Chapter Five: Nocturnally
As the entourage ambled into the ramshackle house, Mrs. Weasley met them just inside the door. "Letters from school," she stated, passing each of them identical envelopes of yellowish parchment addressed in green ink. "They came in while you were out. Percy's already got his."Harry looked over his letter. It told him to catch the Hogwarts Express as usual from King's Cross station on September first. There was also a list of the new books he'd need for the upcoming year.
SECOND-YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE:
The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk
Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart
Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart
Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart
Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart
Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart
Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart
Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart
The silence that began when they started reading the letters was broken when—
"Who the hell is Gilderoy Lockhart?" Blaise asked, a puzzled, disgusted look on her face.
Mrs. Weasley looked ready to reprimand her for her language and Hermione looked ready to answer when Fred interrupted. "You mean to tell me you don't know who Gilderoy Lockhart is?"
"Yeah . . . ."
"He's only 'the best ridder of household pests there is,'" George imitated in a high-pitched voice. Mrs. Weasley glared at him.
"Mum fancies him," Ginny muttered.
"Don't be ridiculous, Ginny."
"Of course you don't, Mum," Ginny whispered sarcastically so her mother couldn't hear her.
Blaise snorted.
"However," George began, "Lockhart's books can be quite expensive." He looked at his mother worriedly.
"We'll manage," she told him.
"So . . ." Harry said awkwardly, "when are we going to Diagon Alley to get our school things?"
"Well, as soon as Arthur gets back we should be heading that way."
"And that is . . . ?" Blaise questioned, trailing off towards the end.
"Tomorrow morning, bright and early."
oOoOo
As the next morning dawned, Harry and Blaise (along with the entire Weasley clan) could be found dressed, washed, fed, and standing impatiently in front of a large fireplace. To any passing Muggle, it would have been a sign that they were all barmy, but luckily, there were no Muggles around that could do the passing part.
"Why can't we go by Portkey, again?" Blaise whined. "Couldn't we Apparate, or go through the Leaky Cauldron? Or, oh, I don't know, the Underground?"
"There are too many of us to Apparate, and a Portkey has to be authorized by the Ministry of Magic," Percy answered, trying to sound important. "We would go through the Leaky Cauldron, but we would just have to Floo there, anyway. And what is the Underground?"
"I don't recall asking you, prick," Blaise argued.
"I don't recall you asking anybody in particular," Ron mumbled.
"And I don't recall asking for your opinion, Weaselbee," Blaise shot back.
"Why do you call my Weaselbee, anyway?"
"Okay, okay, people, this is getting a little out of hand, don't you think?" cut in Harry. "Oh, and we call you Weaselbee because we can't call you Weasel; that's what Malfoy calls you."
Ron had a stumped look on his face.
Harry sighed before explaining, "We can't call you Weasel because that's what Malfoy calls you, who is also our enemy. So we added the 'bee' because of that one time when you wore that ugly yellow-and-black striped jumper."
Harry then took the opportunity to look at Ron, who was clenching his fists and whose face was bright red, clashing horribly with his hair.
Blaise took the opportunity to inform him that he looked like a giant beet.
"Okay, everyone," Mrs. Weasley said as she ushered into the room, patting her newly styled hair, "gather 'round."
"Why is she getting so dressed up?" Blaise murmured to Harry.
"No idea."
"Now," the woman continued, "we'll have to go together because we're short of Floo powder. Everyone pick a partner."
Blaise tugged Harry by his emerald-green shirt collar closer to herself, claiming him as her partner in a rather harsh way.
"Calm down!"
"Shut up, loser. You're going with me, so deal with it."
"I was going to partner with you anyway. . . ."
"Hmph."
"Well, fine."
"Now that everyone has a partner—oh, Ron, you can partner with Percy; can't you see Ginny's with Hermione?—Okay, now that everyone has a partner, get in a line. Oh, Blaise, Harry, dears, you two can go first," Mrs. Weasley ordered with a stern but maternal smile.
They looked at each other and shrugged, wordlessly agreeing to go first, even though they didn't really feel like it. Neither of them really liked Floo powder.
Blaise walked up to the flowerpot Mrs. Weasley held in her hands and got a pinch before going over to Harry, who was already in front of the fireplace. She threw it in and when flames turned emerald green and rose higher than either of them could jump, they got in, vaguely noticing that they were standing awfully close to each other. Blaise coughed and inhaled, swallowing a lot of hot ash in the process.
"D-Dia-gon Alley," she coughed.
"What did she say, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked her husband as Harry and Blaise disappeared up the chimney.
"Di-gon Alley."
"I thought so."
oOoOo
It was just like the first time Harry had done it. It felt like he was being sucked down a giant drain, spinning very fast. The roaring in his ears was deafening and he put his arms around Blaise by instinct, pulling her close. His breakfast was churning inside him and he felt nauseous. But then he fell hard onto cold stone, Blaise on top of him.
Harry groaned. Then he blushed.
"I'm not that heavy, am I?" Blaise asked, her voice muffled from it's position pressed into his chest.
"No, you're not. I just hate Floo powder," he answered squeakily.
"Me, too." She raised her head, blushing when she realized the position it had been in, then she realized the full implications of where she had landed, and blushed even harder. They stared at each other awkwardly for a while before Blaise looked away, casting her eyes around the room, looking for something not so . . . awkward.
"Harry . . ."
"What?"
"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."
"What do you . . . ?" Harry got up, Blaise falling off of him as he did so, and took a good look at where they were. It looked like a dimly lit wizards' shop to him, but wait . . . none of these things were likely to be on his school list. A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a blood-stained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. Even worse, the dark, narrow street Harry could see through the dusty shop window was most definitely not Diagon Alley.
"Harry . . . I think we should be getting out of here," Blaise whispered urgently, tugging on his hand.
Harry nodded in agreement, but looking toward the door, he saw something that couldn't be happening. Draco Malfoy and an older clone of him were coming toward the shop, looking very much like they were going to come in.
"Damn, Blaise, change of plans." Looking around quickly, he spotted a large, black lacquer cabinet to his left. He went toward it, pulling Blaise with him, and shot inside, pulling the doors closed, but leaving a crack so he could eavesdrop. Seconds later, a bell clanged and Malfoy stepped into the shop.
The clone seemed to be Draco's father. He had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold, grey eyes. Mr. Malfoy crossed the shop, looking lazily at the items on display, and rang a bell on the counter before turning to his son and saying, "Touch nothing, Draco."
Malfoy, who had reached for the glass eye, said, "I thought you were going to buy me a present."
"I said I would buy you and the team racing brooms," said his father, drumming his fingers on the counter. Harry and Blaise glanced at each other in the enclosed space and smirked—they had plans to be on the House team. Oh, well, less for them to buy.
"What's the good if I'm not on the House team?" said Malfoy, looking sulky and bad-tempered.
"Because if you don't get on the House team, the rest of them don't get the brooms at all."
Malfoy smirked, but then his face fell. "What about Potter? What if him and Zabini got on the House team? What will I do then?"
"You were polite to the Zabini girl at the end of the year, weren't you, Draco?" his father asked sternly.
"Of course, I was."
"Well, then, she and Potter will accept the brooms, suspecting nothing is wrong with them. You want them to be your friends, Draco. It would not be—prudent—to appear less than fond of Harry Potter and his best friend, not when most of out kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear—ah, Mr. Borgin."
A stooping man had appeared behind the counter, smoothing his greasy hair back from his face.
"Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again," Mr. Borgin said in a voice as oily as his hair. "Delighted—and young Master Malfoy, too—charmed. How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and very reasonably priced—"
"I'm not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling," said Mr. Malfoy.
"Selling?" The smile faded slightly from Mr. Borgin's face.
"You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids," Mr. Malfoy stated, taking a roll of parchment from his inside pocket and unraveling it for Mr. Borgin to read. "I have a few—ah—items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call. . ."
Mr. Borgin had fixed a pair of pince-nez to his nose and started looking down the list.
"The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble you, sir, surely?"
Mr. Malfoy's lip curled.
"I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows every more meddlesome. There are rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act—no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it, and as you see, a certain number of these poisons may make it appear—"
"I understand, sir, of course. Let me see . . ."
"Can I have that?" Draco interrupted, pointing at the withered hand on its cushion.
"Ah, the Hand of Glory!" Mr. Borgin exclaimed, abandoning Mr. Malfoy's list and scurrying over to Draco. "Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir."
"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin," said Mr. Malfoy coldly, and Mr. Borgin said quickly, "No offense, sir, no offense meant—"
"Though if his grades don't pick up," said Mr. Malfoy, more coldly still, "that may indeed be all he is fit for—"
"It's not my fault," Draco retorted. "The teachers all have favorites, that Hermione Granger, and Potter's smart, if not smarter than her, even—"
"I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family and a half-blood boy who grew up with Muggles beat you in every exam," snapped Mr. Malfoy.
Blaise snorted lightly at the abashed, angry look on Draco's face.
"It's the same all over," Mr. Borgin said in his oily voice. "Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere—"
"Not with me." Mr. Malfoy's long nostrils flared.
"No, sir, nor with me, sir," Mr. Borgin said with a deep bow.
"In that case, perhaps we can return to my list," Mr. Malfoy said shortly. "I am in something of a hurry, Borgin. I have important business elsewhere today—"
The two men started to haggle. Harry and Blaise watched nervously as Draco drew nearer and nearer to their makeshift hiding place, examining the objects for sale. Draco paused to examine a long coil of hangman's rope and to read, smirking, the card propped on a magnificent necklace of opals: Caution: Do Not Touch. Cursed—Has Claimed the Lives of Nineteen Muggle Owners to Date.
Draco turned away and saw the cabinet right in front of him. He walked forward—he stretched out his hand for the handle—
"Done," said Mr. Malfoy at the counter. "Come, Draco—"
Harry and Blaise breathed silent sighs of relief as Draco turned away.
"Good day to you, Mr. Borgin. I'll expect you at the manor tomorrow to pick up the goods."
The moment the door had closed, Mr. Borgin dropped his oily manner.
"Good day yourself, Mister Malfoy, and if the stories are true, you haven't sold me half of what's hidden in your manor. . . ."
Muttering darkly, Mr. Borgin disappeared into a back room. Harry and Blaise waited for a minute in case he came back, then, quietly as he could, Harry slipped out of the cabinet, helping Blaise out as he did so. They tiptoed past the glass cases and out of the shop door into the dingy alley outside.
Harry looked around. They had emerged into an alleyway that seemed to be devoted to shops dedicated to the Dark Arts. The one he had just left, Borgin and Burkes, looked to be the largest, but opposite was a nasty window display of shrunken heads that caused Blaise to grab his arm, and a cage filled with gigantic black spiders that caused her to whimper and cling to his arm more tightly. Feeling jumpy, they set off, hoping to find a way out of there.
"What's Knockturn Alley supposed to mean?" asked Blaise, pointing to an old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling poisonous candles.
"How am I supposed to know?" he whispered.
"I don't know, but I'm hoping that most of the other people here live nocturnally, like bats, you know," she said with a nervous laugh.
"Yeah . . . good point."
"Not lost, are you, my dears?" said a voice next to them, causing Blaise and Harry to jump.
"So much for everyone living nocturnally. . . ."
An aged witch stood in front of him, holding a tray of what looked horribly like whole human fingernails. She leered at him, showing mossy teeth. Harry and Blaise backed away slowly.
"We're fine, thanks," he said. "We're just—"
"HARRY! BLAISE! What d'yeh think yer doin' down there?"
"Hagrid!" Blaise cried out in relief. "We were lost—Floo powder—"
Hagrid seized them by the backs of their necks ("Eek!" Blaise exclaimed) and pulled them away from the witch, knocking the tray out of her hands. Her shrieks followed them all the way along the twisting alleyway out into bright sunlight. Harry saw a familiar, snow-white marble building in the distance—Gringotts Bank. Hagrid had steered them right into Diagon Alley.
"Yeh two are a mess!" Hagrid said gruffly, brushing soot off Harry and Blaise so forcefully he nearly knocked them into a barrel of dragon dung outside of an apothecary. "Skulkin' around Knockturn Alley, I dunno—dodgy place, Harry, Blaise—don' want no one ter see yeh down there—"
"We realized that," muttered Harry.
"Do the people there live nocturnally?" Blaise asked Hagrid, craning her head back to see his face.
"Wha'?"
"Nocturnally. Do they live nocturnally? Like bats, you know?"
"Where'd yeh get nocturnally from, Blaise?"
"Knockturn Alley, nocturnally."
"Huh?"
Blaise growled. "If you say Knockturn Alley really fast you say nocturnally. Why do they call it Knockturn Alley if the people there don't live nocturnally?"
"Don' know, but it's always been called tha'." Hagrid scratched his shaggy head. "Oh, well, come on, the Weasleys have been lookin' for yeh."
Harry shook his head, but then he realized something and asked, "What were you doing down there, anyway, Hagrid?"
"I was lookin' for Flesh-Eatin' Slug Repellent," Hagrid growled. "They're ruinin' the school cabbages."
Harry was suspicious, but didn't say anything else as they set off down the street.
"Harry! Blaise! Over here!"
Harry and Blaise looked up to see Hermione and Ginny standing on the white flight of steps to Gringotts. They quickly ran down the street to meet them.
"What happened?" Ginny asked.
"We got lost."
"Where are the rest of them?" asked Blaise.
"Here they come righ' now," Hagrid said, pointing down the street to where Ron, Fred, George, Percy, Mr. Weasley, and Mrs. Weasley were sprinting up toward them.
"Harry, Blaise, dears," Mrs. Weasley panted. "We hoped you'd only gone one grate too far. . . . I was worried sick about you two. . . ."
"Where did you end up, anyway?" Ginny questioned.
"Knockturn Alley," said Hagrid grimly.
"Wicked!" Fred and George exclaimed together.
"We've never been allowed in," Ginny breathed, looking at Harry and Blaise enviously.
Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips, but took out a large clothes brush and started sweeping off the soot Hagrid hadn't managed to beat away.
"I should ruddy well think not," growled Hagrid.
By now, Blaise was irritated at the turn this conversation had taken. She impatiently started tapping her foot on the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley. Thankfully, she was in luck.
"Well, gotta be off," said Hagrid, who was having his hand wrung by Mrs. Weasley. "See yer at Hogwarts!" And he strode away, head and shoulders rising taller than anyone else in the packed street.
"So can we go to Gringotts now?" Blaise whined, who was now bouncing on the balls of her feet in agitation.
Mrs. Weasley sent her a warning glare, but they started off to Gringotts nonetheless. On the way there, Harry and Blaise quickly whispered to Ginny and the twins about who they had seen in Knockturn Alley.
"Did he buy anything?" George asked them.
"No," Blaise answered quietly, "he said something about selling."
"So he's worried," Ginny commented with a frown.
"Worried?"
"All the raids the Ministry is conducting . . . it won't be long before someone thinks of inspecting the Malfoys, even if Mr. Malfoy is in cahoots with the Minister," George explained.
Harry frowned, "Mr. Malfoy did say something along those lines."
"Did he say anything in particular?" Fred questioned.
"No, nothing."
oOoOo
Other than Mr. Weasley seeing Hermione's parents and insisting that they go to get a drink, the trip to Gringotts passed fairly quickly. The breakneck journey through the bank's underground tunnels was quite enjoyable to Harry and Blaise, but when they arrived to the Weasleys' vault, their giddiness evaporated. Inside were only a small pile of Sickles and one gold Galleon. Mrs. Weasley felt around before grabbing the lot and sweeping it into her bag.
Harry felt even worse when they reached his vault. He and Blaise tried desperately to hide the contents from view as they hastily shoved handfuls of coins into two leather bags, one for Harry and the other for Blaise. Harry made a silent vow to pay for most of Ginny's things and anything extra anyone (within reason, and excepting Weaselbee) might also want but couldn't afford.
Back outside they all separated. Percy muttered vaguely about needing a new quill while Ron mumbled some nonsense about Quidditch. Fred and George saw their friend from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan, and gave their most sincere apologies for having to leave Harry and Blaise alone. They went away with a wink. Mr. Weasley now insisted on his drink with the Grangers, and Mrs. Weasley was now staring at Harry, Blaise, Ginny, and Hermione with interest.
"Tell you what: I'll leave you four alone for most of the day on the deal that you take care of Ginny. I have business to attend to in Muggle London, and just don't have time for it. We'll meet at Flourish and Blotts in two hours to buy your schoolbooks, and not one foot down Knockturn Alley. Clear?" Mrs. Weasley glared.
"Crystal." Blaise smirked at how much fun they could have without any adult supervision.
"Good. Now I have to go"—here she gave them all a hug—"and you all behave!" With that she took off down to the other end of Diagon Alley to the entrance to Muggle London.
"Wonder why she has to go to Muggle London?" Hermione puzzled.
"Who cares?! We've got two hours on our own!" Blaise exclaimed. Harry nodded in agreement.
"First off: robes for Ginny," Harry stated in a commanding voice, practically dragging them down the street to Madam Malkin's.
"Um . . . Harry?" Ginny stuttered uncomfortably.
"Yes?"
"I can't . . . afford . . . to go to Madam Malkin's," she answered hesitantly, her face flaming. She wasn't as sensitive as Ron about money, but it still embarrassed her not to have any when all her friends could pay for every whim.
"Not to worry, Gin-Gin. Blaise and I have made an unspoken agreement to pay for you. You're our friend, and personally"—here Harry bent down to whisper in her ear—"I don't think you're going into Gryffindor. Plus, you having good robes and supplies will give the other Slytherins less reason to taunt you. See where I'm going with this?" Harry gave her a look that told her everything.
Ginny smirked. "Having to worry less about Malfoy and his idiots taunting me because of how I dress?"
"Correct."
And with that Harry led the three girls into the shop and Madam Malkin and one of her assistant's quickly got Ginny and Harry (he had grown two inches) fitted for their school robes. Harry paid and they left.
They then went to get Ginny her cauldron, potion ingredients, wand, and everything else on her list, minus the books, which they would be getting later. After a small stop to get four large strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice creams for everyone, which they slurped happily, they wandered into Quality Quidditch Supplies, and Harry and Blaise glanced at each other before getting the latest broom on the market—the Nimbus Two Thousand and One—just to show that they didn't have to depend on Malfoy. Ginny looked at the broom-cases longingly, but Hermione rolled her eyes and dragged them next door to stock up on parchment and ink. They found Fred and George in Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, where they and Lee were buying tons of Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks. Harry and Blaise barely managed to shove half a dozen of gold coins each into their hands and eye them meaningfully before Hermione pulled them out by their collars.
It was then that Blaise spotted a shop called Darkende's Emporium. The building was made of cobbled bricks, painted on top magically with some sort of dark onyx layering that shone over the ripples in the stones. The show window had tables covered with black silk, displaying an array of daggers, earrings, and . . . a jeweled tiara? Blaise didn't know why, but one of the daggers appealed to her, and she knew that that was what to get Harry for his birthday.
She pulled them inside, ignoring their protests, and soon discovered that this shop sold more than various knickknacks. In fact, the knickknacks were charmed to do certain things, like warm the person it was near (or on, as the case may be), connect the person to someone farther away, or tell when one of your best friends was in trouble. This made Harry want one, and, in the end, she bought Harry the dagger in the display case.
The dagger was made of gleaming silver, polished to perfection. There were medium-sized emeralds in the hilts and a bejeweled serpent with garnet eyes below the hilt, engraved on the very blade. Also engraved on the blade were two names: Harry Potter and Blaise Zabini. Blaise got her ears pierced (which the shop also did), and put in emerald studs that were magically connected to the dagger to show when the other was in trouble. Due to the fact that Blaise couldn't see the earrings unless looking in a mirror, they were made to heat up harmlessly when the other was in trouble. They were also spelled to let them speak to each other from far away with just a simple incantation (Sermonis). They walked out of the shop with considerably less Galleons than they had started out with.
With most of their shopping done, they headed for Flourish and Blotts. They weren't the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they approached, they saw a large crowd jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed by a large banner stretched across the upper windows:
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 squealed. "I mean, he's written almost the entire booklist!"
The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs. Weasley's age. A harassed-looking wizard stood at the door, saying, "Calmly, please, ladies . . . Don't push, there . . . mind the books, now. . . "
Harry, Blaise, Hermione, and Ginny squeezed inside, Blaise stepping on someone's toes in the process. After much shouting from the enraged woman, they managed to escape and see a long line that wound right to the back of the shop, where Lockhart was signing his books. The new second years grabbed copies of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 and helped Ginny find the books she needed before sneaking up the line to where the rest of the Weasleys were standing with Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Mrs. Weasley seemed to be carrying an awfully suspicious Muggle bag.
"Oh, there you are, good," Mrs. Weasley sighed. She sounded breathless and kept patting her hair. "We'll be able to see him in a minute. . . ."
Blaise groaned.
Lockhart slowly came into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that matched his eyes exactly; his pointed wizard's hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair. Blaise and Harry were ready to vomit and doing accurate imitations of it, but Ginny, who was used to Lockhart, closed her eyes and mumbled, "Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts . . ." Hermione sighed in exasperation or admiration; nobody could tell the difference.
A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash.
"Out of the way, little girl," he snarled at Blaise, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the Daily Prophet—"
Blaise's mouth opened in dismay. "Don't you dare to tell me what to—!" she seethed loudly.
Lockhart heard her. He looked up. He saw Blaise—and then he saw Harry. He stared. Then he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, "It can't be Harry Potter?"
Harry blanched and thought, 'No . . .' as the crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized Harry's arm (who groaned), and pulled him to the front. The crowd burst into applause. Harry glared maniacally as Lockhart shook his hand for the photographer, who was clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys.
"Nice big smile, Harry," Lockhart said jovially, through his own gleaming teeth. "Together, you and I are worth the front page!"
"I'd rather not," Harry muttered so only Lockhart heard him.
The man's face fell and he finally let go of Harry's hand, who could hardly feel his fingers. He tried to sidle back over to where Blaise, Hermione, and Ginny were at, but Lockhart threw an arm around his shoulders and clamped him tightly in place.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly, waving for quiet, which he got. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!
"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. He had no idea that he would shortly be getting much, much more than 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 this that September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"
The crowd cheered and clapped and Harry found himself being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Staggering slightly under their weight, he managed to make his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, where Ginny was standing next to her new school supplies.
"You have these," Harry mumbled to her, tipping the books into her cauldron. "I'll buy my own." She smiled gratefully to him.
"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" a voice smirked that Harry had no trouble recognizing. He straightened up and found himself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, who was wearing his customary sneer.
"Famous Harry Potter," Malfoy taunted. "Can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page."
"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" Ginny glared.
"Potter, I didn't think you were capable, but you've managed to get yourself a harem! First Zabini, then Granger, and now the Weaslette. Do you have a fascination with blood traitors and Mudbloods?"
Ginny and Hermione blushed brightly, but Blaise frowned. "And where do I fit in that category?"
Malfoy snorted in amusement. "You mean you don't know?"
Blaise's frown deepened, but she didn't answer, seeing the man she had "met" just today standing over the boy's shoulder, looking over something that was over their shoulder.
"Well, well, well—Arthur Weasley."
It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand now on Draco's shoulder, showing that the sneer was passed down in the genetics.
"Lucius," Mr. Weasley said shortly, nodding coldly.
"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear. All those raids . . . I hope they're paying you overtime?"
He reached into Ginny's cauldron and seemed disappointed to see a brand new copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration.
"I see they are. Such a shame that disgraces to the name of wizard are actually getting paid for it now," he sneered.
Mr. Weasley flushed darker than Ginny had.
"We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy," he said.
"Clearly." Mr. Malfoy's pale eyes strayed to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep, Weasley . . . and I thought your family could sink no lower—"
There was a thud of metal as Ginny's cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backwards into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spell-books came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, "Get him, Dad!" from Fred, George, and Ginny; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, "No, Arthur, no!"; Harry and Blaise yelled, "Get him, Mr. Weasley!"; the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; "Gentlemen, please—please!" cried the assistant, and then, louder than all—
"Break it up, there, gents, break it up—"
Hagrid was wading toward them 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 Encyclopedia of Toadstools. He was still holding Ginny's Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice.
"Here, girl—take your book while your father can afford it—" Pulling himself out of Hagrid's grip he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop.
"Yeh should've ignored him, Arthur," Hagrid said, 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."
The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop them, but he barely came up to Hagrid's waist and seemed to think better of it. They hurried up the street, the Grangers shaking with fright and Mrs. Weasley beside herself with fury.
"A fine example to set for your children . . . brawling in public . . . what Gilderoy Lockhart must've thought—"
"He was pleased," Fred said with a grin. "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—"
"Speaking of which," Blaise asked Harry, "what do you think of Lockhart?"
"I hate the poncy git already," Harry said with a shudder.
"I can't believe Dumbledore gave him the position of Defense teacher. He's just an attention-craving git who wants all the publicity he can get his slimy hands on," a passionate Blaise added.
Harry's eyes lit up. Blaise, recognizing the look on his face, grinned. "Wanna prank 'im?"
"Oh, yeah." Harry rubbed his hands together, envisioning the things they could do with Fred, George, and Ginny's help. Hermione wouldn't really agree, as she seemed to be in love with Lockhart, but Theo might. . . .
"Harry . . ." Blaise asked uncertainly, sobering up as a thought came to mind.
"Yes, Blaise?"
"What do you think Malfoy meant when he said I fit into one of those categories?" Blaise was biting her lip; a sure sign that she hated not knowing something so important to how wizards may perceive her to be. When she thought about it, all the teachers on the staff were quite startled when they heard her name being associated with Harry's, like her parents had done something less-than-honorable. . . .
"I don't know, but I guess we'll have to find out, huh?"
Blaise realized that their group was in the Leaky Cauldron, ready to Floo back to the Burrow. Most of the others had already gone, except for the three Weasleys they liked and Hermione, who were frowning and waiting for them to go. Grabbing just a pinch, Harry and Blaise moved to the fireplace together, and right before they got in, Blaise answered.
"Yeah, I guess we will."
oOoOo
Authoress's Note: Special thanks to Curse of Immortality, who named Darkende's Emporium. Darkende is pronounced dark-en-day, by the way.