Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of the content of J.K Rowling's books, but I do own all of my OC's, the plot of this fanfiction, some spells, some wizarding merchandise, Wax and Paper Dolls Ltd, and the possibility for random plot twists.
Pairings: HP/DM and HG/RW, maybe others later (who knows.) NO. Ginny/Harry. AT. ALL.
Warnings (this chapter): Harry being ooc (and maybe a bit of a douche to Draco), bad gramma and vomit. (don't ask.)
A/N: Greetings my ever patient readers! Another chapter is on the way, I promise! But as you have probably already figured out, I'm a slow writer, so please bear with me. I'm trying my hardest to write more quickly, but I don't have a beta writer and frankly I'm a bit OCD when It comes to my stories, so it takes me ages to edit them.
This chapter is a bit of a filler, but you get to see Draco for the first time, so I'm sure you'll forgive me. :)
Thanky thanky thankyou so much! To:
KKMayfield – for not only adding me to your Favourite stories and Author alert, but also commenting! (wow, I never thought anyone would do all that for me in one go…thanks!)
Kaseytrue – for adding this story to your favourites!
Japhu – for the Author Alert! (Just because you were the first to do so, I'll try and write another story so that you have something else to read.)
Bookivore – for yourwell thought comment.
Gylbane () – *blush* Really? Well don't worry, there is plenty more to come. Thanks to your comment I feel all smiley inside. :)
And to:
thedemonwithin2, Ravenpuff, .ghostie, Discombobulatedperson, Kynnetic, ashBVB and RRW for the Story alerts!
This is a songfic, so the theme song for this chapter is "Freedom '90" by George Michael (I feel a little embarrassed about this… but it was the only song I could think of that sorta fit…)
On with the story!
Living in Tomorrow
Chapter 3
Seeing with new eyes
From within the shadows, a pair of curious grey eyes watched a procession of four red heads and a tall, dark haired boy walk past the apothecary to join the throng of midmorning shoppers. At the sight of the boy, Draco Malfoy narrowed his eyes and an angry sneer spread across his face in recognition.
"Potter?" he whispered, almost spitting the words out of spite.
It can't be…Potter wears those ugly glasses; he can't even see two inches in front of his nose without them. Malfoy thought, looking carefully at each of the group members in turn, studying their features.
That's the weasel and weaslette, and there's their godforsaken mother, the stupid woman… His eyes widened in surprise when he spied Hermione's burgundy tresses.
Is that Granger? I didn't take her as the rebellious type…I suppose she thinks she's all high and mighty now she's fought Death Eaters…yes; that must be Potter; he never goes anywhere without his good for nothing little friends…
Malfoy frowned; Potter was laughing at something the weaslette had said, grinning and looking almost odd without his glasses to cover his unnaturally green eyes. At this, a bitter, repulsed feeling burned in his chest at the sight of them, all happy and without a care in the world.
You don't deserve it Potter, He thought sullenly, turning away to follow his mother into the dark interior of a crowded shop.
None of you do…
~~~~X~~~~
"Harry, stop looking at us like we've got maggots coming out of our noses." Hermione scolded, making Ginny chuckle as she poked Harry's face away from her for the third time.
"I thought with contacts you wouldn't have to get closer to things to see."
Harry flushed in embarrassment; he couldn't deny that his vision had improved, but it just felt so strange, that he couldn't help starring at, well, everything.
"I know, I know. I guess I just have to break them in a bit." Changing the subject, he smiled at Ginny.
"So, where are you going first?"
Ginny rolled her eyes at him, and said in a suffering voice "Mum wants to take me shopping for clothes and girl junk, though I have no idea why; I've already talked to her about how I don't like all that girly stuff, but she's determined for some reason. Maybe she thinks if she doesn't do something about it, I'll turn into some man hating feminist or something."
"Aren't you a man hating feminist, Ginny?" Ron asked in fake surprise. "I had no idea!"
His question was quickly answered when Ginny stuck her leg out and made him crash into an elderly witch who'd been passing by, but otherwise ignored him.
She gave a disparaging look at Harry, as if asking for help. "Any ideas?"
"What? About how to change her mind? Sorry Gin, but I don't think I'd succeed any better than you." Harry grinned; he could just imagine what Ginny was about to undergo at the hands of Mrs Weasley; she would be merciless. Pure torture.
Ginny sighed "Will you at least go with me?"
Harry gaped at her "Me? Go shopping? You must be joking?"
"Actually Harry…that might be a good idea…" Hermione said slyly, coming into the conversation.
Harry narrowed his eyes; he could tell when something was up, even if he didn't know what…yet. "And why exactly do you think so?"
"Oh, just thinking that, considering this year we have to donate all our old clothes to the school, and yours really are not the right size for you," she said innocently, an evil gleam in her eye, "we might get you some new ones."
Ginny nodded in agreement, catching on quickly. Harry swallowed, feeling apprehensive. "And…what exactly do you mean by 'get me some new ones'…?" he said slowly, playing for time. He didn't like the mischievous look the two young witches were giving him at all. Unfortunately, he found out what they meant, quiet soon.
~~~~X~~~~
"Where's Harry? I haven't seen him for a while." Ron asked, looking around as he, Hermione and Ginny stepped into Madam Malkin's an hour later.
"No idea." Ginny lied, smiling gleefully, as she pointedly looked away from Ron's worried face.
"Hermione?"
"Nope, haven't got a clue." Hermione seemed to be enjoying this. "Maybe he went with Molly to help her carry the shopping." she suggested, trying to suppress her giggles.
The truth was, ever since Harry's birthday party the previous week, Mrs Weasley and Hermione had been itching to dispose of all of Harry's baggy, faded, worn-out, second-hand clothing, and replace them. Merlin knew he needed it.
So, Harry's current location –however unwilling he was to be there– was a dressing room at the back of a neighbouring clothing store entitled 'Wax and Paper Dolls Ltd' with Mrs Weasley, sorting through a wide variety of wizard's robes and muggle style clothing Harry would never have dreamed existed.
"Harry dear, how about this one?"
"Um, no thanks Mrs Weasley…"
"Okay, this one?"
"No."
"What about this one? It matches your eyes."
"No!"
Harry tried his best to be polite, but most of the clothes she was handing him looked thirty or forty years out of date; one very memorable ensemble had been a fluoro green, open necked shirt, with the words 'I Like to Party' written in big bold letters across the chest, which he had rejected with a look of horror on his face the moment he laid eyes on it.
Later though, he found that Mrs Weasley really couldn't be held responsible for picking such a flamboyant shirt, because when Harry found the cupboard she had picked it up from, he saw that stuck to the back of one of the doors, there was a small sign reading:
Gender distinguishable tops – Shirt slogans may only be read by owner and members of the same sex.
After about three more clothing incidents with Mrs Weasley, all of which included some sort of oversight of the magical aspects of each piece of clothing – such as a pair of shoes that screamed at Harry until he put a fresh pair of socks on – Harry began to realise that Mrs Weasley had never set foot in a shop like this before that day.
He had began internally damning Hermione and Ginny to a life of pain and suffering the very moment he had managed to free himself from a pair of navy blue socks Mrs Weasley had gave him, that had tried to wax his legs. He had to say something.
"Um, Mrs Weasley, can I maybe choose something for myself?" Harry hastily asked. Looking a little surprised at him, but smiling nonetheless, Mrs Weasley agreed.
Harry had never been clothes shopping before –unless you counted the times when he'd bought his school robes at Madam Malkin's, and when he'd been to a big department store with aunt Petunia and been forced to carry everything, while Dudley ate ice cream and laugh at him– so this whole ordeal was quite new to him, and a little perplexing.
Granted, he could do with some new clothes. Wearing Dudley's oversized, unflattering clothing his entire life hadn't exactly allowed him to develop his own style, and considering that he had no other choice but to pick something – unless he wanted to end up going to Hogwarts with an empty trunk – he may as well pick something he liked.
Despite how small the shop was, it was crammed full of overcrowded shelves and cabinets that looked ready to burst open, stocked with every kind of garment you could ever think of; banana yellow robes trimmed in silk; tall witches hats that grew or shrunk to fit the wearers head; festoons of oddly patterned gloves hung from the ceiling; a pair of artfully ripped, maroon trousers that would've made Ron blush; quite a few odd objects that Harry had already had the misfortune of trying on, and countless T-shirts with different messages emblazed on each.
Looking at these, Harry considered, that most of them would have probably gotten him detention if he was ever seen wearing one, such as one he had found stuffed inside a barrel of contrasting items marked down for a galleon, that said:
Eye of newt and toe of frog…screw the love potion, give us a snog.
Now and then, as Harry searched for something plain and remotely discrete that wouldn't try to strangle and/or greatly embarrass him, Mrs Weasley would make suggestions and small talk, like:
"Don't you think red would be too dull for the weekend?"
Or
"With all this rain we've been having, most of the shops have been selling winter clothing instead of the usual summer robes; it's a nightmare trying to find Arthur temperature regulating ones that don't feel like a furnace." Most of which he didn't pay much attention to, only nodding occasionally if he was asked his opinion.
Instead, Harry thought about what the others could be doing, like if Ron had been subjected to the same torture as himself, or if he was completely oblivious to the fact that his best mate had been kidnapped, and now and then he absently peering at the other occupants of the shop; there really was quite an obscure group of people present.
There was a well dressed dwarf, shovelling gold onto the counter as he placed a large order for over seventy tailored, beige and white tailcoats in varying sizes; an Indian sorceress levitating a stack of vibrantly coloured, spangled shawls into a dressing room; a monk dressed all in mauve, who was humming tunelessly while playing with a screaming yo-yo; and a pale, blonde boy, in a far corner, dressed all in black, who was holding up a light blue, muggle dress shirt with a look of uncertainty on his face.
Harry turned back to the shelves, about to answer Mrs Weasley's question about shirt sizes, when he did a double take.
"Malfoy?" Harry said loudly, making Malfoy jump and drop the shirt he'd been holding, to turn and snarl in Harry's direction.
"What do you want Potter?" he spat, loathing evident on his face. Taken aback at the intensity of Malfoy's glare, Harry couldn't think of what to say.
"Urm–"
"Well spit it out, or leave me alone; I have much better things to be doing than talking to you!" Beginning to get irritated, Harry remembered why he had bothered to announce his presence to Malfoy in the first place.
"What are you doing? Here, I mean." Harry thought it bizarre for Malfoy to even be in the shop; for one, the fact that most of these clothes tried to eat you would be irrelevant to Malfoy in comparison to the fact the owners were muggle born wizards, and for another, most of their selection was either of muggle design, or to be putting it lightly, quiet outlandish.
Malfoy seemed to realise this, and flushed slightly as he tried to compose himself.
"It is none of your business where I go Potter. Remember to keep that in mind, or you may find yourself without a nose the next time you decide to stick it in my affairs." Malfoy turned away, about to leave.
Harry glared; who did Malfoy think he was? So in a sarcastic voice, Harry said to no one in particular, "Hmm, it seems that the ponce wants to shop alone. Who knew that the git had a thing for muggle stuff?"
Malfoy twitched but did not turn around. Seeing this, Harry continued.
"Wonder what his father would say if he saw him now? Probably disown him here on the spot."
Now, Harry knew that was low, but oh how he hoped that one stung. And as expected, as soon as the words left his lips, Malfoy spun around to face Harry, his usual sneer nowhere in sight, to be replaced instead by an expression of incensed fury.
"Shut up Potter! How dare you even speak to me about my father!" he spat "You have no right!"
"Well, considering that he's a spineless coward, who got chucked in Azkaban because he works for a madman like Voldemort, I think I do have that right." Harry snapped back. He wasn't even sure why he was suddenly so ticked off. Malfoy hadn't even tried to get a rise out of him, yet Harry felt the moment Malfoy had spoken to him, he deserved a little ridicule somehow.
Malfoy flinched at the name, but didn't back down; continuing to snarl, he took a step closer. "He didn't deserve to go to Azkaban Potter!"
"Yes he did! All of them did and you know it! Voldemort gave them orders, and they followed them blindly! Heck I doubt a single one of them didn't enjoy it, trying to torture and kill everybody!"
Harry was seething now. At first he'd just wanted Malfoy to know what a prick he was, but now all Harry could think of was how much he hated him. Malfoy, his father, every stinking relative he had, because the way he saw it, Malfoy didn't give a rat's arse what had happened at the ministry last summer, or the fact that people were dying for no good reason, or that Sirius…
"Drop dead Potter! Do us all a favour!" Malfoy yelled, making the glass in the window begin to rattle.
"Oh, I'm sorry! Is my 'caring-what-happens-to-my-friends' cramping your style?" Harry bellowed back sarcastically, "Well, excuse me!"
Mrs Weasley and the other occupants of the shop looked a bit frightened, but didn't intervene; this would probably end badly with or without their help.
"Potter, do you have any idea what you're even saying?" Malfoy growled, looking at him as if to burn holes.
"You always think you're so big; the bloody hero, but you know what? You're not! All you are is some who needlessly comes to the so-called rescue, then tears people's lives apart, and then you say that whatever you've done is not your fault and for the greater good! And everyone is stupid enough to believe you!" And with that, Malfoy stormed from the store, leaving a stunned silence behind him.
~~~~X~~~~
Harry wasn't quite sure what had just happened, but for the rest of the hour that he spent in the shop, no one spoke. Mrs Weasley would just pick up things that she liked, and would show Harry wordlessly, and he would nod or shake his head depending if it looked dangerous or if he liked it or not. And by the time they left to meet the others, Harry realised what feeling had been nagging at the back his mind since Malfoy had left the shop; shame…
Get a grip Harry. Why should you feel guilty? The stupid prat deserved that…Harry thought stubbornly, as he stepped out onto the bustling road outside of Wax and Paper Dolls Ltd.
And what was with all that 'tears people's lives apart' rubbish? Doesn't he get that if the death eaters didn't exist, then none of this would have happened? Still scowling when they walked into Flourish and Blotts, Harry didn't notice at first that someone was calling his name.
"Harry! Harry!"
He looked up, and spotted someone waving madly at him from the counter with a big grin on his face. "Harry, it's me! Oh it's great to see you! Where are your glasses?" it was Colin Creevey.
Sighing heavily, harry smiled and walked over to him, silently hoping that if he did, Colin would stop making a scene. But it seemed it only made it worse.
"Wow! You look really different Harry! How was your holiday? Was it good? Bad? Did you just get contacts? Oh, but I guess in the wizarding world you'd just use some kind of charm thingy to fix your eyes, right?"
"Hello Colin." Harry greeted quietly, vaguely noticing that quite a few people where staring at them.
"In answer to your questions, Hermione has my glasses, yes I do look different, my holiday was fine, and yes, I got contacts." Harry reeled off as he looked around, trying to spot said Hermione and the others.
"Harry, guess what?"
"What?" Harry really wanted to get this over with; he really wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone at the moment since his fight with Malfoy, and he'd just spotted a mane of unnaturally red hair disappear into the divination section.
Looking back to Colin, Harry saw that the boy looked ecstatic as he whispered loudly, "You are now looking at the newest trainee photographer...for the Daily Profit!"
"Oh." Harry said, not sure how to react to this. "Oh, well, congratulations Colin." Colin beamed. Harry smiled back politely, but somehow felt a little undecided how he felt about this piece of news; with Colin working at the Daily profit, there was a slight chance that they might stop printing such derogative rubbish about him, though on the other hand, there was also the possibility that Colin would make things ten times worse.
For the next ten minutes, Harry smiled and nodded when needed, declined twice Colin's offer to make Harry his first client as a professional photographer, and was trying to convince Colin that he really needed to go find Ron and Hermione when, much to his relief, Ron came and rescued him.
"Harry, where have you been? Hermione wouldn't tell me anything! Oh, hi Colin. Good summer? Anyway, you won't believe what Hermione's been saying; she can't be serious about you taking divination can she?"
Letting Ron steer him away from a slightly taken aback Colin, Harry noticed that the younger boy had gone red, which Harry found ratter odd, but dismissed it. Walking into the shadow of a large stack of books entitled 'A History of Time', Ron said "So, what happened?"
Harry told him. He wasn't quite sure if he should tell Ron for some reason, but Ron's incredulous look was well worth it.
"They actually have shops like that in Diagon alley? And Malfoy was shopping there?" Ron asked, dumbstruck.
Harry nodded, chuckling. "I don't even think what I tried on was the worst of it. If they weren't having a clearout sale, I'm sure there would have been twice as many things that could have dismembered me."
"What are you on about?" Ron asked.
"Oh, well you know. They could have had fire breathing galoshes or something worse like–"
"Not that Harry. Don't you know what kind place that is?"
"Uh...a clothing store?"
Ron frowned and sighed tiredly, and then said slowly, like he what he was saying was something obvious. "Think about it. Would any normal wizard wear banana yellow robes?"
Harry raised an eyebrow; the way Ron was talking made it sound like they were discussing a conspiracy, and not in fact someone's odd sense in taste.
"Dumbledore might, now that I think about it." Harry mused.
Ron shook his head exasperatedly and continued. "No, what I meant is...well, what about the funny trousers and that stupid green shirt Mum tried to make you wear? What about them then?"
Harry thought about this. He didn't really know what Ron was getting at, but he was beginning to feel a bit awkward.
"Well, yeah, I admit not a lot of people would wear that sort of thing, but some of the other stuff was alright. What's the problem?"
But by now Ron had given up. "Oh, forget it. Anything else happen?"
"I had a fight with Malfoy." Harry said simply, as if it were nothing. And in his mind, it wasn't.
Ron seemed to agree, because he merely shrugged and said "Well, nothing new there. Hey, did he say anything about him losing his money? Though I expect the bloody git would want to keep quiet about that. Wouldn't want to tarnish his reputation." Ron wrinkled his nose with distaste at this, making Harry laugh.
"Not that he could ruin it any more than he already has right?" Harry said, trying to cheer Ron up.
"You know even if he does hush it up for now, he won't be able to once we get to Hogwarts; you know how the rumour mill goes out of control at the start of term."
Harry could remember some of the rumours that had spread through Hogwarts at the beginning of previous years, a considerable amount involving himself, and almost all of them being rather nasty, and the few that weren't, being incredibly inaccurate and to be frank, unappropriated.
"Yeah...yeah, you're right. Hmm..." Ron thought for a moment, and then a mischievous grin spread across his face. "And I have just the rumour to get the wheels turning."
~~~~X~~~~
Later on, after having found Hermione, bought their books, and left Ginny alone with Mrs Weasley to get his well deserved revenge on her, Harry and the others stopped by the magical menagerie and other small shops to pick up owl treats for Hedwig and Pigwidgeon, and vanishing cat litter for Crookshanks;
"Honestly Hermione, one of these days I'm going to strangle that cat! This morning I found him using my signed poster of Galvin Gudgeon as a litter box!"
Various other items that needed replacing;
"I swear Hermione; I didn't burn that big hole through your copy of 'Acclaimed Arithmetic Actuaries'! It must have been...when you travelled through the floo network–yeah that's it!"
Potion ingredients;
"Harry, why do you have to take potions this year? You hate Snape!"
And the equipment they needed for their separate elective classes.
Harry had just began examining a strange, golden disk engraved in dead languages he'd found on a shelf in the wizarding equipment shop, when something hit him hard on the back of the head, making him drop it.
"Ouch!" Wheeling around to see what had hit him, he saw a white-faced Ron, holding what looked like a muggle child's plastic-dart-gun, with a look of horror on his face.
"What is this thing...?" Ron asked weakly.
Trying hard not to laugh, Harry explained as he watched a still stunned Ron hold the fluoro orange toy at arm's length, while Hermione bought their supplies with a mixed look of disapproval and amusement.
Afterwards they stopped at the local café, meeting up with other fellow students along the way. Dean Thomas looked positively gleefully when Ron told him about the restriction on Malfoy's account, and then after they said their goodbyes and an hour before they had to leave, Harry, Ron and Hermione decided it was finally time they paid a visit Fred and George's shop.
~~~~X~~~~
"Wow." said Harry. The other two nodded silently as they stared at the shop window just five feet from them. Large, neon posters plastered the walls of the buildings nearest the shop and they read in bold purple lettering:
WEASLEY'S WIZARD WHEEZES.
Your one stop shop for everything mischievous, nonsensical, prank worthy, and just a little bit nutters.
Life just that little bit boring?
Have something else that you could be doing?
Have a classroom that is just asking to have a portable swamp materialise in the middle of?
THEN STEP INSIDE MY FRIEND!
Don't wait, come with us, and when you leave, don't forget your complementary trick wand, and trout.
There are no rules here, except one, and you must promise us this: kick the nearest Dark Lord on your way out.
The three looked nervously at the door to the shop and waited a few minutes until Hermione, tired of just standing there, opened the door.
"For the love of Merlins Y-fronts!" said Ron.
The shop was enormous. From the crowded little street, apart from the luridly coloured posters and bright window displays, the packed shop wasn't much to look at, but as soon as you stepped inside, your eyes and ears wanted to run for cover for all the strange sites and noises that filled the magically enlarged building.
If Harry had been asked to describe it all in one word, he would have said 'pandemonium'. And by the looks of it, it was exactly that that was for sale.
"Harry! Glad you could make it old chap!" Fred was pushing his way through one of the overly crowded corners of the shop while George climbed over a large stack of luminous boxes towards them.
"I see you're busy." Harry laughed as George feel over a box of extendable ears. Fred put on a face of smug pride.
"Oh no, this isn't busy!"
"No, quite quiet for a day if you ask me." said George casual, finally reaching them.
"I'd be afraid to see it on a normal day; it's mad in here!" Hermione commented, dodging a throng of customers that had just entered the shop. Harry's view fell on a group of teenage girls surrounding a number of displays that were all chatting animatedly. Harry nodded in agreement while trying to keep himself out of sight.
"Hey Fred, you wouldn't mind giving us a quick tour would you? It's just that Mum said we had to be back by four." said Ron, who was looking interestedly over at the group of girls in the far corner.
"No problem! Step this way good sir, lady and Ron–"
"Hey!"
"Hay is what horses eat. As Fred was saying, let's have a look shall we?" The twins ushered the small group over to the procession of displays and began explaining each as they passed.
Mood Ink – shake once to change colour of ink to reflect your exact mood! Now with Interpretation colour wheel!
"Isn't this like those mood rings muggles wear?" Ron asked.
Fred was just about to reply, when Hermione interrupted him.
"Mood rings don't actually work Ron. They're more of a temperature ring than anything else." She said. "Plus if you wear them too long they stain really bad." she sighed and put the bottle down.
"Hermione, this is Magic we're talking about! Of course a muggle ring isn't going to work! Bloody false advertising if you ask me." George pressed a bottle on her and Harry, shaking his head.
"You really need more faith in us wizard folk." Hermione raised an eyebrow and pointed to her hair, but the twins just grinned and continued on.
On the tall shelves there were more of the more familiar Weasley products, such as skiving snack boxes, Weasley fireworks and extendable ears, but there were also some new additions like:
Fart stickers – take your friends by surprise with our new range of touch activated sound stickers, now with re-record options.
Invisible pants –"Got the idea after that time Lee vanished McGonagall's skirt. Oh, how she yelled at him. Priceless."
And
Noticeability Shifters–"They're for those of us, unlike you Harry, who don't have invisibility cloaks." whispered Fred, picking up a small blue badge and fixing it to his robes. One moment you could see him, the next, your eyes went all fuzzy when you looked at him and your mind began to wander.
"Hey Fred, how much for three badges?" Ron asked excitedly.
"What? You planning some little outing that requires your body to be in three separate, invisible pieces Ron?"
"What? No."
"Well, if you must know, they're nine sickles each."
"Nine sickles! That's robbery that is!"
"Magic is money little brother. It took us a good six months to work out how to make them, so if you want one, pay up." Ron scowled, but didn't put his handful of little badges back.
Half way through the tour, Harry was just reaching for a bottle labelled 'Dream Tonic' when Hermione started reading aloud what looked to be a small, metal sign attached to the wall.
"'Kick a death eater when you're down, and we'll make sure You-Know-Who doesn't get the crown.'…Crown? What crown?" Hermione looked up, puzzled.
"Oh, those." said Fred. "They're motivational posters."
"What?"
"Well, me and George here where looking through these old muggle history books a few weeks back – you know for a laugh – and they said that back in…World War Two?" Fred looked over at his twin, who shrugged.
"Anyway, the muggle ministry put all these signs up sayin' stuff to try and keep the public calm or something, and we thought it was funny. So we designed these."
Hermione looked at the sign again, then back at the twins. "You mean the 'Keep calm and carry on' posters?"
They nodded. "Yep"
"But…" she frowned. "What does it mean by 'we'll make sure You-Know-Who doesn't get the crown'? It's not like the wizarding community has a monarch or anything."
"But of course we do." laughed the twins.
"Haven't you ever wondered why Britain has a Queen and a Minister?"
"But–"
"Are you saying that–?" Harry sounded stunned.
"That Queen Liz is a witch? No. But her family does seem to turn up a few now and then, so she is aware of us."
"Back in the times when witches and wizards couldn't be public because of the whole 'burnt at the stake' thing, her family was one of the biggest pureblood families around. It's just now that the bloodline is getting a bit thin, more squibs keep turning up." George shrugged. "Thought you knew, Hermione."
By the time four o'clock rolled around, the little group had only managed to look at half the shop, and when they left, each carried a bag of something with them, even Hermione.
"I just thought they looked interesting." she said, defending her purchase of a small book entitled 'Insta-Book: tap three times with your wand to change content to contain the book with which you desire.'
~~~~X~~~~
Harry's stay at the Weasleys over the next month seemed almost like a dream. For one, it seemed to be over much too soon for Harry's liking, and for another, so much seemed to have happened in such a short space of time.
Every morning when Harry got up he would look I the mirror and feel like he was looking at a stranger. The Weasley's mirror seemed to be having similar problems.
"Who are you? It would ask.
"I'm Harry!" he told it for the umpteenth time. "Harry Potter! The boy whose been using you every time I've come to visit since I was twelve!"
The mirror looked back at him blankly. In the end he gave up when his reflection walked off in a huff, it muttering about 'loud, confusing, green-eyed copies of itself.'
True to Hermione's word, Harry was only able to wear his glasses for a few hours at a time, and if he tried to leave them on any longer they would leap off his face as though jumping for freedom, and this fact seriously annoyed him.
"Maybe you should use a sticking charm." Ron suggested sympathetically.
"I tried." Harry said exasperatedly.
Ron frowned. "What went wrong?"
Harry sighed, lifting a few locks of hair that had been tucked behind his ears to reveal two angry red marks.
"That's the last time I use a sticking charm on any part of myself that's going to be painful when it gets ripped off."
There were normal things to do at the burrow as well; helping around the house, playing quidditch with Ron, the occasional order member stopping by with a quick hello and a few whispered words to Mr and Mrs Weasley, and even a trip into the local village to pick up some groceries and to get out of the house for a few hours.
Everything seemed so normal, Harry was beginning to get paranoid that something wasn't right. He was even starting to feel like someone was watching him, which was ridiculous because Ottery St. Catchpole had few wizards in the area and mainly consisted of muggles, none of which had probably ever heard of him. He placed it out of his mind.
Though, a week before they were set to leave for Hogwarts, one of the most startling events of Harry's stay arrived in the Sunday morning post, in the shape and size of a Witch Weekly magazine.
All the Weasleys, plus Harry and Hermione, had been sitting down to breakfast when Mrs Weasley came dashing from the kitchen window, a look of dazed fascination on her face, the magazine clutched in her hand.
When everyone asked her what was wrong she had looked uncertain as to whether she should divulge the information and kept blushing every time someone tried to persuade Molly to speak.
Finally unable to stand it much longer, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny sneaked out to the back garden and summoned the magazine out of the house.
"Now I don't think this is a good idea! We are not supposed to use major spells outside of school!"
"Oh lighten up Hermione. How else do you think we're going to get that thing away from her?" Ron said as they ducked around the garden shed.
"Mum will probably have it with her under lock and key, and you know we've already tried asking her about it." said Ginny.
"Yes I know, but still!"
"Hermione, if we wait much longer, whatever it is that's happened won't matter anymore because it will be over already!"
Hermione looked at Harry disdainfully; she was not happy, but after a few minutes of deliberation, she nodded reluctantly. Though, just to be on the safe side, they made Ron do the summoning charm, seeing as he was the oldest, had a reasonably clean recorded, and Hermione had refused point-blank to do it herself.
They waited. Then, from a window on the second floor, they could see the rolled up magazine come zooming towards them, scaring a couple of chickens as it fell on the ground in front of the chicken coop.
"Nice one brother." Ginny said, scrunching up her face as she picked up the mud splattered, glossy cover from a puddle.
"Shut up! I'm not the best at that spell alright."
They all crowded round and Ginny slowly unrolled the magazine, flipping through the articles and scanning them carefully. She flipped a few more pages and the whole group stopped dead and gaped down at the page.
Most of the articles they had seen had been reasonable benign, featuring fashion tips, recipes, and celebrity news, but this one was dedicated to a large, full-coloured photograph of someone's face, smiling shyly up at them, a bold heading splashed across the top.
"Blimey…" said Ron.
Potter spotter – take a peek at the Boy Who Lived's new look
As of early August this year, it has come to the attention of Witch Weekly's chief editor, Tobias Manlethorpe, that the teenage legend, Harry Potter, age sixteen, has made some rather impressive changes in the past few weeks, as many members of the eligible young witching community will agree, I'm sure.
He's dropped the glasses, thrown the hand-me-downs and spiced up his wardrobe (courtesy of W&PD Ltd), and as far as we can see, he's on the market.
Many of our readers have come to wonder why the young wizard hero suddenly decided to make this change, though as far as we can see, no one's complaining.
There were more pictures, each with a caption detailing features of Harry's appearance he had never known existed before; some of comments he was reseving were making him feel quite self-conscious.
One picture in particular was of Harry standing outside the muggle post office in the local village, the one he had been to only last week.
At the time he had been having that paranoid feeling again as he waited for Hermione to send a letter to her parents, and distinctly remembered feeling odd as he leaned against the red muggle post-box outside and again as they walked back to the burrow. At least he now knew why.
They kept reading in silence, Harry's face growing redder as the article slowly became more and more lewd the further they went down the page. When he received a comment from a middle-aged witch in Glastonbury, who stated quite unabashedly:
"Don't those new trousers of 'is show off 'is wand nicely?" he finally couldn't take it anymore.
He stormed off back to the burrow, fuming, fully intending to burn every single pair of trousers he now owned. Unfortunately, for him at least, Hermione and Ginny stopped him before he could incinerate them all.
Later, Harry considered; he had been stupid in thinking that he would ever in his life have a normal day, let alone a normal month. The fates would have gotten bored with him a long time ago if they had ever allowed him that small mercy.
~~~~X~~~~
He was walking – no, floating – along a mountain path. The snow was falling thick and fast all around him and he could hear the wind howling. Where was he?
Ah. This dream again. Harry thought. He was beginning to get bored of having the same dream almost every night. Oh well, nothing I can do about it.
Down in the valley below, Harry spotted the ominously swaying branches of a dark forest, dusted with snow; its trees looked as impenetrable as a steel fortress and more mountains could be seen in the distance.
That's new…usually all I can see is the snow…is this still the same place as last time?
Harry felt different; usually when he had this particular dream, he would feel the cold by now, hear the screaming. But no, he felt nothing. He heard nothing. But, he could see everything. And what he saw, was a shape.
A faint, silvery something was coming towards him, slowly, soundlessly, almost impossible to see against the snow. Harry tensed, preparing to defend himself, but then a sudden thought struck him.
Is this that person I've kept seeing in my dreams? Harry wondered.
It can't be; this is different, it almost looks…
But how it looked, Harry didn't have time to think about; the shape was getting closer, but it was just as faint as had been from a distance. Harry was just deciding that maybe he should run for it, when the thing finally came level with him; he had nowhere else to go.
It shimmered, silvery-grey and transparent as it looked at him.
It had a face.
"Bertha." Harry said, as though in welcome, in a high, cold voice.
The ghost flinched at her name and looked away.
"Look at me!" Harry said sharply.
The ghost turned back to Harry, a mixed look of disgust and fear on her face.
"Now, isn't that better? What have you been doing up here, Bertha?" He asked in a falsely sweet tone.
"Nothing." She replied quickly.
"Do not lie to me!" Harry spat. "You were attempting to leave, weren't you?"
"No!" The ghost of the woman said shrilly. "No, I wasn't! I was just–"
"Silence!"
Harry drew his wand, clasped between white, skeletally thin fingers, and pointed it at the ghostly figure before him.
"Your body may no longer be present, but do not think that that means I cannot hurt you. Do not forget, you belong to me."
The ghost of Bertha Jorkins gulped and looked down at the wand.
"I-I wanted to ex-explore to mountainside; it really is quite lovely out–"
"Why must you continue to lie your pitiful lies, you filthy stain of this world!"
Wand in hand, Lord Voldemort raised his arm and screamed "Anima commuro!"
The ghost of Bertha Jorkins screamed, appearing to chare at the edges, howling in agony as her celestial self solidified and cracked, writhing as though she were on fire.
"Submit!" Voldemort screamed over her ear-splitting shrieks. "Submit, and I may spare your pathetic existence!"
But she was too far gone by now to even speak; all that was left was a misshapen haze, vaguely human in appearance, whimpering as she hung midair, like some misbegotten cloud of ash.
"You were warned; after all, I am merciful am I not, to possessions of mine?"
Lord Voldemort flicked his wand lazily, casting up a fierce wind that violently blew around them and cast snow off of the tips of the trees. Bertha, or what was left of her, looked up piteously into the pitiless red eyes, and as the last gust of wind blew her ash away, she mouthed:
"I was never yours…"
Harry woke with a gasp. A cold, unwanted chill ran down his spine, making him gag. Coughing he stared at his hands in utter horror. Until a minute ago they had been long and white and…he shoved them back under the bedclothes, so he couldn't see them.
At the mere memory of the look on the ghosts face as she drifted away, Harry felt sick. Shivering and coughing, he keeled over the side of the bed, and was violently sick into the wastepaper basket.
By now, Harry could tell when a dream wasn't only a dream. And that had definitely been no dream.
A/N: Anyone want to make any guesses about Harry's dreams yet? If you make a good enough guess, you get a cookie.
Next chapter: Train to Hogwarts and some speculation...
