Early the next morning, my mum wakes me up.
"Go away, I wanna sleep," I moan, and shut my eyes again.
"If you're not ready in half an hour, you won't go with your brother and I to Diagon Alley, and you'll have to walk. Now get up," she says sharply, and walks out of the room.
"Fine," I grumble, and, taking as long as is physically possible, slide out of bed.
I walk over to the mirror and sigh. My hair is a mess, I have bags under my eyes, and look like something from a muggle horror movie.
Just great.
Once I finally don't look like a zombie, more just a very grumpy 11 year old, I have around two minutes left. I race out of my room, across the hall, slide down the banister, grab some toast from the dining room with a quick "Thanks Dobby," (he's our house elf) and sprint into the living room, where Mum and Draco are waiting for me.
"You took your time young lady," mum complains.
"Sowwy," I say, my mouth full of toast.
"Just take a handful of floo powder dear," she sighs.
She is about to step into the fire, when Draco pushes past her, throws in his handful and shouts "Diagon Alley!"
Next it's my turn. I swallow the last of my toast, and shout "Diagon Alley!" while throwing the powder into the fire. A moment later, I am inside the Leaky Cauldron, a Wizarding Pub on the streets of the muggle city London, and near the entrance of Diagon Alley. I step out and stand next to my brother. A few seconds later my mother appears in the fireplace.
"Come on children," my mother says,"We have a lot to do."
As we pass Tom the Leaky Cauldrons owner standing at his bar, he asks "Taking them to get their Hogwarts stuff are you Narcissa?"
"It's none of your business," interupts Draco.
I slap him on the head. He yells "Ow!"
"Sorry about him, he can be a git," I apologise.
My mother just rolls her eyes and pulls us out the door. As soon as we are in the brick alleyway behind the pub, Draco asks "What was that for!?"
"For being a git," I tell him simply.
"I wasn't being a git!"
"Yes you were."
"Wasn't."
"Was."
"Wasn't!"
"Was!"
"Wasn't!"
"Was!"
"Wasn't!"
"Wasn't!"
"Was!"
"Aha!" I say triumphantly. "I tricked you! I tricked you!" I do a little victory dance.
"Stop bickering you two or we'll go home!" Mum snaps.
That shuts us up.
As she taps the bricks in the wall, they twist and turn to reveal a bustling street, packed with witches and wizards. There are carts selling flowers, and different shops. There's Madame Malkins, which from the look of it is a dress shop, and over to my left is Eeylops Owl Emporium, which apparently doesn't just sell owls, but sells cats and toads and rats as well.
There's also an ice cream parlour, with the words 'Florian Fortesque's' written in bright green letters on a paler green sign.
I look forward, and I see Gringotts, the Wizarding Bank, its gold trimmed cream walls glittering under the summer sun. That's where we're heading.
