Resorted

Chapter Thirty Six

Unlike everywhere else in London, Diagon Alley was bustling with socialising, smiles and warm welcomes. People were walking in and out of shops carefree. Madam Malkins was bustling more than an average day, Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour had a queue going outside the door- temperature was the highest Britain had ever seen. A brand-new broom had just been released; every Quidditch supporter and player in Diagon Alley surrounded the display cabinet. Everybody wanted to take a look at the new Nimbus 2003. The handle was elegantly black- shimmering in the light- that caught the eyes of everyone. The bristle part of the broom was glossed together and of a dark oak wood.

Like blowing out a candle, the happiness flipped to hysteria. Two black mists cascade into the Alley, swirling and emitting smoke from its side. The blobs of darkness descended their fight path to the ground- they didn’t seem bothered if Muggles noticed them because they weren’t in the clouds.

Sweeping almost to the grounds level, glass shattered. Pieces scattered the ground and mixed with the gravel. Normally, on a summer’s day, the glass would shimmer and reflect the joyous rays of sun, but today- actually the entire summer- was different. Everyone scampered away from Olivander's Wand Shop when the figures came closer to the shop then colliding with the glass. However, neither seemed hurt when they emerged from the shop. A bag over a man’s head and hands brought behind his back. The man holding the other, was Greyback. The big, rangy man sneered at bystanders. His matted grey hair and tiger-like whiskers made him chilling to the smallest bone in your ear. The hands had long, yellowish nails, digging further into Olivander’s skin. His raspy voice was bark like and Death Eater robes uncomfortably tight. Even when human Fenrir Greyback had pointed teeth, at first glance they looked like the slightest pressure would puncture a wizards veins.

As quickly as they appeared, they were gone. Olivander hadn’t made a noise to complain and he didn’t fight, he just accepted it.

Inside the wreckage you could barely call a building, was scattered wands. They were broken into multiple pieces, boxes sawed unruly in half. Any light in the shop was gone, along with all the windows, the shelves and the sense of magic at all.