Life at the Burrow was the complete opposite of life at Private Drive. For one, the Dursleys lived to be perfect, while the Weasleys' house had something strange and unexpected in every nook and cranny.
“Ginny wanted me to ask you what your favorite color is,” I told Harry, looking through all the questions she wrote down for me on a list.
“Er,” Harry said stupidly, his face bright red. I was a little amused to see him so uncomfortable. Bonnie rolled her eyes from next to me.
“Favorite... color... is... 'er',” I mumbled as I wrote down the words, ignoring Harry's stammering protests. “Oh Golly, why in the name of Unicorn do you keep giving the same answer?I ask you what your favorite dessert is – you say 'er'; I ask you what your favorite Bernie Bott's Every Flavor Beans flavor is – you say 'er'; I ask you what your favorite animal is – you say 'er'. Ginny is not going to be happy.”
I was teasing, but Harry blushed anyway. “Very funny, Nixie.”
We were walking toward a mirror on the Weasleys' mantel piece. Harry glanced into it.
“Tuck your shirt in, scruffy!” it yelled at him.
I dropped the parchment and quill to the floor and held my stomach as Bonnie and I laughed, tears pricking out eyes. Harry could only stare at the mirror with a shocked expression.
“Y-you got told by a mirror!” Bonnie let out another peal of laughter.
That event still made me giggle whenever I thought of it. There was also a ghoul in the attic that howled and dropped pipes whenever he felt things were getting too quiet, and small explosions from Fred and George's bedroom were considered perfectly normal. Also, the biggest different of them all, was that everyone here liked us.
Mrs. Weasley would make sure that we were more than comfortable, and would always try to force us to eat fourth helpings at every meal. Mr. Weasley liked Harry and I to sit next to him so that we could explain how things like plugs and postal service worked.
About a week after we arrived at the Burrow, we finally heard from Hogwarts. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, Bonnie and I were sitting at the kitchen table when Harry and Ron came down from their shared room. Ginny, seeing my brother and trying to seem cool, tried to straighten up, but her elbow knocked her porridge bowl to the floor with a loud clatter, and she dived under the table to retrieve it. When she resurfaced, her face was beat red.
She always had embarrassing accidents when Harry entered the room. I would have felt sorry for her, but it was so darn funny.
Harry, who was far more sensitive to others' feelings than I could ever be, pretended he didn't notice and sat at the table. Mrs. Weasley didn't waste time before offering him a toast.
“Your Hogwarts letters came just before you came down,” Mr. Weasley passed Harry and Ron identical envelopes of yellowish parchment with emerald green words scrawled on them. Then he passed my own and Bonnie's to us.
“Dumbledore already knows you three are here,” Mr. Weasley said, clearly impressed as Fred and George ambled in, both still dressed in their pajamas. “Doesn't miss a trick, that man. You two've got them, too,” he said to his twin sons.
I ripped open my envelope and pulled out the school requirements.
SECOND-YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE:
The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk
Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart
Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart
Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart
Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart
Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart
Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart
Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart
“This new professor must really love this Lockhart fellow,” I noted, before placing my envelope on the table.
“So you've been told to get all of Lockhart's books, too,” Fred said. “I bet the new teacher is a witch.”
Mrs. Weasley looked at her son sharply, and he busied himself with making marmalade.
I frowned, wondering if I should be offended. “What do you mean 'I bet the new teacher is a witch?'”
“Oh, nothing,” George rolled his eyes. “Just that every witch has the hots for-”
The look his mother gave him caused his mouth to snap shut. It was enough of an explanation, though, and I scowled. There was no way Lockhart was that handsome; maybe he was just really intelligent and the new teacher thought his books were worthy of being used in class.
“That lot won't come cheap,” George said, quickly as though to change the subject and get himself out of the hole he dug. “Lockhart's books are really expensive...”
“Well, we'll manage,” Mrs. Weasley looked worried, but she tried to keep things positive. “I expect we'll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny's things secondhand.”
“Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?” Harry asked Ginny.
I rolled my eyes. Harry was so clueless.
Ginny nodded, her face matching the color of her hair. And then, trying to act cool and collected again, she put her elbow on the table, but it landed in the butter dish. Fortunately, no one saw this but Harry and me, because just then Percy Weasley walked in. He was the only one dressed and his bright red hair was parted carefully. Sitting proudly on his chest was his Hogwarts prefect badge, polished and gleaming.
“Morning, all,” Percy said briskly, as though he were in a room full of coworkers and now family. “Lovely day.”
He sat down in the only remaining chair, but he didn't even get to rest before he leaped up again, pulling a mouling gray feather duster from underneath him. Only – the duster was breathing, and only then did I realize that it was an owl.
“Errol!” Ron said, carefully grabbing the owl from Percy and extracting a letter from under it's wing. Bonnie bit her lip to hold in a giggle. “Finally – he's got Hermione's answer. I wrote to her saying we were going to try and rescue you from the Dursleys.”
He placed the owl on a perch just inside the back door and tried to stand him on it. But Errol was too lazy, and flopped straight off again.
“Pathetic,” Ron muttered, putting the owl on the draining board instead. He ripped open Hermione's letter and read it out loud. “Dear Ron, and Nixie and Harry, if you're there-”
“Hey!” Bonnie said, looking hurt. “Why aren't I being 'deared'?”
“She never got your letters,” I reminded her. “How was she supposed to know that you were at the Dursley's with us?”
“That makes sense,” Bonnie sat back, embarrassed.
Ron went on. “I hope everything went alright and Nixie and Harry are okay, and that you didn't do anything illegal to get them out, Ron, because that would get them both into trouble and you know Nixie gets into enough trouble as it is. I've been really worried for them and if they are okay please owl me at once. But perhaps it would be better if you used a different owl because I think another delivery might finish your one off.”
“She's right, you know,” Bonnie said, poking Errol with her finger. Errol responded by huffing repeatedly.
“I'm very busy with schoolwork, of course,' how can she be?” Ron said in disbelief. “We're on vacation! - 'and we're going to London next Wednesday to buy my new books. Why don't we mee in Diagon Alley. Let me know what's happening as soon as you can. Love from Hermione.'”
“Well, that fits in nicely, we can go and get all your things then, too,” Mrs. Weasley said, clearing the table. “What're you all up to today?”
Harry, Ron, Fred, and George were planning to go up the hill to a small paddock the Weasleys owned. It was surrounded by trees that blocked it from view of the village below, meaning that we could practice Quidditch there, as long as we didn't fly too high. Bonnie and I, on the other hand, were planning on drawing designs for the dresses we were making.
Five minutes later, Bonnie and I raced each other up to Ginny's room like we usually did, and I was about to beat her for the first time when she elbowed me in the stomach and did a victory dance on the third floor. I puffed, holding my ribs.
When we were in Ginny's room, I asked the young Weasley what Percy's problem was, because he had only spoken to his family for ten minutes before crawling right back to his room.
“Wish I knew what he was up to,” Ginny said, flicking her orange hair out of her eyes. She was a lot more calm around Bonnie and me than she was around Harry, but we all knew why. I liked Ginny better when she wasn't trying to impress my brother. “He hasn't been himself lately. His exam results came the day before you two and Harry did; twelve O.W.Ls and he hardly gloated at all.”
“O.W.Ls?” Bonnie frowned, unfamiliar with the term.
“Ordinary Wizarding Levels,” I explained, remembering reading about it in Hogwarts: A History.
Ginny nodded. “Bill got twelve, too, and he became Head Boy. We all suspect Percy will be following in his footsteps.”
“That's a good thing,” Bonnie pointed out.
“Yeah, except Bill is cool,” Ginny's voice was matter of fact, like there was no denying that claim. I guess there wasn't. “Percy's head will only get bigger.”
I'd never seen Bill or the other Weasley brother, Charlie, but the way the family described them, it was like they were living legends. Bill was in Egypt at the moment, working as a curse breaker, and Charlie was off in Romania studying dragons. I could understand why Hagrid was so fond of that one.
“I don't know how Mum and Dad are going to afford all of out school stuff this year,” Ginny picked at a loose string in her bedsheet, “And I need robes and a new wand.”
I looked away, uncomfortable. The Weasleys weren't the richest family, and it always made me sad because Harry and I both had a small fortune stored under the walls of Gringotts, the wizarding bank. Even Bonnie, who was disowned by her parents, had her own vault, because her parents wouldn't leave her completely for dead.
We spent the rest of the day bent over parchments, scribbling designs in and erasing them with Ginny's old ink eraser. Nothing we did seemed to come out just as we'd imagined it.
Mrs. Weasley woke us all up early the following Wednesday. After a quick breakfast, we pulled on our coats and headed for the living room. Mrs. Weasley took a flowerpot off the kitchen mantelpiece and peered inside.
“We're running low, Arthur,” she sighed. “We'll have to buy some more today... Aw well, guests first! Which one of you would like to go first?”
“I do!” I raised my hand excitedly.
Mrs. Weasley offered me the flowerpot, and I stared into it. It was an inch full of gray dust. “Here you go, deary.”
“She never took Floo Powder before, Mum,” Ron said suddenly. But I took a pinch of the gray powder and scrambled into the fireplace anyway.
“No,” I agreed. “But I did read about it, and I think I know how it works.”
“Never?” Mr. Weasley was amazed. “But how did you get to Diagon Alley to buy your school things last year?”
“We went through an underground-” Harry didn't even get to finish before Mr. Weasley fired off another question.
“Really?” Mr. Weasley said eagerly. “Were there escapators? How exactly-”
Deciding that Harry would be good at explaining everything to Mr. Weasley, I threw the powder into the wood and yelled, “Diagon Alley!”
With a roar, emerald green fire enveloped me at all sides.
It felt as though I was being sucked into a giant drain. I was spinning faster and faster – the roaring in my ears was deafening – I tried to keep my eyes open but the whirl of green flames was dizzying, making me sick. I kept my elbows tucked in, remembering my fall through the trapdoor last year, so that I wouldn't hit the brick wall around me. The bacon sandwich I ate for breakfast was on it's way back up my throat. This wasn't at all as fun as I'd imagined it would be.
Finally, my feet slammed onto another fireplace, and I fell face forward on a cold stone floor.
Dizzy and most likely bruised, I struggled back on my feet and eyed my surroundings. I didn't have time to register much about the dusty walls because a warm body slammed into me, pushing me back to the ground. I groaned.
“Get off,” I grumbled, and the person rolled off me. I was going to snap at them, when I realized that it was Harry, and he looked so disoriented that it was funny. “Your glasses are broken,” I grinned at him.
“Really?” Harry asked, sarcastic.
He pushed them back up the bridge of his nose and helped me to my feet. We were standing in the middle of a dimly lit wizard shop covered in soot; I really hoped no one I knew would walk in.
I narrowed my eyes at a glass case standing near us, which held a withered hand on a cushion, a bloodstained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of human bones laying upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. Even worse, the dark, narrow street could see through the dusty shop window was definitely not Diagon Alley.
“Come on, Harry,” I whispered. We'd seen worse since we were introduced to the wizard world, but that didn't make any of this better. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.”
I grabbed Harry's hand, and pulled him toward the door. Before we even got in a reaching distance of it, we ran back. It wasn't the bravest thing, but the last thing we wanted to do was have a conversation with Draco Malfoy, who had barged in as though he owned the place.
The man who followed could only be Draco's father. The man was pale, with pointed features and identical cold, gray eyes. He was dressed so properly in his wizard robes that not even Uncle Vernon would be able to fault him. Mr. Malfoy walked swiftly across the shop, with long yet unhurried strides; his gray eyes lazily scanned the items on display with little to no interest before ringing the bell on the counter. Before anyone could come to his aid, he turned to his son and said, “Touch nothing, Draco.”
Draco had been about to touch the creepy glass eye, before he let his arm drop. He gave his father a small, frustrated look. “I thought you were going to buy me a present.”
His father didn't even spare him a glance. “I said I would buy you a racing broom.” The man drummed his fingers on the counter.
Draco didn't look pleased. “What's the good of that if I'm not on the House team,” he practically whined. “Nixie and Harry Potter got Nimbus Two Thousands last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so they could play on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. They're not even that goos, itss just because they're famous... famout for having stupid scars on their foreheads...” Draco stepped away from the case so he could examine a shelf full of old, browning skulls. “Everyone thinks Nixie Potter is so smart; stupid Potter with a scar and a broomstick...”
“I know,” Mr. Malfoy gave his son a quelling look, which Draco didn't even flinch at. “You've told me this a dozen times already. And I would remind you that it is not – prudent – to appear less than fond of the Potter twins, not when most out our kind regard them as the heroes who made the Dark Lord disappear – ah, Mr. Borgin.”
A greasy, stooping man appeared behind the counter, with gray pointed teeth in view behind his thin lips and dirty clothes hanging from his thin body. His appearance reflected the state of his shop. “Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again,” Mr. Borgin's voice was as oily as his hair. “Delighted – and you Master Malfoy, too – charmed. How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and very reasonably priced-”
“I'm not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling,” Mr. Malfoy cut in coolly.
Mr. Borgin visibly deflated, the gleam in his eye he got when he was advertizing his stuff dimming. “Selling,” he repeated dully.
“You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids,” Mr. Malfoy said, taking a roll of parchment from his inside pocket and unraveling it for Mr. Borgin to read. “I have a few – ah – times at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call...”
Mr. Borgin looked down the list.
“The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble you, sire, surely,” Mr. Malfoy's lip curled. “I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act – no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it.”
I felt a surge of anger, thinking of Mr. Weasley who got excited every time he stumbled across a conversation involving Muggle electronics.
“-and as you see, certain poisons of these might make it appear-”
“I understand, sire, of course,” Mr. Borgin's expression was easy, but both men shared a look that confirmed my suspicions that all of this was more than it seemed. “Let me see...”
“Can I have that?” Draci interrupted, his finger pointing that the withered hand on the cushion. I wondered what he'd do with it.
“Ah, the Hand of Glory!” Mr. Borgin's eyes were gleaming once again, and he all but abandoned Mr. Malfoy's list so he could scurry over to Draco. “Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir.”
Mr. Malfoy's voice was cold. “I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin.”
The shop keeper wilted. I noticed with a little bit of surprise that the man actually looked a little frightened. “No offense, sir, no offense meant-”
“Though if his grades don't pick up,” Mr. Malfoy went on, his cold eyes narrowing on his son, who scowled, “that may indeed be all he is fit for-”
I clapped my hand over my mouth to muffle the snickering, and Harry nudged me to be quiet. I couldn't help it, really; Draco was always making fun of me for being so smart, and all this time he was really jealous. I wished I could use this against him, but he would only retaliate by demanding what I was doing following him and snooping in on his conversation.
“It's not my fault,” Draco retorted, his pale face flushed pink. “The teachers all have favorites; that Nixie Potter and that Hermione Granger-”
“I would have thought you'd be ashamed that two girls who grew up with Muggles beat you in every exam,” Mr. Malfoy snapped, embarrassing his son even further.
“Ha!” Harry said under his breath, and I laughed as we both gave each other soft high fives. But still, I felt an uncomfortable feeling in my gut; the sensation I always got when someone looked down on me because of how I looked or what my background was.
“It's the same all over,” Mr. Borgin cut him, saving Draco from more humiliation. “Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere-”
“Not with me,” Mr. Malfoy said, his long nostrils flaring.
“No, sir, nor with me, sir,” Mr. Borgin gave a deep bow.
“Suck up,” I muttered bitterly, thinking how sad Hermione would be if she'd heard this. Beside me, Harry nodded.
“In that case, perhaps we can return to my list,” Mr. Malfoy really wanted to get rid of his stuff. “I am in something of a hurry, Borgin, I have important business elsewhere today-” They started to haggle. I watched with wariness as Draco drew nearer and nearer to our hiding place, sticking his nose in all of the objects for sale, greedily reading over their information that described how they worked. I found myself hoping that he'd find us; I wondered how him and his father would react to know that we heard everything, and that we knew they were hiding dangerous, illegal things in their home.
Besides, I wanted to scare the pee out of him.
Draco paused to examine a long coil of hangman's rope and to read, smirking, the card propped on a magnificent necklace of opals, Caution: Do Not Touch. Cursed - Has Claimed the Lives of Nineteen Muggle Owners to Date.
Finally, he turned away from it and saw the cabinet right in front of him. Harry shifted uneasily beside me as Draco walked toward us, his hand outstretched for the handle.
“Done,” Mr. Malfoy said from the counter. “Come, Draco. Good day to you, Mr. Borgin. I'll expect you at the manor tomorrow to pick up the goods.”
The moment the Malfoys left, Mr. Borgin stopped simpering and glared grudgingly at the door, his hatred showing through. “Good day yourself, Mister Malfoy,” he spat, actually spitting on the floor in disrespect, “and if the stories are true, you haven't sold me half of what's hidden in your manor...”
Mr. Borgin continued to mutter insults to the Mafloy name as he disappeared back into the back room. I was about to slip out, but Harry's hand closed around my wrist, his emerald eyes warning me to wait. We waited for something to happen, someone to come in, and when no one did, we slipped out of the cabinet as quietly as we were able, passed the glass cases, and out of the shop door.
When we made it out, we gawped around. In the entire year we'd known about the wizarding world, we'd never saw anything like the place we were in. It was a dingy alleyway with building crushed into each other and windows that were either boarded shut or so dirty that I couldn't see through them. Crates and jars of different colored objects were strewn around numerous areas, so much so that it was hard to tell which object belonged to which shop. It was clear, however, that the entire alleyway was devoted to the Dark Arts.
The one Harry and I had just came from, Borgin and Burke's, was actually the largest and the cleanest, which was saying something. Opposite of the shop was another that sold shrunken heads and, two doors down, a large cage was alive with gigantic black spiders.
I felt a prickling in the back of my neck and turned, seeing two shabby-looking wizards watching us – particularly Harry for some reason – and muttering to each other. The look of them sent shivers running down my spine.
“This place gives me the creeps,” I glared defiantly at the two strange wizards, but all one of them did was bare his yellowing teeth at me. I turned to Harry. “We need to go.”
“We can't be far from the Weasleys,” Harry said hopefully, grabbing my hand. “Stay close.”
“Aw, man, and I was going to go get myself some Cookies N' Muggle Eyeballs for dessert,” I said sarcastically as he dragged me up the street. I frowned around the alley, really not liking the way the people were looking at us. “And I was so sure that I did the Floor Powder correctly... I'm going to have to read more on that.”
“Shut up about reading,” Harry interrupted my gloomy monologue nervously. “We have to get out of here first.”
“Hey, reading calms me down,” I whispered. “So don't tell me not to talk about it. When you find your happy place, you'll understand.”
The further we walked, the more creepy the place became. There were shops that cold poinsonous candles, shops that sold human parts – hopefully for potions and hopefully taken after the person died – and there were shops that sold the insides of magical creatures. Passing by a large wooden sign that swished in the warm wind, Harry and I figured out that this place was called Knockturn Alley. This didn't help us at all, since we had never heard of such a place.
I thought back to the book that told me about the Floo Network. Perhaps I didn't speak clearly enough back at the Weasleys' fire.
“Not lost, are you, my dear?” a voice said in Harry's ear, making both of us jump.
An aged, ugly witch stood in front of us, holding a tray of what looked horribly like human fingernails. The sight nauseated me, almost as much as the witch's mossy teeth did. Harry shuddered and backed away from the lady's leer.
“He's fine,” I said bravely, stepping between the lady and my brother. I had my hand an inch from my pocket. “Now go, before you regret it.”
Big threat for someone who can't even use magic freely yet, a voice whispered in my head. Only then did I realize how helpless Harry and I really were in this new, foreign place.
“HARRY! NIXIE! What'dya think yeh two are doin' down 'ere?” a loud, familiar voice bellowed.
The witch leaped away from us, her human fingernails falling to the floor at our feet. Hagrid was looming over everyone in the alleyway, causing them all, including the aged witch, to shrink away. Hagrid strode over to us, ignoring but noticed the lady.
“Hagrid!” Harry croaked in relief. “We were lost – Floor Powder-”
Hagrid grabbed us both by the scruffs of our necks and steered us away from the creepy witch, knocking the tray right out of her hand – whether on purpose or on accident, I could never really tell with Hagrid. The witch glared angrily at us, shrieking in frustration, but we kept on walking all the way along the twisting alleyway, and out into the bright sunlight. My tense muscles relaxed at the familiar sight before me – the snow-white marble walls of Gringotts, the wizard bank. Hagrid had brought us to Diagon Alley once again.
“Yeh two are a mess!” Hagrid said gruffly, brushing soot off Harry so forcefully he nearly knocked him into a barrel of dragon dung outside an apothecary. “Skulkin' around Knockturn Alley, I dunno dodgy place, Harry – don' want no one ter see yeh down there. And what were yeh thinking, Harry? Bringin' yer little sister along with yeh-”
“I am younger than him by twenty minutes!” I protested.
“Younger all the same,” Hagrid retored.
“It's just because I'm a girl,” I said back. “And besides, people down there seemed more interested in Harry than me.”
“That's because those witches like ter have wizard parts in their potions,” Hagrid said gruffly.
“What? Why?” Harry looked disturbed, massaging his fingers unconsciously.
Hagrid only shrugged. “Some old creepy suspicion, is all. But it doesn't matter now, yeh won't be goin' back there again. What were yeh two doin' in there?”
We started to walk down the uneven brick road.
"I told you,” Harry said. “We were lost - what were you doing down there, anyway?"
“I was lookin' fer a Flesh-Eatin' Slug Repellent,” Hagrid growled. “They're ruinin' the school cabbages. Yeh two aren't on yer own?”
“We're staying with the Weasley's but we got separated,” harry exclaimed. “We have to find them...”
And the three of us set down the street in search of the red hair family and the golden hair Bonnie.
“How come neither of yeh wrote back ter me,” Hagrid said as we jogged alongside him. Harry and I explained about Dobby and the Dursleys.
"Lousy Muggles," Hagrid growled. "If I'd've known -"
“NIXIE! Harry!” Hermione Granger, on of my best friends, yelled. “Over here!”
Harry and I looked up and saw Hermione Granger standing at the top of the white flight of steps to Gringotts. She hadn't changed a bit with her bushy brown hair, tanned skin, and modest clothing. She ran down to meet us.
“What happened to your glasses?” Hermione asked Harry, who was still holding them to his face. “Hello, Hagrid – oh, it's wonderful to see you three again – are you coming into Gringotts?”
“It's nice to see you, too,” I hugged my best friend. “And we will be, as soon as we've found the Weasleys.”
“Yeh won't have long ter wait,” Hagrid said with a grin.
Harry, Hermione, and I looked around: sprinting up the crowded street were Ron, Fred, George, Bonnie, Percy, and Mr. Weasley.
“Harry, Nixie,” Mr. Weasley panted. “We hoped you'd only gone one grate too far.” He mopped his glistening bald patch, which showed just how worried he'd been for us. “Molly's frantic – she's coming now-”
“Where did you two come out?” Ron asked us.
“Knockturn Alley,” Hagrid said grimly.
“Excellent,” Fred and George said together.
“We've never been allowed in,” Ron said enviously.
“Mum and Dad said if I ever go there, I'll get disowned,” Bonnie gave us a lopsided grin. “I guess I could go there any time I want now, huh?”
“Are you sure your parents were in Hufflepuff?” I asked in shock. Her parents seemed an awful lot like Slytherins to me – ruthless, cold, evil people. In the entire time that I knew Bonnie, she hadn't said one word that endeared me to them.
“Everythin' has it's weirdos, includin' Hufflepuffs,” Hagrid said. “But that doesn't mean yeh can go in there, Bonnie. Don't yeh step a toe past that alley.”
Bonnie smiled a little, though I had no idea why.
Mrs. Weasley was now galloping over toward us, her handbag swinging wildly. Ginny was clinging to her other hand, her red hair flying behind her, looking oddly small next to her plump mother.
“Oh, Harry, Nixie – oh, dears – you could have been anywhere-” she stopped in front of us and pulled out a large cloth from her bag. I wasn't ready for the attack, but next thing I knew she was sweeping soot off of my face and robes. Mr. Weasley took Harry's glasses, gave them a tap of his wand, and teturned them, good as new.
“Well, gotta be off,” Hagrid said, his hand still caught between Mrs. Weasley's as she shook it in gratitude. “See yer at Hogwarts!” It took him a while to fully disappear down the street, his head and shoulders so much more above everyone else's, but he did.
“Guess who we saw in Borgin and Burkes,” Harry said to Ron, Hermione, and Bonnie as we climbed the Gringotts steps. “Malfoy and his father.”
“Yeah, and guess who Malfoy couldn't stop ranting about to his father,” I said with a roll of my eyes, before smirking at Hermione. “Did you know that he has terrible grades? And that he's blaming us for them?”
Hermione perked up, and was about to ask me more about this when Mr. Weasley said sharply from behind us. “Was Malfoy buying anything?”
It took me a while to realize that he meant Malfoy's father. “No, he was selling-”
“So he's worried,” Mr. Weasley said with grim satisfaction. “Oh, I'd love to get Lucius Malfoy for something...”
“You be careful, Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley warned as we were bowed into the bank by a goblin at the door. “That family's trouble. Don't go biting off more than you can chew-”
“So you don't think I'm a match for Lucius Malfoy?” Mr. Weasley was indignant, puffing out his chest. But the man couldn't stay angry for long, and he was distracted almost immediately by the sight of Hermione's parents, who were standing nervously at the counter that ran along the great marble hall, waiting for Hermione to introduce them.
“But you're Muggles!” This statement would probably have come out insulting from anyone else, but Mr. Weasley was so delighted that the Grangers gave him confused smiles. “We must have a drink! What's that you've got there? Oh, you're changing Muggle money. Molly, look!”
Hermione was staring at the exchange with deep interest, before Ron turned to her. “Meet you back here,” he said as the Weasleys, Harry, Bonnie, and I were led off to the underground vaults by another Gringotts goblin.
The vaults were reached by means of small, goblin-driven carts that sped along miniature train tracks through the bank's underground tunnels.
I'd driven roller coasters only a few times before, when there was nothing else to do with Harry and me when the Dursleys brought Dudley and us to amusement parks, and this was just as fun. So, Harry and I enjoyed the breakneck journey to the Weasley's vault.
When we arrived at the Weasley's vault, my previous euphoria wore off. Inside was only a few silver sickles and one old galleon. Mrs. Weasley felt right into the corners before sweeping the whole lot into her bag. I only felt worse when we arrived at the Potter's vault, where the money was piled in heaps and mounds, gleaming as though they were polished three times a day.
When we climbed back into the cart, Mrs. Weasley was talking to Bonnie, very kindly, “Bonnie, dear, do your parents still let you have money from your vault?”
Bonnie's hands were pressed firmly into her laps, and her face blushed crimson. I wondered if she had known that I told; but she must have noticed the extra kindness the Weasley parents seemed to give her.
“No,” Bonnie said, her voice a little strained. “But they did give me my own vault.”
Bonnie told the goblin where her money was hidden, and handed him a key to open her vault. When we got there, there seemed to be just enough for her to get through the school year with, and nothing else. I hoped they refilled it next year, so that she could pay her way through her third year at Hogwarts.
Back outside on the marble steps, we all separated. Percy muttered vaguely about needing a new quill. Fred and George had spotted their friend from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were going to a secondhand robe shop. Mr. Weasley was insisted on taking the Grangers off to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.
“We'll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your schoolbooks,” Mrs. Weasley told us, taking Ginny's hand. “And not one step down Knockturn Alley!” she shouted at the twins' retreating backs.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, Bonnie and I set off down the cobbled street of Diagon Alley.
The bag of gold, silver, and bronze jangling cheerfully in my and Harry's pockets were just begging to be spent, so we bought five large strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice creams, which we slurped happily as we wandered up the alley, examining the fascinating shop windows. Ron gazed longingly at a full set of Chudley Cannon robes in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplues until Hermione dragged us off to buy ink and parchment next door.
“Hermione doesn't change, I see,” Bonnie noted as our friend payed for her things.
Hermione glanced over her shoulder worriedly. “Ron told be that you two and Harry were all staying over at the Dursleys this summer,” she said when we left the shop.
“For all summers, actually,” I corrected, throwing my cone away.
“What?” Hermione's brow furrowed.
“I've been disowned,” Bonnie said, her voice very dry.
Hermione was in a state of shock, and she noticed that she was the only one. “Why am I the last to know?”
“Good question,” Bonnie said.
I knew this comment was pointed directly at me. “How was I supposed to know you wanted it to be a secret?”
Bonnie's face crumpled into an angry pout. “How are you not supposed to know? Getting disowned isn't something someone would want to be shouted out to the heavens.”
“Well, sorry I didn't get the hidden information,” I was defensive now. “Besides, everyone would have figured it out anyway. Hogwarts doesn't keep secrets for long.”
“No, you don't keep secrets for long.”
I glared angrily at the girl, ready to retort, but our argument was cut short by Harry, who hurriedly pointed out a wizarding joke shop, and dragged us all over.
We met Fred, George, and Lee Jordan in there, and their rowdy behavior filled the tense silence that had fallen on our group. We watched with interest as they stocked up on Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks. Later, we found Percy sitting behind objects in a junk shop, his nose buried deep in a small, old book called Prefects Who Gained Power.
“That doesn't sound threatening at all,” I said when I found him, gaining the attention of the others.
“A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers,” Ron red aloud off the back cover. “That sounds fascinating...”
“Go away!” Percy snapped at us.
“'Course, he's very ambitious, Percy. He's got it all planned out... He wants to be Minister of Magic...” Ron told us in an undertone as we left Percy to it.
An hour later, we headed to the wizard book shop, Flourish and Blotts. The place, usually quiet and mostly empty, was filled to the brim with a large, jostling crowd that was pushing close to the door, trying to get in. Above them, stretched out on the upper windows was a banner that explained the entire thing: GILDEROY LOCKHART will be signing copies of his autobiography MAGICAL ME today 12:30 P.m. to 4:30 P.m.
My mind flashed back to my first year at Hogwarts. I had been sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room by the fire, putting aside a book with a very handsome man on the cover, right under giant, gleaming words: Magical Me.
“So that's Gilderoy Lockhart?” I exclaimed, coming back to reality. “And he's here?”
“We can actually meet him!” Hermione squealed. “I mean, he's written almost the whole book list!”
A strange, fuzzy feeling spread through my arms and legs, and my face felt a little hot. The feeling was unfamiliar and uncomfortable, but not unwelcome. I felt a little giddy.
“This is so amazing!” I blurted out happily, and shared a wide smile with Hermione.
A harrassed-looking wizard stood at the front door, trying to talk over all the chatter. “Calmly, please, ladies.... Don't push, there... mind the books, now...”
I squeezed by him, trying to get through between all the elder witches but still keep in contact with my group. Harry, Ron, and Bonnie were less than excited to be jostled around in the crowd.
My heart dropped as I caught sight of the long line that wound right to the back of the shop, where I could see a man sitting at a table, signing his books. I quickly scooped up a copy of The Standard Books of Spells, Grade 2, and followed Ron and Harry up the line to where they had spotted the Weasleys standing with Mr. and Mrs. Granger.
“Oh, there you are, good,” Mrs. Weasley was breathless, her hands patting down her frazzled red hair. “We'll be able to see him in a minute...”
Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view. He was surrounded by charming pictures of himself, all of them smiling and winking at the crowd with dazzling white teeth and sparkling blue eyes. The real Lockhart, however, was much more interesting than the pictures. He wore brilliant robes of forget-me-not blue that went adoringly with his eyes and a wizard hat the sat at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.
I small dreamy sigh came out when I saw him. He is so cute. His dashing eyes swept over me, not even landing on me for more than a second, but in that moment my emotions contradicted themselves; wanting me to wave at him and to hide behind Mrs. Weasley at the same time. His bone structure was just so perfect.
My mind was racing, and I was dimly aware of Hermione's death grip on my arm.
“Oh, puh-lease,” Bonnie grouched from next to me, crossing her arms and giving the man a sour look. “I can't believe all these witches are so caught up in him – he isn't even good looking.”
I couldn't agree with her there. He was extremely good-looking, breathtakingly so, and judging by the way other witches were reacting – they agreed. Of course, I wasn't attracted to him or his very blue eyes. I was just really interested in his adventures and how he managed to save his perfect hair from being damaged through it all.
A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around, taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smike with every blinding flash.
“Out of the way, there,” he snarled at Ron, moving back to get a better shot. “This is for the Daily Prophet-”
“Big deal,” Ron snapped, rubbing his foot where the photographer stepped on it.
Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up. He saw Ron and then he saw Harry. He stared. Then he leaped to his feet and positively shouted, “It can't be Harry Potter!” The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized Harry's arm, and pulled him to the front. The crowd burst into applause.
I stared, my heart tugging uncomfortably as I realized that the handsome – and intelligent – man didn't notice me. Lockhart shook Harry's hand while the photographer clicked away madly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys.
“Now, Harry,” Lockhart said, still smiling widely. “I heard you have a sister?”
My breath caught in my throat, my heart beating wildly against my chest. I think I had breathed in too much of the smoke – that had to be it.
“Er...” Harry glanced at me uncertainly. Lockhart followed his gaze and his smile widened when he saw me standing half hidden behind Mrs. Weasley.
“Ah, yes!” he said. “Nixie Potter! Come on, come on!”
I wanted to run out of the shop – but I also wanted to go to him. My legs shook under me, confused by the mixed orders. Hermione made my decision for me, pushing me over to Lockhart's smiling, incredibly handsome face. Everything was hot, someone really needed to turn on a fan.
When I reached him, Lockhart threw his arm over my shoulder, hugging me as though we were the best of friends. I let out a shaky laugh, my smile reaching from ear to ear. I barely noticed the flashes of the camera, or Harry's incredulous glance.
Something was definitely wrong with me.
“Nice big smiles, Potters,” Lockhart said, through his own gleaming teeth. “Together, the three of us could make the front page!”
I was clamped to Lockhart's side, so he did the same to Harry, squishing us all together as though we were buds and we'd known each other out entire lives.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said loudly. “What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for quite some time! When you Nixie and Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, they only wanted to buy my autobiography – which I shall be happy to present them now, free of charge-” The crowd applauded again. “they had no idea,” Lockhart continued, giving Harry and me little shakes. Harry's glasses slipped down to the end of his nose. “That they would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. Them and their schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great plasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!” The crowd erupted in cheers, clapping excitedly. I found myself present with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Staggering slightly under their weight, I managed to follow Harry out of the limelight and to the edge of the room, where Ginny was standing next to her new cauldron.
“You have these,” Harry mumbled to her, tipping his own set of books into her cauldron. “I'll buy my own-”
“Bet you two loved that,” said a voice I had no trouble recognizing. I was face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, who wore his same sneer. “Famous Potter twins – can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page.”
“Leave Harry alone,” Ginny said, her face glowing as she stepped forward. “He didn't want all of that!”
I was very aware that she didn't stand up for me. Maybe it was because I hadn't been trying to escape Lockhart when I was up there – but what did she expect? Lockhart was successful and intelligent and brave...
“Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!” Malfoy drawled, making Ginny go scarlet. Behind us, Ron, Hermione, and Bonnie fought their way over, all of them clutching stacks of Lockhart's books.
“Stop being jealous, Malfoy,” I snapped at him.
“Don't you dare talk to me, filthy half blood,” Malfoy snapped back.
I blushed furiously. I have never been ashamed of who I was, but the way he said it made it sound like I was the most disgusting thing he'd ever found at the bottom of his shoe.
“Oh, it's you,” Ron looked Malfoy up and down, his nose wrinkled. “Bet you're surprised to see Harry and Nixie here, eh?”
“Not as surprised as I am to see you in a bookshop, Weasley,” Malfoy sneered. “I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those.”
Ron went as red as Ginny and me. That must be a record – Malfoy managed to best all three of us. Ron dropped his books inside his sister's cauldron and started toward Malfoy, but Harry and Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket.
“Fight, fight, fight,” Bonnie and I muttered, encouraging the throw down.
“Ron!” Mr. Weasley struggled over with Fred and George at his tail. “What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside.”
“Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley,” It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco's shoulder, sneering in just the same way.
“What are we?” I said loudly, my arms crossed. “Chopped liver?”
“No, but you might as well be,” Mr. Malfoy sneered at me in much the same way his son did, making my cheeks stain red once again. I hoped this embarrassment wouldn't be a reoccurring thing.
“Lucius,” Mr. Weasley nodded toward the other man coldly. “I don't think it's wise for you talk to children that way.”
“Is that what you call those?” Lucius' retort was quick. He glanced down at his cane, tracing the designs on it with a long finger. “Busy time at the Ministry, I hear. All those raids... I hope they're paying you overtime.” He reached into Ginny's cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration.
Sure, pick the only ugly one in there, I thought savagely.
“Obviously not,” Mr. Malfoy said. “Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?” Mr. Weasley's flush was even darker than mine, Ron's or Ginny's.
“We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy,” he said.
"Clearly," said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep, Weasley ... and I thought your family could sink no lower -"
There was a thud of metal as Ginny's cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all our heads; there was a yell of, "Get him, Dad!" from Fred or George; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, "No, Arthur, no!"
"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!" both my and Bonnie's shrieks were the loudest of all.
“Be quiet, half blood,” Malfoy sneered.
“You be quiet, you Slytherin Slimeball!” My sneer was nearly identical to his.
I don't know which one of us swung first, but in the next moment, Malfoy was on top of me, and we were rolling on the floor. Bonnie's shouts of “FIGHT!” were growing louder, and protests and encouragement could be heard all around.
I punched Malfoy right in the eye, my adrenaline kicking in and the noise around me dimming. Soon, I had Malfoy pinned under me, and I was punching any part of him I could reach.
“YOU GET HIM, NIXIE!” Fred, George, and Bonnie shouted – apparently our previous argument forgotten.
Then, louder than everyone, came Hagrid. “Break it up!”
I felt someone grab the back of my shirt and pick me up off of Malfoy, who was gasping in pain and shock, then he picked up Malfoy. We glared at each other, our feet dangling in the air.
“She hit me!” Malfoy shouted.
“Yeah, I did!” I said triumphantly. My artwork was a thing to be proud of – he had a black eye, a split lip, random scratched on his arms and legs, and bruises forming all around.
“Here, girl – take your book – it's the best your father can give you-” I looked over to see Mr. Malfoy thrust a book at Ginny while still managing to sneer at his son. He yanked Draco out of Hagrid's grip and dragged him out of the shop, but not before the silent crowd heard him yell at his son. “Beaten by a girl, Draco?”
“Good work, Nixie!” Fred yelled, patting my back and beaming at me. It broke the tension quickly, half of the shop laughing while the rest sent us disapproving glares.
“Yeh should 'ave ignored him, Arthur,” Hagrid said, though he said nothing about me as he put me down. Maybe Malfoy did throw the first punch. “Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that – no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter – bad blood, that's what it is – come on now – let's get outta here.” The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop us leaving, but he barely came up to Hagrid's waist and seemed to think better of it.
Before I could leave, however, I spotted a small leather book on top of the fallen pile. Wasn't Mr. Malfoy holding that? I grabbed it and added it to the pile of Gilderoy Lockhart books I had dropped when fighting Malfoy.
We hurried up to the street where the Grangers were shaking with fright, and Mrs. Weasley was beside herself with fury. Fred, George, and Bonnie, however, made it known how proud they were of me, congratulating me and saying that they've been wanting to do that to the Malfoys for years. Even Hermione couldn't honestly tell me that she disapproved.
Harry, on the other hand, was angry – but not at me. He was upset at Malfoy for hitting me.
“A fine example to set for your children... brawling in public... what Gilderoy Lockhart must've thought-” Mrs. Weasley was saying, and then my stomach plummeted.
What must he think? I hoped he didn't suspect that I went around fighting everyone just to pass time. Or maybe he thought that I was very brave for sticking up for myself.
“He was pleased,” Fred said, rolling his eyes. “Didn't you hear him as we were leaving?” He was asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet if he'd be able to work the fight into his report – said it was all publicity-”
But it was a subdued group that headed back to the fireside in the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry, the Weasleys, Bonnie, and I, and all our shopping would be traveling back to the Burrow using Floo powder. We said good-bye to the Grangers, who were leaving the pub for the Muggle street on the other side; Mr. Weasley started to ask them how bus stops worked, but stopped quickly at the look on Mrs. Weasley's face.
"This was a very interesting day," Bonnie muttered to me.
“It sure did feel good to punch that overgrown cockroach in the face,” I said with a sigh, and both of us giggled.