It was obvious in hindsight, Harry realised, that he didn't need to make suggestions or manipulate anyone into going on that specific date after all. Molly Weasley had organised their shopping trip with all the grace and efficiency of a centaur at full charge; he'd pointed out the direction and no further encouragement was necessary.
It was simply a pity for Harry's reputation that he hadn't worked that out beforehand: Mrs Weasley and Hermione for some odd reason seemed to think he admired Lockhart somehow, and no matter how strongly he denied it, their opinion never seemed to change.
However, the important parts of his plan continued smoothly. The morning of the shopping trip began simply enough. After a few hearty bacon sandwiches for breakfast, there was a small fuss over the Floo powder method of travel, this time centring around Hermione.
"I know all about it," she declared bravely, "in theory. I take the powder, throw it on the flame, step in once it burns green and call out my destination clearly, correct? The Ministry pamphlet states that it is the safest form of wizarding transport – especially for the young and infirm – and the worst accident in Floo Network history is the case of Violet Tillyman, who mispronounced her destination and disappeared from society for twenty years. Despite the public outcry," Hermione continued, speaking faster and faster, "and subsequent panic, it was actually a romantic story, because she when she stumbled out of the wrong fireplace at the time..."
"Yes, dear," Mrs Weasley patted her on the head kindly and cut off her regurgitation of the history of Violet Tillyman and her seven children.
They sorted the fuss out quickly: Fred and George stepping through first, Harry giving Hermione a few, most helpful hints before he followed ("Keep your elbows tucked in, take a big breath before you step in the fire"). Soon the group of ten were standing happily in front of the Diagon Alley network connection, slightly sooty but otherwise alright.
Having successfully arrived at Diagon Alley with no magical mishaps or misadventures, Harry's mind returned to what he could remember of the timeline. Although without his Pensieve he could not yet remember details reliably, he did tend to suffer from periods of compulsive comparison: timeline to timeline. Some facts stood out.
By rights, Hagrid would also be wandering the narrow street in search of Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent by now.
Draco Malfoy and his father should be selling dark artefacts in Knockturn Alley too, possibly with fewer insults regarding Harry if he read his relationship with Malfoy correctly. Harry was pleased to remember in passing that he had already successfully removed the Vanishing Cabinet from Borgin and Burkes, well away from Malfoy's impressionable eyes.
The large group found their way through the throng of people and milled around the entrance of Gringotts for a few minutes, waiting for Neville's stern-looking grandmother and Hermione's parents to arrive.
The noise was deafening. The loud clatter of boots on cobblestones and chatter of voices made even the Alley seem slightly claustrophobic while they waited. Ron and Neville were standing a little too far apart to have a comfortable conversation. To Harry's dismay, Ron decided against moving closer to Neville to hear what he said.
"WHAT'S THAT?" Ron bellowed, right next to Harry's ear.
Voice drowned in the ambient noise, Neville mouthed something back.
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
Harry flinched and rubbed his ear reflexively.
Then he caught Mrs Weasley's eye and grimaced apologetically: apparently his waxing eloquent about avoiding the crowds had been wishful thinking.
Wishing earnestly that he could use his wand without Mrs Weasley noticing, Harry attempted to save his eardrums.
"Alright guys," he called, gesturing firmly. "Huddle up close. I said, huddle up, people, so we don't have to shout!" Hermione and Neville shuffled forward. "HUDDLE UP, RON!"
"WHAT?!"
Harry grabbed Ron's arm and yanked him close to the others. "Now we can hear each other!"
They mouthed platitudes at each other for a few minutes: Harry wasn't quite sure what the others were saying, but the obvious assumption was that they were complaining about the sound.
Then Mr Weasley or someone must have taken pity on them, because the clamour receded, and Harry felt his ears pop with the sudden lack of noise.
"Thank goodness," Hermione sighed into what seemed like ringing silence. "I thought I was going to go deaf."
Neville grinned. "Good day to be out, don't you think? People must be out for the great weather."
"That's one perspective."
"Bit of a change from the Burrow, I'd say."
It led to a few minutes of comparison. Did the excitement of the Alley make up for the crowds? Was the comfort of the Burrow, and the Weasley tribe, a better time?
Ron had his own perspective of the last few days. "I don't understand why you were spending all that time with my folks," he groused, while Hermione checked her watch and Mr and Mrs Weasley craned their necks to see over the throng of people. "I thought I'd finally have time to catch up with Harry today, but look how that's worked out. Weren't you were going to spend the holidays with me, not my family?"
"We did have the chess tournament and the Quidditch," Neville pointed out mildly. "It's not like we lost him in the crowds back at your place."
"Well, yeah," Ron nodded. "But that was still everyone. Although," he added hastily, as if he was afraid that he seemed ungrateful, "you were both really good about the chess thing. I got a little competitive halfway through – after that game with Hermione – and I forgot to hold back on you. You were really good sports about it and everything."
Harry and Neville exchanged an amused glance. They'd both been thrashed in the round-robin competition, and to no one's surprise except the Weasley family's, Ron had dominated everyone.
"I saw you talking to Percy," Ron continued. "What have you got to talk about with him, Harry? It's nothing personal, you know, but he's my most boring brother."
Behind Ron, Harry saw Percy grimace, and inch further away. He must have been inside the quiet bubble too, and Harry wished he had chosen to overhear something else.
"I don't know, Ron," he loudly proclaimed. "He's a great guy. He's been helping me out a lot with my studies, particularly after your dad showed me that stuff, you know."
It was about that time that Harry realised the whole group must have been isolated from the noise, because Mrs Weasley must have caught Harry's voice. Her head snapped around and she looked at her husband quite intently, hackles rising. "What 'stuff' is this, Arthur? Not more spellwork, I hope?"
Arthur stammered, "Oh no, Molly dear. Not at all. I would never encourage the boys to learn spells out of Hogwarts. Definitely not, eh boys?"
Percy and Harry nodded.
Mrs Weasley narrowed her eyes. "No more Ministry loopholes then?"
"Certainly not," said Mr Weasley, shaking out a handkerchief with which he could mop his forehead. "It was just Harry's birthday presents they were talking about. Weren't you Harry?"
"Oh yes," Harry assured her. "Only one cursed present among them, and even that wasn't meant badly, Mr Weasley said. I was very grateful for the help."
"Well then, I suppose that's alright dear." Mrs Weasley settled back where she stood. After the stress of the moment, Harry's gaze met Percy's who, to Harry's astonishment, quietly winked. The moment was broken when Mrs Weasley then cried out in delight as she saw Hermione's parents push through the crowd. Augusta Longbottom arrived not long after.
As a group, they then made their way into the cool marble hall of Gringotts, where the Weasleys visited their vault and the Grangers exchanged muggle money before everyone split up to do their shopping – ears all protected this time, thank goodness.
On the steps of Gringotts, Percy muttered something about needing a new quill, and shortly thereafter the twins spotted Lee Jordan and dashed off accordingly. Mrs Weasley and Ginny disappeared just as rapidly to buy her wand and other first-year requirements. Mr Weasley, having watched closely as his wife bustled off into the distance, promptly invited the Mr and Mrs Granger for a drink at the Leaky Cauldron as soon as she was out of sight. As they walked off together rapidly, Mr Weasley already asking excitedly about the telly. Harry was slightly disturbed to hear Mr Weasley occasionally bounce on the balls of his feet, in time to the rhythm "Rubber Ducky", which he might also have been mumbling under his breath.
Neville, who had been blossoming in the company of Harry over the previous year, looked somewhat lost and diminished in the presence of his august grandmother. His self-confidence shrank rapidly, leaving Ron – the least observant of the friends – to dominate the conversation.
Feeling sorry for his nervous friend, Harry spoke up.
"Madam Longbottom, it's a pleasure to meet you," he offered, using all his twelve-year-old dignity to hide the fact that he didn't know whether to bow or offer a handshake. "Neville's told us so much about you and his family. You must be very proud of him." He smiled charmingly, Gilderoy Lockhart style, and hoped Madan Longbottom didn't know enough about him to tell that he wasn't quite in character. Neville looked between Harry and his grandmother, somewhat baffled. Harry blithely ignored the fact that Neville had told him no such thing.
Madam Longbottom inclined her head graciously, ignoring her grandson's puzzled look.
"Indeed," she said. "Neville has told me many things about his friends this year. I appreciate you watching over him at school."
"Not at all," Harry rebutted quickly. "Neville's been a great bloke to have about. He did me a huge favour back at the beginning of last year when I was having trouble with a certain hex, and he's always helping us out with our Herbology work."
He scratched his head, honestly awkward. "Uh…and I really need to thank you for the very generous Christmas present I received a while back. Memorabilia of, um…I really…I don't, I can't really say how much it means, but I…excuse me." He had to turn and cough.
Augusta's stern face peered searchingly down into Harry's, and he felt a hot flush of blood flooding into his head.
In the face of his embarrassment, Ron's face suddenly relaxed in understanding, while Hermione looked between the two of them curiously.
The stern old lady softened visibly. "Our families were very close. It was the least we could do for you."
Harry smiled back, genuinely. "Well, Nev's always been a really thoughtful kind of bloke, so I shouldn't have been surprised as I was."
Hermione's mouth made a little 'o' shape as she made the connection to Harry's most precious Christmas present. Although she clearly didn't know where Harry was going with his effort, he knew he could rely on her to help him along. She was just a moment away from jumping in to contribute.
"Harry takes very good care of them," she ventured tentatively.
Harry shrugged. "I can't not, now can I?" Although his flush was fading, he still absently reached up to scratch the back of his neck in discomfort, before forging on. "Such a generous gift. No, really." He cut Augusta and Neville's protests off. "Really. I think it says something special about Nev that, being what they are" – precious memories of his own absent parents – "he still gave them to me."
"Neville's very self-sacrificing," Hermione smiled. "And so determined to do the right thing. He's always so good about keeping up with his studies, and is a great help to Ron here, isn't he Ron."
Ron got a stray elbow straight in the gut, and oofed a little.
"Wha'? Uh...yeah, you're a great help, mate. Couldn't do it without you, y'know."
Neville glowed a little at the praise from his friends and stood up straighter. Ron's muttered complaints to Hermione was quite muted for him, while the conversation moved on.
Madam Longbottom favoured her grandson with a look less stern than usual.
"Is that so? It is reassuring to hear that you are keeping up with your friends, Neville," the strict woman offered. "Your parents would be proud of you."
Harry, a little concerned that Ron or Hermione might pick up on the comment and raise awkward questions, leapt ahead with his plan.
"I'm sure they would be," he smiled. "Neville's a perfect Gryffindor, just like his parents. Is that his father's wand he's been using?"
Madam Longbottom eyed Harry curiously, thereby missing Neville's look of puzzlement.
"Indeed," the matriarch answered. "I am pleased to hear he has been speaking of his parents. Why do you ask?"
Harry blithely went on to wax lyrical on Ollivander's most famous phrase.
" – and so, of course, I never knew that wands choose their wizard until last year," he rambled, shuffling his feet on the hard Gringotts steps. "Does that mean that Neville would have more power and control with a wand that chooses him?"
Neville, listening curiously all this time, looked eagerly at his grandmother. Hermione stared a little longer at Harry, finally rewarding him with a small smile.
"Oh, what a lovely idea," she added, slyly for her. "You mean Neville would be even more successful with a wand that chooses him, Harry? His parents would be so proud."
Madam Longbottom looked measuringly between the hopeful Neville and his friends. Their eager little eyes looked back, a baffled Ron also throwing in his hopeful gaze in solidarity with his friends, and finally the older woman sniffed softly in amusement.
Harry could have sworn he heard her mention something about, 'taking after his father', but he kept his gaze firmly, hopefully on her.
The stern dowager finally returned her gaze to Harry, staring at his youthful face with dour suspicion. Harry worked extra hard to hold his face still, projecting youth and innocence as hard as he could. Sometimes it was very taxing pretending to be twelve.
"Very well, Neville. It seems you have some good friends, and you have indeed had a successful year. How would you like a new wand?"
Neville tripped over his own tongue in his haste to accept the generous offer, and the little group moved smartly down the street towards Ollivander's.
Neville, beaming with pleasure and pride, left the shop thirty minutes later holding a brand-new wand, 13 inches long, made of unicorn hair and cherry wood.
He twisted the wand carefully in his hands, its beautiful, burnished red wood glossy in the sunlight, and whispered his quiet thanks to Harry as they all trooped out into the sunny, mid-morning light.
Fortunately for everybody's sanity, the noise level had somewhat abated; perhaps the crowds had moved elsewhere.
"Thanks, Harry," Neville muttered under his breath. "Not sure how you knew all that, but this is fantastic. I owe you one."
Harry grinned at his timid friend and tucked a bottle of wand polish into Neville's pocket.
"Happy Birthday. Thought you deserved it, mate," he grinned. "Congratulations. Glad to help out."
To Harry's private pride, as they exited the musty little shop, Ron Weasley was also holding a new wand in his hands, staring at it somewhat blankly.
Harry grinned his way, and spoke, knowing that Hermione would catch on to his comments quickly.
"No need to thank me," he waved off Ron's confused protests. "I know a new wand's an expensive gift, but it's a group effort. We all went in on a belated birthday gift for you," Harry lied glibly, subtly elbowing Hermione's side as he walked past. "And we topped it up with the pool from the chess competition. All proceeds to the winner, right?"
Ron's face was bright red, shining and sweating in his excitement, somewhat unattractively, it was true.
Hermione, after a sharp look at Harry, backed him up. "It's not charity, Ron, or generosity. You wouldn't get those from me, you realise? But even I can admit that you played those chess games wonderfully. Have you ever considered going pro?"
"What, I can earn money from playing games?" he asked incredulously. "Or is this a muggle thing?"
"Well, not technically all games," Hermione began, her lecturing tone settling in. "But definitely chess, at least in the muggle world. You have to be very good, of course, even better than you are now, but the system works this way…" She laid out what she knew. Ron, slightly taller now than he had been a few months ago, had to lean over a little in order to not miss a thing.
Harry watched with nostalgia as the bushy-haired girl drew Ron into an enthusiastic conversation about chess practicalities, the red-head still grasping his fourteen inches of willow and unicorn hair tightly with both hands.
Was this the beginning of a beautiful relationship? Or, as Harry moderated his thoughts with wry acceptance, the end of their mutually hostile sufferance?
He spared a stray thought to what his original Hermione had once called 'sexual tension'. Was this it?
The situation left Harry and Neville to walk at the back, and the two boys continued down the Alley in excitement, pointing as they went. Even Augusta Longbottom looked at them indulgently as they walked cheerily up ahead.
The group peacefully browsed their way past the shops, arriving outside Flourish and Blotts in time to regroup with the others.
To Harry's unsurprised dismay, it was once again bursting at the seams, packed to capacity with witches desperate for a glimpse or a handshake with wizarding heartthrob, Gilderoy Lockhart. The crowds had clearly relocated here, although the din was quieter: more reverent, Harry thought somewhat cynically.
"We can actually meet him," Hermione squealed. "I mean, he's written practically the whole booklist!"
Ron and Harry shared a glance and rolled their eyes. To Harry's surprise, Ron restrained himself from making any further comment. Perhaps he was grateful for Hermione's information on chess. They all shuffled closer together as they caught up with the crush of people.
The jostling crowd surged forward towards the door, and they joined the end of the meandering queue. The harassed wizard minding the door was constantly muttering pleas for restraint as he attempted to hold back the crowd, sweat already on his brow.
"Mind it there, ladies...no pushing please...please have patience...calmly now, mind the books..."
Harry was amused to see Hermione pop up on tiptoes to peer into the shop. Madam Longbottom, her face fixed in a stern and disapproving expression, stood right beside her, carefully blocking out queue jumpers with a rather firm stance. Harry eyed her body language in surprise: she looked like a fighter, and to the best of his knowledge, Madam Longbottom herself had never been part of the Order of the Phoenix. He remembered that she was some kind of Lockhart fan, and her stance showed it. It was the way her face was set, intimating supreme disinterest, that really made him smile. He stood in her shadow, significantly less active about holding his place in the queue, and waited.
They finally managed to squeeze inside. In the sudden dimness of the shop, Harry still saw the queue continued around the front floor, only stopping near the back of the shop where Lockhart was signing his books. Content to wait his turn, Harry passed the time by browsing the shelves in front of him, building a small but fascinating mental list of Charms and Transfiguration texts to borrow from the library later while he waited.
When bored, he only needed to observe his companions for amusement.
Not surprising Harry in the least, Neville and Ron struggled to maintain interest in the event, even as the hum and thrill of the crowd filled them with energy. Under his grandmother's supervision, all Neville could do was pluck out his brand-new wand and fiddle with it, admiringly. Ron, in contrast, plucked books from the shelves, and after a few seconds of perusal, was dumping them back incorrectly. Harry's new respect for libraries had him biting his lips in irritation: the gaps on the shelves were still there, he couldn't help noticing, so why couldn't Ron replace them where they came from instead of piling them up wrong?
Hermione would have helped him out and said something, but she was still enthralled. Every minute or so she would pull her head out from her latest Lockhart pamphlet – they'd been at the door, apparently – to pop her head up every now and then like a meerkat, hoping for an early peek at her newest idol.
Harry shifted his weight to his other foot. Personally, he was far more amused to see Madam Longbottom's aggressive use of her handbag to maintain her position in the queue, resisting back against the occasional pushing and shoving that pulsed down the line. It seemed the footwork was paying off.
The group bided their time as the queue slowly snaked forward. Unlike Harry, Hermione and Neville grabbed their book list as they went. Ron too, soon found himself holding the full set, as his mother pushed past him to begin a lively conversation with Neville's grandmother. She'd filled his arms with a load of books as she swept past. Harry was unsurprised to see various Weasleys dotted about the shop like patches of sunlight, in various states of distress or mischief.
Harry had to try surprisingly hard not to roll his eyes or snigger at any of them inappropriately.
Having finished his shopping already, he himself chose not to pick any up, and found himself explaining to the frustrated Hermione that yes, he was sure Ron would be happy to share books with him, and yes, he had actually bought this year's textbooks. In fact, he had already bought last year's second year Defence Against the Dark Arts one, and surely they covered the same topics?
"I know it's hard for a boy to admit admiration," Hermione protested, "but this is an incredible chance to –"
"Hermione."
"At the very least, Harry, the book list requires –"
"Hermione."
"Well." She rolled her eyes. "I certainly won't be explaining to Professor McGonagall why –"
Ron interrupted. "Just give it a rest, will you?"
She subsided in frustrated silence for a short time, before flipping open her copy of Break with a Banshee, reading out short excerpts to the boys standing around her.
Harry, Ron and Neville shared eye-rolls and the occasional wry smile, but listened with comparative patience until they reached the front of the line.
They did not have anywhere else to go, at any rate.
The group made it nearly to the front of the line before the golden-blond man happened to look up and glance over the crowd. His eyes fixed immediately on the half-hidden scar on Harry's forehead, and Lockhart jumped up with a broad grin and sweep of his arms.
"It can't be. Harry Potter himself!"
The crowd murmured behind them, and the Daily Prophet photographer leapt forwards to snap photos.
Although he had expected it – some details just didn't fade from your memory even if you wish they would – Harry accepted the insistent tugging on his elbow. There were a few relationships this timeline that he wanted to change, and his relationship with the press was one of them. The benefits of positive press, he now knew, were rare and to be treasured.
He pasted an interested look on his face.
Harry found himself pulled out of the line, posing for a handshake with Lockhart in front of the crowd.
"Nice big smile, Harry," Lockhart muttered out of the side of his mouth. "Together, you and I are worth the front page."
Resigned, Harry chose to smile for the camera, allowing a few moments of handshake with the famous author, before being pulled close to Lockhart in an imitation of friendliness.
Endure, he thought to himself. Endure it, endure.
Then they had to rearrange themselves to pose in different positions. Harry stoically put up with this too, reflecting on what he had learned about his symbolic meaning to the wizarding world. Gladys' parents would probably see these photos. Martha's in-laws might be pleased to see he was living well. All those witches and wizards who had been sending him birthday gifts for ten years. He had been loved as a person all these years too, not just held up as a trophy. He held onto thoughts of them desperately and hoped his smiles didn't look too fixed.
"Sorry, sorry," he finally muttered up to Lockhart under his breath, when the camera flashes all got to be too much. "I wouldn't want to barge in and take over on your important day."
Lockhart, suddenly freezing at the sound of Harry's words, smiled a toothy grin and clapped his hand of Harry's shoulder.
"Quite right, my boy," he nodded. "Let me wrap this up." The man's voice then boomed out over the crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly. "What an extraordinary meeting this is! The perfect opportunity for me to make a very pleasant, very personal announcement to you all!
"Young Harry here has not come here for fame or glory – no! Not at all – but rather to prepare for his education at the renowned Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am pleased to announce that I personally support his learning – a small gift from me, Harry," he glanced to the boy beside him fondly, head tilted at the perfect angle for a flattering shot. The cameraman continued to leap around in clouds of purple smoke, immortalising the moment.
" – by gifting him the complete set of textbooks needed for his Defence Against the Dark Arts classes this year. That's right folks!" the blond continued. "You heard me. I am pleased to provide Harry Potter himself with the complete collection of my autobiographical works, as I announce that I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts this September!"
The crowd cheered and clapped, and Harry took advantage of the distraction to scurry to the edge of the room to stand next to Ginny, who was presumably not buying books, being in the position to reuse Ron's old ones. She was holding a half-full cauldron, however, that had a few second-hand volumes piled up inside. Walking towards her allowed Harry to coincidentally arrive quite close to the shadowy corner where the Malfoy family stood in silence, removed from the crush.
With a casual smile, Harry tipped his armful of Lockhart books into Ginny's cauldron.
She eeped, and flushed a deep pink which clashed adorably with her hair. Harry was beginning to get used to this shy and retiring first year with the uncontrollable crush on him. How had he never noticed how cute she was at this stage last timeline?
The nostalgic thoughts crept upon him, before he batted them to one side. Now was not the time. Important things were about to happen: Constant Vigilance, and all that.
Harry looked away to give her some space, only to meet Draco Malfoy's unimpressed gaze.
Harry shared a measuring glance with Malfoy while he joined them against the wall. Before Malfoy could do more than curl his lip, Harry rolled his eyes and hissed for quiet. Malfoy looked at him curiously.
"For goodness sake," Harry whispered, "Don't draw his attention."
Malfoy huffed once in amusement,
Harry dared to push his luck. "Did you buy his stuff?"
"We made it before the crowd," the Slytherin replied, meeting Harry's gaze with that same curious sense of appraisal he had noticed all of last year.
"You didn't want an autograph?" Harry enquired curiously.
"From that fool? Hardly."
"In that case," Harry murmured lowly, "if he turns out to be useless, what do you plan on doing for the exams?"
Looking slightly baffled that he was having another strangely polite conversation with the Gryffindor Golden Boy, Draco scoffed. "After Quirrell last year, how much worse could he really be?"
Harry was silent.
Malfoy turned to stare fully at him. "Seriously?" Malfoy asked incredulously, "You think he's going to be that bad? Not even Dumbledore would hire a teacher who was completely hopeless. Although," he mumbled thoughtfully, "hopeless is all a matter of opinion, I suppose."
"Hrmm," Harry encouraged.
"I mean, Quirrell was an education unto himself."
"Hmmm."
Malfoy pursed his lips. "Dumbledore's got a bit of a track history, of course."
Harry raised his eyebrows encouragingly.
Thoughtfully, Malfoy met his eyes. "You've got…alternative arrangements then?"
Harry nodded.
"Huh."
They stood there in silence as Lockhart drew his spectacle to a close. Harry and Draco gazing at the chaos with apathy, little Ginny Weasley peeking at Harry from the corner of her eyes.
After some time, the line began to move again, and Ron, Neville and Hermione made their way through the crowd with their new books.
They were soon joined by the adults, and set to work organising their purchases so they could leave the store.
Lucius Malfoy, who had apparently been eyeing the Weasleys keenly the whole time, stepped forward smoothly, deep blue robes swishing impressively.
"Arthur Weasley," he sneered. "What a surprise."
Mr Weasley swung around with a start, drawing the attention of his wife, Madam Longbottom and the Grangers also.
"Lucius," answered Mr Weasley coldly.
Mr Malfoy stepped closer.
"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," he scoffed, "I do hope," he noticed Madam Longbottom standing with her hand on Neville's shoulder, watching the confrontation with interest, and visibly changed his tune, "you're not keeping too busy."
He reached over to his left and plucked an old book out of Ginny's second-hand purchases.
Harry watched him under lidded eyes. He saw Mr Malfoy palm a small black diary from within his sleeve and into Ginny's book.
"First year is a challenge," continued Mr Malfoy. "It wouldn't do for you to get too busy for your family."
He reached over and ruffled Ginny's hair with the very tips of his fingers, and nodded respectfully to Madam Longbottom. "Good luck with next year, child," he added, and calmly stalked away, casually wiping his fingers on a pocket-handkerchief. He left baffled silence in his wake. Looking somewhat confused himself, Draco nodded in Harry's direction and followed after his father.
"What was all that about?" asked Ron, looking curiously at the trio as they strode off.
"Goodness knows," Mr Weasley answered. "That was positively friendly for him."
Ginny ruffled her own hair uneasily, only to blush red and stumble when Harry smiled at her reassuringly.
Harry, looking on in quiet amusement as she struggled to right herself only to accidentally punch George in the nose as she flailed, then grinned again and leaned over to pick up her cauldron full of books.
The group finally organised themselves and meandered back up the Alley, towards the Leaky Cauldron and Floo access point where they would part. The twins and their friend dropped behind with urgent whispers. Harry smirked as he thought of them sneaking off for one final bulk purchase of prank items, and kept their secret. Ginny stumbled along next to him, occasionally opening her mouth as if she wanted to say something. Harry took big strides up the Alley, hefting her cauldron with surprising ease. Ginny shadowed him as he navigated the pedestrians smoothly, before subsiding into mortified silence as she walked into an oncoming witch. She opened her mouth a number of times, but never quite dared to address Harry directly, and finally ran on ahead.
In the Leaky Cauldron, they went their separate ways. Neville and his grandmother took their leave formally, and then Flooed off from Tom's fireplace. Hermione and her parents were more casual, but both Harry's friends promised to write again before September first, and organised to meet each other on the Hogwarts platform. Then the Grangers left through the exit into London.
Sure that everyone was distracted by the fuss, Harry silently shook out the book that Mr Malfoy had picked up and pocketed the black diary that fell out.
Then Mrs Weasley had to organise everyone through the Floo back to her place. Mr Weasley and Ron and Ginny went ahead, while Mrs Weasley corralled the twins and prodded Percy through the fire, his head already buried in a large, if dog-eared, book.
Just as Harry himself stepped forward, the rattling whistle of impending doom shrieked from behind him, gaining momentum.
"Fred!" Harry heard gasped, his foot already in the green flames.
As Harry turned and habitually uttered, "The Burrow," small purple sparks joined the flames beneath his feet and a sudden, blinding explosion of fireworks lit up the whole room.
The dizzy power of the Floo picked Harry up and spun him and spun him, leaving a dizzy Harry to spot only glimpses of Mrs Weasley bearing down on a supremely-self-satisfied twin, Cauldron patrons running and ducking for cover, the wide, gleeful eyes of a successful prankster…
And then the fire swished him away.
Despite the furious bellows of Mrs Weasley, who shortly thereafter followed him home, Harry walked up the creaky steps to his trunk with light steps. It was with an unfamiliar sense of pride and satisfaction that he carefully transferred the diary from his pocket into his secret third compartment. Despite schedule shifts and coursing crowds – and twin terrors, he was mindful enough to remember, despite his current ease – Harry was secure in the knowledge that he had casually and pre-emptively eliminated the chaos that would have otherwise occurred during the upcoming year. Despite Mrs Weasley's best efforts, her lungs working overtime, and the twins' unending chaos, he had secured for himself a quiet year. What a rare thing.