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O.WL.s and he hardly gloated at all."

"Ordinary Wizarding Levels," George explained, seeing Harry's

puzzled look. "Bill got twelve, too. If we're not careful, we'll have

another Head Boy in the family. I don't think I could stand the shame."

Bill was the oldest Weasley brother. He and the next brother, Charlie,

had already left Hogwarts. Harry had never met either of them, but

knew that Charlie was in Romania studying dragons and Bill in Egypt

working for the wizard's bank, Gringotts.

"Dunno how Mum and Dad are going to afford all our school stuff this

year," said George after a while. "Five sets of Lockhart books! And

Ginny needs robes and a wand and everything ......

Harry said nothing. He felt a bit awkward. Stored in an underground

vault at Gringotts in London was a small fortune that his parents had

left him. Of course, it was only in the wizarding world that he had

money; you couldn't use Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts

in Muggle shops. He had never mentioned his Gringotts bank account

to the Dursleys; he didn't think their horror of anything connected with

magic would stretch to a large pile of gold.

Mrs. Weasley woke them all early the following Wednesday. After a

quick half a dozen bacon sandwiches each, they pulled on their coats

and 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... Ah well, guests first! After you, Harry dear!"

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And she offered him the flowerpot.

Harry stared at them all watching him.

"W-what am I supposed to do?" he stammered.

"He's never traveled by Floo powder," said Ron suddenly. "Sorry,

Harry, I forgot."

"Never?" said Mr. Weasley. "But how did you get to Diagon Alley to

buy your school things last year?"

"I went on the Underground -"

"Really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Were there escapators? How

exactly -"

"Not now, Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley. "Floo powder's a lot quicker,

dear, but goodness me, if you've never used it before -"

"He'll be all right, Mum," said Fred. "Harry, watch us first."

He took a pinch of glittering powder out of the flowerpot, stepped up

to the fire, and threw the powder into the flames.

With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred,

who stepped right into it, shouted, "Diagon Alley!" and vanished.

* 41

"You must speak clearly, dear," Mrs. Weasley told Harry as George

dipped his hand into the flowerpot. "And be sure to get out at the right

grate ......

"The right what?" said Harry nervously as the fire roared and whipped

George out of sight, too.

"Well, there are an awful lot of wizard fires to choose from, you know,

but as long as you've spoken clearly -"

"He'll be fine, Molly, don't fuss," said Mr. Weasley, helping himself to

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Floo powder, too.

"But, dear, if he got lost, how would we ever explain to his aunt and

uncle?"

"They wouldn't mind," Harry reassured her. "Dudley would think it

was a brilliant joke if I got lost up a chimney, don't worry about that -"

"Well ... all right ... you go after Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley. "Now,

when you get into the fire, say where you're going

"And keep your elbows tucked in," Ron advised.

"And your eyes shut," said Mrs. Weasley. "The soot -"

"Don't fidget," said Ron. "Or you might well fall out of the wrong

fireplace -"

"But don't panic and get out too early; wait until you see Fred and

George."

Trying hard to bear all this in mind, Harry took a pinch of Floo powder

and walked to the edge of the fire. He took a deep breath, scattered

the powder into the flames, and stepped forward; the fire felt like a

warm breeze; he opened his mouth and immediately swallowed a lot

of hot ash.

"D-Dia-gon Alley," he coughed.

It felt as though he was being sucked down a giant drain. He seemed

to be spinning very fast - the roaring in his ears was deafening -he

tried to keep his eyes open but the whirl of green flames made him

feel sick - something hard knocked his elbow and he tucked it in

tightly, still spinning and spinning - now it felt as though cold hands

were slapping his face - squinting through his glasses he saw a blurred

stream of fireplaces and snatched glimpses of the rooms beyond - his

bacon sandwiches were churning inside him - he closed his eyes again

wishing it would stop, and then

He fell, face forward, onto cold stone and felt the bridge of his glasses

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snap.

Dizzy and bruised, covered in soot, he got gingerly to his feet, holding

his broken glasses up to his eyes. He was -,cite alone, but where he

was, he had no idea. All he could tell was that he was standing in the

stone fireplace of what looked like a large, dimly lit wizard's shop - but

nothing in here was ever likely to be on a Hogwarts school list.

A glass case nearby 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 lay upon the counter,

and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. Even worse, the

dark, narrow street Harry could see through the dusty shop window

was definitely not Diagon Alley.

The sooner he got out of here, the better. Nose still stinging where it

had hit the hearth, Harry made his way swiftly and silently toward the

door, but before he'd got halfway toward it, two people appeared on

the other side of the glass - and one of them was the

very last person Harry wanted to meet when he was lost, covered in

soot, and wearing broken glasses: Draco Malfoy.

Harry looked quickly around and spotted a large black cabinet to his

left; he shot inside it and pulled the doors closed, leaving a small crack

to peer through. Seconds later, a bell clanged, and Malfoy stepped into

the shop.

The man who followed could only be Draco's father. He had the same

pale, pointed face and identical cold, gray eyes. Mr. Malfoy crossed

the shop, looking lazily at the items on display, and rang a bell on the

counter before turning to his son and saying, "Touch nothing, Draco."

Malfoy, who had reached for the glass eye, said, "I thought you were

going to buy me a present."

"I said I would buy you a racing broom," said his father, drumming his

fingers on the counter.

"What's the good of that if I'm not on the House team?" said Malfoy,

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looking sulky and bad-tempered. "Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two

Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could

play for Gryffindor. He's not even that good, it's just because he's

famous ... famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead . . . ."

Malfoy bent down to examine a shelf full of skulls.

". . . everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and

his broomstick -"

"You have told me this at least a dozen times already," said Mr.

Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son. "And I would remind you that it

is not - prudent - to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when

most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord

disappear - ah, Mr. Borgin."

A stooping man had appeared behind the counter, smoothing his

greasy hair back from his face.

"Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again," said Mr. Borgin in a

voice as oily as his hair. "Delighted - and young 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," said Mr. Malfoy.

"Selling?" The smile faded slightly from Mr. Borgin's face.

"You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more

raids," said Mr. Malfoy, taking a roll of parchment from his inside

pocket and unraveling it for Mr. Borgin to read. "I have a few - ah

items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call

......

Mr. Borgin fixed a pair of pince-nez to his nose and looked down the

list.

"The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble you, sir, surely?"

Mr. Malfoy's lip curled.

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"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 fleabitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it

Harry felt a hot surge of anger.

"- and as you see, certain of these poisons might make it appear -"

"I understand, sir, of course," said Mr. Borgin. "Let me see. . ."

"Can I have that?" interrupted Draco, pointing at the withered hand on

its cushion.

"Ah, the Hand of Glory!" said Mr. Borgin, abandoning Mr. Malfoy's

list and scurrying 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."

"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer,

Borgin," said Mr. Malfoy coldly, and Mr. Borgin said quickly, "No

offense, sir, no offense meant -"

"Though if his grades don't pick up," said Mr. Malfoy, more coldly still,

"that may indeed be all he is fit for -"

"It's not my fault," retorted Draco. "The teachers all have favorites,

that Hermione Granger -"

"I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family

beat you in every exam," snapped Mr. Malfoy.

"Ha!" said Harry under his breath, pleased to see Draco looking both

abashed and angry.

"It's the same all over," said Mr. Borgin, in his oily voice. "Wizard

blood is counting for less everywhere -"

"Not with me," said Mr. Malfoy, his long nostrils flaring.

45

"No, sir, nor with me, sir," said Mr. Borgin, with a deep bow.

"In that case, perhaps we can return to my list," said Mr. Malfoy

shortly. "I am in something of a hurry, Borgin, I have important

business elsewhere today -"

They started to haggle. Harry watched nervously as Draco drew

nearer and nearer to his hiding place, examining the objects for sale.

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.

* 52

Draco turned away and saw the cabinet right in front of him. He

walked forward - he stretched out his hand for the handle

"Done," said Mr. Malfoy at the counter. "Come, Draco -"

Harry wiped his forehead on his sleeve as Draco turned away.

"Good day to you, Mr. Borgin. I'll expect you at the manor tomorrow

to pick up the goods."

The moment the door had closed, Mr. Borgin dropped his oily manner.

"Good day yourself, Mister Malfoy, and if the stories are true, you

haven't sold me half of what's hidden in your manor ......

Muttering darkly, Mr. Borgin disappeared into a back room. Harry

waited for a minute in case he came back, then, quietly as he could,

slipped out of the cabinet, past the glass cases, and out of the shop

door.

Clutching his broken glasses to his face, Harry stared around. He had

emerged into a dingy alleyway that seemed to be made up entirely of

shops devoted to the Dark Arts. The one he'd just left, Borgin and

Burkes, looked like the largest, but opposite was a nasty window

display of shrunken heads and, two doors down, a large cage was

alive with gigantic black spiders. Two shabby-looking wizards were

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watching him from the shadow of a doorway, muttering to each other.

Feeling jumpy, Harry set off, trying to hold his glasses on straight and

hoping against hope he'd be able to find a way out of here.

An old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling poisonous

candles told him he was in Knockturn Alley. This didn't help, as Harry

had never heard of such a place. He supposed he hadn't spoken

clearly enough through his mouthful of ashes

back in the Weasleys' fire. Trying to stay calm, he wondered what to

do.

"Not lost are you, my dear?" said a voice in his ear, making him jump.

An aged witch stood in front of him, holding a tray of what looked

horribly like whole human fingernails. She leered at him, showing

mossy teeth. Harry backed away.

"I'm fine, thanks," he said. "I'm just -"

"HARRY! What d'yeh think yer doin' down there?"

Harry's heart leapt. So did the witch; a load of fingernails cascaded

down over her feet and she cursed as the massive form of Hagrid, the

Hogwarts gamekeeper, came striding toward them, beetle-black eyes

flashing over his great bristling beard.

"Hagrid!" Harry croaked in relief. "I was lost - Floo powder -"

Hagrid seized Harry by the scruff of the neck and pulled him away

from the witch, knocking the tray right out of her hands. Her shrieks

followed them all the way along the twisting alleyway out into bright

sunlight. Harry saw a familiar, snow-white marble building in the

distance - Gringotts Bank. Hagrid had steered him right into Diagon

Alley.

"Yer a mess!" said Hagrid 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,