Ginny was never exactly what you’d call “easy-going.” She didn’t like waiting for events to unfold, like other people; instead, she wanted to make them happen. She had a fiery temper, a strong will, and a stubborn, wild, but mostly impatient streak in her.
Now this impatience was practically spilling out of her ears as she tugged on Hagrid’s sleeve. The half-giant obviously did not see the urgency of the situation, but how could he not? He just lumbered along, happy-go-lucky, whistling, even. It was unbelievable, to Ginny at least. “Come on, Hagrid!” she said frustratedly. “Hurry up! He’s probably Apparated away by now!”
“Shhh!” Hagrid cautioned, “don’t be yellin’ things like ‘Apparated’ around all these Muggles! And hey, don’t you think you should at least write Harry a little note?”
“Sorry. But can you please hurry? Here, I’ll write a note.” She hastily scribbled down a few words on the back of Harry’s letter, then tied it to Hedwig’s leg and sent her off. Then she resumed her frantic search.
“Ginny, we’ll find him when we find-hey, isn’t that him?”
“WHERE?”
Hagrid pointed. “Right over there, right by the street.”
“Yes, it is.” Excitement coursed through Ginny, adrenaline pumping through her veins. “You should stay here, Hagrid. I’m going to talk to him alone.”
“Be careful, now,” said Hagrid dubiously, but didn’t follow as she sprinted across the street.
* * * * * * * * *
Draco Malfoy was utterly, hopelessly lost. He knew he was. He wasn’t scared, of course; he knew he could always just Apparate back to the Burrow, Diagon Alley, or wherever he wanted to go. But this was the only place that he could think of where he could possibly escape the Death Eaters.
But he hadn’t escaped everybody. As Malfoy turned away from the bitingly cold wind, he saw a determined figure running towards him, her fiery hair streaming out behind her, her chocolatey eyes set and resolved.
Ginny Weasley.
Great, thought Malfoy sardonically. The one place in all of America that I go, is where the stupid Weasley girl is. Perfect.
Malfoy turned to run away-he didn’t much feel like talking to Potter’s girlfriend at the moment-but tripped over a bench that was behind him, and fell to the ground, limbs sprawled in all directions.
Ginny stuck out her hand to help him up, grinning slightly, but he didn’t take it. He scowled and got to his feet, brushing dust off his clothes, and spat at her, “What do you want?”
She smacked him across the face. Hard. It stung, and the freezing wind didn’t help. “What was that for?” he growled, reaching for his wand.
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Okay, Malfoy, for one thing, don’t take out your wand here. For another, that was for abandoning Harry. He’s worried about you, you know, you selfish prat.”
“He-what?” this completely threw Malfoy off. “He’s worried?”
“Yes, and he wants you to go back so that you two can figure out something about Snape…?”
“The trapdoor,” muttered Malfoy, the irritation at seeing somebody so unwelcome completely gone.
Ginny was very interested. “What trapdoor? What’s going on? What have you two been doing?”
“Look, I don’t feel much like going into details, but there’s this trapdoor in Snape’s cellar, and we want to know what it is.”
“Do you think it’s something, you know, important, though?” asked Ginny skeptically. “I mean, it could just be, I don’t know, extra Potions supplies or something.”
Malfoy shrugged. “I’m just curious, is all. What are you doing here, anyway?”
“School trip,” Ginny replied.
“And how did you know about Snape?”
“Harry sent me a letter, all right? Now can we go back to the Burrow?”
“Can you Apparate?” asked Malfoy dubiously.
“I took the class,” said Ginny, shrugging. “I haven’t got my license yet, but I can probably get there alright.”
“Look, if we go, we’re doing Side-Along, because Potter will kill me if you splinch yourself or something. Anyway, what about McGonagall and everybody?”
Ginny’s eyes were blazing. “What about them? This is kind of important. Look, I told McGonagall I was sick, so if I get back here by five-thirty and into the hotel, nobody will ever know the difference.”
“Ginny, I don’t want you to get into trouble…why don’t I just go?”
“Because…” Ginny’s eyes were a little brighter than normal. “I want to see Harry, okay? Now can we go already?”
“Go where?” asked a raspy, grizzly voice.
That’s when Malfoy figured they were in trouble.
Big trouble.
* * * * * * * * * *
Back at the Burrow, Potter was pacing the length of Weasley’s room nervously, waiting. He wasn’t sure, exactly, what he was waiting for, but he couldn’t think of anything to do but wait, so that was what he was doing, waiting.
And it was getting old.
Maybe he was waiting for an owl from Ernie, to tell Granger she’d been given a job. Perhaps he was waiting for Malfoy to return. Heck, maybe he was even waiting for Death Eaters to ambush the house. But none of those things had happened yet, so he was still waiting.
Just then Hedwig soared in through Weasley’s open window and Potter practically overturned Weasley’s desk in excitement. He had never been so happy to see his snowy white owl. He stroked her soft feathers happily and tore Ginny’s reply off her leg, taking care not to scratch himself on her sharp talons.
Dear Harry,
I’m in America, it’s great, and Malfoy’s here! I just saw him and Hagrid and I are going to go find him. Send Hedwig back so I can write you when we’ve found him. Hopefully I’ll be home soon.
Love,
Ginny
“She’s found Malfoy!” Potter breathed excitedly, his hands trembling. He quickly wrote a short reply and sent Hedwig back out (she was getting quite exasperated-America to the Burrow is a very long flight.)
“RON!” he yelled, stomping down the stairs. “HERMIONE!”
“Heavens, Harry, what’s happened?” Mrs. Weasley was the only person home.
“Ginny found Malfoy,” Potter explained. “Where are Ron and Hermione? I need to tell them!”
“They went to Diagon Alley, dear, about an hour ago,” Mrs. Weasley replied. “They said they’d be back around one.”
Not five seconds later Potter had Apparated away.
* * * * * * * * *
Diagon Alley was crowded, as always. Full of jostling crowds, running children, and the occasional quite Dark-looking wizard, Potter had his work cut out for him to try to find his friends. But his excitement fueled him and he was completely undaunted by this task.
If they’d left around an hour ago…they had probably already been to Gringotts. But Potter headed in that direction anyway, intending to speak to Ernie about getting Granger a job. He had barely taken three steps, however, when somebody called his name.
“Harry? Is that you?”
Potter turned to see a familiar, slightly chubby man striding towards him. “Neville?” he asked incredulously. Because it certainly didn’t look like Neville Longbottom, his friend from Hogwarts, but who else could it be? In school Neville had been a stuttering, nervous, forgetful little fellow, but now he looked so different. He was walking over to Potter confidently, his head held high, dressed in very expensive-looking plum velvet robes.
“Of course it is,” Neville beamed. “How are ya, Harry? How’s it been going for you? Well, pretty well, of course-” he beamed “-what with finally defeating Voldemort and all, right?”
Potter couldn’t quite believe his ears. Since when had poor old Neville used the word Voldemort so nonchalantly? “Er, yeah, I’ve been okay,” he said. “Been teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, you?”
Neville puffed out his chest proudly. “Grams got me a job in the Ministry. I work in the Department of Magical Sports and Games. I’m the manager for the Kenmare Kestrels! Can you believe that?”
“Wow, Neville, that’s great!” Potter said, truly happy for his friend. And truly surprised.
Neville grinned. “I know. It’s working out really well. It was really great of Grams to get me this job, I don’t know how she did it really, but it’s great. Well, I have to be going, Harry. I have to make a deposit at Gringotts.”
“Bye,” said Potter, and Neville walked away. As he left something fell out of his pocket. It was today’s issue of The Daily Prophet.
Neville had already disappeared into the bank and Potter figured he could live without his paper, so he leafed through it looking for something interesting to read. He flipped it over and looked at the fWeasleyt page where the headline nearly made him gag.
SORTING HAT STOLEN!
Potter gasped and quickly skimmed the short article.
At 11:45 this morning, Mr. Argus Filch, caretaker of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was cleaning the headmaster’s office when he noticed the patched, frayed, but dearly beloved Sorting Hat gone.
Instantly experts were called in to examine the scene of the crime. They say that the traces of magic around are distinctly dark, but not very new. They cannot be certain when this burglary occurred, as because of Albus Dumbledore’s death, the headmaster’s office has not been cleaned recently.
The entire wizarding community is hoping for the Hat’s quick recovery. Without it, Hogwarts would just not be the same.
“The Sorting Hat…” Potter muttered, pocketing the paper and hurrying off to look for his friends.
He looked everywhere: Madam Malkin’s, Eeylops Owl Emporium, the Apothecary, the Leaky Cauldron. Finally, he glimpsed the unmistakably red hair ahead of him bobbing up and down in the crowd, heading in the direction of the abandoned Ollivander’s shop. “Ron!” he yelled, running. “Hermione!”
The red haired head turned and as Potter had predicted it was Weasley. Next to him was their bushy-haired friend Granger. “Oh, hi, Harry,” said Weasley. “What’s the matter?”
“Did you-did you guys hear-the Sorting Hat was stolen?”
From the looks on their faces, Potter assumed they hadn’t heard just yet.
“Stolen?” gasped Granger. “How? When? Who?”
“They don’t know anything about it, really,” said Potter, producing the article to show his friends. Granger snatched it out of his hands and read it quickly, her eyes widened in shock. Then she thrust it into Weasley’s open arms.
“That’s awful,” said Granger. “What if they don’t find it? How will they Sort kids into Houses?”
“I don’t know. Oh, but I have good news, too!” Potter said, brightening. “Ginny found Malfoy! In America!”
“She found Malfoy in America?” repeated Weasley incredulously. “No way! America’s huge! That’s the single luckiest thing that’s ever happened to us, isn’t it?”
“That’s great,” said Granger. “Is she going to be able to talk some sense into him and bring him back?”
“Well, I assume they’ll be back soon. Maybe even when we get back to the Burrow,” said Potter, his excitement growing at the thought of seeing Ginny. “Let’s check now!”
“Well, we were done anyway,” said Granger. “Okay, Ron? Back to the Burrow.”
And the three friends Disapparated back to the Weasley home.
If Potter hadn’t been so preoccupied when they arrived, he would have noticed that on the great Weasley clock, Ginny’s hand was now pointing to “Mortal Peril.”