Chapter 3

The Meeting



Harry stood in the frozen food section of a market he had come across only five blocks from his new temporary home. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that Dumbledore had provided until he could buy some new clothes. He had worn these the summer before while living with the Dursley's, as they certainly would not allow him to wear the more standard wizard robes while living in their household. The clothes were too small for him now by about two sizes and he was a little worried about the shirt rising up and showing the narrow strip of wood he had shoved into the front part of his jeans, against his skin. Anyone with any connection to magic would immediately recognize it as a wand and he hoped no Muggles would get curious about why he had what looked like a shiny stick shoved into the front of his jeans. He had laughed to himself earlier as he had tucked it down into the waistband of his pants, remembering how Moody had warned him that wearing his wand like that could blast off one of his buttocks. Of course, now it was in the front . . . he supposed his buttocks, at least, were safe. Harry was going to go shopping for some larger clothes later today, but he had to worry about breakfast first . . . and lunch . . . and dinner. At least money was not an issue. Dumbledore had left him a significant stash of funds and Harry figured that he could just about buy anything that he needed without worrying about running out of money, so he could get plenty of food, if he just knew what to buy.

Harry had felt fairly grown up in the last year at Hogwarts, his sixth. He had learned all sorts of new magic, no small part due to the special classes he was taking with Professor McGonagall and Professor Lupin at night and on the weekends. Mad-Eye Moody, an ex-Auror, had taught him lots of defensive maneuvers and although Harry did not like to say this out loud, he knew that most people were very impressed at the advanced skills he had mastered. He technically could take his examination to apparate within the next six weeks although with everything else going on, he doubted he would have the chance to make an appointment with the witch over that particular section of the Ministry of Magic. And then, of course, there was the fact that most people in the wizarding world looked to him as the leader of the anti-Voldemort forces and that Dumbledore and he often planned the next battle's strategy together. So, all this combined led to Harry feeling almost like an adult although he knew it would be at least another year before he could officially leave school and begin focusing on a career.

But standing here, staring at the rows of brightly colored boxes behind the glass doors, Harry felt about 10 years old. He realized with a sudden start that he would have been 10 the last time he set foot in a Muggle supermarket and at that time he had had no concept of how to shop for groceries. And he had learned absolutely nothing about it since. "Well," he muttered under his breath, "Standing here isn't going to get my breakfast cooked." He pushed his cart forward, further into the section that held the frozen meals. He had two packages of bacon in his cart along with an inexpensive frying pan to cook it in. He did know how to cook bacon - that lesson had been drilled into him over the course of many mornings of cooking breakfast for the Dursley's with Aunt Petunia looking over his shoulder. And even though bacon sounded good for today's breakfast, he knew that when lunch rolled around he would probably want something a little more substantial.

There were a couple of frozen dinners that looked edible and Harry had just opened the freezer door and reached in to grab them when someone behind him said, "You don't want to do that!" Harry stopped mid-reach, his heart racing. He turned slowly. Were they talking to him? He hoped not. As he turned, his green eyes met the bluest pair of eyes he had ever seen. They were up very close to his and he instinctively backed up, hitting his head on the metal shelf of the grocer's freezer. He would have reached down for his wand but his arm was trapped over his head by the door as he hadn't dared lower his hand at the insistent command. The blue eyes were sparkling with what Harry thought was laughter. He relaxed a little as the eyes backed up, and the same voice said, "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you but you really don't want to buy those."

"Buy what?" Harry's voice came out more like a croak as he stared at the girl. For the eyes did indeed belong to a girl, a girl who was looking at him, smiling. "Those frozen meal-like items," she said.

"Uh, why not?"

"They're disgusting. I know they look okay on the box, but trust me, they're nasty. Plus, they're loaded up with all sorts of fat and cholesterol. You'd do better just to eat straight bacon and eggs." Then she glanced at his cart which had exactly two packages of bacon in it (and the frypan) and said "I guess that isn't a big concern of yours, is it?" and she turned back to look into his eyes again.

Harry, meanwhile, had realized that she wasn't going to attack him and had moved out of the freezer and tried to restore some dignity by pulling down his too-small T-shirt. He had lowered his arm and was trying to maneuver around to shut the door but she was very close to him and he didn't really know how he was going to move her away enough to let the door close without pushing her aside. "Well, no," he said. He wasn't sure exactly what she was on about but that seemed to be the response she wanted.

She realized at that point apparently that the two of them were blocking the freezer door and she moved aside a little so that Harry could maneuver out of the way and with relief let the door shut.

"Are they that bad?" Harry asked. His voice still came out like a croak and he cleared his throat, hoping she had not noticed. "Yeah. They're pretty horrendous, even as frozen dinners go. If you have to eat that kind of junk, you'd be better off with that brand down there, at least." She indicated further down the row. "But you'd be better just cooking your own food."

"I really don't know how to cook," Harry admitted, feeling a little resentful that she was interfering in his shopping. He knew he didn't have any idea what he was doing but didn't like to call attention to the fact, especially to a total stranger.

The girl laughed again, and Harry surprised himself by thinking that he liked hearing her laugh, even if she was laughing at him.