moon-struck....harry james potter

2.2| knockturn alley and gilderoy lockhart

2.2| knockturn alley and gilderoy lockhart

They felt like they were spinning. It made Harry feel dizzy. He tried opening his eyes but got soot in them so he closed them back again.

"Don't open your eyes" Alex said. Harry's stomach turned. He felt like he was going to be sick, just when he was about to open his eyes again—baam!—he felt face first into the floor. Alex stood beside him, dusting of her clothes and fixing the creases of her skirt. He got up too, both of them covered in soot.

"Occulus Repairo" Alex muttered. His broken glasses got fixed again, they looked as good as new. He smiled at her. "I think we ended up at knockturn alley" she said, getting a bad feeling in her gut. She looked around, they were in a dimly lit wizard shop.

"Knockturn alley?" Harry asked and Alex nodded. 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. The narrow dimly lit street outside certainly was not diagon Alley.

"I think we should leave" Alex said and Harry nodded. Neither of them liked this place.

"Look" Alex said pointing at Draco, a man with longer hair just like Draco's followed inside the store. The two of them shared a look, Harry looked quickly around and spotted a large black cabinet to his left; he shot inside it, taking Alex with him and pulled the doors closed, leaving a small crack to peer through.

"I thought you were going to buy me a present" Draco said.

"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, looking sulky and bad tempered. "Harry Potter and Alexandria Black got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so they could play for Gryffindor. Potter'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.

"I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome"

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