Haigh was waiting in the hall. “Good, he didn’t kill you.”
“Was that in the cards?” Harry said.
She snickered. “I mean. It wasn’t not in the cards.”
***
“Harry.”
Harry looked up. “Theo.”
His—closest ally sauntered in the door like he owned the place, which, Harry supposed, he did. “Welcome to Kieldren Heights,” he said.
“You know, Haigh said those exact words an hour and a half ago,” Harry said, stuffing his last robe into the wardrobe. “How was the Greengrass’?”
“Boring, as per usual. The little sister flirts with everything that moves. She’ll be a terror in ten years. I sipped champagne and made nice with the adults and didn’t offend anyone,” Theo said. “What in Circe’s name is that?”
“A Muggle shirt,” Harry said, holding the flannel in two fingers. “Hand-me-down but it still stinks.”
“It looks like a rag.”
“That’s all it should be.” Harry dropped it on the floor. “Or just a little entertainment.”
He set it on fire with a thought and grinned, watching the flames consume the fabric. They were wizard flames and burned faster and whiter than Muggle fires. He’d always wondered why the fire he called as a kid was a different color than the winter fireplace, and reading about magical fire in the Charms book had been really interesting.
When the shirt was ashes on the stone, Harry let the fire die and looked up.
Theo was staring at him, not the shirt. “Wandless magic.”
“Observant,” Harry said.
“You announced it to the whole House last year in that duel, and some of them still don’t believe it,” Theo said. “Or were convinced it was accidental. A fluke.”
“And now you know better.”
Theo nodded. “Are you going to teach the rest of them that?”
Harry toed the ashes. “Eventually.”
“Any other tricks up your sleeve I should know about?” Theo said.
“Nothing you should know about,” Harry said with a thin smile of warning. “Yet.”
Theo nodded, took the hint. “I’ll get one of the elves to clean that, then.”
“Do.”
He studied the house-elf, Tippet, with fascination. They really were strange little creatures. Blessed with magic wizards couldn’t match, but servants. Not just resigned to their place but actually fond of it. Theo threatened the creature with clothes to show Harry and it broke down in wails, at which point Theo apologized and praised it and sent it into tears of happiness.
“What?” he said when he saw Harry looking. “If their masters are kind to them it makes them like fifty times as loyal.”
“I knew I liked you for a reason,” Harry said.
Theo grinned impishly. “So you do like me.”
“More than anyone else I know,” Harry said.
“That’s not saying much, I’m fairly sure you’d murder most people you know if you had a half-decent reason.”
“Like you can talk,” Harry scoffed.
Theo’s grin widened. “Point. Do you like the room?”
“It is… more than adequate. Thank you.”
“We both know you don’t have to thank me,” Theo said. “C’mon. We have brooms and everyone says the Potters were born to fly.”
***
He was right.
Without Hooch watching and restrictions on what they were allowed to do, Harry kicked off and fell in love. It was like all his masks and plans and worries and everything stayed behind him on the ground, and he could just be… a kid, or someone without expectations. Without pressure.
One look at Theo’s face told him his ally liked flying for the same reason.
“I reckon you can make the team this year,” Theo said, after Harry caught a snitch for the fifth time in a row. “That’s a professional-grade snitch, not like the ones they use in school matches. Bit old but still works. And you’re playing like it’s a golf ball.”
Harry blinked at him, coming to a stop in midair. He almost forgot the snitch clutched in his hand. “You know what golf is?”
“Haigh’s a halfblood,” Theo said. “Sometimes she takes me out into the Muggle world. I don’t love it there but it’s nice to not have people hate me on sight.”
“And your father doesn’t care?”
Theo slid his feet off the broom’s stirrups and kicked them, looking down over the hills below. They could see some scattered Muggle homes if they squinted. “He knows it’s something I’ll never get in our world, and he trusts Haigh.”
Translation: Viscount Nott knew what it was doing to his son to carry the whole family’s responsibilities, and let him escape sometimes, even if it was to the Muggle world.
“D’you ever miss them?” Theo blurted.
Harry glared at him.
Theo blanched. “Sorry.”
Theo had been honest with him. “No.”
“…oh.”
Once he’d been soft. Once he’d fought back, but regretted the harm he caused people, avoided hurting them, avoided them so he wouldn’t have to hurt them at all. Once he’d lain in bed and thought he’d go crazy wishing for something he would never have. Friends. Parents. Trust.
Harry had killed that part of himself by the time he was six and never looked back.
“Library?” Theo said.
“Library,” Harry agreed. “And tomorrow, I need to go to Diagon.”
“Want me to come?” Theo said.
Harry landed neatly on the field, Theo beside him. “Depends. If I were to see Longbottom for a bit, would you scare his grandmother off?”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Great, you can come along and ‘run into’ us after I get Longbottom on his own.”
Theo frowned as he locked the brooms away. “How are you going to do that? She’s so overprotective it’s not even funny.”
“I’ll work it out.”
***
“Gringotts!”
The Floo fire whooshed up and tugged him into the fireplace.
Harry stumbled out into Gringotts’ marble alley. A goblin snickered next to him. Harry brushed himself off with an exaggerated sigh.
Theo followed him. “Still not got the hang of that, hm?”
“I will eventually,” Harry said, nodding to the goblin.
Theo stepped out of the Floo room first and glanced around the bank. “We’re good.”
Harry followed. His eyes were brown today and his hair dirty blond thanks to a glamour spell from Haigh, but anyone who looked closely would recognize him. Especially with the damn glasses. That was going to be the first thing he did when he got his money. The second was a better trunk, the third robes, the fourth decent potions supplies, and the fifth Mr. Jigger’s bookstore.
“See you by the ice cream place in three hours?” Theo checked.
“Yes.” Harry was already walking away. “Don’t be late and don’t let the Longbottoms see you.”
Griphook found him halfway across the atrium. “Mr. Potter! I thought I’d be seeing you today.”
“Good to be back,” Harry said with his usual half-bow. “Do we need your office?”
“No indeed.” The atrium was busy and no one had given them a second glance. “Your funds have been authorized. At your disposal are two hundred extra galleons linked to your Gringotts wallet. Spend it wisely.”
“I’m twelve,” Harry said. “Twelve-year-old boys aren’t known for wisdom.”
Griphook snorted. “I don’t know you well, Mr. Potter, but I’d hazard a guess you haven’t been a child for some time now.”
Harry was quiet for a few minutes. “No, I guess not.”
The goblin went back to his position—he seemed to be doing duty as a teller today—and Harry tugged his hat low.
There was a magical optometrist near Scribblings’ Writing Instruments. They were the luxury writing supplies store. Harry eyed an eagle-feather quill hovering gently in their front window for a few seconds. One day.
A pudgy man in blue robes looked up when Harry walked in. “Hello, there, what can I do for you today?”
“An eye exam and new glasses, please,” Harry said politely.
“Of course. Have you been a customer with us before?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“All right. Prescription card, please.”
Harry shifted a bit. “I… don’t have one. Muggleborn.”
“Ah.” The man smiled. “I see. We can get you started, then. Malinra!”
A woman in white robes stuck her head out of the back almost instantly. “Mm? Oh, hello!”
“She’s our optometrist,” the man said, sitting back down at the desk.
“Right this way, dearie,” Malinra said.
“Thank you,” Harry said to both of them. He glanced over slowly shifting clouds of glasses hovering around the room. “I’d also like to pick out new frames today, if that’s not too big a problem?”
“Not at all,” Malinra said. “You can do that when you leave and come back in a few hours to pick them up. Crafting the lenses takes some time.”
Several days for the Muggles. “Of course, thanks.”
They got until Malinra was sitting him down in a padded chair before she figured out who he was. Harry knew because she choked and her hands froze fitting something over his face.
“Hi,” he said with a shy smile. “Harry Potter, nice to meet you.”
“Harry—!” she squeaked. “Harry Potter! I… didn’t… I’m so sorry—”
You should be, idiot. “Why would you be?” he said, smiling a little wider. “I didn’t introduce myself and you’ve treated me just fine. I mean… I wouldn’t want… to be like, preferentially treated or anything. Just because of… well, this.” He brushed a nervous hand over his scar.
Malinra ate it up. “Oh, of course not, I imagine it’s difficult for you in public. I’m guessing you’d rather not have it shouted up and down the Alley today?”
“What tipped you off?” he said with a light laugh. Harry gave her credit for the recovery. Seemed it was shock more than rabid-fan-excitement that got that first reaction.
“Well, the hair and eye changes helped,” she said, winking. “Right, then, let’s get you settled… Just look into these lenses and sit very still. The enchantments take about thirty seconds to spit back your prescription.”
Harry almost nodded and caught himself. “Right.”
“Good catch,” Malinra said, fussing over something out of his line of sight. Two blue dots appeared in the blackness of the hood she’d planted on him. “You’d be surprised how many people shake it all over and knock the system out of calibration.”
“People can be dense,” Harry said.
She chuckled. “So world-weary.”
World hasn’t been very nice to me.
“All right, starting now.”
The blue lights turned green. Harry sat and gripped the arms of the chair very tightly. Being blind, helpless—he hated this. He should’ve asked how the hood worked. Should’ve made sure he knew what they were doing first. Stupid, trusting, he could go blind from this, he had no idea what spells were on it, he didn’t know her at all and people were backstabbing bastards—
“That’s you done.” Hands lifted the hood off.
Harry blinked at the far wall. Light. He was fine. He could see. She hadn’t done anything.
“You can go up front and Dake will help you get some frames and settle the payment.”
Fine. He was fine.
“Mr. Potter?”
“Right! Sorry.” Harry snapped out of it and pasted his most charming mask on instantly, smiling at her. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.” Malinra examined him, her cheerfulness gone. “You’re not just dodging paparazzi, are you, Mr. Potter?”
“Not quite.” He looked down. Clearly she thought he was so twitchy because he feared for his life in public. Which, she wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t what made him freeze. He could still use it. “…sorry.”
“My turn to tell you that’s an unnecessary apology,” she said with a wink. “Your disguise is pretty convincing, by the way, most people look for the hair and eyes, I can tell you that. Head on up front. If Dake notices and makes a fuss, tell him I said to shut up and get on with it.”
“Thanks,” Harry said, hopping down and heading out of the office. He added Malinra the optometrist to his short list of people who’d been decent to him. Granted, it might well have been his fame that made her so nice, but still. He remembered his debts and preferred to repay them.
Dake looked up from his paperwork when Harry came out. “She’s got you sorted, then?”
“Yes, sir, thank you.”
“All right. Now let’s get you a pair of frames…” Dake waved his wand and several mirrors appeared, floating in front of Harry. His eyes widened a bit. Each of them showed a different view of him. One was head on, like usual, but the other four showed different angles of his face and the glasses on it.
“Now, what kind of frames do you want? Wire or synthetic? Colorful or plain? Go for sturdy or elegant? Square or round?”
“Ah… wire, please, and plain. Something simple,” Harry said. As he spoke, the clouds of glasses hovering around the elegant white-walled room went from drifting motion to purposeful, rearranging into new flocks. “But classy. And I think a square frame, please.” The round frames made his eyes wide and luminous, like an owl’s, and he didn’t like it.
By the time he was done, there was one cloud of frames shifting around in front of him, all of them more or less matching the description he’d given. “This is incredible,” Harry said. “The spellwork to get them to act like that…”
“Wasn’t easy,” Dake said with a grin. “I spent the better part of a decade on it. We’ve turned down a few opportunities to move somewhere a little more prestigious because of how annoying it would be to recreate the rune arrays. Also, I’m not one hundred percent sure how I did it. Lots of the enchantments are overlapping.”
“Ever consider getting a rune expert in to look at it?” Harry said, flicking through the frames one by one. If he remembered correctly, Davis had an aunt who did runes and charms experimentation. He slipped a pair of dark gray metal frames on his nose and examined his reflection.
“Well... yes, but…” Dake trailed off. “We couldn’t afford it.”
Malinra popped out of the back. “I like those frames. What Dake is trying to say is that we don’t have a Ministry license for experimental runes.”
“Malinra!” Dake said.
Harry turned and frowned at her. “You need a license?”
“Calm down, Dake, it’s fine. Yeah, we would, or he would, I’m no good with runes, and it costs a lot to get a license,” Malinra said. “At this point, we’d have to get a license and then do some creative bureaucratic storytelling to hide the fact that the enchantments have been going five years already.”
“Wait,” Harry said. “You’ve kept your entire business here, in this tiny shop, for nine years counting the time Dake said he spent on these—because of just one license?”
“You’re a smart kid,” Dake said. “And, psh, not good with runes. You built that hood thingy that streamlines the entire process.”
Malinra blushed. “Yes, Harry, that’s pretty much it in a snitch.”
“What would happen to you?” Harry said, not even paying attention to the glasses anymore. Or his rules. He was ignorant here, but his instincts literally always screamed not to trust people and they’d shut up around Malinra, so he thought it should be fine. “If they found out.”
Dake tensed.
“I’m not going to turn you in or something,” Harry said. “I’m twelve, not an undercover Auror.”
“Hitwizard,” Dake said.
Harry blinked at him.
Dake winced. “Sorry. It’d be a Hitwizard going undercover for something like this. Aurors take down Dark wizards, not optometrists using illegal runes. I have a bad habit of correcting people when I’m nervous.”
“No, I appreciate it.” Harry really did. Now he wouldn’t have to look like an idiot in front of his classmates. That was exactly the kind of small detail Theo wouldn’t even think to explain.
“Oh good.” Dake relaxed a little. “Loads of muggleborns get really touchy when you try to correct them.”
Malinra smacked his shoulder. “Not the time. We’d get a hefty fine that would probably put us into bankruptcy.”
Harry looked at them both for a few long seconds, mind churning. He didn’t just need people like Theo, Davis, Longbottom, with political connections or heavy vaults; he needed the normal people to like him, too. People like Mr. Jigger and Malinra and Dake who ran bookstores and optometrist shops.
Sometimes he actually thought Fate was trying to get him to take over when opportunities this golden fell into his lap.
“I’ll be sure to keep my mouth shut, then,” he said finally. “Wouldn’t want my new favorite optometrist to go out of business. I’ll take these.” He swapped the new frames off his face, put his old set back on, and handed the new ones to Dake.
“Twenty galleons for the exam, frames, and time spent crafting and fitting new lenses,” Dake said.
Harry wrote out a deposit slip, handed it to Dake so he could confirm it was the right amount, and slid it into the deposit pocket of his wallet. “How long until I should come back?”
“Three hours,” Dake said.
“Bye, Harry!” Malinra called on the way out. He smiled cheerfully over his shoulder and waved.
Right before the door closed, he heard Dake say, “Wait—Harry?” and Malinra start to laugh.
Smiling faintly, he wandered up Diagon. It hadn’t quite gotten into the big pre-school shopping rush that ate up the last three weeks of August, according to Mrs. Figg’s complaints about buying charmed yarn, but it was still busy. He relaxed back into the flow of people in robes, carrying wands, chattering about quidditch and household charms and gnomes infesting their gardens and boggarts in the closets.
Harry’s old trunk he sold to a used goods store for ten galleons, half what he’d originally paid but not a terrible deal for how worn it was. He bought a new one for seventy. It was still secondhand but in good condition, and it had three compartments—one for books, writing utensils, and notebooks, one for potions ingredients and other magical supplies, and one for clothes and random things. The shopkeeper said it was a pretty standard student’s trunk, and showed him the featherlight feature that made it easier to carry. Harry just marked it as yet another thing that had been kept from him.
At Madam Malkin’s, he got a full wardrobe. All secondhand, and fitted with growth charms. The charms meant the robes wouldn’t last longer than three years before the fabric fell apart, but they’d resize to fit him all three years and save him money in the long run. Fully closed casual robes, one set of pajamas, trousers for under his school robes, a set of temperature- and growth-charmed boots like Griphook recommended, and a set of dress robes all together cost a hundred and twelve galleons. He was down a hundred and eighty-two and he’d only made two of his stops. Harry stifled a sigh.
Potions ingredients were easy. He just walked into Gaspirage’s Apothecary and asked for an extended level four kit, paid forty galleons, and walked out wincing. It was supposed to get a student through third and fourth years, but still.
Mr. Jigger wasn’t in the store, having left it to the care of a shop assistant, a manky-haired young man with a nasally voice who seemed to know the books like the back of his hand. Harry would lay all his remaining money on Ravenclaw.
He only had a few new schoolbooks this year, and found them easily. The hardest part of that stop was restricting himself to only an hour and a half if he wanted to clear everything else up on time to meet Longbottom. The best part was that, being a used bookstore, Mr. Jigger stocked a lot of old books. The old ones had escaped some of what Theo called “the Ministry’s oppressive censorship,” which Harry was pretty sure had been copied straight from his dad’s political rants. And the history books got overlooked a lot. There was really good information about the Dark Arts, curses, wards, and magic that you’d never find in practical magic books anymore. One book was from the fifteen hundreds, rattled threateningly when Harry turned the pages, and was thicker than his forearm. Worn letters on the cover spelled out An Introduction to Magicke. He bought it even though it was two whole galleons on its own, and the man working the shop looked at him weird but handed it over in a special protective case with a warning to never try and duplicate it.
Harry found a corner of the Alley and sat down to put all the books in the bookshelf section of his trunk. It was enlarged on the inside and the shelves fit cunningly together, expanding when you pulled them out or shifting around inside the trunk so you could search through them all without expanding them all the way. Some of these were going to be really useful for class this year. Or for if people called a duel challenge again.
At three o’clock on the dot, he was sitting outside Florean Fortescue’s, eating a single scoop of chocolate ice cream out of a bowl. Harry had a bit of a sweet tooth and he liked ice cream as much as the next boy, but he liked self-control more. He eyed the family at the next table over, both of whose children were stuffing themselves on ice cream concoctions that looked like they’d required a team of architects to make. They weren’t as bad as what he remembered as the Dursleys, not even close, but still. You’d never catch him eating something like that.
“—foolish sugary nonsense! No, Neville, how many times have I said, you’re already pudgy! Look at those children, do you want to end up like them?”
The family next to Harry all turned and stared at the speaker. Then again, Harry would never be so stupid as to make fun of someone else’s eating choices where they could hear him.
Then the name clicked and he sighed.
“You may get one scoop of a plain flavor,” the screechy voice continued. “In a bowl, no cones.”
Harry braced himself and made sure his mask was very secure. Pleasant, he told himself. Polite, charming, intelligent but not too much, a little shy, and above all, pleasant.
“Okay, Gran,” a quiet voice said.
Longbottom. The kid who’d been pretty fiery once you got him going, who’d actually had a spine and a good brain and plenty of power to spare once Harry got him to open up a little. Longbottom, who he eventually wanted.
Harry didn’t have friends in the usual sense, he’d be the first to admit that, but Theo was his and one day Longbottom would be, and loyalty went both ways.
Quickly, he slid his own half-empty bowl under the table and kicked it aside. It skittered out of sight. Then he stood up and turned around. “Neville? I thought I heard you! I was waiting to order until you got here. C’mon, I’ve never really been allowed ice cream, d’you want to split the Sugar Supreme? Oh, hi, sorry, you must be Lady Longbottom.”
The lady in question blinked at him. And, Merlin, no wonder Longbottom was cowed so easily, because this woman was six feet tall and wore a hat with a literal vulture perched on it. Not just any vulture but a Nigerian one, a magical breed known for extreme intelligence, magic-resistant feathers, and a tendency to pluck out people’s eyes for no real reason.
Also, he knew full well her title was Viscountess.
“I am indeed,” she said stiffly.
“A pleasure, ma’am.” Harry winced, then bowed low. “Heir Harry of House Potter. I’m sorry, I didn’t grow up around other nobles and I forget sometimes.”
“…it’s quite all right. The Sugar Supreme, you said?” Her thin lips twisted as she said it like she couldn’t believe the words Sugar Supreme actually came out of her mouth. “I’ll take care of it, and request two spoons. One moment, boys.”
Harry and Longbottom were left staring at each other.
“Anyway,” Harry said with a smirk, dropping the perfect schoolboy mask for a more mischievous one, “hi. How’s your summer been?”
“Good,” Longbottom said. He was doing the shoulders-curled-hands-in-pockets thing again. “Nott wrote me about the owl wards. Grandmother almost flipped when she saw I was talking to a Nott, until I convinced her he desperately needed my help with Transfiguration.”
“Heeyy,” Harry said, drawing it out. “Devious of you. I’m impressed.”
Longbottom blushed. “Yeah, well, now she thinks he must be stupid.”
“She’s wrong,” Harry said.
“I know Nott’s smart, he came to potions practice enough for—”
“No, Longbottom, she’s wrong about you,” Harry said, just as Viscountess Longbottom came back carrying a massive and horrifying sugary disaster. Her expression suggested it offended her just by existing. Privately, Harry agreed, but he would do a lot of things for spite, including sit down across from Longbottom and pretend to be a nice normal schoolboy for thirty agonizing minutes, choking down this ice cream mess and talking about summer homework. He only got through it by picturing Viscountess Longbottom pinned to a wall like Marcine’s cat that one time.
Which probably wasn’t healthy. But neither was this ice cream. Harry blamed her on both counts.
Viscountess Longbottom sat and stared at both of them the entire time. It was an identical stare to the one her stuffed vulture was giving them. Harry ignored the vulture a little easier than he did the woman.
Finally, Longbottom put the last scoop of ice cream in his mouth, and Harry could put down his spoon. “So,” Longbottom said, “where did you want to go first? I was thinking Scribblings, I need a new quill.”
“Let him decide, Neville,” Viscountess Longbottom said.
Harry smiled at her. “No, it’s fine, I don’t know Diagon all that well. I haven’t come here much. Safety reasons, I’m sure you understand, but it’s been so long. I was actually hoping Neville could show me around a little today…”
“Very well,” Viscountess Longbottom sighed. “Scribblings it is.”
Harry bit his lip, suddenly nervous. “I mean… I didn’t want… you to have to follow us.”
She peered at him. “Weren’t you worried about safety?”
Ugh. She was sharp. “It’s Diagon Alley,” Harry said. “And I’m in disguise. No one’s even recognized me. I just… don’t want to inconvenience anyone, ma’am, and my… guardians always complain about how fast young boys can move.” It wasn’t even a lie. The Sisters complained about keeping up with the kids on field trips all the time. “And… I don’t… that is, I’ve never… I got to make my first friends at Hogwarts.”
He cast his eyes down. Shy. Lonely. The Boy Who Lived reaching out to her grandson. Make her forget the Slytherin crest on his robes, the potential “danger”…
“Hm. I suppose you have a point.” Viscountess Longbottom frowned at them both. “But I expect you to be safe, and responsible, and don’t even look down Knockturn Alley!”
“Yes, Gran,” Longbottom said meekly.
The terrifying dragon lady cast one last angry look at their empty ice cream bowl and marched away. People instinctively cleared out of her path.
“She’s something,” one of the other family said.
Longbottom laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, she… can be.”
“So.” The mother eyed Harry. “You’re Harry Potter.”
He winked at her and held a finger to his lips. “Undercover.”
“Understood, sir,” she said, while her husband shushed their children. “Take care, Heir Longbottom and his friend whose face I definitely didn’t recognize.”
“Thank you,” Harry said with a seated half-bow. Then, as they began to pack up their things, he glanced at Longbottom. “What’s Knockturn Alley?”
“Oh. It’s, uh… like the Dark side of Diagon,” Longbottom said. “Apparently that’s where you go for… black market potions, cursed objects, Dark things, all that stuff.”
Harry snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s—what?”
“If you were an Auror and had a few days with no case to work, and you wanted to find someone doing something illegal, where would you go?” Harry said.
“Knockturn.”
“Exactly. No one doing anything actually illegal would go down there. I bet they have… junk shops with questionable items, fine, but no way is it that dark. I’ll bet you Diagon is just the fancy upper-class shopping district and Knockturn’s poorer and has more crime, so they just tell good little boys and girls stories about evil Dark wizards to keep you out of it.”
Longbottom’s eyes were wide. “…oh.”
“That said, I also bet you they have non-Ministry-censored books down there. I’ll have to check it out.”
“What?” Longbottom scrambled after him. “Like, now?”
“No, not now, I’m not a Gryffindor.” Harry peered at him. “Eventually. And I wouldn’t drag you down there if you didn’t want to go. Let’s go. Scribblings, you said?”
“Yeah, my quills are all pretty worn out, I need new ones before school starts up again.”
As they wandered away, Harry caught sight of Theo, lurking in a shop nearby. He held up a hand and mouthed five minutes. Theo nodded.
“Had any fun in your greenhouses this summer?” Harry said.
Longbottom perked up. The hands came out of his pockets, although his shoulders were still curled in on themselves. “Yeah, actually. Gran doesn’t like plants but Dad insists I keep the greenhouses, so she leaves me alone when I’m out there. I managed to crossbreed a Mimbulus mimbletonia with a Muggle cactus, and now I have giant Mimbulus mimbletonias. Not really sure what to do with them, but the properties of the sap seem kind of different.”
“Different how?”
Harry actually rather enjoyed listening to Longbottom chatter about his plants. It wasn’t Harry’s own area of expertise or even particular interest, but Longbottom was pretty sharp once he got going and Harry appreciated competent, passionate people. There weren’t enough of those in the world.
They wandered into Scribblings. Harry poked around the color-changing inks while Longbottom searched through quills. He tried not to be jealous that Longbottom went straight to the luxury shelf.
“Potter, which do you think?” Longbottom said, holding out two quills. One was from an eagle and one was from a snowy owl.
“They’re both pretty,” he said.
“Yeah…” Longbottom frowned. “The snowy owl one’s a little showy for me, though. Wait… d-don’t you have a snowy owl?”
“Yeah, Aoife,” Harry said.
Longbottom held out the white quill. “You should get this, then, it matches!”
“No, thanks,” Harry said.
“No, really, you should,” Longbottom said. “I don’t have an owl or I’d be getting one to match. Loads of people do it.”
Harry looked at the soft white quill. Four galleons. “I can’t afford it,” he said evenly. “Four galleons is a lot to spend on a quill when I have to count sickles for my textbooks.”
Longbottom’s eyes got really wide. “Oh. Right. I’m—s-sorry, I forgot…”
“You’re fine.” Harry half-smiled. “I have some cheap ones already, I’ve been in the Alley for a few hours. Go on, get the eagle one. It suits you.”
Two minutes later—
“Here.”
Harry looked up. “What?”
“Here.” Longbottom held out the box. It was shaking very slightly. “I… here.”
Slowly, Harry took the box and opened it. Inside was the white snowy owl quill.
“It’s a birthday—birthday g-gift,” Longbottom said. His shoulders started to bend again. “A little late, but—and also to thank you for the p-potions tutoring last year. I’d never have passed and…”
“I like it,” Harry said, carefully boxing up the quill again. “Thank you.”
The shoulders straightened out and Longbottom smiled.
“Harry! Hi, Longbottom.”
They both looked up as they left the store, Harry with a quickly hidden smirk and Longbottom with surprise.
“Nott,” he said. “Er, hi. Good summer?”
“So far, yeah.” Theo loped up and shook Longbottom’s hand, then grinned at Harry. “Good to see you, mate. Muggles not being too awful?”
“Tolerable,” Harry said. “They leave me alone and I return the favor.”
“Makes no sense,” Longbottom mumbled.
Harry had his theories. “Well, I have to live with it,” he sighed.
“Want to have lunch?” Theo suggested. “Or a late lunch, anyway. Longbottom, you kicked everyone’s arses in Herbology, d’you think you could explain why farthing flowers are so touchy?”
Longbottom blinked. “I… sure. We just ate ice cream, I dunno how hungry I am…”
“Something light, then,” Harry suggested. He really needed to thank Theo for the initiative later. “I saw a café over by Madam Malkin’s.”
“No, Gran goes there.” Longbottom looked at Theo.
“And you can’t be seen with a Nott.”
Longbottom blushed. “I… I don’t mind. You’ve been decent to me and that’s enough for me. But she’d flip.”
“I know one closer to Gringotts,” Theo said. “The goblins use it so loads of people avoid it.”
Harry laughed. “Lead on, then.”
A few goblins did give them weird looks when they sat in, but Harry offered a polite nod to the goblin cashier and acted like everything was totally normal as he ordered three teas and scones. Theo insisted on paying since it had been his idea. Harry accepted the small gift and sipped his tea while they talked plants. He’d done all his summer homework within two weeks, of course, but the conversation was still interesting.
“How about Transfiguration?” Theo said. “Harry, I know you probably finished that ages ago.”
“A few weeks, yeah.”
Longbottom made a face. “I did the theory bit, but…” He lowered his voice. “Our wards cancel out the Trace. I’ve been trying to do some of the second-year work but it’s not working too well…”
“Ooooh, so secretive,” Theo teased. “Most kids still living in their family seats do that, Longbottom, it’s not weird.”
“It’s not? But it’s illegal.”
Harry snorted. “Believe it or not, most people are actually happy to break the law if they think they can get away with it and they don’t have a moral issue with the action. I mean, the Trace doesn’t work in Diagon, either, because it picks up…” He looked around. “Well, right now, ours are all probably going haywire with that guy stirring his soup magically, those two wizards charming their plates… I dunno if it picks up goblin magic but if it does then that, too.”
“It doesn’t,” Theo said. “I asked Father once.”
“Lucky goblins,” Harry said. “Here, Longbottom, I can try and help you with some of the practical.”
Longbottom looked around. “Here? But… wouldn’t someone tell?”
Theo mimed pinching Floo powder. “Yes, hello, is this the Ministry? I’d like to report three boys in a café in Diagon turning their spoons into knitting needles.”
“…okay,” Longbottom said.
“Inanimatus mutabilis,” Theo said, tapping one of the spoons with his wand. It ended up like a lumpy knitting needle made of silver. He frowned.
Harry gave it a shot and got a knitting needle that looked brown but still felt like metal when he held it.
Longbottom blushed when they both looked at him. “I haven’t been able to get that one yet.”
“Give it a shot,” Harry said. “I told you I’d help, c’mon.”
“Okay… inanimatus mutabilis.”
The spoon shuddered but otherwise didn’t change. He blushed harder. Shoulders curling.
“Hey,” Harry said. “Transfiguration is a mental game. We use the same incantation for all inanimate-to-inanimate transfigurations, and we study the theory so we have a sense, here, of what steps the matter of the spoon has to go through to become the matter of a knitting needle, temporarily. You have to focus on the starting state, the changes, and the end goal all at once.”
“Easy,” Theo supplied.
Longbottom tried again. After four or five attempts, he could usually get a spoon made of wood, but that was it.
Harry steeled himself, reached across the table, and put a hand on Longbottom’s shoulder, ignoring Theo’s quickly hidden surprise. Last year, when Theo had grabbed his arm from behind, Harry had almost given him a dislocated shoulder. “Longbottom,” he said quietly. “Remember last year, when we first found that classroom for potions practice and you couldn’t cast the cleaning charm at first?”
“…yeah,” Longbottom said.
“You have to want it,” Harry said, tapping the half-transfigured spoon with his finger. “You have to mean it. And you have to believe it’ll work. You’re a wizard, you have magic, and it’s not going to abandon you at random.”
He took a deep breath. “Inanimatus mutabilis.”
With a twitch, the spoon turned into an almost-perfect wooden knitting needle.
Theo grinned. It was predatory for half a second before he got himself under control. “Hey, great job.”
“Thanks,” Longbottom said, still staring at the needle.
Harry went again. “Inanimatus mutabilis,” he said, and picked up a perfect needle. “Maybe I’ll buy yarn and take up knitting.”
“We should leave the cutlery here,” Longbottom said.
“Joking,” Harry said, canceling the transfiguration with a tap of his wand and a muttered “finite.”
They left the café half an hour later, when Longbottom admitted that he needed to meet his gran. Theo said goodbye and went to Flourish & Blotts for his books; Harry would meet him there.
“I wasn’t expecting to like him,” Longbottom said.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you would, either, to be honest.”
Longbottom shrugged. “He’s not very nice, but he’s fun. I get enough nice in Hufflepuff.”
Surprising even himself, Harry laughed. “Good point. Oh, hey, when you get your Potions stuff, ask for the extended level four kit. You’ll get a wider range of ingredients and better quality, too. Since it shows you know what you’re talking about.”
“Okay, I’ll do that,” Longbottom said. “And… I was thinking… I might… start using my own plants. This year.” Pause while he pretended not to be watching Harry. “What d’you think?”
“I think it’s a clever idea,” Harry said, honestly. “Fresher is always better and… I think, technically, potions is ritual magic, so it’ll probably go better with things you grew.”
“Wait,” Longbottom said. “Ritual magic is illegal.”
Harry frowned. “I don’t think it’s all illegal. It can’t be. It’s defined as using foci with magical properties, and optionally runes and incantations, to shape and channel latent magic along with your own. The only magic a caster puts into a ritual is the bit to keep it active and connect them to the world’s magic. That’s potions, right there. The foci are the magical plants. And it’s like in rituals, you can’t do magic in the Potions classroom without potentially messing up someone’s potion with magical contamination.”
“That’s so weird,” Longbottom said. “I thought all rituals were illegal. And, you know, Dark.”
Harry barely stopped himself from snorting. He hadn’t found any actual Dark Arts books yet so he couldn’t say for sure, but what he’d learned about the “Dark Arts” indirectly told him there wasn’t really much of a difference between a Dark spell and other magic except its effect. But it was a little early to start sharing those opinions with Neville Longbottom of all people. “Not all of it, I guess. There’s your gran.”
“Mr. Potter,” she said imperiously, stopping them in front of Flourish & Blotts. “Neville. I do hope you enjoyed yourselves.”
“Yes, thank you, ma’am,” Harry said, bowing.
“It’s a pleasure to see Neville making friends, you know. He never had many, was always too quiet.”
Harry’s smile started to hurt. “Being quiet’s not a bad thing.”
“No,” she agreed, “but children don’t like it. Neville, come along, we’ve got to go to the apothecary. Mr. Potter, good day.”
“Good day, Viscountess,” he said.
Bye, Longbottom mouthed, and Harry waved behind his gran’s back as they walked away.
Irritating overbearing old bat.
Theo, predictably, was in the bookstore’s dueling section. “Look at this,” he said in place of a greeting, showing Harry a book. “Dueling champion Tatiana Van Astor wrote a book on her techniques and career!”
“Fascinating.”
“Mudblood,” Theo muttered. “She’s the best duelist in the world. She beat Albus Dumbledore when they were twenty-six and twenty-nine in the European circuit. And her whole life she’s been notoriously secretive. This is huge.”
Harry raised his eyebrows. “All right, without sarcasm this time: Fascinating. Are you going to get it?”
“Absolutely,” Theo said. “She was my childhood hero.”
“Because she beat Dumbledore?” Harry suggested, smirking.
Theo laughed. “That was part of it. She’s also just badass.”
Harry left him to browse and find schoolbooks. Not being able to buy anything at Flourish & Blotts’ prices—usually between one and one and a half galleons per book—made it hard to enjoy being in here. He wandered around, poking through shelves of luxury folios that he didn’t need and so didn’t feel annoyed he couldn’t buy.
The doorbell chimed, and a large, loud group of people came into the store. Harry rolled his eyes and set down a leather folio. For Merlin’s sake, this wasn’t a library, but it also wasn’t a diner. People could at least try to be courteous.
“…still disappointed you two aren’t prefects this year…”
“Mum, we couldn’t be—”
“There’s two of us!”
A new voice, and a horribly familiar one. “Well, no one can tell you two apart, so maybe they’d just give you one badge and have you take turns.”
Weasleys. Of course.
“Mum, do we have to meet up with the Longbottoms later? Neville’s annoying.”
“Now, Ginny, dear, his parents are good friends of ours. Neville’s a nice boy, if a little quiet. No, Fred, you are not buying that—women shouldn’t duel—”
Harry turned around and spotted one of the Weasley Demons holding the same book Theo had picked up. “But Mum—”
“I said no, Fred.”
“I’m George.”
“Oh, sorry, George dear—”
“Only kidding, I am Fred,” the twin said.
The Weasley matriarch—Harry wasn’t totally sure of their rank—swatted her son on the shoulder and took off to shepherd the youngest two, Ronald from Harry’s year and the ginger-haired girl who’d whined about the Longbottoms. He looked back in time to see the twin slip the book behind his back to the other twin, who wandered off in the direction of the checkout counter with a perfectly innocent expression.
The first twin straightened and caught Harry looking. Harry winked and deliberately turned his attention to the nearest bookshelf.
There was a sudden shriek and a thump from the dueling section. Where he’d last seen Theo.
Dammit.
For a second Harry wanted to just leave and let Theo handle his own mess, but—loyalty went both ways. Anger at the world in general and Weasleys in particular made him almost stomp over.
“—gize to my daughter, young man!”
“I’m sorry, Viscountess Weasley, Miss Weasley,” Theo murmured. He had his back to a bookshelf and whether Viscountess Weasley knew it or not she had him totally cornered. The ginger girl clung to her mother’s robes. “I didn’t look where I was going. I didn’t mean to run into you, Miss Weasley.”
Viscountess Weasley huffed. “Youth these days, no respect. And we don’t hold with the noble titles anymore, young man. Trappings of a bygone age. What’s your name?”
“Viscountess Weasley?”
All three of their heads snapped up. The two Weasleys spun around. Past them, Harry briefly met Theo’s eyes. The relief there made him sure coming back here had been the right decision. Gratitude was such a powerful tool.
“Dear boy, are you noble as well?” Viscountess Weasley said. “We don’t hold with the old titles, there’s no need for all that formality.”
It was her pity that made Harry’s teeth ache. She seemed to think someone had come along and forced these manners on him, that it was some kind of hardship to honor the culture and traditions of his world. “My family does,” he said. It was even true, since he was the only Potter left. “I, ah… recognized you and—someone mentioned you were great friends of my parents.” Behind them, Theo started to edge towards a gap in the shelves. “Heir Harry of House Potter.” He bowed.
The girl’s eyes promptly grew to the size of saucers. She squeaked and dove behind her mother.
“Oh! Harry!” Viscountess Weasley fluttered her hands. “Dear boy, if I’d known—! You really must cast off those silly manners now, I insist. Family friends and all.”
Family friends his arse. She was old enough to be twice his mother’s age. Harry didn’t know if that was normal and magicals had kids later than Muggles—entirely possible since they lived longer—or if the Weasleys were the anomaly. Either way, he doubted they’d been more than friendly as new mothers involved in the same vigilante war.
“Okay, Mrs. Weasley,” he said with a shy smile.
Theo disappeared.
“It’s so lovely to meet you, Harry dear!” She bustled forward, arms outstretched.
Oh no. Oh crap.
Harry had a half a second after realizing what was about to happen to brace himself. Then Mrs. Weasley was pulling him forward into a hug and it took all his self-control to not blast her into a wall.
Somehow he didn’t think that would go over well.
“Mum?”
He never thought he’d be grateful to hear Ronald Weasley’s voice. Mrs. Weasley broke away. “Yes, dear?”
“Who’s—oh. Potter.”
“Weasley,” Harry said pleasantly. He almost slipped up and said Weasel, but the mother was right there and anyway that was Malfoy’s joke.
Mrs. Weasley looked between them. “Ron, be polite!”
Weasley turned red.
“Harry, would you like to come finish your shopping with us?” Mrs. Weasley said. “Ron and Ginny still need new robes, Ron probably needs a whole new wardrobe with how much he’s growing, and then it’s our family tradition to let children pick out a pet before their first year…”
Harry imagined walking into the pet store and talking to the snakes. If he picked a big scary one he might get lucky and give Mrs. Weasley a stroke. “No, thank you, I just wanted to say hello. My guardians are expecting me back home soon,” he said.
“Another time, then, I insist.” She beamed at him. “Have a lovely day, dear.”
“Thanks, you too.”
He turned a corner and his eyes landed on a book of prank spells. Harry stopped dead.
I shouldn’t… But he was already picking up the book and looking for a decent spell. He slowly started to smile when he found one.
Carefully, Harry took aim at Weasley from between two bookshelves and whispered a quick incantation.
For a few seconds he thought it hadn’t worked. Then Weasley suddenly twitched. Rubbed at his hip.
Mrs. Weasley broke off her stream of chatter to the girl. “Ron, what is it? Stop fidgeting!”
“It’s—um—my…” Weasley’s face went white and his legs clamped together. “Is there a—bathroom?”
“Oh, yes, right back there around the corner,” Mrs. Weasley said, pointing the direction Theo had gone. Weasley booked it.
Harry snickered.
“Mum, was that really Harry Potter?” the girl said.
“Yes, Ginny. The poor dear, he’s never seen out in public, I do wonder where he’s lived all this time…”
“But his hair wasn’t black! And he didn’t have the eyes!”
“I imagine he’s in disguise.”
The Weaslette frowned. “But I wanted to see his eyes.”
“You’ll see them in school this year, I’m sure,” Mrs. Weasley said briskly.
“Not unless I’m in Slytherin,” little Weasley said petulantly.
Mrs. Weasley’s lips thinned. “You most certainly will not be in Slytherin, not if I know you at all. And why would that help you see him more?”
“Didn’t you read Ron’s letters last fall?”
“I was busy with the charity auction, I didn’t close read them.”
“Oh.” Ginny sighed. “Harry’s in Slytherin.”
“He is?” Mrs. Weasley stopped dead halfway down the aisle and stared at her daughter. Neither of them noticed Harry spying from the next one over. “He… but… the Potters… and the Boy Who Lived… I…”
“Yeah, Ron said everyone was pretty shocked. You should ask him about it.” Weaslette sighed again.
Harry stifled a laugh. The little redhead had a crush on him. Hilarious.
Mrs. Weasley shook off her shock. “Well. I wonder what Albus thinks… and how the boy’s doing, I imagine those snakes are making his life miserable… I’m surprised the poor dear survived his first year, frankly. Let’s go find Percy and your father and buy your books.”
Harry rolled his eyes, turned around, and walked right into someone.
“Well, hello there, ickle snake,” said one of the Weasley Demons.
“Fancy seeing you here,” said the other one.
“It’s not that odd,” Harry drawled. “We do all need to collect our school supplies.”
“This counts as—”
“School supplies?” the second twin finished, holding up the prank book Harry had just referenced.
He pasted on an exaggerated innocent face. “To you two, I’m sure it does.”
They laughed in unison. It was creepy. “See you at school—”
“—ickle snake.”
Harry was still standing there, alone, when Theo found him five minutes later. “Appreciate the rescue,” he said. “You okay?”
“…I think the Weasley Demons just decided to be interested in me,” Harry said.
Theo paled. “Only you.”
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