Chapter 4. The Declining Business
Once Edmund had evacuated the wounded, Harry led the Aurors on a thorough inspection of the ruins of the Leaky Cauldron, leaving Teddy and a few of them to keep watch from room eleven on the street below overnight. Harry sat at the window overlooking the backyard and watched the sun brighten and re-color the faded world. Harry was not very eager to return to the Ministry of Magic, even though Hermione would be anxiously awaiting his report. He was too ashamed to face her after this fiasco, and the thought of meeting the reporters from the Daily Prophet, especially Rita Skeeter, made him shudder.
He waited until the sun was high in the sky, desperately trying to justify his absence from the Ministry. Putting his hand in his pocket by chance, he remembered overhearing Markus's conversation the night before and realized that he needed to buy some Extendable Ears. Besides, meeting Ron Weasley, his dearest friend, would undoubtedly ease his restlessness. Feeling more relaxed, Harry walked out into the garden and entered Diagon Alley. Though it was early in the morning, most of the shops were open and ready to welcome customers. Despite the mayhem caused by Crabbe and his followers a few hours earlier, his Aurors had already finished repairing the broken parts so that Diagon Alley would wake up to a quiet morning like any other.
"Good morning, Mr. Potter!" Madam Malkin, dressed in purple robes, looked up at him as she stood in front of her shop, Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Madam Malkin," Harry replied with a smile. He was now middle-aged with three children, but Madam Malkin's pink, plump face looked the same as it had when he was a child.
"What brings you here at this early hour? Has something happened?" asked Madam Malkin anxiously.
"Nothing to worry about, I'm just here to see the Weasley brothers," said Harry, hoping against hope that this morning's Daily Prophet would not reveal the disastrous results of last night's operation. Knowing that one of Diagon Alley's shopkeepers had been kidnapped would surely come as a shock to them.
As Harry continued down the street, people began to arrive at the fireplaces of nearby shops and the streets became crowded. He made his way through the people who approached him to say hello or ask for his signature. Harry slowed down and began to check the numbers on the surrounding buildings: number ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two. . . .
Finally, a shop that stood out from the small, monotonous shops around it came into view. But Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes seemed to have gone into decline since Harry's last visit a year ago: the shelf that had once been filled with a variety of roaring and clapping products now held only a few crying dolls, barely visible through the dust that covered the windows. Above the window on the right was a flyer advertising a newly released joke item. The paper was torn and faded, and the date on it was from last year. Harry wondered if the shop was closed, but when he pushed the door, it opened gently.
"Ron? George?" Harry called loudly into the empty building, but no one answered.
On his last visit, the shelves had been crowded with customers and hard to reach, but now they were filled with unopened boxes. A wooden barrel full of fake wands for trickery had fallen over, spilling some of its contents onto the floor. When Harry picked one up, the fake wand turned into a rubber chicken, and dust flew everywhere, making him sneeze. It occurred to him that now that Garrick Ollivander had been taken away, the swindlers would want to sell these fake wands at a very high price.
Harry walked over to the counter. With half of the candles that were supposed to light the shop out, it was dim inside. The items that seemed to be the most popular were displayed near the center of the store. Only Love Potions and acne removers were almost sold out, with only a few left, which was natural since Valentine's Day had just passed. Harry almost tripped when something caught in his foot as he walked past. He looked down and found a rusty cage with large pieces of dust in it.
"Ron, you've got to learn how to clean," Harry muttered as he tried to shake off the dust in the cage. To his surprise, they all fled around the bottom of the cage with high-pitched squeaks as soon as he touched the clumps of dust.
"What the hell are you doing?" A voice came from the counter, and a man with red hair and a blue sweater, one ear missing, appeared in the hallway. "Oh Harry — it was you . . ."
George Weasley yawned and came over.
"Hello, George. I just noticed those dustballs are alive."
"Dustballs? No — they're Pygmy Puffs!"
With a wave of his wand, George blew a strong gust of wind into the cage. The Pygmy Puffs' original pink and purple fur and tiny black faces emerged from behind the dust. Squawking happily, they rolled around in the freshly cleaned cage.
"By the way, why would the fabulous Mr. Potter have traveled to such a shabby place as this?" George asked with a mischievous smile and a deep bow. Though he had wrinkles around those playful, twinkling eyes now, when he smiled like that, he seemed to have returned to the naughty boy who had roamed every secret passage of Hogwarts with his twin brother Fred.
"I stayed here all night; I heard Crabbe's gang was going to raid the wand shop," Harry explained.
"No big deal," said George, taking the cage full of Pygmy Puffs from Harry, "Crabbe's no match for you."
"Things are a little complicated . . . . The Dark wizards tricked us into going down the wrong path and kidnapped Ollivander."
"WHAT?" Trying to put the cage down, George almost dropped it, causing the Pygmy Puffs to let out high-pitched squeals and run everywhere.
"You just heard it. I don't know the details yet, but it looks like the work of a new Dark wizard."
With a serious expression on his face, George thought for a moment, then brushed the dust off his hands and smiled. "Don't worry, Harry. You can always save Ollivander again. It's not the first time he's been in the hands of those bastards."
"Thanks, George. You make it sound so easy."
The sound of the bell at the shop entrance interrupted their conversation. A tall, lanky man with bright red hair, just like George, trudged toward them as Harry turned to look. It was Ron Weasley, Harry's first and best friend, wearing a frayed robe and a dirty apron.
"Hello, Harry!" said Ron brightly. "It's been a while since you stopped by."
"Hey, Ron. What's the apron for?"
"Oh, this? I forgot to take it off." He removed his apron, crumpling it in his pocket. "I had to do the dishes and clean up the kitchen before I got here. . . . When you're married to a Minister of Magic, you have a lot on your plate. Balancing home and work can be a challenge, you know."
"Stop whining, Ron. There's not much to do around here when business is so slow," snapped George, his words rekindling Harry's interest in the poor state of the place.
"Why aren't there any customers?" asked Harry. "When I first visited, I thought there was no joke shop in the world as crowded as yours. . . ." Harry remembered the early days of the Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. It had looked like there were little fireworks going off inside, with all the noisy and wonderful toys displayed everywhere. "And the war was raging then — yet this shop remained popular even as other shops were closed."
"Yes, it seemed that our business would boom forever . . . . Unfortunately, Voldy wasn't the only one to go moldy when the war was over," sighed George. "When peacetime came, our unsold items made for protection against the Dark wizards began to pile up in storage and eventually rotted. I lost a lot of money back then."
"But that was a long time ago," said Harry. "I remember seeing a lot of people buying your products just last year."
"True. Lately, though, sales have taken a dive due to the popularity of those little Muggle-invented machines," said Ron. Dust splattered on an unopened box in the display case beside him as he touched the top, and he frowned. "These days, kids think these magical joke items are outdated. They need smaller, more functional Muggle devices to look cool . . ."
"That's right. As of last fall, Hogwarts allowed its students to use smartphones, which was the final blow for us. Even our regular customers have stopped coming since then." George let out an exaggerated sigh. "If I hadn't known McGonagall was so strict, I would have lobbied her to ban those things again."
"You know what's funny?" said Ron wryly. "Most of our remaining customers are Slytherins. The Muggle devices are terrorizing parents of so-called pure-blood families because they might defile their children."
"In summary, this joke shop, which we once thought would be a goldmine, is now a declining business. Despite our best efforts to escape poverty, it has gotten the better of us again," said George. "It's been eating Weasleys for so long. . . . Don't you think it's a pleasure to see it again, brother?"
"It gives me such pleasure that I want to twist its pretty neck," said Ron, stroking the patched shoulders of his shabby robes. "By the way, what's this about Ollivander? People were just talking about him on the street."
"Rumors fly around here, Harry," said George, winking. Harry reluctantly told them about Ollivander's kidnapping and the rise of a new Dark wizard named Eisenbein who claimed to be Voldemort's successor, information he had heard from Markus Dolohov.
"Well, it's not the first time someone has claimed to be You-Know-Who's successor," said Ron casually. "Do you remember when Albus misused an illegal Time-Turner with Malfoy's son and we suffered a lot? The same thing happened then: We faced and defeated a powerful enemy again."
"Of course I remember that, but the timing is what matters. There seems to be a growing animosity against Muggles in our world these days." Harry pointed to a nearby dusty shelf. "Look at this, our tradition is losing ground fast. Even Lily insisted I get her a Muggle phone."
George patted Harry on the shoulder and said, "Don't worry about us. We are very tolerant people. Muggles are not to blame."
"I agree, at least there's not much work to do now. . . ." Ron leaned against the wall and let out a long yawn. "What are you doing here, by the way? Hermione must be looking for you."
"Oh, that reminds me. I came by to buy some Extendable Ears."
Hearing those words, George went to a nearby shelf and brought out a bunch of flesh-colored strings. George stopped Harry as he took out his wallet to pay. "Did you forget? Everything here's free for you. Besides, nobody's gonna buy them anyway; Muggle devices do a better job, I've heard."
"Harry, if you're going to the Ministry, say hello to Hermione for me," said Ron sulkily.
"Why do I have to say hello to your wife?"
"Now that she goes to work before sunrise and comes home after dark, it's hard to see her face," said Ron, shaking his head. "She sees the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports more often than she sees me this year. . . . Since when did she like Quidditch so much, eh?"
"Hermione likes Quidditch. She was with us at every match we went to."
"Her favorite thing was being with us, not watching Quidditch. In fact, she wouldn't even let me hang the Chudley Cannons poster in our bedroom," grunted Ron. "There's no point in pretending she's a Quidditch fan now. . . . I don't think Britain can host the World Cup during her term."
"I hope things work out. It's Hermione — she can handle almost anything," said Harry confidently. Then he pointed to the fireplace next to the counter and asked, "By the way, does that thing work?"
"I think so. . . . But you'd better hold your breath when you go in; we haven't cleaned it in a while," said George. He lit a fire in the fireplace and handed Harry some Floo powder.
"Call me if you need anything, Harry," said Ron. "As you know, I'm a former Auror and a Special Advisor to the Minister."
"Isn't that just a job title you get paid for?" said George mockingly. "And to get a free lunch at the Ministry cafeteria."
Ron slapped his brother hard on the shoulder.
"See you soon, friends." After shaking hands with the Weasleys, Harry threw Floo powder into the fire, turning it emerald green, and yelled, "To the Ministry of Magic!"
Harry opened his eyes to find himself in the fireplace of the Atrium. Stepping out of the emerald fire, Harry wiped the ash from his glasses on his robes. The Atrium was almost deserted after the rush hour. He got off the lift on the level that housed his department and quickly made his way to Auror Headquarters.
As he turned the corner of the red carpeted corridor, he saw a heavy oak door closed tightly. He lifted his wand closer and the door opened gently, revealing a large area divided into cubicles. The office was unusually crowded and busy. Memos were constantly flying over his head, and Susan Bones was giving instructions in the hallway between the partitions. Though her arm was bandaged, she didn't look like someone who had been injured only hours before.
"Susan, you should be in the hospital resting! Why did you come to work?" Harry asked worriedly as he walked up to her.
"I drank some potion there and I feel perfectly fine," said Susan reassuringly, but she looked extremely tired and her eyes were bloodshot. "Besides, the press is looking into what happened last night. . . . I cannot lie in bed while rumors of Ollivander's kidnapping spread."
"You have my full confidence and that of the Minister, Susan. What happened last night was not your fault. I'm the one responsible for not providing you with more Aurors."
"Thank you, Harry," Susan nodded before grabbing her neck and grimacing. "I'm glad we caught at least one suspect, though. Rita Skeeter would love to write a scoop about the incompetence of the Auror office."
"She'd blame us anyway. By the way, did you interrogate Markus Dolokhov?"
"I tried. But he said he wouldn't open his mouth except under one condition."
"And what is that?"
"He said he would only talk to you. . . . Here's some research we did on him," said Susan, handing Harry a thin folder.
Harry looked at the second set of oak doors just past the last cubicle. Out in the hall was an interrogation room where Markus Dolohov would be waiting with unknown intentions and motives. "All right, I'll see him right away."
Harry pushed open the door and turned left to walk along another corridor, then right into a dark, shabby hallway and reached its dead end. To his left was a small cupboard for storing brooms used by Aurors, and to his right was an interrogation room blocked by a thick iron door. The narrow space behind the iron door had once been the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, where Arthur Weasley had worked. But the office had recently been expanded and moved to a larger, more prominent location, and the room had been converted into an interrogation room.
Edmund, who had been sitting in the chair next to the interrogation room, stood up as Harry arrived. "I tried to get him to open his mouth, but he wouldn't, sir. A different situation would have allowed me to get the information by giving him a few drops of Veritaserum, but the law has changed, as you know. . . ."
"Yes, we used to put suspects in Azkaban without trial, but now their rights are protected to some extent. It's controversial, but at least no one is unjustly imprisoned," said Harry. A bitter thought crossed his mind as he thought of his poor godfather, who had lost all his youth after being imprisoned in Azkaban for over ten years on false charges.
Harry cleared his throat and slowly tapped various parts of the iron gate with his wand. Numerous cogs inside turned with a creaking sound, and suddenly the door slid open with a roar, creating a space for one person to squeeze inside. Harry had trouble seeing in the interrogation room, which was much darker than the dimly lit corridor outside.
Edmund said to his back, "Good luck, Mr. Potter."
Harry nodded as he walked slowly into the room and the door slowly closed behind him. He sat down in the plain iron chair in front of the prisoner before the light that had come through the crack in the door disappeared. At first, Markus Dolohov, who sat across from him in another chair, appeared only as a dim black figure, lit only by the candle above their heads. With time, Harry's eyes adjusted to the darkness and he began to recognize the young man's twisted, pale face and a smirk. Unbuttoning the top of his shirt, Harry leaned back in his chair, hoping that his opponent would feel more like a petty criminal than an important person. Then he opened the folder in his hand and began to read leisurely.
"Markus Dolohov — after graduating from Hogwarts ten years ago, you worked as a clerk at the owl post office for three years, then changed several part-time jobs. And last night you tried to rob a wand shop with some surviving Voldemort sympathizers, but failed and were caught in the act." He looked at Markus, whose sneer remained on his face. "Is there something special about you that interests me? Why do you insist on talking to me only?"
"If we want to talk properly, Mr. Potter, we shouldn't lie to each other," said Markus casually. "Even if I hadn't mentioned your name, we would still be sitting here. That's the way you are — you can never leave a question unanswered."
"Even before I graduated from Hogwarts, I defeated the Dark Lord you worship so dearly. But why should I be curious about a common Death Eater?"
"As you may have overheard me talking to Lupin last night, I am a Dawn Breaker, not a Death Eater."
"Then I repeat what my godson said yesterday — the name isn't important. Does it matter what you call yourselves if you're going to claim the same disgusting pureblood supremacy?"
"It's the difference in execution, you know . . . . The Dark Lord did not put in the effort it would take to make his dreams come true. Rather, he was obsessed with the prophecy of an old fraud and used all his power to kill an ordinary boy."
"And he even failed at that," said Harry coolly, and Markus chuckled and clapped as if he had heard a very funny joke. The rattling of the chains that bound his hands echoed through the narrow chamber.
"You're right, Mr. Potter. The Dark Lord could not achieve even this modest goal. . . . Still, we had to rise from our failure and move on," Markus said, the dim candlelight above their heads flickering over his dark pupils. "We are not at all interested in the Boy Who Lived. Our first priority is to make sure the world is the way we want it to be."
For a moment, Harry stared at Markus in silence. Normally, Harry would get the desired testimony by leaving the inexperienced first-timers in overwhelming darkness. But there was something different about Markus. As if the quiet gloom was just right for his nature, he looked straight at Harry without being intimidated.
"It's kind of you to allow me to live in peace, just when I was about to feel burdened by people's attention," Harry finally gave up and spoke first. "You dream of the world that many Dark wizards dreamed of even before Voldemort and Grindelwald. Muggles to be treated as slaves and wizards, especially purebloods, to be given special treatment. . . . All their efforts have failed for the same reason. The world you see so distorted is full of good people, and they would not submit to such agitation. No matter how powerful your new master is, he's doomed to lose again."
"If what you just said is sincere, I cannot help but think that your intelligence is far inferior to what I expected," sneered Markus. "I have done some research on your life and the people you are trying to protect. Would you mind telling me how many have betrayed you or been swayed by even the smallest instigations and rumors?"
"They eventually came back to our side and fought with us for what was right. It is proof that ordinary people can become heroes."
"You are wrong. The masses are foolish enough to simply follow the strong. They become infinitely docile when confronted with an unbreakable will. Did you see who attacked the Leaky Cauldron?
Harry didn't answer, but he couldn't help remembering the black powder on the walls of the parlor and the hallway. Aurors who had investigated the scene later confirmed that the substance was gunpowder, and the metal fragments on the floor turned out to be the remains of a flash grenade, a common Muggle weapon. He looked into Markus's eyes, but immediately regretted it.
"You also saw the remains of the bomb," Markus said in a cheerful tone. As it turned out, Harry's momentary suspicion that the suspect could read the minds of others was correct. So far, Harry had not quite mastered how to close his mind properly; he had never been a good Occlumens. Markus went on, "Eisenbein is not only followed by pure-blood wizards. Half-bloods, Mudbloods, and even Squibs and Muggles are included in our organization. They all play their part in a strict hierarchy."
"There is no justice in slavery, though some slaves willingly serve their masters."
"Exactly what Granger says about house-elves. How about this, does the name Nobby Leach ring a bell?"
"Yes, I know of him," said Harry confidently. If Harry hadn't heard about Nobby Leach from Hermione, he might have been treated like a fool by Markus. "He was the first Muggle-born Minister of Magic and he did his job as well as any pure-blood Minister."
"It's only natural that you know about Leach; he's the one your mongrel friend admires the most. It was something she said in an interview without embarrassment or shame."
"Don't insult Hermione Granger while I'm listening, unless you want add an additional charge."
Markus continued, ignoring Harry's warning, "Little known fact: Nobby Leach had a granddaughter named Roberta, or Robby Leach. She hid in fear for a long time when her grandfather had returned from his exalted position to his humble place after being evicted. Robby didn't even go to Hogwarts, even though she had the ability to use magic."
"I'm sorry to hear that. But what does that have to do with you?"
"For this woman, Roberta Leach, or Robby Leach as we call her, now works for the Dawn Breakers. She swore allegiance to Eisenbein when she realized that accepting her innate inferiority would make her life much easier. As you can see, our organization is highly expandable."
"Your ideas are fundamentally flawed. You shouldn't divide classes based on bloodline, and being able to use magic doesn't mean you're better than those who can't."
"It's time to be more honest, Mr. Potter. . . . Aare you and your friends in any way different from us? The Ministry of Magic itself was created to hide the existence of the Wizarding community from the Muggle world. To prevent petty Muggles from asking for help, we do not wish to live among them. . . . So, whether you admit it or not, treating Muggles as an endangered species and isolating them from magic is also part of wizard supremacy. Despite the noble words of Hermione Granger, in your hearts you all look down on Muggles as much as we do."
"Don't say that, because my friends and I don't think so."
"Then are you prepared to go out and help the Muggles? Will you magically enlarge their houses and increase their food supply to make their lives easier? Or will you continue to be an outspoken person and sit here in the cozy underground and offer absolutely nothing?"
Sitting speechless, Harry fought back his anger.
"Despite your unfounded slander, Mr. Potter, Eisenbein is at least more honest than you, and only those of upright faith can be honest. I believe that following him will eventually lead us all to a whole new world." Markus leaned closer to Harry and continued, "A brighter, purer world, Mr. Potter. . . . A world where everyone knows their place and submits to the purity of our blood."
"SHUT UP! I DON'T CARE WHAT HE SAYS! HE'S NOTHING BUT A LUNATIC!" Harry finally lost control and shouted.
Markus tilted his head sideways and narrowed his eyes, while Harry huffed in anger. Harry did his best not to draw his wand out of hatred. In order for him to reach the world they lived in now, he had had to watch many loved ones die, but now the boy before him was challenging him to destroy that world and fulfill Voldemort's failed dream. Taking a deep breath, Harry closed his eyes. He calmed his fury by recalling the most comforting memories, just like when he had summoned a Patronus. He opened his eyes again and stared at Markus, trying his best to block out all thoughts.
"I don't care what you have to say. You will rot in Azkaban no matter what your master does outside."
"I'm here to tell you the story you need to hear. Rotting in Azkaban is not what I am here for."
"Yeah? Then you can try to escape from here. There are skilled Aurors at the Ministry of Magic all around you."
"Escape is not my goal either. I will leave this place in a fair and legal way." Markus's smile turned to a frown as he looked at Harry with pity. "When that time comes, Mr. Potter, you will be the one rotting alone in this dark underground, the symbol of outdated practices."
"I'm going to see the Minister right now. We'll discuss how to make the law more flexible for uncooperative suspects like you." Harry closed the file and stood up. He dragged his chair across the stone floor, making an unpleasant, shrill noise. "My next task is to arrest Eisenbein, your new Dark Lord you're so proud of. . . . Then we will see if your arrogance can be cured."
"No problem," said Markus flatly. "After all, all sensitive information about our organization has already been erased from my mind."
Harry moved to the entrance and the iron door opened by itself, letting in a bright light. The glare reminded Harry of the Dawn Mark he had seen the night before, rising in the night sky and illuminating all of Diagon Alley. Harry remembered something he had overheard Markus say about Eisenbein and turned around.
"You told Teddy that Eisenbein wore a cloak," Harry said, and Markus nodded slowly. "Describe this cloak."
"Its color was silvery gray, the fabric was smooth like water, and it glowed faintly in the dark with constellation patterns," said Markus. Harry's expression hardened and Markus grinned as if he had expected it to be. "That's right, Mr. Potter — it's the Cloak of Invisibility that once belonged to you."