Harry Potter and the Knife of Klingsor, Part 13

The Kearnys were early risers, and thanks to that fact, Harry, Ron and Darby came tumbling out of the Floo at The Leaky Cauldron tavern at the hidden entrance to Diagon Alley long before it was even opened for business that morning. Fortunately, it was a large fireplace, and the three young Wizards plus Hedwig the owl shot out of it in a cloud of smoke and ash and feathers, rolling across the floor to crash into the bar with a resounding THUD.

Harry sat up and shook his head, seeing stars. “Bloody hell,” he mumbled, “That was some ride!” He stated in wonder, straightening his glasses.

Hedwig hooted at him, flapping up to the bar and beginning to realign her feathers.

Darby groaned and didn’t move. “Next time, can we fly the Broomstick?”Almost in answer to his question, Harry’s badly damaged Nimbus 2000 came shooting out of the Floo to land at his feet, upright. It fell over and smacked Ron in the head.

“Damnit!” Ron shouted, rubbing his head. Darby laughed at him.

Ron and Harry both laughed with him, dusting themselves off and looking around at the closed windows and locked door. “I think we’re a bit early,” Ron mused, looking around at the darkened room with its solid oak tables and chairs, hardwood floors, and ornately carved bar and stools. There were a few candles going here and there, and only bits of morning light came in through the shades. The place was very homey looking, and smelled of strong drink and smoke. “Wonder when it opens up?”

Ron got his answer rather quickly, as their noisy arrival had attracted attention. They all jumped and yelped when Tom, the toothless owner of the Leaky Cauldron, came wandering down the back stairs in his nightshirt and cap. He was pointing the business end of his Wand at them. He blinked at the sight of the three of them, dressed as they were.

“Blimey, who let the Muggles in?” He groused, “Lumos!” He cried, and every candle in the place lit up.

“We’re not Muggles!” Ron protested, grinning at Darby, who was quite terrified. He was making a strangled squeaking sound, pointing at Tom and shaking badly.

“Make h-him p-p-put it ‘w-way!” He stammered, and Harry instantly realized that Darby meant the Wand. The last time that the new little Wizard had seen a Wand pointed at him, it had probably been Malfoy’s, and Harry knew just how frightened he was.

“Sorry, sir,” Harry offered, putting an arm about Darby’s shoulder as Hedwig managed to look suitable irritated. “We, er, well … we dint know it was so early. Do you mind?” Harry gestured at his Wand, and Tom gasped, lowering it.

“Sorry, boys,” he apologized, “Dint see the owl there. Can’t be too careful. Thought ye’s was robbers.” Then he looked at Darby a bit closer. “Ya sure ‘e ain’t no Muggle, wot? Sure looks like one, baggy clothes, earring, funny haircut … and just who would ya all be?”

Hedwig hooted at him and flapped her wings, sending ashes all over. She was clearly not impressed with THAT mode of travel.

“Hello there, pretty,” Tom greeted her. Hedwig ignored him.

“I’m Dudley, Dudley Dursley,” Harry lied politely, “and this is, er, Rod. Rod Winthrop. And the Mugglish one here with the earring is Davey Flynn.”

Darby shook his closely cropped head. “I’m not a Muggle!” He protested. “I … I found out … just like … when was it again?” He asked Ron, still shocked and eyeing Tom as if he thought he were going to be blasted into atoms on the spot.

“He’s a First Year,” Ron explained to Tom, getting up and dusting himself off a bit more. “Come as a shock, it did. Come to show him about, get ‘im a Wand and such, ya know. Back to school.”

“Tis a shock t’all of ‘em the first time, sure was fer me. Buying school stuff already?”

“Yea,” Darby agreed.

Tom nodded sagely. “Back to school sales! Goin’ on all over Diagon Alley, right! Yer ‘bout a month early, though, boys,” he grinned. “Itchin’ to get back ‘r ya’s?”

Harry, in fact, was. He hated holidays with the Dursleys. “Oh, yes, sir!” He replied truthfully, hoping that Tom wouldn’t recognize him. He recognized Tom, certainly.

“Well no one’d know ya’s was Wizards, comin’ in ‘ere lookin’ like that!” He beamed at them. “’Cept fer the Owl an’ Broomstick, I see … bad shape, boy. Been racin’ it? Yep ya must be Wizards. Nice ‘o ya to take a little First Year shoppin’ wit’ ya’s.” Tom babbled on, hoisting the still shaking Darby up and giving Ron a hand. “’Av a seat, nothin’s open yet and ye’s got me up already, may as well have a drink and a chat.” He plopped Darby down in chair that was certainly large enough for Hagrid.

He brought them all some tea and biscuits and they sat down around a large round table. “So, had a good holiday?”

“No,” Darby replied, just able to see over the edge, and Ron kicked his foot under the table.

“Do you have a paper?” Harry asked, trying to change the subject, “We’ve been sort of out and about and we could use some news of the Wizarding World.”

Tom shook his head, grinning. He waved his Wand, which made Darby jump, and produced a recent copy of The Daily Prophet out of thin air. He handed it to Harry, trying to help settle Darby down with some questions. Harry shook out the paper, adjusted his specs, and began to read. His heart skipped a beat. Then his stomach lurched as he stared at the huge text headline:

Harry nudged Ron, and Ron’s eyebrows shot up. He rubbed at his head, and remembered that they were in disguise. He pointed at his forehead, winked, and Harry touched his own. Then he noticed that Tom hadn’t recognized him, having met him with Hagrid just last Year when he’d first come to Diagon Alley. Mrs. Finnegan’s makeup and Mrs. Kearny’s haircut were doing their job, not to mention Seamus’ altered Muggle clothes.

The famous Harry Potter wasn’t recognized on sight for the first time in his life!

“Oh, bad news,” Tom was saying, “Ministry’s all in a tizzy, they are, wot with this happenin’. Dark Wizards, no doubt, stealing children to do who knows what…” he went on and on as Harry read, with Ron reading over his shoulder and Darby leaning in closer to try and escape Tom’s tirade about being grabbed and sold to rich Arab Wizards as slave boys.

Harry read it aloud, and Tom cocked his head to listen to him.

“There’s more,” Harry said, pointing at the paper, which displayed a moving photo in black and white of the pond. It as a perfect summer day in the picture, the tall grass waving in the breeze and trees moving lazily. His heart wrenched as he stared at it, the ripples moving over the water where Seamus had swum with Darby nearly every day. Harry could just envision their naked forms emerging, dripping wet, from the pond to lay in the grass and …

“Go on!” Ron barked, squeezing his knee under the table. Harry gasped, very nearly lost in his fantasy and almost cumming right there as Ron touched the bare skin of his thigh.

“Right…” he choked, continuing.

Sure enough, there on Page 2 as Harry flipped it over so that he could see it as well, were four pictures, one of each boy. Harry silently thanked Mrs. Finnegan and Mrs. Kearny, as well as Mr. I.B. Moptop again for writing his book. He was sure that his disguise would fly.

“Yer awful interested in that there paper,” Tom commented, eyeing the four pictures, and the three of them jumped again. “Ya seen Potter er the rest of that gang?” He asked in a conspiratorial tone. “Might be a reward.”

“NO, sir,” they all replied in unison, staring back at him, mouths agape, as Harry folded the paper up.

Hedwig hooted, and Harry suddenly realized that despite their disguises, someone might recognize HER. She hadn’t been mentioned, but she’d been around a bit delivering mail for him. “Do you have a quill and ink, sir?” He asked politely, thinking to dispatch Hedwig to Hermione’s, and fast.

“Just a sec,” Tom replied, getting up to go root about behind the bar.

“I should tell Hermione that we’re ok,” Harry whispered, and Ron nodded. Hedwig, of course, had flown to the table and was anxiously shaking her leg at Harry, unwise to the fact that she was being sacked from the mission. “Let me WRITE it first, will ya?” He asked, and Hedwig nipped his finger. She then nipped a biscuit and crunched it.

Tom returned with quill and ink, and Harry set to composing the letter.

“I’ve not got any money,” he apologized, missing the code of the letter altogether. “Maybe I should just wait here?”

Harry cocked an eyebrow and scratched at the shaven side of his head. He’d never been buzzed before, and it felt odd and itched. “Don’t worry, I DO,” he replied. “Besides, you’re a First Year, and you need to get some stuff!”

“What about us?” Ron asked nervously, eyeing Darby.

“We’ll come back later for it,” Harry replied, and Ron seemed to get it. If and when they caught up with the Malfoys and Seamus, the point of them buying school supplies might be moot. Ron also seemed to realize that Harry was planning to send Darby off somewhere, probably back to the Kearnys.

They only had that day and the next until moonrise, and although they’d not discussed it, both boys had a feeling that all hell was going to break loose. A Magical firefight was certainly no place for an untrained First Year boy. It also wasn’t much of a place for two Second Year boys who often shirked off homework, either.

“Well, now,” Tom said, opening a window so that Hedwig could take off with the letter, “I’d say the bank will be open shortly, by the time ya’s walk on over there. Had breakfast?”

They all nodded and thanked him, still snacking at the tea and biscuits, as Tom decided to go and dress fully and open up shop. This of course, took him about twenty minutes more of chat to decide to get into the mood proper. When he’d finally gone up the stairs with newspaper in hand, the boys called out their thanks to him. Grateful for the opportunity, they slipped out the back door and Harry pulled his Wand to tap the bricks that would open up the passageway into Diagon Alley. They stepped though, with Darby staring wide-eyed at the moving brick wall, and it closed behind them as Tom watched them go.

He nodded slowly and went to his fireplace, igniting it with his Wand and tossing in a handful of Floo powder. The flames turned green, and he put his face right down to them. The floating head of a rather tropical-looking young lady popped out of the flames, smiling at him.

“Azores Wizarding Retreat!” She said happily, sipping at a steaming cup of coffee.

“Mr. Albus Dumbledore, please,” he told her, in an impatient tone as he clutched the newspaper.

“Ah, Albus!” She cried, spilling her coffee a bit in surprise. “Oh, dear, sorry! He and his lady friend left for Hogwart’s in a rush, I’m afraid. Have you tried there?”

“Noooo, but I will,” Tom replied, winking at her. “Thanks!” He replied, putting in a call to Hogwart’s in confusion. Dumbledore hasn’t vacationed in a while, he thought, Maybe THIS mess called him back? But why couldn’t those Prophet reporters reach him, then?

Tom flinched as Dumbledore stuck his long, hooked nose out of the green flames. “Ah, Tom!” He greeted him, looking a bit worn and red-eyed. “What a pleasure! How’s the bar business at Diagon Alley?”

“Opened up early, Albus,” Tom told him, holding up the paper and pointing to Darby’s picture.

Dumbledore gasped. “You’ve seen them?”

Tom shook his head. “I seen ONE of ‘em. Come shootin’ out me Floo at the crack ‘o dawn! The new one, Darby, I seen. Dudley said his name was Davey, though.”

“Dudley?” Dumbledore asked in confusion, thinking. Then his eyes went wide. “Dudley Dursley?” He asked in an anxious tone.

“Why yes,” Tom replied, “Him and Rod Winthrop. Muggle-lookin’est gang of Wizard boys I ever did see. Funny hair, earrings, baggy clothes, funny tennis shoes, beat to hell Broomstick and one very prim and prissy white owl.”

“WHITE owl?” Dumbledore asked, his nose poking farther into the room. Tom leaned back.

“Watch out now, Albus, er ye’ll be in here with me!” Then he thought for a bit. “Well, them boys come a’shootin’ out the Floo, ya sees, and the owl was a bit grey when they got done. She was trying to get white again, though, preenin’ ‘erself all o’er me bar.”

Dumbledore nodded, and Tom held up the paper again, pointing. “I know THIS one, though, Albus. Looks just like him, earring and all! Silver hoop, it was, spikey buzz haircut and he looked scared to death ‘o me.”

“Where are they?” Dumbledore asked, “Still there?”

“Headed to Gringott’s,” Tom replied, “Goin’ shoppin’. Prob’ly gonna hit Ollivander’s or Quality Quidditch first, though. That Nimbus 2000 that Dudley had was in BAD shape. Looked like it come all the way ‘round the world nonstop.”

“Nimbus 2000? Badly damaged by hard flying? Follow them!” Dumbledore snapped, “Get someone on them! Dudley and Rod! What a sneak that boy is! That was Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, Tom! They’ve disguised themselves!”

Tom’s jaw dropped. “But … but … his scar! His hair! I saw Harry before with Hagrid, and that warn’t Harry Potter! He dint have no scar. This boy Dudley had shaved blonde hair, spiked on top like Davey’s, and gold frame glasses … oh hell!” Tom choked, as it soaked in. Glasses!

“But where’s the Finnegan boy then?” Tom asked.

“Tom,” Dumbledore said calmly, “Every available Magical person and Creature out there is tearing all of the Isles and this end of Europe to pieces trying to find those boys. I think you need to know this, since your bar guards one of the entrances to Diagon Alley, which borders Knockturn Alley as well,” Dumbledore then sighed.

“Go on,” Tom replied, mulling the story over in his mind and staring at the pictures.

“Seamus Finnegan was abducted, and this ‘Davey’, actually Darby, is presumed dead in the Muggle world. This little Darby O’Gill IS a Wizard, at least they didn’t lie about that to you. I just sent out his Hogwart’s Letter by Owl. He was also Seamus’ best non-school friend, and a hardcore Muggle until now. They spent all of their time together when Seamus wasn’t here at Hogwart’s. But the day before Seamus turned up missing, Hogwart’s had two very odd visitors leave, visitors who’d stayed here for several weeks.”

“Who?” Tom asked nervously.

“Lucius Malfoy and his son, Draco.
“And Draco Malfoy was very, very ill when they arrived in Lucius’ Rolls limo. He looked as if something had been literally sucking the Life and Power out of him, and the Limo looked like it had had a hard ride as well. Poppy had to come in with Minerva and I, and Tom, you should also know this as well...”

Then a strange look came over Albus Dumbledore’s face, and he rested his head in his hands. He swallowed and then looked back at Tom.

“This is an isolated incident, Tom. There’s no plot to kidnap young Magical Boys. No one’s selling them off to the Arab Wizards as slaves. They wanted one, and only one. Only one Magical Boy is needed by them, and that one boy is Seamus Finnegan. The other three are in pursuit of him, determined to rescue him before moonrise tomorrow night.”

“Why then?” Tom asked, confused.

“Because tomorrow night is the full moon past Solstice, and we’ve discovered that Lucius Malfoy read into some very old books in the Restricted Section of the Library while Draco was convalescing. Nearly Headless Nick caught him, spying on him, since he was denied enrollment in the Headless Hunt AGAIN. Poor fellow.

Anyway, Malfoy was into the very old and very rare books, Tom. That, and Hagrid is missing a very old and very rare kitchen utensil from his cabin here on the grounds. I’d suggest you call up Grimaldi when he opens his music Shoppe this morning. The boys may well end up there before it’s over, if my Spells on that last shipment of chocolate frogs took off properly, that is. At least I hope so.”

Tom’s face turned pale, and he dropped the paper. The smiling face of Seamus Finnegan looked up at him and winked, and his blood turned to ice.

“Gr-grimald-d-di?” He spluttered, “Albus, you don’t mean that Seamus Finnegan is a … that he’s … that the Knife of…?” But Tom couldn’t finish the sentence. He just stared in shock as Dumbledore nodded his head.

“Seamus is a Eunuch Wizard, Tom. The first in almost two centuries. And now, so is Draco Malfoy. We discovered it when Poppy undressed him here in the Infirmary. Lucius claims ignorance, though.”

Tom spat out a foul oath. “Lucius Malfoy IS ignorant!” Tom ranted. “I just knew it! If my memory of my Arcane Sorcery Class serves me right, Albus, they’re gonna use that poor little eunuch boy fer some Black Spell, ain’t they? Try ‘an get at his Wild Power? 30 days past Solstice, full moon, midnight? Best time fer Dark Magic there is!” Then Tom’s jaw fell even further, and he began to shake.

“That kind of Power, Albus, Wild Power in a boy like that … it could … it could do anythin’! It could bring back … bring back … Gods, no!” He gasped in fright.

Dumbledore nodded sadly, glancing about his office. “It could well bring back Voldemort himself.”

The trio of boys arrived at Gringott’s Wizard Bank after a bit of a walk into Diagon Alley. They’d had to keep stopping so that Darby could stare at all the strangely dressed early risers and peer into various storefront windows. He kept ‘ooo’ing’ and ‘ahhh’ing’ at everything, his eyes wide and mouth open in disbelief.

“Was I this bad?” Harry asked Ron as Darby stopped to pet a large fruit bat who’d come in late to hang upside down outside of the Magical Menagerie, a Wizarding pet Shoppe. The bat seemed to like the boy, squeaking in delight as he scratched its large ears.

“Ask Hagrid,” Ron replied, “I met ya at King’s Cross, remember?”

Harry nodded. “You looked different though,” he joked, and Ron playfully slapped the back of his head, grinning. They waited a bit while Darby said goodbye to the bat, who looked rather sulky as he folded his wings and went to sleep under the awning.

They arrived at the bank much later than they’d hoped, and it was already open and full. The sight of the Goblins who ran the place, however, was enough to make Darby grab hold of Harry’s and Ron’s hands and squeeze them hard. Harry looked at Ron, who shrugged, wondering all the while what people must be thinking.

“Oh isn’t that cute?” Some very ancient looking Witch commented to her friend, another very old Witch. “Excuse me!” She called out, and Harry’s stomach rolled. Very soon, the three of them found their cheeks being pinched and their ribs poked at by the two old Witches. Darby looked as if he were about to wet his shorts. They did, however, look rather ‘grandmotherly’.

“Taking your little brother shopping, how sweet!” One of them said, “I tell you, Ingrid,” she commented to her friend, smiling a semi-toothless smile at the boys, “You just don’t see the young people doing things like this anymore. Takin’ their little First Year brother in hand like that. Kids today! Now back in my day…” And they moved off, chattering about Muggles and Wizards alike and how rude the younger crowd was and how nice it was to meet up with such sweet boys.

“Next!’ The head Goblin Teller called out in a voice that sounded like cats dancing on a blackboard.

The boys moved up to the window. “I’d like to make a small withdrawal,” Harry whispered.

“And do you have your key?” The Goblin asked, leering at him.

Harry reached into his pocket, and realized that he’d forgotten it. His stomach dropped to somewhere near his shoes.

The Goblin sighed. “If you DO have an account here, we can default to using your palm print, son,” he informed Harry. “But MIND,” he warned ominously, “If you try and open someone else’s vault, you’ll be turned to solid gold instantly, deader and colder than dead!”

“Yes, please,” Harry replied earnestly, knowing that his hand hadn’t changed and that his vault was indeed his vault. “The account was left to me, though. I may be under my father’s name. I’ve been here with Hagrid though,” he explained, then realized that he probably shouldn’t have said it.

“You been in it, son?”

“Yes,” Harry replied.

“Touched the gold, took some, closed the door yerself?”

“Yes,” Harry agreed.

“You’re safe then. Follow me,” the Goblin sighed, seemingly uninterested. They boarded a small craft in a cavernous room behind the Goblin’s desk. It looked like a mineshaft rail car, and Harry remembered his riding in it with Hagrid last year. He smiled at Darby. “You like amusement parks? Roller coasters?” He asked the small boy.

“Oh, yea!” Darby replied, jumping in and buckling up. “Is it a long ride?”

“Vault number?” The Goblin asked, annoyed.

“687,” Harry said proudly, and Ron snorted.

“Terribly long ride then,” the Goblin sighed. “I hate back to school time. Keep all hands and feet and heads inside the car until the ride stops, you know the drill.” And then they were off.

The boys screamed and laughed as the rail car made its way down far underground along the shining rails. The rock walls zoomed by at breakneck speed, and the ride seemed to last forever, tearing at their stomachs and making their heads spin. By the time they’d arrived at Vault 687, they were panting, breathless, and laughing in delight. Even the old Goblin looked to be on the verge of a smile.

Hagrid, Harry recalled, had almost gotten sick on the ride.

He then aimed a lamp at the Vault and told Harry, “Hit it with yer Wand as you lay your right palm on it and say Aloh Amorah, after all, it’s your life, son, if it’s not your money in there.”

Harry did just that, and the Vault door swung open.

Darby gasped and Ron made a strangled noise. Harry’s face flushed. Being a modest boy and knowing that his best friend was dirt poor, it embarrassed him to be seen with so much gold in his Vault. He stepped into the Vault, literally butt-deep in money, and scooped up a double-handful of Galleons and Silver Sickles. He stuffed the loot in his pockets, then realized that he was probably going to loose his shorts from the weight. Holding his waistband, he called back, “Can my friend come in with me?”

The old Goblin nodded. “Rod, I need a hand,” Harry called, and Ron stepped in, almost drooling. Harry put half of the gold in Ron’s pockets, grinning at him as his hand wandered around in Ron’s shorts. Ron smiled at him.

“THIS is gonna cost ya,” he whispered.

“I hope so,” Harry replied slyly, as Darby gaped at them. Then Harry had an idea.

“Sir, how do I set it up to leave my money to someone else, as I’m orphan?”

“Well, normally the Bank locates next of kin in the event of no P.O.D., however, you can bring the beneficiary to the Vault and have him or her put their hand on the door with yours and register them that way. I have the Spell handy, if need be.”

“Do it,” Harry replied, leading Ron to the door by the hand. He placed his hand on the door, holding it over Ron’s tightly. Ron stared at him, stunned.

“But … but…” he stammered, as the door seemed to come alive. Their hands sank into the thick metal, and Ron and Harry felt as if thousands of ants were crawling over their skin. The old Goblin grinned at them.

”Beneficius! He said in a loud voice, and the door gave a lurch. Their hands pulled free, and they stood there rubbing them. “Done,” the Goblin said, “And in the event that neither you nor Mr. Weasley come back alive, Mr. Harry Potter?”

“Wh-what?” Harry asked, as he and Ron both jumped. Harry’s hand flew to his forehead, and the old Goblin burst into laughter. The sound of it was nauseating.

“Magical disguises are good, Potter,” the Goblin told him, “But all Charms are instantly broken when you enter the Vaults Ride down to here. Ron should know that, as his brother’s a Charm Breaker for our Egyptian Offices. You still LOOK disguised, but I can see who you are. Nice haircut, by the way. Suits you.”

“Sir,” Ron cried, “You cahn’t tell! Please! There’s too much at risk here!”

“You’re going after the Finnegan boy, aren’t you?” He asked, uncharacteristically interested for a Gringott’s Goblin.

Darby stepped back. “I think we’re busted,” he moaned.

“No,” the old Goblin replied somberly, “You see boys, I’m almost to retirement. I also know Mr. Potter’s track record here. In fact, I’ll make a filthy fortune once I lay odds on the outcome of you getting Seamus back in time. I’ll lay odds that will curl your hair!” He laughed then, a strange and hair-raising sound that chilled all three boys.

“Besides, Harry,” the old Goblin then said in a softer tone, his narrowly slitted eyes misty, “You’re the only one for the job. Take him down, Mr. Potter. Take him down again!”

“Thanks, I think,” Harry replied, as they closed Vault 687 and got back in the rail car for the ride back up.

Their first stop was Ollivander’s Wand Shoppe, although both Harry and Ron itched to get to Quality Quidditch Supply before they ran into another Charm Breaker somewhere. Harry held the door open to the quiet and dusty old Wand Shoppe, which had yet to be overrun by the First Year students in pursuit of their first Wands. Darby looked all around, his hands clasped behind his back for fear of touching something Magical.

“Just remember, Darby,” Ron told him, “The Wand chooses YOU. You don’t choose it.”

“How do I know which one though?” Darby groaned, peering about at the literally thousands of Wands all arranged in a semi-organized state of chaos.

“Ah, that’s where I come in, Mr … uhh? Sorry, I didn’t catch the name?” A wheezy old voice said to them.

Harry and Ron smiled, and Darby jumped again. Mr. Ollivander had just come up behind the counter, holding a very white looking wand in his hand and examining it with his loupe. It also had red veins in it, looking as if it were almost alive. He sniffed at it, sighing. “Ah, fresh pale cedar from the far north! Keeps the moths out, too! Name?!” He asked again.

“Umm, er, Davey, sir,” Darby lied.

Mr. Ollivander jerked his eye up, and it was horribly magnified by the loupe still stuck in it. It seemed as if he were looking right THROUGH Darby and into his heart and head. He then shook his head and unrolled a long list on crackling parchment. “D … D … First Year, I can tell. Let’s see here … uh, nope, sorry, no Davey on the list.”

“But I have to have a Wand, sir!” Darby protested, and Harry and Ron nodded.

“But I cahn’t sell you a Wand, unless IT wants to be your Wand, son. You also should be on the list, you know. I have a list from Dumbledore himself, you know, and you’re the FIRST ones in shopping! Oh, I’ll be so busy in another few weeks!” He groaned, eyeing the white and reddish wand again. “First of its kind, I do believe. I tried something new.”

“May I see?” Darby asked bravely, and Ron and Harry gaped at him. “Please?”

Mr. Ollivander shrugged, handed him the Wand, and the put on a crash helmet with a face shield. “Well, give it a wave!” He ordered as he always did the newbies, ducking under the counter.

Darby stared at the beautiful Wand in his small hand and looked around. Obviously, he didn’t know any Spells yet, but the Wand was getting to know him as he held it. It felt cool and smooth in his hand, almost as if it were made for him to hold it. He was thinking about Seamus and his Wand, and the first time that he’d seen his best friend do real Magic. Seamus had levitated a fish up out of the pond, and he’d not even burnt himself doing it! Darby sighed and waved the Wand at Mr. Ollivander’s flower box near the door.

“Ohhh, nooo!” The old man cried, but it was too late. Remembering their own disastrous first tries with Wands, Harry and Ron both ducked, expecting to be showered in soil and blooms. Even Harry’s badly damaged Broomstick scuttled under a bench, as if hiding.

There was no explosion or shattering of breakables, however. Instead, Ollivander’s Shoppe filled with a cool blue light and a gentle breeze blew at them, easing their cares, it seemed, as a bolt of cyan light shot from the Wand in Darby’s small hand to strike the flowers in the pot. Almost immediately, a geranium in the center grew twelve inches and burst into bloom, filling the room with its unique flowery smell.

Harry began to sneeze.

They all gasped and stared at the blossoms, which were shifting from white to pink to red and back again. Then they stopped. The red of the flowers deepened until they were the color of blood. Darby stared at it in wonder, and then lowered the Wand. Blood was dripping from its tip.

He gave it back to Mr. Ollivander fretfully, leaning into Harry’s shoulder and beginning to cry.

Mr. Ollivander was spluttering and trembling, and Harry recalled his reaction last year to how his own Wand had chosen him. Mr. Ollivander had been surprised, certainly, to have moved such a Special Wand. It was obvious that he was just about to move another.

Darby, however, was on the verge of becoming hysterical. His little body was racked with deep sobs, and he was shaking so badly that Ron had to help hold him up. Mr. Ollivander got hold of himself, finally, and helped the boys to lead Darby back behind the counter to small chair. The old man fetched him some tea, and Harry saw him sprinkle something into it. It took some coaxing, but once Darby had swallowed a bit of it, he seemed to calm down.

“And I suppose one of you can explain this?” Mr. Ollivander asked, still shaken a bit.

“He just had a, er, family tragedy,” Harry whispered, and Ron nodded. “He’s sort of an orphan now, sir, bad timing.”

“NO time’s a good time for orphaning,” Mr. Ollivander corrected him. Then he shook his head. “I NEVER thought I’d move this Wand, never! And here it is, first day in, too! This is almost as strange as the last Holly Wand I sold to … well, never mind who bought it. He was an orphan, too though.” and Harry flushed at the words.

Harry Potter had been the one who’d gotten THAT special Wand, Holly, with a Phoenix feather as its magical core. He wondered what was in Darby’s Wand.

Mr. Ollivander looked back at Darby, who was still sniffling a bit. His bloodshot eyes were pleading, and Harry sat down, taking the much smaller boy on his lap and holding him. “Brothers?” The old man asked, and Harry looked up quickly. He felt oddly warm at that question, but he shook his head.

“You look like brothers,” Ollivander replied. “Shall I check over YOUR Wands while you’re here?”

Without thinking, Harry and Ron handed him the their Wands. Mr. Ollivander shined Ron’s up a bit, commenting, “High mileage, but still a goodie!” And handed it back to him. Then he picked up Harry’s Holly Wand and gasped.

“Well, Mr. Potter, you’ve had a makeover!” He announced, shining up the Wand as if nothing were amiss. “DO blondes really have MORE fun?”

“Oh, hell,” Ron groaned, and Harry felt so incredibly stupid. WHY did I hand it in to him?! He asked himself, Idiot! First a Goblin Charm, then I just give it away! He remembers every Wand he ever sold, he said … IDIOT!!!

“You know that I don’t have much choice on what I have to do, boys,” Mr. Ollivander told them solemnly. “The whole of the Wizard world is tearing the globe apart trying to find you boys.” Then he thought for a moment, his face a mystery as he watched Harry holding Darby with Ron hovering protectively about them.

“Only ONE other Wand has ever dripped blood when it chose its Master,” Ollivander said in a low, conspiratorial voice. He was just about to continue when Darby said, in a voice barely audible,

“Seamus’ Wand did the ‘xact same thing.”

“Yes,” Ollivander said softly, kneeling down and laying a hand on Darby’s bare knee. “I read the paper. I know you’ve lost your best friend, for the moment, that is.”

No one mentioned just how much Darby HAD lost in one night, but it was certainly more than his best friend. Harry wondered how the little boy was holding up under the strain.

“We’ll find ‘im,” the shaken little boy replied, his bloodshot eyes suddenly wide and angry. “Seamus sed ta get Harry, tha’ Harry would know wha’ ta do! Seamus sed there’s no Dark Wizard alive OR dead who kin stand up ta Harry Potter!”

Harry’s jaw dropped and Ron gasped. The blind faith that Seamus, overlooked and lonely for so long, had placed in him struck him like a harsh Spell cast at close range. Harry bowed his head and hugged Darby tighter as Ron’s grip on his shoulder tightened.

I’m leading them right into it, Harry thought, I’m leading them into something far too dangerous for boys to do. What was I THINKING?! I should let the adults handle it. What am I doing, trying to kill all of my friends? Why am I here? Gods, I’ll be expelled, or worse, when they catch me!

Then he realized that he’d already broken so many rules into tiny little pieces that there was NO going back. Even if he DID rescue Seamus Finnegan, it wasn’t going to change anything. Harry Potter had set the Wizard World on its collective ear, and he was going to have to pay for that one. Of that he was certain.

He was also certain of one other thing, however, as he held Darby’s warm little body close to his: He loved Seamus Finnegan. And so did Darby. Harry knew then what the awful feeling in his stomach and chest was when he thought about Seamus being gone. When he awoke at night, alone in bed, or even with Ron snoring at his side, he knew what he was missing. When someone touched him, as he’d had so little of in his short life, he knew that Seamus’ touch was different.

To say nothing of the pleasures that Seamus could give him, and how badly he wanted to be able to return those incredible feelings in kind. He knew how to do it, thanks to Ron. He knew how to make Seamus feel like he could when he climaxed, even if Seamus was a eunuch. Harry knew that he could make him feel so good like he did when they touched, and he knew that he simply HAD to do it. It was in the touch … that feeling of skin on skin …

And he also knew that he could not live without it.

Successful or not, Harry knew that he was in too deep to back out now. And he did not care.

He looked up to meet Mr. Ollivander’s gaze, his face set, and simply said, “Don’t try and stop me, sir.”

The old man nodded, glancing from Darby’s Wand that he now held and back at Harry’s. “When I sold Seamus his Wand,” he began, “As you all obviously know, very strange things happened. It dripped blood, yes, but that’s not all. A Wandsmith gets a feeling inside of him, boys, when he sees his work fall into the hands that it was made for. I got a feeling when Seamus took up his Wand of Ash, cut from the Tree of Life by the Knife of Klingsor itself. I KNEW that it had found the right Master, explosions and eyebrows not withstanding! I knew that it could release the Wild Power that Seamus Finnegan possessed, but at the same time, I also knew that it was falling into the hands of a warm and caring yet lonely little boy who would never use it to hurt someone. Did Seamus ever tell you what was at the core of his Wand?”

Harry and Ron shook their heads as Darby gazed at the Wand that had chosen him. Very carefully, Mr. Ollvander gave it back to him and his eyes went wide.

The old man shook his head, and he smiled a sad smile. “Seamus’ Wand is very old, boys. It came from the far north as a raw twig, delivered to me by a very strange boy while I was on holiday. I was ever the one to pursue legends, even as strange as it may sound for a Wizard. Norse mythology fascinates me.

“I was indeed following my studies in that field somewhere in Norway when this odd little fellow comes up to me. Out in the forest, no less, in the middle of nowhere in the fleeting summers they have up there! He simply pulled the stick and Knife from a pocket of his tunic and gave them to me, telling me that his Master thought that I should have them and fashion a Wand with them. I wanted to ask him more, but when I looked back to ask him, he was gone!

“Upon further examination of the wood, while crafting into a Wand with the Knife, I discovered that at the power core of the Wand, preinstalled by some unknown hand, probably the strange boy’s Master’s hand, was a whisker from the dread Fenris. Fenris, the great Norse dog whose mouth was so large that when he yawned, legend says that he swallowed the sun!”

“The Guardian of Odin?” Ron breathed, fascinated.

Mr. Ollivander nodded. “And some weeks ago, right as school was letting out for you two,” he went on, “That boy came into my Shoppe here again. He gave me another stick to craft into a Wand. This stick, rare Juniper cut while in its first full juniper berry bearing stage, he told me, had been cut by his Master himself from a young tree growing in the lee of the Tree of Life. Of course, when I looked back up, the boy had vanished again. So, here we are,” he sighed.

“What’s at the core of THIS Wand?” Harry asked excitedly, fascinated by the tale.

“A whisker from Fenrir, mate to Fenris,” Ollivander answered. “Let’s just hope those two don’t have a litter of puppies!”

They all thought about it for a moment, staring at the Wands. Harry sneezed a few more times. Finally, Darby spoke up. “But I don’t know how to use it,” he complained, “I’m not even in school yet.”

Mr. Ollivander grinned knowingly. “Ah, but the Wand knows how to use YOU,” he said cryptically. “There’s more to it than just the right words to say when you wave it.”

Ron and Harry looked shocked. They’d obviously not considered this before.

“Of course,” Ollivander went on, “I had no idea at the time about the Knife. I thought it a very good carving tool, nothing more. It never seemed to need sharpening, and the wood almost peeled away from it naturally. I began to believe that it was a Magical tool, and I was right.”

“You were carving Wands with the Knife of Klingsor?” Ron asked, flabbergasted, picturing in his mind the nude form of Seamus Finnegan tied down to a table and squirming as the Knife hovered over his doomed boyhood. He could almost hear the soon-to-be-eunuch’s screams of pain as the Knife dug into his crotch, taking his future manhood from him for the sake of his Powers.

Ollivander shook his head. “I had no idea at all, Ron,” he explained. “You have to remember, the legend of the Knife of Klingsor was pretty well covered up in the Wizarding world. NO one wanted to admit that it was customary to emasculate young boys now and again for the sake of Wild Power. I mean, it’s not a subject you just bring up at the dinner table, now is it, boys?

‘Oh, guess what, Mum? You know my friend Seamus from school? He’s a eunuch! He’s got no cock ‘n balls! Smooth as a whistle between his legs!’

“Can you just imagine saying THAT to someone?!” Ollivander asked, smiling and shaking his head.

“No,” Darby said, seeming to get hold of himself a bit more. “I thought Seamus was mad a’ me, er made new friends er somethin’. He wun’t come over to me house n’more, they said he was sick, but he din’t want me over ta his place neither. Then he got better, they said, but he wun’t come an’ play wit me, go swimmin’ er nothin’. Then finally, one day, I rode by an’ jus’ slowed down, an’ ‘e was out in tha yard. I waved, but I rode by. He follered me ta tha pond, tho, and then he jus’ sit there and watched me swim naked like we always done.”

Ron looked at Harry, and Harry realized that – with something of a start – that they’d no paid a great deal of attention to the fact that Darby had just been orphaned by Voldemort and his Dark Wizards. Darby, like Harry, was all alone in the world (since he didn’t count the Dursleys). They’d left that morning after, and the only comfort that Darby had gotten had come from Mr. Kearny when he’d held him on his lap while Harry and Ron were being disguised. A lump rose in Harry’s throat, and Ron’s eyes filled.

“You don’t have to tell us,” he whispered in Darby’s pierced ear, his lips brushing the soft lobe. “Not with all that’s happened.”

“He’s my friend, too,” Darby retorted earnestly, “An’ I’ll be follerin’ ya’s anywheres ya’s go to git him back! I may not be a good a Wizard as you, ‘Arry, but I’m getting’ my friend back!”

They all winced at the small boy’s audacity, and then Mr. Ollivander reached out to pat his leg. “Spoken like a true Gryffindor!” He announced proudly. Then he thought for a moment. “I guess we know which House the Sorting Hat will put YOU into! So Seamus showed you what my Knife had done to him? Rather, my tool, it’s not MY Knife …”

Darby nodded, his earring swaying a bit. “I couln’t get ‘im in the water, an’ I finally sed I wuz a’gonta de-pants him if’n ‘e din’t get in! Well, he got all red in tha face an’ then ‘e starts cryin’! I din’t know what wuz wrong, but he pulled down his shorts, turnin’ his back and said ‘Don’t laugh, Darby, please. When I was sick, I was bein’ … I mean … they took a knife ter me, Darby, I’m not a boy no more.’

“An’ then he turned ‘round. I was just dumb! I ‘ad no clue whut ‘e meant! I was lookin’ right at ‘im, I wuz, and he din’t ‘ave nothin’ down ‘tween his legs n’more! I knowed ‘e was a Wizard fer a while, but I din’t know … I din’t think they cut on boys n’more like they done in Italy once!”

“But you didn’t laugh,” Mr. Ollivander told him, “You could have made fun of his emasculated state, as many boys would have. You could have turned your back on him because he was now so different. It’s the nature of children to be cruel to the odd duck, so to say. And facing something so terrible that had been done to your best friend, something that could have been done to YOU as well, that took courage, Darby. I am certain that the Wand has found the correct hand to wield it now.”

“We ‘av ta find ‘im, sir,” Darby implored, gripping his Wand tightly. “We ‘av ter find ‘im and stop ‘em from doin’ more bad things ter ‘im!”

“Darby,” Ron interrupted, “You don’t know what we’re going into. You don’t know what these people – these Dark Wizards – are capable of.”

Darby stood up then, turning on Ron and gesticulating with his Wand. It made them all very nervous.

“They attacked us while we wuz doin’ nothin’ ta them! They used Magic on us, an’ that boy wit white hair, he come after me! Called me a Muddyblooded er somethin’ tried to shoot me wit’ his Wand! An’ the man, he knocked Seamus down an’ took ‘im, naked an’ all, just POP! An’ they was gone in’ter thin air! An’ all that smoke! Black smoke spinnin’ ‘round, like’n it wuz watchin’ us, hovering behind the pale boy! Then it come to, got solid, an’ it looked like a man floating behind ‘im with a head and hands but no body! It kept whisperin’ at him, tellin’ him to get me! I run, I did, I run away and I left Seamus!”

Darby was on the verge of becoming hysterical again. Harry and Ron got hold of him, and was trembling in rage.

“Then I run home, but me house warn’t there no more! It was burnin’ up, everyone an’ everything jus’ gone! So I run away. I kept hearin’ Seamus in me head tellin’ me ‘RUN DARBY! RUN TO MY HOUSE AN’ GIT THE MAGIC POWDER I SHOWED YA! THROW IT IN THE FIRE AND START SCREAMIN’ FER HARRY POTTER!’

“An’ I did that, I did! An’ then yer da’ come, Ron, come and got me right through the fireplace, since no one was there at Seamus’ house. Magic, it wuz! His dad left him, did ya’s know that? Din’t want him n’more ‘cause they up and cut his cock ‘n balls off? Left him an’ his mum? But he come back! He wuz at the Kearnys, and I’ll be damned if’n I’m gon’ta run from this! That pale boy is gon’ta hear from me! I’d like ter take Mr. Ollivander’s Knife ta HIM!”

Harry and Ron couldn’t help but laugh, and Mr. Ollivander snickered. He took all three boys into an awkward embrace, and then sighed.

“So how did the Knife get from you to Hagrid?” Harry asked, confused.

“Rubeus Hagrid?” Ollivander asked in shock, “HE has it?”

Harry nodded. “He uses it to cut up sausages,” the boy replied, missing the joke completely. “It’s in his kitchen drawer.”

Ollivander collapsed into gales of laughter. When he’d recovered, his face was red and his face streaked with happy mirthful tears. “Dumbledore, that old sneak! I turned it over to him when I found out WHAT it was! Who’d think to look in a kitchen drawer for a Magical Knife that makes ridiculously powerful Wizards, eunuchs at that, of Magical boys? It’s perfect!”

“So who told you?” Harry asked.

“Why, Alessandro Grimaldi, of course,” Ollivander replied, “HE was bound to know about it, since it cut him too, albeit long, long ago!”

“WHO?!” Ron cried, digging into his pack for something. “I KNEW we were missing something, remember? Something we read, something that we couldn’t think of when we were talking about eunuchs and eating all that candy of yours? LOOK!” Ron cried in triumph, holding up a Wizard Trading Card.

The old, yet soft and plump, face smiled back at the, framed in long, curled hair. He smiled, and ‘tut-tutted’ at them.

“Wow!” Harry breathed, “But what’s HE got to do with all of this?”

“That boys,” Ollivander replied cryptically, “Is best left explained by Mr. Grimaldi himself. I believe you’ll find him just opening up his music Shoppe across the way there,” they old man told them with a grin as he pointed out the front windows and across the road.

Harry and Ron bolted to the door with Darby behind them, and sure enough, right across the street, hung a sign that said “GRIMALDI’S RARE & HARD to FIND MUSICALS – INSTRUMENTS & SONGS for the WIZARD WORLD.”

There in the doorway was Grimaldi himself, just turning over his OPEN sign.