The Potter Twins and the Half-Blood Prince {6}

4. Darkness in Diagon Alley

"And I promised myself I wouldn't let you complete me" ~ Is There Somewhere, Halsey

 We remain within the confines of the Burrow's garden over the next few weeks. I spent most of my days playing two-a-side Quidditch in the Weasleys' orchard (Harry and I against Ron and Ginny; Hermione is dreadful and became too disheartened to play), and my evenings eating triple helpings of everything Mrs Weasley puts in front of me. 

It would be a happy, peaceful holiday if it weren't 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, and Sirius and Dad would reinforce that news with terrifying stories of their own. To Mrs Weasley's displeasure, mine and Harry's sixteenth birthday celebrations are marred by grisly tidings brought to the party by Remus Lupin, who is looking gaunt and grim, his brown hair streaked liberally with grey, his clothes more ragged and patched than ever.

"There have been another couple of dementor attacks," he announces, as Mrs Weasley passes 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," says Mrs Weasley, frowning, "perhaps we should talk about something diff-"

"Did you hear about Florean Fortescue, Remus?" asks Bill, who is being plied with wine by Fleur. "The man who ran -"

"- the ice-cream place in Diagon Alley?" Harry and I interrupt in unison. There's an unpleasant, hollow sensation in the pit of my stomach. "He used to give us free ice creams. What's happened to him?"

"Dragged off, by the look of his place."

"Why?" asks 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 wandmaker?" says 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," Dad sighs. 

"But wands - what'll people do for wands?"

"They'll make do with other makers," says Lupin. "But Ollivander was the best, and if the other side has got him it's not so good for us."

The day after this rather gloomy birthday tea, our letters and booklists arrive from Hogwarts. Harry's included a surprise: he has been made Quidditch Captain.

"That gives you equal status with prefects!" cries Hermione happily. "You can use our special bathroom now and everything!"

"Wow, I remember when Charlie wore one of these," says 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, haha. . . ."

"Ron's right, does this mean we'll get special privileges?" I say jokingly. "C'mon, Harry, I'm your only sister - "

"Did you ever get special privileges from Ron and I being Prefects?" Hermione says smartly, raising her eyebrows.  

"No," I say, grinning. "Well, looks like I'm the only one who can't use your special bathroom. What a shame."

Ron smirks. "Well, Malfoy's a Prefect, isn't he? Just go - "

Feeling heat rise to my cheeks, I kick him underneath the table, my boot colliding harshly with his shin. 

"I hope that bruises," I say when he winces, laughing along with Harry and Hermione. 

Meanwhile, Dad has wondered over to the table with a pained expression on his face. "I heard 'Malfoy' and I heard 'bathroom', do I want to know the rest of this story?"

"There is no rest of the story."

"Well, I don't suppose we can put off a trip to Diagon Alley much longer now you've got these," sighs Mrs Weasley, ignoring the previous conversation entirely. "We'll go on Saturday as long as your father doesn't have to go to 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. "Besides, James and Sirius will be there."

"Fortescue and Ollivander went on holiday, did they?" says 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!" says Ron hastily.

"Then you just buck up your ideas, young man, before I decide you're too immature to come with us!" says 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 turns to stare incredulously at us as his mother hoists the laundry basket and the teetering clock into her arms and storms out of the room.

"Blimey. . . you can't even make a joke around here anymore. . . ."

But Ron is careful not to be flippant about Voldemort over the next few days. Saturday dawns without any more outbursts from Mrs Weasley, though she seems very tense at breakfast. Bill, who will be staying at home with Fleur (much to Hermione and Ginny's pleasure), passes a full money bag across the table to Harry and me.