A SUMMER PLACE
by monkeymouse
a/k/a Patrick Drazen
2.6: Surprise
[If you found your way this far, you don't need me to tell you that JK Rowling created the Potterverse, and is still creating it…]
When he lived with the Dursleys, Harry didn't celebrate his birthday, but he didn't dread it either. It was just another day of his Muggle relations trying—and failing—to beat and batter and otherwise drive the magic out of Harry Potter. It wasn't until Hagrid burst into his life on his eleventh birthday that Harry found it to be something to celebrate.
But today he actually dreaded getting out of bed and going downstairs. Tom the proprietor of the Leaky Cauldron would probably make a fuss. And the way Harry felt, the last thing he wanted today was a fuss.
As he tied his shoes, he saw Cho's last, angry letter, still on the floor where he'd dropped it. He kicked it under the dresser and went down to breakfast.
It was still early enough that there were only two or three diners: elderly hags and wizards who were regulars at the Leaky Cauldron and were used to Harry by now. When Tom came to take his order, Harry told him, "I'm glad you didn't make a fuss."
"Ah, well," Tom said, looking a little sheepish, "that's just 'cause ye're an early riser. I expect there'll be a bit of a fuss this evenin'."
Harry went back to his room after breakfast to find a parcel sitting on his bed and an owl sitting on his windowsill. It was his first birthday present of the day, and it was from Hermione.
"Hope this gets to you in time for your birthday, Harry! Many happy returns!
We're in Athens now. It's named for the goddess Athena, whose favourite bird was the owl, so they're everywhere here! I found this statue in a market. It's a species of owl called a little owl--that's its name, honest!! It's supposed to watch over you and protect you. And even if it doesn't, you know you have a lot of friends who will.
We've been traveling around so much that the mail is always behind, and I haven't seen an issue of the Daily Prophet in weeks! So we'll have a lot to catch up on. I'll be in Diagon Alley getting supplies on 30 August; if I don't see you then, we can catch up on the Express!
Love, Hermione
PS: I hope you're in better spirits."
Harry looked at the clay statue with its brightly-painted yellow eyes. A little tag explained in two languages that the ancient Greeks thought that owls' eyes were lit from within by magic.
"A lot of friends, eh?" Harry muttered, looking around his empty room again. "I wish one of them would turn up."
At that moment, though, another owl turned up; an exhausted-looking screech owl carrying a small but very heavy parcel. As Harry was untying it, the brown paper parcel slipped to the floor and landed with a massive CLUNK. The owl immediately glided over to the basin for a drink and a bath.
"You can't do that!" the mirror sputtered. The owl took no notice, as it splashed in the basin and sprayed water all over the mirror. "This is against regulations!"
"Oh, have a heart," Harry said, looking up from the letter. "He's come all the way from Hogwarts. I promise I'll clean up."
"Just don't make a habit of it," the mirror grumbled.
Harry went back to the letter from Hagrid:
"Happy Birthday, Harry Potter! I've been saying that for a lot of years now, and I hope I go on saying it lots more.
I don't know if the Muggles still have you on a diet, but you're a growing boy--sorry, I should call you a young man, now you're sixteen and all. Anyway, I've sent along a sweetie for you. Don't you worry--it's from Honeyduke's. I know my cooking's not exactly up to scratch for most folk."
Harry set down the letter, unwrapped the package and stared at a large, heavy, porous rock that looked like knobby black coral. He noticed a tag in the wrapping paper: Volcanic Fire Fudge. Not having the slightest idea what something with that name would taste like, he tried to twist off a piece. When he did, he found that the rock actually was only a thin, very hard shell around a thick, bright red crème filling. It smelled like strawberries and cinnamon. He dipped a fingertip into the filling and put a drop on the tip of his tongue.
The filling tasted like strawberries, cinnamon and tabasco sauce. Of course; anyone who feels motherly about dragons would consider THIS a "sweetie." Harry had to drink two glasses of water in quick succession before he could even pick up Hagrid's letter again.
"There's lots I could talk about, but I won't--except to tell you that you'll be very pleased by our new Dark Arts teacher; I'd say we finally got the right man for the job. But you'll find out, I'm sure.
See you in September
Professor Rubeus Hagrid"
Harry smiled at Hagrid calling himself Professor. He indeed taught Care of Magical Creatures, even though he never graduated from Hogwarts. Being made Gamekeeper was a thrill for Hagrid all by itself; when he was made a teacher, Hagrid could hardly stand the joy.
No sooner had Harry finished reading Hagrid's letter when a third owl arrived. This one was small; more like a pigeon than a proper owl. It had a newspaper clipping tied to its leg. Harry opened it up. It was an article from the Daily Prophet, dated a week ago, an article that he hadn't seen:
"Minister Avoids Assassination Attempt
Deranged Muggle Apprehended
by E. Shrdlu
Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge narrowly escaped death on Friday last when he was attacked shortly after Apparating outside Paris, France. His trip had been deliberately kept a secret, yet the assailant knew exactly when and where he would Apparate.
"It's a shocking breach of security," said Amos Diggory, spokesperson for the Ministry in Fudge's absence. "It could only have been an inside leak. It pains me to say this, but this will mean an internal investigation."
Fudge and his entourage has just Apparated behind a hangar at DeGaulle Airport when a Muggle member of the ground crew, carrying a large tool called a "wrench", ran toward Fudge, holding the "wrench" as if to hit the Minister in the head.
Only the chance intervention of a large black dog, which bit the Muggle's leg and forced him to stop, saved the Minister's life. The dog ran away after biting the Muggle.
Interrogation of the Muggle showed that he did not remember the attack. "Sounds like the Imperius Curse to me," Diggory said."
Under the article was written:
"Been a little too busy to shop; I'll get you a proper gift soon. Happy birthday
Snuffles"
Then the fourth owl landed on the windowsill. It was a muscular barn own whose parcel was small and seemed lightweight; this owl would have been more at home with the Volcanic Fire Fudge.
Harry opened the letter:
"Happy Birthday Harry!
Well, we're halfway through the Weasley Grand Tour. Right now we're up in the Lake District, near the Isle of Man. And it is SO BORING! The only fun I have is getting together with Fred and George to torment Percy. I don't care if it is his honeymoon; he keeps lording it over the rest of us, acting like he's our dad. I don't know what Penelope sees in him!
She's all right, actually, 'cause she doesn't think she's still Best Girl at Hogwarts. She's tried to act like a big sister, and she's done a good job of it so far. Sometimes I really feel guilty that she has to suffer along with Percy; but Percy the Pill deserves everything we can give him. Last night we had him wandering around the marshes following grindylows until three in the morning. He was dead exhausted when he finally found the inn; Mum had to shoo the rest of us out of the inn this morning so "they could have their privacy". Much good may it do Percy; the twins put Peppermint Dozing Drops (their latest invention) in with Penelope's breath mints. She won't wake up until midnight. I think we've fixed it so Percy and Penelope have only been able to "do the dirty deed" four times in a fortnight. Fred still thinks we can do better than that.
Anyway, here's some things I picked up on the road. We're supposed to be back in the Burrow on the 25th, after our last stop (Dover). I'll probably see you in Diagon Alley on the 26th.
Don't do anything I wouldn't do (or Percy wants to do),
Ron
PS: What do you think of the attack on Fudge? Percy wanted to rush right back to the office; Penelope had quite a few words for him on that subject. I think I'm going to like having her around after all!"
Harry read this letter through twice more, letting honeymoon images of Penelope and Percy flow through his thoughts and raise a bulge in his trousers. It was a pleasurable sensation, even if he couldn't act on it.
Harry had picked up an informal education in the past year, as well as his formal one. He went to classes, but he also used his Cloak of Invisibility now and again to listen in on some of the "bull sessions" among the older boys. He had to pick up a lot of things on the fly, and couldn't stop the discussion to ask questions, but he eventually learned as much as a teenaged boy needed to learn.
One thing he learned was that sometimes there was no help for it; a guy simply had to wank off now and again. But as long as the lights were out and he was under the covers, it was no problem. If it was during the day, the mirror would start talking to him; that was bad enough, but the mirror was just so--solicitous: "Go along, dearie, don't mind me"; "I understand perfectly; you're of that age"; "Bless me, the things I've seen in this very room; you have no idea". Harry didn't like the idea of becoming part of the mirror's running commentary for some future guest, so he had to hold off until it could neither see nor say anything.
He took a look at Ron's gifts: a Cumberland sausage, a jar of sweet mustard, and a letter opener/knife with a handle of ivory or bone--Harry couldn't be sure which--intricately carved with interwoven serpents and vines; art from the time before the Romans invaded. This'll come in handy for Potions, for Herbology . . . and for a bite to eat on the train, he thought. He resisted the temptation to take a taste of the sausage, and set everything up on the dresser next to the door.
"You've done well for yourself, haven't you, Harry," the mirror asked.
Harry thought for a second, then said softly, "I'm hoping for one more present."
Harry sat in his room for an hour, waiting for one more present. Then another hour.
At half past eleven, he gave it up, shoved some money (Muggle and wizarding) into his pockets and walked out.
Harry wasn't at all familiar with London. The few places he did know were simply blurs on the way to King's Cross or Diagon Alley. Not knowing what else to do, he went to the railway station and sat on a bench near Gate Nine and three-quarters. He had a notion—and he knew it was foolish—that he might see someone he knew either coming or going. Who am I fooling, he thought; there's only one person I want to see today, and she's nowhere near here…
"Afternoon, mate!"
Someone had sat down next to Harry on the bench and was addressing him. Harry turned away.
"You look like you could use some cheerin' up. Come round to my club." The man pushed a piece of paper in front of Harry's face. "I'll even stand you a free drink, on account it's your birthday."
This made Harry turn and look. The fellow next to him had olive coloured skin, heavily-oiled black hair, and a black mustache that curled up at the ends. He looked to be about twenty-five years old.
"I suppose you saw the…" Harry said gloomily, gesturing toward his forehead.
"Yeh, well, we all know about that. Somethin' got you down, then?"
"Just … got nowhere to go."
"Well, you have now!" He stuck his hand out for Harry to shake. "Zafar Ajneeri's the name. I run a little club for us down in Brixton. We can hop on the Pink One and be there in half a tick."
"The what?"
"Well, they said you lived with Muggles, but I guess you didn't get out much."
"No, I didn't, but what's this Pink One?"
For answer, Zafar pointed to the map of the London Underground system. Harry had only taken the Underground once or twice in his life, but he had to smile at himself. Zafar had meant the rail line that was pink on the map: the Victoria line, which ended in the south at Brixton.
Harry had to think a few seconds. The article about the attack on Fudge made him a bit nervous, especially about traveling to a strange part of London, and especially with someone he'd only just met. Still, he didn't have much else to look forward to, this was another wizard, and–if it came to that–he was pretty sure he could take care of himself. "You're on. Lead the way."
They rode the London Transport car with Zafar giving a running commentary about the history of the stops along the way. Harry was thoroughly confused, but was at least glad the talk wasn't about him. He certainly didn't feel like being the center of attention.
When they reached the end of the line in Brixton, they came out of the station and right into a spectacle Harry had never seen before. The open- air market was a marvelous riot of fruit and vegetables. Their sight and scent filled the air, competing with the thickly accented voices and dark skins—ranging from tan to coal-black—of the food vendors. For Harry, this was as magical as anything he'd seen in Hogwarts.
"Well, you seem quite comfy here," Zafar said. "Takes some white folks funny, though, their first time."
Harry didn't even consider comparing his color to anyone else's. "But this place is so fantastic! I've never seen anything like it!"
"And I guarantee you won't, unless you cross the equator."
"Is your club around here, then?"
"Right round the corner." Zafar led Harry to a black-painted storefront. A hand-painted sign over the door read: MoshiMoshi,
"That's Japanese for 'Ello 'Ello", Zafar explained as he opened the door.
It was like stepping into another reality. Gone was the sun and earthy smell of the market. In the club the lights were artificial, targeted on the dance floor or tables along the wall. The air was artificially chilled and smelled of curry and fast food. And the music in the background would cut in for a few seconds, then cut out again, as a deejay in the booth near the front door listened to bits of a stack of recordings.
"Is it a Japanese club, then?"
"Started out that way, but now my deejays play whatever's on: chill, trance, techno, Bollywood, J-pop. Speaking of which, I'm expecting a shipment from Japan later today."
"A shipment?"
"Yeh, records, videos, things like that. I've got this group of friends; one or two times a month, they come to the club by Portkey. Now, I trust you won't breath a word about that, 'cause it ain't strictly legal. I mean, nothing goes through Customs or anythin'."
"HARRY!"
Harry's eyes were still adjusting to the darkness of the club after the bright sunshine and colors of the open air market. But he recognized the voice as Parvati Patil's. He and Zafar went over to a large table in the corner of the club. Parvati was there with her twin sister Padma and Lavender Brown; also there were three young dark-skinned men. One of them rose and grabbed Harry's hand, shaking it vigorously.
"Please accept our best wishes on your birthday, Mister Potter. I am Jugdesh Banerji, and these are my cousins Mithula and Pramansa Karamchand. We are students at Ganesha Academy near Dharmsala, and we are here on vacation."
"Well, er, I hope you like it."
"I'll tell you what I don't like, Zafar," Parvati spoke up. "We're going to have to go round the corner to Khan's for some curry. When are you going to put in a proper kitchenette?"
"When you start bringing in more guests, my lovely, and buying more drinks. Can't remodel without profits, you know."
"You know better than that," Padma joined in. "They have these new inventions called wands; maybe you've heard of them?"
"Not only have I heard of 'em, dear heart, I've tried them out. And even magical curry just isn't as magical as Khan's kitchen."
"Why not come with us, Harry?" Padma offered. "It'll be our treat, for your birthday."
"I only just got here. You go on ahead, I'll try to catch up."
With another round of handshakes, hugs and promises by Harry to come to Ganesha Academy at the first opportunity, the others left the club, while Zafar went to the sound booth to wait for the Japanese courier.
Harry found a small table near the back of the club. He sat down, closed his eyes and leaned back. No sooner did he sit down than a waitress brought him a glass of iced pumpkin-flavored soda pop. He found he was getting a headache from the flashing lights and food smells; he closed his eyes. Thus he heard, rather than saw, someone Port into the club.
Then came Zafar's voice: "Hold on; you ain't Yoshi!"
Then, a girl's delicate laughter: "Sorry, my parents did the best they could."
That laugh! That voice!
"The truth is, Yoshiko has a bit of a cold, so I offered to come in her place…"
Harry jumped up suddenly, spilling his drink as he looked around the room. There: by the sound booth.
"CHO!!"
"HARRY?!"
…to be continued…
Note: I've tried to keep the facts as accurate as possible; as far as I know, Brixton is predominantly Black/Third World, is famous for its open- air market (as well as its progressive club scene) and contains a famous curry restaurant named Khan's. Dharmsala, India, in the foothills of the Himalayas, is home to Tibet's exiled Dalai Lama. Ganesha is the name of the Indian god with the head of an elephant: the patron saint of artists and musicians.
by monkeymouse
a/k/a Patrick Drazen
2.6: Surprise
[If you found your way this far, you don't need me to tell you that JK Rowling created the Potterverse, and is still creating it…]
When he lived with the Dursleys, Harry didn't celebrate his birthday, but he didn't dread it either. It was just another day of his Muggle relations trying—and failing—to beat and batter and otherwise drive the magic out of Harry Potter. It wasn't until Hagrid burst into his life on his eleventh birthday that Harry found it to be something to celebrate.
But today he actually dreaded getting out of bed and going downstairs. Tom the proprietor of the Leaky Cauldron would probably make a fuss. And the way Harry felt, the last thing he wanted today was a fuss.
As he tied his shoes, he saw Cho's last, angry letter, still on the floor where he'd dropped it. He kicked it under the dresser and went down to breakfast.
It was still early enough that there were only two or three diners: elderly hags and wizards who were regulars at the Leaky Cauldron and were used to Harry by now. When Tom came to take his order, Harry told him, "I'm glad you didn't make a fuss."
"Ah, well," Tom said, looking a little sheepish, "that's just 'cause ye're an early riser. I expect there'll be a bit of a fuss this evenin'."
Harry went back to his room after breakfast to find a parcel sitting on his bed and an owl sitting on his windowsill. It was his first birthday present of the day, and it was from Hermione.
"Hope this gets to you in time for your birthday, Harry! Many happy returns!
We're in Athens now. It's named for the goddess Athena, whose favourite bird was the owl, so they're everywhere here! I found this statue in a market. It's a species of owl called a little owl--that's its name, honest!! It's supposed to watch over you and protect you. And even if it doesn't, you know you have a lot of friends who will.
We've been traveling around so much that the mail is always behind, and I haven't seen an issue of the Daily Prophet in weeks! So we'll have a lot to catch up on. I'll be in Diagon Alley getting supplies on 30 August; if I don't see you then, we can catch up on the Express!
Love, Hermione
PS: I hope you're in better spirits."
Harry looked at the clay statue with its brightly-painted yellow eyes. A little tag explained in two languages that the ancient Greeks thought that owls' eyes were lit from within by magic.
"A lot of friends, eh?" Harry muttered, looking around his empty room again. "I wish one of them would turn up."
At that moment, though, another owl turned up; an exhausted-looking screech owl carrying a small but very heavy parcel. As Harry was untying it, the brown paper parcel slipped to the floor and landed with a massive CLUNK. The owl immediately glided over to the basin for a drink and a bath.
"You can't do that!" the mirror sputtered. The owl took no notice, as it splashed in the basin and sprayed water all over the mirror. "This is against regulations!"
"Oh, have a heart," Harry said, looking up from the letter. "He's come all the way from Hogwarts. I promise I'll clean up."
"Just don't make a habit of it," the mirror grumbled.
Harry went back to the letter from Hagrid:
"Happy Birthday, Harry Potter! I've been saying that for a lot of years now, and I hope I go on saying it lots more.
I don't know if the Muggles still have you on a diet, but you're a growing boy--sorry, I should call you a young man, now you're sixteen and all. Anyway, I've sent along a sweetie for you. Don't you worry--it's from Honeyduke's. I know my cooking's not exactly up to scratch for most folk."
Harry set down the letter, unwrapped the package and stared at a large, heavy, porous rock that looked like knobby black coral. He noticed a tag in the wrapping paper: Volcanic Fire Fudge. Not having the slightest idea what something with that name would taste like, he tried to twist off a piece. When he did, he found that the rock actually was only a thin, very hard shell around a thick, bright red crème filling. It smelled like strawberries and cinnamon. He dipped a fingertip into the filling and put a drop on the tip of his tongue.
The filling tasted like strawberries, cinnamon and tabasco sauce. Of course; anyone who feels motherly about dragons would consider THIS a "sweetie." Harry had to drink two glasses of water in quick succession before he could even pick up Hagrid's letter again.
"There's lots I could talk about, but I won't--except to tell you that you'll be very pleased by our new Dark Arts teacher; I'd say we finally got the right man for the job. But you'll find out, I'm sure.
See you in September
Professor Rubeus Hagrid"
Harry smiled at Hagrid calling himself Professor. He indeed taught Care of Magical Creatures, even though he never graduated from Hogwarts. Being made Gamekeeper was a thrill for Hagrid all by itself; when he was made a teacher, Hagrid could hardly stand the joy.
No sooner had Harry finished reading Hagrid's letter when a third owl arrived. This one was small; more like a pigeon than a proper owl. It had a newspaper clipping tied to its leg. Harry opened it up. It was an article from the Daily Prophet, dated a week ago, an article that he hadn't seen:
"Minister Avoids Assassination Attempt
Deranged Muggle Apprehended
by E. Shrdlu
Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge narrowly escaped death on Friday last when he was attacked shortly after Apparating outside Paris, France. His trip had been deliberately kept a secret, yet the assailant knew exactly when and where he would Apparate.
"It's a shocking breach of security," said Amos Diggory, spokesperson for the Ministry in Fudge's absence. "It could only have been an inside leak. It pains me to say this, but this will mean an internal investigation."
Fudge and his entourage has just Apparated behind a hangar at DeGaulle Airport when a Muggle member of the ground crew, carrying a large tool called a "wrench", ran toward Fudge, holding the "wrench" as if to hit the Minister in the head.
Only the chance intervention of a large black dog, which bit the Muggle's leg and forced him to stop, saved the Minister's life. The dog ran away after biting the Muggle.
Interrogation of the Muggle showed that he did not remember the attack. "Sounds like the Imperius Curse to me," Diggory said."
Under the article was written:
"Been a little too busy to shop; I'll get you a proper gift soon. Happy birthday
Snuffles"
Then the fourth owl landed on the windowsill. It was a muscular barn own whose parcel was small and seemed lightweight; this owl would have been more at home with the Volcanic Fire Fudge.
Harry opened the letter:
"Happy Birthday Harry!
Well, we're halfway through the Weasley Grand Tour. Right now we're up in the Lake District, near the Isle of Man. And it is SO BORING! The only fun I have is getting together with Fred and George to torment Percy. I don't care if it is his honeymoon; he keeps lording it over the rest of us, acting like he's our dad. I don't know what Penelope sees in him!
She's all right, actually, 'cause she doesn't think she's still Best Girl at Hogwarts. She's tried to act like a big sister, and she's done a good job of it so far. Sometimes I really feel guilty that she has to suffer along with Percy; but Percy the Pill deserves everything we can give him. Last night we had him wandering around the marshes following grindylows until three in the morning. He was dead exhausted when he finally found the inn; Mum had to shoo the rest of us out of the inn this morning so "they could have their privacy". Much good may it do Percy; the twins put Peppermint Dozing Drops (their latest invention) in with Penelope's breath mints. She won't wake up until midnight. I think we've fixed it so Percy and Penelope have only been able to "do the dirty deed" four times in a fortnight. Fred still thinks we can do better than that.
Anyway, here's some things I picked up on the road. We're supposed to be back in the Burrow on the 25th, after our last stop (Dover). I'll probably see you in Diagon Alley on the 26th.
Don't do anything I wouldn't do (or Percy wants to do),
Ron
PS: What do you think of the attack on Fudge? Percy wanted to rush right back to the office; Penelope had quite a few words for him on that subject. I think I'm going to like having her around after all!"
Harry read this letter through twice more, letting honeymoon images of Penelope and Percy flow through his thoughts and raise a bulge in his trousers. It was a pleasurable sensation, even if he couldn't act on it.
Harry had picked up an informal education in the past year, as well as his formal one. He went to classes, but he also used his Cloak of Invisibility now and again to listen in on some of the "bull sessions" among the older boys. He had to pick up a lot of things on the fly, and couldn't stop the discussion to ask questions, but he eventually learned as much as a teenaged boy needed to learn.
One thing he learned was that sometimes there was no help for it; a guy simply had to wank off now and again. But as long as the lights were out and he was under the covers, it was no problem. If it was during the day, the mirror would start talking to him; that was bad enough, but the mirror was just so--solicitous: "Go along, dearie, don't mind me"; "I understand perfectly; you're of that age"; "Bless me, the things I've seen in this very room; you have no idea". Harry didn't like the idea of becoming part of the mirror's running commentary for some future guest, so he had to hold off until it could neither see nor say anything.
He took a look at Ron's gifts: a Cumberland sausage, a jar of sweet mustard, and a letter opener/knife with a handle of ivory or bone--Harry couldn't be sure which--intricately carved with interwoven serpents and vines; art from the time before the Romans invaded. This'll come in handy for Potions, for Herbology . . . and for a bite to eat on the train, he thought. He resisted the temptation to take a taste of the sausage, and set everything up on the dresser next to the door.
"You've done well for yourself, haven't you, Harry," the mirror asked.
Harry thought for a second, then said softly, "I'm hoping for one more present."
Harry sat in his room for an hour, waiting for one more present. Then another hour.
At half past eleven, he gave it up, shoved some money (Muggle and wizarding) into his pockets and walked out.
Harry wasn't at all familiar with London. The few places he did know were simply blurs on the way to King's Cross or Diagon Alley. Not knowing what else to do, he went to the railway station and sat on a bench near Gate Nine and three-quarters. He had a notion—and he knew it was foolish—that he might see someone he knew either coming or going. Who am I fooling, he thought; there's only one person I want to see today, and she's nowhere near here…
"Afternoon, mate!"
Someone had sat down next to Harry on the bench and was addressing him. Harry turned away.
"You look like you could use some cheerin' up. Come round to my club." The man pushed a piece of paper in front of Harry's face. "I'll even stand you a free drink, on account it's your birthday."
This made Harry turn and look. The fellow next to him had olive coloured skin, heavily-oiled black hair, and a black mustache that curled up at the ends. He looked to be about twenty-five years old.
"I suppose you saw the…" Harry said gloomily, gesturing toward his forehead.
"Yeh, well, we all know about that. Somethin' got you down, then?"
"Just … got nowhere to go."
"Well, you have now!" He stuck his hand out for Harry to shake. "Zafar Ajneeri's the name. I run a little club for us down in Brixton. We can hop on the Pink One and be there in half a tick."
"The what?"
"Well, they said you lived with Muggles, but I guess you didn't get out much."
"No, I didn't, but what's this Pink One?"
For answer, Zafar pointed to the map of the London Underground system. Harry had only taken the Underground once or twice in his life, but he had to smile at himself. Zafar had meant the rail line that was pink on the map: the Victoria line, which ended in the south at Brixton.
Harry had to think a few seconds. The article about the attack on Fudge made him a bit nervous, especially about traveling to a strange part of London, and especially with someone he'd only just met. Still, he didn't have much else to look forward to, this was another wizard, and–if it came to that–he was pretty sure he could take care of himself. "You're on. Lead the way."
They rode the London Transport car with Zafar giving a running commentary about the history of the stops along the way. Harry was thoroughly confused, but was at least glad the talk wasn't about him. He certainly didn't feel like being the center of attention.
When they reached the end of the line in Brixton, they came out of the station and right into a spectacle Harry had never seen before. The open- air market was a marvelous riot of fruit and vegetables. Their sight and scent filled the air, competing with the thickly accented voices and dark skins—ranging from tan to coal-black—of the food vendors. For Harry, this was as magical as anything he'd seen in Hogwarts.
"Well, you seem quite comfy here," Zafar said. "Takes some white folks funny, though, their first time."
Harry didn't even consider comparing his color to anyone else's. "But this place is so fantastic! I've never seen anything like it!"
"And I guarantee you won't, unless you cross the equator."
"Is your club around here, then?"
"Right round the corner." Zafar led Harry to a black-painted storefront. A hand-painted sign over the door read: MoshiMoshi,
"That's Japanese for 'Ello 'Ello", Zafar explained as he opened the door.
It was like stepping into another reality. Gone was the sun and earthy smell of the market. In the club the lights were artificial, targeted on the dance floor or tables along the wall. The air was artificially chilled and smelled of curry and fast food. And the music in the background would cut in for a few seconds, then cut out again, as a deejay in the booth near the front door listened to bits of a stack of recordings.
"Is it a Japanese club, then?"
"Started out that way, but now my deejays play whatever's on: chill, trance, techno, Bollywood, J-pop. Speaking of which, I'm expecting a shipment from Japan later today."
"A shipment?"
"Yeh, records, videos, things like that. I've got this group of friends; one or two times a month, they come to the club by Portkey. Now, I trust you won't breath a word about that, 'cause it ain't strictly legal. I mean, nothing goes through Customs or anythin'."
"HARRY!"
Harry's eyes were still adjusting to the darkness of the club after the bright sunshine and colors of the open air market. But he recognized the voice as Parvati Patil's. He and Zafar went over to a large table in the corner of the club. Parvati was there with her twin sister Padma and Lavender Brown; also there were three young dark-skinned men. One of them rose and grabbed Harry's hand, shaking it vigorously.
"Please accept our best wishes on your birthday, Mister Potter. I am Jugdesh Banerji, and these are my cousins Mithula and Pramansa Karamchand. We are students at Ganesha Academy near Dharmsala, and we are here on vacation."
"Well, er, I hope you like it."
"I'll tell you what I don't like, Zafar," Parvati spoke up. "We're going to have to go round the corner to Khan's for some curry. When are you going to put in a proper kitchenette?"
"When you start bringing in more guests, my lovely, and buying more drinks. Can't remodel without profits, you know."
"You know better than that," Padma joined in. "They have these new inventions called wands; maybe you've heard of them?"
"Not only have I heard of 'em, dear heart, I've tried them out. And even magical curry just isn't as magical as Khan's kitchen."
"Why not come with us, Harry?" Padma offered. "It'll be our treat, for your birthday."
"I only just got here. You go on ahead, I'll try to catch up."
With another round of handshakes, hugs and promises by Harry to come to Ganesha Academy at the first opportunity, the others left the club, while Zafar went to the sound booth to wait for the Japanese courier.
Harry found a small table near the back of the club. He sat down, closed his eyes and leaned back. No sooner did he sit down than a waitress brought him a glass of iced pumpkin-flavored soda pop. He found he was getting a headache from the flashing lights and food smells; he closed his eyes. Thus he heard, rather than saw, someone Port into the club.
Then came Zafar's voice: "Hold on; you ain't Yoshi!"
Then, a girl's delicate laughter: "Sorry, my parents did the best they could."
That laugh! That voice!
"The truth is, Yoshiko has a bit of a cold, so I offered to come in her place…"
Harry jumped up suddenly, spilling his drink as he looked around the room. There: by the sound booth.
"CHO!!"
"HARRY?!"
…to be continued…
Note: I've tried to keep the facts as accurate as possible; as far as I know, Brixton is predominantly Black/Third World, is famous for its open- air market (as well as its progressive club scene) and contains a famous curry restaurant named Khan's. Dharmsala, India, in the foothills of the Himalayas, is home to Tibet's exiled Dalai Lama. Ganesha is the name of the Indian god with the head of an elephant: the patron saint of artists and musicians.