XX. Noble

Belonging by rank, title, or birth to the aristocracy.

Harry is several streets away before he collapses onto a low wall in Magnolia Crescent, panting from dragging his heavy trunk. He sits quietly still, anger still surging through him, listening to the frantic thumping of his heart. But after ten minutes alone in the dark street, a new emotion overtakes him: panic. Whichever way he looks at it, he has never been in a worse fix. He is stranded, alone, in the dark Muggle world, with absolutely nowhere to go. And the worst is that he has just done serious Magic, which means he is almost certainly expelled from Hogwarts. He's broken the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry so severely he's surprised the Ministry of Magic representatives aren't swooping down on him where he sits.

Harry shivers and looks up and down Magnolia Crescent. What is going to happen to him? Will he be arrested, or will he simply be outlawed from the Wizarding world? He thinks of Ron, Hermione and Jayla, and his heart sinks even lower. Harry is sure that, criminal or not, his friends will want to help him now, but they're all abroad, and with Hedwig gone, he has no means of contacting them. He doesn't have any Muggle money, either. There's a little Wizard gold in the moneybag at the bottom of his trunk, but the rest of the fortune his parents had left him is stored in a vault at Gringotts. He'll never be able to drag his trunk to London. Unless… He looks down at his wand, which he clutches in his hand, and his heart thumps painfully fasy. If he is already expelled, a bit more Magic can't hurt. He has the Invisibility Cloak he inherited from his father - what if he bewitches the trunk to make it feather-light, ties it to his broomstick, covers himself in the Cloak and flies to London? Then he can get the rest of his money out of his vault and… begin his life as an outcast.

It is a horrible prospect, but he can't sit on this wall forever, or he'll find himself trying to explain to Muggle police why he is out in the dead of night with a trunkful of spellbooks and broomstick.

Harry opens his trunk again and pushes the contents aside, looking for his Cloak - but before he finds it, he straightens up suddenly, looking around him again. A funny prickling on the back to be deserted, and no lights shine from any of the large square houses. He bends over his trunk again but almost immediately stands up, his hand clenching onto his wand. Harry senses rather than hears it; someone or something is standing in the narrow gap between the garage and the fence behind him. He squints at the black alleyway. If only it moves, he knows whether it is just a stray cat or - something else.

"Lumos," Harry mutters, and a light appears at the end of his wand, almost dazzling him. He holds it high over his head, and the pebble-dash walls of number two suddenly sparkle; the garage door gleams between them. Harry sees quite distinctly the hulking outline of something huge, with wide, gleaming eyes. He steps backwards. His legs hit the trunk, tripping him over, and his wand flies out of his hand as he flings out an arm to break his fall, and he lands hard in the gutter. There is a deafening BANG, and Harry throws up his hands to shield his eyes against a sudden blinding light… With a yell, he rolls back onto the pavement just in time.

On a triple-decker, violently purple bus, it's just about where Harry was lying. Gold lettering over the windscreen spells The Knight Bus. A conductor in a purple uniform leaps out of the bus and begins speaking loudly to the night,

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded Witch or Wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your Conductor this eve -." The Conductor stops abruptly. He catches sight of Harry still sitting on the ground. Harry snatches up his wand again and scrambles to his feet. Close, he sees that Stan is only a few years older than him, eighteen or nineteen at most, with large, protruding ears and a few pimples. "What were you doin' down there?" Stan sniggers.

"I didn't do it on purpose," Harry replies, annoyed, seeing one of his knees on his jeans are torn, and the hand he threw out to break his fall is bleeding. He suddenly remembers why he fell over and turns around quickly to stare at the alleyway between the garage and the fence. The Knight Bus's headlamps are flooding it with light, and it's empty.

"Choo lookin' at?" He asks the boy.

"There was a big black thing." The ravenette answers, pointing uncertainly into the gap. "Like a dog… but massive…" He looks around at Stan, whose mouth is slightly open. With unease, Harry sees Stan's eyes move to the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Woss that on your 'ead?" The Conductor asks abruptly.

"Nothing." Harry answers quickly, flattening his hair over the scar because if the Ministry of Magic is looking for him, he doesn't want to make it too easy for them.

"Woss your name?" Stan persists.

"Neville Longbottom." He answers, saying the first name that comes into his mind. "So - so this bus," He goes on quickly, hoping to distract the man, "did you say it goes anywhere?"

The Conductor says, "Anywhere you like, long's it's on land. I can't do nuffink.

"Yes." The thirteen-year-old boy answers quickly. "Listen, how much would it be to get to London?"

"Eleven Sickles," Stan informs him, "but for firteen you get 'ot chocolate, and for fifteen, you get an 'otwater bottle an' a toofbrush in the colour of your choice." Harry rummages in his trunk, extracting his money bag and shoves some silver into Stan's hand.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

Harry and Stan lift the trunk, with Hedwig's cage balanced on top, up the steps of the bus. There are no seats; instead, half-a-dozen brass bedsteads stand beside the curtained windows. Candles are burning in brackets beside each bed, illuminating the wood-panelled walls—a tiny Wizard in a nightcap at the bus's rear mutters. "Not now, thanks, I'm pickling some slugs," and he rolls over in his sleep.

"You 'ave this one," Stan whispers, shoving Harry's trunk under the bed right behind the driver, who sits in an armchair in front of the steering wheel. "This is our driver, Ernie Prang. This is Neville Longbottom, Ern." The elderly Wizard wears thick glasses and nods to Harry, who nervously flattens his fringe again and sits on his bed. "Take 'er away, Ern." He orders, sitting in the armchair next to Ernie's. There is another tremendous BANG, and the next moment Harry finds himself flat on his bed, thrown backwards by the speed of the Knight Bus. Pulling himself up, Harry stares out the dark window and sees they are now bowling along a completely different street. Stan is watching Harry's stunned face with great enjoyment. "This is where we was before you flagged us down," Stan informs him. "Where are we, Ern? Somewhere in Wales?"

"Ar," Ernie replies.

"How come the Muggles don't hear the bus?" Harry asks.

"Them!" Stan exclaims contemptuously. "Don' listen properly, do they? Don' look properly either. Never notice nuffink, they don'."

"Best go wake up Madam Marsh, Stan," Ern informs the Conductor. "We'll be in Abergavenny in a minute." Stan passes Harry's bed and disappears up a narrow wooden staircase. Harry looks out of the window, feeling increasingly nervous. Ernie doesn't seem to have mastered the use of a steering wheel. The Knight Bus keeps mounting the pavement, but it doesn't hit anything; Jines of lamp posts, letter boxes and bis jump out of its way as it approaches and back into position once it has passed.

Stan comes downstairs, followed by a faintly green Witch wrapped in a travelling Cloak. "'Ere you go, Madam March." Stan says happily as Ern stamps on the brake and the beds slide a foot toward the front of the bus. Madam March clamps a handkerchief to her mouth and totters down the step. Stan throws her bag out after her and rams the doors shut; there is another loud BANG, and they are thundering down a narrow country lane, trees leaping out of the way. Harry won't be able to sleep even if he has travelled on a bus that doesn't keep banging loudly and jumping a hundred miles at a time. His stomach churns as he falls back, wondering what will happen to him and whether the Dursleys have managed to get Aunt Marge back.

Stan unfurls a copy of the Daily Prophet and reads with his tongue between his teeth. A large photograph of a sunken-faced man with long, matted hair blinking slowly at Harry from the front page. He looks strangely familiar. "That man!" Harry says, forgetting his troubles for a moment. "He was on the Muggle news!" Stan turns to the front page and chuckles.

"Sirius Black," He says, nodding. "'Course 'e was on the Muggles news, Nevvile. Where you been?" He gives a superior sort of chuckle at the blank look on his face, removing the front page and handing it to Harry. "You oughta read the papers more, Nevile." Harry holds the paper up to the candlelight and reads:

BLACK STILL AT LARGE

Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today. "We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, "and we beg the Magical community to remain calm." Fudge has been criticised by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis. "Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an irritable Fudge. "Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, Magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it - who'd believe him if he did?" "While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand which Muggles use to kill each other), the Magical community lives in fear of a massacure like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse and later killed his wife when she confronted him about it."

Harry looks into the shadowed eyes of Sirius Black, the only part of the sunken face that seems alive. Harry has never met a Vampire, but he has seen pictures in his Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, and Black, with his waxy white skin, looks just like one. "Scary-lookin' fing, inee?" Stan questions, watching Harry read the page.

"He murdered thirteen people?" Harry asks him, handing the page back to Stan, "with one curse? And then his wife?"

"Yep," He replies, "in front of witnesses an' all. Broad daylight. Big trouble it caused, dinnit, Ern?"

"Ar," Ern replies darkly, and Stan swivels in his armchair, his hands on the back, the better to look at Harry.

"Black woz a big supporter of You-Know-'Oo," The Conductor informs him.

"What, Voldemort?" Harry asks without thinking, making Stan's pimples go white, and Ern jerks the steering wheel so hard that a whole farmhouse jumps aside to avoid the bus.

"You outta your tree?" Stan yelps. "Choo say 'is name for?"

"Sorry," He apologises hastily. "Sorry, I - I forgot -."

"Forgot!" The Conductor says weakly. "Blimey, my 'eart's goin' that fast…."

"So - So Back was a supporter of You-Know-Who? But why would he kill his wife?" The raven-haired teen asks, prompting apologetically.

"Yeah," Stan says, still rubbing his chest. "Yeah, that's right. Very close to You-Know;' Oo, they say… anyway, when little 'Arry Potter put paid to You-Know-'Oo -" Harry nervously flattens his fringe again. "- 'all You-Know-'Oo's supporters was tracked down, wasn't they, Ern? Most of 'em knew it was all over, wiv You-Know-'Oo gone, and they came quiet. But not Sirius Black. And his wife found out. She was a good ol' Witch. I 'eard he thought 'e'd be second-in-command once You-Know-'Oo 'ad taken over." Harry looks at him, wondering who this wife is; no one wants to mention her. "Anyway, they cornered Black in the muddle of a street full of Muggles an' Black took out 'is wand and 'e blasted 'alf the street, an' a Wizard got it, an' so did a dozen Muggles what got in the way. 'Orrible, eh? An' you know what Black did then?" Stan continues in a dramatic whisper.

"What?" Harry asks him.

"Laughed." He answers. "Jus' stood there an' laughed. An' went 'ome to 'is wife and killed 'er. An' when reinforcements from Ministry of Magic got there, 'e went wiv 'em quiet as anyfink, still laughing 'is 'eah off. 'Cos ' e's mad, inee, Ern? Inee mad?"

"If he weren't when he went to Azkaban, he will be now," Ern replies slowly. "I'd blow meself up before I set foot in the place. Serves him right, mind… after what he did…"

"They 'ad a job coverin' it up, din' they, Ern?" The Conductor says. "Ole street blown up an' all them Muggles dead. What was it they said 'as 'appened, Ern?"

"Gas explosion," He grunts.

"An' now 'e's out," Stan says, examining the newspaper picture of Black's gaunt face again. "Nev-er been a breakout from Azkaban before, 'as hthere, Ern? Beats me 'ow 'e did it. Frightenin', eh? Mind, I don't fancy 'is chances against them Azkaban guard, eh, Ern?" Ernie suddenly shivers.

"Talk about summat else, Stan, there's a good lan. Them Azkaban guard give me the collywobbles." The driver replies, and Stan puts the paper away reluctantly, and Harry leans against the window of the Knight Bus, feeling worse than ever. He can't help imagining what Stan might tell his passengers in a few nights' time. Harry's mind races about Sirius Black, Aunt Marge and Azkaban.

The Knight Bus rolls through the darkness, scattering bushes and bollards, telephone boxes and trees, and Harry lies, restless and miserable, on his feather bed. After a while, Stan remembers Harry paid for hot chocolate but pours it all over Harry's pillow when the bus moves abruptly from Anglesea to Aberdeen. One by one, Wizards and Witches in dressing gowns and slippers descends from the upper floors to leave the bus. They all look happy to go. Finally, Harry is the only passenger left. "Right then, Neville," Stan says, clapping his hands, "whereabouts in London?"

"Diagon Alley," Harry answers.

"Righto," He replies, "'old tight, then…." BANG There is thundering along Charing Cross Road. Harry sits up and watches buildings and benches, squeezing themselves out of the Knight Bus's way. The sky is getting a little lighter. He'll lie low for a couple of hours, go to Gringotts the moment it opens, then set off, though he doesn't know where. Ern slams on the brakes, and the Knight Bus skids to a halt in front of a small and shabby-looking pub, the Leaky Cauldron, behind the Magical entrance to Diagon Alley.

"Thanks," The ravenette says to Ern and jumps down the steps, helping Stan lower his trunk and Hedwig's cage onto the pavement. "Well," He looks at them, "bye then!" But Stan isn't paying attention. Still standing in the doorway to the bus, he's staring at the shadowy entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.

"There you are, Harry." He hears a voice, and before he can turn around, he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Blimey! Ern, come 'ere! Come 'ere!" Stan shouts, and Harry looks up at the owner of the hand on his shoulder and feels a bucketful of ice cascade into his stomach - he's walked right into Cornelis Fudge, the Minister for Magic himself. Stan leaps onto the pavement beside them. "What didja call Neville, Minster?" He asks excitedly.

"Neville?" Fudge repeats, frowning, looking cold and exhausted. "This is Harry Potter."

"I knew it!" The Conductor shouts gleefully. "Ern! Ern! Guess 'oo Neville is, Ern! 'E's 'Arry Potter! I can see 'is scar!"

"Yes!" He replies testily. "Well, I'm very glad the Knight Bus picked Harry up, but he and I need to step inside the Leaky Cauldron now…." The Minister increases the pressure on Harry's shoulder, and he finds himself being steered inside the pub.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

A stooping figure bearing a lantern appears through the door behind the bar. It is Tom, the wizened, toothless landlord.

"You've got him, Minister!" Tom yells. "Will you be wanting anything? Beer? Brandy?"

"Perhaps a pot of tea," Fudge replies, still not letting Harry go, and there's a loud scraping and puffing from behind them as Stan and Ern appear, carrying Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage, looking around excitedly.

"'Ow come you di' n't tell us 'oo you are, eh, Neville?" Stan asks, beaming at Harry, while Ernie's owlish face peers interestedly over Stan's shoulder.

"And a private parlour, please, Tom," He requests pointedly.

"Bye." Harry says miserably to Stan and Ern as Tom beckons Fudge toward the passage leading from the bar.

"Bye, Neville!" Stan calls, waving, and Fudge marches Harry along the narrow passage after Tom's lantern and into a small parlour.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

Tom clicks his fingers, a fire burst into life in the grate, and he bows himself out of the room. "Sit down, Harry," Fudge tells him, indicating a chair by the fire. Harry sits, feeling goosebumps rising up his arms despite the glow of the fire. The Minister takes off his pinstripe Cloak and tosses it aside, then hitches up the trousers of his bottle-green suit and sits opposite Harry. "I am Cornelius Fudge, Harry. The Minster for Magice." Harry knows that already, of course, seeing him once before when he was wearing his father's Invisibility Cloak, but he doesn't need to know that. Tom, the Inkeeper, reappears, wearing an apron over his nightshirt and bearing a tray of tea and crumpets. He places the tray between Fidge and Harry on a table and leaves the parlour, closing the door behind him. "Well, Harry," Fudge says, pouring out tea, "you've had us all in a right flap, I don't mind telling you. Running away from your aunt and uncle's house like that! I'd started to think… but you're safe, and that's what matters." He butters himself a crumpet and pushes the plate toward Harry. "Eat, Harry; you look dead on your feet. Now then… You will be pleased to hear that we have dealt with the unfortunate blowing up of Miss Marjorie Dursley. Two members of the Accidental Magic Reversal Department were dispatched to Privet Drive a few hours ago. Miss Dursley has been punctured, and her memory has been modified. She has no recollection of the incident at all. So that's that, and no harm done." Fudge smiles at the boy over the rip of his teacup, which feels like an uncle surveying a favourite nephew. Harry can't believe his ears. Opening his mouth to speak, but can't think of anything to say and closes it again. "Ah, you're worrying about the reaction of your aunt and uncle?" He sees the look on the boy's face. "Well, I won't deny that they are extremely angry, Harry, but they are prepared to take you back next summer as long as you stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays." Harry unsticks his throat.

"I always stay at Hogwarts for Christmas and Easter holidays," Harry replies, and I don't ever want to go back to Privet Drive."

"Now, now, I'm sure you'll feel differently once you've calmed down," The Minster says in a worried tone. "They are your family, after all, and I'm sure you are fond of each other - er - very deep down." It doesn't occur to Harry to put Fudge right. He is still waiting to hear what's happened to him now. "So all that remains," He butters himself a second crumpet, "is to decide where you're going to spend the last two weeks of your holidays. I suggest you take a room here at the Leaky Cauldron and -."

"Hang on," The thirteen-year-old boy blurts, "what about my punishement?" Fudge blinks at him in shock.

"Punishment?" The Minister asks.

"I broke the law!" Harry questions. "The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry!"

"Oh, my dear boy, we're not going to punish you for a little thing like that!" Fudge cries, waving his crumpet impatiently. "It was an accident! We don't send people to Azkaban just for blowing up their aunt!"

"Last year, I got an official warning just because a House-elf smashed a pudding in my uncle's house!" He frowns, thinking about last year. "The Ministry of Magic said I'd be expelled from Hogwarts if there was any more Magic there!" Harry feels his eyes are deceiving him as Fudge looks suddenly awkward.

"Circumstances change, Harry… we have to take into account… in the present climate… surely you don;t want to be expelled?" The Minister questions.

"Of course I don't!" The famous young Wizard exclaims, thinking of anything worse.

"Well then, what's all the fuss about?" He laughs airily. "Now, have a crumpet, Harry, while I go and see if Tom's got a room for you." Fudge strides out of the parlour, and Harry stares after him, wondering how extremely odd it's been. Why Fudge was waiting for him at the Leaky Cauldron if not to punish him for what he did. And now Harry comes to think about it. Indeed, it isn't usual for the Minister of Magic to get involved in matters of underage Magic. Fudge comes back, accompanied by Tom. "Room 11's free, Harry," Fudge informs him. "I think you'll be very comfortable. Just one thing, and I'm sure you'll understand. I don't want you wandering off into Muggle London, all right? Keep to Diagon Alley. And you're to be back here before dark each night. Sure, you'll understand. Tom will be keeping an eye on you for me."

"Okay," Harry says slowly, "but why -?"

Don't want to lose you again, do we?" Fudge laughs heartily. "No, now… best we know where you are… I mean…." He clears his throat loudly and picks up his pinstriped Cloak. "Well, I'll be off; plenty to do, you know."

"Have you had any luck with Black?" The ravenette asks and sees Fudge's fingers slip on the silver fastenings of his Cloak.

"What's that? Oh, you've heard - well, no, not yet, but it's only a matter of time. The Azkaban guards have never yet ffailed… and they are angrier than I've ever seen them." The Minister shudders slightly at the thought of the Dementors. "So, I'll say goodbye." He holds out his hand, and Harry shakes it, having a sudden idea.

"We - Minister? Can I ask you something?" Harry asks him.

"Certainly," Fudge smiles.

"Well, third years at Hogwarts are allowed to visit Hogsmeads, but my aunt and uncle didn't sign the permisson form. D'you think you could?" Fudge looks at him, uncomfortable at the boy's request.

"Ah," He sighs. "No. No, i'm very sorry, Harry, but as I'm not your parents or guardian -."

"But you're the Minister for Magic," Harry argues eagerly. "If you gave me permission -."

"No, I'm sorry, Harry, but rules are rules," The Minister replies flatly. "Perhaps you'll be able to visit Hogsmeade next year. In fact, I think it best if you con't… yes… well, I'll be off. Enjoy your stay, Harry." And with one last smile, he shakes Harry's hand and leaves the room, and Tom moves forward, beaming at Harry.

"If you'll follow me, Mr Potter," Tom says. "I've already taken your things up…"

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

Harry follows Tom up a handsome wooden staircase to a door with a brass number eleven, and the innkeeper unlocks it for him. Inside is a very comfortable-looking bed, highly polished oak furniture, a cheerfully crackling fire, and perched on top of the wardrobe - "Hedwig!" Harry gasps, seeing his owl clicks her beak.

"Very smart owl you've got there," Tom chuckles. "Arrived about five minutes after you did. If there's anything you need, Mr Potter, don't hesitate to ask." He gives another bow and leaves. Harry sits on his bed for a long time, absent-mindedly stroking Hedwig. The sky outside the window changes rapidly from deep, velvety blue to cold, steely grey and slowly to pink hot with gold. Harry can hardly believe he only left Privet Drive a few hours ago, wasn't expelled, and now faces two completely Dursley-free weeks.

"It's been a very weird night, Hedwig," Harry yawns, and without even removing his glasses, he slumps back onto his pillows and falls asleep.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

The Darkmore family arrive in England several days after Harry has his new freedom at the Leaky Cauldron. They see the Daily Prophet's front page with Sirius Black's mug plastered across. Daniel goes straight to the Ministry while Sophia takes their children to Diagon Alley, where Harry can eat and do whatever he fancies or go wherever he likes, as long as it's in Diagon Alley. Harry eats breakfast each morning in the Leaky Cauldron, where he likes watching the other guests: funny little Witches from the country, up for a day's shopping; venerable-looking Wizards arguing over the latest article in Transfiguration Today; wild-looking Warlocks, raucous dwarfs and, once, what looks suspiciously like a hag, who orders a plate of raw liver from behind a thick woollen balaclava.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

After breakfast, Harry enters the backyard, takes his wand, taps the third brick from the left above the dustbin, and stands back as the archway into Diagon Alley opens in the wall. At the same time, the rest of the Darkmore family arrive at the Leaky Cauldron, getting a few rooms for their stay before Jayla returns to Hogwarts and needs to get her school supplies.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

Harry spends the long sunny day exploring the shops and eating under the brightly coloured umbrellas outside the cafes, where his fellow diners show each other their purchases. "It's a lunascope, old boy - no more messing around with moon charts, see?" or else discussing the case of Sirius Black.

"Personally, I won't let any of the children alone until he's back in Azkaban." Harry smiles, glad he doesn't have to do his homework under the blankets by torchlight any more as he sits in the bright sunshine outside Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour, finishing all his essays with occasional help from Florean Fortescue himself, who, apart from knowing a great deal about medieval Witch-burnings, giving Harry free sundaes every half-hour.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

Before Jayla gets her school supplies, her mother gives her permission to go to her Gringotts vault alone, seeing as Yazmin is fast asleep at the pub because of the long flight and Mason suffers from a tummyache from being sick. So Jayla stands alone in Diagon Alley, facing Gringotts Wizarding Bank and walks into the crooked white marble building, stepping inside with a calming breath.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

Jayla looks around as she walks through the burnished bronze doors with goblins dressed in scarlet and gold, letting her through a small entrance hall with another set of silver words engraved at the top.

Enter, stranger, but take heed.

Of what awaits the sin of greed

For those who take but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

Jayla reads the words and walks to another set of doors that opens by another set of goblins, coming into a vast marble hall with long counters stretching along the room's length. The young Heiress looks cautiously around the goblins before coming to the front. I'd like to go to my vault. Jayla Darkmore, looking at the goblin behind the desk.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

Harry stands at Quality Quidditch Supplies, curious to know what the crowd in the shop is staring at; he edges his way inside and squeezes in amongst the excited Witches and Wizards until he glimpses a newly erected podium on which is mounted the most magnificent broom he has ever seen in his life. "Just come out… prototype…." A square-jawed Wizard tells his companion.

"It's the fastest broom in the world, isn't it, Dad?" A boy younger than Harry squeaks, swinging off his father's arm.

"Irish International Side's just put in an order for seven of these beauties!" The shop proprietor tells the crowd.

"And they're favourites for the World Cup!" A giant Witch in front of Harry moves, and he reads the sign next to the broom:

THE FIREBOLT

This state-of-the-art racing broom sports a streamlined, superfine handle of ash treated with a diamond-hard polish and hand-numbered with its own registration number. Each individually selected birch twig in the broom tail has been honed to aerodynamic perfection, giving the Firebolt unsurpassable balance and pinpoint precision. The Firebolt has an acceleration of 0-150 miles an hour in ten seconds and incorporates an unbreakable braking charm. Price on request.

Harry frowns at the last part, hating to think how much gold the Firebolt costs. Still, he's never wanted anything so much in his whole life - but he has never lost a Quidditch match on his Nimbus 2000, and what's the point in emptying his Gringotts vault for the Firebolt when he has a perfect broom already? Though he doesn't ask for the prince, he does return almost every day after just to look at the Firebolt. "Harry?"

"Jayla!" Harry yelps, breaking his gaze at the broomstick, and turns to see the young Heiress smiling at him.

"What are you doing here?" She asks him and sees the broom in the shop window. "Oh. It's a fine-looking broom."

"Yeah… I thought you weren't coming for another week?" He asks her, frowning, though he's happy to see her.

"Dad wanted to come home. There was news of something important." Jayla answers vaguely, not wanting to tell him about Sirius Black, unaware he already knows.

"I see. Have you got your school supplies yet?" The ravenette asks her, and she shakes her head.

"I was just about to. Have you?" She asks him, and he shakes his head.

"No. I've been catching up on my homework," Harry replies sheepishly.

"I see. Those Muggles giving you trouble again?" The young Heiress asks.

"Yeah. I kind of blew up my aunt Marge." He confesses and expects her to get angry at her, but she laughs.

That's brilliant. You have to tell me about it. We should do some shopping. Jayla giggles, and they head down the street, heading to the Apothecary first to replenish their potions and then get their school robes.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

Most importantly, they buy their new school books, including their two new subjects, Harry's is Care of Magical Creatures, same as Jayla, and Divination while she's taking Study of Ancient Runes. "What the Hades?" Jayla mutters, looking at the bookshop window with its usual display of golden bossed spellbooks the size of paving slabs; there is a large iron cage behind the glass, holding about a hundred copies of The Monster Book of Monsters. Torn pages are flying everywhere as the books grapple with each other, locked together in furious wrestling matches and snapping aggressively. Harry pulls his booklist out of his pocket and consults it for the first time. "Divination? You're not taking. that hogwash?" She asks him, frowning at the booklist and gets out hers.

"Study of Ancient Runes? You're taking that rubbish?" Harry replies, both sharing a laugh, and he sees on the list for Care of Magical Creatures; the book in the window is the one he needs, and he thanks Hagrid for the book. He feels relieved, having been wondering whether Hagrid wanted help with some terrifying new pet.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

Harry and Jayla enter Flourish and Blotts, and the manager comes hurrying towards them. "Hogwarts?" He asks abruptly. "Come to get your new books?"

"Yes." Harry answers. "I need -."

"Get out of the way," The manager says impatiently, brushing Harry aside. He draws on thick gloves, picks up a large, knobbly walking stick, and proceeds toward the Monster books' cage door.

"Hang on," He says quickly. "I've already got one of those."

"Have you?" The man looks enormously relieved. "Thank heavens for that, I've been bitten five times already this morning -." A loud ripping noise fills the air as two Monster books have seized a third and are pulling it apart. "Stop it! Stop it!" The manager cries, poking the walking stick through the bars and knocking the books apart. "I'm never stocking them again, never! It's been bedlam! I thought we'd seen the worst when we bought two hundred copies of The Invisible Book of Invisibility - cost a fortune, and we never found them… Well, is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Can I get a look at them?" Jayla asks, pointing to the vicious books fighting in the shop window. "I need one."

"Oh!" The manager sighs.

"I'll get one myself." She assures him and walks away.

"I need Unfogging the Future, by Cassandra Vablatsky." Harry says, looking down his booklist.

"Ah, starting Divination, are you?" The manager asks, stripping off his gloves and leading Harry into the back of the shop, where a corner is devoted to fortune-telling. A small table is stacked with volumes such as Predicting the Unpredictable: Insulate Yourself against Shocks and Broken Balls: When Fortunes Turn Foul. "Here you are," He says, climbing a set of steps and taking down a black-bound book. "Unfogging the Future. Very good guide to all your basic fortune telling methods - palmistry, crystal balls, bird entrails…." But Harry isn't listening. His eyes fall on another book, which is on display on a small table: Death Omens: What to Do When You Know the Worst Is Coming.

"Oh, I wouldn't read that if I were you." The assistant tells him lightly, looking to see what Harry is staring at. "You'll start seeing death omens everywhere; its enough to frighten anyone to death." But Harry continues staring at the front cover, showing a black dog large as a bear with gleaming eyes that looks oddly familiar… The assistant presses Unfogging the Future into Harry's hands, snapping him out of it. "Anything else?"

"Yes," Harry answers, tearing his eyes away from the dog's and dazedly consulting his booklist. "Er - I need Intermediate Transfiguration and the Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three. Two sets, please, for my friend." They come back to see Jayla stroking one of the Monster books in her arms happily, shocking both of them.

"Do you have Spellman's Syllabary, Rune Dictionary, and Advanced Rune Translation, please," Jayla asks the the manager, who snaps out of his stare and grabs the books for her, and they soon have their books ten minutes later.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

Jayla and Harry return to the Leaky Cauldron with their things and sit at a table as they enjoy their dinner; Jayla's Dad comes walking in and sits with them, glad to see Harry's okay after he heard the boy had left his family in a bit of a hurry. "What's wrong, dear?" Sophia asks, and he tells them about what he saw in Magnolia Cresent and makes the Darkmore parents share a strange look.

"It can't have been a death omen," Harry says defiantly. "I was probably panicking when I saw that thing in Magnolia Cresent. It was probably just a stray dog…"

"Yeah. Probably a stray." Daniel replies, looking at his wife, knowing better.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

As the days pass, Harry starts looking wherever he goes for a sign of Ron or Hermione when he goes out with Jayla, exploring Diagon Alley, though she disappears some days. They bumped into Seamus and Dean, their fellow Gryffindors at Quality Quidditch Supplies, ogling the Firebolt and even running into the real Neville Longbottom outside Flourish and Blotts. They didn't stop to chat as Neville appeared to have mislaid his booklist and was being told off by his formidable-looking grandmother.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

Jayla wakes up on the last day of the summer holidays, thinking she'll probably see Ron and Hermione on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow. She gets up, changes, and goes with Harry to let him have one last look at the Firebolt and discuss where to go for lunch when someone yells their names, and they turn. "Harry! Jayla! HARRY! JAYLA!" They are both sitting outside Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour; Ron looks incredibly freckly, and Hermione's brown, both waving frantically at them.

"Finally!" Ron exclaims, grinning at them as they sit down. "We went to the Leaky Cauldron, but they said you'd both left and went to Flourish and Blotts and Madam Malkin's, and -."

"We got all our school supplies last week," Jayla explains. "Why are you staying at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Dad," Ron replies simply, making the young Heiress nod back in understanding.

"Did you really blow up your aunt, Harry?" Hermione asks in an earnest voice.

"I didn't mean to," Harry argues while Ron laughs. "I just - lost control."

"It's not funny, Ron," She snaps sharply. "Honestly, I'm amazed Harry wasn't expelled."

"So am I," He admits. "Forget expelled; I thought I was going to be arrested." He looks at his best friend, having already asked Sophia and Daniel Darkmore, but they don't seem to know. "Your Dad doesn't know why Fudge let me off, does he?"

"Probably 'cause it's you, isn't it?" Ron shrugs, still chuckling. "Famous Harry Potter and all that. I'd hate to see what the Ministry'd do to me if I blew up an aunt. Mind you, they'd have to dig me up first because Mum would've killed me. Anyway, you can ask Dad yourself this evening. We're staying at the Leaky Cauldron tonight, too! So you can come to King's Cross with us tomorrow! Hermione's there as well!" Hermione nods, beaming.

"Mum and Dad dropped me off this morning with all my Hogwarts things," Hermione tells them.

"Excellent," Harry says happily.

"So, have you got all your new books and stuff?" Jayla asks, sipping on a bubblegum milkshake, sharing it with Hermione, who seems to enjoy it as much as she is.

"Look at this," Ron beams, pulling a long thin box out of a bag and opening it. "Brand-new wand. Fourteen inches, willow, containing one unicorn tail-hair. And we've got all our books." He points at a large bag under his chair. "What about those Monster books, eh? The assistant nearly cried when we said we wanted two. Though he was talking some nonsense about some girl stroking hers happily."

"That was me." She snaps. "And Argie likes being stroked. He says it's relaxing."

"What's all that, Hermione?" Harry asks, changing the subject, pointing at the three bulging bags in the chair beside her.

"Well, I'm taking more new subjects than you, aren't I?" Hermione replies. "Those are my books for Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, the Study of Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies -."

"What are you doing Muggle Studies for?" Ron asks, rolling his eyes at Harry. "You're Muggle-born! Your Mum and Dad are Muggles! You already know all about Muggles!"

"But it'll be fascinating to study them from the Wizarding point of view," She replies earnestly.

"Are you planning to eat or sleep at all this year, Hermione?" Harry asks her while Ron sniggers, but the girls ignore them.

"Leave her alone. I think it's admirable. I was thinking of taking Arithmancy, but I'll stick with Ancient Runes." Jayla comments.

"I've still got ten Galleons," Hermione says, checking her purse. "It's my birthday in September, and Mum and Dad gave me some money to get myself an early birthday present."

"How about a nice book?" Ron asks innocently.

"No, I don''t think so," She replies composedly. "I really want an owl. I mean, Harry's got Hedwig, and you've got Errol and Ryder -."

"I haven't," The Pure-bloods reply.

"Ryder's my Dad's owl. He's had him for years." Jayla tells them.

"Errol's a family owl. All I've got is Scabbers," Ron adds, pulling his pet rat out of his pocket. "And I want to get him checked over." He places Scabbers on the table before them. "I don't think Egypt agreed with him." Scabbers looks thinner than usual, and his whiskers have a definite droop.

"He's here! I've got to escape!" Scabbers mutters in fright, twitching around, and Jayla frowns at the rat about to ask it what's wrong.

"There's a Magical creature shop just over there," Harry says, cutting Jayla from her thoughts. "You can see if they've got anything for Scabbers, and Hermione can get her owl." Before crossing the street to the Magical Menagerie, they pay for their ice cream and milkshakes.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

There isn't much room inside. Every inch of the walls is hidden by cages. It's smelly and very noisy because the occupants of these cages are all squeaking, squawking, jabbering and hissing. The Witch behind the counter is already advising a Wizard on the care of double-ended newts, so the Golden Quartet wait, examining the cages. A pair of enormous purple toads sit, gulping wetly and feasting on dead blowflies. A gigantic tortoise with a jewel-encrusted shell is glittering near the window/ Poisonous orange snails are oozing slowly up the side of their glass tank, and a fat white rabbit keeps changing into a silk top hat and back again with a loud popping noise. Then there are cats of every colour, a noisy cage of ravens, a basket of funny custard-coloured furballs that are humming loudly, and, on the counter, a vast cage of sleek black rats playing some sort of skipping game using their long bald tails. The Wizard leaves, and Ron approaches the counter. "It's my rat," He tells the Witch. "He's been a bit off-colour ever since I brought him back from Egypt."

"Bang him on the counter," The Witch tells him, pulling a pair of heavy black spectacles out of her pocket. Ron lifts Scabbers from inside his pocket and places him next to the cage of his fellow rats, who stop their skipping tricks and scuffle to the wire for a better look. Like nearly everything Ron owns, Scabbers the Rat is secondhand (it belonged to Ron's brother Percy) and a bit battered. Next to the glossy rats in the cage, he looks especially woebegone. "Hm." She picks Scabbers up. "How old is this rat?"

"Dunno," He replies. "Quite old. He used to belong to my brother."

"What powers does he have?" She asks, examining the old rat closely.

"Er -." The redhead stutters, and the Witch's eyes move from Scabbers to his tattered left ear to his front paw, which is missing a toe, and tuts loudly.

"He's been through the mill, this one," The Witch comments.

"He was like that when Percy gave him to me," Ron says defensively.

"An ordinary, common or garden rat like this can't be expected to live longer than three years or so," She remarks. "Now, if you were looking for something a bit more hard-wearing, you might like one of these…" She indicates to the black rats, who promptly start skipping again.

"Show-offs," He mutters.

"Well, if you don't want a replacement, you can try this Rat Tonic," The Witch replies, reaching under the counter and bringing out a small red bottle.

"Okay," The redhead says. "How much - OUCH!" He buckles as something huge and orange comes soaring from the top of the highest cage, landing on his head and then propelling itself, spitting madly at Scabbers.

"NO, CROOKSHANKS, NO!" The Witch cries, but Scabbers shoots from between her hands like a bar of soak, landing splay-legged on the floor and then scarpers for the door.

"Scabbers!" Ron shouts, haring out of the shop after him, Harry following.

"Ha! Brilliant!" Jayla laughs, watching them while standing by the cats, chatting with them. "Get that horrible rat, Crookshanks!"

"Jayla!" Hermione scolds her and looks at the orange tuff of fur.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

Finding Scabbers, who took refuge under a wastepaper bin outside Quality Quidditch Supplies, takes nearly ten minutes. Ron again stuffs the trembling rat into his pocket, straightening up and massaging his head. "What was that?" The redhead asks.

"It was either a very big cat or quite a small tiger," Harry jokes. "Where are the girls?"

"Probably getting Hermione's owl." Ron replies, and the boys return up the crowded street to the Magical Menagerie. As they reach it, the girls come out, but Hermione isn't carrying an owl. Her arms are clamped tightly around the enormous ginger cat. "You bought that monster?" His mouth hangs open.

"He's gorgeous, isn't he?" Hermiones says, glowing.

"That is a matter of opinion," Harry mutters, looking at the cat's thick and fluffy ginger fur, but it is definitely a bit boy-legged, and its face looks grumpy and oddly squashed, as though it ran headlong into a brick wall. Scabber is now out of sight, and the cat is purring contentedly in Hermione's arms.

"Hermione, that thing nearly scalped me!" Ron exclaims.

"He didn't mean to, did you, Crookshanks?" Jayla coos, stroking the ginger cat, who seems pleased with the attention.

"And what about Scabbers?" He asks, pointing at the lump in his chest pocket. "He needs rest and relaxation! How's he going to get it with that thing around?"

"That reminds me, you forgot your Rat Tonic," Hermione snaps, slapping the small red bottle into his hand. "And stop worrying, Crookshanks will be sleeping in my dormitory and Scabbers in yours. What's the problem?"

"Poor Crookshanks, that Witch said he'd been in there for ages: no wanted him." Jayla comments.

"I wonder why," Ron remarks sarcastically as they set off toward the Leaky Cauldron.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

They find Mr Weasley sitting in the bar, reading the Daily Prophet. "Harry!" Arthur greets him, smiling as he looks up. "How are you?"

"Fine, thanks," Harry replies as the Golden Quartet joins him with all their shopping. Mr Weasley puts down his paper, and they see the picture of Sirius Black on the front page staring up at them. "They still haven't caught him, then?"

"No," He answers, looking extremely grave. "They've pulled us all off our regular jobs at the Ministry to try and find him, but no luck so far."

"There will be no finding him," Jayla whispers under her breath, but no one hears her luckily.

"Would we get a reward if we caught him?" Ron wonders. "It'd be good to get some more money -."

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron." Mr Weasley replies, who looks very strained. "Black's not going to be caught by a thirteen-year-old Wizard. It's the Azkaban guards who'll get him back, you mark my words." At that moment, Mrs Weasley enters the bar, laden with shopping and followed by the twins, Fred and George, who are about to start their fifth year at Hogwarts, the newly elected Head Boy, Percy, and Ginny, the youngest and only girl.

"Hello," Ginny mutters, going very red without looking at him. Percy holds his hand solemnly as though he and Harry had never met.

"Harry. How nice to see you," Percy says.

"Hello, Percy," Harry greets him, trying not to laugh.

"I hope you're well?" He asks pompously, shaking his hand, rather like being a mayor.

"Very well, thanks -." The ravenette replies, but the twins cut their brother and him off.

"Harry!" Fred booms, elbowing his older brother out of the way and bowing deeply. "Simply splendid to see you, old boy -."

"Marvellous," George adds, pushing his twin aside and seizing Harry's hand. "Absolutely spiffing." Percy scowls at the twins.

"That's enough, now," Molly scolds them.

"Mum!" Fred says, as though he'd only spotted her and seized her hand. "How really corking to see you -."

"I said, that's enough," She warns them, depositing her shopping on an empty chair. "Hello, Harry, dear. I suppose you've heard our exciting news?" She points at the brand-new silver badge pinned to Percy's chest. "Second Head Boy in the family." She swells with pride.

"And last," Fred mutters under his breath.

"I don't doubt that," Mrs Weasley replies, frowning suddenly. "I notice they haven't made you two Prefects."

"What do we want to be Prefects for?" George remarks, looking revolted at the very idea. "It'd take the fun out of life." Ginny giggles.

"You want to set a better example to your sister!" She snaps.

"Ginny's got other brothers to set her an example, Mother," Percy says loftily. "I'm going up to change for dinner…" He disappears, and George heaves a sigh.

"We tried to shut him in a pyramid," George informs them. "But Mum spotted us."

"Too bad," Jayla mutters. "He's going to be insufferable."

"She gets it," Fred grins.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

Dinner arrives that night, and it is a delightful affair; Tom, the innkeeper, puts four tables together in the parlour, and the seven Weasleys, Harry, Hermione and the five Darkmores eat their way through five delicious courses. "How're we getting to King's Cross tomorrow, Dad?" Fred asks as they tuck into a sumptuous chocolate pudding.

"Daniel's been good enough to get the Ministry to provide a couple of cars," Mr Weasley informs them, and everyone looks at him and Daniel.

"Why?" Percy questions curiously.

"It's because of you, Perce," George jokes, acting seriously. "And there'll be little flags on the bonnets, with HB on them -."

"- For Humungous Bighead," Fred adds, and everyone except Percy and Molly snorts into their pudding.

"Why are the Ministry providing cars, Father?" Percy asks again in a dignified voice.

"Well, as we haven't got one any more," Arthur replies, looking at Harry and Ron discreetly, making the girls giggle.

"And as I work there, they're doing me a favour…." Daniel replies.

"Good job, too," Molly comments briskly. "Do you realise how much luggage you've all got between you? A nice sight you'd be on the Muggle Underground… You are all packed, aren't you?"

"Ron hasn't put all his new things in his trunk yet," Percy grasses on his younger brother in a long-suffering voice. "He's dumped them on my bed."

"You'd better go and pack properly, Ron, because we won't have much time in the morning." She calls down the table as Ron scowls at Percy.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

After dinner, everyone falls very full and sleepy. The children go upstairs to their rooms individually to check their things for the next day. Ron and Percy are next door to Harry, while Yazmin and Mason are on the other side, who seem quieter than the two redheads. When he closes and locks his trunk, he hears angry voices from the brothers next door through the wall.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

Harry goes out of his room to see what's going on in number twelve as the door is ajar; he can hear shouting from inside. "It was here, on the bedside table; I took it off for polishing -." Percy shouts.

"I haven't touched it, all right?" Ron roars back.

"What's up?" Harry asks.

"My Head Boy badge has gone," Percy announces, rounding on him.

"So's Scabbers' Rat Tonic," Ron adds, throwing things out of his trunk to look for the tiny red bottle. "I think I might've left it in the bar -."

"You're not going anywhere till you've found my badge!" He yells.

"I'll get Scabber's stuff, I'm packed." Harry offers to Ron and goes downstairs.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

Harry is halfway along the passage to the bar, which is now very dark, when he hears another set of angry voices from the parlour. A second later, he recognises them as the Weasley and Darkmore parents. He hesitates, not wanting them to know he can hear them rowing when the sound of his name makes him stop and moves closer to the parlour door. "...makes no sense not to tell him," Mr Weasley says heatedly. "Harry's got a right to know I've tried to tell Fudge, but he insists on treating Harry like a child. He's thirteen years old and -."

"Arthur, the truth would terrify him!" Molly argues shrilly.

"Do you really want to send Harry back to school with that hanging over him? For heaven's sake, he's happy not knowing!" Sophia adds, not wanting the boy to know about Sirius for other reasons.

"I don't want to make him miserable, I want to put him on his guard!" Arthur retorts.

"I have to agree. You know what Harry and Ron are like wandering off by themselves, possibly with one of the girls - they've ended up in that Forbidden Forest twice. But Harry can't do that this year! When we think what could have happened to him that night, he ran away from home!" Daniel adds, defending his drinking buddy and trying to ensure Harry stays away from Sirius for more than a few reasons.

"Exactly! If the Knight Bus hadn't picked him up, I'm prepared to be he would have been dead before the Ministry found him." He replies, looking at the wives.

"But he's not dead; he's fine, so what's the point -." Molly argues.

"Molly, they say Sirius Black's mad, and maybe he is, but he was clever enough to escape from Azkaban, and that's supposed to be impossible. It's been three weeks, and no one's seen hide nor hair of him, and I don't care what Fudge keeps telling the Daily Prophet, we're no nearer catching Black than inventing self-spelling wands. The only thing we know for sure is what Black's after -." Arthur argues, and the Darkmores look at each other, knowing something the Weasleys or the Ministry know about Sirius.

"But Harry will be perfectly safe at Hogwarts," Sophia argues.

"We thought Azkaban was perfectly safe. If Black can break out of Azkaban, he can break into Hogwarts." Daniel replies, though he thinks otherwise or could care less about it, knowing Black would never hurt Harry.

"But no one's really sure that Black's after Harry -." Molly points out, and there's a thud of wood, and Harry's sure Mr Weasley banged his fist on the table.

"Molly, how many times do I have to tell you? They didn't report it in the press because Fudge wanted it kept quiet, but Fudge went out to Azkaban the night Black escaped. The guards told Fudge that Black's been talking in his sleep for a while now. Always the same words: "He's at Hogwarts… he's at Hogwarts." Black is deranged, Molly, and he wants Harry dead. If you ask me, he thinks murdering Harry will bring You-Know-Who back to power. Black lost everything the night Harry stopped You-Know-Who, and he's had twelve years alone in Azkaban to brood on that…." Then there's silence. Harry leans closer to the door, desperate to hear more.

"Well, Arthur, you must do what you think is right. But you're forgetting Albus Dumbledore. I don't think anything could hurt Harry at Hogwarts while Dumbledore's Headmaster. I suppose he knows about all this?" Sophia argues, having already talked to him about Sirius.

"Of course, he knows. We had to ask him if he minds the Azkaban guards stationing themselves around the entrances to the school grounds. He wasn't happy about it, but he agreed." Daniel replies.

"Not happy? Why shouldn't he be happy if they're there to catch Black?" Molly questions.

"Dumbledore isn't fond of the Azkaban guards," Arthur adds heavily. "Nor am I, if it comes to that… but when you're dealing with a Wizard-like Black, you sometimes have to join forces with those you'd rather avoid."

"If they save Harry -." She argues.

"- then I will never say another word against them," Mr Weasley replies wearily. "It's late, Molly, Sophia, Daniel; we'd better go up.." Harry hears chairs move, and as quietly as he can, he hurries down the passage to the bar and out of sight. The parlour door opens, and a few seconds later, two sets of footsteps tell him one of the parents has climbed the stairs.

"If the Azkaban guards are guarding Hogwarts. He can't get in or out." Sophia mutters, thinking of her vision.

"It'll be okay, Sophia. He's a crafty bastard. He'll be okay. We have to let Harry know about your vision. The secret must be told; he has to know, my love." Daniel tells his wife.

"I'm scared." She whispers, and they leave the parlour. He waits until he hears their bedroom door close, and he finds the bottle of rat tonic lying under the table, then heads back upstairs with the bottle. Fred and George are crouching in the shadows on the landing, heaving with laughter as they listen to Percy dismantling his and Ron's room in search of his badge.

"We've got it," Fred whispers to Harry. "We've been improving it." The badge now reads Bighead Boy; Harry forces a laugh and goes in to give Ron the rat tonic.

⒴⒠⒜⒭ ⑶

Harry shuts himself in his room and lies on his bed, staring at the ceiling. "So Sirius Black is after me. That explains everything. Fudge was lenient with me because he was so relieved to find him alive. And he made me promise to stay in Diagon Alley, where there are plenty of Wizards to keep an eye on me." He thinks and then looks out the window. "And he's sending two Ministry cars to take us all to the station tomorrow so that the Weasleys can look after me until I get on the train." Harry lies, listening to the muffled shouting next door and wonders why he doesn't feel more scared. Sirius Black has murdered thirteen people with one curse and killed his wife, the Weasleys, and Darkmores obviously think he'd be panic-stricken if he knew the truth. But Harry agrees wholeheartedly with Mrs Weasley and Mirs Darkmore that the safest place on earth is wherever Albus Dumbledore happens to be. Harry's mind races with the ideas and memories and thoughts of what's happened this summer, and his every move will be monitored, he suspected. He scowls at the dark ceiling and thinks about what Mr and Mrs Darkmore said about a secret and wonders who HE is and about the image of the beast in the shadows of Magnolia Cresent. "I'm not going to be murdered," Harry mutters aloud.

"That's the spirit, dear." The mirror replies sleepily.