Harry Potter - Fanfiction

Year 7 - Magic is Might

As August wears on, the square of unkempt grass in the middle of Grimmauld Place shrivels in the sun until it is brittle and brown. The inhabitants of number twelve are never seen by anybody in the surrounding houses, and nor is number twelve itself. The Muggles who live in Grimmauld Place have long since accepted the amusing mistake in the numbering that has caused number eleven to sit beside number thirteen.

And yet the square is now attracting a trickle of visitors who seem to find the anomaly most intriguing. Barely a day passes without one or two people arriving in Grimmauld Place with no other purpose, or so it seems, than to lean against the railings facing numbers eleven and thirteen, watching the join between the two houses. The lurkers are never the same two days running, although they all seem to share a dislike of normal clothing. Most of the Londoners who pass them are used to eccentric dressers and take little notice, though occasionally one of them might glance back, wondering why anyone would wear such long cloaks in this heat.

The watchers seem to be gleaning little satisfaction from their vigil. Occasionally one of them starts forward excitedly, as if they have seen something interesting at last, only to fall back looking disappointed.

Ever since hearing about the news of the Muggleborns being rounded up, I decided it would be best to stay on longer at twelve Grimmauld Place; plan out a better strategy of what my next move will be.

On the first day of September there are more people lurking in the square than ever before. Half a dozen men in long cloaks stand silent and watchful, gazing as ever at houses eleven and thirteen, but the thing which they are waiting still appears elusive.

I decide to go out for the day, to a Muggle town, one near our parents' house as the places near Grimmauld might be crawling with Death Eaters. Lunch time arrives and I decide to head into a small café, ordering a croissant drizzled with chocolate and caramel. Watching the Muggles go about their daily business; stopping in the café for a quick meet-up, or grabbing a lunch alone like me, or having a business meeting. None of them knowing of any of the danger that lies in the Wizarding World. They all go about carefree. I envy them a little, but I won't ever wish that I never became a witch.

It isn't until I am ready to leave that a snippet of a conversation at the table behind me makes me stay a little longer.

"It's a shame to see the Granger's gone, they were the only dentistry that I trusted," a woman speaks in a soft tone.

Glancing slightly over my shoulder I see two women at a table; I recognise them from our street, they're neighbours and live about four houses down from us.

"I heard they immigrated, but what's strange is that I never saw them take their daughters with them and when I asked them about their two girls they were persistent about it that they didn't have any children," says the same soft toned lady.

"Poor girls, having your parents abandon you by moving as far away as possible and not even recognising your existence. I wander if they went to a home seeing as they aren't of age to be on their own yet," the other lady speaks in a snobbish tone.

"I don't know, it's like the Grangers never even existed, they didn't even respond to me when I called them by their names. They told me they were the Wilkins, but Wendell and Monica are their neighbours. It's all very strange," the other woman responds.

"Maybe they've lost their nutters and were sent to a loony bin, but nobody wanted anybody to know... Poor children." However, the snobbish lady sounds anything but sympathetic.

My hands curl into fists, but I can't turn around and tell them what really happened, they wouldn't even believe me if I did. If we bring our parents back, we'll have to relocate them to another neighbourhood, ours thinks they've gone mental and there's no way of explaining ourselves out of that, they'll always think that of our parents from here on out.