The morning of his last day sees him collecting shampoo, conditioner, soap, and a magical shaving kit “just in case” from an apothecary. Then Harry looks down at his blue robe and realizes he’s been wearing the same two outer robes for two weeks now. “What d’you think, Bear, could I get more robes? It’s not me being greedy, right? I mean… people can’t just wear the same two outfits all the time. Two barks if I should go get more.”
Bear barks twice.
Portia is delighted to see him back. Harry’s gotten used to the freedom of closed robes with the lightweight shirt and hose underneath, and two weeks of seeing wizards and witches both wearing closed robes has convinced him it’s not at all girly to wear what a Muggle would say looks like a dress. When he tells Portia about a robe he saw a wizard wearing at Gusteau’s that faded between different colors, she shows him a fabric in a gradient between yellow at the hem, green in the middle, and blue across the arms and shoulders. Harry decides to get a robe in that fabric and another in solid hunter green with yellow trim around the hems, cuffs, and row of buttons up the front. All the robes have a bit of a high collar but that one actually stands upright around his neck in a band of yellow. It’s only an inch tall and not at all constricting. Both fabrics are a medium weight, which is good because he wants to wear them year round.
Also, Portia finally convinces him to get a hat. It’s dark green—“It brings out your eyes!”—and Harry only agrees because, like the robes, he’s seen plenty of people wearing hats in all kinds of wild styles. A pointy green hat is pretty tame, really.
He still won’t be wearing his black one to classes. Literally no one does.
“Okay, please go see an optometrist, I can’t stand you squinting if you come back,” Portia says as she shoos him out the door. “There’s one just a few doors down. Please.”
“Fine, fine.”
An eye exam and new glasses costs him twenty galleons but it’s so worth it. Harry loves his new rectangular metal frames—black with bits of gold at the corners—and even more, he loves being able to see. He never knew just how bad his eyes are until now.
No one’s going to beat him to the snitch now, he’s sure of it.
With a longing glance at the brand-new and probably exorbitantly priced Firebolt proudly displayed outside Quality Quidditch Supplies, Harry heads back.
Harry’s wearing his yellow-green-blue robe, blue shoes, and the hat, and carrying his purchases in the brown backpack, when he passes Florean Fortescue’s and stops dead. There, sitting under an umbrella, are Ron and Hermione. Ron seems to have sprouted even more freckles than last year, and Hermione has a deep brown tan.
Something in Harry’s stomach twists at the sight of them. Both his best friends, here, and they hadn’t even written back to let him know?
He shakes it off. Surely it was just an accident.
Not wanting to cause a scene, Harry worms his way through the tables until he’s right next to them. “Hi, guys.”
“HARRY!” Hermione shrieks, jumping up to hug him. Bollocks. Harry can see people staring.
“Just announce it to the whole Alley, why don’t you,” he said, “I’ve been doing great at going unrecognized…”
“Good to see you, mate,” Ron says, but his eyes are locked on Harry’s robe.
Hermione leans back and looks him over. “Harry, you went shopping? You should be frugal, this looks expensive!”
“It’s fine,” Harry said, pulling away. “I can’t just keep wearing my cousin’s worn out clothes, can I, they’re all four sizes bigger than I’ll ever be…”
“That’s true,” Hermione says. “It’s very… yellow.”
Harry takes a seat. “Look around, Hermione, wizards wear tons of colors.”
“Yes, but it’s rather garish, isn’t it? I prefer black. Or just Muggle clothes, really. You didn’t spend too much money, did you?”
If only she knew. “No, I was careful,” Harry assures her.
Ron’s got a funny look on his face. “Say, did you see that new Firebolt? Sweet, right?”
“It’s awesome,” Harry says. “I wouldn’t buy it, though, my Nimbus is good enough for me.”
“One day,” Ron says, “one day I’ll play for the Cannons and ride a Firebolt…”
Slightly uncomfortable, Harry casts around for a change of subject and lands wildly on classes. “Oh, Hermione, I was going to tell you, I decided to take Ancient Runes this year!”
Instead of being excited, Hermione just looks a bit worried. “That’s great, Harry… but…”
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing, just… it’s a very difficult class, or so I’ve heard, and… are you sure you can keep up? I don’t–I don’t mean any insult, but your marks aren’t always the best…”
Ron shakes himself out of his quidditch daydreams. “What’s that, you’re taking Runes? I thought we were doing classes together!”
“We are! I’m still taking Care and Divination. I read that runes are involved in divination sometimes and I started looking into it, and it seemed really interesting, so I wrote McGonagall.”
“But you won’t have as much free time!” Ron says, dismayed.
“I’ll still have some… you’ll see, Ron, it’ll be fine.”
Ron doesn’t look convinced, and Hermione’s lips are still pursed.
“Harry, did you really blow up your aunt?” Hermione says suddenly.
“Oh–yeah. It was an accident…”
Ron roars with laughter.
“It isn’t funny, Ron!” Hermione snaps. “Honestly, you could have been expelled!”
“I thought I was going to be,” Harry admits.
“Oi, buck up, at least it turned out all right,” Ron says, leaning across the table to punch him in the shoulder. “And we’re all staying at the Leaky tonight too, you can come to the station with us tomorrow!”
“My parents dropped me off with all my things,” Hermione adds.
Ron pulls out a long, thin box. “Look—I got a brand-new wand! Fourteen inches, willow, with one unicorn tail hair. And how about that Monster Book of Monsters, huh?”
“Stroke it,” Harry says.
Ron blinks at him. “What?”
“You stroke it. Here.” Harry digs in the Flourish & Blotts bag under Ron’s chair and finds a copy of the Monster Book, snarling from inside a prison of knotted twine. Harry gently runs his fingers over its furry cover and spine, and just like his own copy, which he will never tell anyone he named Ruby, it goes completely docile in his arms.
“Wicked! How’d you figure that out?” Ron says, grabbing it back. Hermione, predictably, is already diving in her book bag.
“Well, I felt sort of bad for it, and I petted it, and—Hermione, what is all that?” She’s got not one but three bulging bags jammed under her chair. In the one that’s open, Harry can see the books for Runes, as well as Arithmantic Formulae and something else with numbers on the cover.
In fairness, he’s bought at least half again as many books as that this summer, but not all at once.
“I’m taking more classes than you, aren’t I? I’ve got the books for Arithmancy and Muggle Studies as well as Care, Divination, and Ancient Runes.”
“What’re you doing Muggle Studies for? Merlin, Hermione, you’re a Muggleborn! You already know all about Muggles!” Ron rolls his eyes at Harry.
"But it'll be fascinating to study them from the wizarding point of view," says Hermione earnestly.
"Are you planning to eat or sleep at all this year, Hermione?" asks Harry, while Ron sniggers. Hermione ignores them.
"I've still got ten Galleons," she says, checking her purse. "It's my birthday in September, and Mum and Dad gave me some money to get myself an early birthday present."
"How about a nice book?” says Ron innocently.
"No, I don't think so," says Hermione stiffly. "I really want an owl. I mean, Harry's got Hedwig and you've got Errol—"
"I haven't," says Ron. "Errol's a family owl. All I've got is Scabbers." He pulls his pet rat out of his pocket. "And I want to get him checked over," he adds, placing Scabbers on the table in front of them. "I don't think Egypt agreed with him."
Scabbers is looking thinner than Harry remembers, and there’s a definite droop to his whiskers.
"There's a magical creature shop just over there," says Harry, who knows Diagon Alley very well by now. "You could see if they've got anything for Scabbers, and Hermione can get her owl."
The Magical Menagerie is very crowded inside. Every inch of wall is hidden by cages. It’s smelly and quite noisy because the occupants of these cages were all squeaking, squawking, jabbering, or hissing. The witch behind the counter is already advising a wizard on the care of double-ended newts. Ron wanders over to the rat treats, while Hermione examines the owls roosting near the ceiling with a critical eye. Harry decides to just wander.
A pair of enormous purple toads sit gulping wetly and feasting on dead blowflies. A gigantic tortoise with a jewel-encrusted shell is glittering near the window. Poisonous orange snails ooze slowly up the side of their glass tank, and a fat white rabbit in a cage keeps changing into a silk top hat and back again with a loud popping noise, looking surprised every time. There are cats of every color, a noisy cage of ravens, a basket of funny custard-colored furballs that hums loudly, and on the counter, a vast cage of sleek black rats playing some sort of skipping game using their long, bald tails.
And, of course, there’s the snakes.
Harry hesitates, checking on Ron and Hermione. Hermione seems to be considering a raven instead of an owl and Ron is holding Scabbers up to the display of rat treats as if hoping he’ll pick one out. They’re distracted, so Harry skulks over to the wall of dimly lit terrariums next to the section for frogs and toads.
As he approaches, he can hear the hissing morph into words.
“...never had a mouse that fat…”
“Too cold, two-legger bring warmth…”
“...hungry… want beetles…”
“Hello,” Harry hisses softly, and they all get very excited “A speaker!” several of them cry out.
“Long time no speaker come!”
“Speaker give water?”
“Do you like it here?” Harry asks, examining them. The snakes vary in size from shorter than a pencil to longer than a sofa, although there’s only one that size and it’s ignoring Harry entirely from its enormous and magically expanded terrarium close to the floor.
“Like it here!”
“Warm!”
“Free food…”
“Hungry!”
Harry grins. People would be a lot less scared of parseltongue if they knew snakes mostly talked about sun, sunbathing, and food.
Which reminds him, he needs to read that book on parselmouths. He’s been so busy exploring, studying his classes, and practicing magic that he completely forgot.
Part of him wants to get one, but he’s already got Hedwig and Bear. Also, if he turns up with a snake, his roommates will start an Inquisition complete with fiery torches courtesy of Seamus Finnegan.
The double-ended newt wizard leaves in a huff, and Ron approaches the counter. Harry follows him over.
"It's my rat," Ron tells the witch. "He’d been a bit off-color ever since I brought him back from Egypt."
"Bang him on the counter," says the witch, pulling a pair of heavy black spectacles out of her pocket. Harry admires her bright pink robe; it has subtle embroidery of butterflies in a darker pink so that when she moves it looks like they’re flying.
Ron lifts Scabbers out of his inside pocket and places him next to the cage of his fellow rats, who stop their skipping tricks and scuffle to the wire for a better look.
Like nearly everything Ron owns, Scabbers the rat is secondhand (he once belonged to Ron's brother Percy) and a bit battered. Next to the glossy rats in the cage, he looks especially woebegone.
"Hmm," says the witch, picking up Scabbers. "How old is this rat?"
"Dunno," says Ron. "Quite old. He used to belong to my brother."
"What powers does he have?" says the witch, examining Scabbers closely.
Ron flushes. "Er–"
Harry’s never seen Scabbers exhibit anything resembling powers. He just sort of… exists.
The witch’s eyes move from Scabbers' tattered left ear to his front paw, which has a toe missing. "He's been through the mill, this one.”
"He was like that when Percy gave him to me," says Ron defensively.
"An ordinary common or garden rat like this can't be expected to live longer than three years or so," says the witch. "Now, if you were looking for something a bit more hard-wearing, you might like one of these—"
She points at the black rats, who promptly start skipping again. Ron mutters, "Show-offs."
"Well, if you don't want a replacement, you can try this rat tonic," says the witch, reaching under the counter and bringing out a small red bottle.
"Okay," says Ron. "How much – OUCH!"
Ron buckles as something huge and orange comes soaring from the top of the highest shelf behind the counter, lands on his head, and then propels itself, spitting madly, at Scabbers.
"NO, CROOKSHANKS, NO!" cries the witch, but Scabbers shoots from between her hands like a bar of soap, lands splay-legged on the floor, and then bolts for the door.
"Scabbers!" Ron shouts, racing out of the shop after him; Harry follows while trying not to laugh.
It takes them nearly ten minutes to catch Scabbers, who took refuge under a wastepaper bin outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. Ron stuffs the trembling rat back into his pocket and straightens up, massaging his head.
"What was that?"
"It was either a very big cat or quite a small tiger," says Harry.
"Where's Hermione?"
"Probably getting her owl?”
They make their way back up the crowded street to the Magical Menagerie.
As they reach it, Hermione comes out, but she isn’t carrying an owl. Her arms are clamped tightly around the enormous ginger cat.
"You bought that monster?" says Ron, his mouth hanging open.
"He's gorgeous, isn't he?" says Hermione, glowing.
That’s a matter of opinion, thinks Harry. The cat's ginger fur is thick and fluffy, but it’s definitely a bit bowlegged and its face looks grumpy and oddly squashed, as though it ran headlong into a brick wall when it was small. Now that Scabbers is out of sight, however, the cat is purring contentedly in Hermione's arms.
"Hermione, that thing nearly scalped me!" says Ron.
"He didn't mean to, did you, Crookshanks?" coos Hermione.
"And what about Scabbers?" says Ron, pointing at the lump in his chest pocket. "He needs rest and relaxation! How's he going to get it with that thing around?"
"That reminds me, you forgot your rat tonic," says Hermione, slapping the small red bottle into Ron's hand. "And stop worrying, Crookshanks will be sleeping in my dormitory and Scabbers in yours, what's the problem? Poor Crookshanks, that witch said he'd been in there for ages; no one wanted him."
"Wonder why," says Ron sarcastically as they set off toward the Leaky Cauldron.
Harry’s definitely staying out of this.
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