Draco Malfoy Harry Potter
Alternate Universe General
The Harry Potter at Hogwarts Years
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Quidditch Through the Ages Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Published: 04/18/2004
Updated: 06/08/2006
Words: 97,140
Chapters: 21
Hits: 109,125

They Shook Hands: Year Two (Original Version)


Story Summary:
Harry Potter's holiday with the Muggles has been dreadful. He wants nothing more than to return to Hogwarts, but when he is rescued by a masked wizard in a black robe, it sets off a chain reaction of disasters. Things are no calmer at school as an ancient legend comes to life and a deadly monster stalks the halls. The new Defense professor boasts that he will end the threat, but can even the magical might of the famed Gilderoy Lockhart prevail against the Heir of Slytherin? Nobody knows who it could be, but the prime suspect is none other than Harry himself!

Chapter 04 - Fallout

Chapter Summary:
Elan learns he is to be sent off to Durmstrang Academy, and a shouting match ensues. Draco has broom angst over his out-dated Comet-260. Harry's interview in the Sunday Prophet sets things right. It's the annual trip to Diagon Alley, and Harry tries several things for the first time. There are surprises all around as they get to meet the new Defense teacher.
Author's Note:
Yes, there is an AU version of Year One. This story is a sequel to my previous work,

They Shook Hands : Year Two

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic
by Dethryl

Chapter Four - Fallout

"What's Durmstrang Academy?" Harry asked.

"It's a wizarding school in northern Europe," Elan told him, sounding spacey. "I don't understand. Why am I getting a letter from Durmstrang? Where's my Hogwarts letter" He broke the seal of the letter and opened it.

"'Dear Mister Malfoy,'" he read, "'On behalf of all the faculty, I welcome you to our family at Durmstrang Academy. We look forward to seeing you in September. Enclosed is a list and so on... May bring yeah, yeah... Directions through the IFloo... Sincerely, Ghedeon Chernozemski, Deputy Headmaster.'"

Elan stared at the parchment long after he had finished reading. He looked up at his father, who was calmly chewing. "You enrolled me in Durmstrang?" he said, not sounding as if he could believe it.

Mr. Malfoy swallowed. "Congratulations, Elan, your rapid grasp of the obvious is still unmatched."

Elan flushed. "You're sending me away because of one error in judgement?" he asked incredulously.

"No! Because that one error in judgement could have landed you and Draco in Azkaban Prison for the rest of your natural lives!" Mr. Malfoy snapped, his customary urbane tones suddenly gone. "Hogwarts, with its soft and pudgy headmaster, has been found lacking in certain aspects of your education. You'll learn discipline at Durmstrang that I should have had the good sense to teach you myself. I thought that you would learn as I did. Dumbledore has obviously run the school into the ground. Well, they'll set you and your ideas right at Durmstrang, boy. Perhaps some distance away from that tart will put some sense back into that addled brain of yours."

"Don't talk about Jamie that way!"

"You will not talk back to me," Mr. Malfoy informed his eldest son, glaring down the table.

"How could you do this without even consulting me?" Elan demanded in a low, angry tone.

Mr. Malfoy pulled a puzzled expression. "I am your father; my word is law; you are going to Durmstrang. What is there to discuss?"

"I'm a Hogwarts prefect!" Elan protested.

"Which means you should have known better!" Mr. Malfoy said sharply, with a deadly look in his eye.

"But why Durmstrang?" Elan said, beginning to sound personally offended.

"Headmaster Igor Karkaroff is an old friend of mine," Mr. Malfoy said, arching his fingers. "Needless to say, he was ill-amused when I told him of your little stunt. He's promised to keep a close eye on you."

"How could you do this without discussing it with me?" Mrs. Malfoy interjected in a very nasty tone. She had laid down her silverware and folded her arms. Hope flashed briefly across Elan's face.

Mr. Malfoy took a sip of his wine and sighed. "Cis, I did it because it's the best way to protect him. If he's out of the country, he's outside of Ministry jurisdiction. They won't be able to touch him."

He reached over and took his wife's hand. "Things will not get that far, of course. Rita's story tomorrow will help everything blow over. But I also made a deal with Fudge. He will sweep everything under the carpet without any investigation if Elan goes overseas for a few years. My meeting with the good Minister and Dumbledore was rather productive."

Mrs. Malfoy's eyes softened, and she shook her head slightly in Elan's direction. Elan's shoulders slumped. His last hope of salvation had conceded to his fate.

Mr. Malfoy moistened his lips with wine again. "It's just as well Fudge was so eager to make a deal," he said in an off-hand manner. "Elan will need to study for his NEWTs somewhere."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Elan asked sullenly.

"It means that Dumbledore told me in no uncertain terms that you would not be welcome back at Hogwarts," Mr. Malfoy said icily. "Do you have any idea how humiliating it was to have to stand there and take that kind of an insult from that miserable bastard? A Malfoy not welcome at Hogwarts? That is the crux of your crime, my son. You have shamed the family name, because there will always be those who persist in believing lies. They will make trouble."

Elan was stony-faced for a few moments. Silence ruled the table. "May I be excused?" Elan finally asked in a faint voice.

"No," Mr. Malfoy said. "Finish your dinner."

Elan paled, and the lines on his forehead suddenly crinkled as his face became an ugly frown. Mr. Malfoy looked at his son with what could only be described as an eager expression.

"Are you angry with me, Elan?" he asked mockingly. "Do you want to hex me? Do it!" he urged. "Draw your wand! Cast your most powerful curse at me! I'll give you far worse then a boil on the bum this time." He lowered the pitch of his voice. "I'll give you a quick lesson in duelling technique that you won't soon forget."

Elan's face was pale beneath this verbal onslaught. He didn't respond to his father's invitation to issue a challenge. Wordlessly, he picked up his fork and resumed eating his dinner.

"Good," Mr. Malfoy said, his tone back to its normal civilized urbanity. "Be grateful for your dinner. There are some families that don't have a fine meal like we do."

Harry didn't know what to think. He felt so awfully out of place. He wanted to become small and hide himself away. This was a family problem, but this was not his family. He didn't belong here.

It was awful that he had caused this. Harry felt he should apologize, but he didn't know to whom; he didn't know what he should say. He started to speak, but failed. He tried again, but stopped before uttering a sound. Draco looked at him and shook his head slightly. He turned his eyes to his empty dinner plate.

Mr. Malfoy continued eating his food. Time crept by in agonizing slowness; a hole in time had apparently opened up, engulfing the dinner table. Nobody uttered a word until Mr. Malfoy finally snapped his fingers for pudding to be served. Elan was not permitted pudding, and Mr. Malfoy sent him to his room. After Elan had left the table, Mrs. Malfoy said something to her husband in a low voice not intended to carry, and they began to discuss a household matter privately. Harry and Draco finished quickly and went upstairs.

"Well, that was ugly," Draco said in a fake-cheery tone, flouncing onto his bed. "I did warn you about Father's sarcastic streak when we first met."

"That was brutal," Harry said, still feeling slightly stunned. "Not even the Muggles yell at me like that. That was much more creative. I'm used to just threats of no food and being locked in the cupboard."

"I will say one thing," Draco said, rolling over and staring up at the ceiling. "When Father really lets loose on you, you know you've earned it. Elan's stunt was monumentally stupid."

"It was your stunt too," Harry pointed out.

"I was just along for the ride," Draco said casually. "Besides, my punishment is something worse than Father's sarcasm," he lamented. "No new broom this year. And I'll never make the team without one."

"Your brother is going off to Bulgaria, and all you can think about is your broom?" Harry said incredulously.

"I'm being realistic about things," Draco said calmly. "There's nothing I can do about Elan going to Durmstrang. True? Ergo, I should concentrate on the factors that will affect me more directly. And not being able to try out for the Quidditch team wounds me to the very core."

"You can still try out," Harry told his friend.

"The Comet Two-Eighty just came out," Draco replied. "The Nimbus Two Thousand is top of the line. The Cleansweep Seven has been out for almost a year now. My Two-Sixty just isn't up to the task. I'll have to be on best behaviour and pray a lot for Christmas."

Draco reached over and snapped on the wizard's wireless, indicating that he didn't wish to talk about it anymore. Soon he and Harry were discussing Celestina Warbeck, the Three Weird Sisters, and other musical groups. The hour came, and the news programme began.

"This is the Wizards Broadcasting Corporation, I'm Aiden McDonald, and this is the Isles Update on WBC Wireless Two. Our top story this evening: Harry Potter is allegedly kidnapped."

Harry snarled in disgust and was about to switch the wireless off when Draco motioned him to sit back down. "It's best to know what's being said."

"No further word on the alleged abduction of Harry Potter from his residence in Surrey, first reported by the Daily Prophet. The Ministry still has no official comment, but a Ministry official speaking on condition of anonymity said that the notion that the Death Eaters are a thing of the past is absurd and dangerous. However, sources close to Harry Potter have denied that the Boy-Who-Lived is in any danger. In other news, the Deputy Minister for Muggle Relations has..."

They turned down the volume. "I wonder who the Ministry person was," Harry said.

"Probably one of Dumbledore's goons," Draco said derisively. "What I want to know is who these so-called close sources are who are speaking for your health."

"Could it be Millie? Her dad works at the Ministry," Harry speculated.

"Possibly," Draco said non-committally. "Not to worry, the paper will straighten it all out."

"There is that," Harry said thankfully.

"Switch that thing off then, and let's have a game of chess."

* * *

by Rita Skeeter, Staff Reporter

In an exclusive personal interview, Harry Potter, lately of Surrey, vehemently denies that he was abducted by Death Eaters on Friday evening. Potter is calm, cool, and very much in control of his situation.

The scene is thus: On the night of his twelfth birthday, Harry Potter has been sent to his room without supper. He has been told to be absolutely silent, for the Muggles he lives with are having dinner guests. A friend of Potter's, Slytherin House prefect Elan O. Malfoy knocks at the door and invites Mr. Potter to go flying in the brisk summer night. The destination? Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. The objective? A summer holiday with his own kind.

Mr. Potter tells a tale far removed from the alarmist, slanderous allegations babbled in the ear of a gullible moron who is somehow still employed by the Daily Prophet. Under pressure to reveal his source for the absolute lie he dutifully reported as fact, Edmund Shunpike named Arabella Figg, a known Squib, whose motives for slandering the fine old Malfoy family are unclear.

Mr. Potter firmly states that his friend was not wearing a white mask. The pale-skinned Mr. Malfoy was wearing a black robe, Potter confirms, but the black robe is hardly a garment unique to Death Eaters or Dark wizards. The robes of the Hogwarts school uniform are black.

The idea of Death Eaters coming to his residence was ridiculed by Mr. Potter. "A Death Eater wouldn't have told me to get my things," Potter says. "If Death Eaters had shown up at my house, do you honestly think I'd still be alive?"

Harry had been eager to see the Daily Prophet and read Rita's article. He was so anxious to see it that he had woken early and been unable to fall asleep again. He had lain in bed until the sun crept reluctantly into the dawn sky. He'd been the first person at the breakfast table the next morning.

Sitting at the table, Harry had waited for the elves to start bringing in food, then found he couldn't eat anything. He had watched the windows for the delivery owl, and when the paper finally did come, Harry was unfolding it even before the bird exited the room.

The picture looked quite fine. Harry's image looked very relaxed. Mr. Malfoy was smiling benevolently. His posture reminded Harry suddenly of the image he had seen in the Mirror of Erised. James Potter had placed his hand on Harry's shoulder in just that same manner.

He dropped the paper and slumped back in his chair in relief. He had said all the right things. It was perfect. He couldn't possibly have said anything else that would have helped. All the tension drained out of his body. Suddenly ravenous, he reached for the fried potatoes.

Mr. Malfoy had casually unfolded his paper and read the article with seeming leisure. He folded down the top part and gave Harry a faint nod. "Well done," was all he said.

Breakfast didn't have nearly the uncomfortable mood that last night's dinner had had. Elan was silent, but for the most part his sullenness was ignored by everyone else. The younger boys quickly finished and dashed outside as soon as they were excused from the table.

The sky was overcast, but that didn't stop Harry and Draco from turning loose the Snitch and chasing it all over the pitch. Harry usually won, but Draco wasn't all that bad at playing Seeker. When Draco tired of being beaten, he brought the Quaffle into the air.

"You're Slytherin's star Seeker," he said. "If I'm going to make the team, I'll have to do some awesome things as a Chaser."

"Let's get started on some drills then," Harry suggested. He flew back to the manor and landed on his balcony. He rummaged through his trunk until he found his battered copy of Marcus Flint's Quidditch playbook. Harry and Draco worked on Flint's Chaser tactics until well after noon. The sun was at its apex when they were called in to clean up for Sunday dinner.

Covered in sweat from the drills he'd been running with Draco, Harry gladly immersed himself in the tub full of soapy water. Though he gave serious thought to remaining until the water was stone cold, Harry's stomach refused to even consider the idea, and he towelled off quickly, dressed in some reasonably nice clothes, and hurried down to the dining room.

The meal was relatively quiet, and when he was excused, Harry went to his room and pulled out his schoolbooks. Opening up his Transfiguration text, he began his summer homework. It certainly wouldn't do to be unprepared when he went back to school. Professor McGonagall wouldn't take kindly to such academic sloth.

Worn out from his day, Harry closed his books after only a couple of hours and turned in early. He had put his notes away and was just finished changing into his pyjamas when Mrs. Malfoy knocked on his door.

"Good, you're already getting ready for bed," she told him. "I was coming by to recommend you get some sleep. Tomorrow's a big day, and you'll need to be well-rested."

"What's going on tomorrow?" Harry asked.

"We leave bright and early for Diagon Alley," she said. "Lots to buy, you know. You'll need new robes; I imagine you've been growing like a weed." That was certainly true. The sumptuous fare regularly found on the Hogwarts tables was a notch or two higher than the school food at Smeltings, to hear Dudley moan on and on about it.

"New books, of course," Mrs. Malfoy was saying. "All those Lockhart books, my word! You'll certainly get a decent Defence course if you pay close attention this year. A stop at the apothecary is always in order. And I'm sure you and Draco will want to waste at least two hours in Quality Quidditch Supplies." She delivered the last sentence with a smile, so Harry knew she didn't really think Quidditch a waste of time.

"Mrs. Malfoy?" Harry said as she was about to leave the room. She paused in the doorway and looked back at him. "Thank you. For everything."

She came over to the bedside and tucked him in. Wordlessly, she planted a kiss on his forehead and extinguished the lights. She slipped silently from the room, the door gliding shut with only the faintest of whispers.

Harry yawned hugely and closed his eyes. He tried to form a thought, but failed as sleep overcame him.

* * *

The next morning was a frenzied rush to get everyone awake, breakfasted, dressed, and assembled in front of the fireplace in the lounge. Harry had taken great pride in dressing himself in the robes of a wizard that morning. Now he was a little nervous, for he had never travelled by Floo before. Despite all of Draco's reassurances that it was safer than flying a broom, Harry felt uncomfortable at the idea of calmly stepping into a fire.

"This is Floo powder," Draco told him, showing him a tin filled with a glittering grey powder. "Take a good healthy pinch." Harry did so.

"The way it works is that you throw it in, like so," he demonstrated. The flames flared up suddenly and changed to a brilliant emerald green in colour. Elan ducked into the fireplace, not scalded at all.

"Diagon Alley!" he shouted and vanished with a poof of smoke.

"Keep your elbows tucked in, your eyes shut, and don't inhale deeply. When you stop spinning, look for Elan. Don't get out at the wrong place, now."

Harry dutifully repeated these instructions. He threw his pinch of powder into the roaring flames and nervously stepped forward. The flames licking at his limbs felt just like a warm summer breeze. He could have laughed for sheer delight. Oh, wasn't magic wonderful!

"Diagon Alley!" he shouted.

It felt as though he were being sucked down a giant drain. He seemed to be spinning very fast. Not wanting to get sick, he kept his eyes firmly shut. He had a roaring noise in his ears that no one had warned him about. Something hard knocked his elbow, and he pressed his arms flat at his sides. He gasped as he suddenly felt a cold hand slap his face. No one had told him about that either, he thought viciously. Fortunately it wasn't very hard, but it was still something of a shock. The strange slapping kept up for a little while longer, gradually becoming less frequent. Perhaps he was slowing down. He hadn't imagined it, and though his head was still spinning, he opened his eyes.

There in front of him was Elan. Harry took a step forward and lurched to the side. Elan caught him and guided him out of the fireplace. "All right there, Harry?"

Gonna be sick, Harry thought. He nodded his head anyway. "Sit," he said.

"There's a stool at the counter," Elan told him. "I'll walk you there."

After his first step had been so dreadful, he was inclined to accept Elan's help. Legs shaking slightly, he sat gratefully at the counter and looked around.

He was in the public room at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry smiled, remembering all the people who'd been so awed of him and eager to shake his hand. At the time he'd been downright confused and embarrassed, but now he felt like he understood them a bit better. Accidental or not, he was still a hero. He'd helped these people, and they were grateful.

At least he wasn't alone now. Draco and Elan, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy could do a fine job of making sure he didn't get mobbed. It would inevitably happen as soon as someone caught sight of his scar.

Draco and his parents popped out of the Floo a minute later, and Harry was feeling slightly better. His face must still have been green though, because Draco snapped his fingers at Old Tom the bartender. "Tom, some butterbeers."

"Shame on you, Elan," Draco scolded his older brother. "The first thing you should have done was buy him a drink to settle his stomach."

"I was more worried about him falling over, you brat," Elan retorted. "I had to help him walk over here. I was about to get the drinks."

"Now, now, boys, no need to fight," Mr. Malfoy said smoothly. He laid a gold Galleon on the counter. Old Tom set down three frosty tankards filled with a foamy yellow beverage. He started to make change, but Mr. Malfoy waved him away. "Drink up, Harry. Butterbeer is one of life's finest delights."

Harry took a sip of his drink and closed his eyes in bliss. The cold drink was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. A warm glow filled him, and he set the tankard down with a thump.

"Good, eh?" Draco winked at him.

"Very," Harry said, wiping his mouth.

"I have some business to attend to," Mr. Malfoy told the three boys. He kept one arm tucked beneath his light summer cloak, holding a box of some kind. His other hand gripped the handle of his silver cane. "Draco, will you and Harry be alright for the time being?"

"Yes, Father," Draco said.

"Good. I'll meet you at Flourish and Blotts in one hour. And do try to keep your brother out of trouble." With that final jibe, the Malfoys stepped out into the back alley. Elan's eyes flashed, but he said nothing. He merely took a long sip of his butterbeer.

Harry tried to make his drink last as long as possible, but it was so good that he couldn't help drinking it quickly.

"Can we get more?" he asked.

Draco laughed. "Maybe on the way back through," he said. "I want to get to Quality Quidditch and look at the new models for awhile."

"You'll only be torturing yourself," Elan said moodily.

"And who do I have to thank for that?" Draco asked rhetorically. "You. So shut it."

Elan didn't even rise to that bait. He merely drained the rest of his tankard and got to his feet. He ambled towards the back alley, not looking back to see if they would follow.

"He's really bent out of shape," Harry said, feeling sympathetic.

"He's being a prat," Draco said scornfully. "I don't even think it's Durmstrang that bothers him. The school has a really good reputation. No, I think it's this separation from Jamie that's eating him up inside. He's smitten, the poor fool."

"You don't approve of love?" Harry asked sceptically.

"I approve of love," Draco answered, "but love should be a part of your life, not consume it entirely. He's acting very stupidly, in my opinion."

"Well, they do seem pretty happy together," Harry pointed out.

"And so they are," Draco said candidly. "But their situation is going to change, there's nothing they can do about it, and they might as well accept it."

He stood up and swallowed the last of his butterbeer. "You done?"

Harry followed suit. "I am now," he agreed. He followed Draco out to the back alley. Draco drew his wand and tapped three times on the third brick up, two bricks over.

The brick quivered for a second, wriggling in place. The other bricks set to squirming as well, and soon they were all folding back to form an archway.

Harry had seen it once before, but it was still impressive. He stepped through onto the crowded street and smiled. Magic was in the air.

Owls shrieked at Eeylops' Owl Emporium. Cauldrons rang at the shop just across the way. Everywhere there were people milling about, chatting, buying, and selling. In the distance he could see the snowy white pillars of Gringotts rising high above the other shops.

Harry needed to get his money before he did anything else. He and Draco stood in the queue for only ten minutes before there was a goblin free to see him. He could just barely see the top of the counter as he placed his vault key for the goblin's inspection.

"Harry Potter, vault six-eight-seven, please."

The goblin peered at the key. "This seems to be in order," it said in a squeaky, high-pitched voice that startled Harry. "Roundtop will take you down. Roundtop!"

Roundtop was a goblin with an extremely long, pointed nose. He led Harry and Draco over to the cart and they set off at dizzying speeds. Draco whooped and shouted as they rode, clearly having fun. Harry held on tightly to the restraint bar and tried not to be sick.

Two dizzying experiences, he reflected. And still the Floo trip back. He wondered when his stomach was going to insist that it had had quite enough of this sort of treatment.

"Vault six-eight-seven," the goblin informed them as the cart slammed to a sudden halt. Harry leaned over the side and spat the bile that had risen in his throat. Wearily, he dragged himself out of the cart and onto the stone shelf. He handed the goblin his key and stepped in as the doors opened.

The green smoke billowed away, and Harry took a good look at his fortune. Beside him, Draco gasped in astonishment.

"Blimey, Harry," he breathed. "This is quite a haul."

"There's more here than when I was here last year," Harry said, feeling slightly confused. "Does money here collect interest?"

"Some," Draco told him. "Maybe you've got some investments your parents left for you. Father has a trust fund set up for me that I'm not allowed to touch until I come of age. If your parents did that, the earnings would pile up here."

There was a new pile of gold Galleons. The stacks of silver Sickles had grown even taller. Bronze Knuts were heaped in piles everywhere. Harry brought out his money pouch and began loading it up with a liberal mix of the coins.

"You could easily buy a whole team's worth of new Nimbuses," Draco said wistfully.

"I think that's 'Nimbii'," Harry said helpfully.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Ok, Blaise. C'mon, let's get up to the street. Our hour is ticking away."

The ride back up was just as dizzying and sickening as the ride down. The butterbeer he'd consumed cushioned his system a bit, but Harry felt decidedly queasy as they stepped into the street and hurried to look at the new Comet-280 on display.

Draco mooned over the broom for a bit, but not excessively. He and Harry encountered Terry Boot and struck up a discussion about Quidditch. Before it seemed five minutes had passed, their free hour was up, and they had to hurry off to the book shop.

The shop had quite a mob out in front. Jostling back and forth, it seemed as though the crowd would press in to critical density. The reason for the crowd was proclaimed by a large banner stretched along the upper windows:

will be signing copies of his autobiography
today 12:30 P.M. to 4:30 P.M.

The crowd was made up mostly of witches around Mrs. Malfoy's age. A harried-looking wizard stood at the door, saying, "Calmly, please, ladies. Don't push. Please mind the books."

Harry and Draco squeezed inside and spotted Blaise almost immediately. She waved them over to where she was standing with Jamie and Elan. When Harry got close, she gave him a warm hug.

"Elan said you were around somewhere," she said by way of introduction. "Isn't it great? Lockhart's written almost the whole booklist, and he's actually here today. What fabulous luck!"

"Going to get his biography?" Draco teased her. She stuck out her tongue at him.

"Autobiography. And hardly. But Pansy already has a copy, and she's right up near the front to get it signed.

"If she's up front, let's go stand with her," Draco suggested. "I'd like to meet this fellow."

They snuck through the line. Draco crept up right behind Pansy and tickled her sides. Pansy shrieked in shock and lost her hold on the book as she flailed about.

"Draco!" she shouted, trying to defend herself. It wasn't easy. She'd been caught unawares, and he had good positioning. Harry picked up the book she'd dropped and was treated to the sight of a man with wavy blond hair and too-white teeth set in a perfect smile. The photograph winked at him and continued smiling. It was slightly unnerving.

"I give up!" Pansy cried weakly, leaning against a wall, giggling furiously. Draco accepted her surrender and gave her a hug. "Hullo, Harry," she wheezed.

"Hello, Pansy," he replied. Poor Pansy's face was beet-red, and her hair was all askew. She took back her book from him.

"I can't. Believe. We get to meet him," she panted. "Famous. Dashing. Handsome."

Harry thought her reaction to be very funny indeed. Up at the front, the real Lockhart had just stepped into view. He flashed that dazzling smile and waved to the crowd. He was wearing robes in a shade of forget-me-not blue that perfectly matched his eyes. His pointed wizard's hat was fixed at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.

A photographer was circling around Lockhart at a distance, shoving through the crowd, and taking pictures with a camera that let off foul purple smoke. "Stand aside, Daily Prophet," he said every few seconds. The crowd did its best to get out of his way.

Pansy sighed dreamily as Lockhart turned in their direction, and she fanned herself with the book. Draco poked her in the side, but she was on guard now and merely hit him with the book.

The sound of the heavy book hitting Draco's head must have caught Lockhart's ears, because his eyes suddenly focused in on them. Harry saw those blue orbs widen and knew that his scar had been seen.

"It can't be Harry Potter," Lockhart said in an awed voice.

to be continued...

Author notes: All chapters are posted on Schnoogle. All chapters and some juicy extras are posted on Dethryl's Citadel. Don't forget to join my Yahoo group for unmoderated discussion. Anyone interested in doing art should email me directly. See you next time!