The London Times
Hermione came back to visit the manor for a week on the 29th. Just in time for Harry’s birthday and their Diagon Alley trip.
It had taken very little convincing to get Lucius to agree to take them there on the 30th. There had been something going on at the ministry that somehow meant he needed to drop some things off in Knockturn Alley, so he figured he could just take them with him.
Aunt Wally had decided that she wanted to go run an errand in Vertic Alley that morning as well, even though she rarely left the house these days. However, she absolutely refused to step foot in Knockturn Alley, calling it a “cesspool of the worst of society.” So instead, she left separately and offered to meet them in Diagon Alley a little later.
That morning Harry and Hermione followed Draco into his father's office. The anticipation for the day's events already building in their stomachs. After more than a month of absolutely no updates, they were finally getting the Philosopher's Stone back.
They spread out before Lucius’ desk, waiting for his return. On the desk, was a large box folded shut. It must have been full of the wares that he planned to sell to Borgin. Harry and Hermione waited patiently for the man to return, Harry fiddling with the strap of his favorite bag for a moment. Draco, however, was distracted by the box.
He stared at it as if hypnotized, eyes fixated and unblinking. Slowly, he began leaning forward, closer to the box.
“Draco?” Hermione asked, curious about his behavior. “What are you doing?”
“There's something in there,” he replied breathily, voice just above a whisper.
“Well, yeah…” Harry agreed, tone implying it was obvious.
“No,” he shook his head. “I mean, there's something really powerful in there. It's really strong dark magic.” He reached his hand toward the lid. “I wonder what it is.”
A small, silver snake smacked Draco’s hand out of the way.
“Don't. Touch.” Lucius ordered, face dark with seriousness. He appeared from the shadows behind a bookcase, arm and cane fully extended to reach Draco over five feet away.
Draco swung his hand at the wrist a few times, as if to shake off the stinging pain.
Lucius continued glaring at his son for a moment as he walked to the desk. “We have one stop to make at Borgin and Burke’s,” he explained to the children, “then we can continue on with our regular shopping.” He pulled the snake head from his cane to remove his wand and waved it silently to shrink the box. He returned his cane to one piece, then put the box into his inner chest pocket. “I expect you’ll be able to navigate Diagon Alley yourselves?”
The trio nodded eagerly. Happy to accept the chance for independence. It would be in their favor anyway if they didn’t have to work too sneakily to retrieve the Philosopher’s Stone.
“Good.” Lucius approached the empty fireplace a few feet from his desk, gesturing the children over. He reached into a crystal jar on the mantle and grabbed a small handful of sparkling green floo powder from it. He pointed to his mouth, indicating that the children listen carefully. “Knock. Turn. Alley.” He made sure to enunciate each syllable clearly before throwing the dust into the fireplace and causing bright green flames to appear. With a pointed look at all three children, he stepped into them, and they shot up to engulf him before vanishing entirely.
Hermione went next, taking the floo powder into the hearth with her. She called out her destination first, before dropping the powder and being swallowed by flames herself.
Harry went next, enunciating the words clearly, just as Lucius had, before stepping into the flames. He hated the feeling of traveling by floo. It was becoming familiar after all the times he’d done it throughout the summer, travelling between Grimmauld Place and Malfoy Manor. But he still hated the dizzying sensation it left him with.
When he finally stopped spinning, he found himself in a small brick fire pit outdoors. Knockturn Alley was quite narrow, resembling an actual alley far more than Diagon Alley had. The tall buildings on either side seemed to almost close in on each other at the top, blocking enough light that the entire place was in shadow. But he could see that there was definitely a bit of sky peeking out between them.
When they were all reunited again, Lucius led Draco, Hermione, and Harry in a single file line down the seedy looking street. It wasn’t busy at all, with only a few people milling about or loitering between buildings. The road was dusty and unkempt, the cobblestones making it up cracked and often missing. As the trio was led to Borgin & Burke’s, each shop front they passed looked even shadier than the last. The entire alley was covered in dirt and grime, and even the few shop windows Harry had spotted were too dirty to really see through.
Finally, they reached their destination and entered a shop that was just as dusty as the roads outside. It was filled nearly to the brim with displays of all sorts of items. They ranged from an ancient Egyptian sarcophagus to a very ordinary looking cupboard.
Lucius went straight for the counter, ringing the bell while the children split up to observe the different items they found.
Draco was just peeling back the lid to the sarcophagus when Lucius absently warned, “Touch nothing.”
Draco removed his hand innocently, folding them behind his back as he went to examine a withered hand on a cushion.
Harry gazed at a necklace of opals that had been labeled as cursed. According to the card in front of it, it had claimed the lives of nineteen muggles.
In the far corner of the room, Hermione was—to no surprise—skimming the titles of a shelf of tattered books.
“Hello, Mr. Malfoy,” a voice called, approaching the desk. “Always a pleasure to see you.” The man brushed his greasy hair out of his face with a red Trinket clad hand. Harry vaguely recalled having seen him at the Malfoys’ dinner party last summer. “Ah, and young Mr. Malfoy and his friends, as well? Charmed. Can I interest you in the Hand of Glory, there?” He stepped out from behind the counter and went straight to Draco’s side. “Stick a candle in its palm and it’ll cast a light for none but the holder. It’s a favorite of plunderers and thieves. You’ve got good taste-”
“I’d like to hope Draco would amount to more than thieving or plundering, Borgin” Lucius replied coldly.
Borgin seemed to freeze in place for a fraction of a second before spinning around. “Of course, of course!” he rushed, hands raised to chest level in an appeasing gesture. “I didn’t mean to offend, sir.”
“Though,” Lucius added loftily. “If he doesn’t improve his grades, he just might not.” To Borgin, Lucius undoubtedly sounded cold and distant about his son. But Harry and Draco could tell that he was actually being sarcastic. Spending such extensive time in his company was making him easier to read, even in his public persona. “Tied for second in his class. Tut, tut, Draco.”
“It’s not my fault,” Draco argued. “Blame her.” He jerked his head in Hermione’s direction. Hermione turned her head to flash Draco a taunting smile, before turning back to the books she was looking at. “The teachers play favorites with her.”
Harry scoffed. He knew full well that the only one of them who got played favorites with was Draco himself by Professor Snape.
“Perhaps she’s just more cunning than you,” Lucius replied. “You’d do well to take notes. Now, if we were to get down to business…”
“Yes, of course!” Borgin scurried back behind his counter. “Just in today, and for a very reasonable price-”
“Not buying today,” Lucius interrupted the man trying to talk up his product. “Selling.” Borgin seemed disappointed. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the raids the Ministry is conducting. What with that flea-bitten fool Arthur Weasley at the head, I’m certain I’ll be receiving a visit soon. I’d hate for the buffoon to find anything… embarrassing when he comes to call.”
“The Ministry? Giving you trouble?” Borgin asked, somewhat shocked. “Surely not?”
“Not yet,” Lucius sneered. “My name still commands a certain amount of respect. But Weasley has always had it out for me. So, it’s only a matter of time. Now that he’s got a bit of change in his pocket, I imagine he’s feeling all high and mighty.”
“Ah.” Borgin nodded in disappointment. “Have you heard the rumors about the new muggle protection act?” Here, Borgin scoffed. “I’ll bet that Weasley’s behind that too. Pure blood’s meaning less and less these days.”
“Perhaps to some,” Lucius agreed. “Though, not all. The focus has merely shifted from bloodlines to magical strength. But the two things are still directly related. For the Ancient Families, at least.”
“Yes, but of course.” Borgin dipped his head low in a bow.
“Now,” Lucius reached into his inner robes pocket and removed the shrunken box from earlier. He unshrank it with a wave of his wand and began spreading its contents over the counter. “I’m certain these shall fetch a fair price.”
The grimace on Borgin’s face seemed to indicate that he was certain he was actually about to get swindled, but he withheld any complaints.
While the older men haggled, and Draco watched on in interest, Harry turned to join Hermione at the bookshelf.
“All these books are filled with the Dark Arts,” she mumbled to him as he approached. “Although, some of them are completely innocuous muggle books that have been cursed. Look, this one’s just a newspaper.” She pointed to a battered and faded copy of The Times dated nearly thirty years ago. It was sitting on a shelf alone and beneath it was a notecard claiming that any who reads it shall have their hands burned with the heat of dozen hell-fires.
At the end of the bookshelf was a low table bearing a glass case. Inside the case was an old blazer, a hand mirror with a cover, and a leather-bound book. All of it was caked in a heavy layer of dust. The dust was so thick that Harry could barely even make out the title of the book. He thought it might say “Secrets of the Darkest Arts.” Or it might have said “Seven of the Deadliest Sins.” He couldn’t be sure.
At the counter, Lucius’ box tipped over, sending its remaining contents to the floor with a sudden crash.
“You idiot!” Lucius shouted. “That box is full of volatile poisons! This whole building could be blown to bits if the vials break and the wrong ones mix!”
“I’m so sorry, sir!” Borgin begged as he bent down to clear the mess. “Very sorry! Nothing appears damaged! I think we’ll be alright, sir. My apologies!”
Lucius huffed impatiently, glaring not just daggers but full-sized swords at the shopkeeper.
The man withered under his gaze, lifting the box and lugging it into the back room. He came back a few moments later with a large coin purse and began counting out the money he owed.
Harry turned his attention back to the dusty glass case. In the bottom right corner, he spotted a plaque that was just as dirty as the items inside. He brushed a finger over it, uncovering the note written upon it.
“Poisonous Jacket. Cursed Mirror. Extremely Rare and Forbidden Book.”
“How can a jacket be poisonous?” he mused aloud.
“Now, let’s talk about taste!” Borgin complimented, approaching Harry. He appeared to have finished with Lucius. “What you’re looking at here, Mr. Potter, is easily the most valuable set in the entire store. Many have coveted a piece of this small collection. However, I must warn you, Mr. Burke has always been adamant that all three pieces be sold together. They were the last items acquired by Tom Riddle—the late Mr. Burke’s favorite curator—before his sudden disappearance. Junior would have my head if I split them up against his father’s wishes.
“Each piece comes with its own unique history, but all interwoven together to tell quite the daring tale. It’s a great conversation starter. It would be a brilliant addition, or even beginning, to a collector’s repertoire. It is quite pricey, but I guarantee it will be worth your while.”
“I don’t really think-” Harry tried to politely reject Mr. Borgin’s persuading, but the eager man interrupted him.
“Perhaps you might even like to give it as a gift. I know Lady Black has a penchant for dark items. I’m sure she would adore the addition of this set to her already vast collection. You’re not likely to find anything so valuable that she hasn’t already got.”
Harry knew the man was talking about Aunt Wally, but he’d never heard anyone refer to her as that before. Regardless, he still wasn’t interested.
“Or maybe,” Borgin continued, smiling cruelly, “you would rather send them as a gift to an enemy?”
Behind Harry, Hermione scoffed.
“I’m really not interested,” Harry insisted. “But, thank you.”
“Are you-”
“I really don’t want to repeat myself,” Harry interrupted the man, gently. He was channeling his inner “Black” by being rude without being rude, the way he’d observed from the adults around him on numerous occasions. “In fact, we ought to be leaving now,” he continued. “We’ve got things we actually need that we have to go buy. I think Mr. Malfoy would agree it’s best we return to proper society now that this more unsavory business is finished with.”
Harry flashed Borgin his most pleasant smile while the man stood dumbfounded, staring back at him.
“I would certainly have to agree,” Lucius replied, smirking widely. “Come, children.” He beckoned the second years out of the shop as he left. “Draco.” He called again, seeing that the boy was still standing near the counter, picking something up that he’d dropped. Walking quickly, he followed the rest of them out the door.
Lucius continued smirking as they made their way back toward Gringott’s and Diagon Alley. “Very nice, what you did in there, Harry,” he complimented. “Like a true Black. Walburga would be proud.”
Harry didn’t think what he did was anything to be proud of, but he thanked the man anyways. Really, he’d just lost his patience with Borgin’s pestering, and yapping on and on. If he was honest, he was a little surprised with himself at how easy it was for him to slip into that place of superiority. To speak the upper-class dialect of subtle insults and backhanded compliments beneath polite smiles. It was a language he would have balked at only a year ago, but that he now spoke fluently. He supposed it was a side effect of cohabitating with the Wizarding Elite. Was Harry changing?
Of course not. That was silly. He would always be himself.
They left Knockturn Alley in perfect time. The trio parted ways with Lucius outside of Gringotts as he went to deposit the money he got off of Mr. Borgin, then they went to meet up with the twins at Florian Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour. They took a seat on the patio, off to the side so they were somewhat secluded from the rest of the customers. They only had to wait a few minutes before they were joined by George, alone.
“Where’s your brother?” Hermione asked, not bothering with niceties. They were there for business.
“He didn’t want to come,” George replied, sitting across from them. “I wasn’t going to argue. I just want to get this over with.” He reached into his robes and produced a small parcel, sliding it across the table and into Draco’s hands.
The blonde boy inhaled sharply.
“It’s in there, alright,” He whispered. He didn’t even have to open the box. He could feel the magic radiating from the Stone. He peeked it open just in case and, sure enough, there it was.
“Just like I promised,” George told them. “Now, whatever becomes of it is your own fault.”
“How’d you convince Fred to fork it over?” Harry asked.
“I didn’t, not really,” George admitted. “I’ve been trying to convince him all summer, but he didn’t finally agree to it until a week ago when he thought he lost it.”
“He lost it?” Draco gasped in outrage.
“He thought he lost it!” George repeated. “Turns out Ron’s stinking rat had just found it and was hiding it under his bed with a bunch of other junk. That was when he realized he might be in a bit over his head if You Know Who ever did try to come take it. He was outsmarted by a rat, so I guess he’s not as clever as he thought he was.”
Harry let out an exasperated sigh. “Whatever. It’s ours now. By this time tomorrow, it’ll be gone. So, none of that matters anymore.”
“I hope you enjoyed it while it lasted,” Hermione scoffed. “The death of a wealthy relative abroad? Likely story.”
George shrugged, ignoring the sarcasm. “If it works, it works. How else were we to explain the sudden influx of solid gold artifacts? Forging the documents to say that Fred and I had inherited it all was the most difficult. Luckily, the goblins are far more concerned with maintaining control over wizarding money than they are with abiding by wizarding laws. I doubt those papers fooled a single one of them. But several thousand pounds of gold surely seemed persuasive enough.”
Harry’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “Where on earth did you find enough things to weigh several thousand pounds?”
“Easy,” George brushed it off. “We just turned a few forks first, sold them, then used that money to buy a bunch of useless rubbish to turn as well. It wasn’t as much as you think, though. A solid gold fork weighs considerably more than a stainless steel one.”
“You boys are surprisingly enterprising,” Draco complimented. Hermione smacked him.
“Don’t praise them!” she scolded. “They committed a crime! After stealing from us first!”
“Fred stole it! Thank you very much,” George retorted. “I merely helped him come up with a cover story. Can’t have my own twin getting sent to Azkaban, can I? But he didn’t do it to be selfish.”
“That kind of sounds exactly like what you did,” Harry disagreed.
“We didn’t keep an ounce of that money. I didn’t even want it in the first place. I’m on your side in all of this- bleeegh!” George faked a gag. “Feels weird to say that to a bunch of Slytherins.” He pounded the top of his fist on his chest a few times as if to help clear his throat.
Draco rolled his eyes.
“But anyway,” George continued, “he gave every last knut to our parents. He didn’t want to make himself rich. He just knows how hard it’s been on them. Seven kids is a lot to care for, and a financial strain on anyone.”
“Well, it’s their own fault…” Draco muttered haughtily.
George ignored the interruption. “They’re great parents. Really, they are. And good people. They’ve worked so hard, he just wanted them to be able to have an easy time of it. And what, am I supposed to disagree with that?”
“How noble of him.” Hermione crossed her arms, not the least bit sympathetic. “Good intentions or not, he put everyone in danger by taking it. He knows very well who’s after it. If he’d gotten his hands on it, LITERALLY everyone would be in danger. Is it really worth that?”
“But nothing happened, and you have it back now, so don’t worry about it,” George argued. “And there’s no point lecturing me. I’m not the one who took it! Like I said, I’m on your- bluuuuuugh!” He faked a gag again, this time pretending to vomit. “Alright,” he complained. “I’ve got to go. If I say that one more time, I may just lose my lunch for real.”
He waved the Slytherins off before standing up and disappearing into the growing crowd at the ice cream parlor.
Draco handed Harry the box, and he reached into his bag. He filed it away under H, just in case the bag was compromised. No one would think to look for it under H. It wouldn’t stop anyone determined, but it may slow them down. He didn’t think anyone was onto them, but he could never be too careful.
“Now that business is over with,” Hermione rubbed her hands together eagerly, “time to get to shopping. Let’s head straight to Flourish and Blott’s.” Both Draco and Harry chuckled at her. Of course, she was ready to get her hands on some new books.