Harry received a rare bit of good news later that month, which came in the form of a memo zooming into the Auror Office through the letterbox and fluttering over Harry's desk. He reached up and plucked it out of the air, unfolding it to reveal Arthur's messy handwriting:
Harry,
Ron and Hermione will be back from Australia tonight. They will likely be very tired, but they said they wanted to see you. Would you like to come over to the Burrow for dinner tomorrow evening? We would all be delighted to have you!
-A.W.
Harry excitedly wrote a reply on the back of the memo accepting the invitation. He tossed it back into the air, watching it flutter away and back out of the office. Ron and Hermione had been gone for nearly six weeks now; apparently their vacation was going better than planned and they had decided to stay longer. He hadn't been apart from them for that long in ages, and he was eager to catch up. He hadn't realized how much he relied upon them to vent his frustrations, and they were starting to pile up now with the new job.
Harry arrived at the Burrow immediately after work the next day, a bottle of nice mead in hand. Molly greeted him with a warm hug, as did Ginny with a slightly less warm hug. "Ron and Hermione are taking a nap," Molly explained. "Still adjusting to the time zones." Harry helped prepare the kitchen for dinner, and by the time Arthur had arrived home and they were putting out plates, Ron and Hermione came trudging down the stairs. They brightened at once at the sight of Harry, and each assaulted him with a warm embrace. Hermione looked significantly darker, while Ron just looked slightly redder around the nose and ears.
The six of them sat around the dinner table, chatting happily about the past month of their lives. Ron and Hermione recounted their Australia trip; they had rented a Muggle Jeep and taken a road trip all along the coast. "Not quite the same as flying around in the Ford Anglia," Ron laughed, "but it was loads of fun. Hermione's an excellent driver."
"I took my driving exam two summers ago," Hermione explained upon Harry's quizzical look. "I also enchanted the steering wheel to auto-pilot...but erm, thanks Ron."
Conversation soon turned to Harry and the Auror Office. "We're all eager to hear how it's been!" Arthur beamed at Harry. "Youngest Auror in centuries...not that it's any challenge for you I'm sure...what have you been up to?"
"Mostly just learning the ropes," Harry said, forcing a smile. "Loads to do, you know. Death Eaters to catch."
"How exciting, dear!" said Molly. "We're so very proud of you."
Harry gave a significant look towards Ron and Hermione that he had more to say on the subject in private. They immediately understood and sought to change the topic.
"Ron and I are going to Diagon Alley this Saturday," said Hermione. "I've just received my book list for seventh year…"
"You're going back, Hermione?" said Molly. "Good for you. I know you three have been through hell, but I'm so proud you're finishing your education."
"I don't suppose you could convince Ron to go back as well then, Hermione?" asked Arthur hopefully. "It's his decision to make, of course...but it would be so good for his future…"
"What about Harry!" Ron protested. "You aren't nagging him to go back, are you?"
"Harry's not our son," Molly said calmly. "And he's already got a job at the Ministry. What are your plans this fall?" Ron did not retort to this, just muttering something to himself about "never took to school anyway".
"Can I come with you two?" Harry asked Hermione. "I've got some business to take care of there myself."
"Take Ginny with you as well, won't you?" said Molly. "Don't know if I'll have time to accompany her to get her books."
"Sure," said Hermione. Harry saw the mortified look on Ginny's face, the one that said she hadn't yet told her parents she intended to skip her seventh year as well, but he said nothing. Harry wasn't sure if Molly and Arthur could handle the news that none of their four youngest children would be completing their educations at Hogwarts…
They continued to chat around the dinner table until well past dark, when Molly and Arthur finally excused themselves to bed. Ginny, sensing that she was a fourth wheel in the upcoming conversation, excused herself soon after, and it was just Harry, Ron and Hermione left lounging around the sitting room.
"So Harry," said Ron, "tell us how it's really been. Enjoying being an Auror?"
"Well…" Harry began, glancing up at the stairs to ensure they weren't being eavesdropped upon. He started impassively talking about the job and how boring it was, and grew more agitated by the minute. Soon he was ranting about how he felt completely out of his depths, totally inadequate and underqualified, and was worried about being exposed as a fraud. "And I just found out I can't go to the Quidditch World Cup with you lot!" he said despairingly. "I just feel trapped and alone. I don't know what to do."
He half expected Hermione to chastise him and insist that he return to Hogwarts with her to better prepare himself. Instead, she slid off the sofa and wrapped her arms around him in a reassuring hug. "Oh Harry, that sounds awful," she said sympathetically.
"Blimey mate, you've been holding all that in for six weeks?" Ron whistled. "No wonder you looked like you were gonna explode at dinner."
"Yeah," Harry exhaled. "I've been thinking about quitting, but I'm worried about how it will look. Kingsley took a big risk letting me in without the proper training."
"Kingsley knows you won't be at full strength so quickly," Hermione said. "Most Aurors have to train for three whole years to get to where you are now. It'll just take time. You'll get better."
"I reckon it won't take you three years to get up to speed, either," said Ron. "You have more combat experience than half those blokes."
"My dad said something to me once that stuck with me," said Hermione. "Right after I got my Hogwarts letter and met Dumbledore for the first time. He said, 'if it scares you, it's probably worth doing'. Auror work is supposed to be challenging, Harry. You're supposed to struggle at first. But that will only make it twice as rewarding when you start to succeed."
"Don't you ever," Ron said, pointing an accusing finger at Harry, "keep that stuff to yourself again. I'm your best mate, and you tell me straight away if you're feeling down."
Harry was amazed. In the span of about sixty seconds, he had gone from his absolute lowest point to glowing with pride at his two friends. He'd forgotten just how much strength he drew from them, and how much adversity he was willing to face with them by his side. "Thanks, you guys," he said sincerely. "It's been a hard month, and you just made it a lot better."
All worries about his future subsided, and Harry spent the rest of the evening laughing and enjoying his friends' company. He already felt infinitely better about the situation, and any ideas about quitting his job disappeared. He was struggling, but as Hermione said, that was a good thing. He would push through it and get to the other side. He left shortly before midnight and Apparated to Grimmauld Place, tired but satisfied, feeling ready to take on the rest of the work week with a fresh attitude.
That Saturday, Harry arrived early at The Leaky Cauldron, too excited to pace endlessly around Grimmauld Place. Ron and Hermione arrived just after noon as planned, with a cross-looking Ginny in tow. "Change your mind after all?" Harry asked her.
"Told my Mum I was considering Quidditch tryouts," she said glumly. "She wouldn't hear it, of course. Figure I'll just buy the books now and return them later if it all works out."
"You'll do fine, I'm sure of it," Harry reassured her. But she still looked glum as they stepped into the back alley and tapped the brick wall to enter Diagon Alley.
"Well, my first stop's the bookstore," Hermione announced. "What's everyone else's plan?"
"I've got to swing by the Daily Prophet," Harry sighed. "Promised Kingsley I'd make a statement."
"I'm going to look for a new broomstick," said Ginny. "I'll need something faster than George's old Clean Sweep for tryouts."
"Shall we meet at George's shop in two hours?" Harry suggested. They agreed and went their separate ways. Harry headed down the southeast fork towards Prophet headquarters. The alley was busy today; Hogwarts students and their parents were out buying school supplies. Harry did his best to keep his head low, but he did draw numerous eyes as he passed by, with whispers and gasps of surprise following in his wake.
Along the way, Harry passed by a familiar shop that made him stop in his tracks: the first shop he'd ever set foot in at Diagon Alley, Ollivander's Wand Shop. The last time Harry had walked past, it had been ransacked, as Ollivander was kidnapped by Voldemort. It warmed Harry's heart to see him back in business, assisting excited-looking eleven-year-olds as they roamed around his dusty shop. He considered stopping in to say hello and see how he was doing, but he didn't know how long the Prophet would keep him, so he continued walking.
He finally located the place: a simple two-story office with "The Daily Prophet" printed in emboldened letters on its edifice. Harry can still see unpacked boxes stacked up in the reception area; clearly they'd just moved back into these premises recently after spending so long at the Ministry of Magic. "Hi, I'm here to see Barnabus Cuffe," Harry told the reception witch, who gave him a startled look when she looked up. She quickly recovered and picked up a small bell, which made no sound when she rang it. However, ten seconds later, a squat wizard came rumbling down the hall towards her.
"Yes, Marina, I've told you to only use the bell for emergenc— oh, Merlin's beard, it's Harry Potter!" said the wizard, extending an eager hand to Harry. "Barnabas Cuffe, editor in chief. Pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise," said Harry, though secretly he harbored a deep dislike for the man. He'd been in charge of the Prophet for many years, including the ones when they decided Harry was worthy of infinite scorn, so his pleasantries felt hollow.
"To what do we owe the pleasure?" said Barnabas. "Not that you aren't welcome, of course; you can stop by any time for a chat—"
"I've come to settle some of the things you've been printing about me," Harry said coldly. "About Gringotts and the Auror Office and all of that."
"Oh, splendid!" said Barnabas. "Why don't we put you in our conference room for now? I'll speak to my reporters and we'll whip up a story for you."
"Sure," Harry said, though he didn't see the logic in forming the story until they heard what he had to say. He followed Barnabas down the hall to an empty room with a long table, and he settled into a desk chair, prepared for a long wait. But luckily he didn't have to wait long. The door opened just five minutes later, and a blonde witch in a lime-green jumpsuit walked in.
"Harry dear!" came a familiar sing-song voice. "Long time no see." Harry blanched; Rita Skeeter was extending a slender hand for him to shake, a broad smile on her face.
"You?" Harry blurted out without thinking. "I thought the Prophet fired you!"
"They hired me back!" Rita beamed, sitting in the seat directly next to Harry without asking. "Must have been my stellar reporting for The Quibbler a few years back. Talent doesn't go unrewarded for long!" Harry's heart sank; Rita's reporting had always struck him as brainless fluff, and she had a tendency to exaggerate Harry's worst features to make him look bad. He suspected that she was right about being hired back because of her Quibbler piece, but only because the Prophet thought she might be able to get the inside scoop on him yet again.
"Well...congratulations, I suppose," Harry forced himself to say, deciding that open hostility was not the best path forward.
"There's so many questions surrounding you, my dear, it's so lovely that you would come and clear them up for us!" Rita smiled. She reached into her handbag and began withdrawing writing supplies for their interview.
"I've prepared a statement about my whereabouts in the past year," Harry said quickly. "And I'd like it to be printed verbatim, so you can put that thing away." He indicated the acid-green quill hovering in midair over a bottle of ink, the Quick-Quotes Quill, which he knew was prone to going off-script and putting words in his mouth he never said.
"Oh, very well," Rita huffed. She stowed the green quill away and pulled out a black one, which she also left levitating over the ink bottle. "It's a Self-Writing Quill, so don't get twisted about this one. I bought it from your friend Weasley's joke shop, if you must know."
"Okay," Harry said; that did make him feel better. "Last year, my friends Ron and Hermione and I went on a mission that was left to us by Albus Dumbledore before he died. Some things we needed to do to ensure Voldemort would never return again. One of those missions involved breaking into the Ministry of Magic, another involved breaking into a vault at Gringotts Bank, and another involved returning to Hogwarts, which is why the battle occurred there. We cannot say what we were doing, but I can promise that we succeeded in our mission, and that Voldemort is dead for good."
Harry took a deep breath, satisfied. He had rehearsed the speech several times in the mirror the night before, confident that it was exactly what the wizarding world needed to hear, nothing more, nothing less. The Self-Writing Quill dutifully jotted down his exact words, but Rita was studying his expression, looking dissatisfied.
"You see Harry," she said sweetly, "you haven't told us anything we don't already know. We all suspected this had something to do with Dumbledore and with the Dark Lord. But can't you tell us more? Give us the details of your adventures?"
"Sorry, but no," Harry said flatly. "The mission involved terrible dark magic that could be dangerous in the wrong hands. We want to make sure that nobody ever attempts what Voldemort did ever again."
"So by that," said Rita slowly, leaning in closer towards Harry, "surely you must mean the Elder Wand, correct?"
"I—sorry?" Harry asked nervously. He resisted the instinct to clutch at the Elder Wand stowed in his pocket, as though Rita was about to plunge a hand into his robes and snatch it triumphantly.
"You gave quite the impassioned speech before killing the Dark Lord at Hogwarts," Rita pressed. "You rattled on about this 'Elder Wand' and how you were its master. Can you elaborate on that?"
"It was a lie," said Harry shakily. "I was just...distracting Voldemort, that's all. He believed that his wand possessed special powers, but he was mistaken. It was just a wand."
"Just a wand."
"That's correct."
"To be clear, this is the wand Voldemort stole from Dumbledore's tomb, which he himself won from Grindelwald during the First Wizarding War?"
Harry froze in fear. How did Rita know all of this? And how much had she written in the Prophet about it already? As if reading his mind, Rita plucked the Self-Writing Quill out of the air and set it harmlessly on the table.
"This is off the record, of course," she whispered with a wink. "I'm a reporter, Harry, I can do research of my own. The wand is legend, of course, and people talk."
"Never mind where the wand came from or who had it when," Harry said crossly. "It's a fairy tale, nothing more. A children's book tale that Voldemort believed because he was desperate."
"A children's book tale that was left to you in Albus Dumbeldore's will?" Rita smiled yet more widely. "We're still off the record, darling. Don't play games with me."
Harry pointed an accusatory finger at Rita. "This does not get printed, do you hear me?" he growled. "This is dangerous information you're playing with. The wand may be harmless, but it could give people the wrong idea, and then I'm in danger—"
"So you are in possession of the wand?" Rita grinned.
"I—I didn't say that," Harry stammered. Rita grinned wider—busted. "Listen, Ms. Skeeter, this was a mistake; I think I'll go back to the Ministry and inform them that you're an unregistered Animagus." And he stood to leave.
"Sit down, Potter," Rita said in a stern voice. "Your friend Granger may have gotten the upper hand on me once, but rest assured it won't work twice. I've taken care of that little problem, you see, and you'll find that I am indeed on the Animagus registry."
"I don't believe you," Harry said at once, but he could see in her eyes that she was not lying.
"Then go," Rita said, nodding casually to the door. Harry didn't move, and a smug grin returned to Rita's face. "I thought not. You managed to blackmail me once, Harry, and now I'm returning the favor. I'm well aware of the danger surrounding this wand, and I have no intention of printing it. That's assuming you give me the scoop whenever I need it. Journalism is a difficult career, and I could use the leg up on the competition, if you know what I mean."
Harry considered her proposition silently, unable to see an alternative. "You really are evil, you know that?" Harry snarled.
"It is quite fun; you ought to try it sometime!" Rita smiled. She stowed away the black quill and pulled the Quick-Quotes Quill again, daring him to protest; Harry said nothing, fuming silently to himself. "Now dear, let's talk about this nasty goblin business. I want to hear all about how you loathe those foul little creatures, and why you decided to thumb your nose at them by stealing their gold…"
Harry stalked back and forth outside of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, consumed in anger. A number of customers recognized him and started to approach, but quickly backed away when they saw the mutinous expression on his face. Finally Ron, Hermione, and Ginny appeared, carrying bags full of supplies and chatting happily, but their faces dropped when they saw him.
"Harry? What's happened?" asked Hermione cautiously.
"Sorry, Ginny, but we need a minute," Harry said. Ginny rolled her eyes, but brushed past him into the shop, giving the trio time to talk. "It's Rita Skeeter," he whispered once Ginny was out of earshot. "She knows all about the Elder Wand, and she's blackmailing me with it."
"What?!" Ron and Hermione yelped, and they listened carefully as Harry recounted the uncomfortable interview at the Prophet.
"And I told her I'd go to the Ministry, expose her as an Animagus, but she said she's registered now," Harry said glumly. "I don't think she's lying, either."
"Damn!" Hermione said to herself. "I should have known she would be out for revenge after what I did to her. But Harry, it's not all bad news. Nobody really takes her seriously as a reporter anyway—"
"They will, as long as the Prophet believes she's the only one who can get the scoop on me!" said Harry, frustrated. "And she is, now that she can hold something over my head that I care about."
"Why don't you talk to Shacklebolt about it?" said Ron. "I bet he could put a stop to it—"
"Because I've just convinced him to stop leaning on the Prophet," Harry laughed, realizing the irony of his situation now. "It would only make the situation worse if people believed the Ministry was trying to silence her. It would make her more believable."
"Harry's right," Hermione muttered. "If we try to do something drastic, it'll just backfire. I think...I think Harry just needs to stay on her good side for a while."
"You mean let her get away with it?!" Harry yelped.
"It sounds like she won't reveal what she knows unless you try to undermine her," said Hermione. "And as much as I dislike the woman, she does have some integrity. Blackmail only works if both parties uphold their end of the bargain."
"Integrity, my arse," Ron muttered angrily. "C'mon, let's go inside. I might buy a Pygmy Puff for Skeeter and tell her where to shove it…"
The trio walked into the store, which was bustling with customers. "Step right up, folks, and have a look at today's specials!" said a young witch wearing magenta robes and a matching top hat. "Fanged Frisbees for half-off today only! Stock is limited, so claim yours now!"
"Always wanted one of those," said Ron, moving forward towards the counter; an annoyed Hermione followed him, no doubt to talk him out of the purchase. Harry walked towards the back of the shop, where George had set up a Defensive Magic section for specialty items. He saw a locked case full of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder ("background check required!"), a barrel full of Decoy Detonators, and a coat rack stocked with Shield Cloaks, which he picked up and admired.
"Hiya, Harry!" said a shrill voice behind him. Harry turned to see a group of Hogwarts girls, giggling and staring at him. He recognized the one in the front as a Gryffindor girl from two years below him.
"Hi, Romilda," Harry said politely. "Good summer?"
"Great!" said Romilda Vane with a wide smile. "Are you coming back to Hogwarts next year? I saw Hermione Granger buying books at Flourish and Blotts earlier…"
"Nah, I've got a job at the Ministry now," said Harry.
"Oh," said Romilda, looking deflated. "Sorry to hear that."
"Yeah, so you can probably put those back now," Harry said, pointing to a bright-pink bottle in her hand that she hastily tried to conceal.
"Oh, this?" Romilda giggled, indicating the love potion in her hand. "This wasn't meant for you, Harry...I would never…"
"You know my mate Ron got into those chocolates you gave me two years ago?" Harry said coolly. "He wouldn't stop talking about you for hours."
"Huh. That's odd—" Romilda stammered, looking red in the face now.
"Hey you lot," said a familiar voice, "new policy on love potions: limit one per customer. We've had too many complaints from your male classmates." George had appeared from the back room, wearing identical magenta roles as his employees, minus the top hat and with the drawstrings half-heartedly fastened. "These girls bothering you, Harry?"
"Nah, we're just catching up," Harry grinned. Romilda looked like she'd rather be anywhere else than there.
"We'll just go put these back then," Romilda said hastily. "Good seeing you, Harry." Then she and her gaggle of friends scurried off to the other side of the shop.
"Thanks," Harry said to George once they were out of earshot.
"No problem," George grinned. "You have a minute to chat?" And he led the way back into the storeroom, where boxes of inventory lay strewn haphazardly around the space.
"Busy day?" Harry asked, looking around at the whirlwind of joke items.
"Busy month," George smiled weakly. "Been spending more time back here trying to keep on top of the little details. Inventory, finances, all that fun stuff. Usually Fred was good at handling that stuff...but I'll manage."
"You said you had a proposition for me?" said Harry, eager to change the subject. George perked up at this.
"Yeah, I do," said George. He approached a small safe on the wall, and tapped it in all four corners with his wand. It sprung open, and George pulled out a small burlap sack that looked vaguely familiar to Harry. He plopped it on the desk, and it made a loud jangling noise.
"Is that—?" Harry asked.
"Your Triwizard winnings," said George proudly. "Well, not technically. We spent all of the original money, but we've been keeping the profits in here. And we're back up to a thousand Galleons, just like the day you gave it to us."
"This is pure profit, then?" Harry said, incredulous. "Brilliant, mate! You've done well for yourself."
"It belongs to you, of course," said George. "And I won't hear any arguments about it, either!" he insisted, seeing the sour look on Harry's face. "You invested in our company, and we don't take that lightly. These profits belong to you."
"Well I'm not taking them," Harry said flatly. "Use them to expand the shop or something."
"But that's exactly the plan!" said George, excited. "We wanted to open up a second location in Hogsmeade, as well as the villages near Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. Their mail-in orders have skyrocketed in the past few months! Plus we want to open up a booth at the Quidditch World Cup, which isn't cheap—"
"Great, so what's that got to do with me?" Harry demanded. "You have the money right there."
"Mate, Fred and I never felt comfortable just taking the money for nothing," said George. "We always said we'd find a way to repay you someday when we had the means. Well now we do. So if you won't take your investment back, let's at least make it a proper business deal, so you get something out of the returns."
"I see," said Harry. "So you want me to be a co-owner?"
"Something like that," George winked. "Name a figure, and I'll sell you a fraction of the company. You'll be entitled to a cut of the profits, and you can have a say in future business dealings. It's the least we—I could do for all you've done to help us."
"Okay," said Harry. "You have a deal. What d'you think's fair?"
"Well, I reckon the company's worth ten times what it is now once we expand," said George. "How's about ten percent of the company? That'll get you your money back if we're successful."
"Sounds good to me," Harry said. He and George shook hands.
"Great! I'll draw up some paperwork and send it for you to sign," said George. "And by the way mate, I never got a chance to tell you, but bloody well done on joining the Aurors! You must be the youngest to ever do it!"
"Yeah, usually they require three years of training first," Harry shrugged. "Guess they figured fighting Voldemort was a fair substitute."
"Damn right," said George. "Well to celebrate, I've got a present for you." He reached behind his desk and withdrew a small black case, which he handed to Harry.
"You shouldn't have…" Harry muttered. He popped open the case, which contained a small golden semicircle about six inches in diameter.
"It's a cuff bracelet," said George. "Try it on." Harry slipped his hand through the ring, and it magically snapped into place around his wrist. He admired the bracelet, surprised at how lightweight it felt.
"Thanks, George," said Harry. "I'm not one for jewelry usually, but it's really nice."
"Oh, it isn't just for decoration. Watch this," said George. He rolled up his sleeve to reveal that he was wearing an identical bracelet. He tapped his wand to it and said in a clear voice, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
A moment later, Harry's bracelet grew quite warm and glowed slightly in the dim lighting. He pulled the bracelet closer to his face, and to his astonishment, words were now encarved into the bracelet: I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.
"Pretty cool, right?" George beamed. "Got the idea from Hermione's D.A. coins. Took us forever to develop them; Protean Charms are bloody difficult, I dunno how she did it so quickly…"
"This is incredible, George!" said Harry, astonished. He watched as the engraved letters slowly faded away, leaving the golden band blank again. "The Aurors could use something like this to pass along messages in the field."
"Thought you might say that," George said with a wink. He reached behind his desk again and pulled out a large bag, handing it to Harry. "There's two dozen more in there, all linked to each other. Give them to the other Aurors and test them out. We're still in the prototype phase, but we hope to take it to market around Christmastime."
"They'll be thrilled!" said Harry. He slipped off his bracelet and put it back in its case, tossing it with the others in the bag; George did the same with his.
"And by the way," George said, lowering his voice and glancing at the door, "Ron's been talking about the Auror Office nonstop since he got back from vacation. He's too proud to ask, but I reckon he wants to join like you did."
"Really?" said Harry. "I'm sure they'd let him. He was there with me all last year—"
"Tell him that," said George. "He still seems to think you deserve the job more because you're famous. I told him that doesn't prevent you from being just as big a prat as he is."
Harry laughed. "Yeah, I'll put in a good word for him," he said.
He eventually excused himself and returned to the front of the store, where Ron, Hermione and Ginny were all waiting for him. Ron had apparently been successful in purchasing his Fanged Frisbee, because he was tossing one up in the air to himself to Hermione's chagrin. "Ready to go, Harry?" asked Hermione.
"Yeah," he said. "I've got one more stop I want to make before we go."
"What's that?"
"Eeylops," Harry said with a sad smile. "I reckon it's time to find a replacement for Hedwig." The other three gave him reassuring pats on the back as he led the way back up the alley towards the owl emporium. Harry hadn't been inside since his first time to Diagon Alley seven years ago, when he purchased his snowy-white owl that had been with him through thick and thin. He'd been borrowing Ministry owls for his morning Prophet, but knew it was time to move forward and pick a new companion.
"It can be tough replacing a pet, mate," said Ron, patting Harry's shoulder as they walked into Eeylops. "I never thought I'd find a worthy replacement for Scabbers...and granted, Pigwidgeon wasn't much of one...but Scabbers turned out to be a right git himself...eh, on second thought, don't take advice from me." But Harry wasn't really listening to Ron; he was looking up at the many different kinds of owls flying around from perch to perch in the shop's vaulted foyer.
"Are you going to get another snowy owl, Harry?" asked Ginny.
"Nah, I reckon it would remind me too much of Hedwig," said Harry.
"Barn owls are dependable," Hermione offered helpfully. "Great directional birds."
"Always liked the look of those Tawny owls," Ron said, pointing one out.
But Harry had his eye on one bird, perched majestically across the room from him. A beautiful blue owl, with a single yellow feather standing out on its left wing. "That one," he said decisively, pointing it out.
"Excellent choice, sir!" said the store manager, who had walked over to assist him. "Screech owl, she is. Known for their speed, a common choice for rapid deliveries. Highly intelligent and loyal as well. It'll cost you an extra five Galleons, for a total of fifteen."
"That'll be fine," Harry said, as the manager hurried away to retrieve the owl and locate a cage for her.
"Good choice, Harry," said Hermione. "I'm sure you'll love her."
"What'll you name her?" asked Ginny. All four of them went silent, trying to think of an appropriate name.
"How about Dora?" Harry suggested. "That yellow feather reminds me of something Tonks would do with her hair, just for fun."
"Dora. I like it, Harry," said Hermione with a smile.
"Good choice, mate," said Ron.
As he walked up the alley back towards the exit with the others, carrying Dora in a cage beside him, Harry had already forgotten all about his encounter with Rita Skeeter. This was still the best day he'd had in months. After years and years of conflict, of wondering whether or not he was about to die, he finally got to spend a carefree day with his friends. Whatever problems lay on his horizon, he felt fully recharged to face them head-on. Maybe adulthood wasn't so bad after all.