Tiles
Fitting more than two people under the invisibility cloak was, not so surprising, almost impossible.
And no one had even thought to simply just, oh I don't know, fucking enlarge it with magic?
Ginny, Ron and Hermione had stayed at the castle, mostly to look out for Malfoy or his friends, who kept glancing at them suspiciously.
Half the school were convinced Malfoy went missing, got kidnapped by whatever monster tore Umbridge apart, and the Slytherins seemed dead set that it was Harry's fault.
The minister had announced the disappearance of the Malfoy heir, and wanted posters were almost everywhere.
His father had gone on a rampage, framed Dumbledore for doing something to his precious son, he had even tried to open a case against the old man.
There was no proof, so all Draco's parents could do was demand the ministry to send out dementors to search for their lost son.
Everyone was expecting the worst, had probably even dug a grave and a casket of the purest gold ready at the go for when they found his frail corpse, half eaten and burnt black.
They would find a corpse or more that fit that description, but it wouldn't be Draco Malfoy.
Madam Pomfrey had almost leapt out her skin when she saw Hermione's hand again.
She had healed the tendons and the broken bones just a few hours after Malfoy bit her, of course, she blamed it to be some nasty street dog's bite.
Pomfrey had just stared at her with a judgemental face.
"What's wrong, Miss?" Hermione asked, disturbed by the look of concentration and confusion on the old lady's expression.
Madam Pomfrey promptly huffed and let go of Hermione's hand, which was still numb and aching.
"It re-opened," she said in a curt mumble, her cloak twisted with how she so abruptly turned around to fetch her glasses.
Hermione tilted her head, frizzy locks tickled her wrist. "Miss, what reopened?"
"The wound. Your bones have dissolved and broken back down into its previous state, and your flesh seems to be…"
She went quiet, rubbing the lenses of her glasses on her cloak angrily before putting them on her nose.
Hermione frowned. "What about my flesh?"
Pomfrey grabbed a small box from a shelf, the box was dusty and covered with something rusty.
She opened the lid, and Hermione saw the shiny glint of a dull hand saw.
"Your flesh is rotting."
Harry, Fred and George were cramped under the small invisibility cloak, silently side stepping from the occasional strangers who walked past, with their rich velvet suits and tipped hats.
Nothing was wrong, from the looks of it.
The ground was free of blood, no rot in the air and no intestines rooted in between the stone tiles.
The trio slinked into a wizard's robes shop, where silk and leather uniforms were on display.
The small witch at the cashier desk looked up at the door creaking open, but with no visible force opening it.
She squinted her eyes and adjusted her glasses, but seemed way too bothered to get up and investigate.
Harry led the way into a smaller hallway, which opened up into another room with racks upon racks with the latest fashion clothes.
He tore off the invisibility cloak and stepped forward, reaching out his arm and grabbing the first cloth he could get his hands on.
A flashy, hot neon pink garment.
"Suits you perfectly," said Fred.