Ten minutes, Ronald!"
It was not an irritated tone carrying his mother's voice up the many staircases of the Burrow, but Ron knew from experience that if he delayed any further, it would be. He closed the latest edition of his favourite comic book, The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle, and checked the time. Ron Weasley did not like being early for things. He felt that being early for anything only made sense when doing so offered some kind of advantage. He had already determined the optimal time to leave this morning, and it was still quite a ways off. Aware, however, that arguing would be counterproductive to his goals for the day, he sighed and responded in a tone lacking any animosity.
"All right!"
Getting off of his bed, Ron fully accepted the real reasoning behind him delaying his getting ready to go with his mother to spectate Harry Potter's quidditch match. Harry's team, Puddlemere Uni, was playing the Chudley Cannon's Under-17 squad, the Chudley Round Shots. Ron gazed around at his room, heavily decorated with Cannons paraphernalia, Ron having been a diehard fan of the team for years. He had been putting this off as long as he could, but now had to make a choice. Would he support his friend, or the Under-17 offshoot of his team?
Five minutes later, Ron walked into the kitchen wearing blue from head to toe, literally, having added copious amounts of blue dye to a handful of Wizard's Sculpting Gel to give himself what he thought was a rather stylish, spiky crop of kingfisher blue hair. His mother dropped her wand the moment she turned to look at him, which Ron thought rather fortunate, as he felt she might have changed it back to his usual red on impulse. But, during the time it took to retrieve her wand, she seemed to think better of it, looking at him and letting out a long a sigh, her mouth slowly forming a resigned smile.
"Good on you for supporting your friend," she finally said with a nod, quickly followed by a shake of her head. "You're still wanting to Apparate, are you?"
Ron had already been to a couple of Harry's matches, each time accompanied by his father. An offhand comment from his mother a few days ago had prompted him to see if she would enjoy seeing a match, which she had been clearly pleased to have him ask her. Ginny had tried to invite herself along as well, but Mr. Weasley had intervened with his own invitation to take Ginny for a ride in the Anglia, something she had been itching to do ever since Ron, Fred, and George had taken it on their own flight. Mr. Weasley had said that they would only fly around the Burrow, but Ron suspected that before it was said and done, Ginny would likely get a turn flying it over any number of destinations, now that his father had installed the Invisibility Booster. Fred and George were visiting Lee Jordan, which left Ginny and her father to enjoy time together, and Ron and his mother on their own to attend the match. It had been some time since the two of them had spent the day together as mother and son, and she was clearly looking forward to it, as was Ron. It was a rare occasion in a family of nine when one child got a parent all to themselves.
During the summer thus far, the Weasleys had always travelled by Floo to the stadium to watch Harry's matches, grateful to do so since getting their Floo recently upgraded to a soot-free model, but Ron was eager to give Side-Along-Apparition another try. The last and only time he had tried it had been when his great-aunt Muriel had gotten impatient with him when he had accidentally trampled on her hydrangea bush and Apparated the both of them back to the Burrow, putting an end to his visit. It had left him nauseous and jittery for a whole day, but that had been years ago, and he had recently become interested in trying it again, as Apparating was a staple of wizarding transportation that he wanted to get used to… and seeing how Harry could do it.
"Yeah," Ron told his mother. She nodded again.
"All right. Well, how about I take us a little bit away from the stadium then, just in case it makes you feel ill?"
Ron had vomited quite a bit the last time, and even though it made him feel annoyed, the prospect of throwing up in front of a bunch of happy spectators was far worse.
"Okay," he agreed.
She put her arm out, and Ron took a deep breath, intending to hold it until this was all over. He tried to not think about the oppressive squeezing he had experienced with Aunt Muriel, grabbing his mother's arm perhaps a bit too tightly, although she did not complain.
"On three," his mother said, patting his arm tenderly. "One… two…"
Everything went black; Ron was being pressed very hard from all directions; he could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head; his eardrums were being pushed deeper into his skull and then…
It was the torrent of sounds that prompted Ron to let out his breath and open his eyes, his lungs working furiously to get oxygen back into his system. The experience had been shocking, but…
"Hey! I feel fine! I bet Muriel made me sick on purpose!" Ron declared, grinning, and gawking around at the area outside the stadium.
"Hm, well…" was all his mother decided to offer before the pair of them began walking towards the stadium.
Along the way, Ron stopped five or six times to appreciate and sometimes partake in the Quidditch-related items for sale at various vendors. He had to keep reminding himself that he was supporting Puddlemere today, although he could not help but to buy a mini-cannon that, whenever tapped with a wand, expunged the visage of a random member of the Chudley Cannons from its end in a poof of orange flame. His mother banished his purchase back to the Burrow for his enjoyment later. She dud buy her own souvenir, however, a somewhat garish hat with spinning pom-poms which spelled out and shouted various supporting messages for Puddlemere Uni in electric blue lettering. Every time Ron looked at her in it, he laughed at her absurdity, but in an appreciative way, which he was glad to see she understood.
They found their way to their seats and waited for the match to start, snacking on a shared box of butterbeer popcorn while they watched the players warming up and then eventually being announced. Their conversation and enjoyment during this time made Ron question everything about his previous assertion regarding showing up this early.
"Seeker—Harry Potter!" the announcer called, and the crowd erupted in the loudest cheers yet, Ron and his mother the strongest among them.
Harry flew like a bullet from the players' tunnel to the middle of the pitch and then shot straight up into the sky and out of sight, earning him another round of cheers and applause. Ron laughed in appreciation, knowing Harry had done so to bolster the crowd's enthusiasm. While Harry was the youngest player on the team, Ron felt that he was also the most talented, at least in his position as Seeker. It was a good fit for Harry, Ron thought. Chasers had to work as a team, which Harry would likely find limiting and indeed showed signs of during pickup matches at Hogwarts and the Burrow. Beaters were purely defensive positions, which he knew Harry would have a hard time embracing, and Keeper… well, Harry could never, never stay in one place for that long.
"Where did he go?" Ron's mum asked, shielding her eyes as she looked to the sky.
Her answer came when Harry flew over them from behind.
"Nice hair, Ron! Hi, Mrs. Weasley!" they heard him scream, his voice warped by the speed with which he flew, thinning out at the end. Ron could not help but to enjoy the attention he and his mother received after that interaction.
The match turned out to be a good one. Ron found that these Under-17 matches were often not as exciting as the main league match-ups, as it was difficult to recruit players within such a limited age-range, but today's game was different. In the span of twenty minutes, there had already been six fouls and countless changes of possession. Ron chalked the intensity up to the Chasers for both teams, all six of whom he found to have a balanced appreciation for offense and defense. After his mother had seemed to be confused about why some Chasers were deviating from the established standard game plan, Ron had been both impressed by her knowledge of Quidditch strategy and happy to explain the reasoning behind their shift.
"You would make an outstanding coach!" she said to him appreciatively after his explanation, looking at him far longer than he felt was warranted, but he found himself enjoying the praise, nonetheless.
As Ron watched the rest of the match, he could not help but notice the gameplay of one of the Puddlemere Chasers, whose plays helped Harry's team gain a lead going into the second hour of play.
"Carmichael with another impressive goal!" the announcer yelled, and Ron had to agree. It was strange to see kids the same age as the Hogwarts players exhibiting skills nearing professional level. More than anyone else, Gemma Carmichael did as much, Ron felt, leading the Puddlemere Chasers with her flying and Quaffle-handling abilities.
"But where's the damn Snitch?!"
The question, shouted in frustration by Ron's mum, was so jarring that the entire stadium seemed to go silent from Ron's perspective. His head whipped around to look at his mother, who was eyeing the pitch raptly, apparently oblivious as to her outburst. Ron shifted his focus onto Harry, grinning from ear to ear.
Shit shit shit, shit shit.
Harry had been far too confident, which he realized, unfortunately, far too late. Regina Walkins, Seeker for the Chudley Round Shots, was simply flying better than him in their battle to grasp the Snitch. Flicking his eyes to the scoreboard, Harry saw that his team was ahead by 80 points, but that meant nothing if Walkins got to the Snitch before he did. He knew she was sixteen, he knew she had been flying for Chudley since she was thirteen, and he knew he was still only eleven, and yet…
"God damn it!"
Harry plummeted towards the middle of the pitch in pursuit of Walkins, who had clearly seen the Snitch and was diving after it with vigor. Harry bolted after her, trying to close the distance between them. He realized the mistake he was about to make just before he made it, pulling up out of the dive and shooting instead across the pitch, avoiding the group of Chasers into which Walkins had been attempting to lure Harry. If he had kept flying at his previous trajectory, he would have slammed into the other players, earning a penalty. This near disaster prompted him to completely alter his strategy.
He now flew to catch up with the Chasers with whom he had nearly collided. Harry's new Nimbus 2001 was just a hair faster than the 2000's the Round Shots were still using. He caught up with them and carefully worked to position himself several feet from whichever Chudley Chaser had the Quaffle, always being sure to avoid having an interference called against him, while also mirroring the Chaser's every move. This served as a distraction across several fronts, including the Chasers, the Beaters who were now both targeting Harry, the Chudley coach who was shouting at the referee about Harry's flying, and most importantly — Walkins.
As Harry had been flying, he had trained the majority of his senses on Walkins and any sign of the Snitch. As he had hoped, she was watching him shadowing her Chasers rather than looking for the Snitch. Meanwhile, Harry had spotted it once, and now twice, hearing its tiny wings buzzing high above the Chudley goals behind them all. He had to make a decision.
He waited until the Round Shots were about to take a shot, then dived away from the group abruptly and flew towards a high corner of the stadium. He could not feel for certain if Walkins was following him, so he put his trust in his instincts and continued flying determinately until he thought it was the right time, abruptly twisting and flipping his broom around 180 degrees, and then exploding towards the Snitch at the opposite end of the stadium.
Harry's heart soared when he saw that Walkins had been just where he had hoped she would be to make this move its most effective against her. He left her scrambling to correct her course and flexed his fingers as he grew nearer to the Snitch, thinking how nice it was that he would not even need to jump off his broom this time.
A Bludger missed Harry's head by an inch, only because he had heard its whistling sound increasing in pitch as it moved towards him. Still moving in pursuit of the Snitch, Harry whipped his head around for a glance of whatever Beater had aimed the Bludger at him, but saw neither of them.
Expunging that from his thoughts, Harry focused every part of himself towards the Snitch, letting himself dwell on nothing else until, at last…
"Hey! Nice job seeing the feint!" Ron said later after the team had done their own locker room celebrations and were now joining their friends and family in the casual after-match banquet. "It was pretty obvious, really."
"She nearly got me," Harry admitted. He looked at Ron, who merely shrugged and looked around the large room, and then at Mrs. Weasley, who had her arm locked in Ron's and seemed so… carefree. He was used to seeing her bustle around the Burrow, but she was so relaxed here. The both of them seemed to be… just happy.
Harry looked away, suddenly feeling like he had been staring. As a distraction, he waved and called, "Gemma! Come and meet Ron's mum!"
Gemma came over. She sometimes had her own mother with her, or some of her friends, but tonight she was on her own.
"This is Gemma Carmichael," Harry said to Mrs. Weasley.
"Ah, yes. I recognize you from the program!" Mrs. Weasley said. "Well done. Excellent match! I especially enjoyed the actual defensive plays the three of you ran, rather than just strategies. It was nerve-wracking to watch, but it really played off!"
"Oh wow, thanks!" Gemma said. "Yeah, we just started those in practice this week. Wow you really know your Quidditch, eh Mrs. Weasley?"
Ron, standing stock still, his jaw clenched up and his eyes looking at the sky, seemed unable to contain himself any longer.
"She just heard me say as much during the match!" he grumbled through his teeth. "She kept calling you "Cardigan!"
Gemma seemed at a loss for words, looking back and forth between Ron and Mrs. Weasley and trying to hide her confusion, which did not work.
Mrs. Weasley giggled. "Okay, all right. Yes, Ronald is right. I was just having a bit of fun!" She playfully slapped Ron on the shoulder.
It was clear at once that Ron was never actually upset, and that he enjoyed as much as he was surprised by his mother's playfulness. He rubbed at his shoulder.
"Now I see where Fred and George get it from," he teased.
Mrs. Weasley, who had begun to rub Ron's shoulder as soon as he did, now dropped her hand.
"Never say that again," she said darkly, then shifted her face and gazed pleasantly around the room.
Later on (and inevitably, as Ron put it), Mrs. Weasley began talking to some of the other witches and wizards, leaving Harry and Ron to mingle on their own. Gemma, who had already met Ron a couple of times before, was quizzing him on Quidditch trivia, which Harry knew she had no chance of besting him in.
"I like Quidditch," Ron told her a little madly after quickly answering what she had announced would be her most challenging question yet.
"So do I, obviously but…" She seemed to run out of words, putting her hands on her hips and shaking her head, looking around.
"Oh here!" she said suddenly, grabbing onto Ron's wrist. "I bet they can stump you." She dragged Ron over to where the rest of Uni's female members of the squad happened to all be congregating. Harry considered coming along, for Ron's sake, but thought better of it, reasoning that Ron could take care of himself.
Twenty minutes later, Harry began to wonder if he had over or under -estimated Ron's ability to survive being left alone with a group of top-notch Quidditch-playing girls. He had just decided to go looking for him when Ron himself appeared alongside Mrs. Weasley, who no longer seemed quite as happy as she had before. Ron, though… Ron was wearing a huge shit-eating grin. Harry worked to keep his face neutral despite his burning curiosity of what had happened.
"We will have to be going, Harry dear. I'm so proud of you. You flew amazing. Well done again," Mrs. Weasley said. "I'm sure that ending will be scrutinized heavily on the Wireless Wall by the boys at home. Speaking of which…" She looked almost nervous, now—whatever had occurred with Ron now apparently forgotten. "Why don't you come spend the night? No reason to… We love having you over Harry—the whole family."
Harry wanted to go—that much he was sure of. He was also incredibly grateful for how sincere her offer was, but until this business with Dobby was figured out, the more time he spent at home, the better.
"I shouldn't. I'm pretty tired already, and these lot will probably have me up for another couple of hours." The white lie slipped over his lips before he fully considered them. Looking at Mrs. Weasley now, he knew she had seen through it, likely from years of mothering, but also having seen enough from Harry to know that he did not ever show signs of tiring.
When she offered no response immediately, Ron began looking back and forth between the pair of them, his look of self-pride and wonder shifting to one of confusion. It was when he focused a look at Harry that clearly said, "What's this all about?" that it happened. For a split second Harry thought it was a vision, the incorrect assessment distracting him enough to not recognize it for what it was and take the appropriate measures. By the time he realized that he had unintentionally shared a link of Legilimency with Ron, enough had passed between them so that each of them gaped somewhat absently, neither of them daring to make eye contact any longer.
Harry was nowhere near ready for a conversation about this right now, if ever, so he put on what he felt was a pleasant face and thanked them profusely for coming to the match.
"I hope you'll be able to come to more," he said to Mrs. Weasley, the deeper meaning of it yet again only occurring to him after he said it. He looked to Ron, whose eyes shifted only ever so briefly to Harry's before turning away quickly again.
"I'd love to! You said you still have matches during the school term?" Mrs. Weasley asked.
Why couldn't he just shut up? How rude would it be if he just Disapparated without another word?
"Yeah, three more," Harry said. He had already received word of being excused away from Hogwarts during those times, thanks to "Special Opportunities deemed fit by the Headmaster."
She nodded. "Oh, that's perfect! Everyone else will be at school, so Arthur and I, or one of us at least can definitely make it!"
Harry held up his hands. "No pressure, though!" he practically begged.
"Nonsense, this was fun!" she said, waving him off. She looked around briefly, then her eyes landed on Ron. "But it was fun with you," she admitted, and she seemed to mean it. "It won't be as fun with your father… Maybe we could make it to a Hogwarts match! Then we could sit with you and Ginny and all your friends!"
For his part, Ron tried really hard to at least try to make it sound like this might be a potentially good plan.
"Oh. Yeah… yeah… yeah," he said, nodding enthusiastically.
It was too much when Mrs. Weasley secretly winked at Harry, clueing him in that she was having Ron on. Harry had to look away, unable to keep from shaking his head. Ron had been right—he now saw where Fred and George had inherited their nature. He nearly said as much, but this time caught it, instead backing up and waving goodbyes at the two of them. Mrs. Weasley said something into Ron's ear.
"Oh yeah, and how about meeting us in Diagon Alley at 10:00 on Saturday morning to go Hogwarts shopping?" he practically shouted across the banquet room.
Harry felt that Mrs. Weasley showed a good amount of reserve in not smacking Ron in the back of the head at that outburst. Harry was trying to keep a low profile these days, which this… this was not.
"I can't!" Harry said as sincerely he could across the room, thinking this the easiest solution, and trying to not worry about the fact that he was definitely going to be in Diagon Alley at ten on Saturday, having recently heard about it from Hermione but not yet talked about with Ron.
The exchange seemed to break Ron fully out of his former reverie, with red starting to creep up Ron's neck, not that most people would notice. He waved rather sheepishly and walked quickly away towards the Apparition checkpoint, Mrs. Weasley walking calmly and shaking her head at the back of him.
Now that Harry was left momentarily alone, he thought again about what had happened between him and Ron. Being accidental, it had not been like the Legilimency he had experienced before, which he had practiced on both willing and unwilling others by now. What transpired with Ron was more like… like they had shared an understanding of how the other one felt. While there were several layers, the gist of it was: Ron was jealous of Harry, and Harry was jealous of Ron, and now—they both knew, and they both knew that the other knew. Harry was embarrassed by what Ron now knew about how envious he was of him having a mother like Mrs. Weasley and an actual family, but he also knew Ron must be feeling just as embarrassed about what Harry now knew of Ron's envy of Harry's fame, talents, and accomplishments.
There was some kind of balance achieved by knowing how the other felt. Harry sighed and took just a brief moment to reflect more deeply. Yes… yes, this had been a good thing.
"Potter! We need another judge!" Uni Keeper Tiko Agande called.
Harry looked up to see Tiko waving Harry over to where there seemed to be a dance-off brewing between Beaters Macy Hanson and Felicity Sims. He laughed and walked over, already planning on how best to decline if anyone challenged him to dance.
Saturday morning arrived to Harry's delight, which he recognized and reflected upon as he sat on a rock on the highest hill of the grounds. This particular spot offered a spectacular view of his property. He had been putting off going to Diagon Alley alone because, no matter how he tried to frame it in his mind, it always made him sad to think about being surrounded by all of the other families engaged in spending some last time together before their Hogwarts student headed back to school. Now, he would have his friends to shop with.
He shook his head at himself, remembering how much he had been looking forward to coming home at the last term, only to feel the same way about returning to Hogwarts now that there were only two weeks of summer left. He tossed down the wood which he had been randomly whittling with his fingernails. He thought it had begun to resemble something like a rodent, but had ended up disliking it greatly for some reason. He stood up, brushing the specks of wood off his jeans, and looked at his pocket watch. Deciding he had enough time before needing to get ready to go to Diagon Alley, he got a running start and leapt off of a steep part of the hill, changing into his eagle form at once.
After spending an invigorating amount of time interacting with the various creatures on the grounds, occasionally accidentally antagonizing them but mostly having a good time, Harry returned to the Manor.
"Master could use some new socks, with Toory not there to mend them," his elf suggested as Harry checked his appearance in the sitting room mirror.
Harry nodded, the socks he was wearing visible above the end of his robes, which he had nearly grown out of.
"I think maybe it's a whole new wardrobe, all around, that I need," he mused, eventually deciding to discard his robes entirely and sport Muggle attire for the trip.
Zeely gasped when Harry threw his robes on the floor in a huff.
"I'll buy new ones," he assured her. "I'm not going to wear these anymore. Transfigure them for whatever the need is."
Harry had continued to grow since the ritual, thankfully at a normal pace seeing as he had come out of it looking a couple of years older than the average kid his age. While most families might adjust their kids' robes or wait until it was absolutely necessary, Harry had no need for such patience. He had initially looked into donating his robes, but found the need lacking in the magical community thanks to, well… magic. Most families would either let the robes be handed down to the next child in their family, or simply transfigure them into something useful. That was what Harry did, being sure to remove any of the magic usually associated between master and house-elf involving clothing before handing them off to Toory and Zeely. If Harry were to directly give his robes to them as an offering of clothing, it would break their bond, setting them free. While that might seem the obviously moral thing to do for humans, he knew that doing so would devastate and eventually kill either of the house-elves, so strong was their connection to Harry as part of the Potter family. He regarded their bond as one of those things that is difficult to communicate to someone who had never experienced it.
"We'll wash them first," Toory said a little cheekily as he picked up Harry's discarded robes.
Thus far, the elves had used Harry's old clothing to create new items to donate to various Muggle outlets in the area. They were especially proud of their latest finessing of magic to allow Harry's old clothing to transfigure into whatever a deserving Muggle needed in their specific situation, whenever they encountered it on a shelf. Even as he thought of that incredibly positive facet of his efforts, Harry could not help but appreciate Toory's facetiousness.
"I love you guys," he said, grinning.
Toory and Zeely slammed into Harry so quickly that he had to review the moments leading up to it in his mind to verify what had happened. Surprisingly, they had not Apparated, but had moved their little bodies with such blinding speed, the both of them grasping Harry around the middle, that he had missed it in real time. He wrapped his arms around the pair of them and squeezed an appropriate amount.
"We love you too, Master Harry," they chorused.
After a few moments of everyone composing themselves, it was time for Harry to be off.
"All right, see you in a bit," he said jovially, and spun on the spot.
Harry had Apparated on his own many times. As soon as he had learned about it, he had been obsessed with the notion that he could purposefully teleport his body to any location. It was a year before he started Hogwarts that he finally managed it, Disapparating from the edge of the river on the grounds of Potter Manor, to arrive at the top of one of the vegetable gardens Toory and Zeely maintained near the house. He and Zeely had simultaneously screamed, her from the surprise and Harry from the glee. So it was that Harry recognized what it felt like to Apparate to one's intended destination without interference, and this… was not it.
It felt as though he were being sucked down a giant drain. He seemed to be spinning very fast — the roaring in his ears was deafening — he tried to keep his eyes open, but the twisted spinning made him sick — something grasped at his elbow and he pulled away, still spinning and spinning — he landed, the sensation of ground hitting his feet jerking him out of any disorientation.
Harry surveyed the area into which he had Apparated. It was not his intended destination, that much was sure. He was standing in what looked like a large, dimly lit wizard's shop — but nothing in here was ever likely to be offered for sale in Diagon Alley.
A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a bloodstained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. At once, Harry knew that he must be in Knockturn Alley, something of the seedy underbelly of the wizarding community, teeming with shops offering items not usually found in more upstanding establishments. He had been here before to procure potions ingredients, but always with his identity concealed, which was not unusual in Knockturn Alley. Seeing no reason to dawdle now, Harry made his way swiftly and silently toward the door, but before he'd got halfway toward it, two people appeared on the other side of the glass — and one of them was Harry's least-favorite Hogwarts student: Draco Malfoy.
Harry quickly reached into his hip pocket and pulled out his Invisibility Cloak, throwing it over himself. Seconds later, a bell clanged, and Malfoy stepped into the shop. The man who followed could only be Draco's father. He had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold, gray eyes. Mr. Malfoy crossed the shop, looking lazily at the items on display, and rang a bell on the counter before turning to his son and saying, "Touch nothing, Draco."
His son, who had reached for the glass eye, said, "I thought you were going to buy me a present."
"I said I would buy you a racing broom," said his father, drumming his fingers on the counter.
"What's the good of that if I'm not on the House team?" said Malfoy, looking sulky and bad-tempered. "Harry Potter got to be Seeker for Gryffindor last year. Special permission from Dumbledore, as a first-year. He's not even that good, it's just because he's famous… famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead…"
Under the cloak, Harry shook his head. It seemed the summer holidays had done nothing to improve Draco's disposition.
The store clerk came out to greet the Malfoys, and a few minutes went by rather uncomfortably, in Harry's opinion. Draco's father was clearly attempting to sell items to the proprietors of Borgin and Burke's, which Harry knew was an establishment incredibly lenient as to the origins of its inventory. Nonetheless, Mr. Borgin had bargained Draco's father down to what Harry felt was a pitiful sum for what he was trying to get rid of. Only when he felt he had no further opportunity to spy on the Malfoys did Harry exit the shop, caring nothing about the loud bell that rang as the door opened, and headed back into Diagon Alley.
"Harry! Harry! Over here!"
After having abandoned and stowed his Invisibility Cloak, Harry looked up and saw Hermione Granger standing at the bottom of the white flight of steps to Gringotts bank. She ran down to meet him, her bushy brown hair flying behind her. When she hugged him, Harry saw the Weasleys further up the staircase, making their way down.
"You didn't meet us!" Ron complained, watching Hermione extricate herself from Harry.
"Sorry," Harry said. "Got all mixed up and ended up in Knockturn Alley."
"Excellent!" said Fred and George together.
"We've never been allowed in," said Ron enviously.
"You're not missing anything," Harry said, waving a hand. "Mostly idiots trying to fool other idiots."
Just then, Hagrid—the gamekeeper from Hogwarts—came up from the stairs Harry had just exited. He came to a stop, then noticed their group, walking over jauntily.
"Well hullo there Weasleys… Harry," he said.
There were many replies of equal enthusiasm. Harry noticed that Ron's little sister Ginny seemed to be out of the loop, and walked over to her.
"That's Hagrid," he said quietly to her as the other conversed. "He's the gamekeeper at Hogwarts, though I'm sure you knew that, but he's also a really great person."
He looked at Ginny only to see her eyes widen even further than he had seen before this summer, which was saying something.
"Erm… he's really nice and gentle, even though he's huge," Harry said, hoping to qualm any misgivings Ginny might be having about Hagrid. He was perplexed when this did not seem to have any effect on her demeanor. He looked back towards Hagrid, who was talking to Fred and George. "Well, maybe you'll—"
But Ginny had scampered away by now, her arm already locked into Mrs. Weasley's. Harry tried not to dwell on that interaction, as the result was so that he, Ron, and Hermione were left alone for a bit. He immediately guided them to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour where Ron insisted they order their ultimate ice cream desire—his treat. Halfway through their sundaes, Harry brought up to them what he had overheard in Borgin and Burkes.
"That's fishy," Hermione said.
"Are we surprised?" Ron asked rhetorically.
"Hm. I suppose not," Hermione responded distractedly. She was looking at Harry's large strawberry-and-peanut-butter sundae.
Harry noticed her examining it. "You want to try it?" he offered, pushing it towards her. She had almost ordered the same as him, but had decided on chocolate and tangerine at the last minute. Hermione seemed to have a short but intense internal debate before giving in.
"Thanks," she said, scooping her spoon in and popping it in her mouth. She hummed in appreciation, turning to Ron. "It's good," she reported.
Harry pushed his bowl in Ron's direction, and he too helped himself to a spoonful.
"Okay, that is good. I don't usually like strawberry that much, but with the peanut butter and whipped cream…"
Harry slowly pulled his sundae back towards himself, curling an arm protectively around it and watching the pair of them like an animal protecting its kill. Both of them smiled in amusement.
"Yeah, all right," Ron relented.
When they were done, the three of them strolled off along the winding, cobbled street. Hermione did not get to spend much time in Diagon Alley, so Ron and Harry followed her lead as she examined the fascinating shop windows. Ron gazed with serious consideration at a full set of Chudley Cannon robes in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies until Hermione dragged them off to buy ink and parchment next door. ("What are you going to do, wear them to Transfiguration?")
In Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, they met Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, who were stocking up on Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks, and in a tiny junk shop full of broken wands, lopsided brass scales, and old cloaks covered in potion stains they found Percy, deeply immersed in a small and deeply boring book called Prefects Who Gained Power.
"A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers," Ron read aloud off the back cover. "That sounds fascinating…"
"Go away," Percy snapped.
" 'Course, he's very ambitious, Percy. He's got it all planned out. He wants to be Minister of Magic," Ron told Harry and Hermione in an undertone as they left Percy to it.
An hour later, they headed for Flourish and Blotts. They were by no means the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they approached it, they saw to their surprise a large crowd jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed by a large banner stretched across the upper windows:
GILDEROY LOCKHART will be signing copies of his autobiography MAGICAL ME today 12:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m. AT FLOURISH AND BLOTTS.
"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squealed. "I mean, he's written almost the whole booklist!" Ron and Harry shared a look at her enthusiasm.
The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs. Weasley's age. A harassed-looking wizard stood at the door, saying, "Calmly, please, ladies… Don't push, there… mind the books, now…"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione squeezed inside. A long line wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books. Ron and Hermione grabbed a copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 and sneaked up the line to where the rest of the Weasleys were standing with Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Harry already had the book. In fact, the only books for this year he had not yet read were all of Lockhart's for whichever Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had assigned them.
"Oh, there you are, good," said Mrs. Weasley. She sounded breathless and kept patting her hair. "We'll be able to see him in a minute…"
Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard's hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.
A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash.
"Out of the way, there," he snarled at Ron, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the Daily Prophet —"
"Big deal," said Ron, rubbing his foot where the photographer had stepped on it.
Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up. He saw Ron — and then he saw Harry. He stared. Then he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, "It can't be Harry Potter?"
The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized Harry's arm, and tried to pull him to the front. At first, Harry did not allow himself to be moved, but after Lockhart's face began to grow concerned, he decided to be nice. He had already been seen, so he might as well help the man advertise his books, he supposed. The crowd burst into applause as Harry walked forwards, Lockhart now scrambling to come around the table to stand with him, shaking Harry's hand for the photographer, who was clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys.
"Nice big smile, Harry," said Lockhart, through his own gleaming teeth. "Together, you and I are worth the front page."
Harry regretted at once allowing himself to become a spectacle with Lockhart, already disliking him. He tried to be reasonable and allow for the opportunity for his first impression to be proven wrong, but he had a feeling that would not be the case. He also would make certain that this photograph would not be featured on the front page.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Lockhart said loudly, waving for quiet. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!
"When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography — which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge —" The crowd applauded again. "He had no idea," Lockhart continued, giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip to the end of his nose, that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"
The crowd cheered and clapped, and Harry found himself being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Harry forced himself to give a smiling nod in thanks, and then extricated himself from Lockhart and back towards where the Weasleys and Grangers stood.
"Well that was terrible. Here, you have these," Harry said to Hermione, handing her the large pile of books, Mr. Granger reaching over to take the bulk of them before Hermione fell over. "I already ordered —"
"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" said a voice Harry had no trouble recognizing. He turned to find Draco Malfoy giving Harry his usual sneer.
"Famous Harry Potter," said Malfoy. "Can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page."
"Yeah, he's literally famous," Ginny said with an incredulous tone, stepping forward and glaring at Malfoy. This was the first time Harry had heard her speak when she knew he was around. "What's he supposed to do, wear a disguise to go book shopping?"
Hermione laughed, and while Harry was slightly sideswiped by Ginny's new demeanor, the calm look on Ron's face told Harry that this was probably what Ginny was usually like.
Malfoy seemed at a momentary loss for words at Ginny's logic, which Harry found quite reasonable.
"Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!" Malfoy eventually decided on.
Harry shrugged, unimpressed. "Okay…?" He did not need to feign the look of confusion on his face. "What is the point of anything you're saying to me right now?"
Again Malfoy looked a little lost on how to respond, relegated to looking at them all disdainfully. Before he had a chance to respond, Mr. Weasley came over with Fred and George, squeezing between patrons. "It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."
"Well, well, well — Arthur Weasley."
It was Mr. Malfoy. He came over to stand behind Draco, his hand on his shoulder and sneering in just the same way as his son.
"Lucius," said Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly.
"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr. Malfoy. "All those raids… You're starting to make quite a name for yourself."
He reached towards Ginny's cauldron, in which she had put all of her schoolbooks. On impulse, Harry grabbed the man's wrist and pushed his arm back away.
"How dare you!" Draco practically shouted as both of the Malfoys glared at Harry.
"It would seem," Mr. Malfoy said to Harry, "That your surrogate family is doing a stand-up job of teaching you how to be a disgrace to the name of wizard."
"We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy," Mr. Weasley said, stepping forward. Harry felt the tension of the moment rise significantly.
"Clearly," said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought your family could sink no lower —"
There was a thud of metal as Ginny's cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, "Get him, Dad!" from Fred or George; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, "No, Arthur, no!"; the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over.
"Gentlemen, please — please!" cried the assistant, and then, louder than all —
"Break it up, there, gents, break it up —"
Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Only then did Harry realize that he himself had moved to stand protectively in front of Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, his arms extended and his mind whirring with possible steps to take if any of them were threatened. He relaxed externally, while keeping his senses on the full alert to which they had flipped.
Mr. Weasley had a bruised cheek and Mr. Malfoy had a split lip. When Hagrid dropped him, he nearly fell into Ginny's cauldron, which had itself been knocked over. She and Hermione worked to quickly put Ginny's books back inside of it. Mr. Malfoy beckoned to Draco, and the two of them swept from the shop without another word, Mr. Malfoy watching Hermione and Ginny for a few moments as they walked away, giving Harry an uneasy feeling. Thankfully, they left without any more trouble.
"Yeh should've ignored him, Arthur," said Hagrid, almost lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes. "Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that — no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter — come on now — let's get outta here."
The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop them from leaving, but he barely came up to Hagrid's waist and seemed to think better of it. They hurried up the street, the Grangers shaking with fright and Mrs. Weasley beside herself with fury.
"A fine example to set for your children … brawling in public… what Gilderoy Lockhart must've thought —"
"He was pleased," said Fred. "Didn't you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet if he'd be able to work the fight into his report — said it was all publicity —"
"I would have done it if you hadn't, Mr. Weasley," Harry could not help but say, not liking that Mr. Weasley was being reprimanded by both Hagrid and Mrs. Weasley for standing up against what amounted to blatant racism. "People like Lucius Malfoy need a lesson on accountability. He can't just do or say whatever he wants."
There was some quiet after that as the group headed back to the fireside in the Leaky Cauldron, where the Weasleys and all their shopping would be traveling back to the Burrow using Floo powder.
They said good-bye to Hagrid and the Grangers, who were leaving the pub for the Muggle street on the other side; Mr. Weasley started to ask them how bus stops worked, but relented quickly at the look on Mrs. Weasley's face.
Harry breathed, making an effort to calm himself down. No wonder Draco was as foul as he was, with a father like that. He walked over to where Ron and the twins were trying to figure out a way to hold their shopping bags without spilling them across the Floo network.
"Your dad's the best," he said to all of them. He saw Ginny's head swivel around as well. "He didn't put up with any of Malfoy's bullshit. Lucius kept trying to insult him, and insult the Grangers, but your dad beat it back every time until he literally beat him back. He would have won that fight if Hagrid hadn't interfered."
"Nice!" Fred said appreciatively, the others smiling.
Harry shrank the few things he had picked up and stowed them away, then separated himself from the Weasleys. The overall tone of the family was still an agitated one. He had wondered if he might be invited back to the Burrow to visit, but the altercation at Flourish and Blotts had definitely put a damper of any chance of that. Harry got a wave from Ron just before he vanished into the green flames of the fireplace, and that was about it. Harry was just going to head back into Diagon Alley to the Disapparition point when Hermione scurried over to him from the opposite door.
"Harry! Do you want to come have lunch with us? I feel like went from zero to a hundred, and now back to zero. It might be nice to just sit and chat."
Harry glanced over at Hermione's parents, who seemed to be trying to make it not look like they were watching the pair of them while also watching and talking about it. He sensed that they welcomed his company, and found that it sounded good to him as well. In fact—he found himself feeling relieved.
"All right!" Harry replied with a grin. "Erm, would they be offended if I offered to pay?"
Hermione looked thoughtful as they began walking. "Hm… not offended," she started with a tilt of her head. "But I can tell when they're in Diagon Alley that they feel… inferior? And that business with Malfoy certainly didn't help. So maybe just… I… actually I don't know, Harry!" She seemed to be getting stressed out by this, which was the opposite of what Harry wanted. He put his hands up and waved them in surrender.
"It's fine. Never mind."
Looking back on it, lunch with the Grangers turned out to be one of the most normal things Harry had likely every done in his life, and it really had come at the perfect time. Throughout their lunch, there were times when one of them would whisper something about magic every now and then, but the conversation mostly revolved around what the Grangers had been up to this summer, and some of Harry's activities, for which he just substituted Muggle terms whenever needed to avoid having to lower his voice, knowing the Grangers understood that he was not on a football team and had not won the English Tae Kwon Do championship.
"Okay, so maybe you can answer me this, and I hope you'll understand that it's what I do, so I'm not judging you or anything, but you have excellent teeth," Mrs. Granger began towards the end of the meal.
Next to him in the booth, Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed, but Harry offered an appreciative grin, purposefully mimicking what he had seen Lockhart flashing at all the adoring witches, earning a chuckle from Mr. Granger.
"I'm curious as to whether it's the result of just genetics, or if you've seen a dentist, or if it's got something to do with you-know-what," Mrs. Granger said, lowering her voice at the end.
Harry did his best to answer her inquiry, acknowledging that there were too many variables to pinpoint how strongly any of them had influenced the state of his teeth. He was sure that this was not the first time the talk of dentistry had taken over the dinner table in the Granger household, but when Hermione started building a little castle out of the sugar packets at the table out of sheer boredom, Harry excused himself to use the gent's room to save her. While he was up from the table, he made a point to find the manager on duty.
Later, when their waitress came over to find all of their needs served, she informed them that one of today's patrons had paid the bills for everyone dining in the pub this afternoon. Harry felt Hermione's foot tap against his, but maintained his mildly interested and innocent expression. Only when he chanced a glance in her direction did he see her shaking her head amusedly at him.
"I wonder who it could have been," Mrs. Granger said, looking around the pub. "You think it was a Royal?"
"I don't know," Mr. Granger said, now looking around. "I don't spot anyone famous-looking."
Hermione tapped Harry's foot again, and he tapped his back.
"Thanks for inviting me," Harry felt compelled to say, having recognized how content his time with them had made him feel. "This was nice. Oh!" he looked around to Hermione now, realizing something. "And I promised you could visit the manor this summer! After everything with my post getting intercepted… can you still come sometime? I know it's getting late…" He glanced at the Grangers, hoping he was not being too forward trying to take their time with their daughter away from them when she was already about to head back to school.
"That would be great!" Hermione answered without pause. "How about Tuesday? What's a good time for you?"
They arranged for Harry to pick her up at her home Tuesday at ten in the morning. Hermione's parents both worked that day, so it was a win for everyone, even if Mr. Granger did seem to be looking at Harry a little differently since the invitation. Harry tried to put himself in the shoes of a father sending his only daughter to the house of an unsupervised twelve year-old boy, but found he could not manage it. He just assumed it was fraught with some kind of emotion.
Regardless, it did not sour the mood of the group. Harry stayed and chatted with them while they waited for their bus back to Hampstead, then he headed back to Diagon Alley and Disapparated for home, looking forward to telling Toory and Zeely that they would be having a guest.