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Short distance, his great pale eyes still fixed upon Mundungus with loathing.

“When you stripped this house of all the valuables you could find,” Harry began

again, “you took a bunch of stuff from the kitchen cupboard. There was a locket there.”

Harry’s mouth was suddenly dry: He could sense Ron and Hermione’s tension and

excitement too. “What did you do with it?”

“Why?” asked Mundungus. “Is it valuable?”

“You’ve still got it!” cried Hermione.

“No, he hasn’t,” said Ron shrewdly. “He’s wondering whether he should have

asked more money for it.”

“More?” said Mundungus. “That wouldn’t have been effing difficult . . .bleedin’

gave it away, di’n’ I? No choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was selling in Diagon Alley and she come up to me and asks if I’ve got a

license for trading in magical artifacts. Bleedin’ snoop. She was gonna fine me, but she

took a fancy to the locket an’ told me she’d take it and let me off that time, and to fink

meself lucky.”

“Who was this woman?” asked Harry.

“I dunno, some Ministry hag.”

Mundungus considered for a moment, brow wrinkled.

“Little woman. Bow on top of ‘er head.”

He frowned and then added, “Looked like a toad.”

Harry dropped his wand: It hit Mundungus on the nose and shot red sparks into

His eyebrows, which ignited.

“Aquamenti!” screamed Hermione, and a jet of water streamed from her wand,

Engulfing a spluttering and choking Mundungus.

Harry looked up and saw his own shock reflected in Ron’s and Hermione’s faces.

The scars on the back of his right hand seemed to be tingling again.

Magic is Might

As August wore on, the square of unkempt grass in the middle of Grimmauld

Place shriveled in the sun until it was brittle and brown. The inhabitants of number

Twelve were never seen by anyone in the surrounding houses, and nor was number twelve

Itself. The muggles who lived in Grimmauld Place had long since accepted the amusing

Mistake in the numbering that had caused number eleven to sit beside number thirteen.

And yet the square was now attracting a trickle of visitors who seemed to find the

Anomaly most intriguing. Barely a day passed without one or two people arriving in

Grimmauld Place with no other purpose, or so it seemed, than to lean against the railings

Facing numbers eleven and thirteen, watching the join between the two houses. The

Lurkers were never the same two days running, although they all seemed to share a dislike

For normal clothing. Most of the Londoners who passed them were used to eccentric

Dressers and took little notice, though occasionally one of them might glance back,

Wondering why anyone would wear cloaks in this heat.

The watchers seemed to be gleaning little satisfaction from their vigil.

Occasionally one of them started forward excitedly, as if they had seen something

Interesting at last, only to fall back looking disappointed.



On the first day of September there were more people lurking in the square than

Ever before. Half a dozen men in long cloaks stood silent and watchful, gazing as ever at

Houses eleven and thirteen, but the thing for which they were waiting still appeared

Elusive. As evening drew in, bringing with it an unexpected gust of chilly rain for the first


Date: 2015-12-11; view: 760


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