I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the related characters. The Harry Potter series is created by JK Rowling and owned by Warner Bros. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of the original Harry Potter story belong to Warner Bros.
Beta'd by Dorothea Greengrass, thanks for your patience and knowledge of correct punctuation.
The Boy With the Dragon Tattoo
Chapter One
The muffled tick of a dust ladened grandfather clock was the only sound in the library. Ancient tomes caused the long wooden shelves to sag in between their supports. The room was lit by several strategically placed candelabras and dozens of small flames atop drizzly candle sticks. Piles of dust indicated the age of the library. The few tracks in the dust showed how few people came here to read and research.
The tick tick of the clock provided a counter punch to the thunder outside the slatted window. The rain beating on the glass pane was the backing track. None of this bothered the creature who stood before a reading lecturn. The tall, pale creature had once been a man, good-looking and well respected. Now it was steeped in magic and changed by rituals and mystical artefacts.
He had given up on being revered and strove to be feared. He cared for nothing and no one apart from two things: he desired power, power over every living thing and over life and death.
Yet, he also feared, although he did anything to hide that fear from those he oppressed. He feared his own death and dove deep into forbidden magics to prevent his own demise.
Fear and anger was the ocean that he sailed and it coloured his actions and thoughts to such an extent that no one, his loyal followers or his mortal and most hated enemy, knew what he would do from one moment to the next.
The door opened quietly and the red luminescent eyes of The Dark Lord Voldemort narrowed dangerously as the air pressure changed and caused the candles to flicker. A low growl emanated from his lower throat and his grip on the lecture tightened until the wood splintered. He turned his head slightly, but continued to read and ignored the intruder.
Lucius Malfoy audibly gulped and the stutter in his confident stride brought a smirk to snake like lips. The pleasure that the Dark Lord felt was almost orgasmic as he forced Malfoy to wait almost half an hour as dry page after dry page was turned.
"Has it been located?" he hissed.
"We have a general area, my lord." Lucius said.
His smooth tone and haughty demeanour clearly returned during the time he had been forced to wait.
Voldemort turned another page.
"Hogwarts, my Lord. But only one."
Voldemort twisted to regard his follower and tapped the lectern with a long finger while he thought about the new information..
"Hmmm, there are always two. Drawn to each other like a moth to a flame. I will have them both. They will both be made to serve me."
"I have located the collars that you asked for, but the collector won't part with them," Malfoy said.
"No great surprise. To be expected, actually. Make one final offer, if he still refuses, we will pay him a visit. Take Jugson and Mulciber, this is their sort of work."
"Wet work, they get too carried away, Mulciber killed the last one when he was meant to only send a warning." Malfoy sneered.
"And you will be there to ask the correct questions and to provide control." Voldemort turned completely and glared balefully. "Send for Severus."
"I don't trust him, my lord. He's been under Dumbledore's thumb too long," Malfoy said.
"I know his mind, Lucius, I know what he's willing to do and what he tells the old goat. I trust him more than I trust you."
"Surely not, my Lord! You don't doubt my loyalty!"
"I know your mind also, Lucius. You back the winner. Show me your loyalty if I get beaten by Dumbledore in a duel."
"Never, my Lord! I live to serve."
"Yes, I know you do, Lucius. My mark ensures it. Send my Potions Master to me. I have a task for him."
"Yes, my Lord."
"I will travel to Russia. I would recruit werewolves in the Urals and Giants in Siberia. Summon Greyback, he will accompany me."
"Yes, my Lord."
Voldemort ignored his minion and continued to read long until the door closed and the flames flickered. He looked up and sighed and gnawed his lip.
_Break_
Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived and current Gryffindor sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, stood in the middle of Hogsmeade Village and looked around while he rubbed his hands together nervously. The skin of his fingers itched and he didn't like it. A thought percolated through his head. It was such a vague thought he couldn't identify it. Like a silent voice that he couldn't quite hear, it imparted vital knowledge that he didn't quite understand.
It was maddening, and it made him feel uncertain and on edge. He didn't like it at all.
His eyes lingered on the storefront three doors down from Scrivenhaft's Quill Emporium. It was the brightly lit and welcome establishment of Skyn Designs, a magical tattoo parlour. As far as Harry knew it was the only one in Britain. He hadn't heard of any others before today. There was something about the store that drew him in, beckoned him to enter. Yet he hesitated. Hermione would never let him hear the end of it if he got a tattoo.
The itching of his hands became stronger. Harry hissed as he scratched his skin with no little force. Without a conscious thought, he set one foot in front of the other and closed the distance to the shop. Once the decision to approach and enter had been made the itch lessened, it disappeared completely when his hand touched the door handle. A distant ring announced his presence as he pushed the door open and the sole occupant looked up at him.
"Morning!" She greeted him brightly. "I'm Samantha and I know who you are."
Harry looked at her and decided he might have to come back here more if this was her shop. Her presence screamed pixie to him. Her hair was styled in a bob cut, brunette fading to blonde at the tips, horn rimmed glasses perched on the crown of her head and tight fitting robes left little to his teenage imagination. A movement at her collar bone brought his line of sight down to the swell of her chest where a badger's nose twitched at him curiously.
"Hufflepuff were you?" Harry said the first thing that came to mind. "Yes I'm Harry, I don't actually know why I came in here. Something called me, I guess?"
"You bet." Samantha smiled. "Most people don't actually know why they come, but rarely do they leave without some artwork on them. This is my place, only been for a year or so, but word is spreading. Come and look at my catalogues and tell me what you think."
Harry's curiosity peaked and he drifted towards the desk, his attention on the muggle photographs that adorned the walls and showed multicoloured body parts and stylised hair dos. Harry dragged his attention back to the woman in front of him and he managed to voice the vague thought that bounced around in his head.
"Samantha, can you cover up scars?" Harry bit his lip thoughtfully and nodded slightly. Where did that come from? Yet this was why he entered. He knew it now. Samantha raised an eyebrow at him, and her violet eyes traced up to his forehead.
"Of course I can. It's a good fifty percent of my work, but if you want to cover that up I don't think it will get you the result you were hoping for," she told him with a smirk.
Harry snorted in dark amusement and gently rubbed a finger over the blemish he had sported all his life. He let his hand drop and realised it had drifted to the crook of his elbow and he knew what he wanted.
"Are you any good at lions?"
"On your forehead?" Samantha joked.
In answer Harry pulled off his jacket, laid it over the stylised eagle painted on the countertop, and slid his sleeve up.
Samantha gasped at the horrendous scar that marred the pale skin of his inner elbow.
"Merlin's saggy ball sack! How did that happen?" she exclaimed, as she unconsciously traced a chipped black fingernail gently along the craggy edge.
"Cursed knife as part of an evil ritual. It won't heal, so I thought I could get it covered up." Harry admitted slowly. His voice dropped into a growl as memories assaulted him.
"Yes, of course I can. When do you want to…" Samantha trailed off as she watched Harry slide his other sleeve up. A similar sized scar resided just below the elbow, but had a deeper aspect to it.
"I was bitten when I was twelve," He volunteered.
"By what? That's no dog bite. I've got one of them and that ain't one." Her hand drifted across to graze the scar.
"A snake," Harry reluctantly. "Does it matter?"
"It might. If it's magical or has left a residue, then I'll need special inks," she told him, as she carded a hand through her short hair.
Harry paused, debating how much to tell her.
"A basilisk."
The silence which permeated the room was excruciating. Harry flicked his eyes around the room looking for a distraction or escape. Just as he settled on a convenient window just next to the door his thoughts were derailed.
"A bloody basilisk!? How the fuck aren't you dead?!" Samantha exclaimed, eyes wide in delayed shock.
"I got better." Harry responded, digging a toe into the floor. "The headmaster's phoenix healed me after I killed the basilisk."
"Right. Right, of course it did," Samantha muttered. She turned and shuffled through the parchments and muggle style catalogues and her mutters quietened and she stilled.
"When you were twelve? I was in seventh year during that heir of Slytherin nonsense. We were scared for months. That's what Slytherins monster was? A basilisk? Bloody Nora." She paused and closed her eyes, her hand groped for her stool and she lowered herself down slowly. "I think you'll get a discount on whatever you want. I'm muggleborn and I'm sure you saved my life. Thank you for that. Sorry I can't afford to do it for free, but you can have it at material cost."
Harry gaped at her. He'd been thanked. He couldn't believe it.
"How long would each one take?" He asked.
"Depends on the detail and intricacy, but probably half a day each," she replied as colour returned to her cheeks.
"Wow! How much is full price?"
"Fifty galleons each, but it does depend on the inks you want. Some have magical properties and others are just muggle," Samantha told him.
"Magical properties? Like they move? Can it be used in a ritual? That sort of thing?" Harry asked.
He was unsure why his interest suddenly peaked and a memory tickled at the back of his mind. Something that he had read. He didn't force the memory. It would come back to him, his mind always worked that way.
"They can move, yes, though not always. As for rituals—I'm not sure, don't know much about them. It depends on the power of the wizard, I think, the intentions of the artist imbuing the spell, and as I said, the type of ink. I usually use squid ink as it's ridiculously magically potent, easily obtainable and versatile for what most clients want. It will accept a permanent colour change spell. For a more exotic mix there is a market for inks and dyes from as far away as Malasia, Australia and South America. Do you know the process?" Samantha asked.
"A needle stabs ink into the skin? That's it really," Harry admitted.
"That's normal, and for muggle tattooing that is right. I have a more intricate process. I can't just slap paint on, cast a spell, and hey presto! No, it's not that simple. What were you thinking?"
Harry stared at the counter top for a few seconds, no conscious thought or push, he just let his thoughts settle on a course of action. A decision floated into his mind's eye. He brought his eyes up and caught Samantha's curious gaze.
"You're putting some thought into this, what are you thinking about? Come on through and I'll put the kettle on." She casually waved a hand and led him into the back room. The catalogues floated along behind her and thumped on to the small kitchen table pushed up against one wall. Harry glanced around and found his gaze had wandered back to the woman who was dancing to her own beat as she pulled mismatched mugs from a cupboard and summoned a couple of tea bags.
She glanced over her shoulder at him and caught his gaze watching her swaying rear. She cleared her throat and he looked up guiltily. "Milk, sugar?"
"Just milk, please," he replied as he pulled a chair out and sank into it. "My godfather died last year, he was an animagus. A grim, a massive black dog he called Padfoot."
His hands itched again.
"A- a grim, that's actually a different beast than a dog for an animagus. It's magical. That's interesting. What else you got?" she said as she carried two steaming mugs in one hand and a half eaten pack of biscuits in the other. She set all three on the table next to the catalogue and sat opposite Harry. She opened the catalogue in the middle and flipped a few pages, and scanned each one in turn.
Harry sighed and scrubbed his hair in frustration. "There's a few that come to mind, a phoenix."
"Ah, symbol of death and rebirth, quite common for someone chasing redemption." She flipped back a page, moved the mugs out of the way, then spun the book to face Harry. She pointed out a couple of designs to him. A circling, spiralling red and gold firebird, alongside a hulking snarling black hound of an indistinct breed.
The itching increased and his skin felt like it was crawling.
"Yeah," Harry said faintly, "A basilisk, I probably shouldn't want one given how terrifying it was, but—" Harry cut himself off. The itching intensified until it was almost painful. He hadn't even spoken to Ron or Hermione about it in depth, just generally. "And a horntail dragon."
The itching stopped.
"They all mean something to me, a time in my life that I will never forget."
"A life defining event?"
"Yeah, I got loads of those." Harry gave her a wan smile.
"It's completely personal. Some people have warriors to show the world what they are, or would like to be. A resonating phrase maybe, This Too Shall Pass or something like it. Then there are the bad life choices, usually made during or after a drinking session. I don't do them. It's easier for us magicals, I can give the templates then send them on their way for a week or two. It fades eventually, the ones who come back are the serious ones."
"Bad life choices?"
"Yup, you have no idea. Bad, rude or just in poor taste usually coupled with a low alcohol tolerance and much lamented one night stand. Well, they all signify important events or emotions for you, there's no right or wrong answer here, Harry, it's all how the thought makes you feel and finally if we can agree on a design."
A comfortable quiet hung around the room as Harry looked through the book. He flicked between pages of similar designs as he zeroed in on what he wanted. Samantha pulled on a baggy cardigan, and sat cross legged on her chair. Her mug cradled in both hands, she watched him through the curling steam that twitched with each exhale.
"Settle on one for now. I think squid ink for your left arm. I'll have to do some research on magical creature bite scars, speak to a few people first. Grim, Phoenix, Basilisk or Dragon?" She asked.
Harry frowned slightly and pursed his lips."The dragon, I think, the long one."
"Huh, I really thought you would have gone for the grim. Okay I can't do it today, not enough time to finish before you're due back up at the castle," Samantha pulled a muggle diary from a bag on the chair next to her and flipped to today's date. Post-it notes, scribbles, doodles and random comments littered the pages Harry caught a glimpse of as she flipped forward a few weeks.
"I'm away on the next Hogsmeade weekend, unfortunately, I've got space on every day that week."
"I can come down from the castle on any weekend, I can use some of the secret passages," Harry said and blushed when she gave him an appraising look.
"A bad boy, eh? Well, alright then, I'm actually free this Saturday." She smirked at him.
"A Half sleeve, I think, head on your shoulder or maybe your shoulder blade, a spiral around your arm, body across the scar, and tail flicking around your forearm. Take your shirt off then, and I'll apply the stencil charm," she said in a no none-sense manner as she brandished her wand.
"M-my shirt?" Shock coloured his voice.
"Yes." Samantha drew out the word as if to convince a reluctant child, "I always do it, you can keep it until the appointment to get used to the idea, and we can both see how it looks and make any changes before it's permanent."
She watched amused as Harry pulled his jumper and shirt off at the same time. She smothered a gasp at the definition hidden by the clothes and scars that criss-crossed his body.
"Oh my," Samantha blushed slightly and coughed as Harry squirmed in embarrassment, "You've got some history there." She rose and moved around the table enough to sit on the end, one leg dangling and took his left arm, she examined it critically. Samantha ran her wand lightly up and down his arm and muttered unintelligibly as her eyes drifted closed.
"Pingus temporarius," she intoned with a wand flourish.
Harry felt an invisible something caress his arm and made all the hairs raise all over his body, and he shivered. He could see a faint shade appear, it grew steadily darker until it stopped.
"Hmmm, a tricky customer, eh?" Samantha muttered to herself and she repeated the process.
This time, the Hungarian Horntail that he recalled from two years ago was staring at him from his shoulder.
The eye blinked.
"That shouldn't have happened." Samantha frowned. "There wasn't enough magic, and it was the wrong spell for animation."
"Wow," Harry breathed, "It's brilliant. So life-like."
"That's not even the real tattoo. How they act and move depends on the power of the wizard they're inked on to." Samantha ran her hand up his arm and let it rest on his shoulder for a second, then she cleared her throat. "Yes, well, we're done here until the weekend."
Harry nodded distractedly as he gazed down at his dragon.
"Now then." She shifted position to stare at his other arm. The move pulled at her robes and gave him an eyeful of badger covered creamy skin. Samantha noticed his blush and where he was looking straight away and shot him an amused look before she adjusted herself.
"Yes, we both know you're a hormonal teenager. The other tattoo, any ideas? Might as well apply that now, too."
Harry opened his mouth to speak, squeaked, cleared his throat, and tried again.
"The grim, I think, that massive one on page thirty one."
Samantha flipped a few pages over. "This one?"
At Harry's nod of confirmation she repeated the spellwork, it took three passes of her wand to bring the Grim forth and then there it was, proud and savage. A dark mass that dominated his skin from shoulder to forearm, the tail curled around the crook of his elbow.
"Spend some time looking at it in a mirror front, side and back, make sure you're happy with the placement and colouring, and I'll see you back here at nine on Saturday. Will you be able to get fifty galleons by then?"
She retook her seat as Harry redressed and finished his tea. He nodded with his mouthful and took a second to swallow.
"Yes, I've got enough with me. I'll have to go to London and see the goblins before we do the other one, though." Harry said as he tried to tame his hair.
"London? Why? Why don't you use the Gringotts branch here in Hogsmeade?" She asked, perplexed.
"I didn't know there was one, no one mentioned it before. Okay, I'll go next Hogsmeade weekend then. Thanks, Samantha, see you next weekend."
"You can call me Sam, Harry." She gave him a cheeky wave as he opened the door and grinned back at her over his shoulder.
"Bye, Sam."
As Harry closed the door behind him, a feeling of satisfaction spread over his body. It slid over him like a warm blanket.
Approval.
It was probably the one constant in his life. Instinct so visceral it was like a guiding hand. It wasn't foolproof nor was it all day, everyday, it was more like he was being nudged down the correct path.
Harry sighed in contentment and checked the time. It was almost one. His friends said they would meet up about now at the Three Broomsticks for lunch, but he had a quick stop to make first.
Harry slipped into The Knickknack Boutique as surreptitiously as he could and spent the next few minutes wandering the isles as he browsed the cluttered shelves. He had never in his life thought he would voluntarily step into this shop, it was on the same horror inducing level as Madam Puddifoots, even if it was for a good cause.
Harry needed a reason to be away from his friends for as long as he had been, if one of the teachers or the student body saw him here. He suppressed a shudder.
The last time he had been at the Weasley's house, Harry had made a point of paying attention and picked up some ideas for presents. He owned the family so much that some small preparation to show his appreciation on the appropriate day was the least he could do.
The little knickknack he saw on a shelf near the back, half hidden by a planter handle leaped out at him was exactly what he was looking for. Harry closed his eyes and brought to mind his last visit to the kitchen. The small figurines which lined the window ledge, some dancing merry jigs, others selling wares from trellis tables. Mrs Weasley was on her way to building a village of porcelain figurines, and it suited her and her kitchen down to the ground. She was pleased to tell him about it, she said that her boys hadn't ever noticed her little hobby in all the years she had cultivated it.
The one he had seen he knew she didn't have yet. Harry gently reached down and plucked the dancing girl into his palm. Her red trimmed white dress swirled around her ankles and she had her wide brimmed hat clasped in her hand. Harry smiled.
"Can I help you, young sir?" an elderly voice enquired.
Harry looked up startled from his appreciation, and almost dropped the figurine. The old lady, dusty robes and half moon glasses perched on the end of her nose, examined him. She stood with heels together and toes pointed at precisely ten to two, hands clasped primly before her. This lady could be a sister of Professor McGonagall.
"Hi, I'd like to buy this, please."
Harry plastered on his most pleasant, polite smile and gestured with the ornament toward her.
"It doesn't seem quite your… ah, style, young man."
"That's because it's not, it's a present for a friend."
"Anyone I know, Mr Potter?" she asked, a glint in her eye.
"Very possibly, Miss?"
"Mrs Haversham, this is my shop. This particular item is fifteen sickles. Would you like it gift wrapped?"
She gently took it from him and bustled toward the counter by the door. He could see a younger woman, sidle to the side and allow the elder room behind the counter.
"If you wouldn't mind." Harry replied.
"And who should I make the card out to? It can be delivered if you wish."
The same glint as a few minutes ago was aimed his way again. Harry grinned broadly at her.
"To Molly, Happy Birthday! Harry."
Harry was enjoying needling the nosy old lady, he now knew his wish to not be recognised was a pipedream, but it didn't mean that he would give in without a fight.
"Molly…" she asked leadingly as she flicked her wand, the intricate card, simple message written slid itself into a cream envelope and the figurine span slowly in the air as tissue paper encircled it before lowering into a pale pink bag.
"Just Molly. Fifteen sickles." He held out his hand with the required funds and accepted the bag.
"I have cast an unbreakable charm on the bag, and have a good day, Mr Potter."
"Thank you."
He walked out the door as hushed whispers slipped through the narrowing gap as the door closed behind him.
"Sneaky like a Slytherin Snake!" Harry chuckled to himself as he left the shop and headed for a rendezvous with his friends at the Three Broomsticks pub.
"Harry! Where did you go?" Ron called when Harry entered the bustling pub. "I tried to follow you, but you ran off."
"Getting your mum a birthday present." Harry replied without missing a beat and placed the pink gift bag on the table. "It is next week after all."
Ron's wide eyed silence indicated that he had forgotten.
"Sorry, mate, I didn't mention it as I assumed you already had one." Harry told him, as he squeezed his lips together to contain his mirth.
He felt a twinge in his stomach at the lies and omissions, but knew it was necessary as both of his friends would have thrown a spanner into the works, each for different reasons.
His best mate's large hand reached forward to grab the bag but Harry was faster and claimed it first.
"What did you get her?" Ron asked, his expression pleading, and his eyes had a look of panic.
"If I tell you, then she'll have two and my present wouldn't be as good. She does like flowers though, doesn't she?"
Ron gaped like a fish, and Hermione giggled.
"He doesn't have a clue on what his mum likes or doesn't like, you may as well tell him." she said.
"I will, next week. He doesn't know about these anyway, so it won't help him."
"Bugger," Ron cursed, finished his butterbeer, then left the table in a hurry.
Hermione and Harry stared at each other for a minute, he could see the gears turning, and her head twitched slightly like a bird. She glanced down at the small package squinted, then her eyes became as big as saucers.
"Oh! On the window ledge? The little village?" Hermione exclaimed.
Harry beamed. "I knew you'd get it."
"She's got so many, are you sure she doesn't have it?" She fingered the delicate ribbon and sighed. Harry smirked, his Christmas present for Hermione was just as thoughtful and he knew that she would love it, although she would probably be surprised that it wasn't another book.
"Another butterbeer?" Harry asked as he watched his friend beam at him.
"I think she has the gingerbread flavoured one in stock for Halloween. I'll have one of them. If not, I think we should go and 'help' Ron."
"If by help you mean to give him lots of useless advice, I can get behind that."
Harry left Hermione as she peeked into the gift bag and approached Madam Rosmerta, who was spelling a row of whiskey glasses free of dust. She turned and offered him a welcoming smile.
"Hi Madam, do you have any gingerbread flavoured butterbeers?" Harry asked.
"Yes I do, Harry. Two?"
"Please, and two bags of crisps, cheese and onion and ready salted."
"Two sickles and three knuts. Hot date? I saw the redhead storm off, was it something you said?"
Harry huffed a laugh. "No, I just reminded Ron that it was Mrs Weasley's birthday next week and he's in a panic. He forgot last year and his family hasn't let him forget it."
"I remember Arthur was just as absentminded, completely useless without his remembrall." She chuckled.
"Nev had one of them in first year, aren't they pretty useless? They remind you that you've forgotten something but don't tell you what it is?" Harry asked.
"Welcome to the Wizarding world, Harry, never accuse us of having or using common sense." She smirked.
She placed two cold bottles on the countertop next to the bags of crisps and Harry collected them all and with a nod of thanks returned to Hermione.
"So," Hermione started, "what did you get me for my birthday? You've got a standard to live up to with this."
She gestured to the present and snagged the ready salted crisps and a bottle with a pleased hum and took a swig.
"I got you a pirate's outfit to go with the parrot I got you last year." Harry smirked.
Hermione almost snorted butterbeer out of her nose.
"Gak, you did not! I so regret telling you about International Talk Like a Pirate Day is on my birthday. You'll be getting spray on Quidditch robes for Christmas if you do, and you'll be wearing it in the common room."
Harry snorted his own butterbeer and descended into a laughing coughing fit.
"Oh yeah, did you know that there is a Gringotts branch in Hogsmeade?" He asked, his voice choked and still not recovered from breathing in butterbeer.
"Parvati mentioned it a few weeks ago, but I don't know where it is. Wonder if it's new?" Hermione smirked.
"Let's find it, then 'help' Ron."
The two friends exchanged a grin and started to gulp their drinks faster at the thought of the fun they were missing out on teasing Ron.
Harry and Hermione found the kiosk down a dingy side street opposite the Three Broomsticks. The store was built into the wall of a substantial stone cottage and had a single surly goblin sat at the counter. His fingers idly caressed the handle of a very real looking halberd.
"Yes?" It asked gruffly.
"I'd like to withdraw some money, please." Harry stammered.
"Key," the goblin demanded and held a green, gnarled hand out. The long fingers scratched Harry's hand as they closed possessively around his key.
"Amount? Your daily withdrawal limit is one hundred galleons."
"Ninety seven galleons please, thirty four sickles and the rest in knuts."
"Harry! That's a lot of money to be carrying around," Hermione exclaimed.
"This," Harry raised the pink gift bag and gave it a shake, "pretty much wiped me out. I'm not expecting much change for your pirate's outfit so a hundred is about right." Harry smirked.
"Here you are, good day." The goblin slid a jangly leather pouch across to him as a shutter slammed down from a recess and obscured the goblin from view.
Harry snagged his pouch and exchanged a bemused glance with Hermione.
"Where do you think Ron will be?" Harry asked.
"Either Zonkos or the new broom place, honestly if we don't get there soon that boy will decide that his mum really wants a new keeper broom and will have his nose pressed against the glass," Hermione mused.
"Don't you mean again?" Harry smirked.
"Yes again. You're just as bad as he is."
"I am not! I've got my own broom, I can lick it." Harry smirked.
"Eww." Hermione shoved him away.
They found Ron a few minutes later outside of Zonkos and stopped a metre away from him and waited until he saw them. It took him a full minute. He was that worried.
"Argh, don't sneak up on me like that. How long were you standing there?" Ron asked, his hand on his chest.
"Long enough for it to become a little weird," Harry said.
Hermione giggled at the face Ron pulled. "Have you found anything?"
"There's a new broom being released, but I don't think mum would like one of those."
"Is it a keeping broom?" Harry asked.
Ron gaped at his best mates' uncanny knowledge of the broom makers fraternity. "It is, how the hell did you know?"
Hermione sniggered and burst into laughter, and Ron turned red.
"This is serious. If you're not going to help, then leave me alone!"
He stormed away from them again so Harry and Hermione wandered from shop to shop and trailed behind him and made their helpful suggestions.
"Hey Ron, look, think your mum would like some self inking quills?" Harry asked.
"It comes in hot pink and bright purple." Hermione added helpfully.
"I'm not buying her quills," Ron snapped.
"Hey look, an automatic gnome thrower." Hermione offered.
""It can dispose of fifty gnomes in one throw! I think your mum would love two." Harry sniggered.
"Will you two leave me alone!" Ron shouted and ran off toward the florist in a panic.
Arm in arm Harry and Hermione stood in the doorway of the florist and watched as Ron paced from Orchids to Daisies to Roses before he rubbed his chin in front of the Lily display.
"Lilies are the flower of Death, Ron." Hermione cautioned as it looked like Ron had made his choice.
Ron threw his arms into the air with a 'Argh' sound and pushed between the two and out of the shop. The shopkeeper hadn't moved from her spot in a rocking chair and had only paused in her Knitting to watch the scene.
"Mothers birthday?" she asked.
"Yup." Harry grinned. "We're going to the knickknack shop. I saw something there that she might like."
"You're such good friends," the florist said.
"We really are." Harry said.
Harry and Hermione turned just in time to see Ron hurry across the cobblestones, pause in front of The Knickknack Boutique, shake his head vehemently, then jog on.
The doorbell dinged as they entered, and a surprised Mrs Haversham bustled up to greet her customers.
"Back so soon?" she asked. "Did Molly not like it?"
She looked pointedly at Hermione and raised an eyebrow.
Hermione smiled beatifically and patted Harry on the arm and kissed his cheek. "Molly will love it, Harry has great taste. I think I'll get her one too."
Mrs Haversham took on an affronted look and left the couple to it.
"She was trying her hardest to get me to give Molly's last name earlier. I'm surprised Madam Rosmerta didn't know about my marriage to Mrs Weasley."
Hermione burst into giggles which drew a suspicious glare from the aforementioned store owner, but Harry had already moved on and was browsing the trinkets again.
Hermione pulled a silk scarf from a suspended ring which had ten or twenty more scarves threaded through it. She rubbed it between her fingers, then hummed and wrapped it around her neck before nodding to herself.
She took it off and ran it through her hands repeatedly as she turned her attention to the task that Harry was applying himself to.
"That's nice," she said as she picked up a porcelain girl dancing and twirling her skirts.
"That one." Harry said and pointed to a similar dancing girl next to it.
"Yes," she said and picked it up.
"Thirteen sickles." Harry said, reached into his pocket and pulled a mixture of silver and bronze coins. He counted thirteen out and handed them off to Hermione.
"You get it. It'll confuse Mrs Haversham."
"Poor Mrs Haversham." Hermione giggled. "All she wants is some simple gossip and you're going out of your way to confuse her."
"Yeah," Harry said flatly. "Poor Mrs Haversham."
He followed Hermione's giggles as she went to pay and endured more speculative glances from Mrs Haversham and her assistant.
He sighed at the thought of similar glances from Professor McGonnagall and shuddered.
They left the Boutique and looked around for Ron.
"There he is," Harry said.
Ron was on the path back to Hogwarts, his head down as he trudged dejectedly along. Harry and Hermione exchanged an amused glance and jogged after him. They fell into step on either side of him and walked silently until Ron could not take the silence anymore.
"Where were you?!" he demanded.
The surrounding students turned to see who was making the disturbance. On seeing it was Ron, most shrugged and turned back to their conversations.
"I've been worried for hours and all you do is offer stupid ideas and laugh."
Hermione didn't say anything. She pulled the scarf from the bag and wrapped it around her neck. She held the bag out on one finger and offered it to him.
He snatched the bag out of her hand and stormed off.
"Some people," Harry said as he shook his head.
"Ungrateful," Hermione agreed as she caressed her new scarf.
_Break_
Harry changed his routine as he prepared for bed. Usually, he stripped off by his bed, went for a shower, then crashed in bed as he listened to the other boys gossip and squabble. That was out of question now, he didn't want them to see his tattoos. He gathered his things and walked to the bathroom.
Harry locked the door then dumped his pajamas and towel into a sink as he inspected his reflection.
He hummed as he stripped his shirt off and gazed at the reflected glory that was the Grim and swirling dragon that graced his arms.
He felt grown up for the first time in his life and thought he looked kind of dangerous. He struck a strongman pose and grinned at what he saw. Some definition finally, but still far to go. The dragon's head turned to face him in the mirror and deliberately winked.
He was in the middle of a pose change and almost fell over, he had jumped that hard. He found his footing and stared down at his arm but it was back to a profile image and remained still.
Shocked, Harry turned to the nearest shower stall and stood under the hot stream for a few minutes. A banging on the door broke him out of his trance and took a squirt of shampoo.
"Oi Harry, hurry up! He's locked the door! Why did you lock the door?!"
T.B.C
