In the end I let Astrid take a good look at the contents of my trunk —except for a particular notebook, of course— in no small part because I still felt guilty about the whole ordeal with her hands. Funny, that she found it slightly disappointing. I wasn't sure what she'd expected to find inside, but most of it was just my clothes, books, and school paraphernalia. I didn't have much in terms of magical items, having already used the last of my joke products.
My potion ingredients were just gross stuff in her eyes —the bottle of spider eggs in particular— but she did find the telescope interesting, even if the only magic in it came in the form of antifogging charms on its lenses. She asked to use it one night to look at the moon through our window, and together we identified the main craters thanks to the chart in my second year Astronomy book.
They were by far the most outwardly magical stuff I possessed, the books, and she loved the little animated diagrams. Although she was stumped when she looked into the Transfiguration textbook: 'this is just maths!' she had exclaimed, almost as if offended on my behalf.
In the end she quickly lost interest in the banality of what actually doing most magic entailed —perhaps because I couldn't exactly demonstrate any of the spells, with the trace in effect, and so she only had the descriptions in the books and my stories as a point of reference.
But she loved Scamander's book, and she was enthused at learning that, yes, dragons and unicorns do actually exist. I didn't mention anything regarding my own first encounter with a unicorn, though, or the two little vials full of silvery liquid still at the bottom of the trunk.
I had plans for those, in fact, but I had to wait until almost the end of summer to enact them. My first step was to badger the staff about wanting to go see 'Batman Returns' at the cinema; which technically was not recommended for my age, but I made the argument that since I was precocious and all, I should count as two full years older in what regarded to age appropriateness and such.
I wasn't sure if it was my argument that was effective, my continuous moaning about the film and references to Batman every single day, or that I also enlisted the support of Colin —who was too a force to be reckoned with— but in the end the staff relented, even going so far as to accept the very same day and showing I had so helpfully proposed —the very same day and hour when one Gilderoy Lockhart would be paying a visit to Diagon Alley, coincidentally enough.
And so we climbed into the van —Colin and a couple of the other older kids and me— escorted by Gary from the staff. Fortunately the young man was distracted enough that he never realised that I was carrying my school bag —Colin did, of course, but a simple 'just in case' as I wiggled my eyebrows satisfied his curiosity; it wouldn't be the first time we nicked some gummies or cans of soda, and you needed a secure place to hide them out of view.
I didn't steal anything that day, though, too focused on what I would need to do later. Don't do two crimes at once and such, you know. Gary bought us some popcorn to share and we started munching on it right after finding our seats, but the nervous butterflies doing loops inside my stomach prevented me from enjoying the taste.
The film started with the perturbing birth scene of the Penguin —I had forgotten about that particular Burtonian overture— and I felt conflicted: knowing it was time to get a move on, but also not quite finding the impulse to do it. Oddly, I was sort of paralysed; perhaps because it would be so easy not to take these risks, to simply... stay here, watching a superhero film, enjoying one of the last days of my vacations before...
Before I went back to Hogwarts, where a basilisk would soon be released.
Right. Yeah. Talk about risks...
"Uhm," I said to Gary, who was sitting by my side. "I need to go to the loo... I think all this popcorn didn't sit well with me."
He groaned and stood up to allow me passage. "I warned you, didn't I?"
"Yeah, yeah... sorry," I mumbled passing by his side, my school bag thankfully unnoticed in the darkness of the cinema.
I quickly followed the aisle to the back of the room, pushed open the heavy door and exited to the carpeted hallway outside. With all the other films in the neighbouring screens having already started the corridor —which was always so packed with people entering or leaving— was now eerily silent and deserted. But I preferred it that way, and I rushed at a good pace to the nearby toilets, where I quickly claimed a stall and closed its door behind me.
I unzipped the school bag and took out my good robes inside, which I draped over my head to cover my otherwise Muggle outfit. Then I extracted the other assorted items I'd packed before, back at the Residence: some magical coins, my wand —obviously— a brand new notebook with an empty envelope inside its pages, and the vials of unicorn blood. The bag itself I then hid on top of the toilet's cistern —because this was still good ol' 1992 and people wouldn't yet lose their minds over an unattended bag in a public space.
What came right after, leaving the toilets, was much more nerve-wracking. I pretty much had to clench my jaw and force myself to open the door quickly and leave for the hallway before I could second-guess myself too much. Yes, if anyone saw me dressed like this their eyebrows were sure to migrate to the top of their heads —and if that anyone was someone from the Residence I would have some very awkward explaining to do, without the advantage of Snape's Confundus charms. But there was nothing I could do to avoid that risk, really. And besides, the inside of a cinema was probably one of the most forgiving places in what regarded odd garments, so there was that too.
I saw an employee cleaning some spilled drink near the far end of the hallway, but thankfully they didn't notice me, and nobody stopped me as I approached the little, nondescript door tucked all the way at the hallway's other end; the one with the notice on it that read: 'Employees Only'.
It was of course, locked tight. I was, of course, prepared for that. My Skeleton key shifted shape and fit smoothly into its keyhole. A half-turn later, and I was already walking away, through the alleyway behind the building and towards a side street.
Then it was simply a matter of raising my wand and waiting for–
BANG!
For that.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for— oh, it's you again!"
"Hello Stan!" I said to the conductor, who was eyeing me like I was a fly that had just landed on his soup. "It's only me this time."
"Only yah? And we're not havin' another one o' them healers going on at me if we're cartin' you along, eh?"
"Uh... no? I'm going to Diagon Alley, not St. Mungo's. And besides, it's daytime!" I pointed at the sun with my wand for added emphasis.
He actually stepped out of the bus to gaze at the sun for a few seconds. Then he shook his head and said: "No handouts this time. You cough up the eleven sickles."
"Sure," I said easily, dropping the coins on his open hand and stepping onto the bus. I gave a quick nod to Ern the driver —who ignored me, muttering something under his breath and with his eyes fixated on the white van parked just ahead— and found an empty chair close to a vertical bar I could use as a grip point.
That was an odd sight: somehow the beds that had occupied the full width of the vehicle during my last trip had now disappeared, having been replaced by dozens of chairs of different styles, but that wouldn't look out of place at some grandma's house. And the bus was also more crowded, many of the assorted seats taken by older wizards and witches. There were also a small group of teenage witches near the back —none of whom wore robes anywhere as neat as mine— and a few others who weren't dressed in any sort of robes at all, nor something that would pass muster on the Muggle world outside either —their shabby waistcoats and worn flannel dresses being completely out of fashion. I wasn't sure what their deal was.
And I didn't have much time to contemplate it, because pretty soon I had to hold tight as we began running like the clappers though the streets of London. I got blurry glimpses of Piccadilly Circus and Oxford Street through the windows and I figured we'd be arriving quickly enough at my stop, but then something odd happened: the bus swerved violently to the right through a side-alley —causing a few of the feebler passengers to land on the floor— and then we were in a motorway and passing cars left and right. And in the distance, I could see a small town with the lonely spire of a church raising over a few dozen houses. A town that looked a lot like it wasn't London at all.
Hmm...
It didn't dawn on me until we swerved once more and stopped suddenly with a loud jerk. At the front of the bus Stan opened the door and disembarked, and I could hear him repeat his little spiel to the arriving passenger: "Welcome to the Knight Bus..."
The street outside was lined with trees and squat, small village houses; and behind those there were some moors descending into a wide valley.
Yeah, we weren't in London at all. Hell, even the weather looked different. But this had to be just how the bus always arrived so fast whenever you raised your wand, wasn't it? It simply diverted from the destination it was driving to at the time to pick you up. There must be some divination charms weaved somewhere in the driver's post —or perhaps it was time manipulation?
Whatever. The conclusion was that the bus always arrived fast, but the duration of the trip itself was impossible to predict: it depended on how many people felt like raising their wands at any given moment.
At least the stops were quick, and a couple of minutes later we were moving again. But I was on a timer of sorts, and by the time the third straggler had boarded —at some random road crossing a rugged, hilly landscape with absolutely no constructions in sight— I was already groaning and tapping my foot in impatience. And I wasn't the only one, judging by how the elderly wizard next to me looked at his pocket watch time and time again.
Fortunately that was the last passenger, and five minutes later the bus stopped with a crack and Stan announced "Diagon Alley!" causing more than half of the occupants to stand up and disembark, with me among their midst.
I welcomed that, because we entered the Leaky Cauldron as a group and so I received none of the pesky questions I was fearing about what exactly I was doing there on my own. Instead everyone probably thought I was the child of one of the other passengers, and so we all moved to the back of the shop and crossed the threshold into the street itself without any fuss.
And then I was there. I was at Diagon Alley, on my own. Unsupervised; with no Professors nearby to hurry me along, tell me what I could and could not purchase.
No money to purchase anything with, either; but that was something I planned to solve real soon.
First, though, I headed to Flourish and Blotts, to check I wasn't too late. I moved along the street, walking past the many families doing their Hogwarts' purchases, the little groups of people window shopping, strolling past the many establishments. There was a waft of sweet and savoury smells in the air coming from the bustling cafes and tea shops that I did my best to ignore, and quite a few passers-by carried impossibly overloaded ice-cream cones covered in chocolate chips.
Flourish and Blotts turned out to be one of the most crowded shops in the entire street —a large group of mostly middle-aged witches filling the entirety of the bookshop's lower level— which I took to mean that Lockhart was already there. And yeah, I could half-glimpse a mane of perfectly styled blonde hair in the distance; but no Potter and company in sight, so I quickly left again.
Right, that meant I still had time; hopefully. Now for the hard part.
My turquoise robes didn't have a hood, but the Muggle hoodie I had taken the precaution to wear underneath pretty much did. So I put it on, and walked towards a particular nearby corner; and down the stairs that descended into a narrow, crooked and shadowed side-alley.
Knockturn Alley was... interesting. Or rather, the people in it were.
Most of them looked savvy, but also shabby. Dressed in muted robes and tunics, many of them covering their faces. They felt twisted, somehow, in a way I couldn't quite put my finger on but that I figured had to do with the way magic settled around them. As if they were tainted; as if they had delved too deep and too greedily into something that should have been kept buried. And I couldn't help but to remember Dumbledore's warnings to me right before summer.
Then there were the others, the beings: like the sallow skinned, probably-a-vampire young man sitting on the stone steps, or the tall hag wearing a stereotypical witch hat that rested her weight on a broken street lamp next to a boarded-up shop.
Or like me, I guessed.
And surprisingly, they didn't look as evil as I'd imagined, when planning this little trip back at the Residence. Knockturn Alley was meant to be the Wizarding world's version of the wretched hive of scum and villainy, but the people who surrounded me looked less evil and more... well, more like people who'd just fallen through the cracks. Which wasn't that surprising, honestly, as I'd seen what the real arseholes looked like —people like Selwyn and company— and while I was sure they'd visit here often, I doubted they'd enjoy spending here a single minute more than strictly necessary.
But what surprised me most was that nobody bothered to harass me. Maybe my camouflage was working, and in a world with goblins, half-goblins, house-elves and other species of a lower physical stature, they might assume me to be one of those rather than a lost child; at least as long as I kept my head and face well covered.
Or maybe it was some sort of kinship, some hidden sense telling the hag that I wasn't really a human child, or the vampire that there was something messed up with my blood; and so they let me be. Perhaps I just didn't track as food to them.
Or maybe it was simply that I didn't linger, instead walking forward like someone with a destination in mind. Something that couldn't be further from the truth, though; because where the shops in Diagon Alley were all too happy to display their wares through their enormous windows, competing for the attention of every passer-by; most of the ones down here were... muted, almost shy, many windows opaque or enchanted to not let on more than blurry silhouettes of what was inside. And the signs and placards weren't that much help, with most only having the names of the establishments written on them; things like 'Belthia's' or 'The Spiny Serpent' with no mention at all of what they traded in. It was an 'if you know, you know' type of situation.
And I didn't know.
I guessed at least one of the doors around me must have opened into an apothecary of the dark sort, but I certainly wasn't going to try and find it by trial and error, and so I opted instead to head for the one shop I did remember from my fore-memories:
Borgin and Burkes —yeah, I know, Burke... ugh!— was one of the most welcoming shops, funnily enough. At least its window display wasn't opaque, showcasing instead shelves lined with all sorts of odd ancient artefacts, ranging from musical instruments to damaged silverware. It all looked perfectly normal to innocent eyes, and not too far from some of the odd thrift shops I'd visited in my fore-memories. And perhaps it was that very facade of normalcy and familiarity what allowed it to be one of the most daring shops in the crooked street, advertising the 'unique magical items' inside.
The inside itself was much more sinister, what with the human skulls and creepy masks, and the gloomy and somewhat dusty décor. The bell over the door rang as I crossed into the shop and approached the main counter, and an old man with shifty eyes and bad hair emerged out of the back room.
"Mister... Borgin?" I asked.
From my fore-memories, I half-remembered him to be somewhat solicitous —a snake oil peddler for sure, but one that would show you a false smile as he conned you— but he surprised me by replying in a harsh, mocking tone: "Are you lost, child? Get off my shop!"
"I don't think I am," I said, trying my best at sounding mature and self-assured, at channelling the adult I'd once been. "I'm here to sell something... something that I can't sell at Diagon Alley. My friends said that this is just the place to go."
He narrowed his eyes at me. "Your friends, eh?"
What? Did he think I was an undercover, underage Auror or something? I tapped the silver snake brooch on my robe. "My housemates in Slytherin."
He stooped to get a closer look at it, then back at me. Whatever he saw in my face seemed to satisfy him somewhat, because he grunted and asked: "Well, what is it then?"
I extracted the vials, rolling one on the counter towards him but keeping the other firmly in my hand. He took the offered container and examined it, adjusting a pair of pince-nez eyeglasses on his nose.
"Hmm... and where exactly did you get this?"
I shrugged. "Just laying around, going to waste."
He grunted again, and evidently it wasn't an answer he liked; but what had he expected? He placed the vial back on the desk.
"I'll give you fifty Galleons," he said. "For both of them."
"What?! These are easily worth at least two hundred. Each!"
He shot me a grin that wouldn't look out of place on a shark, then waved magnanimously at the street outside. "Ah... and if you knew of a place that would pay you four hundred Galleons, why didn't you go there in the first place?"
Damn... this bloke was actually smart.
I didn't think I'd be able to fool him by pretending I knew the area well —the truth that I was a newcomer here was just too evident, apparently— so I opted for a different tack:
"Oh, well... I might have to do that still; and perhaps also tell Draco Malfoy that this place is a little... unwelcoming, no?"
"Draco... Malfoy?"
"Yes. Lucius Malfoy's son?" I shrugged, playing distractedly with the vials in my hands. "About yay high? Blond?... We're in the same year, in Slytherin. Didn't I mention that? How forgetful!"
We looked at each other in silence for a beat, then he said: "One hundred total."
"Three."
"No, girl. The blood's not as fresh as it should, not as valuable."
"What? That's rubbish, the vials have charms to preserve–"
A dull thump —like that of a large bag falling to the floor— coming from somewhere behind the many rows of assorted objects interrupted me. Mr. Borgin turned to look, but then waved his hand as if that was a common occurrence at his shop.
"These vials are school stock, aren't they?" he said. "Might be good enough for common ingredients, but they're not meant for keeping more... delicate materials inside for months on end. See this? The consistency is too thick; lumpy. I can give you one hundred and fifty Galleons in light of your... ties to good families, but no more."
"What about two–?"
He shook his head: "No; one hundred and fifty. That's more that what you'd get at Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary... and that's assuming you'd get him to admit dealing in these substances in the first place."
I sighed, but nodded at him. It looked like this was the best offer I was going to get; and by this point I was keen to get rid of the bloody unicorn blood once and for all. I certainly didn't want to go back to Hogwarts with those vials still inside my trunk.
The man took them away, then placed the little stacks of gold coins on the counter —more gold that I'd seen together in my entire life. In both my lives!
I made sure to count them myself —trust but verify, you know— then collected forty Galleons and placed them inside the empty envelope I'd carried, under Mr. Borgin's idly curious stare. The rest I dropped into my pockets, next to my wand.
"Make sure to tell young Mr. Malfoy that his family is always welcome here," he said as I went to leave the shop.
"I will!"
I quickly rushed to leave the little, odd dark place, and then along the street outside aiming to get back to the safety of Diagon Alley as soon as humanly possible. Suddenly I didn't feel as safe there, with all those little coins clinking inside my pocket.
At some point I noticed the crowd making way for someone, and I got a glimpse of a man and a young boy, both of them looking very blonde and very posh. Shit! It seemed like Mr. Borgin was going to get his wish fulfilled ahead of schedule. I followed everyone else's example and squeezed my body against the nearest wall, keeping my gaze down and hoping the younger Malfoy wouldn't notice me —a hope that I figured shouldn't be too hard, as the folk here probably rated as little more than urban furniture in his eyes.
But it turned out Draco was once again more perceptive than he seemed, because he paused mid-stride to look at me, narrowing his eyes.
"Sarramond? Is that you?"
Well, that didn't work. I sighed, but there was no use in trying to pretend I hadn't seen them. I took a step forward, removed my hood and said: "Fancy seeing you here, Malfoy."
Lucius Malfoy turned towards us and stepped next to his son, who said: "Father; this is Sylvia Sarramond, my housemate. Sarramond, this is my father Lucius Malfoy."
I plastered a pleasant smile on my face and did a slight bow towards the man —I wasn't nearly well-versed enough in pure-blood etiquette to try something as daring as a curtsy, which I figured is what he probably expected out of a witch of what he undoubtedly saw as a lesser status; but at least it was a way of showing him respect.
I absolutely did not want a repeat of the situation with Longbottom's grandma. Not with a Malfoy and when I was in Slytherin myself.
"It's nice to meet you, sir," I said. "Your son has told us much about you."
And wasn't that an understatement.
Draco's father gave me a slow once-over. I was sure he was well aware of the same loose threads in my robes that Snape had also noticed; but by the same token, he should also realise I was better dressed than pretty much anyone else in Knockturn Alley —other than themselves, of course.
His eyes paused on my brooch, the same way Mr. Borgin's had. But unlike him, Lucius didn't try to get a closer look. He didn't move at all, except for a barely imperceptible nod that I took to mean I had passed whatever exam he'd had in mind.
"Yes," he said, his voice like smooth silk. "One of the half-bloods in the Greengrass heiress' circle. Draco has also told me about you."
I had to learn how to speak like that; that had sounded somehow both pleasing and menacing at the same time.
"Oh? Everything good, I hope," I half-joked.
"Everything... unexpected," he said. Next to him, Draco seemed oddly awkward, fidgeting with his sleeves. His father noticed and sent the boy a warning glance —just with his eyes, without even turning his face an inch— and Draco went back to a mask of stillness.
"We considered whether to put a petition through the board of governors, to have you expelled from Slytherin," he continued, as if he was talking about something as inconsequential as the weather. "But my wife Narcissa suggested patience; she trusted the Sorting Hat wouldn't have made such an... unsightly mistake as it seemed. It appears she was correct, in the end."
Don't lose the smile, don't lose the smile.
"I'm also glad I was able to clear the confusion and prove my blood," I replied evenly. "Hopefully this new year I'll be able to focus more on my studies."
"Yes; with an Outstanding in the Dark Arts, you do show some promise. It wouldn't do any good to squander it, now would it?"
How the hell was it that every pure-blood family I came across seemed to be aware of my grades? And wait... had he just called Defence... 'the Dark Arts'?
But he continued: "I was just thinking... it'd be good for Draco to have someone in his circle that is competent at duelling for once. Someone that could be of use should he be threatened, given that his current company proved out to be... should we say, somewhat disappointing in that regard."
I had to blink and process the words twice, because... had Lucius Malfoy just offered me to become Draco's friend? Not only that, but also... was he really offering me to replace Goyle and Crabbe?
My first instinct was to say no, but I refrained from it. Because really, this was a golden opportunity, one that I had to seriously consider rather than reject out of hand. I would be given full access not only to Draco —someone who perhaps I'd be able to turn away from his family's prejudiced ways, turn into an ally with some work— but also to the Malfoy Manor itself, to Voldemort's future centre of power. Even perhaps to the Black family, through Narcissa.
That level of contacts might just prove invaluable, in future years. But it would also be risky, getting that close and personal with the darkest elements of the upcoming plot. Decisions, decisions...
In the end, though, I simply couldn't turn my back on the girls, on Daphne who had backed me, or Tracey who had been there every step of the way. Still, I didn't want to sound ungrateful and trigger the Malfoy's sense of vindictiveness.
I waited for a few seconds, putting my words in order, then said: "That's... truly an honour, Mr. Malfoy. But I'm afraid that turning my back on Greengrass' circle wouldn't reflect good on me." I noticed the way his eyes narrowed, and I rushed to add: "That... that said, I also have a deep sense of loyalty to my house. And should Draco be threatened, he can of course count with my wand."
That seemed to pacify him, because he nodded and said: "That is acceptable. Good day then, Miss Sarramond, it was good to meet you. Oh... and should you find yourself having... difficulties with any other wizard or witch in our house, please don't hesitate to send me a letter. Now if you excuse us, we do have some business to attend to."
I gave the man another shallow bow as he was already turning away and resuming his walk. Draco stayed behind for a moment, giving me a quick nod —as if I'd done good or something— before following in his father's footsteps.
They turned the corner, and I felt the tension in my muscles relaxing out of a sudden, the nervous energy draining away. God, that had been awful!
And at the same time... not. Of course, I wasn't idiot enough to believe Lucius Malfoy's offer had been truthful. He didn't want a friend for Draco, he wanted a bodyguard. It was more like a job offer of sorts. But still, I wasn't going to lie: it felt nice, being appreciated for once. Being wanted.
But I could freak out about that later, back at the Residence. Now I had to get my head back in the game, because if the Malfoys were here already, that meant I better rushed now if I wanted to keep to my timetable. I quickly climbed the stairs back to the main thoroughfare, and retraced my steps to locate a very specific shop selling stationary and other assorted items: Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment.
The crowd there was strong too —it seemed most families left their Hogwarts purchases for the last minute, the lazy buggers— but I took advantage of the distraction of one of the wizards waiting —he was discussing some recent Quidditch news with another customer— and my small size to jump most of the queue.
I carried a small item that I'd noticed on one of the shelves —a silver-plated magical padlock. It wasn't incredibly secure, but the sign next to it boasted that it would resist an unlocking charm, which was more than my current trunk could claim. Nasty curses didn't really prevent a trunk from being opened in the first place, they just made the perpetrator pay a dearly price —as Astrid had experienced in her own flesh. But now I could afford to spend the five Galleons on this minor security upgrade.
Not two minutes later the attendant —a tall man with puffy sideburns— charged me for it, and asked me if I wanted anything else. I pointed at one of the brass scales on the shelf behind him, and as he turned to go grab it, I placed the five Galleons on the counter next to the envelope —itself filled with forty additional Galleons, and with the text 'For the sunglasses last year. Sorry!' written on top— and skedaddled out of the establishment.
Right. That was one more weight off my conscience, at least.
And now for the big highlight of the day: time to return to Flourish and Blotts.
An almost solid wall of noise hit my face the moment I entered the bookshop, and I pushed my way through the throng of people taller than me —receiving the odd elbows now and then— until I reached the twisting stairs that lead to the second level. I climbed a few steps until I reached a good vantage point, overlooking the entire gathering.
Gilderoy Lockhart was a surprise, to be fair. No shade to the actor who portrayed him in the film, but the real man was noticeably younger, and I was pretty certain he must use some sort of charms in his mane of hair, because it just looked unnaturally lush; always falling just so, not a strand out of place as he smiled at reader after reader, signing each book with a flaunty flourish of his quill.
It was as if someone had made a polar opposite of Severus Snape: all looks and no skill whatsoever. Why wasn't anyone in the Wizarding world just normal?
But to be honest, that sentiment wasn't fully truthful: for every Snape there was a Madam Hooch, for every Lockhart a Professor Sinistra; people who were overall competent and who weren't walking piles of eccentricities. But still, it was hard to ignore the feeling that there were just more... well, kooky people in this world than in the Muggle one.
Perhaps it had to do with magic, once again. How it boiled down to intention, how it was easier to perform spells when you were sure of yourself, rather than doubting your every action —just take a look at Neville Longbottom, will you? And that, it invited theatrics: the exaggerated wand movements, the loud and clear invocations... all of those fed into it. And if that's all you knew, for your entire life... well. It wasn't that surprising, was my point.
I waited, running my hand on the cover of the notebook I'd carried all the way here from the Residence: it was a dark leather bound journal, all pages blank. It was as close as I'd been able to get to the vague memory I had from the films —I had no idea at all of how Riddle's diary was meant to look according from the books, though, but I hoped it wouldn't have been too different.
Half an hour later I was still waiting there —I had taken to peruse the books about Muggles in the nearby stand, some of them were positively hilarious— and wondering just how long would Gary wait for me to return from the toilets before he started suspecting anything was amiss. If the pack of Gryffindors didn't make their appearance soon I'd need to abort and try again at Hogwarts; but I was willing to risk it for a bit longer yet, as this would possibly be my best —and safest— chance at not only getting my hands on the first horcrux, but also putting it somewhere safe before it could do any harm at all.
I didn't have to wait for long, though, because soon enough:
"It can't be Harry Potter?"
I hadn't even noticed the famous boy's arrival, but Lockhart dived into the crowd and plucked a reluctant and shy Potter out of the sea of people. My eyes went instead to the spectators, looking for... there, red heads. That middle-aged man there must be Mr. Weasley, who I had never seen before. Over there were Fred and George, who I desperately hoped wouldn't see me right now. And... I couldn't find Ginny, or Ron.
Shit.
But I could see Lucius Malfoy again, of course, near the entrance; so I only had to keep my eyes focused on him. I descended the stairs slowly, trying to position myself in his overall vicinity, but not so close that Draco's attentive eyes might recognise me here too.
Not that he would be paying attention to me now, with Potter around. I couldn't hear their confrontation, but soon enough I noticed the older Malfoy was on the move, and I followed two steps behind.
"... a disgrace to the name of wizard..." he was saying. I looked for Ginny Weasley again, but I couldn't see her without stepping forward myself and into the empty space between the two men.
A space that grew out of a sudden, the moment Arthur Weasley charged at the blonde man; there were pushes and shoves and people yelling, the loud noise of books hitting the floor resounding within the bookshop's limited confines. I glimpsed Lucius Malfoy was holding a school book in one of his hands, one I took belonged to the youngest Weasley.
Not yet.
"Arthur, no!" shrieked a voice. Molly's, I guessed. But it was Hagrid who appeared in the end, out of a sudden, gently pushing people out of his way as he approached without much difficulty the source of the conflict to break up the fight. And yeah, I could see how the giant was effective at that; if this caring for monsters thing didn't work for him, he could always find a new job as a security guard at any rowdy pub.
And now I saw Ginny. Mr. Malfoy returned her book with disdain. A book I eyed like a seeker a snitch, not even risking a blink.
Not yet.
The Malfoys collected their dignity and backed towards the main door, not noticing me hidden behind the cover of the crowd. Meanwhile the Weasleys were regrouping together, along with Harry, Hermione and two other adults next to her that were probably her parents. A minute later they too started walking as if to leave the shop.
Now!
I emerged out of the crowd at a fast clip, my gaze deceptively low and set on the black notebook I carried —as if I was reading off it— and pretty much in a direct collision course towards Ginny Weasley.
"Sarramond?" asked Hermione, "Is that y–?".
Crash!
I walked right into the redhead girl, crashing bodily into her and purposefully hitting her cauldron hard with my notebook as I did, letting my own book fly along with her stuff. Ginny's cauldron clanged across the shop's floor, the books and other contents inside it spreading around. I tried to twist my head to look at where it had landed, but I was too busy tripping over Ginny's body and falling to the floor myself.
"Ugh!"
"What is–? You!" cried an incensed Ron.
"That's my name, apparently," I muttered, climbing back to my knees and patting my pockets. My wand and Galleons were still there, thankfully. Ginny Weasley looked at me, her face a mix of indignation and pain from the fall.
In fact, the entire Weasley family was looking at me, along with Potter and the Granger clan. But it was the redheads who seemed the less friendly of the bunch.
"Sorry!" I said to Ginny. "My bad! Here, I'll help." I walked up to her knocked over cauldron and crouched down, reaching for the fallen books and quickly putting them inside; all the way searching for the bloody–
"Here," said Harry Potter, standing up right in front of me as he handed me a black leather bound notebook.
My notebook. My stupid, fake notebook. That I had to take back from his hands, because he was right there returning it to me. Like the bloody, kind-hearted meddler that he was.
"Thank you, Potter," I ground out, trying my best not to kill him with my bare gaze. Which of course I couldn't do, because I wasn't a basilisk. You know, like the one we'd now have to face at Hogwarts, thanks to him.
Great job ruining it, hero.
I didn't wait a minute longer, didn't find myself in the mood to withstand the barrage of questions and accusations that Ron Weasley was sure to pour over me; so I said a quick "Sorry again" to Ginny, clenched the notebook in my hand to the point it started bending, and marched towards the door myself, ignoring everyone else.
After so long inside the busy, stifling bookshop, getting to the open street again felt like a relief. A short-lived one, because my blood boiled inside my veins and my jaw hurt from grinding my teeth. I thought about throwing the useless notebook into the closest rubbish bin I could fin —one of those which devoured whatever you put inside, emitting loud belches afterwards— but managed to contain myself, evening my breathing and relaxing my stance. No, the notebook could still be useful.
But this one chance was utterly and fully blown. Nothing to it, really. I wasn't going to get Tom Riddle's diary today. So try to relax, will you? One breath at a time.
There was still something I had to do here, and so I aimed my steps towards the large building presiding most of Diagon Alley.
I climbed the stairs of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, and a couple of stout goblin guards to each side of the main doors eyed me with bored hostility as I entered the marble main hall. There were towering ornate columns rising all the way to a high domed ceiling, with enormous windows letting in the day's light. Rows and rows of doors lined the far walls, and countless desks manned by scores of goblins —perusing ledgers and weighting coins— attended the dozens of customers.
Jumping the queue here wasn't a consideration that entered my mind, and I waited patiently for my turn; despite being very aware of every minute that passed, and how Batman Returns was only about two hours long.
Eventually I reached the desk, and the goblin behind it shot me a sneering grimace that I tried not to take personally.
"What does the girl wish?" he asked.
"Uhm. I want to open an account– a... vault, I mean."
"Do you have an initial deposit?"
I nodded, and extracted the coins out of my pocket, placing them on the counter. This seemed to annoy him further, as if he'd hoped for me to walk away and not make him do his job.
Still, he didn't utter a word as he counted them one by one, then looking back at me as he produced a long parchment out of the bowels of his desk: "Eighty-five Galleons. What is your name, girl?"
"Sylvia Sarramond."
He scoffed under his breath, but wrote the name in a flowery script on the parchment, making a few more notes here and there. Eventually he turned it over and offered it to me, along with a needle. "Read it and sign," he ordered me.
The parchment was a full-on contract, bursting with an odd kind of legalese that sounded eerily similar to what I remembered from dealing with banks in my fore-memories, but also included references to loss of limbs and curses; so I made sure to read every word carefully.
Curiously it didn't make any mentions to the customer's age —and the goblin hadn't protested at me being a child either, never asked for my legal guardian— so I hoped Gringotts simply didn't care about purely human legal notions such as being of age or not. Good for them.
Vault... vault... oh, here it was... my vault would be of basic security —the next level was simply too expensive for my means— but I was still allowed to keep magical items stored inside it; and most importantly: there were no prohibition against cursed or dark objects, as long as they didn't affect the bank itself of any other vaults. So yeah, it seemed like my plan of keeping the horcrux safely contained at Gringotts could have worked.
Bloody Potter.
I went to sign my name, but the goblin wasn't offering his quill to me. He pointed at the needle with the claw at the end of his finger, and for a moment I wondered if he wanted me to transfigure it into a quill, like we were at the Hogwarts' end of year exams. But then he said: "With your blood."
I let out a deep sigh, then used the needle to prick my finger and write my name in red cursive. The moment I let go of the parchment, it wound up of its own with a loud snap and the goblin took it back from me. He handed me a golden key and said: "Your vault's key, Miss Sarramond. Do you wish to make the deposit in person, or would you rather we do it for you?"
"Not today; you can do it," I said. Without the diary, there was really no need for me to waste anymore time here with the roller-coaster ride and such.
He sneered again —maybe he understood it as cowardice?— and took the coins behind the counter, handing me a receipt in return.
"Anything else?"
"No... no, thank you."
And yeah, I wanted to inquire about investing my Galleons in the Muggle markets somehow —doing it from the Muggle side was surprisingly more difficult, given that there they did care about my age— but that was something I could owl them about in the future. I had lost too much time already, so I hurried to leave the building after adding the vault key to the other one already in my necklace.
I had also planned to visit Madam Malkin's, get myself some new robe or something, but again... not enough time. So instead it was a quick walk back towards the Leaky Cauldron, another trip on the Knight Bus —"Yah look suspicious. Why yah look suspicious?"— and then getting myself back into the cinema without anyone seeing me.
My school bag was still in the same toilet, and I changed myself back into Muggle clothing and then returned to the screen, where the Penguin had just betrayed Catwoman. I sidled back onto my seat, and let out a deep, angry sigh.
"What took you so long?" asked Gary. "I was about to go look for you!"
"I just had my first period," I lied. Because really, it was as good a time as any for it, it made Gary shut up, and it went a long way to justify the shitty, murderous mood I was in.
Whatever; I'd wait until we were all back at Hogwarts, then find some way to get the bloody diary off Ginny. She was a firstie after all, so how hard could that be?