Shopping. It was simultaneously the Quill's most and least favorite activity, especially when Rita Skeeter ventured into Scrivenshaft's. On the one hand, there were all those lovely pots of ink to drool over. Acid green was the Quill's favorite, of course, but there was no harm in perusing all the other possibilities in the swirling rainbow of liquid. On the other hand, there were all those rivals. What if Rita were captivated by the bright plumage of peacock?
The Quill buried itself deeper into Rita's handbag, hoping that it wouldn't be pulled out for negative comparisons. As it did so, to its surprise, it heard the familiar, faint drawl of words. Clandestinely, the Quill angled itself so it could capture and enhance the story once again. At least it could do something productive while Rita shopped!
Trying hard to bear all this in mind, hairy took pinch of sleep powder and walk to the edge of the fire. He took a deep breath, scattered the powder into the flames, and stepped forward; the fire felt like a warm breeze; he opened his mouth and immediately swallowed a lot of hot ash.
"Dial Dan Allie," he coughed.
If it is that he was being sucked on a giant dream. He seem to be spinning very fast - the rowing in his years was a deafening - he tried to keep his eyes open but the pearl of green flames made him feel sick - something hard not to Szabo and he touched it in tightly, still spinning and spinning - now it without is the cold hands were slapping his face - squinting through his glasses he saw a blurred stream of fireplaces and snatch glimpses of the rooms beyond - his bacon sandwiches were turning inside him - he closed his eyes again wish it would stop, and then -
He fell, face forward, and a cold stone and soak the bridge of his last snap.
Dizzy and bruised, covered in sweat, he got gingerly to his feet, holding his book and glasses up to his eyes. He was quite alone, but where he was, he had no idea. All he could tell was that he was standing in the stone fireplace of what looked like a large, dimly lit wizard shop - but nothing in here was ever likely to be on a Hogwarts school list.
"...now let me see," the Quill heard Rita remark as she opened up the handbag and started absently rummaging around with one exquisitely-manicured hand, "I have an old quill in here that needs badly to be repaired or replaced. Poor thing's gone off on me, finally."
The Quick-Quotes Quill froze. Surely Rita didn't mean... But then, to its vast relief, Rita's questing fingers slid right past it and dragged out a small, bedraggled, robin-feather quill that Rita used when she wanted to take clandestine notes instead of important article-writing ones.
Weak with relief, the Quill waited until the bag was securely closed again before turning its attention back to the still-droning voice.
Clutching his broken glasses to his face, hair he stared around. He had emerged into a dingy alleyway that seem to be made up entirely of shops devoted to the dark arts. One he just left, Borgen and Berks, look like the largest, but opposite was a nasty window display of shrunken heads and two doors down, a large cage was a live check in at black spiders. Too shabby looking wizards we're watching him from the shadow of the doorway, motoring to each other. Feeling jumpy, hairy set off, trying to put his glasses on straight and hoping against hope that he be able to find a way out of here.
I don't wooden street sign hanging over his shop so it poisonous candles told him he was a knock turn alley. This didn't help, is Harriet never heard of such a place. He supposed to you hadn't spoken clearly enough through his mouth full of ashes back in the Weasley's fire. Trying to stay calm, he wanted what to do.
"Not lost are you, my dear?"set a voice in his year, make him jump.
And is twitch stood in front of him, holding a true foot looked horribly like cooking and fingernails. She lived at him, showing my CT. Very backed away.
"I'm fine, thanks," he said. "I'm just -"
"Harry! What do you think you're doing down there?"
Who is heart left. So did the witch; a little finger nails cascading down over her feet and she curses the massive form of Hagrid, the Hogwarts game quicker, Kim starting toward them, beetle black eyes flashing over his great Bruce Lyn Beard.
"How great! And "very quick to relieve. "I was lost - super powder -"
Hagrid Sea is Terry by the scruff of the neck and pulled him away from the witch, knocking the tree right out of her hands. Her shrieks follow them all the way along with twisting alleyway into bright sunlight. Very sore from Milyer, snow white marble building in the distance - we got spanked. Started writing today good now.
"You're a mess exclamation" said Hagrid to sleep, brushing cemetery so forcefully he knocked him down until they're a little dragon done outside an apothecary. "Skulking around nocturne alley, I do know that Dodgy Pl., Harry - don't want no want to see you down there -"
"I realize that," said Harry, ducking is haggard me to brush them off again. "I told you, I was lost - what were you doing down there anyway?"
"What are you doing down there?" echoed Rita unknowingly, making the Quill freeze a second time. She was peering into her bag curiously and this time the Quill knew it had been properly caught. Or had it? As Rita reached in and pulled the Quill out, it managed to flick the notebook page so that only a fresh sheet of parchment showed. It's secret was still safe... least for now.