Why Not

Wiltshire England, July Thirtieth

Dark, silent and hollow.

In three words, one can perfectly capture the feel of Malfoy Manor at night. It was dark, naturally. If you turn out all the lights in a large expansive building 'dark' is what you are bound to get. Silent; all was asleep, hopefully. There used to be sounds, whispers, creaking, rustles that might have been imagination… But all of that was gone now. It was actually rather unnerving to have such calm when one is used to hearing at night. Even if the cause for some of the noise wasn't necessarily good, it was familiar. Now the grand house felt like a hollow tomb.

Jezibell's ears pricked to nothing. She was being paranoid. Her mother and father in deep in dream-land and Draco should be too. They better be. The crinkling of the wrapping paper was a small sound, but it echoed none the less in the spacious room. With agonizing care, Jezibell peeled a bit of tape off the dispenser, wincing at a slight squeak it made against the jagged edge. It sliced neatly and she applied it to the bundle of filmy paper on her bed, sealing it. It was done. Harry's birthday gift was wrapped. She breathed. If her mother or father suspected she was wrapping Harry Potter a present at midnight...Well, let's not linger on the consequences. She was already in high water with Father after they discovered the letter announcing she was taking Muggle Studies this year. Last time she forgot to have Emmy stake out the owl nook.

She was about to begin the precariously long journey to the owl tower when she realized she had forgotten something. A letter.

Reaching into the bedside desk, Jezibell whipped out a sheet of parchment and laid it on her workspace. A pot of imported Chinese ink was moved closer for convenience and she dipped her white peahen quill, loading it. But now what? The thing is Jezibell didn't have much experience writing friendly letters. She wrote to her mother and father while at Durmstrang, wrote thank you notes to relatives on her birthday and had her list of school supplies delivered by owl post a few weeks ago. Yet never had she written or received just a regular friend-to-friend-dear-person-how-are-you-sincerely-me letter. How do you begin? Dear Harry? It seemed a little formal for just a present accompanying note. A drip of ink hit the parchment making a black splotch were the heading should be. She started to write.

Dear Harry,

Having a good summer? I expect the muggles aren't very thrilling after a year at Hogwarts, but the gift might remind you that our world still exists even where you are.

It was difficult choosing a birthday present for someone whose personal life she know virtually nothing about, but Jezibell had settled on a two-for-one broomstick service kit. Harry played Quidditch and had the next to best model available in a broom, so it should go over well. The other package in the deal was going to Draco. Her brother had been complaining about the loose twigs in his Nimbus 2001 for ages. She wouldn't mention that fact to Harry, though. Jezibell refilled her quill.

My holiday has been fairly eventful. Father is looking into getting a new house elf, but as wandering elves are in short supply Mother and I are on kitchen duty. Draco got out of it because he has to practice for Quidditch and Father was 'busy' with his work. They both just want nothing to do with the kitchen (or as I like to call it, The Laboratory).

We have successfully burnt breakfast twice now and are running out of eggs and patience with them. Boiled, beaten or blasted out of a cannon they are a recipe for a slimy mess. At least the laundry is going well. Draco now has a pair of baby pink pajamas to match his socks (You may take this time to point and laugh raucously). I do all my own stunts with the laundry potion as most of my clothes are either black, white or red and I would prefer not to mix them.

But back to the meals, where all the real fun is. Mother is getting better at sandwiches but Draco is sick of peanut butter and jelly. He voiced this complaint at dinner last week and was drafted as 'soup stirrer'. I would have pointed and laughed raucously, but was preoccupied with cleaning out all twenty two of our measuring cups (Why did we use twenty two measuring cups for sandwiches? I'll leave that for you to fathom). Lately, Mother has been designating jobs for us to create the illusion of control. My jobs are Potato Peeler, Egg Beater and Keeper of the Measuring Cups.

It's been unusually casual around here as Father stopped inviting business wizards over to show off the Manor so he can hide the Dobby's obvious absence. He has been making trips to other people's houses for dinner instead. Mother, Draco and I tagged along for the last one and it was quite amusing. Father spent the whole dinner telling an old ministry warlock about our wonderful mansion and all its great benefits. I'm glad I have a natural poker face.

Tomorrow Mother wants to tackle a roast. I think she's actually starting to enjoy this adventure in homemaking. Draco and I have a bet going: she posts the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad after three hours at the stove or two. I'm betting two. The winner does the other's laundry for a week. We are very serious betters in our family.

I saw Ron's family in the Prophet. Do you get the Prophet with the muggles? If you don't, the Weasley's won the Scoops drawing for 500 Galleons. They're using it to take a trip to Egypt, where Ron's brother apparently works as a Curse-Breaker. That means he's paid to be awesome rescuing mountains of lost gold in ancient booby trapped tombs. Yeah. So tell Ron congratulations on the Scoops if you're writing him and ask him if we can swap brothers. We are planning a shopping trip to Diagon Alley as Chef Narcissa needs more tools for torture. It'll be sometime in August, no date is set yet, but with how things are cooking here I'd guess it'll be put off until the last few days of holiday. Maybe I'll see you, Hermione or the Weasleys there.

Have as happy a birthday as you can,

Jezibell

She reread the letter, checking to see if she forgot anything. Emmy prowled into view and Jezibell remembered one last edit.

p.s. Emmy hisses hi.

It looked about right. The letter told of all the good, funny bits that happened this summer. Her mother the struggling chef, her father the anxious business man and Draco the lazy but joking twin. She failed to mention that the 'ministry wizard' was for the anti muggle-protection act campaign, or that Father had been to Egypt once when he was younger to recruit foreign wizards for the Dark Lord or the small discovery Jezibell made when going to the bathroom one morning a few weeks ago. None of the above was Harry's business and they were going to stay that way. Jezibell blew on the parchment to help the ink dry and then pulled out a manila envelope to put it in. The paper was monogrammed L.M. with a minute peacock design in the corner. Jezibell wished there was a less formal option in stationary. Once the tab was sealed over the birthday greetings, she scrawled Harry Potter, Little Whinging, 4 Privet Drive (She knew his address from a look in Father's files one day when he forgot to lock his study. Now that the diary was gone, she had no fear of it and guessed the retired Death Eaters would be keeping tabs on the Boy Who Lived in the unlikely event He made a comeback. She wasn't disappointed. They knew where and who he lived with, what muggle school he used to go to and how many times he'd been to his squib neighbor's house for tea. Thirty-two. It was enough to make Jezibell feel uncomfortable. She had memorized the address and quickly relocked the drawer) on the back and taped it to the gift. She probably would've gotten away with sticking it on by magic, but she was still short one wand.

Now came the risky part: mailing it.

Jezibell picked up the tightly bound package and eased of the bed as not to creak any of the wood. She tip-toed to the door of her room, walking around the patch of floor that habitually squeaked, and slowly turned the knob, feeling the uneven patterns of serpentine artwork on the brass as she did so. The hinges pushed open easily and she exhaled. There was a staircase leading to the ground floor just outside her room. To avoid the master bedroom, she would have to go down and around to entrance hall then back up the stairs to the east tower.

She walked out into the hall and had her right foot on the staircase when a sudden gushing sound made her jump. The faucet made a grinding noise as it was shut off and the bathroom door opened behind her. Jezibell froze. A bleary eyed Draco shuffled out, a glass of water in his hand. Curse those fluffy white, now pink, socks Mother gave him. They must have muffled his footsteps in the hall. He stared at her for a moment, taking in the wrapped box she held and her caught expression.

Jezibell glared at her brother pointedly and he shrugged in an I'm-not-getting-involved-here way and continued his path down the corridor to his bedroom. As part of the Malfoy Sibling Agree to Disagreement, Draco was to feign ignorance when it came to Jezibell's unauthorized cohorts. Of course, the second part of this deal was that Jezibell had to restrain from busting him when he sneaked into Father's study to steal a dark object.

Creeping through the wide halls, empty rooms and under vaulted ceilings, Jezibell made her way to the owlery without any more confrontations. When she reached the tower, she saw there was only one owl of the two they owned at its perch. Abraxas, the Eagle Owl, named for her deceased grandfather.

His yellow eyes peered disdainfully down at her, a dead ringer of his namesake. Jezibell scowled at him. She didn't like the bird much. He was noisy, vain and never sat still when you attached the letter. He was for show, the owl used when her mother sent Draco sweets at school and when her father had an important ministry representative he wanted to impress. Flashy and proud, Abraxas did his job of intimidating and looking haughtily first class. But he was temperamental and didn't like going to addresses out of the ordinary. Jezibell wasn't sure how you got blood feuds across to an owl, but Abraxas always seemed to know who he was delivering to and their social status. Jezibell scowled. She had been hoping for Iris.

Iris was the other owl of the Malfoy family. She was rarely at her perch; Father had a seemingly endless amount of jobs for her. She was a pale tan Barn and her wings moved noiselessly, not even a rustle of feathers when she flew. Unlike Abraxas, she wasn't used to be imposing. Her regular flights included trips to Knockturn Alley, some of the other old Death Eater's houses and whenever her father wanted his correspondence to go unnoticed. Iris wasn't fussy about what neighborhood she was being sent to and kept her serenity while you tied the letter. She was exactly the owl Jezibell needed for her midnight message.

Jezibell waited at the high window for Iris to return, ignoring Abraxas and his disapproval. Moonbeams lit the vast lawn below her and she could see the church steeple silhouetted fine and black against the faint light. She knew that living atop a hill in a great mansion made her father feel as though he lorded over the common folk and muggles below, but to Jezibell it was ostracism. She was detached from the mundane lives of the villagers and instead of feeling privileged it seemed isolating. Especially so now that Father had confined her to house and grounds for the second summer in a row. Well, maybe her new friendship with Harry, Ron and Hermione would change that. Not the grounding, which could only get worse, but the separation of Jezibell and the rest of society. The Chamber of Secrets incident last year would gave her a new start in her existence as Hogwarts student. She planned to make the most of it.

Crisp night air licked her face, gently combing loose strands of hair off it and ruffling the wrapping paper. A light shadowy speck hovered at the edge of her vision. Was it Iris? The time was around 12:30 am, according to the large ornate clock in the living room. July thirty first. It would be best for Harry to get his present before his relatives woke up. They didn't sound like the type who would appreciate a 20 Galleon deluxe broomstick service kit.

The speck drew closer. It passed the church, disappeared in the shadow and then out grew it, the rise and fall of wings coming clear. It was indeed Iris, and the quiet Barn had something in her talons. Iris swooped directly to the window and up to Jezibell. Abraxas shifted his feathers superciliously but kept his beak shut. Jezibell took the note from the owl's claws, expecting her father's name on it. Instead it read Jezibell Malfoy, Wiltshire mansion. The return address was Olivander's Wand Shop, Diagon Alley London. Jezibell hoped this letter said what she thought it did. She sent out her request to the Wandmaker a few weeks ago. Iris must have picked up this reply on her way back from whatever delivery she was making for Father. Good thing it arrived so soon, Jezibell had been worried she would be stuck with another hand-me-down.

She motioned for Iris to stay put, not that the practiced owl needed any encouragement, and tied on the bulky birthday gift. Iris was a larger owl so she shouldn't have too much trouble with the heavy present. Abraxas shuffled his wings irritably because he wasn't getting attention though he hated it when he did. Jezibell made a face at him.

Iris took off, soaring down to the valley more awkward then usual with the load, but still flying in complete stealth. Jezibell watched the owl's form dissolve into the night, turning Olivander's letter over in her hand. Yes, maybe this year would be different than the others. She smiled to herself through a dark, hollow silence and the house slept around her.

Burris Borgin

Mr. Borgin smoothed his slick black hair over his scalp, watching the two will be customers talking outside the shop window. He had adopted this style of oiling his hair because it was supposed to make him look younger. After the success with their first and only assistant, Mr. Borgin had been trying to imitate the charismatic young man who made business boom. But that was many years ago and since then the shop had lost some of its attraction and customers. Mr. Borgin milked every penny that was offered to him and the sight of the Malfoy brats arguing outside his dusty store made his miser's heart leap. There were no people easier to sucker than rich children.

The fair boy seemed to be losing the debate. He gestured at the shop a few times in demonstration of some point, but his darker sister simply crossed her arms and said something indistinguishable through the thick glass. The boy gave a resigned sigh and then jerked his thumb at 14B. The girl nodded, the boy went into the neighboring building and Mr. Borgin tapped his figures impatiently on his counter top. The girl turned to around to face his window and Mr. Borgin quickly began shuffling the file of receipts in his drawers. Had she seen? A reliable salesman is never nosy. Not that Mr. Borgin would ever be mistaken for a reliable salesman, but a good impression was best. He kept his eyes on his files until the tinkling bell rang, announcing the girl's entrance into the shop.

Mr. Borgin watched her as she browsed the selves carefully avoiding eye contact. Buying or selling? Selling or buying? He scrutinized her movements for clues; nervousness if selling, eagerness if buying, but her calm stance gave nothing away. She completed a full circuit around the shop before coming to his desk. By this time Borgin was in a state of high anticipation. If she had brought something of her father's, he could easily coax it from her for 50% less than if her parents were here. He showed none of it though, pasting on his most helpful and friendly smile, lowering his head just a tad to make the girl feel more at ease.

"What can I do for you today, Miss-?"

Damn, he'd forgotten her name. It something like 'Isabella' or 'Jemima', but he couldn't take the chance of getting it wrong. Leaving the 'Miss' hanging by itself sounded condensing to a teenager, producing reluctance for acting as an adult. Mr. Borgin cursed himself for not being more attentive when Lucius Malfoy made the introductions.

The girl looked him shrewdly in the eye, as if she were sizing him up. Her heavy features reminded him of another witch who had been a regular at the Dark Arts store until several years ago. She had a fondness for shrewd looks as well.

"I'd like to know what this is worth."

She reached into the avian embroidered bag slung round her shoulder, extracted a medium sized bottle of dark liquid and held it up for him to see. It was placed on the desk with a small tap. Mr. Borgin reached for it in delayed reaction, doing his best to hide his excitement. He held the bottle up to the light and observed how it shown through. The liquid was black as ink, but it was less dense than plain calligraphy would be. Clearly not some form of blood; there was no congealment. It reminded him of snake venom, but it had to be more valuable than that or it wouldn't have been brought to him. Perhaps that of a Runspoore, but it wasn't quite the same as the other vials he had acquired. Mr. Borgin worked to keep up the casual charade as he tried to figure out what it was.

"Give up?"

He turned back to the girl, who was still watching him. It had been ten minutes while he examined the strange substance, still not able to put a label on it. It was embarrassing, really, to have failed at the task he was specialized in and not good for the exchange if the customer knew something about the item he didn't. But now Mr. Borgin was sizzling with curiosity and forced to ask.

"What is it?"

His words were hurried and less nonchalant than he would have liked, but the Malfoy girl's reply made him forget all about the immediate conversation.

"Basilisk venom. 8 ounces of it."

Basilisk venom. The rarity was so great it was nearly unheard of, even in Borgin and Burkes, center of the British Dark Magical trade. Over the years they purchased and sold Re'em blood, Nundu pelts and even once found the cloak of a subdued Lethifold, but never came across anything from a Basilisk. If it was in his possession, wizards would come from miles to obtain it. The biding would make him a very rich man indeed, possibilities for the profits simply sky rocketed. Mr. Borgin was lost in dreams of crisp dress robes and gold tipped canes for a minute, before he jerked himself back to actually purchasing the venom. That is, if that's what it was - the girl could very easily be lying. Mr. Borgin was dying to ask where she had obtained such a treasure, but it wasn't his job to know where. It was to know how much.

"Have you shown this to anyone else?"

"Yes, the Apothecary settled on 350 Galleons. But I wanted a more experienced opinion."

And he was trapped. Any hope of convincing her that she must have mistaken this for common Runspoore venom had gone out the window. 350 Galleons! The scum at the Apothecary must want those 8 ounces pretty bad. Unless she was lying and hadn't been to the place at all. But he couldn't call her bluff; he wanted the toxin too much. The girl wore her bangs as a mask, but there was the ghostly smirk of Shoppers Past haunting her features, as if she could see through his hesitant manner to tell how desperate he was for that bottle.

"I find it would be worth a bit more than that," Find a price, less than four hundred is reasonable, "380 Galleons."

"30 Galleons more? I should have mentioned, the venom is barely a few months old. I doubt it exists anywhere else in such good quality."

Mr. Borgin kept his face composed with effort. Fresh Basilisk venom? He had to have it. "How about 400, then?"

"Perhaps."

Mr. Borgin reached into his money drawer, looking for the right pouch.

"But anyone who would buy for 400 would be willing for 420."

He stopped cold. It was already 70 Galleons more than the alternate asking price; he didn't want this to get out of hand, "Not necessarily-"

"Mr. Borgin, if you are dissatisfied with my price there are any number of shopkeepers here who would take it without thought."

Her tone was derisive, but layered in a promise they both knew well. No other Dark Magical store was as successful as Borgin and Burkes that it could offer her a better deal, but many proprietors off the market would lay down fortunes at the promise of Basilisk venom and probably go broke doing so. But a teenage girl wouldn't ruin a life like that. Or would she? Mr. Borgin didn't have time to weigh her bluff. He was too busy watching her slide the venom across the counter top to herself, preparing to leave the shop.

"440, then!" he heard himself cry as the Malfoy girl replaced the precious bottle in her pocket. She pretended not to hear him. "450!"

She slapped it back on the table, "Done."

The black bottle was exchanged for the brown bag of gold. She sifted through the pouch to insure he hadn't tried to cheat, which Mr. Borgin might have if he wasn't in a state of shock. How had he gone from asking what the liquid was to all but begging for it? Lucius Malfoy's daughter dipped her head in a calm farewell, "Good day, Mr. Borgin and thank you."

"Anytime, anytime," Mr. Borgin cooed, not lifting his eyes from the container in his hand. She dropped her earnings into the side pocket of her bag, did the clasp and walked out of the shop. Mr. Borgin maintained his servant's posture until the tinkling bell sounded, along with the gentle whuf of the shutting door. Then he let his cheerful face fall to grimace. 350 Galleons to 450 in 15 minutes. That girl made her father look like the Patron Saint of Generosity. But still, fresh Basilisk venom!

Diagon Alley, August Thirty-first

Jezibell walked briskly out of Knockturn Alley, keeping a steady hand on her bag and eyes firmly forward. The Dark Arts Street was useful and conveniently placed, but it was best to take precautions against the other shoppers. Her visit to Borgin and Burkes had been much more productive than she had expected. It was difficult not to take some pride in that she out bartered Borgin, the most cunningly coning salesman in wizarding Britain. Watching her father do deals for years paid off nicely. Very nicely, Jezibell thought of the fat pouch holding her 450 Galleons and felt a surge of self-satisfaction.

The lane began to open up to the busy main street of Diagon Alley. The dusty shops fell to the shadows to be replaced by bright stores with enticing logos. Jezibell passed the Magical Menagerie that was having a scuffle within. Resisting the urge to stay to watch a large escaped cat being chased by his harried mistress, she kept going past Gambol and Japes(so popular a destination she could hardly see the display through the shoppers), the second hand robes shop(Jezibell could smell the moth balls from across the street as she watched a portly red haired woman haggle vigorously inside) and several petite cafes. The last store on her side was cramped between two boxy clothing stores. It didn't appear to be receiving much traffic, which was surprising as it was the last day before term. Olivander's Wands was usually swarmed with ecstatic eleven year-olds purchasing their keys to magic. Jezibell remembered how happy she had been upon getting her first wand. Such excitement for nothing, it didn't even last a year. The replacement hadn't fared much better. She thought of her Great Aunt Elladora's old wand that now lay in splinters in the Chamber of Secrets and got a vicious pleasure at the image.

Olivander's like Borgin and Burkes was less than well kept. The paint was peeling in several places, a color that was probably once blue; some shingles on the roof were coming loose and the windows were so dusty you could hardly see through them. The inside was just as squished as its outdoor appearance gave. Its elongated rectangular shape gave the impression that you were standing inside a wand-case. The haphazardly stacked boxes of wands were not good for the claustrophobic and it was rather stuffy too with the sealed over windows. Jezibell triggered the bell-charm set over the doorway and heard a noise from the back of the shop. She wondered vaguely if the shopkeepers ever grew tired of listening to the falsely cheery ding-a-ling ding all day. It would drive her nuts in an hour.

Mr. Olivander emerged behind the small mountains of boxes. He flicked his own battered wand and sent an armful of them back into place. He looked weary after a day of first-years, his lopsided wizard's hat askew on unkempt white hair and a few receipts dangling out of a back pocket.

"Ah, hello, Miss," The wand-maker began in a reedy voice. The lunar eyes contradicted his harried manner to point where it was unnerving, "Do you have a pre-ordered wand or are you here to be chosen?

"Preordered. I am Jezibell Malfoy, you replied to my request a few weeks ago."

"Yes, that one. Oh yes..." Olivander trailed off, lost in his own weird thoughts. Jezibell cleared her throat to get his attention, "Yes, yes."

The old man picked a more recent container off his desk and opened the lid, "Thirteen inches and birch, as you requested,"

The wand was a beautiful pearl-gray in color, slender and long to taper at the end. Natural designs from the birch wood made eye shaped patterns that swirled around the handle. It was perfect, and it was hers.

"And the core?"

When Jezibell sent the Basilisk fang to the Wandmaker, she knew it was risky. Considering the rarity of the relic, it was unlikely it had ever been used for a wand core before. Jezibell did her homework and knew that even though there were exotic varieties outside the unicorn hair, phoenix feather and dragon heartstring Olivander specialized in, wandlore was a delicate breed of magic. Things tended to go awry when experimenting. Badly. But Jezibell couldn't resist a try anyway. She wanted something new and different to call her own. Not another secondhand Mother forced on her and she wasn't sure if a wand that chose her would choose right. It was silly, but she felt all the other aspects of her life that were chosen for her - parents, social status, looks, Hogwarts house, name - were out of place, out of sync with who she saw herself to be. Or who she would like to be. So she decided to do her own destiny and send instructions for a totally unique wand of Basilisk fang to Olivander's.

Mr. Olivander was still staring at the birch wand, reluctant to see it go, "The tooth was difficult to work with, though it appears to suit this wand just fine. I don't often take requests for alternate cores, but this was an extraordinary opportunity to stretch the bounds of wandlore. But considering the malevolent nature of a Basilisk I should thank you to be cautious when using it. It's terribly temperamental, bold and enduring but with an undeniable sadistic streak. The light elegance of the birch brings a balance to the primal power, but still I wonder..."

He continued to watch the wand as if he expected it to start changing the world any second now. Jezibell was about to set the delicate instrument back in its box but Mr. Olivander interrupted her, claiming she must see if it was compatible or not.

"Just try some simple magic with it."

That hadn't occurred to her that the wand might not accept her, and Jezibell briefly considered the idea that it would fail miserably. But it wouldn't. It contained a bit of a beast whose master she had slain, how could it not bow to her will? She grasped the polished wood and felt the cool smooth surface under her palm. She gave it a neat flick.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

One of the containers Olivander had forgotten was levitated neatly onto a shelf. The wand did her will perfectly and more effectively than Elladora's ever had. For the first time Jezibell felt she found something tailor made to her couldn't wait to tell her friends.

Ronald Weasley

"Ok, let's try this again. Where did ice cream parlor guy say Harry went?"

Hermione and Ron were standing outside Gringotts, looking at the shabby pocket map they had picked up at the Leaky Cauldron. Normally, staring at a map is the last thing anyone does in Diagon Alley as there are so many more worthwhile things to feast your eyes on. Like, say, the new Firebolt at Quality Quidditch Supplies. Or that street vendor selling hot-pots for two Sickles a bag. Ron breathed the summery air heavily as the hot-pot smell wafted over to them. They had been all over the bloody alley this morning, starting at the Leaky Cauldron were Harry was supposed to be staying, then following the vague instructions of a senile bartender to Quality Quidditch Supplies(Ron felt frustrated at this point, it was perfectly clear that any bloke would make a bee-line for the Quidditch store). Ron barely got a glimpse at the illustrious Firebolt before Hermione had dragged him out of the shop with new directions for Florean Fortescue's were Harry frequented. And now they were outside Gringotts, staring at a map while the wonders of Diagon Alley moved around them.

"He said Harry had been going to a lot of stores and cafes lately." Hermione was determined to find him before they actually started shopping anywhere, "Maybe he went to the bank to get some more gold."

"Well, we're here and I'm not seeing Harry."

"You wouldn't see him if he's inside the vaults right now. I think we should wait here until he comes back."

"I'm starving," said Ron emphatically. It was true they hadn't eating anything since his mother's breakfast sandwiches and those hot-pots smelled better by minute.

"How about I go see what that bloke is selling," he jerked his thumb at the hot-pot guy, "and we can wait over in that cafe."

Hermione was doubtful, "But what if Harry comes back while we're looking the other way?"

"Hermione, if he's really in the vaults it could be hours before he's back! We'll just get some food while we wait."

Hermione was still hesitant, but Ron thought she was starting to waver in her resolve. Someone called 'Guys!' to the right of them, but they ignored it. There were a hundred guys in Diagon Alley and didn't sound like Harry.

"Ron! Hermione!"

Both turned away from the map to see who the caller was, searching the crowded streets of shoppers. A black head was wending its way to them though the throng, waving a hand to draw their attention. Jezibell Malfoy made it through the masses to where Hermione and Ron were standing with some difficulty. Her bag was jostled this way and that, it came very close to hitting some old warlock in the face.

"Oh, hi!" said Hermione, putting on a good friendly show. Jezibell wasn't exactly buddies with everyone in the trio yet. Sure, Harry started counting her as a friend after the whole Chamber of Secrets deal and she was nice enough once you cracked through her fortress of attitude. But still, it wasn't as if they could just forget about her blond prick brother. And her dad, he nearly ruined Dad's career and tried to kill Ginny. She may not be the heir of Slytherin, but that didn't make her good company.

But she gave a brave face. Her mouth stretched to the side in what was either a strained smile or a grimace.

"Entering the bank? I came to deposit, myself."

The last thing Ron wanted to do was extract from his parents' vault at Gringotts while Miss Moneybags Malfoy was there. She would undoubtedly note how measly his family's earnings were compared to hers and even if nothing was said, he would know she was both pitied and disgusted by him. Thankfully, Hermione intervened.

"No, we're waiting here for Harry. He's been staying in Diagon Ally and I think he came here to extract more gold. It might be a while, though. But you can go ahead."

A sugarcoated attempt to get rid of Jezibell, but the girl didn't call them on it.

"Yeah, he was in trouble at the Ministry," she said, "About his Aunt Mary - ?"

"Marge," corrected Ron. Dad had told him and the rest of the family all about Harry's illegal inflation. Ron was kind of surprised Jezibell didn't know the gory details with Lucius Malfoy's good connections. "He blew up his aunt, like a balloon!"

Ok, it was fun to watch her eyebrows vanish beneath the heavy bangs at the last bit, but they didn't really want to spend a day shopping with her.

"Wow. So the muggles kicked him out."

"No, he ran away to here and the Minister found him and said he could stay for the rest of the Hols," explained Hermione, "We've been all over trying to find him so we can do our shopping together, but couldn't locate him anywhere. We think he might be in the Gringotts vaults right now."

"Seems a dull wait for a hunch," Jezibell adjusted the clasp on her handbag casually. It looked like silk. "We could shop, have lunch and then meet back at the Leaky Cauldron where Harry's staying."

It was admittedly a better plan then hanging around the gates of the bank (one of the goblin sentries was starting to give them funny looks) and Ron and Hermione did have enough in their pockets for most of the items on the list. They exchanged a glance and Hermione gave a tiny 'why not?' shrug.

Ron sighed in defeat. "Fine, but let's get lunch first. I'm still starving."

Jezibell nodded agreeably, "We can have some of what that vendor is selling."

Her gaze slid sideways at the hot-pot guy. Why not?

The hot-pots smelled even better when they were two feet away waiting to be purchased. Ron and Hermione dug in their bags for change, but Jezibell was already ordering.

"Three bags, lightly toasted."

Ron had just fished out the silver coins for himself and was prepared give it to the vendor by force. It was uncomfortable enough when Harry flaunted his bottomless vault at Gringotts and single-handed paid for whole lunch trolleys, but he was Ron's best mate and that made it more or less ok. Jezibell Malfoy paying for hot-pots was another story. Those two Sickles were not given because they were good chums. It was pity money and Ron wanted none of it.

"You don't have to cover, I can pay myself -" He began tersely. Jezibell turned to face him and rolled her eyes so extravagantly Ron was sure it was sarcasm.

"Listen. You don't want me to pay for the sake of your two Sickles on a bite of street food, let me for the sake of the sweet irony that I am buying for you with the same coins swindled from Mr. Borgin, the most exclusive salesman in Knockturn Alley?"

Well, when she put it like that.

"We should start at Madam Malkin's, because it's the closest and I do need new robes, and just work our way down the block. Next is Flourish and Blotts we can get most of our schools supplies there, but - oh- I also need a stop at the Apothecary, my potions kit is running low," Hermione was in full swing, rattling off destinations as they strolled past shops, munching their hot-pots. Ron finished his bag first and upon tossing it into the nearest trash can he remembered something Jezibell mentioned.

"So what were you saying about Knockturn Alley?" He was sure she was kidding. Knockturn Alley was the place where they did the illegal trades and sold Dark Magic stuff. Mum and Dad annually forbade the Weasley siblings not to go anywhere near the shady (in more ways than one) street. No way Jezibell did bargaining in there. She said nothing, staring at the passing advertisements in the store windows.

"Ok…glad I asked…." Ron mumbled uncomfortable with the silence. No wonder her best friend was a cat if she wouldn't even respond to a simple question.

"Remember the Basilisk fang in Dumbledore's office last year?" Jezibell shot this query abruptly, as if she'd heard his thoughts and wanted to prove him wrong. Ron just shrugged. A lot took place in Dumbledore's office last year, namely Ginny being returned to the family safely after escaping death, expulsion and Moaning Myrtle. How was he supposed recall all the souvenirs Harry got from that twisted adventure?

"I asked Dumbledore if he could let me have it and when I brought it home I tried extracting the venom from it so -"

"Wait, back up. What did you want a Basilisk fang for?" Girl was creepier than they'd thought. What was she going to do, make poisonous jewelry?

"I'm getting to that. Anyway, I extracted the venom and it turned out to be a lot, eight ounces worth." She held up her hands to represent the size of an eight ounce Basilisk venom bottle, "I took it to the Apothecary to see if I could get a good price for it."

How do you get from the Apothecary to Knockturn Alley? Jezibell was winding them up. Even Hermione stopped in her monologue to listen now, "They said that the price on Basilisk venom would be 350 Galleons. But I thought I could get a bit more if I tried the alternative."

"Which is -" demanded Hermione impatiently.

"Borgin and Burkes, 13B Knockturn Alley."

She may as well have dropped a loaded dung bomb. With skunk pellet shrapnel.

"I think I once read something about that place," said Hermione (shocking, yes?), "It specializes in Dark Artifacts."

"Yeah, and scamming the pants off buyers" said Ron in disbelief. If Knockturn Alley seemed implausible, 13B was another universe entirely. It was as if Jezibell was claiming to have ding-dong-ditched the devil or something.

"What did you do?" asked Hermione.

Jezibell spoke baldly, like she was on trial for a crime (which in a sense she was),"I told the guy at the desk, Borgin, that it was Basilisk venom and he was practically salivating over it. I gave him the batna and threw my father's weight around a bit and -"

Ron cut her off by holding his hand up for a second timeout, "What's a batna?"

"It stands for Best Alternative to a Negotiated Agreement; the option left to the bargainer if compromise fails," said Hermione readily, "in this case it would be the price given by the Apothecary."

"The Plan B," summarized Jezibell, "My father says you always need a good bluff when you're trying to get something from someone. Once Mr. Borgin knew I had another place to sell the venom to, he upped his original asking price. In the end, I sold it to him for 450 Galleons."

"Wow, you must have been really persuasive," exclaimed Hermione.

Or really evil. Jezibell Malfoy seemed almost as much of a crook as her father, swindling the professional swindler. 450 Galleons! That was more than half the prize money Dad won from the Scoop's drawing, and she'd gotten it for only a tiny bottle of liquid. Why did some people have to be so much luckier than others? Even when the Weasleys did get a break, like with the Scoop's, they got pushed back down by a sly business trick. All that batna stuff just sounded like the same-old-same-old Slytherin excuses for taking more than they gave.

Hermione was now going on about the mechanics of the troll-na, so Ron was left to stew in his own thoughts. Only when Hermione brought up what Jezibell planned to do with her riches(not that riches was a foreign concept to a Malfoy) did he bother to tune back in.

"Most of it went to my replacement wand-"

"Oh, I forgot yours broke too," Hermione sympathized, "can we take a look at it?"

Speak for yourself. Jezibell reached into her bag to pull out the thin package. She opened it up for them to see.

Hermione oohed. "It's so pretty."

It wasn't a gnarled stump, Ron gave it that. He wondered how much Jezibell bribed Olivander to shine it just so. Ron's own wand was light beige, containing one unicorn hair. The silt-gray color of Jezibell's new addition wasn't exactly glamorous, in his opinion, but it had a nice effect. Sort of contrasting its witch's dark appearance. But he wasn't complementing it.

"It's birch," She told them, "And Basilisk fang."

She looked directly at Ron as she revealed this latest incredibility, daring him to say something against it.

"Not bad," He said lamely, "whatever flies your broom, you know."

They reached their destination of Flourish and Blotts. The tinkling bell charm rang from above and Ron thought idly about the convenience it was for the storekeepers to know when they had customers. He wished he could stick one on his mother. The assistant came running as soon as he heard it. What he could do for them today? Hermione promptly told him, listing what sounded like the half the store and the assistant hurried off. Jezibell checked off each title on Hermione's master list as he brought them.

"Three copies of Standard Book of Spells Grade 3, two of My Life as a Muggle and the Philosophy of the Mundane -" She broke off, "Hermione, you're taking Muggle Studies. Why? You're a mud -, ah, your family is muggle. You'd know everything already."

"You mean more so than usual," put in Ron.

Hermione looked at them both in surprise that such a question would occur to them, "But it will be so much more interesting from a wizarding perspective!"

Jezibell shrugged and did not pursue the subject, "Now we need one Spellman's Syllabary and one Rune Dictionary, two of Unfogging the Future - no I said two, not three. I'm not taking Divination,"

"Not interested in what the future holds?" asked Ron while the assistant scurried away to return the extra copy. He was pretty sure everyone else in their year had signed up for fortune telling. He knew he was eager to start predicting events (preferably lucky ones). Why would anyone not want such a useful class?

"I've met Seers. They can be odd."

"Right, how silly of me. Because you aren't the slightest bit weird yourself, and of course you wouldn't want to sully your down to earth reputation." Ron said sarcastically.

"Not a chance. I got too much riding on it," Jezibell slowly twirled the Basilisk wand. She had spindly hands, small palms and the fingers very sharply jointed and insect-like in their movements. Spider-like. No wonder Ron wasn't fond of her.

"But seriously, aren't you curious about what's going to happen to you?"

"I prefer to live in the moment. Two of Numerology and Grammatica," She checked off the next point by singing the paper with her wand.

"That's underage magic!" Hermione spluttered, "You could be expelled! Again!"

"Well, not expelled if it's her first time, but an official warning at least," Ron said quietly, peering out through the stacks of books out the window, expecting law enforcement to be coming down any second. This was a very basic rule drilled into him since the first summer back. No magic in the Hols. "That's what Harry got, and it wasn't even him doing the magic. It said if he did a second time then yeah, expulsion."

"This is Diagon Alley, not Privet Drive," Jezibell branded a black smiley face with x-eyes onto the list above the Muggle Studies titles within plain view of the returning assistant. "See. Nobody cares."

"You've got a father in the ministry," pointed out Ron while Hermione took the heavy volumes from the assistant.

"And a brother in Slytherin, and a mother who guest writes for Witch Weekly" Jezibell consulted the defaced list. "Three of the Monster Book of Monsters."

The assistant's cheery expression melted into horror. He pulled a pair of dragon hide gloves out of his back pocket and grabbed a long pole that was leaning on the front desk. Now armed, he walked stiffly to where the Monster Book of Monsters' were shelved, er, caged. The three watched as the assistant popped the clasp on the cage door and began using the stick in one hand to deflect the aggressive critters while making a grab for three less feisty ones. The books were chucked over his shoulder and Ron, Jezibell and Hermione caught them neatly. Their captives grew quiet after the shock, but the trio quickly took precautions to bind them in spell-o-tape conveniently placed on the desk. The assistant survived his attack, as Hermione was relieved to see, and he sold them their books lamenting all the while about why he would never stock those brutes again. Poor bloke needs a vacation.

Their next stop was at the Apothecary, though Hermione allowed a pause so Ron and Jezibell could gaze at the Firebolt's splendor. Ron wondered how much it cost in relation to the Malfoy vault. It had to be at least seven hundred times the Weasley family vault. After they had stocked up on beetle eyes and powdered unicorn horn, they went to Madam Malkin's so Hermione could get some new robes (Ron already had hand-me-downs and Jezibell's mother preordered hers.). They considered going to Eyelope's Owls so Hermione could buy one, but Ron insisted on a pit-stop at Florean Foretescue's Ice Cream Parlor(those hot-pots were decades away).When Jezibell paid for their peanut butter and raspberry cones, Ron decided to let it slide along with the sneaking suspicion he had that his and Hermione's gold hadn't been quite enough for all the books they bought. It wasn't so bad, having her cover, and she didn't make a fuss over it.

It was still a bit weird to chat with Jezibell about their summer vacations, even though she let them do the telling. Hermione was in love with France. She told them all about the hotel she stayed at, lunch in Dijon and - oh - the Eiffel Tower and real French croissants! She took a day trip to a muggle war cemetery in Bayeux where a great-uncle of hers was buried, and then went to the Normandy museum nearby to learn how he died. She went to the Louvre, and saw what she claimed was only an eighth of the national gallery though it sounded like enough art history to concuss a troll. She even got to catch a bit of the Tour de France (Her dad's into cycling). It probably would have been quicker for her to have listed what French landmarks she hadn't seen.

Ron described the family trip to Egypt, about his brother the Curse-Breaker and seeing the inside of Khufu's pyramid. His vacation was less about touring the country of choice and more Bill showing them how incredible his job was. Hermione found this interesting enough, but she was appalled they had not gone to the Alexandria library. Incomprehensible a notion as this was, Ron decided Hermione was a much better audience than another witch he could name. Where Hermione grimaced at the mutilated muggle skeletons, frowned when Fred and George tried to shut Percy the Big-head Boy in a pyramid and smiled in rapture at the great Sahara Desert, Jezibell only listened and stared and every so often made a dry comment. She never laughed, not even when Percy grew horns on his buttocks.

"Guys!"

Jezibell was in the middle of her own story about her parents working to salvage a roast that had become a headless chicken of doom when too much salt was added, so they didn't register who was calling immediately.

"Hermione, Ron! Jezibell!"

That made them all turn round to see Harry hurrying down the street in their direction, waving.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, "We've been looking for you all over!"

As it turned out, Harry had spent most of the day window-shopping for the Firebolt (giving Ron full rights to 'I told you so') and had just left around the time Ron, Hermione and Jezibell came. Hermione still had not gotten her owl, so they decided to go to the Magical Menagerie before returning to the Leaky Cauldron. As they started to head to the shop they realized they were one party member short.

"Hey," called Ron, spotting Jezibell a little ways down the street. "Aren't you coming?"

"Draco's still in Knockturn Alley. Mother made us promise to stay together and she'll be back for us by two."

"Oh, come on," said Harry, "We don't mind. You can say you were shopping for cat food or something. We are going to a pet store."

She deliberated for a second. Did they not mind? Ron was surprised by Harry speaking for them like that, but he realized he didn't mind either.

"Alright," Jezibell Malfoy walked back to join them, "Why not?"