Shady Alleys
August, 1996.
Everyone sat gathered at the dining table painted golden with the morning rays of light streaming through three windows. amiable chatter filled up the empty matter in the room. It wasn’t too crowded this morning — the twins, Bill, and Mr. Wealsey had already left for work, and Charlie had already returned to Romania —, and Harry preferred it that way.
Unfortunately, since Percy had fallen out with his family and was now considered ‘the biggest prat who ever lived’, he, too, was absent.
Cutlery clattered, bacon sizzled on the frying pans. Everyone looked preoccupied, though that wasn’t to say all were happy. Ginny, for instance, was sitting opposite Fleur Delacour, who was (to her visible dismay) staying at the Burrow because of a part-time job at Gringotts. The veela was currently comparing Mrs. Weasley’s enchanted roses growing in the garden to those they had in France (“Zey are much bigger, almost double ze size. Ze secret iz to give zem Bicorn Hair supplements.”).
Mrs. Weasley, over at the counters, it went without saying, looked not the least bit happy, either.
Meanwhile, Ron was busy piling pancakes onto his plate (with pumpkin cream, his favorite), and sitting beside Harry was Hermione, curling and uncurling locks of her hair around her fingers, sometimes straightening them out. Harry had never before, this summer, seen her this worried, perhaps only during the exam months. And though barely decipherable, he could hear occasional mumbles escaping her lips…
“I know I messed up Ancient Runes,” she was saying feverishly — this was after Mr. Weasley, prior to leaving, had informed them that the exam results should be arriving this morning. “I definitely made at least one serious mistranslation. And the Defense Against the Dark Arts practical was no good at all. I thought Transfiguration went all right at the time, but looking back —”
“Hermione, will you shut up, you’re not the only one who’s nervous!” barked Ron, resting his pancake-speared fork. “And when you’ve got your ten ‘Outstanding’ O.W.L.s . . .”
“Don’t, don’t, don’t!” said Hermione, flapping her hands hysterically. “I know I’ve failed everything!”
Harry leaned back in his chair, drawing patterns in the egg grease with his fork. Thoughts overtook him again, this time a new topic he had yet to mentally exhaust… His O.W.L results. He knew he’d flopped his History of Magic exam, but felt pretty confident with all the other subjects. Except one…
Potions.
Snape’s subject.
If Harry wanted to become an Auror, he would need a Potions N.E.W.T., for which he would need to take Snape’s Newt classes, for which he would need to have scraped at least an O on his exam… Harry couldn't help the premonition in his gut that the grade in his O.W.L results wouldn't match that of his hopes.
Suddenly, there was a scream. For a split second, Harry’s hand had flown to his holstered wand, ready to draw it, but he calmed when he realized that the cause of all the commotion were three black specs in the sky, visible through the kitchen window. Moments later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were untying the envelopes from each of the respective tawny owl’s right leg.
Fingers donning a slight tremble, everything apart from his own letter faded into the background like white noise. Harry swallowed and slid a finger under the unmistakable wax Hogwarts seal. From within, he pulled out the parchment:
ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS
Harry James Potter has achieved:
Potions: E
Divination: P
Transfiguration: E
Charms: E
Herbology: E
History of Magic: D
Defense Against the Dark Arts: O
Care of Magical Creatures: E
Astronomy: A
Harry breathed a sigh of exhausted relief. It was alright. He’d always known he’d fail Divination (not that he really needed it), and History of Magic was a no-brainer either, given that he’d collapsed halfway through the examination.
The one thing that left a lump of disappointment and regret in his chest was the Potions O.W.L, for Snape far from accepted E students into his N.E.W.T Potions Class. Now he wouldn’t be able to become an Auror. There went that ambition…
He looked around. Hermione had her back to him and her head bent, but Ron was looking delighted.
“Only failed Divination and History of Magic, and who cares about them?” he said happily to Harry. “Here— swap —”
Harry glanced down at Ron's grades: There were no ‘Outstandings’ there. . . .
“Knew you’d be top at Defense Against the Dark Arts,” said Ron, punching Harry on the shoulder. “We’ve done all right, haven’t we?”
“Well done!” said Mrs. Weasley proudly, ruffling Ron’s hair. “Seven O.W.L.s, that’s more than Fred and George got together!”
“Hermione?” said Ginny tentatively, for Hermione still hadn’t turned around. “How did you do?”
“I— Not bad,” said Hermione in a small voice.
“Oh, come off it,” said Ron, striding over to her and whipping her results out of her hand. “Yep — nine ‘Outstandings’ and one ‘Exceeds Expectations’ at Defense Against the Dark Arts.” He looked down at her, half-amused, half-exasperated. “You’re actually disappointed, aren’t you?”
Hermione shook her head, but Harry laughed.
“Well, we’re N.E.W.T. students now!” grinned Ron.
“Hey— Hold on…” Something had caught Harry's eye. It was a second piece of parchment that was sticking out of his envelope. It was a wonder he hadn't noticed it before. Carefully, he unfolded the paper (upon which it magically straightened out its crease). His eyes ran over the few lines of writing there… Then they returned to the start and re-read the entire thing twice.
He couldn’t believe it —!
At that moment, Ron leaned over to him. “Wha’s tha’?” he asked, mouth full.
“I’ve been made Quidditch captain,” Harry announced, unintentionally a bit too loudly. Everyone hushed and turned their heads to him in surprise.
“Harry’s that’s brilliant!” cried Hermione happily. “That gives you equal status with prefects! You can use our special bathroom now and everything!”
The letter was suddenly plucked out of Harry’s fingers by Ron (thankfully with his clean hand).
“Wow, I remember when Charlie wore one of these,” he said, examining the badge with glee. “Harry, this is so cool, you’re my Captain — if you let me back on the team, I suppose, ha ha… Mum, are there any more sausages?”
Breakfast resumed in a gail atmosphere, discussions and prophecies of what the N.E.W.T. classes would have in store for them flying around the table. And then just a few days later, everyone’s book lists arrived from Hogwarts.
“Well, I don’t suppose we can put off a trip to Diagon Alley much longer now you’ve got these,” sighed Mrs. Weasley, looking down Ron’s booklist. “We’ll go on Saturday as long as your father doesn’t have to go into work again. I’m not going there without him...”
“Mum, d’you honestly think You-Know-Who’s going to be hiding behind a bookshelf in Flourish and Blotts?” sniggered Ron.
“Fortescue and Ollivander went on holiday, did they?” said Mrs. Weasley, firing up at once as she swiveled her head around sharply. “If you think security’s a laughing matter you can stay behind and I’ll get your things myself—”
“No, I wanna come, I want to see Fred and George’s shop!” said Ron hastily. “Blimey . . . you can’t even make a joke round here anymore. . .”
And sure enough, when that Saturday was finally upon them, a quite overcast day, a Ministry car was sent to transport them to Diagon Alley. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley all squeezed in there, Bill and Fleur (much to Ginny’s and Hermione’s pleasure) waving from the kitchen window as they drove off.
It was yet another safety precaution — yet another appearance of that sly voice in Harry’s head: all because of you. Because you have a target painted on your forehead.
Mr. Weasley had only, unintentionally, confirmed this.
“Don’t get used to it, it’s only because of Harry. He’s been given top-grade security status. And we’ll be joining up with additional security at the Leaky Cauldron too.”
Of course it was.
The drive was quick and incidentless, and before Harry knew it they were standing outside the Leaky Cauldron. They were only waiting for said security now. Harry was far from stoked with the idea of doing his shopping while surrounded by a battalion of Aurors. He’d brought his Invisibility Cloak with him, which felt good enough for him, but he doubted the Ministry would agree… Now that he thought about it, he doubted the Ministry knew about his Cloak…
“I’m to wait for you, any idea how long you’ll be?” the Ministry car driver was saying.
“A couple of hours, I expect,” replied Mr. Weasley. “Ah, good, he’s here!”
Harry imitated Mr. Weasley and peered through the window; his heart leapt. There were no Aurors waiting outside the inn, but instead the gigantic, black-bearded form of Rubeus Hagrid, wearing a long beaver skin coat, beaming at the sight of Harry’s face and oblivious to the startled stares of passing Muggles.
And thus the group entered Diagon Alley.
~***~
“Step up! Step up!”
“We’ve got Fainting Fancy…”
“Nosebleed Nougats…”
“And just in time for school… Puking Pastilles!”
A boy chewing something suddenly stopped upon turning a sickly pale. The two redheads meticulously timed placing a cauldron right in front of him to prevent spillage.
“Into the cauldron, handsome.”
Needless to say, the Wizarding Wheezes store was booming in business.There were hundreds of strange contraptions to captivate the eye, fascinate the mind. A stand of multicolored flasks and vials, or even one enchanted puppet (in a hideous pink outfit) balancing a unicycle on a tightrope hung from one end of the shop to the other, crying out ‘I will have order!’.
Of all the shops still open in the now-deserted Diagon Alley, Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes was possibly the only one with its kind of atmosphere. Most businesses and storefronts had closed down, most due to their owners having mysteriously disappeared… But here, the lights shone bright still, the sounds of people laughing and conversing a sound for sore ears.
Harry was just eyeing a display of black lumps that strongly reminded him of a cross between amethyst and obsidian. Right at that moment, Fred and George appeared on either side of him.
“Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder?” read Harry.
“A real money spinner that,” Fred replied. “Handy if you need to make a quick escape… Hello, ladies!” He dropped one of the lumps in Harry’s hand, and he and his brother turned to Ginny and Hermione, who were pursuing a display of “Wonder Witch Love Potions.”
“Yes, they do really work,” asserted George, casually leaning against the display..
“Then again,” commented Fred, “the way we hear it, sis, you’re doing just fine on your own.”
“Meaning?”
“Are you not currently dating Dean Thomas?”
Harry, turned a quarter’s way to the potions display, pretending to consider a rack of ‘Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher’, but within him something was flaring up. He felt as if he’d just eaten something spicy and his stomach was refusing to digest it properly. In his periphery, he spied Ginny’s red hair.
“None of your business,” she scoffed dismissively.
“These are adorable!” Hermione’s voice suddenly exclaimed. Not being able to help his curiosity, Harry turned around a bit more to see a cage, inside which small round… balls of fluff (?) were rolling about, squeaking.
“Aren’t they now,” replied Fred. “Pygmy Puffs. These are the leftovers, though.”
Ginny approached the cage with interest, smiling at the strange creatures. And not too far from him, Harry noticed Ron leaning over the exposed staircase, holding something up that Harry couldn’t make out.
“How much for this?” he called down to the twins.
“Five Galleons,” they chorused.
“How much for me?”
”Five Galleons.”
”But I’m your brother!”
“Ten Galleons.”
While Harry was trying and failing to smother his amusement, a visibly unhappy Ron stomped his way down the stairs, put the item he’d been interested in on a random shelf, and muttered to Harry: “C’mon. Let’s go.” Hermione must have also witnessed the spectacle, for she followed after them.
The trio squeezed out of the shop and instantly felt the contrast between its bright atmosphere and the street’s oppressing one. Diagon Alley looked unrecognizable — grim and deserted. Many of the shop windows were empty and boarded up, that or they were plastered by Ministry of Magic posters displaying faces of wanted prisoners and Death Eaters. Not only that, but it seemed that fear was in the air; it was nearly palpable. Shoppers, seldom as they came, were seen scurrying by only in groups; they would exchange fearful glances over their hunched shoulders as they passed.
“How are Fred and George still doing it? Half the alley’s closed down,” muttered Hermione, rubbing her arms as they slowly made their way down the street.
“Fred reckons people need a laugh these days,” replied Ron.
“Reckon he’s right…” agreed Harry, just as his eyes caught a poster of Bellatrix, flashing her mocking half-smile. He was so distracted by it for a moment that he nearly ended up bumping into Hermione when she suddenly stopped in her tracks.
“Oh no. Look….”
Harry and Ron followed her gaze to the wreck that was Ollivander’s Wand Shop. A pit settled in Harry’s stomach at the devastating sight that met them. The windows were utterly shattered, glass shards littering the ground. It was dark inside. The walls were decorated in large scorches, and bits of curled up wallpaper and ashes were scattered about.
“But everyone got their wands from Ollivander. Young. Old…”
“...Good. Bad,” Harry muttered. Then, suddenly, something caught his eye. “Speaking of which…”
It was unmistakable — Across the avenue, two figures paused. Malfoy and Narcissa. They glanced around as if they were on the verge of being attacked by chimeras, then slipped quickly down an alley. It was by a miracle that the pair hadn’t noticed the trio, for they were somewhat concealed in the doorway.
“Is it just me,” whispered Ron, “Or do Draco and Mummy look like two people who don’t want to be followed?”
“Definitely not just you,” Harry mumbled back. He paused, pressing his lips in deep thought. Snape’s words sprang to his mind…
“…It is imperative that you do not, in any way or sense, try to meddle or interfere with Mr. Malfoy’s mission… Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong… Not to meddle in affairs that are not your own or do not concern you. I am asking you to trust me…”
Still, his gut was screaming at him to ignore those words. There was no way Malfoy was just shopping for a new wand and cauldron here. He had already been branded — Harry knew as much from that vision he’d received during his stay with Snape. What if he was up to something?
Dumb question — it was Malfoy; he was always up to something.
So what on earth was he and Mummy up to?
“Let’s go.”
He would just be extra careful. He had his Cloak on him, after all.
Hermione’s hushed chidings and protests were ignored as the three tailed the two figures, moving through dark alleyways of drunks and rubbish. The farther they progressed, the more aware Harry became of the fact that they were headed straight into Knockturn Alley. An unsettling premonition settled in Harry’s gut. He’d always hoped that the first time he’d been here had been his last.
Eventually, they hunched to a stop inside a shop front. At the end of the shadowy alley, a single shop glimmered dully, one that Harry, to his dread, saw was Borgin & Burkes. Eyes narrowed, he watched Narcissa knock. Moments later, a stooped man emerged from within, grunting out a greeting and pointing inside. The Malfoy’s entered, the door swinging shut behind them.
Harry wasn’t about to give up so easily.
“Come,” he beckoned. Before either Ron or Hermione could peep out a word, he was already on the move. Intuition taking the wheel, Harry discovered an old, fenced-off fire escape, and moments later the three of them found themselves lying flat on the roof, peering over the summit and straight into one of the sketchy shop’s windows.
Draco and Mummy weren’t the only company present, as it turned out. Several more figures stood there, one of which Harry recognized as Greyback… Malfoy was walking to a lacquered cabinet. He played his long, pale fingers against its glassy surface…. Narcissa suddenly spoke, and the blond turned to find Borgin holding the curtain to what appeared to be a back room aside. Draco seemed to hesitate, then followed his mother through.
“What’re they playing at?” whispered Ron.
“Dunno. Let’s get closer. There’s got to be another window…”
“Duck!”
As if on a tripwire, he and Ron abided by Hermione’s command. Greyback had been slowly turning his head in their direction… They held their breaths, concealed and daring not to move an inch. The wait might have lasted hours… At last, the sound of the blinds rolling shut reached their ears, and the trio relaxed.
“That was utterly senseless, Harry!” chided Hermione in a harsh whisper. “We could have been seen.”
“Malfoy’s up to something. Something bad — I know it.”
She bit her lip. “I don’t know… We can’t be sure of anything at this point, Harry. What if he was just—?”
“Reckon he was browsing for new furniture? Doubt it.”
“... Oi, let’s head back,” urged Ron. “Mum ought to have noticed we’re missing by now. Dunno about you two, but I’m not getting in trouble on bloody Malfoy’s account.”
Tacit concordance passed between them. Harry threw one last suspicious glance at the shop window, and he, Ron, and Hermione hastily fled.
But the entire way back to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, a strange sensation accompanied Harry. He just couldn’t shake the feeling they were being watched… followed… observed. A feeling of deja vu that he couldn’t really explain… What was worse, he couldn’t decide if it was his mind playing tricks on him or not. For every time he’d throw an arbitrary glance over his shoulder, he would see nothing but the deserted street or alleyway they’d just left behind.
It was right when the Griffindors caught sight of a certain group of redheads (one of them charging their way and demanding explanations) that a certain dark-cloaked figure narrowed his eyes and relaxed marginally. He retreated back behind the corner, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose both in relief and exasperation.
What, in Circe’s name, had those three been doing in Knockturn Alley?