Saturday 2nd July

On Saturday after lunch Harry headed off, allegedly straight to the Weasleys' garden party. First, however, he was actually on his way to rendezvous with Dudley at the local park. He carried a backpack stuffed with the cool, red dragonskin leather frock coat Sirius had given him, plus the matching red trousers and the frilly white shirt. He hadn't had many chances to wear a fancy but officially "casual" wizarding ensemble, and he thought a garden party might be the perfect occasion. He'd also packed a pointed hat – a gentleman shouldn't attend an outdoor event without a hat. Dudley waved excitedly from a park bench when he saw Harry arrive. He was wearing Muggle clothes of course, including the new black leather jacket that he'd gotten for his birthday and a Smeltings school sports cap, since Harry had insisted that hats were a necessity (Dudley hadn't wanted to wear the official school straw boater with a leather jacket and jeans).

Harry changed into his wizarding outfit in the park's loo, and then they were off to the kerb where Harry stuck out his wand and summoned the Knight Bus. It arrived almost instantly, with a loud bang and a grating screech of brakes.

"Let's go, then! What do you think of the bus, hey? Pretty virulently purple, right?" asked Harry cheerfully. "Wizards love purple and green. They're very traditional colours, apparently."

"Well, where is it? Is it coming soon?" Dudley asked impatiently, staring at the road blankly as if there wasn't a towering triple-decker bus right in front of him.

"Good mornin' Mr. Potter!" the purple-uniformed young conductor said enthusiastically, his face perking up the instant he spotted Harry, like it had made his day to see Harry again. "Where are you off to t'day? Need any 'elp shooing the Muggle away? Don't worry about 'im, the silly bugger. 'E won't see nuffin. They never do. Good ward on the bus, innit?!"

"It's fine, he's my cousin," Harry explained. "He's coming with me today. But… he can't see the bus?"

"Who are you talking to?" Dudley asked suspiciously, looking around in bafflement. "Is there someone invisible here? Is there something on the road? Is the bus invisible?" Dudley squinted at the road, slowly turning his head back and forth as if he was seeing something out of the corner of his eye but couldn't quite spot it clearly.

Stan Shunpike looked a little uncomfortable as realisation dawned that he'd just accidentally insulted the Boy Who Lived's cousin. "Oh, right. Well ah… just grab your cousin's 'and then, and 'elp the poor fella onto the bus. Just like you'd take 'im into the Leaky Cauldron."

Harry grabbed Dudley's hand as instructed, and there was a sudden gasp from Dudley as from his point of view a massive bus suddenly blinked into existence, complete with a spotty conductor grinning amiably at him. Dudley swore colourfully in shock, and Harry winced at his language.

He gave an apologetic grimace to the conductor. "Sorry Stan, he's just a bit surprised."

"Quite alright, Mr. Potter. Pefec'ly understandable if you're no' used to it. Where to?"

"Ottery St. Catchpole, please. The Burrow, thanks, or as near to it as you can get us." Harry counted out a Galleon and nine Sickles, and he and Dudley both settled down in the squashy armchairs that wizards considered good seats for a bus, with a cup of hot chocolate each to drink during the ride. As the bus bounced along the road like shock absorbers were too good for wizards to deign to use, he was certainly glad that there was some kind of anti-spill charm on the mugs to keep the beverages from sloshing all over their laps with every bump in the road.

Dudley thirstily gulped down his hot chocolate in seconds – that part of the trip he clearly liked – but the rest he found very nerve-wracking. The odd jumps the bus made, and the driver Ernie's extremely creative interpretation of road rules, made for a terrifying view out the window. Harry was used to it now after repeated exposure, but Dudley was not.

"We're going to crash! We're going to-" Dudley yelled out in panic at one point as the bus screeched through an impossibly small gap. "How did we not crash?"

"Magic," Harry said, with a cheeky grin.

"I want to get off," whimpered Dudley. He'd closed his eyes so he didn't have to look anymore at the horrifying view out the windows.

"I'll see if I can hurry us up," Harry said, sympathetically. He wandered off to tip the conductor – or to be more honest, to quietly bribe him – to get their stop bumped up in the queue. Five minutes later they were at the Burrow.

"I did not like that," Dudley said crossly after the bus had screeched away.

"If you think that was bad, you should try getting money out at the bank!" Harry laughed. "It's like a rollercoaster ride."

"Yeah, right," Dudley scoffed. "Pull the other one."

-000-

Harry spotted a house that could only be 'The Burrow' the instant he and Dudley hopped off the Knight Bus. Tucked amidst ordinary cottages was a teetering construction several stories high, which was so crooked that only magic could explain how it defied all architectural and gravitational laws that should've seen it collapse into a pile of rubble and planks. It looked like it had once started out its life as an extremely plain cottage of rough grey stone, and subsequently been expanded on several times in a variety of styles with different materials. Five chimneys were perched on top of the predominantly red roof.

A few fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard, which was edged with a thick hedge. Percy, Ron, and Ginny were all waiting just inside the wooden gate to the property. The two youngest Weasleys, who were dressed in Muggle clothes except for their pointed hats, gave Harry an excited wave when they spotted him, while Percy, dressed in a more wizarding-casual outfit of trousers, a frilly white shirt, and a red waistcoat, nodded in their direction with more restrained courtesy.

"Can you see the house?" Harry asked Dudley curiously. "And the redheads waving to us?"

"Yeah," Dudley said with a shrug. "Bit boring, isn't it? Let's just give them a wave and have a look around the village." He looked absent-mindedly down the street as if planning to wander off, and Harry grabbed his hand.

"Have another look at the house now, Dud."

Dudley gave a slack-jawed gasp as the house's true appearance revealed itself. "Whoa! Look at that thing! How does it stay up?"

Harry grinned as he opened his mouth to answer, and Dudley rolled his eyes and said in unison with him, "Magic."

Once they were inside the gate, Ron leapt in to do the introductions before anyone else could get a word in edgewise, to his brother's obvious annoyance and his sister's relief. "Welcome! You must be Dudley Dursley, right? I'm Ron Weasley, and this is my brother Percy, and that's Ginny."

As she was introduced Ginny spread out the green skirt of her slightly-too-small cotton dress, and gave a tiny curtsey, with her eyes fixed firmly on Harry.

"Percival Weasley, son of the Sacred House of Weasley," Percy said rather pompously, holding out his hand for Dudley to shake. "Pleased to meet you, my good sir."

Dudley let go of Harry's hand and wiped his sweaty palm on his trousers before awkwardly reaching out to shake Percy's hand. "Uh, Dudley Dursley, son of the Sacred House of Dursley?" he said tentatively.

Percy winced.

"Uh, not really," Harry corrected. "Best leave out the 'sacred' part – that's for pure-blood wizarding families."

"Sorry," mumbled Dudley.

"Dad will go mental if he hears you going on about that pure-blood rubbish," Ron warned.

"Did I or did I not just welcome a Muggle to our house? Good manners aren't the same thing as bigotry!" sniped Percy. He turned his back on Ron pointedly and smiled at Harry as he led them around the back of the house.

"There is more room outside so we're eating in the garden. As well as yourselves and the Prewetts we have the Diggory and Lovegood families coming too," Percy said loudly over the top of his brother's quiet grumbles about so-called 'sacred' families and how Percy sounded like a stuck-up prat just like Malfoy. "Your godfather is coming as well, Harry. Did you know our branch of the Weasleys and the Blacks are related? I believe Mr. Black would be a third cousin to myself and Ron."

Harry's eyes rolled upwards in a distracted fashion as he tried to remember the Black family tree and where the Weasleys fit in off the top of his head. "That sounds about right," he said slowly. "I know you and I and Ron are all third cousins, and so are Sirius and I, so that makes sense. It's hard to keep track of without seeing it written down, though."

"Septimus Weasley is our grandfather, and he married Cedrella Black," explained Percy in an attempt to be helpful that didn't actually assist as much as he probably hoped, since Harry couldn't remember in the slightest who Cedrella Black was.

"Apart from 'magic', how does the house stay up?" asked Dudley as they went past it. Mrs. Weasley gave them a friendly wave through the kitchen window as they passed but seemed too busy frantically cooking to join them.

"Sticking Charms, Featherlight Charms, a few others to strengthen the wood so it doesn't break, that sort of thing," Percy explained. "Anchored with runes. It has been added on to several times over the years, so it needs a bit of help to stay up, I'm afraid. Dad used to get someone in to check the enchantments yearly, but now Bill does it for free. William Weasley, that is, our eldest brother. He works for Gringotts as a curse-breaker and is highly proficient with runes and wards."

"Right, magic it is," muttered Dudley without any gratitude for the explanation.

"I guess you didn't bring your broom?" Ron asked Harry without much hope, pessimistically eyeing his empty hands and Muggle backpack.

"No, sorry mate. I couldn't shrink it without alerting the Ministry, and it was too big to stuff in my backpack," Harry apologised.

"You don't shrink a Nimbus 2000!" Ron said, aghast. "You can ruin the enchantments if you go using spells on a broomstick willy-nilly! Why didn't you just carry it?"

"Down the street, in broad daylight? I thought about it, but I would've looked really weird carrying it!"

"But your dragonskin coat and hat didn't look odd?" Ron objected.

"I had those in my backpack until we were about to catch the bus," Harry explained.

"I think your coat looks nice," Ginny said shyly, before blushing and looking away.

Harry pretended not to notice her pink-cheeked embarrassment as he thanked her politely, but Dudley nudged Harry in the ribs roughly and jerked his head in Ginny's direction with a grin, to be sure his cousin hadn't missed it. Harry moved subtly out of range of any more knowing elbow jabs.

Out in the back yard near a row of beautifully scented rose bushes in full bloom, two older Weasley boys were casting spells to conjure plain white tablecloths onto the tables and setting the table with swishes of their wands. From out of a wooden crate sitting on the grass mismatched plates and bowls went whizzing through the air to their assigned places. Dudley watched the display slack-jawed in astonishment.

"That's amazing!" he gasped.

"Nah," said Ron, "don't be fooled – Charlie is muttering under his breath. Only Bill is casting silently, and anyway it's just the Levitation Charm. We learnt that in first year."

"Can you do that?" Dudley asked Harry demandingly.

Harry shrugged. "Yes, but not silently. I'd have to mutter too. Silent spellcasting is kind of like A-level stuff for wizards. Anyway, if I cast any spells right now at all I might get in trouble – underage wizards aren't allowed to use magic out of school. Those two have graduated already."

The two young men wandered over to introduce themselves. Bill was the taller of the two, with long hair tied back in a ponytail, and a dragon tooth earring in one ear. His clothes wouldn't have looked out of place at a rock concert – so long as no-one spotted that the leather was dragonskin rather than the more usual kind. Charlie was stocky and short – even shorter than his younger brother Ron, whom it must be admitted had sprouted like a weed over the past year. Charlie was heavily tanned with a multitude of freckles and had a shiny pink burn mark on one of his muscular arms. After their introductions they shook hands politely with Harry and Dudley, then went back to work setting up the table, folding cloth napkins into tidy decorative curls of fabric.

"Some of you should go and wait for the other guests," Bill said distractedly to his siblings. "It must be almost time to start – we should have more people arriving any minute."

Ron shrugged. "I was just waiting for Harry and his cousin. Someone has to be the host and chat to them, so I'm sticking with them."

Ginny slipped off silently to wait for additional guests, and Percy followed her after a rebuking hissed aside of, "Manners, Ron."

Ron ignored him with a roll of his eyes, and started talking with Harry and Dudley about Quidditch, enthusiastically explaining the rules to the latter.

"I should be starting as Gryffindor Keeper this year now Wood has graduated," Ron boasted, chest all puffed out with pride. "I've been on the team as Reserve Keeper for the past two years so I'll have a big advantage at tryouts. Harry was Seeker in first year, you know. And it's a crying shame he quit because he was brilliant! Much better than Sloper or Dunbar, though she's not as bad as I thought at first. If you got a bit of practice over the holidays, Harry, I reckon you could take the Seeker position back if you wanted. We could be on the team together! I wonder who's going to be Quidditch Captain?"

"So there's only one sport at your school, and Harry quit it? Figures," snorted Dudley with a smirk at Harry. "Yeah, I think he told me about that ages ago, now you mention it."

"I almost died when someone cursed my broom!" complained Harry. "People have died in Quidditch matches – they're dangerous! And anyway, the practices were just too much, and too early. He made us jog, too, and you know I never loved P.E. back in school – adding broomsticks didn't make it that much better. I wanted more time for Potions revision. I do like flying my broom for fun, but I'd rather watch Quidditch than play it, on the whole."

"Wood worked us like house-elves," conceded Ron. "There were a lot of practices. But you have to practise if you want to win!"

While the older Weasley siblings brought a floating procession of platters of food out to the table, Ginny escorted the Lovegood family out to the back garden.

Mr. Lovegood was wearing his best effort at normal Muggle attire – a pair of mustard-yellow slacks, a yellow Hawaiian shirt with orange and green flowers, a blue cap, and an orange-brown velvet jacket with gold embroidery. His shoulder-length platinum-blond hair reminded Harry a lot of Lucius Malfoy's long pale locks, but in facial features there wasn't any notable resemblance between the two men. Luna was dressed in a pink dress tie-dyed with purple rings, and wore brown leather sandals with thin long straps that criss-crossed halfway up her shins before being tied in a knot. Her straw hat was covered in fresh flowers and a small stuffed pigeon had been affixed to it somehow. Dudley was snickering as he looked at it, and Harry was relieved that at least he wasn't pointing or saying anything rude.

"It's a pleasure to meet you in person at last, Mr. Potter," said Luna's father, shaking Harry's hand enthusiastically. "I did so enjoy collaborating with you to publish your article about Mr. Black. That worked out very well for the poor chap, didn't it? And I have heard a lot about you from Luna – all good of course. It is very nice of you to take her under your wing while you are both at school. Who knows what the future holds after that? Very nice coat, young man. Chinese Fireball, I believe?"

"Yes sir, so I was told."

He shook hands with Dudley next, who choked off his snorts of laughter and tried to act more serious. "And you must be Mr. Dursley! Xenophilius Lovegood, at your service. I've met quite a few Muggles, you know! I used to travel abroad rather a lot. That's how I know how to dress appropriately and blend in so well." He gestured at his rather eclectic outfit as demonstrable proof of his claim.

Dudley eyed the long-haired hippy family warily. Luna's hair had clover blossoms woven into her long pale plait. "Yeah… sure. Hi."

It didn't take long until Dudley found out Mr. Lovegood was interested in rare creatures, after which their discussion went much better. Dudley quizzed him all about dragons, and Charlie Weasley drifted over to eagerly join in the discussion. Which left Ron to be drafted by his eldest brother to take Charlie's place and carry some bowls of food from the kitchen out to the table.

Harry chatted with Luna about her summer, the rare creatures her father had been researching, and her new earrings which looked like tiny orange radishes but were apparently preserved Dirigible plums.

At Mr. Lovegood and Luna's prompting, after a little explanation as to where his pet snake was, Harry summoned Dobby briefly to deliver Storm to visit with him for the afternoon.

"Would you like to ssstay for a garden party? I thought you might enjoy a visit with me while I'm out with Clever-men. How are you, Ssstorm?"

"I have been very bored," Storm complained immediately. "It has been forever sssince I sssaw you."

"I missed you too," Harry hissed at him affectionately. "There are sssome people here who want to admire you. Do you remember Luna? Her father wantss to look at you, he's very excited to get to meet a Wonambi."

"Well what do you know," Charlie said wonderingly as he watched Storm wave his tail tip in a polite hello to Mr. Lovegood, and 'kiss' Luna's hand with his snout, which made her giggle. "Do you think Parseltongue works on dragons too? They're both magical reptiles – scaly egg-layers. Just think of the possibilities for communication and training!" His eyes gleamed with excitement at the thought.

"I've never tried talking with a dragon, so I really wouldn't know," Harry said, a little startled. "I saw one in Gringotts once, but it didn't say anything. I've never heard anything from lizards… but then, I haven't tried talking to them either."

"We shall have to see if I can introduce you to a dragon some time so you can try chatting to it. You never know when such opportunities might arise," he said with a broad grin and a sly look dancing in his eyes.

"I understand four feet is a decent length for a young rainbow serpent," Mr. Lovegood said approvingly, watching the snake's scales shimmer brightly with rainbows in the sun, and stroking his smooth skin gently as Harry held Storm out for his admiration. "How old is Storm now?"

"Uh, I got him for Christmas in second year, and he was pretty newly hatched then. I'd say he's a bit over a year and a half old?" Harry guessed, passing Storm over to Mr. Lovegood to hold.

"Oh, that's an excellent rate of growth! Did you know that no-one knows their upper growth limit?"

Harry glanced at Storm a little worriedly, where he was draped over Mr. Lovegood.

"Everything I've read says that twenty-three feet is the maximum?"

Mr. Lovegood snorted dismissively. "Well, perhaps in modern times it is – though there still might be some giant serpents hidden away in the Outback. To get the truth, you have to look at the oral legends of the Aborigines – twenty-three feet is positively dwarven compared to some of the rainbow serpents in the tales, and I see no reason to doubt them.

"Their smaller growth now is a combination of poor environment, scarcity or extinction of the magical and mundane megafauna that used to form the prey of adult Wonambi, and of course the dreadful spectre of poaching that sees them fail to reach their true potential. There's quite the flourishing black market in some countries for Wonambi leather – those beautiful rainbow scales are highly prized for decorative leather goods in the Far East."

Harry and Mr. Lovegood had a good chat about rainbow serpent legends while Charlie, Dudley, and Luna listened in with rapt curiosity. Mr. Lovegood got very excited when Harry translated a fragment of a story that was as much as Storm was willing to share about his Grandmother Garranga'rreli who made valleys and rivers as she passed across the land.

"The rest is secret," Harry apologised on Storm's behalf as he took his snake back off Mr. Lovegood to drape over his own shoulders, "because we're not snakes, or of the right tribe. But his oral tradition – passed from mother to hatchling – says that Wonambi could certainly reach incredible size with enough time. He says he's willing to give you an interview, however, just not about that particular story. He wants a live barramundi – not too big to swallow – as his interview fee for talking about rare Australian magical creatures or teaching more about his kind. If you'd like to pay me for doing the translating, whatever you think is fair is fine by me."

Mr. Lovegood clapped his hands and rubbed them together gleefully, and then gave a polite bow. "Certainly! I'm very much obliged to you both. What a marvellous article this will make! Shall we get started?" He whipped out his wand and with a muttered word a battered canvas shoulder bag covered in colourful beads flew through the air. Catching it deftly as it whizzed towards him, he fished out a blank scroll of parchment and a self-inking quill with a practiced air.

"Perhaps later, Mr. Lovegood? I think the last guests are arriving, so it will be time for supper soon," Charlie said politely.

Mr. Weasley was indeed busy escorting the last guests in, as the Diggorys, Sirius Black, and Mrs. Weasley's second cousin Mr. Prewett with his wife and daughter had arrived pretty much all at once. Harry noticed that Mr. Diggory and Mr. Prewett introduced themselves with bows, while Sirius (who'd dressed in Muggle-friendly jeans and a t-shirt), Mrs. Prewett, and Cedric introduced themselves with handshakes.

Percy and Ginny were chatting with the young girl from the Prewett family, who looked to be about ten or eleven years old, with a round face dotted with a light scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She was dressed in a plain black casual wizarding robe and matching pointed hat, despite the fact that her parents were wearing Muggle clothes so ordinary that even the Dursleys wouldn't have given them a second glance. Mr. Prewett and his daughter both had auburn hair – his was cut in a short, normal style, while his daughter's long plaited hair was a slightly duller shade. His unremarkably plain wife had shoulder-length brown hair with blond highlights that were growing out.

Mrs. Weasley and the twins joined the party last of all, as she chivvied Fred and George into circulating amongst the guests to offer glasses of homemade lemonade whilst everyone mingled. She tried to hug Harry, who was very startled by such an attempt – especially from someone he'd never properly met before that he recalled – and he swept his hat off and grabbed her hand to kiss it with a brief peck in polite greeting, 'coincidentally' keeping her at a safe distance in doing so and thus avoiding her attempted motherly embrace. Her soft brown eyes looked disappointed, but he felt quite able to weather that. He was doing the right thing, socially. Sending the occasional birthday or Christmas gift didn't entitle her to hug him at will.

Sirius came over to greet Harry with a very eager grin, drawing him away from Mrs. Weasley and the others for a semi-private chat. "Harry, great to see you again! Wicked coat – I can see someone of great taste and distinction must have picked that out for you."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, I like it. I don't get a lot of chances to wear it, but I really do like it a lot. It was a great present."

"I hope you're still coming to visit in August? You know you can come earlier if you want to," Sirius encouraged.

"I'll keep that in mind, thanks," Harry said noncommittally, "I'm a bit busy." Sirius' face fell for a brief instant, like a shadow passing across the sun, but he smiled again quickly enough.

"So what would you like for your birthday? More clothes? A new broom?"

"Is the Dog-man causing problemss?" asked Storm. "Shall I bite him?"

"No, we're just chatting about what giftss I might like," explained Harry.

"I want a new tank. Mine is too sssmall. And ask for fresh leavess," Storm hissed demandingly.

"A new tank for Storm?" Harry said aloud to Sirius. "If it's not too much trouble? And some gum leaf mulch? But don't worry about it if it's too expensive or a bother."

"Not at all! That's a great start. What else?" Sirius asked. "Think bigger!"

"New dress robes?" Harry volunteered tentatively, still unused to people wanting to give him gifts beyond courteous tokens. "Percy hinted in a letter that it would be good to have new dress robes this year for school, though he wouldn't say why. Maybe some with a little growing room. Is that too big a gift?"

"Bigger! I want mine to be the best gift!" Sirius said, as he waved his hands in the air a little too wildly. "Something no-one else will get you! Remember, I owe a year's service to the Potter family. I have to do something to pay off that debt."

"Hmm." Harry thought about it, his brow furrowed in thought. What did he really need, that he couldn't buy himself?

"A Time-Turner?" It was probably too expensive a gift, but it was worth a try. "I wouldn't want to be any trouble, but it would be ever so useful, and I would be most appreciative of it. That would definitely be the best gift ever that a godfather could give!" Harry used his best wheedling tone of voice, but it was all for naught, as Sirius' face fell.

"Oh, I really wish I could get one for you. But those are very strictly controlled by the Ministry. Only Obliviators, Hit Wizards, and people working in the Department of Mysteries have access to them. It's a wonder that Minnie got to keep hers, and that was only because it's a family heirloom. I'll keep my eye out for one and I'll check the family vault, but to be honest I don't think I'll be able to get my hands on one. Sorry, Harry. It was a great idea, though!

"Are you having a bit of trouble with time management? Anything else I could do to help?"

Harry pondered it some more. What he really needed was more time for his studies, but that wasn't the only issue he was going to have this year with his education. He had Muggle chemistry practicals he'd need to work on, and he didn't have any of the necessary equipment yet. There were also other issues like needing access to electricity, and steel canisters of gas for Bunsen burners.

Harry ventured hesitantly, "What if I have an idea, but… it's maybe against school rules? Just a little bit?"

Sirius grinned toothily at him. "I'm digging your idea already. Hit me with it."

"'Digging'?"

"It's Muggle slang! It means I like it!"

"It's not Muggle slang anyone still uses. It's old-fashioned."

Sirius scowled. "Not again. Tonks told me no-one says 'groovy' any more either. I got old when I wasn't looking. And now what's hip is all different. It's not fair." He crossed his arms sulkily.

Harry gingerly patted him on the shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "I still think you're cool. And leather jackets and motorbikes are still very cool and popular." A little buttering-up never hurt when asking for favours.

Sirius perked up right away. "Aw, thanks Harry! Now, tell me your gift idea. The rule-breaking, possibly illegal one. I promise not to snitch on you even if I won't go along with it – Marauder's honour." Sirius gave a crisp salute like he was in the navy.

"Um, so let's say, hypothetically, that I was considering sneaking away from Hogsmeade on a weekend, to go somewhere else… Or, I wanted to smuggle things into Hogwarts. But nothing illegal! Just not… strictly school-approved. Do you think that would be a problem?" Harry whispered.

"Probably not. I wouldn't recommend more than one bottle of Firewhisky a week, though. It's strong stuff."

"It's not Firewhisky. It's maybe kind of boring? Uh… you see, I need somewhere to do practical lessons for Chemistry this year. It's a Muggle science speciality – I'm studying by correspondence. I guess… if you could help me get some equipment for that, or help me find somewhere I can do it at a Muggle town near Hogwarts I know of – Grantown-on-Spey – without getting in trouble, that would be really awesome? Or I could hide it at Hogwarts, if I can smuggle it in there in the first place – I know a room I can stash stuff in. That would certainly count as a proper service to the Noble House of Potter," he urged.

"Some of the things I need to get are too big to smuggle into Hogwarts, and I'm not sure magically shrinking a canister of flammable and possibly explosive liquid – for a Bunsen burner – would be a good idea due to pressure issues even if I could cast the spell outside of Hogwarts. Which I can't since I'm underage."

Sirius looked generally intrigued, but rather confused. "What's being underage got to do with it?"

"You know – the Trace. I can't cast spells outside of Hogwarts without the Trace on my wand reporting it to the Ministry." Mostly. Not counting a few workarounds like using a different wand, or an official home tutor.

"Huh. Must be a new rule. We didn't have that back in my day," Sirius said. "Or if we did my family and the Potters all ignored it. What a downer. How do you get your summer homework done, then?"

"It's just a few essays. Nothing practical like spellcasting or potions."

Sirius snorted. "Boring," he said. "Well, send me a list of everything you need, and how to contact your Muggle professors, and I shall look into it and see what I can figure out for you."

With everyone else gathering for supper, Sirius led Harry over to sit down next to him at the table. Harry ended up with Sirius on one side of him, and Dudley on the other. The Prewett family were led to sit opposite Harry and Dudley, while Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Weasley sat at the ends of the very long tables that had been pushed together.

It was a casual help-yourself supper that reminded Harry of the Hogwarts feasts, and the spread looked simple but delicious. There was chicken-and-ham pie, a couple of roast chickens, steaming hot jacket potatoes, mushrooms cooked with fragrant herbs, and three different kinds of salad. Harry eagerly helped himself to a large plate of food, which Mrs. Weasley seemed pleased to see. But Dudley looked a little worriedly at the spread.

"What do you think I should eat, Harry? I don't want to ruin my diet, and I already had hot chocolate today."

Harry looked at his cousin's anxious face with surprise. "I guess I thought you just wouldn't worry about your diet today. You always complain about it."

Dudley scowled piggishly at him. "Shut up! If I wanted to, I could buy all the chocolate bars I want whenever I leave the house. I don't like dieting, but I don't want to be… I want to get fitter. For boxing. So help me pick something good!" he demanded.

Harry obediently filled up Dudley's plate for him with a chicken breast without the skin, a big pile of garden salad, some of the tomato salad, mushrooms, and a small jacket potato.

"That looks good," Dudley said, contentedly tucking in.

"You should thank him," Sirius said to Dudley, with narrowed eyes.

"Wha'?" said Dudley, mouth full of half-chewed lettuce and chicken as he spoke. "Harry likes cooking an' all that stuff. It's his job."

"Is it really. Do tell," Sirius snapped.

"It's okay, Sirius. Let it go," Harry said, not wanting a fight over something so unimportant. Sirius scowled, but didn't persist in his rebuke. Instead he turned his back to Dudley and talked with Mr. Diggory on his other side.

Mr. Weasley was having the time of his life chatting about "eckeltricity" and how batteries worked with Mrs. Prewett – a real live Muggle whom it seemed was one of very few he'd ever met socially, apart from the Grangers (which hadn't gone so well in the end). Whether the feeling was mutual was dubious, however. Dudley got drawn into their conversation and seemed to be having fun being treated as a highly knowledgeable expert, but Mrs. Prewett was looking increasingly grumpy and opted out of the discussion discreetly when her husband gave her the opening of being introduced to Harry.

"Magnus Prewett, at your service, young sir. May I introduce to you my wife Emily Prewett, and our daughter Mafalda Isa Prewett," he said rather formally, with a nod of his head. Bowing or shaking hands across a table was rather difficult, after all.

"Harold James Potter, Heir of the Noble House of Potter," Harry said politely, with a return nod, and a tip of his hat to the ladies. "And this is my cousin, Dudley Dursley." Dudley gave a vague wave and returned to explaining the purpose of a rubber duck to the eagerly attentive Mr. Weasley.

"Our daughter will be starting at Hogwarts this year," Mr. Prewett said.

"I'm really looking forward to it!" the young girl said eagerly. Her mother sighed, a little sadly.

"There's still time to change your mind," Mrs. Prewett said to her.

Mr. Prewett narrowed his lips. "I am afraid she has to go."

Mrs. Prewett didn't look completely convinced. "She's only eleven. I still don't like the idea of sending her to a boarding school, and that goes double for one without a phone.

"I'm going to miss you so much, sweetheart!" She hugged Mafalda around the shoulders, and her daughter leant into her.

"I have an owl, remember! I promise I'll send lots of letters," the young girl reassured her mother. "I'll be back for Easter and Christmas, too."

"I know you will be, but I'll still miss you," her mother said, picking at her food. "How did you find starting at Hogwarts, Harold? I was told you were raised in an ordinary environment by your aunt, and only found out about magic later? Did you struggle with homesickness or culture shock?"

Homesickness… missing his family? Not really. "Uh… more the culture shock, I think. I didn't really want to be there at first, but they didn't really give me a choice. I got used to it, and I love being there now. It was great once I'd made a few friends and settled in, and meeting Pansy helped too – she's my second cousin. It's nice to have family around and she helped explain a lot of wizarding culture to me. She still does, in fact – there's more to learn than you might think at first.

"I understand you're related to the Weasleys, Miss Prewett?" he continued.

She beamed at him as she replied, "Yes, my dad is Mrs. Weasley's second cousin, so the Weasley kids and I are third cousins. Dad says he's asked them to watch out for me."

"Formally as patrons?" Harry asked.

Her father fielded that question, and replied, "Informally so. They are all rather young for that sort of thing, of course. Miss Weasley has kindly agreed to keep an eye out for Mafalda, and to help her out with any difficulties she may experience."

"Are there any other Prewett cousins at Hogwarts at the moment?" Harry asked, but his question seemed to unfortunately hit a sore spot for Mr. Prewett.

"No," he said curtly. "That is, none I know of. I've kept my surname despite some disagreements on the matter, but the Prewett family doesn't acknowledge us, and I don't acknowledge them. They're ashamed of having a Squib relative who works as an accountant and married a Muggle."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean any offence," Harry apologised. "I just thought since you're here…"

As Mr. Prewett looked disgruntled, Sirius joined in with an explanation. "Molly isn't the Head of the Prewett family, and even if she was, a party invitation alone still wouldn't count as formal familial recognition by a House."

They chatted amicably over dinner about how Sirius had been disowned by his mother for "being a disgrace to the family in almost every possible way", and how his mother's attempt at cursing him with Damnatio Memoriae had failed.

"It is a powerful curse that removes your name," explained Sirius, "and irrevocably casts you out of a House. It erases you from recorded history – so you won't be remembered. You're not entitled to keep your surname, and any paintings, photographs, or records of you are usually magically damaged or destroyed. It can affect your magic too – it makes it unstable until you claim a new name.

"It is supposed to be one of the worst punishments imaginable, worse even than execution. It was once reserved for the evillest Dark Lords and the worst emperors in Roman history – records of you are removed from anywhere they appear. Ancient Egyptian wizards loved that curse too. My family's always been rather liberal with that curse, and when I refused to go along with a hmm… a family alliance… and ran away from home, my mother blasted me off the family tree. She managed to burn a hole in the family tapestry, but the curse didn't take of course. I'll show it to you when you visit, Harry," he promised, noticing Harry's interest.

"My mother was a bit… unbalanced, as she got older. She tried cursing quite a few of us – anyone in the family who crossed her. Uncle Alphard got in trouble for giving me some Galleons so I could pay for the last year of Hogwarts myself, without relying on the generosity of the Potters. Back then, Grandfather Arcturus was Head of the family, so the curses – against both me and Uncle Alphard – just fizzled. Mother just didn't have the authority she thought she was entitled to have."

"Were any Squib relatives cursed?" Mr. Prewett asked curiously. "I was disowned, but not cursed like that. Of course, the Prewetts have always prided themselves on being a Light family – very modern and proper witches and wizards who don't dabble in curses or other Dark magic, a lot of them Christians to boot."

"Oh, of course they were cast out. We're a pure-blood family, so of course to keep that reputation somewhere along the line someone successfully disowned and cursed Great-Uncle Marius, who was a Squib. And a few generations back there was Iola B-," Sirius made a brief choking noise, unable to finish the name. "Iola Hitchens, that is. She married a Muggle - Bob Hitchens. She was disowned for that of course – sullying the family line. Before our time."

"They cursed people just for that? You can't even say her old name?" Miss Prewett asked, jaw agape.

Sirius shook his head. "No I can't – they did the job properly. I think Phineas Nigellus Black was Head at that time, back in the late 1800's. Former Headmaster at Hogwarts."

"I've met his portrait," Harry said. "He seemed nice…"

"I told you," Mr. Prewett said warningly to his daughter. "Squibs, Muggle-borns, and even half-bloods are very poorly treated in magical society. You'll have to make friends and allies at school and watch your step."

His daughter nodded gravely. "I will."

"Stop scaring her, Magnus!" his wife rebuked with a quiet hiss, mouth in a thin angry line.

Her husband's brow furrowed stubbornly. "Better she be braced for troubles than blind to them."

"It won't be that bad. There's prefects you can turn to if there's any trouble, or you could talk to your Head of House. I'll help too," volunteered Harry. "If there's any bullying or anything, just let me know. I've got friends in all the Houses, so if there's trouble, no matter what House you end up in I'm sure I can let one of the older students know to have a word with someone. I promise it's really not that bad at Hogwarts – my friend Hermione is Muggle-born and she loves it there. I expect it's a lot better than it was back in your father's day, Miss Prewett, when the war was on? Times change."

"Perhaps," Mr. Prewett said grudgingly.

Then he glanced at his wife and caught her wide-eyed meaningful look, and added, "I'm sure it is. Things will no doubt be greatly improved since my time, with You-Know-Who dead and gone, and his followers disgraced. And Dumbledore's in charge – he's a good man and firmly in the Light."

"Thank you for your offer of help, Harold," Miss Prewett said gratefully.

"Umm, keep in mind in wizarding culture you stick to using last names until you're officially friends. Ah… Well, never mind," backpedalled Harry, looking at her suddenly woebegone face, and noticing her mother's quiet upset glare in his direction. "I suppose you can call me Harold if you like, Mafalda."

She beamed happily, and it lit up her plain round face with a smile that was rather catching. Ginny glared at her from a few places down the table, angrily mushing the remnants of food on her own plate with a fork into an unrecognisable mess.

After a lovely dessert of home-made strawberry ice-cream and butterscotch pudding, the guests strolled to the unofficial Quidditch pitch at the back of the property, which was a grassy field with two low-set triple hoops partially hidden from the view of passers-by behind some tall pine trees. They had a small-scale game with a Keeper (Ron vs. Charlie), two Chasers (Harry and Cedric vs. Sirius and Ginny), and a Beater (Fred vs. George) for each side. There were no Seekers as they were short on both brooms and players, so the first team to a hundred points would win the game. Harry and Diggory dubbed their team the "Loyal Lions", while Sirius, George, and Charlie were the ones on the opposing team who came up with their team name of the "Black Dragons". Sirius had insisted he was "young at heart" and should get to join in too, and no-one had any objections.

Harry found being a Chaser was much harder than being a Seeker – he was better at catching the Quaffle than at accurately throwing it, and was adequate but not fantastic at either job.

Dudley was disappointed to find that he couldn't so much as make any of the old enchanted broomsticks quiver, let alone leap up into his hand on command like the other kids could. After a few fruitless attempts to get a broomstick to work for him, he retreated from the pitch with a grumpy scowl. Harry consider going after him but noticed Mr. Prewett drawing Dudley aside for a private chat and decided to leave him to it – his team was anxious to get started and they wouldn't want Harry wandering off.

After a hard-fought match, Harry's team lost by a narrow margin of goals. They were eighty points to the Black Dragons' ninety, when Sirius sent the Quaffle soaring through a hoop, just edging past Ron's reaching fingertips to his frustrated dismay, the cheers of Sirius' team and whoops and applause from the watching guests.

Sirius gloated excitedly after he scored the final winning goal. "It's a glorious triumph for the Black Dragons! Black scores the winning goal and the crowd goes wild! It's a Marauder victory!" Sirius cried happily. He clasped his hands together and shook them above his head joyously as he led the Black Dragons in a victory lap of the field, revelling in their triumph.

Harry applauded them politely, and comforted Ron who looked a little downcast at not stopping that last goal. He then returned his rather battered broomstick to the smiling Mr. Weasley.

Harry looked around for Dudley and Mr. Prewett but couldn't see them nearby. He spotted Luna chatting with Cedric, Mafalda, and Ginny about the game. Meanwhile Sirius seemed to have done something to impress the Weasley twins, who were bowing deeply to him as if they were acknowledging a life debt (according to the standards for bowing Pansy had drilled him in). Sirius just looked amused at their antics, so he guessed they were just joking around.

"Hello Harry," Percy said politely, wandering over and drawing his attention. "Mr. Lovegood said to let you know he has taken your snake to go hunting for fairy eggs in the garden, which he seemed sure Storm would find a great delicacy. They should be back shortly. Excellent game, by the way."

"Thanks Percy. Being a Chaser was tougher than I thought. How's work at the moment?" he asked courteously.

"I find myself buried in paperwork discussing the impacts of cauldron thickness on cauldron leaks and brewing. I have been asked to research the topic before writing a report proposing an international standard on the matter." Percy's face was a mixture of pride and nervousness as he spoke, and he fidgeted anxiously with his glasses as he spoke, cleaning them with a handkerchief.

"Huh," said Harry thoughtfully, "does cauldron thickness have much of an impact on the quality of the potion itself?"

Percy looked a little more relaxed after Harry's response, and put his glasses back on. "No, not that I have come across in my research, unless there has been some problem with fraud going on – such as gold plating over pewter instead of a solid gold cauldron, for instance. That can ruin expensive potion ingredients, as well as being a major issue of financial fraud. The primary issue is that some potions are corrosive when misbrewed, or during some particular stages of brewing for rare potions, and that can have catastrophic effects if a cauldron cracks so that potion leaks over the brewer or an open flame. Cheap imports have been a problem in England lately."

Harry nodded. "Interesting. And how are you finding working for Mr. Crouch in general?"

"Marvellous! He is so well organised and professional, it's fantastic," Percy gushed. "I did have a little bit of a problem with him calling me 'Weatherby' for a while. Interestingly enough, it was your card that did the trick there – he read it out of curiosity one day and realised my surname's actually Weasley. So thank you again for that."

Harry's face screwed up in confusion. "Well I'm glad it helped, but how on earth could he make a mistake like that when your family is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight? And doesn't he know your dad? I thought he introduced you to Mr. Crouch. He works at the Ministry too, right? In Muggle relations?"

Percy sighed and shook his head sadly. "Apparently Mr. Crouch has said father's name wrong for years. The issue just hasn't come up often because he mostly calls him 'Arthur'. Father said he finds it funny. Also, at first when he was new to the Ministry father didn't want to offend by correcting a senior Ministry member in front of everyone in a meeting. He said it also became just too awkward to correct him after it had gone on for a while. I didn't know how to mention it politely either. It was all very embarrassing when the truth came out."

Harry murmured his sympathy.

"On the whole though, cauldron bottoms and name issues aside, it's been a very exciting department to work in. There's a very interesting international project I've been helping organise, but it is classified information until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it."

"Nothing problematic I hope?" asked Harry with a worried frown, thinking of the Dark Lord, and possible international wars.

"Quite the contrary, it should be something rather marvellous," Percy reassured.

Harry decided his duty of courteous chat was done – not that it had been a hardship – and was free to move along. "Well, it has been nice to catch up, but if you'll excuse me I was looking for my cousin – I saw him last with Mr. Prewett?"

"I think they went inside the house with mum," Percy volunteered. "She was giving them a tour. I'll let Mr. Lovegood know where you are, if I see him before you do."

Harry nodded his thanks and headed off in search of them. He found Dudley on the front lawn lumbering around trying to catch garden gnomes so he could fling them over a hedge. Dudley gave him a bit of a wave when he saw him but then disregarded his appearance, quite gleefully occupied in swinging gnomes around by their feet.

Harry wandered over to where Mr. Prewett was watching Dudley with an indulgent smile. "Everything alright?" Harry asked.

"Yes. Your cousin just found it a difficult moment. He hadn't realised most enchanted objects wouldn't work for him. I wonder that you didn't warn him," he said rebukingly.

"Thank you for talking with him. I didn't know that about broomsticks myself, you know," explained Harry. "I was raised in the Muggle world, not knowing about magic until I turned eleven. I don't know a lot about Squibs and how things are different for you, except well… the obvious stuff. And that most potions won't work and can be dangerous to ingest – I know a fair bit about that."

Mr. Prewett nodded, looking less cross. "Your cousin isn't a Squib – he's a Muggle."

"What's the difference – how can you tell? Is that something you've researched?"

"I suppose it's just semantics, really. In either case his citizenship classification would be Peregrini, so really the difference is moot. A Squib has at least one magical parent, while a Muggle has two non-magical parents. Neither have any magical ability – though some claim that Squibs have some tiny amount of magical power that we simply do not have the capability to access properly."

His brow furrowed deeply as he frowned. "I can't tell you how many times I was encouraged as a child to just try harder, as if I could stop being a Squib by simply not being so lazy."

"Was it hard? Growing up different to everyone around you? Was there a lot of prejudice?" Harry asked, thinking of how his aunt and uncle had always known he was different, even though they'd never said anything to him.

"Yes, it was hard. It still is, now I'm back. I have been extremely happy in the Muggle world – I turned my back on the wizarding world in my late teens, and never looked back. I have returned for my daughter's sake. I want to ease Mafalda's way as much as I can, and I can't do that without re-establishing connections. I can't even take her to buy her school supplies without help for God's sake!"

"Why not?"

"I don't have a wand. Even should I manage to push past the Muggle-Repelling Charms on the Leaky Cauldron I can't even open the entrance to Diagon Alley without a wand. I have to beg someone to help me, like a child would. If you are a Squib you are reliant on the kindness of others for so many things in life. Everything from hailing the Knight Bus, to household tasks like cleaning clothes, or needing someone to fill a bathtub for you - for many tubs are unconnected to any Muggle-style plumbing. There's no need for proper plumbing when you can use magic to produce water. Even something so simple as walking around the Ministry becomes nigh impossible, thus blocking off a multitude of daily tasks and further hampering your chances of employment."

Seeing Harry's puzzled look, Mr. Prewett added, "Have you never visited there? You need to have your wand checked and registered on entry, to be authorised to move around the building. To do otherwise is to be suspected of planning some wrongdoing or being a criminal trying to escape identification, like a Muggle refusing to show their driver's licence to a police officer."

"You can't just explain you're a Squib and don't have a wand?"

Mr. Prewett sighed. "Yes, you can. And after some suspicious and lengthy questioning, you then receive the pity or scorn that is a Squib's lot. Either sneers, or the condescending wonder that you 'look so normal' and they wouldn't have guessed."

His face screwed up in an ugly scowl as he continued, transforming his generally mild face into something unpleasant. "You can't understand what it was like, being a literal second-class citizen, knowing your rights are less than those of everyone around you – not allowed to vote, marry freely, or work for the Ministry. But it was the daily prejudice that ground me down the most, even when people were trying to be nice. The unwanted advice never ended – from Ministry staff, or shopkeeps, and an endless stream of family friends. Advice about Kwikspell courses, or how someone's Healer recommended scrupulously avoiding iron and strict avoidance of Muggles and their world. Someone else's advice that their cousin swore by eating Flobberworms or dragon liver to improve magical skill. But none of it helped, of course! And oh, the surprised observations that I was 'still' wearing robes and wasn't it so brave of me to try to be part of the wizarding world. Every slur and every thoughtless compliment saying that I didn't really belong – that I would always be an outsider. A Squib who'd never spark with magic. A Peregrinus – a foreigner in my own land that I was born into."

Harry took a wary step backwards as he watched the man glower and saw how his hands clenched in anger brought on by his reminiscences. "I'm sorry," he said apologetically, "I'll try to never act like that, I promise. I'm sorry I upset you." He'd kind of felt like that in reverse, trying to be normal and fit into the Muggle world. He didn't know if he should say that or not, however. He didn't want to make Mr. Prewett any angrier than he already was. So he fell back on his default strategy – take the blame and apologise.

"Oh, it's alright, I'm not mad at you, honestly. Sorry I got carried away there," Mr. Prewett said, plastering on a smile. "I'm just… upset at having to come back to it all, after I swore to all my family I'd never return. But I will, for Mafalda's sake. My daughter matters more to me than clinging to a bitter old vow."

"It's fine, it's not a problem. It was very interesting and enlightening to hear," Harry said politely. "Well since Dudley looks fine here I might go looking for my snake if that's alright with you. Storm said he was happy to go off with Mr. Lovegood while I was flying, but I'm getting a little worried and I'd like to check up on him."

"I saw them pass by earlier, headed for the duck pond," Mr. Prewett said, pointing off into a clump of trees. "I'll help you look for them."

Harry called out to his pet in a combination of English and hisses in Parseltongue as he headed off into the small patch of woods. "Ssstorm! Where are you? Storm! Mr. Lovegood!" Mr. Prewett trailed along with him.

In the distance through some trees he heard a voice call, "Mr. Potter? We're at the pond!"

"Harold? Over here! I caught two fairies – did you know they are very tasty?"

Harry found the two of them by the lily-filled pond. Mr. Lovegood looked relieved to see him arrive, and a little frazzled with messy hair and a few small new tears in his shirt.

"Your snake keeps trying to eat the fairies, and they're trying to bite him of course, and some have grabbed thorns to attack him with," Mr. Lovegood explained, pausing to cast another Shield Charm. "I don't think he quite realises that the only reason they're not stabbing and biting him is because I keep shielding him and disarming them. And he won't let me pick him up!"

Harry felt a bit sick. Eggs were bad enough. Fairies were smart. They might be a little bit more like chirping insects than the sentient butterfly-winged people of fairy tales, but they were still semi-intelligent, early tool-using creatures. But he knew that Storm wouldn't really care about that. Storm's commitment to not eating humans (when he would be big enough to do so) stemmed more from his repeated promises to Harry and a liking for a few specific "favourite" people, than from any moral objections to the concept in general.

"Ssstorm, ssstop trying to eat the fairies. You've had enough and they're getting angry at you – look, they've armed themselvess with thornss. You don't want to get hurt, do you?"

"Thiss man is protecting me with magic," Storm explained. "So that I can eat them sssafely. Don't worry, Harold. He is a very sssmart Clever-man. I like him. He sssaid nice thingss about me and found me a tasty sssnack. He is one of my favouritess now."

"He sssays you should ssstop now," Harry said sternly. "He has other thingss to do. And I want you to come back with me – it's almost time to go."

Storm assented with a grumpy hiss and slithered up Harry's leg to drape himself around Harry's neck like a thick scaly scarf - his current preferred location to be carried.

"Well, that was a bracing experience," Mr. Lovegood said cheerfully, as they all retreated from the angrily buzzing fairies. "I still want that interview, so long as you can keep him from lunging at me next time we meet."

"Sorry about that." Harry cocked his head to look down at his pet. "Ssstorm, did you try and bite Mr. Lovegood?" he chided.

"No."

Harry hesitated as he considered Storm's reply for a moment. Storm didn't usually lie to him. "Did you… hisss at him or otherwise make him think you might bite him?"

"Oh. Yess, just a dry ssstrike. He tried to pick me up, and I wasn't full yet. But of course I didn't actually bite him. You told me not to, remember?"

"Ah. He just meant it as a warning, because he hadn't finished eating. He says he wouldn't really have bitten you. I'm very sorry. Anyway, we're still happy to do that interview where I translate stories for him – I think it will be good for people to see how useful it can be to be a Parselmouth."

"I'd advise against it," Mr. Prewett warned. "You might not be aware – being Muggle-raised – but it's a talent with a very poor reputation. You'll damage your societal standing if you advertise it, possibly irretrievably with the Lighter families. Snakes have long been associated with the devil, and of course with Salazar Slytherin and some other Dark wizards. Herpo the Foul of Ancient Greece was a Parselmouth, if I recall correctly."

"I can't help the powers I was born with," Harry said stiffly, "any more than you can change your own nature. I don't think I need to be ashamed of being a Parselmouth. I like being able to talk with Storm. Besides, people already gossip about it – it's public knowledge, and there's even a book coming out by Gilderoy Lockhart that mentions me being a Parselmouth quite a bit. This is more like… additional damage control."

Mr. Prewett looked startled at that, and then nodded apologetically. "I see, quite right. I wasn't aware you knew about the talent's reputation, and I hadn't realised you'd thought your plan through properly. A wise decision then, young man. My apologies for making assumptions – I meant my advice for the best."

"I understand. Thank you, sir."

With the party generally wrapping up, Harry collected Dudley and made a round of polite farewells to everyone, starting with his hosts, and then the other adults. He wasn't really sure of everyone's precedence – he knew the Prewetts were part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight like the Weasleys, but if Mr. Prewett had been disowned, maybe that didn't count? The Diggorys and Lovegoods weren't, but for all he knew they might be Noble or Ancient families. So he just farewelled Sirius first, then all the others as he came across them.

"I'm sorry we didn't get to chat more," Sirius apologised embarrassedly. "Fred and George had these great products they wanted to show me – prank potions they've been working on, mostly. They've been trying to convince me to invest in their business, and I think I might. Very promising youngsters, I must say."

"That's alright," Harry said. "We had a nice chat while we were eating, and a game of Quidditch, too."

"Don't forget about your visit, and the Quidditch World Cup! It's going to be incredible! I've gotten Top Box tickets. If you change your mind and want to visit early, that will be fine too."

"I want to see a Quidditch World Cup!" Dudley demanded.

Sirius looked uncomfortable as he apologised with dubious sincerity, "I'm sorry, the wards won't allow it. The arena will be heavily warded against Muggles, and Obliviators and Hit Wizards will be on patrol around the perimeter as per ICW standards. We just can't risk Muggles seeing a hundred thousand wizards and witches assembling to watch people flying around on broomsticks."

Dudley scowled and folded his arms. "That's dumb, and unfair. Whatever. I don't care."

It wasn't very eloquently put, but Harry thought Dudley rather had a point. What about Squibs? What about families where one partner was a Muggle, or Muggle-born families?

"Sorry, I don't make the rules," Sirius said, with a shrug.

-000-

After their many farewells, Harry and Dudley caught the Knight Bus with the Prewett family. Dudley lightened out of his grumpy mood as he revelled in the opportunity to teach Harry about something magical.

"Squibs and Muggles who get involved with a witch or wizard can apply at your government to get a bus token," he explained. "And you can get a magical pet like a Kneazle or Storm to touch the token for you if you don't have magical relatives to help you, and the token calls the bus like a magic wand does. The Knight Bus was made up a hundred years ago to be nice to Squibs and old people who can't teleport or fly, but then a bunch of people messed it up. Because they wanted it to be purple – because wizards love purple – and have comfier chairs in it better than normal bus seats, and beds for night-time, and then it stood out. So then people had to enchant it, so no normal people wouldn't notice the bus looking weird, and that made it hard for Squibs to catch the bus, even though it was designed for them in the first place."

"Design by committee," Mrs. Prewett said amusedly. "It's a curse."

"Do you like purple, Harold? Is it instinctual? I rather like purple," Mafalda said shyly. She flicked at the end of one of her plaits, which were tied with violet ribbons.

Harry shrugged. "Not especially more than any other colour. I guess I like red?"

Mrs. Prewett looked Harry up and down, eying his scarlet trousers and long red coat. "I never would have guessed," she laughed.

Harry grinned. "It was a gift, and red is one of my Hogwarts House colours. That can be a popular choice for many – lots of Slytherins wear green, for instance. Generally speaking, black, purple, and green are the most traditional colours for clothing in wizarding society. I believe purple used to be an easy way to lord it over Muggles, when purple dye was super expensive, but the Colour Change Charm was easy. And there's a Roman influence coming in there, too – purple was a high-status colour. I don't know about why green is traditional."

After they parted from the Prewetts in Surrey, Harry was about to head straight home before Dudley reminded him of something.

"Don't forget to change out of your weird wizard clothes, or mum and dad will go spare," Dudley warned.

Harry blanched in panic at his narrow escape. "Thank Merlin you reminded me, I totally forgot! I owe you one, Big D."

He scurried into the park's loo to change out of his wizarding clothes and back into something more ordinary.

"You're different around them. Wizards, that is," Dudley observed, as they walked home together.

"I guess."

"You talk more. And you seem kind of… popular." The amazement in his voice wasn't very flattering, but Harry guessed it was fair. He'd never been popular at St. Grogory's.

"I have to be different – people expect different things of me there. I'm… kind of famous. For how my parents died, as martyrs who fought this evil wizard – a Dark Lord," Harry said, not wanting to go into detail. "Just about everyone wants me to be social, and do well in school, and dress properly."

"Huh."

They walked in silence for a moment, pausing in their discussion of magic-related things as a mother passed by pushing a pram, with a toddler trotting alongside her babbling in a happy lisp to her mother and baby brother about penguins.

After they'd gone past Harry asked, "Did you have fun today, Dudley?"

"I guess. The food was good, and some of them were nice – I liked Mr. Weasley, and Cedric, and Mr. Prewett. He was really nice. I liked Charlie, too – how cool is that, working with dragons? And your giiirrlfriend Ginny was funny," he said with a teasing grin and a friendly shove that made Harry stumble and make a face. "Those gnomes were wicked fun to throw around, too.

"I can see why mum doesn't like any of them though. Cedric's dad talked to me extra slowly and explained everything like I was thick. And Mr. Black kept sneering at me. I didn't like how I couldn't make anything work, either. Like the brooms."

"It doesn't sound like it'd be fun to be a Squib in the wizarding world," agreed Harry. It had sounded even more difficult a job than trying to be a Muggle in the normal world when you were actually a wizard. In both cases you were doomed to hardship and failure no matter how hard you tried. It wasn't fair, but there you had it. That was life.


A/N: Malfalda is an interesting almost-canonical character who was cut from JKR's early draft of GoF during one of her rewrites. She is the magically talented daughter of the Squib accountant who is a second cousin of Molly's. The Squib relative whom the Weasleys "don't talk about", that Ron mentioned on the train ride in the first book.

SirLordLonKirk – Thanks for your encouragement to feature the Squib second cousin in my fic, and your name pick.

Pom_Rania - New tank requested for Storm, thanks for your reminder that he needs one. He's a growing snakey!

Accuracy in Fiction (Facebook group) – Thanks to all the group members who helped me refine Mr. Prewett's attitude and conversation by sharing their personal experiences of prejudice.

Has Uncle Vernon's behaviour been sounding painfully familiar to you? "Gaslighting is an extremely effective form of emotional abuse that causes a victim to question their own feelings, instincts and sanity, which gives the abusive partner a lot of power (and we know that abuse is about power and control). Once an abusive partner has broken down the victim's ability to trust their own perceptions, the victim is more likely to stay in the abusive relationship." It is an emotionally abusive technique and can be very frightening, especially as its practice causes those who are abused to doubt their own perceptions and feelings.

This next part is a message to everyone who might be in a troubling situation like this one. It is probably worth finding someone IRL to talk to about this feeling, either to confirm or deny, as one of the best ways to deal with it is to get external support and perspective.

If you need to reach out to someone and you're in the US, it might be worth calling the national domestic violence hotline at 1-800-799-7233, or the crisis text line (Text HOME to 741741 from anywhere in the United States) as they can help you reflect on the experience and connect with local resources.

If you're in Australia and this relates to your parents, eHeadspace is a support line for kids and young adults – call them on 1800 650 890 and they can direct you to support. Or for family counselling or help dealing with domestic violence, call 1800 RESPECT (1800 737 732).

For other countries, if you leave a comment with the country name, I'll try to post phone numbers or text numbers where you can find resources. If you log out from this site, you can leave a comment/review anonymously, if you wish.