Disclaimer: For this story, I borrowed the wizarding world,
as well as Privet Drive and the zoo in Little Whinging, from JK Rowling.
Several characters were also created by her, but I am completely responsible
for their actions in this story. The plot is mine, and once book 6 comes out,
it’s going to be complete nonsense, but I will have had fun anyway.
Author’s Note: I would like to thank my betas Delleve Miststone, Alistria and
Arianrhod, without whom this story would be crammed with choppy sentences, boring
dialogues and wrong prepositions.
Author’s Note 2: I suppose that by now you have all heard the news about Mark Evans in canon. There’s no need to explain that I was severely disappointed. However, I will continue writing about Mark, and I hope you will continue reading. Regard this as the story of what Mark Evans could have become...
Chapter 2 – Diagon Alley
“Here we are.”
Mark eagerly looked up at Harry, who flashed
him a smile and then instructed Mark’s parents to park the car nearby. Mark’s
mouth suddenly felt dry and an uneasy feeling settled in his stomach.
His hand moved upwards, although he didn’t recall telling it to
do that, and pushed his hair back, completely ignoring his
mental commands to get down again. He frowned and glanced around to make
sure no one else noticed the behaviour of his arm. His
mother had told him long ago that both he and his father always pushed
back their hair when they were nervous, and while Mark knew he was nervous, he
didn’t want to show it.
“Will your friends be there,
Harry?” he asked when they stepped out of the car.
“Dunno,” Harry said. “The
last two years Ron’s mother just bought whatever we needed.”
He led them through the street, and
although Mark couldn’t see anything unusual, he felt they were
near an Artistic place. Two times he caught a glimpse of someone
dressed in robes, looking very out of place in the Muggle world, and
both times, his heart made a little jump in his chest.
“This is it,” Harry
Mark looked around, frowning. They had
arrived at what plainly was a large Muggle bookshop; that couldn’t
be right. Then Harry took a few steps past its entrance, and
stopped right in front of a shabby looking door. Mark’s eyes travelled
to the sign above the door. It was dark, dirty and dusty, and it was
hanging askew. He tilted his head slightly to read: The Leaky
Harry had already opened the door and
was waiting in the door frame, so Mark took a deep breath and stepped
inside. A wave of hot and badly ventilated air met him. Feeling more
uneasy than ever, Mark took another few steps inside, barely managing
not to cough, and took a good look at the first wizarding
place he had ever entered.
He was severely disappointed. The pub
was just as scruffy on the inside as on the outside, and the dark
walls and the smoke-filled air prevented him from taking a good look
at the wizards inside. The only remarkable thing that he could make
out was that everyone seemed to be wearing robes.
“Let’s go,” Harry
said in an undertone, and he quickly made his way through the pub.
Mark and his parents followed him into
a small courtyard, surrounded by plain walls on three sides. A few blades
of grass and a lot of weeds covered the ground, and a dirty dustbin,
the lid slightly askew, was the only thing there. Despite
that, Mark knew that this place contained the entrance to Diagon Alley. His
heart thumped painfully in his chest, and his hand made its way to
his hair once again.
Harry took out his wand and tapped the
wall. For a split second, nothing happened and the world seemed to
freeze; then the stones started shifting. Mark was painfully aware of
his loud and quick breathing. He didn’t recall ever being so
nervous. His mother laid an arm around his shoulders, and he relaxed
The stones finally finished rearranging
themselves and had turned into an elegant archway, revealing Diagon
Alley. As soon as Mark got his first glimpse of the
wizarding shopping street, all his nerves disappeared. The only
emotion he felt as he stepped forward onto the cobbled road was
Even Harry’s most colourful
descriptions didn’t come close to reality. Dozens of people in
all kinds of robes, carrying strange-shaped packages, were walking
through the street, which was lined with shops in every size. The air
tasted very Artistic, and for a moment, Mark just closed his eyes and
breathed in. It was delicious.
Then he opened his eyes again and found
himself staring right at a shop that sold cauldrons. A sign reading
Cauldrons – All Sizes – Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver
– Self-Stirring – Collapsible
was hanging above a huge stack of cauldrons, glittering in the sun.
For some reason, Mark thought that was not really right. Those cauldrons
belonged in a dark room, smelling of potion ingredients, where sinister
wizards brewed poisons.
Except maybe that fancy silver one, that would do well in a sunny
“C’mon, Gringotts first,”
Mark obediently followed Harry through
Diagon Alley, but he walked deliberately slowly, to make sure he
could have a look at the shops on both side of the street. Mark’s
mother passed him and caught up with Harry, while Mark felt a hand on
his shoulder and looked aside to see his father smiling at him.
“I’m so happy to be back,”
his father whispered. “I’ve missed it.”
“It’s amazing,” Mark
agreed. He was longing to go into some of the shops and buy some
fascinating magical things, but he didn’t have any Artistic
money yet. He couldn’t decide whether he should best go to
Gringotts quickly, so he could buy things as soon as possible, or
first have a good look around. So he just followed Harry, who
now had arrived at a large, pearly white building. Mark didn’t
see anything of the last shops he walked past, as he was busy gaping
at the enormous building with odd little turrets at the top. He
wondered if Hogwarts would look somewhat like that.
When they came closer, Mark saw the
first goblin. Harry had told him about them and even shown him a
picture, but Mark had never realised they were so small. While the
goblin bowed and showed them through the double doors into the
building, Mark wondered how such small creatures could protect all
that money and make Gringotts, according to Harry, the safest place
in the wizarding world besides Hogwarts.
His opinion changed at once when they
arrived at the long counter in the huge marble hall. The goblin
behind it was peering sternly down at Mark, who at once felt himself
shrink. He took a step closer to his father, but Harry bravely
“We’d like to change Muggle
money into Galleons, please,” he said politely.
The goblin surveyed him distrustfully.
Mark’s mother wordlessly handed
the goblin a fifty-pound note. The goblin nodded shortly and walked
away. After a minute, he came back with a leather bag, which was
apparently crammed with large coins. Mark’s mother carefully
took the bag and the goblin returned to whatever he had been doing
before they had arrived.
“Excuse me,” Harry said.
The goblin slowly lifted his head and
didn’t seem particularly pleased to see them all still standing
in front of him.
“I’d like to get some money
from my vault too,” Harry said.
“What is your name?” the
goblin asked in a bored voice.
Harry glanced around before stating his
name in a quieter voice.
“Do you have a key?” the
Harry handed him a tiny key, that gleamed
strangely in the bright light and bore very fine grooves.
The goblin peered at it closely and
decided it was in order. He summoned another goblin to take them down
to Harry’s vault.
“I think I’ll wait outside,”
Mark’s father said. “I don’t think you’d like
it either, Amy.” He motioned to the boys in front of him. “You
Mark nodded and followed Harry and the
goblin through a door at the end of the hall. They entered a stone
passageway, lit by torches, of which the flames flickered and
projected strange shadows on the wall. Mark shivered. He didn’t
like this at all, and he slowly began to understand why people didn’t
try to rob Gringotts.
His mood lifted again when a little
cart raced towards him on rails Mark hadn’t noticed at first.
The cart skidded to a halt right in front of them and the goblin
accompanying them gestured that they should step into it. Mark obeyed
at once, excitement flooding his veins. This promised to be a
fascinating combination of a haunted house and a rollercoaster in an
He was not disappointed. The cart raced
with neck-breaking speed over the rails, and although there weren’t
any loops, the sudden changes of direction and the deep canyons
beneath them were breath-taking enough. Occasionally, something far
away burst into flame. Harry said that was caused by dragons guarding
the high-security vaults, but Mark wasn’t sure he believed him.
“Mr Harry Potter’s vault,”
the goblin announced, and Mark was almost thrown from the cart when
it suddenly stopped. To their right was a gloomy passageway. Mark
could just make out a small door in the far wall, and the layer of
dust on the ground proved that visits to the vault were rare. The
goblin climbed out of the cart and walked importantly to the door. He
stuck the tiny golden key in a tiny hole – on goblin-height –
in the door, which opened and let out a lot of green smoke. When the
smoke cleared up, Mark gasped.
Countless piles of golden coins were in
the vault, surrounded by heaps of smaller silver and bronze coins,
only leaving some empty space in the front of the vault – Mark
supposed Harry had already spent the coins that had been there. However,
a huge amount of money was still left.
“It’s not as much as it
seems,” Harry said. “Your parents probably have something
like this too, only Muggles store it in a different way.”
Mark could only shake his head. When
Harry had loaded his money bag with coins, and they were back in the
cart, he finally found his voice again.
“Is that real gold?” he
“Yes,” Harry said
matter-of-factly. “Wizards don’t use banknotes.”
The cart-ride back was just as exciting
as the first one. Mark noticed that they took a different way, as
they passed over a large underground lake that he hadn’t seen
before. When they arrived at the place where they had started, he
almost wished that he had a vault himself, so they could take another
When they stepped back outside in front of the building,
the light was much too bright for Mark’s eyes. Squinting, he
tried to find his parents, but he didn’t see them. He took a
few steps forward to get a better look, and –
He had walked right into someone. Mark
staggered backwards and felt Harry’s hands on his shoulders,
steadying him. He flashed Harry a smile and then looked for the
person he had smashed into. Apparently, the man hadn’t had a
Harry ready to catch him; he was lying on the ground in a heap,
struggling with his robes as he tried to get up.
A man wearing violet robes, lying on
the street in a heap, in front of a house with a dragon on the roof.
Mark blinked. He
stared at the man in front of him, who finally had scrambled to his
feet and was uttering words Mark’s mother wouldn’t
approve of. His robes were shabby and brown instead of violet, but it
was definitely the same man.
“Hey! I know
you!” Mark shouted in an impulse. He immediately regretted his
outburst when the man walked nearer, a very annoyed look on his face.
Mark thought he looked like a criminal from a film, except for the
seen you before, I mean, when I was little,” he tried to
explain. “You were suddenly there and –” His
voice trailed off. He now was outright scared of the man in front of
him, who kept staring at him with his bloodshot eyes.
“Hey, Dung!” Harry’s
voice suddenly sounded. “What are you doing here?”
At once, the man turned to Harry, and
Mark gaped as something like a smile appeared on the man’s
“Protectin’ you, o’course,”
he grumbled to Harry.
“But,” Harry started in
confusion, “why aren’t you – I mean –”
The man cut him off. “Dumbledore
wanted two people aroun’ you in Diagon Alley, but we’ve
got only one Invisibility Cloak. Mad-Eye’s here too, an’
as it’s his cloak, I had to walk aroun’ without it.”
He glanced around. “I’m not supposed to be talkin’
to you, Potter. I’d better go.”
“Right,” Harry said. “See
The man called Dung disappeared in the
crowd without sparing another look for Mark.
“Where do you know him from?”
Mark turned around to see Harry looking at him, a serious expression
on his face. “Did you see him around your house?”
“Yes – I mean, no,”
Mark said. “I’ve seen him only once, when I was little. I
didn’t live in Little Whinging then.” Harry still looked
confused, so Mark elaborated. “There was a house at the edge of
the town I was living in. I liked the house, because it was Artistic
– I mean, magical.”
“But you didn’t know about
our world, did you?”
“No, but I just felt attracted to
the house,” Mark said. “I felt it was like me, just like
Harry still didn’t look
convinced, but Mark had spotted his parents a couple of yards away,
walking in their direction, and he didn’t want them to know
that he had been looking at the house many times, while his father
had forbidden it.
“Why is he protecting you?”
Harry shrugged. “I
always have someone around me when I’m not at Hogwarts. They’re
usually invisible, though. I’m wanted, you know.”
Mark knew. Only after Harry had been
living with them for four weeks, had he told them the story about
defeating Voldemort when he was a baby. Mark still couldn’t
quite grasp the fact that his friend was famous in the Artistic
world, as he certainly hadn’t been famous in Privet Drive.
Mark learned what
it meant to be famous during the next ten minutes. While they had
been in Gringotts, dozens of people had arrived in Diagon Alley, so
it was rather crowded now. People often bumped into them, and at
least half of them proceeded to gape at Harry. Mark suspected that
some of the people bumped into Harry on purpose.
“Is there nothing you can do
about it?” Mark asked after Harry had told an eager woman to
“No,” Harry said. “People
always recognise me. My photograph is in the newspaper about ten
times a year.” His voice grew harsher, and he glared at the
people around him. “Right now, I’m the hero who saved the
world again, but a few months ago, I was the attention-seeking
disturbed little boy who everybody hated.”
Mark was taken aback by Harry’s
angry outburst. He didn’t really understand how people could
change their opinion so quickly and so drastically, but he didn’t
dare ask Harry about it. Harry always got a bit tetchy when they were
talking about his fame. Mark’s mother had told Mark that
Harry’s temper was caused by the puberty (“You’ll
be like that in a few years, too, Mark”) but Mark now believed
it had more to do with the fact that people kept pestering him.
They first went to buy robes. Mark’s
father fussed a lot and insisted on buying some informal robes
too. Mark had to try five different colours, and then two of them
once again, until his father decided he couldn’t decide and
bought both sets. Mark wished his mother had been there, but they
hadn’t been able to keep her out of the shop at the other side
of the street, where various fine instruments were sold –
useful for Arithmancy, according to Harry. As that seemed to be the
subject closest to mathematics (Mark already knew he wouldn’t
take it), it was no surprise that Mark’s mother was interested.
After they finally had left Madam
Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, they went to the
Apothecary to buy potion ingredients. Mark was fascinated. Asphodel,
snake fangs, bezoars, shrivelfigs, caterpillars, dragon blood,
monkshood, bubotubor pus, armadillo bile – Mark didn’t
know half of these things, but he liked them all the same. Wasn’t
it wonderful that one could make wonderful potions from the most
disgusting ingredients? And that the same wonderful potion could
change into a poisonous substance if the ingredients weren’t
added in the right order, or if the potion was stirred in the wrong
Mark wanted to buy all of the
ingredients Harry bought for his sixth year Advance Potions class and
maybe some more, but Mark’s father refused.
“It’s much too dangerous,”
he said sternly. “You don’t have a clue what all these
things do.” He went to the counter and bought a standard first
year potions kit.
“You can borrow mine if you
want,” Harry whispered to Mark with a sly smile.
The next stop was Ollivanders. Mark
had looked forward to buying a wand, but he also was a bit scared of
it. He seemed to be able to do enough magic without a wand, so he was
afraid of what would happen when he first touched one. He might
accidentally set the whole shop on fire.
As they entered the small, dark shop, a
bell tinkled four times to announce them. Mark looked around and noticed
that the walls were entirely covered with little, unlabelled boxes. In the
middle of the room, a spindly chair was standing.
“This place hasn’t changed
one bit,” Harry said softly.
“Oh yes, it has, Mr Potter.”
Mark jumped and looked around. An old
man with pale, piercing eyes was staring at Harry, who defiantly
“I’ve sold one hundred and
twenty nine wands since yours,” Mr Ollivander continued. His
eyes narrowed. “You didn’t lose it, did you?”
“No, no,” Harry said
hastily. “Mark here needs a wand.”
The shopkeeper turned his attention to
Mark, who felt himself go red at once. The strange pale eyes boring
into Mark didn’t help at all.
“And you are?”
“Mark Evans, sir,” Mark
said nervously. He wished Ollivander would look away.
repeated. His eyes slowly travelled to Mark’s father. “Ah!
Tom Evans, isn’t it?”
father said shortly.
Ollivander’s eyes narrowed. “I
remember. Unicorn hair and willow, twelve inches. But its fate ... I
would never have thought ... an Ollivander wand ...”
Mark watched his father staring unmoved
at Mr Ollivander, who almost looked angry now, until the shopkeeper
suddenly snapped his head back to Mark.
“We’ll find the right wand
for you, no doubt,” Ollivander said very softly. “I can
only hope that you will have a higher esteem for it.”
While Mark was still trying to make
sense of this, Ollivander had summoned a tape measure that flitted
around Mark’s body, measuring about every single distance
imaginable, and the shopkeeper himself was pulling several boxes out of the huge piles
covering the walls.
“No two Ollivander wands are the
same, Mr Evans,” he said, piling box on box on the small
counter. “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful
magical substance. We use unicorn hair, dragon heartstring and
phoenix tail feather. The wand chooses the wizard, and you’ll
never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.”
Mark tried to remember it all, and he
kept wondering how Mr Ollivander could remember all those different
wands he had made, and even to whom he had sold them.
A dozen boxes were now lying on the
counter and Mr Ollivander opened the top one. “Try this one, Mr
Evans, willow and phoenix feather, ten and a quarter inches.”
Mark tentatively took the wand. To his
great relief, nothing exploded. In fact, nothing happened at
all. He remembered Harry had told him to wave the wands when he was
trying them, but before he could do anything, Ollivander had snatched
“Here, try this one,”
Ollivander said, pulling out one of the bottom boxes. “Beechwood
and unicorn hair, nine inches.”
Mark gripped the wand determinedly and
waved it a bit. Dark green sparks flew from it, and Mark started, but
fortunately, the sparks turned out to be harmless.
said, frowning. He stared at Mark with his large, pale eyes. “How
does it feel?”
Mark shrugged and immediately felt
stupid for not saying something useful. But apparently, Ollivander
knew enough. He took back the wand, but didn’t put it back in
its box. He set it apart on the edge of the counter instead.
“Eleven inches, yew, phoenix
feather,” he said, handing Mark another wand from the pile on
Mark waved it expectantly and dark blue
sparks flew from the tip.
“It doesn’t feel right,”
he said firmly, placing the wand back on the counter.
Ollivander shoved the whole pile of
boxes aside and turned back to his stock. Anxious that the right wand
might just have been shoved aside, and only half-believing that the
shopkeeper knew exactly what he was doing, Mark watched Ollivander
pulling out another two boxes. Both wands (one dragon heartstring,
one phoenix feather) were useless, though. Nothing at all happened
with the first one, while the second only produced a few sparks.
Muttering incomprehensibly, Ollivander
started walking around the room again, pulling no less than five
boxes from various places. The first one produced some bright orange
sparks, while the second didn’t respond at all to Mark’s
furious waving. The third was snatched from his hand as soon as he
had touched it, and the fourth one actually extinguished one of the
candles in the room.
Then Ollivander opened the fifth box
and pulled out a gleaming wand made of light-coloured wood.
“Try this, ten and a half inches,
dragon heartstring and maple.”
As soon as Mark touched the wand, he
knew it was the right one. He felt it vibrating in his hand, as if
the wand worked of its own accord, and a warm feeling spread through
his arm and his whole body. He gave the wand a tiny wave and a shower
of red sparks flew from it – at least a hundred times more
sparks than any of the other wands had provided. Mark faintly heard
someone applaud. Enthusiastically, he gave the wand another, more
firm wave. Everywhere around him flowers suddenly sprouted.
Harry cheered and Mark was embraced by
both of his parents at the same time, but he noticed that Mr
Ollivander didn’t look too pleased with bright flowers in his
dusty shop. He pulled his own wand – rather long and made from
very dark, almost black, wood – and vanished the flowers with
“Congratulations, Mr Evans,”
he said. “That’s a nice wand. Good for Charms, and very
powerful. Be careful with it.” He threw an almost hateful look
at Mark’s father.
Mark decided he had had enough. He
wanted to get out as soon as possible. He politely thanked Mr
Ollivander and impatiently waited until his mother had paid for the
Outside, in the bright sunlight, he
turned to his father. “Dad, why did Mr Ollivander look at you
“Like what?” his father
asked, purposefully walking to the next shop. But Mark was sure his
father knew what he was talking about and didn’t have a clue
what shop he was walking to.
“Like he hated you,” he
Mark’s father turned and gripped
Mark’s shoulders. Harry and Mark’s mother stood on either
side of them, looking curious.
“I broke my wand, Mark,”
Mark’s father said. His voice grew cold. “I broke a
well-working, hand-made Ollivander wand – of course Mr
Ollivander can’t forgive me for that.”
“Oh.” Mark felt confused.
What was so important about a piece of wood? Ollivander made hundreds
of them. And the reasons his father broke his wand were good enough,
but of course, Mr Ollivander did not know about them.
Mark threw a glare at the dark window
of the shop.
“Cheer up, Mark,” Harry
said. “You did a wonderful thing with your wand there in the
Mark smiled a bit when he remembered
the flowers. “Did you get sparks from a lot of wands, not just
the one you finally bought?”
“No,” Harry said, “but
I guess it’s normal. Ollivander told me I was a tricky
“Harry!” someone suddenly
Mark ignored the gasp from a pair of
people nearby when they realised they were standing next to Harry
Potter, and looked around to find who had called Harry. A balding,
red-haired man was walking towards them, a friendly smile on his
“Hello, Mr Weasley,” Harry
“Doing your Hogwarts shopping?”
Mr Weasley asked. “Ah, and this must be Mark Evans.”
Mark felt his face go hot when he was
addressed. He was famous already, for nothing else than being friends
with Harry Potter.
Mr Weasley extended his hand to him,
and Mark shook it. Then Mr Weasley’s gaze fell on his parents.
“And you are Mark’s
Greeting were exchanged, a friendly
conversation started, and five minutes later, Mark and Harry were
sent off to do the other shopping, while Mark’s parents went
with Mr Weasley to get a drink. Mark learned that Mr Weasley was the
father of Harry’s best friend Ron and that he loved Muggles. He
amused himself with the mental image of Mr Weasley eagerly
interrogating his parents about plugs and batteries.
“Let’s go,” Harry
said, thrusting Mark the money bag. Mark’s mother had trusted
Harry with it, which had annoyed Mark to no end. He knew it was a
sign that Harry really belonged to their family, but it also was a
sign that Mark’s parents still treated Mark like a little
child. Mark suddenly felt very glad he was going off to Hogwarts in a
week. It would be strange to be away from his parents for such a long
time, but there certainly were advantages. Maybe they would finally
admit that he was growing up.
Half an hour later, Mark and Harry had
bought all their school supplies, including a beautiful, dark brown
owl for Mark.
“He matches your hair,
Mark,” his father commented happily when they had reunited.
“What’s the time? Ah. Well, you two just walk around for
a bit. I’m sure you’ll be able to amuse yourself. Get
back here in half an hour or so.”
Mark and Harry excitedly set off. There
was so much to be seen in Diagon Alley! Now they didn’t have to
buy any school supplies any more, they could admire the newest
broomsticks for as long as they wanted – or rather, until Mark
was bored by it and dragged Harry off to Flourish and Blotts.
They had a look at books full of funny hexes (“I’ve
always wanted to do this to Dudley,” Harry said) and in the
Defence section. Harry considered buying new books on Defence, but
after a few minutes of hesitation, he decided to ask a friend of his
first what would be the best book to buy.
started to make their way out of the shop, but stopped just in front
of the exit to have a look at two books exhibited there: All
Things Magical – The Magical World Explained in Muggle Terms
and All Things Muggle
– The Muggle World Explained in Magical Terms.
Suddenly, a huge
tower of books turned the corner and smashed into Harry. The next
moment, Harry was sitting on the floor, looking very surprised, and
surrounded by several dozen books. The person who had been
carrying the books turned out to be a tall woman, who was staring at
the mess in front of her with a half-surprised, half-disapproving
look. She was about the same age as Mark’s mother. Her glasses
were slightly askew because of the collision, although she didn’t
seem to notice.
Harry finally said. “What do you need all those books for?”
young man,” the woman said. “I’ll be adding them to
my personal library. One needs to keep abreast of new developments.”
“Do you need
some help carrying them, Madam?” Mark asked. “You didn’t
seem to be able to look over the pile.”
that would be very nice,” the woman said, starting to pile
books in Mark’s arms.
A few minutes
later, the three of them were walking through Diagon Alley.
Harry said, peering at the top of his pile, “I own this book,
the woman asked interested.
“Yes, I got
it last year fr– for Christmas.”
The woman stopped
walking and surveyed him. “You are Harry Potter, aren’t
“Yes, I am,”
“Nice to meet
you,” the woman said briskly. “You’d better read
those books. You might need it. Not that other people won’t
need it. What’s your name?” she asked, turning to Mark.
Hogwarts this year?”
better do well in Defence, too,” the woman said. “You’ll
be needing it.”
She led them
through The Leaky Cauldron to the Muggle side of London. They arrived
at her car, and stowed the books in the boot.
very much,” the woman said politely, “and I hope to see
you both again soon.”
she got in the car and drove away, leaving Harry and Mark to stare
“Mark,” Harry said weakly,
“she didn’t gape at my scar. She didn’t seem to
care at all!”
Mark smiled and told Harry that of
course there were people like that, although he had been a little
surprised himself, after spending a day with Harry in Diagon Alley
and meeting dozens of people who did gape at his scar.
When they arrived back at Mark’s
parents, there was another pleasant surprise waiting for them.
“Arthur Weasley has invited us
all for dinner tonight,” Mark’s father said. “We
will finally meet the famous Ron Weasley and his family.”
Mr Weasley looked rather surprised at
that, but didn’t say anything. Mark felt very excited. He
couldn’t imagine a better end to this wonderful day than dinner
with a real wizard’s family in a real wizard’s house.