“Harry!” Hermione called out, when she spotted her friend making his way up Diagon Alley towards Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, where she sat eating vanilla ice cream. She dropped her spoon into the empty dish, pushed back her chair and flew into Harry’s outstretched arms.
“Hello, Hermione,” Harry laughed. “How was your summer?”
Hermione disentangled herself from Harry, stepping back to giving him a small frown. “Didn’t you get my letter? I wrote all about it.”
A smile broke across Harry’s face. “Yeah, I did, thanks.” He paused, pushing his glasses further up on his nose. “It arrived at the Burrow last night.”
“Oh?” Hermione queried. “You were allowed to leave the Dursley’s early? Have they been worse than usual?”
“Actually, he’s been at my place for three weeks now,” Ron piped in, causing Hermione to look up at her red-haired friend. He was standing next to Harry, a look of annoyance on his freckled face.
“Oh!” Hermione gasped, realizing Harry wasn’t alone. “Hi Ron, how are you?” She patted his arm awkwardly. “Where’s Ginny?”
Ron rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks for noticing me,” he retorted. “...And Ginny’s with Mum getting a set of robes. Ginny grew a few inches over the summer, so Mum thought it was time to get her a new set.” Even as he said this, they all new what “new” meant.
“Oh, Ron, I didn’t mean to ignore you,” Hermione chided. “I was really concerned about Harry. You know how difficult his aunt and uncle can be!”
“Don’t I ever!” Ron laughed. “Go on, Harry, tell her what happened this time.”
Trying not to laugh, Harry relayed the scene at the Dursley household on Privet Drive three weeks prior: Mr. Weasley, Ron, Fred, and George showed up to collect Harry, as they had just before his fourth year at Hogwarts. This time, Mrs. Weasley had called and spoken to Aunt Petunia on the telephone to set the day and time for the pick up. Uncle Vernon was not pleased when he discovered one of them had phoned the house, after he’d specifically told Harry they were not supposed to, but he allowed the meeting to take place, if only to get rid of Harry three weeks sooner.
When the day arrived for the Weasley’s to collect Harry, the dark-haired teen had expected Ron and his family to arrive via Floo Powder. So Harry had waited patiently by the fireplace, wondering who was going to show up first. The Dursley’s, well aware of what had happened the last time, huddled in the corner of the living room, their collective expression was one of mortal fear.
However, when four o’clock rolled around, no one came through the fireplace; the Weasley’s decided to Apparate! Four sharp cracks filled the air, followed in succession by terrified screams and a giant crash.
When Harry had taken in the entire scene, he couldn’t believe his eyes: Fred and George had apparated on top of Uncle Vernon and his cousin Dudley, and Ron and apparated directly in the middle of Aunt Petunia’s coffee table, causing it to splinter and break into two pieces. Mr. Weasley had merely appeared standing in the middle of the living room, looking thoroughly bewildered. He tried apologizing, but Uncle Vernon, having shoved Fred off of him, turned purple with rage and began shouting insults. Aunt Petunia had reached for the closest thing she could manage to get her bony hands on: a throw pillow. She began swinging it at George in order to get him off her precious Duddy-kins.
It didn’t take an idiot to guess they were no longer welcome or wanted in the Dursley home; the five wizards left as quickly as the four Weasley’s had come.
By the time Harry had reached the last sentence, Hermione and Ron were convulsing with laughter. “Why-why is it,” she panted, gasping for breath, “that you can never seem to leave your aunt and uncle’s house on a pleasant note?”
Harry shrugged. “Can’t say.”
“Well,” Hermione replied, “I would have loved to have seen your cousin’s face when George suddenly appeared in his lap!”
“It was on his back, actually,” Ron corrected her. “Knocked the fat git clear to the floor!” More giggling followed this.
“Well, well, well,” a slick voice drawled from behind them. “What do we have here?” The trio turned to see Draco Malfoy sneering at them. “The Dynamic Duo Plus One laughing it up. How sickeningly sweet.”
“Shut it, Malfoy,” Harry retorted, stepping towards the blonde boy. They were nearly nose to nose. Malfoy’s lip curled in disdain.
“I haven’t got the time to play, Potty,” he said in a slightly amused tone. “So run along with your wee friends, and let the adults go about their business.”
“Adults?” Hermione replied sarcastically. “Let us know when you see one.”
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed maliciously as he rounded on Hermione. “I wasn’t talking to you, you filthy little Mudblood.”
Hermione, who knew Draco only called her that to upset her, should not have taken it personally, but did so anyway. She took a small step back, a look of hurt on her face. Ron, however, pushed Malfoy, causing him to stumble and drop something on the ground. It was retrieved quickly, but not before Hermione was able to get a look.
What was Malfoy doing with a small wooden box, and what was inside? she wondered.
“You’ll be sorry for that Weasel,” Malfoy threatened. He gave them all one last glare before sweeping off in the opposite direction.
“That went well,” Harry said aloud, after Malfoy had disappeared. He turned to Hermione and Ron. “I’d like to get out of here. Let’s go and get our books, shall we?”
Hermione and Ron agreed. Ron picked up Crookshanks, who’d been laying under the table where Hermione had been sitting, and Harry snatched up her bag. The trio headed for Flourish and Blotts, talking about their summer and making plans for the coming year along the way; Malfoy and his insults suddenly forgotten.
~*~*~*~*~*~
“Stupid sods,” Draco muttered, as he walked away from Harry, Hermione, and Ron. He hadn’t meant to be so rude, but the sight of the three friends being so chummy made him jealous, and he wanted to make them as mad as he.
Draco made a right turn and headed towards Knockturn Alley. He pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head to avoid being spotted easily by anyone who might want something more than directions or a few coins.
He couldn’t think about the Tragic Trio at the moment; he had more pressing matters that needed his attention. Draco clutched the small box tighter to him; his mother would be so disappointed if she knew what he was about to do.
Just outside Borgins and Burkes, Draco paused. He wouldn’t have had to go through with this if his hadn’t been for his father. Draco wished he was anywhere in the world but standing here, but they needed money, and this seemed to be the only way...
Taking a deep breath, Draco pushed open the door, annoyed by the ringing bell above his head, signaling to the shopkeeper that someone had arrived. As Draco approached the counter, pulling off his hood, a stooping man in black robes appeared from behind a dark blue curtain. “May I help you?” He asked in a very oily voice.
Draco pulled the wooden box out from beneath his cloak. “Yes, Mr. Borgin, I wish to sell something.” He placed it down on the glass-topped counter with a small thump. The shopkeeper snatched it up almost immediately, prying open the lid with one dirty hand.
“Well, now, Master Malfoy,” the man stated in a slightly awed voice. “This is a rather pretty bauble.” He lifted a huge, sparkling diamond ring encrusted with emeralds set in a gold band from the box. Draco had to look away; he didn’t want to watch anyone greedily pawing his mother’s engagement ring.
“This item seems to have a personal touch,” Mr. Borgin said to Draco. “Where ever did you get it?”
“Never mind where I got it,” Draco snapped. “How much will you give me?” He was growing quite impatient with the old man. He wanted to complete the transaction and get out of there.
The man pulled a small round piece of glass out of the pocket of his robes, and fitted it over his right eye. He examined the ring closely, turning it over and over in his greasy hands. Draco wanted to snatch the piece of jewelry from him and apparate away from there, but a small voice inside told him that he had an obligation to his family, therefore it meant doing what was necessary to keep up the appearance of having money in their pockets.
His gaze traveled around the shop. It seemed that eons ago he and his father were standing in this very shop, trying unload onto Mr. Borgin a few items Lucius Malfoy hadn’t wanted anyone to know he’d had. Draco coveted the Hand of Glory, and was insulted when his father berated him about not getting top marks in school, telling him he should have been ashamed that a Mudblood like Granger was getting the better of him.
Now, as his gaze rested on the Hand of Glory, Draco found he didn’t want it at all.
After several moments, Mr. Borgin set down the eyeglass. “I can give you two hundred Galleons for it.”
“Two hundred?” Draco repeated incredulously. “It’s worth much more than that!”
“Perhaps, then, you should keep the ring instead of selling it to me for a quick buck,” Mr. Borgin shot back in his oily voice. Draco’s cheeks flamed.
“...But as you are Lucius Malfoy’s son,” Mr. Borgin continued, “I suppose I can give you three hundred Galleons. Will that be acceptable?” Draco nodded his head; he knew he had no choice but to accept or receive nothing. It was already killing him to stand here and receive that odd, knowing look from Mr. Borgin.
Mr. Borgin took the box and ring behind the blue curtain, and returned with a small leather pouch filled with coins. Draco took a few out, examined them to be sure they are real, then pocketed the money, leaving Borgins and Burkes as quickly as possible, pulling his hood up.
“Master Malfoy?”
Draco turned at the sound of Mr. Borgin calling out his name. “What is it?” he barked hoarsely at the ancient shopkeeper.
“My...niece attends Hogwarts as well; perhaps you will say hello to her for me--and give her a small trinket, as a token of my appreciation for her?”
Draco eyed Borgin suspiciously; he had relatives? Instead of asking, he held out his hand and the shopkeeper dropped a small black box onto his palm.
“Be sure she gets this, my dear boy; her name is Anya--and this is something I’m certain she’ll appreciate.”
Feeling quite doubtful that anyone would like receiving a gift from Mr. Borgin,Draco merely nodded. He pocketed the item and left as quickly as possible, not giving two whits about Borgin or his niece.
Draco still needed to buy his school books, but that could wait; now he had a meeting at the Leaky Cauldron...
~*~*~*~*~*~
After Hermione, Harry, and Ron visited Flourish and Blotts, they decided to visit Magical Menagerie. Hermione wanted to see about picking up a few things to keep Crookshanks occupied during the school year, while both Harry and Ron were content to look at the fascinating creatures that sat in cages lining every available space in the shop.
Crookshanks, however, had a different idea. The moment another patron opened to the door to step into the shop, the ginger cat leapt from Ron’s arms and took off like a shot, scooting around legs and tearing out into the Alley. “Crookshanks!” Hermione screeched, racing out the door behind her pet, the object she’d been examining quite forgotten.
“Stupid, bloody cat,” Ron said to Harry, who laughed as they followed Hermione outside.
Down Diagon Alley Crookshanks ran, faster and faster until he was almost out of sight. Hermione had to stop a moment to catch her breath before resuming the chase. “What’s gotten into you?” Hermione shouted down the Alley to her cat. Crookshanks did not look back; he seemed to be heading to someplace specific, and wanted Hermione to follow him.
Hermione was nearly upon Crookshanks when she realized he’d finally stopped. He was sitting in front of a shop called Borgin and Burkes. It was somewhat shabby in appearance and surrounded by crumbling shops. It didn’t take Hermione long to realize where she was: Knockturn Alley.
Hermione gulped; she’d never stepped foot into this place before. Hagrid, the Hogwarts Groundskeeper and one of her dearest friends, had told her once that this was a dodgy place. He was right; there were suspicious-looking witches and wizards lurking in nearly every dark corner. She wondered briefly if Mundungus Fletcher was hiding somewhere out there, but decided it was best that she didn’t try to find out.
Crookshanks let out a small mew, and Hermione looked down to see what was the matter. When she noticed him staring directly at the shop in front of them, Hermione automatically looked up and peered into the window.
She gasped when she saw Draco Malfoy receiving a pouch and then a box from the shopkeeper.
Hurriedly, Hermione scooped up Crookshanks and raced back up Knockturn Alley. When she reached Harry and Ron, who were looking for her in Diagon Alley, she relayed to them what she’d seen.
“Malfoy must be desperate,” Ron said with a smirk. “Why else would he be skulking around Knockturn Alley?
“...And in Borgin and Burkes, of all places,” Harry said. “I’d seen him in there with his dad a few years back, remember?” Ron and Hermione nodded. “He was probably unloading some of Voldemort’s stuff.” Ron cringed, and Harry continued. “I wonder how much stuff Malfoy has in his possession?”
“I’ve got to tell my dad, mate,” Ron blurted out. “He said they’d gotten everything from the last raid, but obviously they didn’t.”
Hermione held up one hand. “Wait. We don’t know for certain that’s what he was doing.”
“Oh, come on, Hermione,” Ron argued. “Malfoy was at Borgins and Burkes. They’re famous for buying and selling oddities, rare items, and the like.”
Hermione bit her lip. “I still don’t know...”
“Whatever. Let’s go to the Leaky Cauldron, all right?’ Ron said, changing the subject. “Fred and George wanted to meet me there.”
Hermione nodded, setting Crookshanks on the ground. Crookshanks, his current mission completed, followed along behind the trio, his tail twitching happily.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Locating the green feather proved to be more difficult that Draco thought. First, The Leaky Cauldron was crowded, then he’d had to avoid being spotted by the Weasleys. That in itself was rather difficult, as he’d had to pass the table they’d gathered around. One of the twins had jostled him, and had apologized, but thankfully he’d had the hood of his cloak covering his head, so no one recognized him.
Once he was able to make it past the Weasleys, he noticed two patrons with green feathers. The first was a man handing out green quills, in celebration of his wife’s pregnancy. The other was obviously not the person he was to meet with, as the witch was sitting in the center of the room wearing a bright green feather boa, which snapped at Draco as he walked past.
“Psst. Over here,” a voice whispered to him from his left. Draco stopped in his tracks and peered into the darkness. He had overlooked this spot for it was so dark, and he had not expected a table to be located there.
Flinging himself into the seat, Draco waited for the other person to begin. After all, it was they who invited me, he thought silently.
“Mr. Malfoy, how very good of you to join me.” The voice was low, wispy; Draco could not tell if it was a man or woman who spoke.
“How did you know it was me?” Draco asked suspiciously.
The figure chuckled, its laugh sounded a bit squeaky. “Who else vood be valking into The Leaky Cauldron vith a desire not to be recognized? The voice whispered. “Besides, you haff a look about you; you haff your father’s chin.”
“Spare me the compliments; you said you have information for my father.”
“Vell, now,” was the response. It sounded...amused. “Very much like the father; to the point, no?”
“I’m not here to play games,” Draco spat. “Tell me what you know.”
A sigh followed this. “All right then. Tell your father everything is in order. His friend, K, vill see him in thirty days.”
“What?” Draco asked, confused. “Why couldn’t you tell him that yourself?”
The figure leaned forward slightly and Draco could smell stale pipe smoke. “If I could,” came the slow, annoyed reply, “I vould haff no need for you.”
Draco’s mind reeled; he would have to visit his father in Azkaban? Well, obviously, you nit, a small voice scolded. It’s not as though he were staying in a posh hotel where you could send him a ruddy owl.
“Fine; I’ll give him your bloody message,” Draco uttered contemptuously.
“That’s a good boy,” the figured told him; the whispiness in the voice gone; it was definitely a man Draco was speaking to. “Now, if you don’t mind... get up. I haff meeting vith another ‘friend’ shortly.”
Draco didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled out of the chair and away from the darkened corner, the message repeating over and over in his mind. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice when he bumped into a frizzy-haired girl entering the pub, followed by her tall redheaded friend, and a boy with green eyes, round glasses, and a lightning scar.