Diagon and Knockturn Alleys
Ready for the next stop on our tour of the wizarding world? Welcome to Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley! Feel free to do a little shopping while you're here. Just follow Severus and Hermione!
Want to give Hermione a run for her money in the know-it-all field? Simply play the quiz by commenting on this post with your answers at any time over the weekend. All comments with answers will be screened until the answer sheet is posted on Monday morning EDT. On Monday, all quizzlings with the correct answers will receive a pretty banner to prove their quiz prowess. Ready? Set? Play!
Match the quotes to the story titles without picking the red herring titles:
Joy Comes In The Mourning by TeddyRadiator
Yuletide Revelation by southernwitch69
The Harlot's Potion by yutamiyu
Rare, Dangerous, and Unusual by tonksinger
Memories by madamsnape78
Back in Black by ubiquirk
Through Silence by dickgloucester
Reacquainting by RachelW
Scent of a Crime by imhilien
Cute as a Button by Tarah_Fae
The Ring on Her Finger by dracontia
Unreliable Sources by marianne le fey
1. As he passed the familiar shops, he gave each a cursory glance, wondering if there was anything inside that he currently had occasion to purchase. Hm… No need to go to the apothecary, nor the writing shop, and Satan will purchase a winter cloak before I set foot in that establishment of the Weasleys’. He paused for a moment in front of the joke shop, observing the crowds of teenagers inside; as he watched, a girl took a bite of a sweet being sampled and promptly screamed as her hair fell out en masse. It grew back within a few seconds, though, which ended the entertainment as far as he was concerned. Severus had to admit a grudging respect for the Weasley twins’ abilities; he had the opportunity to examine one of their Love Potions during the last year, and it was very skillfully made. Had those two been placed in Slytherin, their talents for deviousness and tricks would no doubt have been used completely unscrupulously on the other houses.
The rest of the street proved less amusing; few people were around that day to make fools of themselves, and he hadn’t seen a student he could terrorize. Severus was just about to turn down the path to Knockturn Alley when something caught his eye.
Right at the junction between the two lanes was a tiny store Severus had never seen, occupying what looked like a former storage shed next to Quality Quidditch Supplies. A new-looking sign hung from it, proclaiming it to be Words, Words, Words
2. Yet none of the shops will let me in - like Dinger, they’re too scared of the possibility of being arrested for such. I’m at a loss until, in a dark side alley across the way, a small yellow sign with black lettering seems to wink into existence. Libre Libri. A book shop? Public records?
How did I never notice it before?
The shopkeeper behind me taps the glass, and I turn to see him brandishing his now-to-hand wand. “Off with you - shoo!” he yells.
I give him a sarcastic little wave complete with saccharine-sweet Smile before plunging across the street. There are fewer people about, so I’m only jostled three times - and each of them is rather mild, as this set of people move with speedy determination instead of the blind panic of the earlier lot.
The sign hangs above a dark wooden door sunk deeply into the wall of the alley. There are no windows gracing the dirty brick, and the small one set into the door is so dust covered that I can’t even see if there’s light within.
How in the world has the proprietor evaded arrest for Improper Cleanliness?
Silence suddenly reigns, the siren fallen quiet. Yet the sound that takes its place is all the more terrifying - the sound of a multitude of boots stamping in unison.
The high-heeled, patent-leather sound of Umbridge’s Think Pink Brigade.
Circe!
3. "There you are, Hermione - the keys to your new empire!" declared Harry. It was early on Saturday evening, and the Trio, with Ginny and Padma, had gathered at the Potters' house to celebrate. They clinked glasses and sampled the champagne.
"I could acquire a taste for this," murmured Padma to Hermione.
"Mmm," she replied, sipping again while looking at the correspondence regarding her appointment. "This mystery man, he doesn't sound too nice, does he?"
"Oh, I bet that's just Teddy Nott being an arse," declared the delicate, refined-looking lawyer. "He always was a bit of a tit. I wouldn't worry about it, if I were you."
"In fact," said Ron, "you really ought to be looking rather more cheerful in general, 'Mione. You've got pastures new to explore. You've also got 24-hour, seven days a week protection for you and the shop if you want it. The entire Auror section is at your feet after what you did to the boss!"
"Well, I needed to make a quick getaway, not work out three months' notice!" she protested.
"I still say the bit with the pineapple was inspired," Ron chuckled. "You're an artist!"
"You're too kind," she smirked before looking serious again. "I hope you're not misplacing your trust choosing me, Harry. I've never done anything like this before - you know that. What if I make a mess of it?"
"You won't. I know you, Hermione - you can do anything you set your mind to. Running a bookshop can't be harder than defeating a Dark Lord and overturning his Evil Plans."
"Famous last words...." said Hermione, but with an affectionate smile.
4. Hermione gazed around the bursting bookshop, amazed at the layout. There were simply too many books for the myriad of wooden shelves crammed into the room, and she quickly found that she had to sidestep carts and boxes overflowing with old books.
“Hello?” she called out tentatively. “Excuse me, is anyone here?”
An old wizard poked his head out from one of the stacks. “Hello dear!” he exclaimed, and chuckled. “I didn’t hear you come in! What can I do for you?”
Hermione turned to face the proprietor. Comentale could not have been younger than a century, evidenced by his silver and grey beard which actually challenged Dumbledore’s in terms of length. His eyes and mouth were permanently crinkled at the edges, evidence that this was a wizard who had seen much joy in his life. Despite the fact that there were certainly spells to improve eyesight, this wizard wore large glasses; had his been a lifetime full of books? She was oddly reminded of Mister Ollivander, proprietor of the wand shop, though she couldn’t quite pinpoint why. Perhaps it was the glasses.
She fidgeted, not entirely sure how to present her story. “A friend of mine is shopping around Diagon Alley,” she started, “and I’m here for the day.” She resisted the urge to flinch; what she had said made her sound so young and helpless. “I’ve actually never been in this bookshop before.”
She could see delight in the old wizard’s eyes. “Well, welcome! Welcome! This bookshop deals in older books, as many witches and wizards trade in or sell books they have finished with. I’m told that it’s mostly a Muggle tradition, but it seems to work rather well here.” The wizard brushed some unseen dust off of his robes and stood up straight, nodding his head. “I am Comentale, the owner of the shop.”
5. Severus Snape stared at the row of books in front of him trying in vain to block out the noise surrounding him. How he hated Diagon Alley at the end of summer! And Flourish and Blotts was one of the worst. The racket of children buying their school books was overwhelming and it was almost impossible to receive any sort of assistance from the few clerks bustling back and forth from the back rooms.
He would have avoided this situation all together if several of his reference books had not met with an untimely demise when his experimental potion had exploded earlier that morning. He had escaped unscathed, but the books and parchment on the work table had not been so lucky.
Mentally he sighed to himself. Not only had he lost several important books, but also several months worth of work on the potion when his most recent notes had been incinerated. This had already put him in a dark mood when he had set out for the book shop, and that mood grew darker still when he saw the crowd in the store.
6. He had three more stops to make. Sometimes, those he delivered to would try to question him about the nature of the brewer; he would put on the persona of an uneducated delivery-person, and generally tried to nip hair from younger men, teenage boys, to fit the part better. His current guise was in his mid-twenties, but it would work.
Into the next shop, this one smelling of rotten eggs and an undertone of cannabis, he searched out the proprietor. Snape found him quickly enough; only he was in a meeting with a cloaked figure beside a precariously stacked collection of dusty mummy fingers. It was likely a woman judging by height and the way the proprietor was actually making an attempt at being polite for a change.
He glanced up as the woman turned, and his heart nearly stopped for a moment. She was the last person he would expect to see here. He nearly turned, ready to find a place to duck and hide where he could cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, before he realised soon enough that she wouldn’t be able to know it was he. He would be safe.
However, she slowed as she approached him and looked at him intently, with a challenge, and he felt a cold stab of fear that she’d recognised him, even through his guise. Why was she looking at him? Why had she stopped?
Moments like these, when he saw someone who would recognise him were he not disguised, he wondered why it was he’d stayed in England, why he still came to the central wizarding conclaves, why he flirted with fate, risking discovery, imprisonment, and the worst of all punishments the wizarding world could inflict upon a criminal. This woman, above any others though, would have a greater chance of recognising him.
“Excuse me, but I need to leave, and you’re standing in front of the door,” she informed him curtly, though not without a note of humour. He’d been staring. How could he be such an idiot?
7. Remind me again why you decided to be an Auror? Hermione thought to herself, as she dashed around the corner, the black cloak in front of her disappearing elusively through a doorway she’d never seen before. As soon as I run this loser down, I’m turning in my resignation, and this time I mean it.
It was bad enough that she’d allowed the boys to talk her into becoming an Auror. What was even worse was that she was good enough at her job to be in constant demand, which was why she was chasing a killer through Knockturn Alley at midnight.
8. After walking Diagon Alley for over an hour and a half, Snape was frustrated as all hell. The jewelers were either insufferably pretentious-looking vault-like establishments or sported at least one window display of gaudy little baubles beneath charmed cupids shooting at floating hearts. The former would wreck his budget. The latter set his teeth on edge.
He’d have to consider Hogsmeade, even though he was reluctant to reacquaint himself with the region. There were magical neighborhoods in Wales and Ireland known for decent jewelers, but the wizards there were notorious for wanting to conduct business in their native tongue. It would be a nuisance to look up every odd magical shop in the Isles. Before committing himself to a frustrating day of Apparitions and translation spells, a quick look down Knockturn Alley was in order.
Not too far from the respectable storefronts of Diagon Alley, he encountered the most likely shop he’d seen yet. Moore and Mraz’s may have been located in Knockturn Alley, but it had a look about it that desperately screamed, ‘We’re respectable craftsmages-only here because of the rents!’ Granted, it had an inconspicuous three balls clustered on the signpost in front of the door, but in Knockturn Alley, those probably came with the building. Even the whorehouses here offered pawn services-so he’d heard.
The proprietress seemed to bear out his assessment of the establishment’s grasp after legitimacy. The look she gave him was apprehensive, and not in the “Will I need to hide the dodgy stuff?” manner; more like “Is he a customer or is he casing the place?” Not that Severus imagined the witch had much about which to be nervous. She looked like a brunette, bespectacled Molly Weasley and was probably about as defenseless.
Or perhaps she just needed the loo. “Rose, see to the customer,” she whispered to the young witch at the worktable in the corner as she ducked into the back room.
Rose, taller than the older witch by about a head and no more than half as wide, doffed her gloves and protective glasses as she rose from her work. Despite the marked difference in proportions, there was a distinct family resemblance. He wasn’t sure why the elder Mraz or Moore feared thieves; he guessed the younger witch could sort them. The girl sported a politely watchful expression and a palmed wand. The only other person he had ever seen wear all denim robes was Charlie Weasley, so they were most likely not the fashion statement of a shrinking violet.
“Welcome to Mraz and Moore, sir. I am Miss Mraz-how may I assist you?” the young witch asked, her tone pleasantly brisk.
9. “Hello!” she answered, as brightly as possible.
There was a long moment of silence before a muffled voice queried, “Hermione Granger?”
The smile faded. “Yes?”
“Hermione Granger of the Evening Standard?” The query was slightly distorted, as if someone were attempting to disguise their voice.
“Who is this?”
“I’ve got a story for you. New potions shop opening up in Knockturn Alley.”
“How did you get this number?” she demanded.
“'s in the book,” came the terse reply. Which was true, actually. She hadn’t honestly considered that a wizard might deign to trace her through Muggle means, else she would certainly had registered the number as ex-directory. “You want to know about this shop, though. The owner ain’t right.”
“Not meaning any offence to the traders of Knockturn Alley, but few of them are,” she snipped. “Now I have to ask you not to call this number again. Good night, si-”
“He’s a Death Eater.”
“What?”
“Thought that might get your interest. The old pawn shop, down by the pie and mash shop.”
10. They Flooed into the Leaky Cauldron from the Three Broomsticks. Their arrival was marked by the inevitable “Daddy… I don’t feel so good…” and followed by breakfast making a reappearance on the flagstones. Severus shot Tom an apologetic look before cleaning the mess with a quick Scourgify.
Severus took out his handkerchief and wiped her face, grateful that she had missed the front of her sundress. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whimpered.
“Do not worry, Aurelia.” He sighed and put his handkerchief away again. “We need to hurry now, alright?” He needed to get the monkshood as soon as possible - the base potion wouldn’t stay stable for that much longer. He took her hand and led her out of the Leaky Cauldron.
Aurelia seemed stunned by all the activity, people, and shops around them as they walked down Diagon Alley and she clutched his hand very tightly. Severus had to keep reminding himself that she wasn’t used to this much noise and activity. He wondered what it must be like for her, so used to the friendly people at Hogwarts and the village-closeness of Hogsmeade. So many strangers and even stranger things all around her.
He was shocked out of his reverie when she suddenly let go of his hand. “Aurelia!”
“Oh, Daddy! Look!” She was on tiptoe in her pink sandals, running her hands wonderingly through a tray of mixed buttons in front of Madame Malkin’s.
“Aurelia… we are late. Come along now.” Her face fell. She cast a longing gaze at the cacophony of shiny plastic and glass buttons, but went to take his hand again.
The witch that had been standing in the doorway came forward and filled a small brown paper packet with a handful of buttons. “Here you go, little miss.” She smiled as she held the packet out to Aurelia. Aurelia shot a glance up at her father, as if asking him if it was all right to take the proffered gift.
Severus sighed and nodded. “What do you say, Aurelia?”
“Thank you!” Aurelia chimed as she happily rattled the buttons around in their paper container.
Want to give Hermione a run for her money in the know-it-all field? Simply play the quiz by commenting on this post with your answers at any time over the weekend. All comments with answers will be screened until the answer sheet is posted on Monday morning EDT. On Monday, all quizzlings with the correct answers will receive a pretty banner to prove their quiz prowess. Ready? Set? Play!
Match the quotes to the story titles without picking the red herring titles:
Joy Comes In The Mourning by TeddyRadiator
Yuletide Revelation by southernwitch69
The Harlot's Potion by yutamiyu
Rare, Dangerous, and Unusual by tonksinger
Memories by madamsnape78
Back in Black by ubiquirk
Through Silence by dickgloucester
Reacquainting by RachelW
Scent of a Crime by imhilien
Cute as a Button by Tarah_Fae
The Ring on Her Finger by dracontia
Unreliable Sources by marianne le fey
1. As he passed the familiar shops, he gave each a cursory glance, wondering if there was anything inside that he currently had occasion to purchase. Hm… No need to go to the apothecary, nor the writing shop, and Satan will purchase a winter cloak before I set foot in that establishment of the Weasleys’. He paused for a moment in front of the joke shop, observing the crowds of teenagers inside; as he watched, a girl took a bite of a sweet being sampled and promptly screamed as her hair fell out en masse. It grew back within a few seconds, though, which ended the entertainment as far as he was concerned. Severus had to admit a grudging respect for the Weasley twins’ abilities; he had the opportunity to examine one of their Love Potions during the last year, and it was very skillfully made. Had those two been placed in Slytherin, their talents for deviousness and tricks would no doubt have been used completely unscrupulously on the other houses.
The rest of the street proved less amusing; few people were around that day to make fools of themselves, and he hadn’t seen a student he could terrorize. Severus was just about to turn down the path to Knockturn Alley when something caught his eye.
Right at the junction between the two lanes was a tiny store Severus had never seen, occupying what looked like a former storage shed next to Quality Quidditch Supplies. A new-looking sign hung from it, proclaiming it to be Words, Words, Words
2. Yet none of the shops will let me in - like Dinger, they’re too scared of the possibility of being arrested for such. I’m at a loss until, in a dark side alley across the way, a small yellow sign with black lettering seems to wink into existence. Libre Libri. A book shop? Public records?
How did I never notice it before?
The shopkeeper behind me taps the glass, and I turn to see him brandishing his now-to-hand wand. “Off with you - shoo!” he yells.
I give him a sarcastic little wave complete with saccharine-sweet Smile before plunging across the street. There are fewer people about, so I’m only jostled three times - and each of them is rather mild, as this set of people move with speedy determination instead of the blind panic of the earlier lot.
The sign hangs above a dark wooden door sunk deeply into the wall of the alley. There are no windows gracing the dirty brick, and the small one set into the door is so dust covered that I can’t even see if there’s light within.
How in the world has the proprietor evaded arrest for Improper Cleanliness?
Silence suddenly reigns, the siren fallen quiet. Yet the sound that takes its place is all the more terrifying - the sound of a multitude of boots stamping in unison.
The high-heeled, patent-leather sound of Umbridge’s Think Pink Brigade.
Circe!
3. "There you are, Hermione - the keys to your new empire!" declared Harry. It was early on Saturday evening, and the Trio, with Ginny and Padma, had gathered at the Potters' house to celebrate. They clinked glasses and sampled the champagne.
"I could acquire a taste for this," murmured Padma to Hermione.
"Mmm," she replied, sipping again while looking at the correspondence regarding her appointment. "This mystery man, he doesn't sound too nice, does he?"
"Oh, I bet that's just Teddy Nott being an arse," declared the delicate, refined-looking lawyer. "He always was a bit of a tit. I wouldn't worry about it, if I were you."
"In fact," said Ron, "you really ought to be looking rather more cheerful in general, 'Mione. You've got pastures new to explore. You've also got 24-hour, seven days a week protection for you and the shop if you want it. The entire Auror section is at your feet after what you did to the boss!"
"Well, I needed to make a quick getaway, not work out three months' notice!" she protested.
"I still say the bit with the pineapple was inspired," Ron chuckled. "You're an artist!"
"You're too kind," she smirked before looking serious again. "I hope you're not misplacing your trust choosing me, Harry. I've never done anything like this before - you know that. What if I make a mess of it?"
"You won't. I know you, Hermione - you can do anything you set your mind to. Running a bookshop can't be harder than defeating a Dark Lord and overturning his Evil Plans."
"Famous last words...." said Hermione, but with an affectionate smile.
4. Hermione gazed around the bursting bookshop, amazed at the layout. There were simply too many books for the myriad of wooden shelves crammed into the room, and she quickly found that she had to sidestep carts and boxes overflowing with old books.
“Hello?” she called out tentatively. “Excuse me, is anyone here?”
An old wizard poked his head out from one of the stacks. “Hello dear!” he exclaimed, and chuckled. “I didn’t hear you come in! What can I do for you?”
Hermione turned to face the proprietor. Comentale could not have been younger than a century, evidenced by his silver and grey beard which actually challenged Dumbledore’s in terms of length. His eyes and mouth were permanently crinkled at the edges, evidence that this was a wizard who had seen much joy in his life. Despite the fact that there were certainly spells to improve eyesight, this wizard wore large glasses; had his been a lifetime full of books? She was oddly reminded of Mister Ollivander, proprietor of the wand shop, though she couldn’t quite pinpoint why. Perhaps it was the glasses.
She fidgeted, not entirely sure how to present her story. “A friend of mine is shopping around Diagon Alley,” she started, “and I’m here for the day.” She resisted the urge to flinch; what she had said made her sound so young and helpless. “I’ve actually never been in this bookshop before.”
She could see delight in the old wizard’s eyes. “Well, welcome! Welcome! This bookshop deals in older books, as many witches and wizards trade in or sell books they have finished with. I’m told that it’s mostly a Muggle tradition, but it seems to work rather well here.” The wizard brushed some unseen dust off of his robes and stood up straight, nodding his head. “I am Comentale, the owner of the shop.”
5. Severus Snape stared at the row of books in front of him trying in vain to block out the noise surrounding him. How he hated Diagon Alley at the end of summer! And Flourish and Blotts was one of the worst. The racket of children buying their school books was overwhelming and it was almost impossible to receive any sort of assistance from the few clerks bustling back and forth from the back rooms.
He would have avoided this situation all together if several of his reference books had not met with an untimely demise when his experimental potion had exploded earlier that morning. He had escaped unscathed, but the books and parchment on the work table had not been so lucky.
Mentally he sighed to himself. Not only had he lost several important books, but also several months worth of work on the potion when his most recent notes had been incinerated. This had already put him in a dark mood when he had set out for the book shop, and that mood grew darker still when he saw the crowd in the store.
6. He had three more stops to make. Sometimes, those he delivered to would try to question him about the nature of the brewer; he would put on the persona of an uneducated delivery-person, and generally tried to nip hair from younger men, teenage boys, to fit the part better. His current guise was in his mid-twenties, but it would work.
Into the next shop, this one smelling of rotten eggs and an undertone of cannabis, he searched out the proprietor. Snape found him quickly enough; only he was in a meeting with a cloaked figure beside a precariously stacked collection of dusty mummy fingers. It was likely a woman judging by height and the way the proprietor was actually making an attempt at being polite for a change.
He glanced up as the woman turned, and his heart nearly stopped for a moment. She was the last person he would expect to see here. He nearly turned, ready to find a place to duck and hide where he could cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, before he realised soon enough that she wouldn’t be able to know it was he. He would be safe.
However, she slowed as she approached him and looked at him intently, with a challenge, and he felt a cold stab of fear that she’d recognised him, even through his guise. Why was she looking at him? Why had she stopped?
Moments like these, when he saw someone who would recognise him were he not disguised, he wondered why it was he’d stayed in England, why he still came to the central wizarding conclaves, why he flirted with fate, risking discovery, imprisonment, and the worst of all punishments the wizarding world could inflict upon a criminal. This woman, above any others though, would have a greater chance of recognising him.
“Excuse me, but I need to leave, and you’re standing in front of the door,” she informed him curtly, though not without a note of humour. He’d been staring. How could he be such an idiot?
7. Remind me again why you decided to be an Auror? Hermione thought to herself, as she dashed around the corner, the black cloak in front of her disappearing elusively through a doorway she’d never seen before. As soon as I run this loser down, I’m turning in my resignation, and this time I mean it.
It was bad enough that she’d allowed the boys to talk her into becoming an Auror. What was even worse was that she was good enough at her job to be in constant demand, which was why she was chasing a killer through Knockturn Alley at midnight.
8. After walking Diagon Alley for over an hour and a half, Snape was frustrated as all hell. The jewelers were either insufferably pretentious-looking vault-like establishments or sported at least one window display of gaudy little baubles beneath charmed cupids shooting at floating hearts. The former would wreck his budget. The latter set his teeth on edge.
He’d have to consider Hogsmeade, even though he was reluctant to reacquaint himself with the region. There were magical neighborhoods in Wales and Ireland known for decent jewelers, but the wizards there were notorious for wanting to conduct business in their native tongue. It would be a nuisance to look up every odd magical shop in the Isles. Before committing himself to a frustrating day of Apparitions and translation spells, a quick look down Knockturn Alley was in order.
Not too far from the respectable storefronts of Diagon Alley, he encountered the most likely shop he’d seen yet. Moore and Mraz’s may have been located in Knockturn Alley, but it had a look about it that desperately screamed, ‘We’re respectable craftsmages-only here because of the rents!’ Granted, it had an inconspicuous three balls clustered on the signpost in front of the door, but in Knockturn Alley, those probably came with the building. Even the whorehouses here offered pawn services-so he’d heard.
The proprietress seemed to bear out his assessment of the establishment’s grasp after legitimacy. The look she gave him was apprehensive, and not in the “Will I need to hide the dodgy stuff?” manner; more like “Is he a customer or is he casing the place?” Not that Severus imagined the witch had much about which to be nervous. She looked like a brunette, bespectacled Molly Weasley and was probably about as defenseless.
Or perhaps she just needed the loo. “Rose, see to the customer,” she whispered to the young witch at the worktable in the corner as she ducked into the back room.
Rose, taller than the older witch by about a head and no more than half as wide, doffed her gloves and protective glasses as she rose from her work. Despite the marked difference in proportions, there was a distinct family resemblance. He wasn’t sure why the elder Mraz or Moore feared thieves; he guessed the younger witch could sort them. The girl sported a politely watchful expression and a palmed wand. The only other person he had ever seen wear all denim robes was Charlie Weasley, so they were most likely not the fashion statement of a shrinking violet.
“Welcome to Mraz and Moore, sir. I am Miss Mraz-how may I assist you?” the young witch asked, her tone pleasantly brisk.
9. “Hello!” she answered, as brightly as possible.
There was a long moment of silence before a muffled voice queried, “Hermione Granger?”
The smile faded. “Yes?”
“Hermione Granger of the Evening Standard?” The query was slightly distorted, as if someone were attempting to disguise their voice.
“Who is this?”
“I’ve got a story for you. New potions shop opening up in Knockturn Alley.”
“How did you get this number?” she demanded.
“'s in the book,” came the terse reply. Which was true, actually. She hadn’t honestly considered that a wizard might deign to trace her through Muggle means, else she would certainly had registered the number as ex-directory. “You want to know about this shop, though. The owner ain’t right.”
“Not meaning any offence to the traders of Knockturn Alley, but few of them are,” she snipped. “Now I have to ask you not to call this number again. Good night, si-”
“He’s a Death Eater.”
“What?”
“Thought that might get your interest. The old pawn shop, down by the pie and mash shop.”
10. They Flooed into the Leaky Cauldron from the Three Broomsticks. Their arrival was marked by the inevitable “Daddy… I don’t feel so good…” and followed by breakfast making a reappearance on the flagstones. Severus shot Tom an apologetic look before cleaning the mess with a quick Scourgify.
Severus took out his handkerchief and wiped her face, grateful that she had missed the front of her sundress. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whimpered.
“Do not worry, Aurelia.” He sighed and put his handkerchief away again. “We need to hurry now, alright?” He needed to get the monkshood as soon as possible - the base potion wouldn’t stay stable for that much longer. He took her hand and led her out of the Leaky Cauldron.
Aurelia seemed stunned by all the activity, people, and shops around them as they walked down Diagon Alley and she clutched his hand very tightly. Severus had to keep reminding himself that she wasn’t used to this much noise and activity. He wondered what it must be like for her, so used to the friendly people at Hogwarts and the village-closeness of Hogsmeade. So many strangers and even stranger things all around her.
He was shocked out of his reverie when she suddenly let go of his hand. “Aurelia!”
“Oh, Daddy! Look!” She was on tiptoe in her pink sandals, running her hands wonderingly through a tray of mixed buttons in front of Madame Malkin’s.
“Aurelia… we are late. Come along now.” Her face fell. She cast a longing gaze at the cacophony of shiny plastic and glass buttons, but went to take his hand again.
The witch that had been standing in the doorway came forward and filled a small brown paper packet with a handful of buttons. “Here you go, little miss.” She smiled as she held the packet out to Aurelia. Aurelia shot a glance up at her father, as if asking him if it was all right to take the proffered gift.
Severus sighed and nodded. “What do you say, Aurelia?”
“Thank you!” Aurelia chimed as she happily rattled the buttons around in their paper container.