The Tenth Weasley - CH - 67

Diagon Alley glowed under a pale winter sun, its cobblestone streets bustling with witches and wizards wrapped in layers of enchanted wool and fur-lined cloaks. Snow drifted lazily through the air, collecting on the rooftops of the magical shops. The storefronts were alive with holiday cheer—garlands wrapped in silver sparkled with soft enchantments, and enchanted snowmen waved at children from window displays.

The alley was crowded, alive with the sound of bustling shoppers and the cries of excited children dragging their parents toward Sweet Slumber Sweets or the new line of self-decorating Christmas trees outside Twilfitt and Tatting’s.

James and Lily stood outside Flourish and Blotts, bundled in thick cloaks. Lily was checking a list twice, muttering under her breath about “last-minute gifting disasters,” while James shifted restlessly.

“Alright,” James said, tugging on his gloves. “We’ll be busy for a while. Some Ministry officials are meeting us near Ollivanders to discuss donations and that Christmas charity event.”

“And I have to find that talking quill Rose’s tutor mentioned,” Lily added, tucking her list into her coat. “It’s back-ordered, so I might need to bribe someone.”

“You two go,” Harry said, already feeling fidgety at the thought of tagging along. “Rose and I will just explore. We’ve finished our shopping.”

James gave a cautious look. “Alright—but stay in the Alley. Don’t wander off into Knockturn Alley or anything.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Rose grinned and tugged at Harry’s sleeve. “Let’s get something warm! I saw a new stand selling charmed chestnut cider.”

As James and Lily melted into the crowd, Harry and Rose turned down the main street of Diagon Alley. The place was buzzing. Caroling charms played above the street from floating musical ornaments, and witches waved their wands to shrink or enlarge packages to fit better into enchanted bags. The clatter of carts and hoots of postal owls overhead blended into a festive cacophony.

Harry walked with his hands in his cloak pockets, feeling the chill of the air but not quite minding it. Rose skipped a bit ahead, calling out whenever something caught her attention.

“Look! Look, enchanted icicles! They sing!”

“They’re off-key,” Harry said with a smirk.

“They’re charming,” she insisted, dragging him toward a stall where crystal icicles chimed in warbled harmony.

They bought two steaming mugs of spiced chestnut cider and wandered toward Quality Quidditch Supplies, pausing to admire the Nimbus 2001 in the front display.

As they turned the corner, Harry noticed a group of Hogwarts students ahead—two from Ravenclaw, one from Hufflepuff. Familiar faces from the library. They caught sight of him, stiffened visibly, and veered away into the crowd.

Harry stopped.

Rose noticed his hesitation and followed his gaze.

“Wasn’t that—?”

“Yeah,” Harry murmured.

“They’re idiots,” Rose said matter-of-factly. “You’d think they’d have figured out by now you’re not the Heir of Slytherin.”

Harry gave a hollow laugh. “I could give them a written statement signed in blood, and they’d still hide behind shelves.”

Rose looped her arm through his. “Well, I’m not scared of you. Neither is Daphne, or Astoria, or Blaise, or Hermione. Or Mum. Or—”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Sirius?”

She grinned. “Alright, maybe he’s a little scared.”

They both laughed.

As they wandered past the Magical Menagerie, Harry slowed again. A small girl was holding a large toad in her arms, and behind her, a familiar face stood watching a snowy owl in a cage. It was Padma Patil, another Hogwarts student. She caught Harry’s eye. Her expression froze, awkwardly, and she gave the smallest of nods before quickly turning and walking in the opposite direction.

Harry watched her leave, his jaw tightening. He’d grown used to the whispers, the sideways glances. But this was Diagon Alley. This wasn’t Hogwarts. Here, he’d hoped to be just another student on holiday, not a walking threat.

Rose glanced at him, sobered now. “They’re scared, not because of you. Because they don’t understand. That’s always the problem, right?”

Harry didn’t answer immediately. He took a sip of the cider, now lukewarm.

“I used to think once I proved myself, people would trust me,” he said. “Now I think no matter what I do, they’ve already decided who I am.”

Rose frowned. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” Harry agreed. “But it’s life.”

She reached up and gave his sleeve a tug. “Come on. Let’s go to the bookstore. Then we can get more cider.”

Harry smiled slightly. “You just want more cinnamon sticks.”

“They taste better in winter.”

They turned down the street together, the tension slipping away slowly with every step. And even as the whispers might follow him in Hogwarts or Diagon Alley, Harry knew there were still people who stood beside him.

That, for now, was enough.

Harry gripped Rose’s hand tightly, her gloved fingers nearly swallowed by his own as they made their way toward Flourish and Blotts. He didn’t want to lose her. The alley, cheerful though it seemed, was crowded and noisy. Witches bustled past with overstuffed packages, young children darted between legs laughing and shrieking, and magical creatures from the Menagerie yowled and hissed inside their cages.

“Harry,” Rose said, a bit breathless, “you don’t need to hold on so tight. I’m not going to disappear.”

“Just making sure,” Harry said, his tone light, but his eyes scanning the crowd ahead. “This place is a sea of cloaks and elbows.”

And then it came. A faint tingle at the back of his neck.

It was subtle. A crawling sensation like cold fingers brushing along the spine—faint, but undeniable. It was a feeling he had come to trust, ever since his sessions with Professor Quirrell in his first year. A warning that someone’s attention was fixed on him. Someone watching with intent.

He didn’t say anything to Rose, but his pace quickened. The tingling sensation didn't fade.

It worsened.

Someone was following them.

Someone with magical intent.

Harry didn’t panic. He kept moving, trying not to appear alerted. Whoever it was, they wouldn’t try anything in a place this crowded. But with Rose by his side, he couldn't risk even a single moment of carelessness.

“Change of plan,” he murmured, tugging gently at Rose’s arm. “We’ll circle back to the post office later. Let’s head back toward the main fountain.”

She frowned. “Why? I wanted to look at those new puzzle books—”

“Just trust me.”

They moved through the crowd, weaving between shoppers and carts of dancing gifts and magically wriggling Christmas trees. But the pressure didn’t ease. Harry could feel it—the spell, the stare.

And then it happened.

A whisper—barely audible—slithered through the crowd behind them.

“Imperio.”

Harry’s breath caught.

His body jerked as if he had slipped on ice. For a split second, his vision blurred. Warmth spread through his chest like syrup, and a voice—sickeningly calm, almost comforting—coiled in his mind.

Walk. Turn left. Keep going. Turn into Knockturn Alley.

His fingers slackened. Rose’s hand slipped from his.

He turned.

Step.

Step.

Each footfall came too easily, like walking through a dream. His thoughts slowed. He could hear Rose calling his name faintly, but it sounded as if from underwater. The voice was louder now. You want to walk. It’s safe. Just follow…

And then—crack.

Pain.

Sharp and sudden.

Harry’s Occlumency defenses, trained for months under Quirrell’s ruthless drills, flared in protest. It was like diving into cold water. His mind pushed back against the invading presence. The syrupy haze trembled. The voice in his head faltered.

No, Harry thought. You don’t control me.

Another step forward—and he stopped. Eyes wide. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck despite the chill.

Rose.

He spun around in panic.

There she was, just a few feet behind, her face scrunched with confusion and worry.

“Harry?” she called, her voice rising. “Harry, what are you doing?!”

He blinked. The haze lifted. His breathing returned in harsh gasps.

Someone had tried to Imperius him.

In Diagon Alley. In a crowded street.

And they were still nearby.

Heart thundering, Harry grabbed Rose’s hand again and darted through the crowd, heading away from Knockturn Alley. His mind raced. Whoever it was, they wouldn’t strike again so soon. Not here.

But they had made a move.

And now Harry knew one terrifying truth: someone wanted him gone—and they were willing to use unforgivable curses to make it happen.

When Harry and Rose finally reunited with James and Lily near the northern end of Diagon Alley, the elder Potters were standing outside Flourish and Blotts, wrapped in matching traveling cloaks. James had one hand resting on his wand beneath the folds of his sleeve, and Lily was carefully examining a list of gifts, her eyes flicking between paper and crowd.

“There you two are,” Lily said, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Back so soon? I thought you’d still be exploring the shops.”

Harry forced a smile as he reached them, the weight of the incident still lingering in his chest. He had released Rose’s hand just before they turned the corner, masking the urgency that had filled his steps minutes earlier.

Rose answered for both of them, bouncing slightly on her heels. “We saw most of the street already. Harry even bought me a chocolate frog—oh, and I saw that glittery new broom polish they just got in at Quality Quidditch Supplies!”

Lily’s brows rose, amused. “I can’t leave you two alone for five minutes, can I?”

Harry gave a noncommittal shrug, offering a faint grin, though his mind was still reeling. The voice that had wormed its way into his skull… the weightlessness of his limbs as he started to walk without knowing why… and then the sensation of snapping back—like surfacing from underwater.

Someone had tried to control him. To use the Imperius Curse on him.

An unforgivable.

He hadn’t told Rose—he didn’t plan to. She’d been scared enough already, and he didn’t need her worrying or panicking. And as for the Potters… no. Telling them wouldn’t help either. There was a good chance they might not even believe him. Or worse—they’d make it about themselves, about how “dangerous” he was attracting threats.

James was already looking at him oddly these days. Lily, for all her attempts at warmth, wore a thin veil of forced politeness that Harry could cut with a spell.

Besides, Harry Weasley wasn’t the sort to hand his problems to someone else. He wasn’t the boy who ran to adults for help. That wasn’t how he was raised. If someone had cast the Imperius Curse on him, then that meant they were watching. Waiting. Plotting.

And if they had a goal… he’d find out what it was. He’d find out who they were. And when he did—

He would deal with it.

“I’m ready to head back,” Harry said, adjusting the strap on his satchel. “Got what I needed.”

James gave him a curious glance but didn’t press.

“Alright then. Lily, you ready?”

“Just about,” she replied, tapping her wand against the parchment and causing it to roll itself neatly. “Let’s get to the Floo before the crowd grows. You know how chaotic it gets closer to evening.”

As they walked toward the Ministry-regulated Floo entrances, Rose chattered beside him, animated and smiling. Harry only half-listened, nodding when necessary, his thoughts distant.

The narrow backstreets of Knockturn Alley were always cloaked in shadow, even when the rest of Diagon Alley glittered under holiday lanterns and enchanted snowfall. Here, in the heart of the crooked alleys, where twisted chimneys belched green smoke and magical contraband changed hands under whispers, four cloaked figures gathered beneath the archway of a shuttered apothecary.

They stood in a tight circle, hoods pulled low, faces hidden in the murk. The oldest among them, a man with a crooked spine and a voice like shattered glass, spoke first.

“What happened?” he hissed. “You said it would be easy.”

The taller one turned his face slightly, though no light revealed it. “It was supposed to be,” he muttered. “I hit the boy with the curse. Imperio. Same way I’ve done it to dozens before. His mind started to slip—then… then he threw it off.”

A tense silence fell over the group.

“That’s impossible,” the third man growled, stepping forward. “You are the most proficient in Imperius among us. Even Ministry Aurors have danced like puppets under your hand. And now you're telling me a… a twelve-year-old boy resisted you?”

The tall man’s voice was edged with something uncharacteristic—uncertainty.

“I felt it. He took two steps. He was under. And then he pushed back. Like a barrier shot up inside his mind. He shook it off. No struggle. No falter. Just—gone.”

The fourth figure, who hadn’t spoken until now, finally broke the silence. A woman, her voice smooth and calculating. “Perhaps it’s not the boy we underestimated. Perhaps it’s the training. No child resists an Imperius like that unless someone taught them how.”

“Or unless he’s not what he seems,” the croaked voice of the first added.

The second man clenched his fists. “We should have gone for Potter. Controlling James would’ve been easy. Predictable. But no—you had to go after his daughter.”

“She was the message,” the woman snapped back. “A message to the Potters. Rose Potter was supposed to vanish. That would’ve sent a clear warning.”

The man with the shattered-glass voice nodded. “James Potter… he’s grown bold. Too bold. Throwing his lot with Dumbledore, involving himself in matters he should've left buried. He forgot the cost of such meddling.”

“And the Weasley brat?” asked the third man.

The tall one’s voice was lower now. Thoughtful. “He interests me,” he said. “Breaking free of an Imperius. That’s not instinct. That’s training. Someone’s prepared him.”

“You think… the old man knows?” the woman asked.

“Dumbledore always knows,” the first muttered. “But what he hides is more dangerous than what he reveals.”

The tall figure looked toward the fog-drenched exit of the alley.

“Harry Weasley,” he murmured, almost to himself. “He's not just another Slytherin brat. There’s something there… beneath the surface. I want to know who taught him. And why.”

Another silence passed. Then, in unison, the group turned their hoods back up and dispersed into the shadows.

The alley swallowed them whole.