Harry squinted as the bright sunlight of Diagon Alley assaulted his eyes. He pointed his wand and rolled up beside Ron.
"Dumbledore won't be here, right?"
"That's what the letter said. He didn't really give a good description of the people we're meeting, though. What were their names again?"
Ron pulled the letter from his pocket and skimmed it quickly. "Looks like Willow Rosenberg, she's our boss, and Dawn Summers. I guess she's a student, since it says we're here to get her supplies."
"I'm thinking you must be Ron and Harry," a feminine voice said behind them.
The two boys turned around; they couldn't help but stare.
They knew the redhead was Willow and the brunette was Dawn (and that Dawn was slightly younger than eighteen), but neither had expected them to be absolutely gorgeous or walking towards them with such fetching smiles.
"Uh, hi," Harry managed. Then he gave himself a mental shake, "Yeah, I'm Harry Potter, and this is my friend Ron Weasley." He shook hands with Willow and Dawn. Ron's ears went red, but then he shook their hands and introduced himself. He felt like a fifteen year-old schoolboy.
"The scar kind of gave you away," Willow said. "Dumbledore mentioned it, and that Ron had the bright red hair."
Dawn eyed Harry's wheelchair. "There's no magic remedy for whatever happened, huh?"
"Dawn!" Willow said sharply.
"It's okay," he responded with a chuckle. He could tell Dawn was honestly curious. "Not really. I can do this, though." He gestured and the wheelchair lifted off the ground.
She squealed with delight, clapping her hands over her mouth. "That is so cool!"
Harry landed and smiled faintly. "It is sort of cool, I agree."
Willow looked from the wheelchair to the massive cast peeking through Ron's robes. "If, um, if you don't mind me asking, what happened to you guys? I know you're helping me with the class – was it something Dark Artsy?"
"No," Ron grumbled, surprised that Willow didn't know. The story had been front-page news in the Daily Prophet for a week. Then he remembered Dumbledore's letter – neither Willow nor Dawn had ever been in the wizarding world before. "We defeated the Dark Arts injury-free. It was a Quidditch accident."
"We fell from our brooms," Harry added. "Ron from eighty feet, me from about fifty."
"Oh goddess," Willow said, "I'm so sorry."
"You rode brooms?"
Harry nodded. He could tell Ron didn't feel like talking about this, so he answered Dawn. "Yeah. D'you know about Quidditch?"
"Uh uh."
"Well, c'mon, then. We'll walk … er, roll, and get you your school supplies, which is what we're here for after all, and on the way we'll talk Quidditch."
They made their way down Diagon Alley – Dawn referred to it as 'The Magic Box Strip Mall', which made Willow giggle but was lost on Harry and Ron – and talked Quidditch as they pointed out the various stores. Ron said barely five words as they walked. Harry, as he had begun to do when Ron slipped into a funk, simply took his place in the conversation.
All along the street, Willow could feel people whispering and pointing as they passed. She decided it must be the clothes she and Dawn were wearing. Jeans and t-shirts didn't seem to be a part of the wizard ensemble. Robes, she quickly decided, had just moved up the shopping list. The whispering was more than a little eerie.
When they reached Gringotts, Willow and Dawn made it clear that they already had wizard money, thanks to Dumbledore and Giles, but Ron said he had to go in and transfer some to his parents' account.
As he stalked off, Dawn edged towards Harry. "Your friend seems kinda surly."
Harry sighed. "He's taking the injury thing pretty hard. His mood is permanently bleak. Not that I'm much better, mind you," he admitted, "but it's such a nice day, I'm finding it hard to keep in a bad mood."
"How long ago was it?"
"Three weeks. The Quidditch playoffs start a month from now. Without us, it doesn't look like Chudley'll make it. They haven't won in more than a century, so it's nothing new, but Ron really felt like we had a chance. It has him more than a little upset."
"You guys are pretty good?" Willow asked.
"We were." Harry pushed back the black cloud of depression that hung at the edge of his mind. "Ron might play again, someday. I'm done, though."
"Are you … is the chair permanent?"
"No."
Willow saw the fierce determination burn in his eyes, and a thought suddenly struck her: Harry Potter was not someone to be trifled with. She wondered what they meant about facing the dark arts injury-free.
"I can't ever ride a broom, though," Harry added with a touch of bitterness, "because you need both legs for balance and turning, and I'll never get full use of it back."
She laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm really sorry."
Behind them, Dawn's lips curled into a sly smile. She had wondered if Willow might find a cute, available professor to banish the memory of that bitch Kennedy. And Harry, wheelchair or no, certainly qualified as cute. She'd have to find out if he was available.
When Ron returned, they decided the best place to start would be Ollivander's. Seeing the single wand and purple cushion in the window and glancing at the shop's appearance, Willow turned to Dawn. "Sorta Dickensian thing going on here, y'know?"
Dawn nodded, holding the door open as the others made their way inside.
The room, Harry noted, was still stuffed to the brim with thin wand boxes. In fact, it seemed time had stood still in the thirteen years since he had purchased his wand. Even the dust balls looked familiar.
They waited a few minutes before Mr. Ollivander emerged from the back. His silver eyes took Dawn by surprise and she nearly backed into Ron.
"'Ey! Watch it!"
"Sorry," she said sheepishly. Harry glared at Ron.
"Ah, s'alright."
"Hello, hello," Ollivander said, looking them over. He seemed to ignore Harry's wheelchair, his eyes skimming right past it. "Ah yes, Mister Potter. Holly, eleven inches, supple, with a single phoenix feather inside, if I do recall. And I should, of course. Quite a famous wand, that. Maybe the most famous I ever sold. Still working well for you?"
"Yes, sir, quite well, thanks," Harry said. He still didn't like Ollivander any more than he had at age eleven. Something about the man was distinctly off. Thinking about Ollivander, he didn't notice Willow's questioning glance.
"And the youngest of the Weasley clan. Willow, fourteen inches, with a bit of unicorn hair, if I'm not mistaken?"
"That's correct, sir."
Ollivander leaned towards Dawn. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, young lady. Every one. The good … and the bad," he said, looking at Harry. Then he rocked back on his heels. "Now, you must be Miss Summers and Professor Rosenberg. Professor Dumbledore owled ahead that you would be coming today, and I have taken the liberty of pulling a few wands for your perusal."
"Wait one second," Harry said. He backed his chair towards the wall. "Okay. All set."
"What's that about?" Dawn frowned.
"Things tend to zing in here. I can't dodge as well as I used to."
Her eyebrows went up.
"Don't worry," Ron said, "nothin' too bad'll happen."
"Yes, yes, quite right," Ollivander said distractedly. He opened a box and handed the wand inside to Willow. "Here, Professor, try this. You're a bit old for your first wand, but it should make no difference. This is beech, nine inches, with a bit of dragon heartstring inside."
Willow took it, but nothing happened.
"Go on, give it a wave."
She waved it gently, and then nearly dropped it as a loud bang and a swirl of red gas erupted from the end. A tiny ball of energy flew across the room, narrowly missing Harry because he pulled himself half out of the chair. Willow looked aghast, but he gave her a reassuring smile and a shrug. He had expected something like that.
"No. Definitely not that. Your first name is Willow, hmm?"
"Yes."
"Perhaps something from that tree, then." His gnarled fingers danced up and down the stacks until he pulled out a yellowed box and extracted the wand inside. "Try this. Ten inches, supple like Mr. Potter's, but crafted from a willow tree and with a bit of hair from a werewolf inside."
Willow took the wand, her body and arm immediately warming. She waved it, producing a glow and a soft hum.
"Perfect," Ollivander said with a creepy smile.
"Werewolf hair. Raise your hand if you're shocked," Dawn mumbled. Willow glared at her. Harry and Ron both heard her and looked at one another.
"Now then, Miss Summers, Professor Dumbledore suggested you might require something a bit unique." He pulled another box from the pile next to him. "Try this please: mahogany, twelve inches, and quite pliable."
"My father's wand was mahogany," Harry said to Ron.
"Really? How d'you know?" Harry gestured to Ollivander. "Oh, right."
Dawn tentatively took the wand from him and waved it quickly.
"Ooh," she said, as the she and the wand began to glow, "that's neat."
"What's inside that one?" Willow asked, her features pinched with concern.
"Something quite rare, that I don't normally use," Ollivander replied with another of his eerie smiles, "a shard of tooth given me by Grosdora."
"S'not a wizard, is it?" Ron asked.
"No, Mister Weasley. Not at all. Grosdora is in fact a white dragon."
"Oh," he gasped, a look of wonder in his eyes.
Harry, Willow, and Dawn all focused on Ron. The expression was by far the least unhappy the girls had seen on his face.
"You dunno about white dragons, Harry?"
"Uh uh. Should I?"
"Guess not. I thought Charlie might have told you … ah, well, see, they're not like other dragons. Hermione could say it better but, they, um, they're smart, y'know? Really smart. Smarter than humans. They're also unbelievably rare, maybe a hundred left in the world, Charlie told me."
"Indeed, they are," Ollivander chimed in, "and I had the good fortune to meet one some twenty years past. Do be careful with that wand, young lady. There are none like it in my whole collection."
After Ollivander had been paid (and Ron's spirits somewhat lifted by the visit), they set off to collect the rest of the items on Willow and Dawn's lists. When the two girls stopped in Madame Malkin's, Harry and Ron took their leave to converse with Fred and George, whose shop was only a little ways down the road, for a few minutes.
"So," Dawn said with a grin as a magical tape measure flitted across Willow's body, "how about that Harry, huh?"
"Don't even start, Dawnie."
"I'm just saying. He seems … nice. Plus, he's plenty cute with that black hair and those big, green eyes. Not to mention that dreamy accent."
"Dawnie." The redhead frowned. "He's. A. Boy."
"Which you once liked."
"Dawn."
"I'm just saying, he seems nice. Friendly. Did I say cute?"
"Did you notice what that guy said about him? Most famous wand ever?"
"Yeah. Do you know what that's about?"
"Not a clue. We'll have to ask Giles."
"People were being all whispery in the street, too. I thought it was our clothes…"
"Me too."
"… But after what Ollivander said, I think it might be Harry and Ron and their injuries."
One of the salesclerks interrupted them. "Can I help you ladies find something, now that we have your measurements?"
Willow nodded, and the talk of Harry and Ron switched to robe styles.
Harry and Ron made their way down the street in silence. Ron's funk was seriously beginning to wear on Harry's nerves. Hermione insisted it would pass, and though he agreed, he couldn't help his annoyance. Ron seemed to be acting as if the world had ended, when he, in Harry's opinion, had the far better lot in this mess. At least he could still walk.
"So," Harry finally said halfway to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, "d'you think you could have been more unfriendly to them? Because if you do, we could go back and try and squeeze some more in."
Ron stopped, a puzzled expression on his face. "What?"
"I said, could – you – have – been – more – unfriendly?" He enunciated each word carefully as he brought his chair to a halt.
"Why d'you care if I'm not feelin' like talking anyway? S'not like you didn't fill in," he grumped.
"We have to work with Willow all year, and we both know there's more going on here than Dumbledore said, meaning something important. Doesn't Dawn seem a little old to be starting at Hogwarts?"
"Yeah, but what's that got to do with us?"
"Maybe you've forgotten about us and Hogwarts: if there's trouble there, it finds us, remember? Every time. I don't need my scar hurting or Hermione shouting in my ear to see it coming."
Ron still didn't see what that had to do with him. So what if his mood was a little black? When he told Harry that, though, his friend's nostrils flared and Ron knew he was risking a burst of Harry's temper.
"Dammit, Ron! If something bad is happening at Hogwarts and Dumbledore needs us to help with it, don't you think we're disadvantaged enough without you going nutters because of your arm? I'm sorry Quidditch is out, but at least you can still bloody walk!"
"Harry, I –"
"No, I'm not finished!" Passersby were starting to stare at them as Harry's voice continued to rise. "This is horrible, right. I know it. You know it. We're stuck this way for a long while. I can't even take a damn shower anymore. But something's up, Willow and Dawn are in the middle of it, and so are we, but instead of trying to be pleasant to them and maybe get to know them a little, you sulk and snap. It's bullshit. I can't walk, and it's all I can think about, except that I know whatever we're about to get mixed up in, we could be dead. So I'm not worried about my leg right now. This is a job. Like before. We were aurors once. Act like it. Or did those years of training just pass you by altogether?"
Ron looked at his friend for a long, silent minute. Harry watched his face flush with embarrassment.
"You're right. I'm bein' a prat."
"I know."
"Hogwarts means trouble."
"I know."
The redhead's eyes flicked to Harry's legs and wheelchair. "How're we gonna fit the invisibility cloak over that?"
"Won't need to. We're teachers, remember? Dinner at the head table and everything."
They both smiled, thinking of Snape's reaction to that.
"He's gonna throw a wingding."
"I know."
"Alright, I'll put it away as best I can."
"I know."
"Did you hear what Dawn said about the werewolf hair?" Ron said as they resumed walking. "Wonder what that was about."
"About that, I have no idea. Just another mystery for our growing list."
"Those girls are muggles, but they know about werewolves, an' Dumbledore's got us workin' for Willow."
"All true. So what?"
"D'you reckon it's maybe a good thing that being aurors is the only thing we're better at than playing Quidditch?"