Harry remained within the confines of the Burrow's garden over the next few weeks. He spent most of his days playing two-a-side Quidditch in the Weasleys’ orchard (he and Hermione against Ron and Ginny; Hermione was dreadful and Ginny good, so they were reasonably well matched) and his evenings eating triple helpings of everything Mrs. Weasley put in front of him.
It would have been a happy, peaceful holiday had it not been for the stories of disappearances, odd accidents, even of deaths now appearing almost daily in the Prophet. Sometimes Bill and Mr. Weasley brought home news before it even reached the paper. To Mrs. Weasley's displeasure, Harry's sixteenth birthday celebrations were marred by grisly tidings brought to the party by Remus Lupin, who was looking gaunt and grim, his brown hair streaked liberally with gray, his clothes more ragged and patched than ever.
“There have been another couple of dementor attacks,” he announced, as Mrs. Weasley passed him a large slice of birthday cake. “And they've found Igor Karkaroff's body in a shack up north. The Dark Mark had been set over it... well, frankly, I'm surprised he stayed alive for even a year after deserting the Death Eaters; Sirius's brother, Regulus, only managed a few days as far as I can remember.”
“Yes, well,” said Mrs. Weasley, frowning, “perhaps we should talk about something diff...”
“Did you hear about Florean Fortescue, Remus?” asked Bill, who was being plied with wine by Fleur. “The man who ran—”
“— the ice-cream place in Diagon Alley?” Harry interrupted, with an unpleasant, hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach. “He used to give me free ice creams. What's happened to him?”
“Dragged off, by the look of his place.”
“Why?” asked Ron, while Mrs. Weasley pointedly glared at Bill.
“Who knows? He must've upset them somehow. He was a good man, Florean.”
“Talking of Diagon Alley,” said Mr. Weasley, “looks like Ollivander's gone too.”
“The wand-maker?” said Ginny, looking startled.
“That's the one. Shop's empty. No sign of a struggle. No one knows whether he left voluntarily or was kidnapped.”
“But wands—what'll people do for wands?”
“They'll make do with other makers,” said Lupin. “But Ollivander was the best, and if the other side have got him it's not so good for us.”
The day after this rather gloomy birthday tea, their letters and booklists arrived from Hogwarts. Harry's included a surprise: he had been made Quidditch Captain.
“That gives you equal status with prefects!” cried Hermione happily. “You can use our special bathroom now and everything!”
“Wow, I remember when Charlie wore one of these,” said Ron, examining the badge with glee. “Harry, this is so cool, you're my Captain... if you let me back on the team, I suppose, ha ha...”
“Well, I don't suppose we can put off a trip to Diagon Alley much longer now you've got these,” sighed Mrs. Weasley, looking down Ron's booklist. “We'll go on Saturday as long as your father doesn't have to go into work again. I'm not going there without him.”
“Mum, d'you honestly think You-Know-Who's going to be hiding behind a bookshelf in Flourish and Blotts?” sniggered Ron.
“Fortescue and Ollivander went on holiday, did they?” said Mrs. Weasley, firing up at once. “If you think security's a laughing matter you can stay behind and I'll get your things myself...”
“No, I wanna come, I want to see Fred and George's shop!” said Ron hastily.
“Then you just buck up your ideas, young man, before I decide you're too immature to come with us!” said Mrs. Weasley angrily, snatching up her clock, all nine hands of which were still pointing at mortal peril, and balancing it on top of a pile of just-laundered towels. “And that goes for returning to Hogwarts as well!”
Ron turned to stare incredulously at Harry as his mother hoisted the laundry basket and the teetering clock into her arms and stormed out of the room.
“Blimey... you can't even make a joke round here anymore...”
But Ron was careful not to be flippant about Voldemort over the next few days. Saturday dawned without any more outbursts from Mrs. Weasley, though she seemed very tense at breakfast. Bill, who would be staying at home with Fleur (much to Hermione and Ginny's pleasure), passed a full money bag across the table to Harry.
“Where's mine?” demanded Ron at once, his eyes wide.
“That's already Harry's, idiot,” said Bill. “I got it out of your vault for you, Harry, because it's taking about five hours for the public to get to their gold at the moment, the goblins have tightened security so much. Two days ago Arkie Philpott had a Probity Probe stuck up his... Well, trust me, this way's easier.”
“Thanks, Bill,” said Harry, pocketing his gold.
“'E is always so thoughtful,” purred Fleur adoringly, stroking Bill's nose. Ginny mimed vomiting into her cereal behind Fleur. Harry choked over his cornflakes, and Ron thumped him on the back.
It was an overcast, murky day. One of the special Ministry of Magic cars, in which Harry had ridden once before, was awaiting them in the front yard when they emerged from the house, pulling on their cloaks.
“It's good Dad can get us these again,” said Ron appreciatively, stretching luxuriously as the car moved smoothly away from the Burrow, Bill and Fleur waving from the kitchen window. He, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were all sitting in roomy comfort in the wide backseat.
“Don't get used to it, it's only because of Harry,” said Mr. Weasley over his shoulder. He and Mrs. Weasley were in front with the Ministry driver; the front passenger seat had obligingly stretched into what resembled a two-seater sofa. “He's been given top-grade security status. And we'll be joining up with additional security at the Leaky Cauldron too.”
Harry said nothing; he did not much fancy doing his shopping while surrounded by a battalion of Aurors. He had stowed his Invisibility Cloak in his backpack and felt that, if that was good enough for Dumbledore, it ought to be good enough for the Ministry, though now he came to think of it, he was not sure the Ministry knew about his cloak.
“Here you are, then,” said the driver, a surprisingly short while later, speaking for the first time as he slowed in Charing Cross Road and stopped outside the Leaky Cauldron. “I'm to wait for you, any idea how long you'll be?”
“A couple of hours, I expect,” said Mr. Weasley. “Ah, good, he's here!”
Harry imitated Mr. Weasley and peered through the window; his heart leapt. There were no Aurors waiting outside the inn, but instead the gigantic, black-bearded form of Rubeus Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, wearing a long beaverskin coat, beaming at the sight of Harry's face and oblivious to the startled stares of passing Muggles.
“Harry!” he boomed, sweeping Harry into a bone-crushing hug the moment Harry had stepped out of the car. “Buckbeak—Witherwings, I mean—yeh should see him, Harry, he's so happy ter be back in the open air—”
“Glad he's pleased,” said Harry, grinning as he massaged his ribs. “We didn't know ‘security’ meant you!”
“I know, jus’ like old times, innit? See, the Ministry wanted ter send a bunch o’ Aurors, but Dumbledore said I'd do,” said Hagrid proudly, throwing out his chest and tucking his thumbs into his pockets. “Lets get goin’ then—after yeh, Molly, Arthur—”
The Leaky Cauldron was, for the first time in Harry's memory, completely empty. Only Tom the landlord, wizened and toothless, remained of the old crowd. He looked up hopefully as they entered, but before he could speak, Hagrid said importantly, “Jus’ passin’ through today, Tom, sure yeh understand, Hogwarts business, yeh know.”
Tom nodded gloomily and returned to wiping glasses; Harry, Hermione, Hagrid, and the Weasleys walked through the bar and out into the chilly little courtyard at the back where the dustbins stood. Hagrid raised his pink umbrella and rapped a certain brick in the wall, which opened at once to form an archway onto a winding cobbled street. They stepped through the entrance and paused, looking around.
Diagon Alley had changed. The colorful, glittering window displays of spellbooks, potion ingredients, and cauldrons were lost to view, hidden behind the large Ministry of Magic posters that had been pasted over them. Most of these somber purple posters carried blown-up versions of the security advice on the Ministry pamphlets that had been sent out over the summer, but others bore moving black-and-white photographs of Death Eaters known to be on the loose. Bellatrix Lestrange was sneering from the front of the nearest apothecary. A few windows were boarded up, including those of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. On the other hand, a number of shabby-looking stalls had sprung up along the street. The nearest one, which had been erected outside Flourish and Blotts, under a striped, stained awning, had a cardboard sign pinned to its front:
AMULETS: Effective Against Werewolves, Dementors, and Inferi
A seedy-looking little wizard was rattling armfuls of silver symbols on chains at passersby.
“One for your little girl, madam?” he called at Mrs. Weasley as they passed, leering at Ginny. “Protect her pretty neck?”
“If I were on duty...” said Mr. Weasley, glaring angrily at the amulet seller.
“Yes, but don't go arresting anyone now, dear, we're in a hurry,” said Mrs. Weasley, nervously consulting a list. “I think we'd better do Madam Malkin's first, Hermione wants new dress robes, and Ron's showing much too much ankle in his school robes, and you must need new ones too, Harry, you've grown so much... come on, everyone...”
“Molly, it doesn't make sense for all of us to go to Madam Malkin's,” said Mr. Weasley. “Why don't those three go with Hagrid, and we can go to Flourish and Blotts and get everyone's school books?”
“I don't know,” said Mrs. Weasley anxiously, clearly torn between a desire to finish the shopping quickly and the wish to stick together in a pack. “Hagrid, do you think...—?”
“Don’ fret, they'll be fine with me, Molly,” said Hagrid soothingly, waving an airy hand the size of a dustbin lid. Mrs. Weasley did not look entirely convinced, but allowed the separation, scurrying off toward Flourish and Blotts with her husband and Ginny while Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid set off for Madam Malkin's.
Harry noticed that many of the people who passed them had the same harried, anxious look as Mrs. Weasley, and that nobody was stopping to talk anymore; the shoppers stayed together in their own tightly knit groups, moving intently about their business. Nobody seemed to be shopping alone.
“Migh’ be a bit of a squeeze in there with all o’ us,” said Hagrid, stopping outside Madam Malkin's and bending down to peer through the window. “I'll stand guard outside, all righ'?”
So Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered the little shop together. It appeared, at first glance, to be empty, but no sooner had the door swung shut behind them than they heard a familiar voice issuing from behind a rack of dress robes in spangled green and blue.
“... not a child, in case you haven't noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone.”
There was a clucking noise and a voice Harry recognized as that of Madam Malkin, the owner, said, “Now, dear, your mother's quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own anymore, it's nothing to do with being a child—”
“Watch where you're sticking that pin, will you!”
A teenage boy with a pale, pointed face and white-blond hair appeared from behind the rack, wearing a handsome set of dark green robes that glittered with pins around the hem and the edges of the sleeves. He strode to the mirror and examined himself; it was a few moments before he noticed Harry, Ron, and Hermione reflected over his shoulder. His light gray eyes narrowed.
“If you're wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in,” said Draco Malfoy.
“I don't think there's any need for language like that!” said Madam Malkin, scurrying out from behind the clothes rack holding a tape measure and a wand. “And I don't want wands drawn in my shop either!” she added hastily, for a glance toward the door had shown her Harry and Ron both standing there with their wands out and pointing at Malfoy.
Hermione, who was standing slightly behind them, whispered, “No, don't, honestly, it's not worth it. ”
“Yeah, like you'd dare do magic out of school,” sneered Malfoy. “Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers.”
“That's quite enough!” said Madam Malkin sharply, looking over her shoulder for support. “Madam—please—”
Narcissa Malfoy strolled out from behind the clothes rack.
“Put those away,” she said coldly to Harry and Ron. “If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do.”
“Really?” said Harry, taking a step forward and gazing into the smoothly arrogant face that, for all its pallor, still resembled her sister's. He was as tall as she was now. “Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?”
Madam Malkin squealed and clutched at her heart.
“Really, you shouldn't accuse... dangerous thing to say... wands away, please!”
But Harry did not lower his wand. Narcissa Malfoy smiled unpleasantly.
“I see that being Dumbledore's favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you.”
Harry looked mockingly all around the shop. “Wow... look at that... he's not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!”
Malfoy made an angry movement toward Harry, but stumbled over his overlong robe. Ron laughed loudly.
“Don't you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!” Malfoy snarled.
“It's all right, Draco,” said Narcissa, restraining him with her thin white fingers upon his shoulder. “I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius.”
Harry raised his wand higher.
“Harry, no!” moaned Hermione, grabbing his arm and attempting to push it down by his side. “Think... You mustn't... You'll be in such trouble...”
Madam Malkin dithered for a moment on the spot, then seemed to decide to act as though nothing was happening in the hope that it wouldn't. She bent toward Malfoy, who was still glaring at Harry.
“I think this left sleeve could come up a little bit more, dear, let me just...”
“Ouch!” bellowed Malfoy, slapping her hand away. “Watch where you're putting your pins, woman! Mother, I don't think I want these anymore.”
He pulled the robes over his head and threw them onto the floor at Madam Malkin's feet.
“You're right, Draco,” said Narcissa, with a contemptuous glance at Hermione, “now I know the kind of scum that shops here... We'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's.”
And with that, the pair of them strode out of the shop, Malfoy taking care to bang as hard as he could into Ron on the way out.
“Well, really!” said Madam Malkin, snatching up the fallen robes and moving the tip of her wand over them like a vacuum cleaner, so that it removed all the dust.
She was distracted all through the fitting of Ron's and Harry's new robes, tried to sell Hermione wizard's dress robes instead of witch's, and when she finally bowed them out of the shop it was with an air of being glad to see the back of them.
“Got ev'rything?” asked Hagrid brightly when they reappeared at his side.
“Just about,” said Harry. “Did you see the Malfoys?”
“Yeah,” said Hagrid, unconcerned. “But they wouldn’ dare make trouble in the middle o’ Diagon Alley, Harry. Don’ worry about them.”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged looks, but before they could disabuse Hagrid of this comfortable notion, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny appeared, all clutching heavy packages of books.
“Everyone all right?” said Mrs. Weasley. “Got your robes? Right then, we can pop in at the Apothecary and Eeylops on the way to Fred and George's... stick close, now...”
Neither Harry nor Ron bought any ingredients at the Apothecary, seeing that they were no longer studying Potions, but both bought large boxes of owl nuts for Hedwig and Pigwidgeon at Eeylops Owl Emporium. Then, with Mrs. Weasley checking her watch every minute or so, they headed farther along the street in search of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, the joke shop run by Fred and George.
“We really haven't got too long,” Mrs. Weasley said. “So we'll just have a quick look around and then back to the car. We must be close, that's number ninety-two... ninety-four...”
“Whoa,"said Ron, stopping in his tracks.
Set against the dull, poster-muffled shop Fronts around them, Fred and Georges windows hit the eye like a firework display. Casual passersby were looking back over their shoulders at the windows, and a few rather stunned-looking people had actually come to a halt, transfixed. The left-hand window was dazzlingly full of an assortment of goods that revolved, popped, flashed, bounced, and shrieked; Harry's eyes began to water just looking at it. The right-hand window was covered with a gigantic poster, purple like those of the Ministry, but emblazoned with flashing yellow letters:
Why Are You Worrying About You-Know-Who?
You SHOULD Be Worrying About
U-NO-POO—
the Constipation Sensation That's Gripping the Nation!
Harry started to laugh. He heard a weak sort of moan beside him and looked around to see Mrs. Weasley gazing, dumbfounded, at the poster. Her lips moved silently, mouthing the name “U-No-Poo.”
“They'll be murdered in their beds!” she whispered.
“No they won't!” said Ron, who, like Harry, was laughing. “This is brilliant!”
And he and Harry led the way into the shop. It was packed with customers; Harry could not get near the shelves. He stared around, looking up at the boxes piled to the ceiling: here were the Skiving Snackboxes that the twins had perfected during their last, unfinished year at Hogwarts; Harry noticed that the Nosebleed Nougat was most popular, with only one battered box left on the shelf. There were bins full of trick wands, the cheapest merely turning into rubber chickens or pairs of briefs when waved, the most expensive beating the unwary user around the head and neck, and boxes of quills, which came in Self-Inking, Spell-Checking, and Smart-Answer varieties. A space cleared in the crowd, and Harry pushed his way toward the counter, where a gaggle of delighted ten-year-olds was watching a tiny little wooden man slowly ascending the steps to a real set of gallows, both perched on a box that read: Reusable hangman—spell it or he'll swing!
“‘Patented Daydream Charms’ ”
Hermione had managed to squeeze through to a large display near the counter and was reading the information on the back of a box bearing a highly colored picture of a handsome youth and a swooning girl who were standing on the deck of a pirate ship.
“‘One simple incantation and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic, thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable (side effects include vacant expression and minor drooling). Not for sale to under-sixteens’. You know,” said Hermione, looking up at Harry, “that really is extraordinary magic!”
“For that, Hermione,” said a voice behind them, “you can have one for free.”
A beaming Fred stood before them, wearing a set of magenta robes that clashed magnificently with his flaming hair.
“How are you, Harry?” They shook hands. “And what's happened to your eye, Hermione?”
“Your punching telescope,” she said ruefully.
“Oh blimey, I forgot about those,” said Fred. “Here...”
He pulled a tub out of his pocket and handed it to her; she unscrewed it gingerly to reveal a thick yellow paste.
“Just dab it on, that bruise'll be gone within the hour,” said Fred. “We had to find a decent bruise-remover. We're testing most of our products on ourselves.”
Hermione looked nervous. “It is safe, isn't it?” she asked.
“Course it is,” said Fred bracingly. “Come on, Harry, I'll give you a tour.”
Harry left Hermione dabbing her black eye with paste and followed Fred toward the back of the shop, where he saw a stand of card and rope tricks.
“Muggle magic tricks!” said Fred happily, pointing them out. “For freaks like Dad, you know, who love Muggle stuff. It's not a big earner, but we do fairly steady business, they're great novelties... Oh, here's George...”
Fred's twin shook Harry's hand energetically.
“Giving him the tour? Come through the back, Harry, that's where we're making the real money... pocket anything, you, and you'll pay in more than Galleons!” he added warningly to a small boy who hastily whipped his hand out of the tub labeled: Edible Dark Marks—They'll Make Anyone Sick!
George pushed back a curtain beside the Muggle tricks and Harry saw a darker, less crowded room. The packaging on the products lining these shelves was more subdued.
“We've just developed this more serious line,” said Fred. “Funny how it happened...”
“You wouldn't believe how many people, even people who work at the Ministry, can't do a decent Shield Charm,” said George. “'Course, they didn't have you teaching them, Harry.”
“That's right... Well, we thought Shield Hats were a bit of a laugh, you know, challenge your mate to jinx you while wearing it and watch his face when the jinx just bounces off. But the Ministry bought five hundred for all its support staff! And we're still getting massive orders!”
“So we've expanded into a range of Shield Cloaks, Shield Gloves...”
“... I mean, they wouldn't help much against the Unforgivable Curses, but for minor to moderate hexes or jinxes...”
“And then we thought we'd get into the whole area of Defense Against the Dark Arts, because it's such a money spinner,” continued George enthusiastically. “This is cool. Look, Instant Darkness Powder, we're importing it from Peru. Handy if you want to make a quick escape.”
“And our Decoy Detonators are just walking off the shelves, look,” said Fred, pointing at a number of weird-looking black horn-type objects that were indeed attempting to scurry out of sight. “You just drop one surreptitiously and it'll run off and make a nice loud noise out of sight, giving you a diversion if you need one.”
“Handy,” said Harry, impressed.
“Here,” said George, catching a couple and throwing them to Harry.
A young witch with short blonde hair poked her head around the curtain; Harry saw that she too was wearing magenta staff robes.
“There's a customer out here looking for a joke cauldron, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley,” she said.
Harry found it very odd to hear Fred and George called “Mr. Weasley,” but they took it in their stride.
“Right you are, Verity, I'm coming,” said George promptly. “Harry, you help yourself to anything you want, all right? No charge.”
“I can't do that!” said Harry, who had already pulled out his money bag to pay for the Decoy Detonators.
“You don't pay here,” said Fred firmly, waving away Harry's gold.
“But...”
“You gave us our start-up loan, we haven't forgotten,” said George sternly. “Take whatever you like, and just remember to tell people where you got it, if they ask.”
George swept off through the curtain to help with the customers, and Fred led Harry back into the main part of the shop to find Hermione and Ginny still poring over the Patented Daydream Charms.
“Haven't you girls found our special WonderWitch products yet?” asked Fred. “Follow me, ladies...”
Near the window was an array of violently pink products around which a cluster of excited girls was giggling enthusiastically. Hermione and Ginny both hung back, looking wary.
“There you go,” said Fred proudly. “Best range of love potions you'll find anywhere.”
Ginny raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Do they work?” she asked.
“Certainly they work, for up to twenty-four hours at a time depending on the weight of the boy in question—”
“— and the attractiveness of the girl,” said George, reappearing suddenly at their side. “But we're not selling them to our sister,” he added, becoming suddenly stern, “not when she's already got about five boys on the go from what we've—”
“Whatever you've heard from Ron is a big fat lie,” said Ginny calmly, leaning forward to take a small pink pot off the shelf. “What's this?”
“Guaranteed Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher,” said Fred. “Excellent on everything from boils to blackheads, but don't change the subject. Are you or are you not currently going out with a boy called Dean Thomas?”
“Yes, I am,” said Ginny. “And last time I looked, he was definitely one boy, not five. What are those?”
She was pointing at a number of round balls of fluff in shades of pink and purple, all rolling around the bottom of a cage and emitting high-pitched squeaks.
“Pygmy Puffs,” said George. “Miniature puffskeins, we can't breed them fast enough. So what about Michael Corner?”
“I dumped him, he was a bad loser,” said Ginny, putting a finger through the bars of the cage and watching the Pygmy Puffs crowd around it. “They're really cute!”
“They're fairly cuddly, yes,” conceded Fred. “But you're moving through boyfriends a bit fast, aren't you?”
Ginny turned to look at him, her hands on her hips. There was such a Mrs. Weasley-ish glare on her face that Harry was surprised Fred didn't recoil.
“It's none of your business. And I'll thank you,” she added angrily to Ron, who had just appeared at George's elbow, laden with merchandise, “not to tell tales about me to these two!”
“That's three Galleons, nine Sickles, and a Knut,” said Fred, examining the many boxes in Ron's arms. “Cough up.”
“I'm your brother!”
“And that's our stuff you're nicking. Three Galleons, nine Sickles. I'll knock off the Knut.”
“But I haven't got three Galleons, nine Sickles!”
“You'd better put it back then, and mind you put it on the right shelves.”
Ron dropped several boxes, swore, and made a rude hand gesture at Fred that was unfortunately spotted by Mrs. Weasley, who had chosen that moment to appear.
“If I see you do that again I'll jinx your fingers together,” she said sharply.
“Mum, can I have a Pygmy Puff?” said Ginny at once.
“A what?” said Mrs. Weasley warily.
“Look, they're so sweet...”
Mrs. Weasley moved aside to look at the Pygmy Puffs, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione momentarily had an unimpeded view out of the window. Draco Malfoy was hurrying up the street alone. As he passed Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, he glanced over his shoulder. Seconds later, he moved beyond the scope of the window and they lost sight of him.
“Wonder where his mummy is?” said Harry, frowning.
“Given her the slip by the looks of it,” said Ron.
“Why, though?” said Hermione.
Harry said nothing; he was thinking too hard. Narcissa Malfoy would not have let her precious son out of her sight willingly; Malfoy must have made a real effort to free himself from her clutches.
Harry, knowing and loathing Malfoy, was sure the reason could not be innocent.
He glanced around. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were bending over the Pygmy Puffs. Mr. Weasley was delightedly examining a pack of Muggle marked playing cards. Fred and George were both helping customers. On the other side of the glass, Hagrid was standing with his back to them, looking up and down the street.
“Get under here, quick,” said Harry, pulling his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag.
“Oh—I don't know, Harry,” said Hermione, looking uncertainly toward Mrs. Weasley.
“Come on,” said Ron.
She hesitated for a second longer, then ducked under the cloak with Harry and Ron. Nobody noticed them vanish; they were all too interested in Fred and George's products. Harry, Ron, and Hermione squeezed their way out of the door as quickly as they could, but by the time they gained the street, Malfoy had disappeared just as successfully as they had.
“He was going in that direction,” murmured Harry as quietly as possible, so that the humming Hagrid would not hear them. “C'mon...”
They scurried along, peering left and right, through shop windows and doors, until Hermione pointed ahead.
“That's him, isn't it?” she whispered. “Turning left?”
“Big surprise,” whispered Ron.
For Malfoy had glanced around, then slid into Knockturn Alley and out of sight.
“Quick, or we'll lose him,” said Harry, speeding up.
“Our feet'll be seen!” said Hermione anxiously, as the cloak flapped a little around their ankles; it was much more difficult hiding all three of them under the cloak nowadays.
“It doesn't matter,” said Harry impatiently. “Just hurry!”
But Knockturn Alley, the side street devoted to the Dark Arts, looked completely deserted. They peered into windows as they passed, but none of the shops seemed to have any customers at all. Harry supposed it was a bit of a giveaway in these dangerous and suspicious times to buy Dark artifacts... or at least, to be seen buying them.
Hermione gave his arm a hard pinch.
“Ouch!”
“Shh! Look! He's in there!” she breathed in Harry's ear.
They had drawn level with the only shop in Knockturn Alley that Harry had ever visited, Borgin and Burkes, which sold a wide variety of sinister objects. There in the midst of the cases full of skulls and old bottles stood Draco Malfoy with his back to them, just visible beyond the very same large black cabinet in which Harry had once hidden to avoid Malfoy and his father. Judging by the movements of Malfoy's hands, he was talking animatedly. The proprietor of the shop, Mr. Borgin, an oily-haired, stooping man, stood facing Malfoy. He was wearing a curious expression of mingled resentment and fear.
“If only we could hear what they're saying!” said Hermione.
“We can!” said Ron excitedly. “Hang on—damn.”
He dropped a couple more of the boxes he was still clutching as he fumbled with the largest.
“Extendable Ears, look!”
“Fantastic!” said Hermione, as Ron unraveled the long, flesh-colored strings and began to feed them toward the bottom of the door. “Oh, I hope the door isn't Imperturbable—”
“No!” said Ron gleefully. “Listen!”
They put their heads together and listened intently to the ends of the strings, through which Malfoy's voice could be heard loud and clear, as though a radio had been turned on.
“... you know how to fix it?”
“Possibly,” said Borgin, in a tone that suggested he was unwilling to commit himself. “I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?”
“I can't,” said Malfoy. “It's got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it.”
Harry saw Borgin lick his lips nervously.
“Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything.”
“No?” said Malfoy, and Harry knew, just by his tone, that Malfoy was sneering. “Perhaps this will make you more confident.”
He moved toward Borgin and was blocked from view by the cabinet. Harry, Ron, and Hermione shuffled sideways to try and keep him in sight, but all they could see was Borgin, looking very frightened.
“Tell anyone,” said Maifoy, “and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He's a family friend. He'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention.”
“There will be no need for—”
“I'll decide that,” said Malfoy. “Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep that one safe, I'll need it.”
“Perhaps you'd like to take it now?”
“No, of course I wouldn't, you stupid, little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don't sell it.”
“Of course not... sir.”
Borgin made a bow as deep as the one Harry had once seen him give Lucius Malfoy.
“Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?”
“Naturally, naturally,” murmured Borgin, bowing again.
Next moment, the bell over the door tinkled loudly as Malfoy stalked out of the shop looking very pleased with himself. He passed so close to Harry, Ron, and Hermione that they felt the cloak flutter around their knees again. Inside the shop, Borgin remained frozen; his unctuous smile had vanished; he looked worried.
“What was that about?” whispered Ron, reeling in the Extendable Ears.
“Dunno,” said Harry, thinking hard. “He wants something mended... and he wants to reserve something in there... Could you see what he pointed at when he said ‘that one'?”
“No, he was behind that cabinet—”
“You two stay here,” whispered Hermione.
“What are you—?”
But Hermione had already ducked out from under the cloak. She checked her hair in the reflection in the glass, then marched into the shop, setting the bell tinkling again. Ron hastily fed the Extendable Ears back under the door and passed one of the strings to Harry.
“Hello, horrible morning, isn't it?” Hermione said brightly to Borgin, who did not answer, but cast her a suspicious look. Humming cheerily, Hermione strolled through the jumble of objects on display.
“Is this necklace for sale?” she asked, pausing beside a glass-fronted case.
“If you've got one and a half thousand Galleons,” said Mr. Borgin coldly.
“Oh—er—no, I haven't got quite that much,” said Hermione, walking on. “And... what about this lovely—um—skull?”
“Sixteen Galleons.”
“So it's for sale, then? It isn't being... kept for anyone?”
Mr. Borgin squinted at her. Harry had the nasty feeling he knew exactly what Hermione was up to. Apparently Hermione felt she had been rumbled too because she suddenly threw caution to the winds.
“The thing is, that—er—boy who was in here just now, Draco Malfoy, well, he's a friend of mine, and I want to get him a birthday present, but if he's already reserved anything, I obviously don't want to get him the same thing, so... um...”
It was a pretty lame story in Harry's opinion, and apparently Borgin thought so too.
“Out,” he said sharply. “Get out!”
Hermione did not wait to be asked twice, but hurried to the door with Borgin at her heels. As the bell tinkled again, Borgin slammed the door behind her and put up the closed sign.
“Ah well,” said Ron, throwing the cloak back over Hermione. “Worth a try, but you were a bit obvious—”
“Well, next time you can show me how it's done, Master of Mystery!” she snapped.
Ron and Hermione bickered all the way back to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, where they were forced to stop so that they could dodge undetected around a very anxious-looking Mrs. Weasley and Hagrid, who had clearly noticed their absence. Once in the shop, Harry whipped off the Invisibility Cloak, hid it in his bag, and joined in with the other two when they insisted, in answer to Mrs. Weasleys accusations, that they had been in the back room all along, and that she could not have looked properly.
哈利接下来的几周里都没有离开陋居。他把白天的大部分时间都花在了打两人一队的魁地奇比赛上（他和赫敏对罗恩和金妮，所以他们正好旗鼓相当），而晚上则用来把韦斯莱夫人摆在他面前的食物每样都吃掉三份。
如果不是《预言家日报》上每天登载的那些失踪报道和奇怪的（甚至是死人的）事故，这个暑假还真算是一个快乐、平静的暑假。有时候比尔和韦斯莱先生甚至在登报之前就把新的消息带回了家。让韦斯莱夫人感到不快的是，哈利的十六周岁生日的庆祝晚会被莱姆斯·卢平带来的可怕消息给搅了，卢平看上去显得憔悴而阴沉，棕色的头发里夹杂着许多白丝，衣服看上去比任何时候都要破旧。
“又发生了两三起摄魂怪攻击事件，” 在韦斯莱夫人递给他一大片生日蛋糕时，他宣布。“而他们还在北部地区的一个小屋里找到了伊戈尔·卡卡洛夫的尸体。黑魔标记被施放在小屋上面——嗯，坦率地说，我对他在抛弃了食死徒的队伍之后还能活上一年感到很惊讶；我记得小天狼星的弟弟雷古勒斯只活了几天。”
“是的，好了，”韦斯莱夫人皱着眉头说，“也许我们该讨论点别的——”
“你听说了弗洛林·福特斯库的事吗，莱姆斯？”比尔说，他正在被芙蓉用葡萄酒骚扰。“那个开——”
“——对角巷里的冷饮店的人？”哈利不安地插嘴道，感觉胃里空空的。“他过去常让我免费品尝冰淇淋。他怎么了？”
“被拖走了，从他的店的样子看是这样。”
“为什么？”罗恩问，韦斯莱夫人严厉地盯着比尔。
“谁知道呢？他一定是怎么妨害了他们。弗洛林是个好人。”
“说到对角巷，”韦斯莱先生说，“好像奥利凡德也不见了。”
“那个做魔杖的人？”金妮震惊地问。
“就是他。店子是空的。没有挣扎的痕迹。没人知道他是自己走的还是被绑架了。”
“但是魔杖——人们怎么买魔杖呢？”
“他们可以到其他店里去买，”卢平说。“但奥利凡德是最好的，如果他们那边得到了他，对我们来说可不是个好消息。”
在度过了这个阴郁的生日茶会之后，第二天他们收到了霍格沃茨寄来的信和课本清单。哈利得到了一个惊喜：他被选为魁地奇球队的队长了。
“哇，我还记得查理戴着这个的样子，”罗恩快乐地检查着那个徽章。“哈利，真是太酷了，你是我的队长了——假如你还让我待在球队里的话，哈哈……”
“唉，既然你们已经收到这些了，我不认为去对角巷的时间还能再往后拖了，”韦斯莱夫人看着罗恩的课本清单叹息道。“我们星期六就过去，只要那天你父亲不用再去上班。没有他我是不会去的。”
“妈妈，你真的认为神秘人会藏在丽痕书店的架子后面吗？”罗恩偷笑着说。
“那福特斯库和奥利凡德是去度假了吗，啊？”韦斯莱夫人立即火冒三丈。“如果你觉得安全问题显得很可笑的话，就待在家里，我自己去把你的东西买回来——”
“不，我要去，我要去参观弗雷德和乔治的铺子！”罗恩急忙说。
“那你就快醒醒脑子，小伙子，别让我觉得你太幼稚而决定不让你和我们一起去！”韦斯莱夫人生气地说，一把抓起她的钟——九个指针仍旧指着‘生命危险’——将它稳稳地摆在一堆刚洗过的毛巾上。“否则我也不会让你回到霍格沃茨的！”
罗恩转过来不敢相信似的盯着哈利，他妈妈提起装着那面摇摇晃晃的大钟的洗衣篮，怒气冲冲地走出了房间。
“我的天哪……在这儿简直连个玩笑都开不成了……”
但剩下的几天罗恩没有再冒失地提到伏地魔。在周六的黎明到来之前韦斯莱夫人没有再发过火，不过她在餐桌上仍显得很紧张。比尔要和芙蓉留守在家里（赫敏和金妮再高兴不过了），他把一个满满的钱袋从餐桌上递给哈利。
“我的在哪？”罗恩马上问道，眼睛睁得大大的。
“那本来就是哈利的，傻瓜，”比尔说。“我从你的金库里给你取出来了，哈利，因为现在公众得花五个小时才能拿到他们的金子，妖精们大大加强了安全警备。两天前阿尔吉·菲尔珀特刚被一个正直探针刺到了他的……好了，相信我，这是更简单的途径。”
“谢谢你，比尔，”哈利把金子装进兜里。
“他总是这么体贴，”芙蓉一面轻刮着比尔的鼻子，一面充满崇拜地用喉咙咕噜咕噜地说着。金妮在芙蓉背后假装做出呕吐的动作。哈利被玉米片哽住了，罗恩重重地拍了拍他的背。
天空中布满了乌云，显得很阴暗。当他们系上斗篷出现在屋子外面时，一辆哈利曾经坐过一次的魔法部特派轿车已经等在了前门的院子里。
“爸爸能再次借到这些真是太好了，”罗恩感激地说，他伸了个大大的懒腰，这时轿车正平稳地驶出陋居，比尔和芙蓉在厨房的窗户那儿向他们挥手。他、哈利、赫敏和金妮坐在宽敞舒适的后座上。
“可别坐上瘾了，这都是因为哈利在这儿，”韦斯莱先生转过头说。他和韦斯莱夫人陪部里的司机坐在前排；前面的乘客座椅善解人意地伸展成一个双座沙发的样子。“他被赋予了最高级别的安全防护。我们在破釜酒吧还要和另一批警卫汇合。”
哈利什么也没说；他不喜欢在一大群傲罗的陪同下买东西。他背包里还装着隐形斗篷，他想，如果它对邓布利多起作用，那么就应该对魔法部的人同样适用，尽管他现在想到了这个，但哈利还不能肯定魔法部的人知不知道他有这么一件斗篷。
“你们到了，” 仿佛才过了一瞬间的功夫，司机第一次开口说话了，他在查林十字街上减了速，把车停靠在了破釜酒吧的外面。“我在门口等你们，能告诉我你们要待多久吗？”
“两三个小时吧，我估计，”韦斯莱先生说。“啊，好啊，他在这儿！”
哈利效仿韦斯莱先生向窗外望去；他的心都跳出来了。没有什么傲罗等在旅馆外面，只有一个长着黑色胡子的巨大身影，那是鲁伯·海格，霍格沃茨的狩猎场看守，他穿着一件海狸皮大衣，愉快地看着哈利，没有在意麻瓜行人的一张张惊骇的脸。
“哈利！”他粗声粗气地说道，哈利刚从车里出来就被他用可以捏碎骨头的力气一把抱住。“巴克比克——韦瑟文，我是说——你一定要看看它，哈利，能回到户外活动，它别提有多高兴了——”
“我很高兴，”哈利揉着肋骨咧嘴笑道。“我们不知道‘警卫’指的是你！”
“我知道，就像从前一样，是吧？魔法部想要送一群傲罗来，可是邓布利多说我来就成了，”海格自豪地挺起胸，把拇指塞进口袋里。“那我们进去吧——我们跟在你后面，莫莉，亚瑟——”
破釜酒吧里空荡荡的，这在哈利的记忆里还是第一次。过去的热闹人群里只剩下老板汤姆，他面容枯槁，牙齿也快掉光了。他们进来的时候，汤姆满怀希望地抬起了头，可没等他说话，海格就严肃地说，“今天只是路过，汤姆，你肯定知道的。霍格沃茨的事务。”
汤姆郁闷地点了点头，重新擦起了玻璃杯；哈利、赫敏、海格和韦斯莱一家穿过酒吧走到后面一个放着垃圾箱的冷清院子里。海格举起他粉红色的伞，在墙的一块砖上敲了敲，墙马上就变成了一个拱门，通向一条弯弯曲曲的鹅卵石路。穿过入口之后，他们停下了，朝四周望了望。
对角巷变了。摆着咒语书、魔药原料和坩埚的光亮窗户看不到了，一张张魔法部的大海报被贴在上面。大多数昏暗、紫色的海报上都是放大了的安全建议，正是这个暑假魔法部派发的小册子上的内容，但还有一些是会动的巨幅黑白照片，上面印着已知的在逃食死徒。贝拉特里克斯·莱斯特兰奇正在最近的一家药店的窗玻璃上冷笑。有几个商店的玻璃被用木板钉了起来，其中就包括弗洛林冷饮店。另一方面，许多破破烂烂的小摊沿着路边冒了出来。最近的一个撑着有条纹的遮阳篷摆在丽痕书店的门口，前面钉着一块硬纸板，上面写道：
护身符：有效地防御狼人、摄魂怪和阴飞力
一个穿得破破烂烂的巫师正喋喋不休地向每一个路人兜售着他怀抱里的用链子串起来的银色标记。
“给你的小女孩儿来一个吧，夫人？”他冲着韦斯莱夫人嚷，不怀好意地盯着金妮。“保护保护她美丽的脖子？”
“如果我是在上班……”韦斯莱先生愤怒地盯着那个护身符贩子。
“是的，但现在别去逮捕任何人，亲爱的，我们忙着呢，”韦斯莱夫人正紧张地查阅着一张清单。“我想我们最好先去摩金夫人长袍专卖店，赫敏想买一件女式长袍，罗恩的脚踝都快露出校袍了，你也要买一件新的了，哈利，你长得这么快——来吧，每个人跟上——”
“莫莉，我们没必要都去摩金夫人长袍店，”韦斯莱先生说。“不如让海格和他们三个一起去，我们去丽痕书店买他们的课本？”
“我不知道，”韦斯莱夫人不安地说，显然正在快些结束购物的愿望和让大家都聚集在一起这两者之间作痛苦的选择。“海格，你觉得——？”
“别担心，他们和我在一起不会有事的，莫莉，”海格安慰着她，挥了挥他那只像垃圾桶盖子一样大的手。韦斯莱夫人看上去并非深信这一点，但还是同意了分开，他和丈夫还有金妮匆匆地赶往丽痕书店，同时海格带着哈利、罗恩和赫敏去了摩金夫人的铺子。
哈利注意到许多和他们擦肩而过的行人都和韦斯莱夫人一样匆忙和焦躁，没有人停下来交谈；购物的人都结着伴紧密地待在一块儿，专注地买着他们的东西。看上去没有人是独自来的。
“也许我们都进去就很挤了，”他们在长袍店外面停下脚步，海格弯下腰从窗子往里窥视。“我就在外面守着，好吗？”
于是哈利、罗恩和赫敏就一起走进了商店。第一眼看上去屋子里似乎没人，不过他们刚一关上门，一个熟悉的声音就从放满了亮晶晶的绿色和蓝色长袍的架子后面传了出来。
“……我不是个孩子了，要是你没注意到这一点的话，妈妈。我有能力一个人买东西了。”
然后是一阵咯咯的响声，哈利听出了是摩金夫人的声音在说，“好了，亲爱的，你妈妈说得太对了，现在没有人可以独自在外面走，这和是不是小孩子没关系——”
“看你把别针别在哪儿了！”
一个脸色苍白男孩出现在架子后面，他长着浅金色的头发和尖尖的下巴，身上穿了一套暗绿色的长袍，褶边和袖子口还别着闪闪发亮的别针。他大步走到镜子前检查自己；不一会儿就从镜子里看到了站在他身后的哈利、罗恩和赫敏。他眯起了浅灰色的眼睛。
“如果你在疑惑闻到了什么气味，妈妈，那是因为有个泥巴种进来了，”德拉科·马尔福说。
“我不认为你需要那样的语言！”摩金夫人拿着一只卷尺和一根魔杖从架子后面急忙地走了出来。“我也不想看到魔杖在我的店里被拔出来！”她匆匆地补充道，看到站在门口的哈利和罗恩都用魔杖指着马尔福。
赫敏站在他们俩后面轻声说道，“不，不要，说实在的，这不值得……”
“好啊，看来你们敢在学校外面施魔法，”马尔福冷笑道。“是谁把你的眼睛打青了，格兰杰？我要给他们献花。”
“够了！”摩金夫人尖声说，转过头去寻求支援。“夫人——请——”
纳西莎·马尔福从衣架后面慢吞吞地走了出来。
“把那些收起来，”她冷冷地对哈利和罗恩说。“如果你们再攻击我的儿子，我敢保证这会是你们俩做的最后一件事。”
“是吗？”哈利往前走了一步，盯着那张光滑、傲慢的脸，那张脸虽然苍白，可仍旧和她的姐姐长得很像。哈利现在和她差不多高了。“去找几个食死徒朋友来把我们干掉，对不对？”
摩金夫人尖叫了一声，紧紧抓住了自己的胸口。
“真是的，你不能这么非难她——说这么危险的东西——放下魔杖，求你们了！”
但哈利并没有放下他魔杖。纳西莎·马尔福令人厌恶地笑了笑。
“我看你是在邓布利多的宠爱下对安全产生了一种错觉，哈利·波特。但邓布利多不可能总是保护着你。”
哈利嘲笑般地环顾了一遍整个商店。
“哇……看上去……现在他就不在这儿！你怎么不试试看？他们也许会在阿兹卡班帮你找到一件双人房，这样你就可以和你的丈夫团聚了。”
马尔福愤怒地冲向哈利，可是却被自己过长的袍子给绊倒了。罗恩大笑了起来。
“你怎么敢跟我妈妈那样说话，波特！”马尔福咆哮着说。
“没事，德拉科，”纳西莎用她纤细白皙的手搭在马尔福的肩上制止了他。“我估计在和卢修斯团聚之前，波特就见小天狼星去了。”
哈利把魔杖举得更高了。
“哈利，别！”赫敏哀求着抓住他的手，努力地想使它放下来。“想想看……你不能……你会惹大麻烦的……”
摩金夫人发着抖呆站了一小会儿，然后决定装作什么都像她所希望的那样没有发生。她朝正怒视着哈利的马尔福弯下腰。
“我想左边的袖子还应该提起来一点，亲爱的，就让我——”
“哎呀！”马尔福吼道，用力推开了她的手，“看你把别针别在哪儿了，女人！妈妈——我再也不要这些袍子了——”
他扯下袍子扔到摩金夫人脚边的地板上。
“你是对的，德拉科，”纳西莎轻蔑地瞟了一眼赫敏，“现在我知道这间屋子里有什么样的渣滓了……我们去退尔菲特和塔汀店买吧。”
他们俩大步走了出去，马尔福出门时狠狠地撞了一下罗恩。
“唉，真是的！”摩金夫人说，她抓起掉在地上的袍子，把魔杖的末端像吸尘器一样对着它们把灰尘清理掉。
她给罗恩和哈利量身裁衣的时候显得心烦意乱，还把男巫的袍子拿给了赫敏，最后当她鞠着躬送他们的时候，她似乎很乐意看到他们的背影走出了门。
“都买好了？”海格高兴地看见他们都回来了。
“差不多，”哈利说。“你看到马尔福母子了吗？”
“是的，”海格不感兴趣地说。“但是他们不敢在对角巷里犯浑，哈利，别管他们。”
哈利、罗恩和赫敏交换了一个眼神，但是在他们想要消除海格这个错误的乐观想法之前，韦斯莱夫妇和金妮出现了，他们都抓着重重的一包书。
“每个人都好了吗？”韦斯莱夫人说。“买了袍子？好的，那么我们在去弗雷德和乔治铺子的路上可以先看看药材店和咿啦猫头鹰商店——靠紧点儿，现在……”
因为罗恩和哈利都不再需要上魔药课了，所以他们什么药材都没有买，不过他们都在咿啦猫头鹰商店给海德薇和小猪买了大盒大盒的猫头鹰坚果。然后，韦斯莱夫人一边每隔大概一分钟就查看一下手表，一边和他们往对角巷的深处走去，寻找着弗雷德和乔治开的韦斯莱魔法把戏店。
“我们真的没有太多时间了，”韦斯莱夫人说。“所以我们只能看看就走，回到车里。靠近些，那是九十二号……九十四号……”
“哇，”罗恩停下了他的脚步。
比起旁边灰暗、贴满了海报的商店大门来，弗雷德和乔治店里的橱窗首先映入了大家的眼帘，那里像是在搞烟火展览一样。偶然路过的行人回过头来看着橱窗，有几个甚至惊呆了。左边的橱窗上分类摆着吸引眼球的商品，有会转的、发出爆裂声的、闪着光的、会跳的，还有的会尖叫；哈利的眼睛都看花了。右边的橱窗上贴着一张巨大的海报，纸和魔法部的海报一样是紫色的，但是上面却用闪着黄光的字写着：
为什么要担心神秘人？
你应该担心的是
生秘灵——
握住了整个国家的便秘感觉！
哈利笑了起来。他听到旁边传来一阵微弱的呻吟，转过头看见韦斯莱夫人正哑口无言地盯着海报。她的嘴唇动着，无声地念着那个名字，“生秘灵。”
“他们会在睡觉的时候被谋杀的！”她轻声说。
“不会的！”罗恩说，他和哈利一样也在笑。“太棒了！”
他和哈利带头进了商店。里面全是顾客；哈利都挤不到架子那儿。他朝四周望了望，抬头看着堆到了天花板上的盒子：这是双胞胎在霍格沃茨最后、没有完成的一年里做好的速效逃课糖；哈利注意到鼻血牛扎糖最受欢迎，架子上只剩下了被压坏的一盒。还有整箱整箱的恶作剧魔杖，最便宜的只能在挥动的时候变成橡皮鸭子或者一条短裤；最贵的却能够追打粗心的使用者的脑袋和脖子；整盒整盒的羽毛笔，分为自动加墨型、检查拼写型和自动回答型。热闹的人群里终于腾出了一个空子，哈利赶紧挤到柜台边，那儿有一群兴奋的十岁小孩正在看一个木头小人儿慢慢地走向绞刑架，它们下面的盒子上写着：可重复使用的刽子手——对它念咒否则他就会绞死自己！
“‘专利产品白日梦魔咒……’”
赫敏已经设法挤到了一个柜台附近的展示品旁，她正念着一只盒子后面的说明，盒子上用鲜艳的颜色画着一位英俊的青年和一位陶醉的女孩儿站在海盗船的甲板上。
“‘一个简单的咒语就可以令你拥有一个高质量、极其真实的30分钟白日梦，这适用于学校里通常的课堂上，事实上不会被发现（副作用包括面无表情和轻微流口水）。不卖给16岁以下的人。’你看，”赫敏抬头看了看哈利，“这真是非常特别的魔法！”
“既然你这么说，赫敏，”他们身后的一个声音说，“你可以免费得到一个。”
弗雷德愉快地站到了他们面前，他穿着一件洋红色的长袍，与火红的头发很不协调。
“你好吗，哈利？”他们握着手。“你的眼睛怎么了，赫敏？”
“都是你们那只打人的望远镜，”她一脸愁容地说。
“哦，啊呀，我把那些给忘了，”弗雷德说。“这里——”
他从口袋里掏出一个瓶子递给她；赫敏小心翼翼地旋开它，里面是粘稠的黄色浆糊。
“只要涂上它，那些瘀伤就会在一个小时之内消失，”弗雷德说。“我们不得不找到一种相当好的去伤药，因为我们要在自己身上测试大部分的产品。”
赫敏看上去很不安。“这个是安全的，对吗？”她问。
“当然是，”弗雷德爽快地说。“快过来，哈利，我带你转转。”
哈利离开了正在往眼睛上涂浆糊的赫敏，跟着弗雷德来到了商店的后面，他看见了一个摆着纸牌和绳子戏法的台子。
“麻瓜的魔术戏法！”弗雷德高兴地说，他用手指着它们。“给像爸爸那样的怪人，你知道，那些喜爱麻瓜物品人。没有很大的赚头，但这个生意却相当稳定，它们是非常新奇的事物……哦，乔治来了……”
弗雷德的双胞胎兄弟精神饱满地握了握哈利的手。
“带他参观？到后面来瞧瞧，哈利，那才是我们赚大钱的地方——别把那玩意儿装进口袋里，就是你，你会付出比金加隆还要大的代价的！”他警告着一个正把手从一个缸子里抽出来的小男孩，那缸子上用标签写着：可食用黑魔标记——能让任何人生病！
乔治推开了麻瓜把戏旁边的门帘，哈利看见一个更暗、人更少的房间。产品的包装整齐地排列在架子上，看上去压抑多了。
“我们刚开发了这一系列更严肃的产品，”弗雷德说。“真有趣，我们都不知道是怎么做上这个的……”
“你可能都不信有多少人，甚至连在魔法部工作的人也施不出一个像样的铁甲咒，” 乔治说。“当然，他们没有让你教过，哈利。”
“没错……瞧，我们开始觉得铁甲帽只是有点好玩儿，你想，你戴着它要求你的同伴向你施魔法，然后等魔法弹回去时看看他那张脸。可是魔法部却为它所有的员工购买了500顶！我们还在收到大笔的订单呢！&rd
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