The Sugar Quill
Author: birgit (Professors' Bookshelf)  Story: Domus Draconis  Chapter: Chapter 2: Diagon Alley
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The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author.

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...

Domus Draconis

by Birgit

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 suddenly said.

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 Cauldron.

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 a bit.

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 amazement.

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 room too.

“C’mon, Gringotts first,” Harry said.

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 stepped forward.

“We’d like to change Muggle money into Galleons, please,” he said politely.

The goblin surveyed him distrustfully. “How much?”

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 goblin asked.

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 two go.”

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 amusement park.

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 asked weakly.

“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 trip.

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 robes.

“I’ve 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 face.

“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 you, then.”

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 you.”

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?” Mark asked.

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 “sod off.”

“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 direction?

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 stared back.

“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.

“Evans?” Ollivander repeated. His eyes slowly travelled to Mark’s father. “Ah! Tom Evans, isn’t it?”

“Certainly,” Mark’s 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 it back.

“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.

“Unexpected,” Ollivander 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 the counter.

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 one wave.

“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 wand.

Outside, in the bright sunlight, he turned to his father. “Dad, why did Mr Ollivander look at you like that?”

“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 said bluntly.

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 shop!”

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 customer.”

“Harry!” someone suddenly called.

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 face.

“Hello, Mr Weasley,” Harry said.

“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 parents?”

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.

They 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.

“Wow,” Harry finally said. “What do you need all those books for?”

“For reading, 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.”

“Thank you, 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.

“Hey,” Harry said, peering at the top of his pile, “I own this book, too.”

“Do you?” 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 you?”

“Yes, I am,” Harry said.

“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.

“Mark Evans, Madam.”

“Starting at Hogwarts this year?”

“Yes, Madam.”

“You’d 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.

“Thank you very much,” the woman said politely, “and I hope to see you both again soon.”

Then she got in the car and drove away, leaving Harry and Mark to stare after her.

“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.

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