Harry Potter & The Thousand Mysteries

‘And just what exactly do you think you’re doing?’ asked a voice behind Harry. Oh no, he thought, as he felt his insides cringe. He turned around to see, sitting on the wall where the tabby cat had sat moments ago, Professor McGonagall.

‘Er, hello, professor?’ said Harry taken aback.

‘Never mind that,’ she snapped. ‘What on earth are you doing out in the street at this time of night, Potter?’

Harry stood for a moment, thinking.

‘What exactly are you doing out here at this time of night?’ he replied.

That stumped her. She looked around, awkwardly. Then she seemed to compose herself.

‘Never you mind that,’ she said. ‘Just you answer my question. What are you doing here at this time of night?’

‘Never you mind that,’ he said, smiling.

‘It’s too late at night to play games, Potter. Unless you want a years worth of detentions then I suggest you answer my question.’

There really was nothing for it.

‘I’m getting the Knight Bus to London to meet Ron and Hermione. I’ll be staying at the Leaky Cauldron until school starts.’

‘Are you indeed.’ It was a statement rather than a question.

They both waited in silence, looking at each other, waiting for the other to do something.

‘Are you going to tell me what you’ve been doing here?’ asked Harry finally.

‘I’ve been instructed by Professor Dumbledore to watch your house tonight- he doesn’t like you being defenceless when Dark wizards could strike.’ She said briskly.

‘You’ve been watching me all summer?’ asked Harry, flabbergasted. He certainly hadn’t expected to this.

‘No, no,’ she said, flapping her hands impatiently. ‘Really, Potter, do you think I have nothing better to do with my holidays than sit and watch pupils? No, Arabella has been watching you for a few years, but she’s had to go into St. Mungo’s tonight, so that’s why I’m here.’

‘Arabella?’ asked Harry. He had no idea of these covert surveillance operations.

‘Yes, Arabella Figg. She’s a retired Auror who happened by chance to live in this village. I shouldn’t be telling you this…’ she said, looking around.

Harry stood for a moment, trying to take this all in.

‘Let me get this straight,’ he said, running his hands through his hair. ‘Dumbledore’s organised for Arabella Figg to watch everything I do over the holidays? Is that right?’

‘Oh for heaven’s sake use your brain, Potter,’ she snapped haughtily. ‘There are some Dark Magic detectors around here that inform Arabella if there’s anything going wrong. Other than that, she totally ignores you.’

‘And why does this Arabella…’ he stopped dreamily in mid-sentence. Arabella Figg?

‘Is Arabella Figg have lots of cats?’ he asked.

‘Yes, she has rather a fondness for them, I believe.’

‘It’s Mrs. Figg,’ said Harry. ‘All these years that old dame living beside the Dursleys was a witch! And nobody told me.’

‘Yes, well, Potter, if you’re going to London…’ Harry cut her off in mid-sentence.

‘Why does she do it? Why would Dumbledore have someone watch me?’

‘Because you’re a high-risk case,’ she said plainly. ‘There’s a high chance that you’ll be attacked, especially after what happened last term. We need to make sure you stay alive while you’re away from Hogwarts until you’re fully qualified.’

‘Oh,’ said Harry. He hadn’t expected her to be so frank with him. ‘Thanks.’

Once again, they both stood in awkward silence.

‘I suppose you better get to London, then,’ she said. ‘There’s no point in me waiting around here if you’re away.’

‘Okay. Goodbye then,’ said Harry, picking up his trunk.

‘Goodbye, Potter.’ She transformed into the tabby cat, and slunk off.

Harry stuck his wand arm out, and a huge bang announced the arrival of the Knight Bus. As he climbed aboard, he saw the cat, illuminated in the bus’ headlights, sneak around the corner of Privet Drive.

‘All right, Neville? London again, is it?’ asked Stan Shunpike, the conductor.

‘It’s Harry. Yes, London please, Stan.’

‘Sorry, Harry, ‘ere you is, then,’ he said, handing him his change. ‘You’re up on the fird floor this time,’ he said. Because of his accent, he pronounced it ‘flow-ah’

Harry clambered up the rickety wooden staircase to the top of the triple-decker Knight Bus, and settled in his bed for what was sure to be a bumpy ride.

And, after twenty minutes of disappearing and reappearing at different places all over the country, Harry felt he had grossly underestimated just how bumpy a ride it was going to be. When the bus finally pulled in outside the Leaky Cauldron, Harry kept his mouth clamped shut as he fell out the doors, for fear he would reveal the contents of his stomach to the entire bus.

‘I know that face,’ said Tom the Barman as Harry entered the Wizarding Bar and access to Diagon Alley. Although it was nearing quarter to six, the bar was still open and doing business- a couple of old crones sat in the corner, while several drunks slopped mead all over the table. ‘That’s young ‘Arry Potter, If I ain’t very much mistaken! What brings yeh to these Parts, young Harry me lad, and at thins time as well?

‘Hello Tom,’ said Harry, trying not to look too vulnerable and frightened. He was acutely aware of a drunken old man with a wispy grey beard shouting obscenities behind him.

‘Do you have a room I can use? Until September the first?’

‘Well, now, for you, young Harry, of course I does!’ he hobbled out from behind the bar and led Harry through a wooden door and down a corridor.

‘Ere we are,’ he said, as he pushed open the door. ‘Breakfast is served between eight thirty and eleven, elevenses are between eleven o’clock and one, Lunch begins at one o’clock and ends at four, afternoon tea is in the parlour at four and finishes at half five, and then at half past five dinner will be served and that’ll finish at ten o’clock. If you want some coffee or a brandy or something in the Lounge, you can have that after dinner until two o’clock the next morning. Room service is available between the hours of two and half past eight in the morning. Will you be requiring anything else, sir?’ He smiled at Harry, revealing his mouth half-filled with teeth.

‘No, thanks, Tom, that’s plenty.’

‘Right you are, then, Harry, Right you are,’ said Tom, as he hobbled off again down the corridor.

Harry threw his clothes and trunk and the floor, and crawled into bed for some well-deserved sleep.

He was walking down Diagon Alley, chasing a crimson and gold feather, when he heard a voice behind him.

‘Excuse me,’ it said. I recognise that voice, he thought subconsciously, but he ignored it and walked off, in pursuit of the feather.

‘Excuse me,’ said the voice again. ‘Excuse me!’

‘What,’ answered Harry, not turning round.

‘Excuse me, Mr. Potter.’ Harry opened his eyes as he felt himself make the journey between the realms of dreams and reality, where everything seemed to make perfect sense. ‘Excuse me, Mr. Potter,’ said Tom’s head, poking through the door. ‘Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley are in the bar waiting for you.’

‘Right, thanks Tom,’ said Harry tiredly, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

He pulled himself out of bed, showered quickly and dressed, before hurrying back along the corridor and into the bar.

‘Harry!’ cried Hermione, as she saw him over Ron’s shoulder. She leaped up and hugged him, kissing him softly on the cheek. ‘Harry, how are you? Why didn’t you reply to any of our letters? We’ve been so worried! I was on the verge of writing to Dumbledore about it!’

‘Okay, Hermione, calm down,’ said Ron, patting her on the shoulder. ‘All right, Harry,’ he said.

‘Yeah. You two want to get something to eat, I’m starving,’ said Harry, and the three of them walked out into Diagon Alley.

‘And then, they had this statue of the thing, with this awful poem written beside it,’ said Harry. The three of them were sitting in the morning sunshine outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, eating large sundaes for breakfast.

Harry was recounting the tale of Ripper’s untimely death and Aunt Marge in mourning to Ron and Hermione. Hermione was giggling, and looking very sheepish about it, as if she felt she shouldn’t, but couldn’t help it. Ron was going to no such expense to hide his gales of laughter, whooping and going bright red.

‘The dog- and the toaster!’ he cried, the tears streaming down his face, and he dissolved once more into booming laughter.

After Harry had finished telling the story, they meandered up the Alley to Gringotts, the bank where all their money was stored.

Harry retrieved his wallet, from the back pocket of his jeans. Inside was all the money he had been saving over the holidays. He had worked for seven weeks, for thirty pounds a week. He spent roughly forty pounds on clothes, which left him with £168.40 to change into Galleons, Sickles and Knuts and spend. He felt pleased with himself as he handed the money over to the goblin cashier, who was going to change it. This meant that he finally didn’t have to live off his inheritance- he could buy himself some things he wanted, rather than needed.

So as the reunited trio set off down Diagon Alley, the money clanking in their moneybags desperate to be spent, it was with an air of happiness, laughter and contentment.

‘We should get our school stuff first,’ said Hermione, in her usual unquestionably logical manner, ‘then we can spend time gawping a sticks in Quality Quidditch Supplies. Honestly!’ So she frogmarched them to Madam Malkin’s Robe Shop.

Harry needed some new robes again this year, and some new dress robes as well. All the work over the summer had obviously had an affect on him- he was now barely two inches under Ron.

‘Here you are, dear,’ said Madam Malkin, dressed in an elaborate beige robe. ‘Just whip your shirt off and try these on quickly.’

Harry pulled off his shirt, and tried the new robes Madam Malkin had procured for him.

‘Harry, have you been working out or something?’ asked Ron.

‘Yeah, Arnie,’ said Hermione. ‘What’s with all the muscles?’

‘What?’ asked Harry, turning slightly pink.

‘What have you been doing over the summer?’ asked Hermione.

‘I got a job with a removal company- just lifting boxes and stuff,’ he said, feeling a bit stupid.

‘It’s obviously paid off,’ she said, a coy smile across her face. ‘I wonder what Parvati will say to that?’

‘What!?’ asked Harry, trying (and failing) not to blush.

‘Oh, nothing,’ she said, and stalked off.

When they reemerged, bags under their arms and their moneybags considerably lighter, Hermione dragged them into Flourish and Blotts, the bookshop.

‘Hermione,’ moaned Ron. ‘We have a whole week to spend in bookshops! Can’t we do it tomorrow?’

‘Rubbish,’ said Hermione without looking at him. ‘The sooner, the better! Now, we need to find copies of An OWL Survival Guide, by J.E. Morte.’

So, when they finally stumbled into the twilight of Diagon Alley, Hermione having bought eleven books compared with Harry and Ron’s six, it was time to return to the Leaky Cauldron for dinner.

‘Ronnykins,’ called a voice behind them, as they entered the dimly lit bar.

‘What?’ asked Ron bluntly, wheeling round to see Fred and George, Ron’s two twin brothers who would be attending their final year at Hogwarts this year.

‘We have a surprise for you,’ said Fred.

‘Is it another Weasel Whip, ‘cause you know what mum said…’

‘Isn’t that just typical, Fred,’ said George in mock indignation.

‘Just typical, George.’

‘We offer you a present and you throw the dead and buried up in out faces.

‘For your information, dearest brother,’ said Fred, producing a brown parcel, ‘this present is not edible.’

‘More’s the pity,’ added his brother.

‘What is it,’ asked Ron, taking the parcel gingerly.

‘Open it and see.’

Ron pulled at the strings, and the parcel fell open in his hands.

‘Wow,’ said Hermione.

Wow, Harry surmised, was indeed the word. Fred and George had obviously gone to a lot of expense to buy their brother a set of velvet metallic grey dress robes. Most importantly, there wasn’t a lace frill in sight.

‘Wha…’ stammered Ron.

‘Well, we had an private investor in the firm, and we couldn’t let you go to school in those tatty old things, so… here you are!’ said George.

Ron stood silently, dumbstruck.

‘You don’t have to thank us now,’ prompted Fred, after a minute and a half of waiting.

‘Thanks,’ said Ron quietly. ‘Thanks a lot.’

‘Not at all,’ said Fred. ‘Now let’s get something to eat.’ The five of them sat down at a table, and ordered some food.

‘Where’s your mum and Ginny, Ron,’ asked Harry.

‘They’re coming later on Thursday,’ said Ron, in between mouthfuls of sweet corn.

Harry spent an enjoyable week with the three Weasleys and Hermione. When Mrs. Weasley and Ginny joined them later in the week, it added to the fun, but Harry couldn’t help feeling a little put-out that it had only turned good when the holidays were almost over.

At least I’m not with Aunt Marge, he thought optimistically; as he felt the time they had left on holiday diminish drastically.

The real high point of the week, however, was at breakfast on the Wednesday morning. Harry, Ron and Hermione were breakfasting in an empty parlour when three Hogwarts Eagle owls flew in the open window. They each deposited a letter in the centre of the table, before flying out the window again, without so much as a hoot.

‘Here,’ said Hermione, handing Harry and Ron the ones addressed to them. Harry opened his, and took out the familiar Hogwarts parchment.

Dear Mr. Potter,

It is my great honour to inform you that, alongside Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss. Hermione Granger, you have been elected one of the fifth year prefects of Gryffindor House.

I know it is an honour you will take seriously- you have been given a great deal of responsibility and it is important that you uphold it.

The other fifth year Prefects are as follows:

Slytherin: Draco Malfoy Pansy Parkinson Blaise Zabini

Hufflepuff: Susan Bones Justin Finch-Fletchley

Ravenclaw: David Drake Millicent Fawcett

You will be required to attend the Prefects Carriage of the Hogwarts Express at 9.30 on September 1^st, for your initiation ceremony.

Congratulations,

Minerva McGonagall

Head of Gryffindor House and Deputy Headmistress

Harry looked across the table at Hermione and Ron. Hermione had her mouth hanging open, her hand shaking as she reread the letter. Ron was staring, wide eyed at the document in his hands, as if not daring to believe it. Harry knew that it was Ron’s deepest desire to stop being outshone by his older brothers, and this was going part of the way.

‘Oh good heavens,’ said Hermione, in a whisper, ‘we’re PREFECTS!!!’

‘Okay, Hermione, it’s not like it’s a big shock for you,’ said Ron.

‘PREFECTS!’ she screamed again.

‘Well done,’ said Harry to the others. ‘Looks like we’ve done it again.’

So the when the three Prefects, along with Ginny, George, Fred, and Mr & Mrs Weasley sat down for their final dinner at the Leaky Cauldron, on the night before they were due to leave for Hogwarts, it was to boos and hisses from Fred, George and Ginny.

‘I can’t believe it,’ said Fred. ‘They’ve got to you too!’

‘I know,’ said George. ‘Maybe you can give us that map back, Harry? You shouldn’t need it now, seeing as you’re a prefect!’

‘What map?’ asked Mrs. Weasley.

‘Nothing, mother, nothing at all,’ replied George. ‘Have a roast potato, do!’

‘There’s nothing wrong with being a Prefect, you know,’ said Mrs Weasley severely. ‘If you two had tried a bit harder and stopped messing around like I told you to, you could’ve been some too!’

‘Really, mother,’ said Fred. ‘I hardly think George and I would stoop so low.’

‘Exactly,’ concurred George. ‘We have some dignity, you know! I mean, a Prefect? Really?’ He pretended to spit on the ground. The entire table burst into laughter, and even Mrs. Weasley allowed herself a small chuckle.

‘So how’s Percy getting on?’ asked Harry of Mr. Weasley, whom he was sitting next.

‘Oh, well, he’s not quite so enthusiastic as he used to be,’ said Mr. Weasley, looking disheartened. ‘He doesn’t really get on with Flunnket, his new Head of Department. He’s put in to be moved, but the only position vacant is at the Centaur Liaison Office, and no one would go there unless they wanted to be fired.’

‘Oh, right,’ said Harry. ‘How’s he coping with Fudge and all?’

‘Well, you know, Percy’s pretty junior- he’s got a fair few rungs left to climb before he reaches the top, but I think he’ll get there. But you know what Fudge is like- he’s far to lenient to the Death Eater sympathisers and anyone who’s pure blood. He really sucks up to the large, rich wizarding families, and ignores the hard working Trojans like Percy who’s soft on Muggle Issues.’

Mr. Weasley continued to talk on the same vein for nearly three quarters of an hour, right through the dessert. It was quarter to ten before Mrs Weasley clucked everyone away to bed.

As Harry curled up in bed, the sounds of Fred and George laughing next-door vibrating through the wall, he felt strangely content as he looked out the window and into the star-speckled sky. This, he thought, would finally be a normal year. Oh, the irony.