They fought through the crowd. The squeeze was brutal, a slow, inch-by-inch grind that was fraying everyone's patience. Mrs. Weasley stubbornly held her place in line, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione had long since wriggled free, searching the shelves for their textbooks.
"Don't go too far!" Mrs. Weasley called after them.
Ron muttered, "Fred and George—"
"Your father went to find them!"
"And Percy—"
"Percy never gives me a lick of trouble," Mrs. Weasley said, smoothing her hat. "Told Arthur I wanted to do something with my hair…"
"You look lovely, Molly," Anthony said, smiling down at Ginny. The girl was plastered to her mother's side, looking half-suffocated by the press of bodies. Mrs. Weasley tried to pick her up; Ginny went crimson and refused.
"Take Ginny, Ron!" Mrs. Weasley ordered.
"But… oh, fine." Ron caught Ginny's pleading look and sighed, preparing to burrow back through the mob.
"I'll go with them," Anthony offered. Mrs. Weasley hesitated, then nodded.
Relieved, Anthony steered Ginny out of the crush. They found Ron, Harry, and Hermione beside a teetering tower of Lockhart books. Harry clutched Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2, Break with a Banshee, and Gadding with Ghouls. Hermione also held Important Magical Sites of Britain, its cover a blurry painting of Diagon Alley where shop signs swam under the constant flutter of owl and bat silhouettes.
"Have you seen Wanderings with Werewolves, Ron?" Hermione asked.
"Think it's over there," Ron said, pointing across the sea of heads. Hermione looked dismayed.
"Let's try the second-hand section," Anthony suggested. "Might be a copy left."
Lockhart was either a wildly successful author or a dragon who incinerated his own old stock—the second-hand shelves were completely devoid of his works. As if no one ever wanted to sell his books back.
"Looking for something, Professor Anthony?" a harried-looking shop assistant asked, staggering past with another armload of Lockhart's books. She glared venomously at Lockhart's golden, photo-ringed head in the distance.
"Lockhart's—"
"Oh, not you too." She sighed, flicked her wand, and a fresh set of Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Hazardous Beings flew from the back room to land at Anthony's feet. "There."
"Thank you," Anthony nodded. "Just curious if the series ever turned up second-hand. Seven books aren't cheap."
"Lockhart insists all his readers get clean, pristine copies," she grumbled, staggering away with her wobbling stack. "Won't let us sell used—"
"Oh, how generous of him," Ron said sarcastically, watching her go. His gaze suddenly fixed. His jaw dropped.
Anthony followed his stare. Mrs. Weasley stood before Lockhart, eyes shining, breathless, chattering away. Lockhart, wielding a flamboyant peacock-feather quill, signed something she held out.
Mrs. Weasley reached out, seemingly torn between a handshake and a hug. Lockhart pre-empted her, raising her hand to his lips for a light kiss.
A choked sound rippled through the onlookers. Some wore dreamy smiles. Others looked vaguely ill.
Harry winced and looked away, shooting Anthony a pleading glance as if he could do anything. Anthony just shrugged. The whole thing made his teeth ache.
"I'm going to kill him," Ron stated calmly.
"That's illegal," Anthony reminded him. "And he's supposedly a Defense Against the Dark Arts expert."
"Must be so jealous, Potter?" a voice drawled behind them.
They turned. Draco Malfoy descended the stairs, a cold smirk on his face. Behind him was Lucius Malfoy, his cold grey eyes sweeping over the group. Anthony's gaze met his. They stared for a few silent seconds, then looked away.
"Have those books we selected delivered to the Manor," Lucius Malfoy instructed a cowed assistant behind him. "Do remember to write the shop's full name. I'd hate to worry about your owls."
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy."
Meanwhile, Draco was saying, "The famous Harry Potter. Walks into a common bookshop, and everyone's fawning over some author…"
"That you, Malfoy?" Ron shot back. "Shocked people are busy and not polishing your shoes for you?"
"Ah, you're here too," Malfoy said, finally dragging his eyes from Harry to survey the second-hand shelves. "Didn't know this shop had a… section like this. Told you to choose your friends wisely, Potter. Look at the places Weasley likes to root around. Is this a rubbish bin?"
"Mr. Malfoy," Anthony warned.
Malfoy finally seemed to notice Anthony and Ginny in the shadows and flinched. But he looked up, saw his father still speaking to the assistant, and straightened, arrogance returning.
"Yes, Professor Anthony?" he asked lazily, nudging a bottom-shelf book (Dragon Meat Cuisine: If You Dare!) with his toe. "Just some trash… But then, if you don't buy your books from the rubbish, Weasley, will your family have anything to eat tomorrow?"
Ron was on him before anyone could move.
Slam! Ron crashed into Malfoy. The overstuffed bookcase rocked. A bundle of old parchment toppled from the top. Then came a rain of cookbooks and herbology guides.
Harry and Hermione grabbed for Ron. Ginny shrieked. Mrs. Weasley's voice rose in the distance, trying to force her way through.
Anthony flung a quick series of spells, freezing the teetering shelves. Lucius Malfoy stormed down the stairs, hauling his son upright, brushing dust and paper scraps from his robes. A portrait fragment of a pockmarked cactus fluttered from Draco's hair.
"You must be Arthur's boy," Lucius Malfoy said slowly, turning his stare on Ron. "Pity. Your father's been working so very hard lately."
Ron just heaved for breath, glaring.
"Mr. Malfoy, I'd like to schedule a time to speak with you," Anthony said. About the Malfoy family's manners. He'd thought Draco might have learned something after the Neville incident.
"Professor Anthony…" Lucius turned to him, that familiar tone of lofty boredom in his voice. "I'm afraid that won't be necessary. Don't misunderstand—I'd be delighted to share a cup of tea—but my schedule is exceptionally full."
"Probably busy dodging Arthur's investigations," Mrs. Weasley panted, finally arriving, her large handbag held like a shield. A crowd of gawkers packed the narrow aisle behind her.
"Molly. What a… surprise." Lucius's gaze travelled pointedly over her askew hat, flyaway hair, rumpled collar, and worn handbag before settling back on her face. "Things just the same as ever, hmm? I thought Arthur's… dedication… might have earned him a raise. Or…" He leaned in, looming over her. "Or perhaps the Ministry did pay him more. He just isn't bringing it home. Still shopping the second-hand bins. Where is Arthur? I hear he's always working late. Not often at your… little home? If I were you, I might check my husband's calendar. A friendly warning, you understand."
A murmur of gossip swelled from the watching crowd. Mrs. Weasley's chest heaved. She seemed speechless.
"Well done, Mr. Malfoy," Anthony said, his own voice cooling. "That answers my question. I was wondering where Draco learned his… disrespectful habits. Family tradition. I see."
Lucius Malfoy tilted his head. "Oh, Molly. You've found yourself a knight? How unexpected." He jerked his wand. The scattered paper scraps coalesced before him and were flung back onto a shelf. "We're leaving, Draco. Now."
Draco fell into step beside his father, shooting Ron and Ginny a triumphant look, then a superior glance at Harry, chin held high.
Lucius eyed the crowd—Lockhart had noticed the commotion and was rising, and a small man with a camera was hopping, trying to get a shot over the sea of heads—placed a hand on Draco's shoulder, and Disapparated.
"No Apparition in the shop!" Daniel yelled from somewhere, fighting his way forward. Then he glimpsed the packed mob. "What—oh, fine. Whatever."
"Don't listen to him, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said fiercely. "They're both—gits. The big one and the little one. They don't know what truth is."
"Of course I don't believe him!" Mrs. Weasley cried. "I just wanted to—oh, Ron, are you hurt?"
"No, Mum." Ron squirmed, embarrassed, as she pulled him into a hug. "Got him right in the gut. Knocked him over."
She planted a kiss on his head. Ron's face burned scarlet. As he escaped to his friends, Anthony saw Mrs. Weasley swipe quickly at the corner of her eye.
"Don't listen to Malfoy," Anthony repeated quietly. "You and Arthur are two of the best parents I know. Every Weasley I've met is brilliant. A thousand times better than any Malfoy."
"Thank you, Anthony," Mrs. Weasley said with a shaky laugh.
Lockhart had now expertly parted the crowd. "Now then, my dear lady," he beamed at Mrs. Weasley. "A fan, if I recall?" Mrs. Weasley stared, breathless, as if a miracle stood before her. Lockhart's smile grew brighter. "I believe I signed for you already, Mrs… Weasley? Weasel? ( "Weasley, Weasley, Weasley," Ron muttered. Harry stifled a grin.) What seems to be the—why, it's Harry Potter!"
Lockhart hauled Harry to his side—Harry's grin vanished—and announced to the crowd, "Look here! I see why you're all distracted! You're thinking: 'That boy, Harry Potter, is at Gilderoy Lockhart's signing, but why hasn't Lockhart introduced him? Why hasn't Lockhart signed for him? Does Lockhart think Harry Potter—though not as famous, not as adept at Defense—is unworthy of his autograph?'"
He angled Harry's head toward the little cameraman. "Of course not! Excellent, Harry, you're holding my book! Do you like it? I'd say Holidays with Hags is my personal favorite, but of course, I love them all. Don't worry, I'll—smile! Lovely!—give you a full signed set!"
Daniel appeared beside Anthony, watching the chaos. "Shop's a proper mess today, isn't it?"
"I'll help you tidy up," Anthony promised.
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