I stood there drionking in the sights and sounds far too amazed to speak. In one corner stood malfoy’s shoes, a simple pair of clark’s shoes with two velcro straps, in yet another stood his feet in their navy socks, our own shoes lay in the middle, while the old senile man had resumed scribbling over them with his purple ink, the lady waving her wand around with various incantinations which didn’t seem to work, and malfoy dangling right in front of my nose.
I was really too amazed to act, too paralyzed to even think, but chicken pulka pulled my sleeve. “Let’s take our shoes and get out of here”
We ran out, and excaped up the steep stones stairs, our invisibilty cloaks covering our tracks, and we only breathed after two floors, when we stopped to put our shoes back on.
In the meantime, shoe store assistant was calling cornhauser/voldermort to court for deleting her thread from YWN coffeeroom.
(to be continued)