessful, as he ended sprawled on the floor and was soon trampled by a group of witches.

After snatching copies of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 hastily, we made our way where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were standing beside Hermione's parents.

"Oh, there you are, good," Mrs. Weasley said. She patted down her hair and said, "We'll be able to see him in a minute..."

A man in baby blue robes came into view. I instantly recognized Gilderoy Lockhart. I was shocked to see he actually did look like in his pictures. Handsome with blond, curly hair and robes that matched his eyes. His teeth, I noted, were completely white and flashed in the light.

He shot a dazzling smile at the crowd. There was a chorused sigh through the shop, and behind us, I heard someone fall. Probably a witch fainting. A very short, irritated man was dancing around everywhere, taking pictures with a large, black camera.

"Out of the way, there," he snarled at Ron. The photographer stepped on Ron's foot, making him bump into me.

"Hey, watch it!" I snapped.

"This is for the Daily Prophet –"

"Big deal," Ron growled. He was rubbing his foot while I held my side.

Lockhart must have heard us because he looked up at Ron and I. He saw Ron, he saw me—and then he saw Harry. He jumped to his feet and shouted, "It can't be Harry Potter?"

The crowd parted. Lockhart jumped from the table and grabbed Harry's arm. He pulled him to the front and everyone started clapping.

"Nice big smile, Harry," Lockhart said. "Together, you and I are worth the front page."

I was speechless. Even when Harry tried to get us to save him, nothing came to mind. The man had literally left me without words.

Flash!

"When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography – which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge –" The crowd applauded again. "He had no idea," Lockhart continued, giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip to the end of his nose, "that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

There was a round of clapping, the sound being muffled by the ladies' whistles.

"It has to be a joke, right?" I asked Ron, who at the moment looked to be the sanest person. Hermione was jumping up and down on her feet behind us, saying: "I don't believe it! I don't believe it! Gilderoy Lockhart is going to teach us! Oh, how much we'll learn about how he did those things!"

Ron looked appalled. "I don't think so." Lockhart laughed and the women swooned. "Come on, let's get our books and look for Harry. He's gone."

But Mrs. Weasley had other ideas. She seized our wrists and led us to Lockhart, Hermione skipping at our side. A man whispered in Lockhart's ear; whatever he said made him smile brighter.

That was how the three of us were forced into a photo. Gilderoy Lockhart's excuse was that he was very happy to be a role model for us Hogwarts students. Hermione almost fainted, and in the photo, she appeared wearing a sloppy smile as she stared up at our newest teacher. Mrs. Weasley gushed about it, giving the photographer her address so they could send it to the Burrow.

"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" we heard a voice yell. Instantly recognizing it as Ginny's, we tried to fight our way out of the crowd.

"Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!" It was Malfoy. Clutching our books, we arrived to see Ginny blushing furiously.

"Oh, stop throwing hissy fits, Malfoy," I snapped. "We're in public."

"What are you, Barton? His bodyguard? I wouldn't be surprised with all the snarling you do."

I stepped forward, putting one of Lockhart's books before me. I wouldn't hesitate to use it as a weapon. "I'll show you some snarling."

"We should have known it was you," said Ron, looking at Malfoy like some ugly bug. "Bet you're surprised to see Harry here, eh?"

"Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley," retorted Malfoy. "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those."

Ron went as red as Ginny. He dropped his books into her cauldron and started forward, but Harry and Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket.

"Ron!" said Mr. Weasley, struggling over to us, "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."

"Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley."

The man had to be Malfoy's father. He had platinum-blond hair like his son and a pointed chin and gray eyes that seemed to belong to the Malfoy family. Mr. Malfoy stood with his hand on Draco's shoulder, sneering in the same fashion as his son. No wonder Draco had no manners.

"Lucius," Mr. Weasley said, nodding coldly.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," Mr. Malfoy said. "All those raids... I hope they're paying you overtime?"

He reached into Ginny's cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, an extremely old and battered copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration.

"Obviously not. Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Mr. Weasley turned even darker than either Ron or Ginny.

"There are different ways to disgrace a wizard's name," I countered, sneering at the man.

Malfoy Senior's eyes travelled to where I stood. For a long moment, he looked at me blankly. Then his eyes hardened.

"You must be Anya Barton," he sneered. "The mop of hair, the queerish eyes, and the underling presence gave you away. Just like your father."

"Malfoy," Mr. Weasley warned dangerously.

"My father was a good man," I said quietly. "Greater than you will ever be."

"He was a fool. Meddling with other people's affairs was what led him to his death."

"Alec Barton tried to revolutionize your world. And it was because of people like you, sir," I sneered, "that he failed. And now, wizards on this side of the pond are seen as nothing but a joke!"

I saw my friends sharing looks, but it was Ron who understood what I meant. He, after all, had grown in this world; just like British wizards derided the Americans' tendency to act first rather than think, the American Ministry looked upon us as nothing but retarded, more so when their Muggle relations were even better than ours. And that itself was something, as they refused to mingle with them in fears of exposing the wizarding world.

Malfoy's lip curled. I was taken aback by the glint in his eyes. "It seems, then, that you will share your father's fate."

Mr. Weasley was about to jump between us when a very familiar voice cut in.

"Watch what you say to my niece, Lucius."

The thing about Natasha was that you never knew when she would appear. Despite her scarlet hair and black coat, she usually went unnoticed by everyone. But today was not that day. The crowd fell silent; people moved away to clear the path for her.

"Natasha," I said, surprised.

It was one thing to know Natasha was a witch but to see her in Diagon Alley was short of phenomenal. Looking at her amongst these people, I could see why her wardrobe decisions had been so odd all these years.

"Whatever you want to tell Anya," Natasha Rosenberg said, her expression bordering on murderous, "say it to me. I don't doubt you don't have the guts to face me when I see you arguing like a brat with a twelve-year-old girl."

"Thea Rosenberg," said Mr. Malfoy with a surprised look.

The bookstore suddenly fell silent as his words echoed on the small shop. People began to murmur and point to where Natasha was standing. Even Gilderoy Lockhart and his photographer were paying attention to us.

Natasha smiled coldly. "Lucius," she purred.

Lucius Malfoy straightened to give her a sneer. "I believed you were sleeping six feet under the ground next to your family."

Natasha bestowed on him her famous look. The one that clearly stated she thought you were being insufferable. "And I believed you were staying permanently in Azkaban." Malfoy barely flinched, but the flush going up his neck betrayed him. "Well, FYI, the Ministry of Magic made a mistake. I am not dead. There you have it – the world is not a wish factory."

Mr. Malfoy was now steadily turning crimson. "Does Lupin know, then? Or is he dead? I wouldn't be so surprised –"

A gasp went through the shop as Natasha slapped Mr. Malfoy on the face. The twins could be heard whistling low as their father went to stand beside Natasha before she could do anything else.

"If I hear you talking like that again about my family, I'll make sure you pay for it," she whispered. "You know I can do it, Malfoy. That includes Anya's friends –"

"Just when I thought your family couldn't sink low as the Weasleys –"

Ginny's cauldron was sent flying. Mr. Weasley had thrown himself towards Malfoy and had knocked him into a bookshelf; books started falling above our heads and Natasha hauled me back to where the crowd was watching with avid interest. I shrieked when my books slipped through my arms, falling where the gentlemen were rolling. The Weasley twins were yelling at his father in encouragement, and Mrs. Weasleys' shouts could be heard all over the store.

"Break it up, there, gents, break it up —"

Hagrid was wading toward the fighting man through the sea of books. In an instant, he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an Encyclopaedia of Toadstools.

Somehow, Mr. Malfoy had ended grabbing my Transfiguration book.

"Look at this, girl!" he spat at Ginny. "This is what a real book looks like. Not the trash your father gives to his family."

Eyes glittering with malice, he thrust it into my hands, making sure that I was thrown out of balance. A flashlight went out – it was the photographer from the Prophet. Beckoning to his son, the Malfoys swept out of the shop.

"Yeh should've ignored him, Arthur," said Hagrid, almost lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes. "Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that – no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter – bad blood, that's what it is – come on now – let's get outta here."

"Come on," Natasha murmured, handing me back my cauldron. "I paid for everyone's books. Let's get going."

We left the shop with a pair of frightened Grangers, a furious Mrs. Weasley, and a grim-looking Natasha.

"A fine example to set for your children... brawling in public... what Gilderoy Lockhart must've thought –"

"He was pleased," said Fred. "Didn't you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet if he'd be able to work the fight into his report – said it was all publicity –"

"What are you doing here?" I asked Natasha. She glanced down at me, but her eyes quickly returned to the road. A pair of witches were whispering and pointing at her but Natasha – Thea – didn't even glance in their way.

"I'm making sure you're okay." Natasha raised her eyebrow. "You never thought a short letter would give me peace of mind?"

I scowled. "Why bother when you already knew where I was. All you had to do was Floo Call – if you cared, that is."

Natasha put her arm to stop me. I noticed the rest of my group was standing away respectfully . She sighed. "Okay, I know you're angry that the only time we saw each other was for me to end up yelling at you, but I've been busy."

I laughed derisively. "Yes," I mocked, "so busy that you had the chance to come over here like nothing. Just because you slapped that arse doesn't mean I forgive you for taking decisions in my place."

"Aren't you happy where you are?"

"Of course I am!" I snapped. "I'm with people who somehow like me, but it still doesn't excuse what you've been doing, treating me like I'm some doll that goes from hand to hand – and lying to a crowd! You know this will be in the newspapers, right? What in God's name made you say I'm your niece, anyway?"

"I didn't lie," Natasha said abruptly.

I blinked.

"What do you mean you didn't lie? Of course you did."

Natasha took a deep breath. The way she straightened made me step back in dread.

"This isn't truly how I was supposed to tell you," she said lowly. "I didn't think Lucius would get to me, but –"

I took another step back. And another. Natasha followed with each one.

I couldn't breathe. I didn't want to. It meant time would move on; it meant I had to – I had to –

But wasn't it obvious? How could I've been so stupid? How could she? How could she?

I shoved her away.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I yelled. "How could you? How could – what right –"

My parents hadn't abandoned me. Natasha had.

"– how could you leave me – why did you, you heartless bitch!"

People were now crowding around us, looking on in interest.

I gritted my teeth. "Go away. Quit your job at St. Louise's, don't even bother writing to me or asking the Weasleys about my well-being – I don't need you. You are nothing, you hear me? Nothing!"

I turned on my heel and marched to the Weasleys. All of them were watching me with mixed reactions. Mrs. Weasley looked particularly alarmed.

"Anya dear, what is wrong?" said Mrs. Weasley, concern flashing behind her eyes.

I shook my head. "Can we please go?"

Mr. Weasley looked over my head. "But, Ms. Rosenberg –"

"I'm finished with her," I said coolly. "Can we go?"

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shared concerned looks, but they agreed, rounding up their children to the shop we'd landed. While they did, I allowed myself to look back once.

Natasha was gone. As if she'd never been there.

•••◘◘◘•••

It was Ginny who understood my need to be alone. She told Mrs. Weasley I didn't feel well, and the older woman, in turn, told the others to let me rest.

I wasn't taking this well. I still felt like I couldn't breathe. I tried to count the facts, but this was beyond my understanding.

I started accommodating my new books. When I pulled out The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2, something fell to the ground. Frowning, I bent down to pick it up.

It was a black, leather-bound diary. Judging from its pages, the thing had to be very old but was well preserved; even the name – T. M. Riddle – was still legible on the back cover.

I was surprised by its presence. I hadn't seen it at Flourish and Blotts, and if I had, I wouldn't have bought it. It was probable that I'd taken it by mistake during the brawl.

The memory brought another wave of anger. With a very angry shout, I threw the diary away from me; it hit the opposite wall and fell on the floor, open.

And then, the oddest thing happened. In the middle of a yellowish page, a spot of black slowly appeared. From that very spot, lines began to spread like cobwebs. I approached it. The lines were shaky, but the word was legible.

Hello