"The wand in the back, top shelf," Mr. Alivander said, shooing Harry off to
get another wand. Mr. Alivander was staring quietly at the boy he was
helping right now, making the boy fidget.
"No, no!" Mr. Alivander said, waving his hand while still not taking his eyes off the boy. "Try the middle shelf, way back there. That should work." Harry nodded, and reached his arm into the back of the shelf. He had begun to get used to the way Mr. Alivander arranged things, if it could be called a method of arranging things. The more rare wands, like Harry's wand containing a phoenix feather, were stored in the back where little harm could be inflicted from flying items. It was dangerous to work in this shop, with things flying every which way at the command of wands in the wrong hand. Harry remembered the first time he had been in Alivander's, he had broken something and sent many things flying.
"Have you found it?" Mr. Alivander yelled back at Harry. "It's in a rather deep green case."
Harry grunted, pulling a wand case from deep within the shelf. Sure enough, it was green. "I think I've got it!" he called to Mr. Alivander, beginning to trot towards the front of the shop.
Mr. Alivander reached for it, and once again Harry noticed how old his hands had become. Last year while climbing on one of the many high ladders in his shop, Mr. Alivander had fallen and suffered severe back problems. That was how come he had finally relented to hiring some help. So, Harry stepped in willingly, needing the money.
"Here, try this," Mr. Alivander said, lovingly pulling the 9-inch wand out of it's box and handing it to the scared boy in front of him.
The boy just stood there, looking stupidly at the wand he was holding.
"Come on now, give it a wave," Mr. Alivander said kindly. Harry couldn't understand how Mr. Alivander could always stay so patient. He supposed it might be from his years of practice.
The boy gave the wand a wave and suddenly many wand boxes were flying in Harry's direction. Hurriedly, Harry threw himself into a ball on the ground.
"Nope, not the one," Mr. Alivander chuckled, smiling at the little boy who now looked like he was in shock.
Harry gingerly pushed the wand boxes aside and began to stand up, being careful not to step on one of the boxes that had piled on top of him.
"You okay there, Harry?" Mr. Alivander asked, smiling while throwing the green wand box into the pile which littered the floor. Harry smiled weakly and began to pick up.
"No, no, boy," Mr. Alivander scolded, forgetting about the boy that still stood stock still in his shop. "It's lunch time, off with you." Harry tried to protest, but he noticed Mr. Alivander's resolute face, nodded, and exited the store.
"Now, which wand could be yours?" Harry heard Mr. Alivander mutter in the background.
Harry started walking to a small corner café that surprisingly served many muggle drinks. He intended on getting his favorite mocha, with marshmallows. He smiled at the thought, and the thought of Ron in a coma completely disappeared from his mind.
"Harry!" he heard a familiar voice behind him, and turned around. It was Cho.
"Oh," he muttered, having completely forgot about the meeting he had set up with her the night before. He forced himself to smile and said, "Hello, Cho."
"Harry, I'm so glad I caught up with you! I checked in Alivander's, but he said you were already off, and he had no clue where. Did you completely forget about our meeting?" Harry noticed the hurt look on Cho's face, and decided that a little white lie wouldn't hurt.
"No, course not," he smiled. "I just, well, I thought I might grab a mocha before we discussed, well."
Cho laughed, "We will discuss, but not over lunch. I hate talking between mouthfuls. Let's discuss over mochas, shall we?"
Cho smiled, and Harry suddenly realized how come he had had such a deep crush on her during is fourth and fifth years at Hogwarts. Harry nodded.
"Where's this mocha shop?"
"This way," Harry said, pointing down the block.
"Let's go." So they walked off together, towards the mocha shop.
***
The feast was over, and Dumbledore retreated into the staff room behind the Great Hall.
"That went well," he smiled, saying his customary post-sorting feast statement. The teachers barely noticed his comment.
Professor McGonagall was staring at a new painting of Diagon Alley that Dumbledore had purchased the summer before. The people were bustling around the alley, and Dumbledore loved being able to look for people he knew.
Professor Snape was sitting on a plush purple chair reading a thick fiction book called "What If" that talked about historical events and contemplated upon "what if this had happened instead.or this didn't happen." Dumbledore had read it a few summers ago and had given it to Professor Snape, highly recommended.
Professor Sprout was flitting around the room, obviously looking for something.
"Hello all," Dumbledore said, loudly enough for the whole room to hear. "And welcome to a new year at Hogwarts." The teachers glanced at him briefly before returning to whatever they had been doing. Dumbledore sighed; his staff never seemed to show his same enthusiasm for a new school year.
"See anybody you know?" Dumbledore asked Minerva, walking over to her and standing beside her.
"What?" Minerva said, turning around briefly. "Oh," she said when she saw that it was Dumbledore. "Er, no." Minerva's mind had drifted off long ago to other things more important than who was now in Diagon Alley.
"Hmm." Dumbledore said, gazing at the portrait, obviously unaware of his employee's lack of attention. "Is that.no, it's not. Their heads are the same, that's all."
"Yes." Minerva said, unaware of what she was agreeing to.
Professor McGonagall had received word a couple days ago that Hermione had gotten a job at the Daily Prophet. Minerva had taken a liking to Hermione since the sorting 12-some years ago, and she couldn't believe that Hermione would take a job at such a foolish newspaper, especially after how it so rancidly attacked both Harry and Dumbledore in her 5th year. How could Hermione do that? Minerva had had no time since receiving the news to write Hermione a letter, but she fully intended to when she had the chance.
Dumbledore glanced over a Professor McGonagall, noticing for the first time that her mind wasn't on the new painting.
"A sickle for your thoughts," he said, turning away from the painting and towards her.
Professor McGonagall sighed. "Hermione has gotten a job at the Daily Prophet."
Dumbledore smiled, "That's great! Why are you so worried?"
Minerva looked at him like he was daft. "Have you forgotten how hard the Daily Prophet made it for you seven years ago?"
Dumbledore frowned, he hated thinking about that horrible year.
"Well," Minerva said sharply. "I cannot understand how Hermione can get a job at such a place when it attacked her best friend so horrifically."
"Maybe," Dumbledore said in a soft voice. "Maybe that's why she got the job."
Professor McGonagall looked up at Dumbledore, confused. "But." she said, but Dumbledore was already walking away and she knew that it would be foolish to attempt to ask him what he meant.
***
Ginny was dozing in the uncomfortable high-backed chair she had sat next to Ron's bed. The nurses had pleaded with her to go home and sleep, but she refused saying, "What if he wakes up?" The nurses were too kind to argue and crush her hopes of a revival.
Ginny moved restlessly in response to the dream, which was actually more of a memory.
Ginny woke up with a start. She looked at Ron; he was the only one she had left. He couldn't die, he just couldn't.
"No, no!" Mr. Alivander said, waving his hand while still not taking his eyes off the boy. "Try the middle shelf, way back there. That should work." Harry nodded, and reached his arm into the back of the shelf. He had begun to get used to the way Mr. Alivander arranged things, if it could be called a method of arranging things. The more rare wands, like Harry's wand containing a phoenix feather, were stored in the back where little harm could be inflicted from flying items. It was dangerous to work in this shop, with things flying every which way at the command of wands in the wrong hand. Harry remembered the first time he had been in Alivander's, he had broken something and sent many things flying.
"Have you found it?" Mr. Alivander yelled back at Harry. "It's in a rather deep green case."
Harry grunted, pulling a wand case from deep within the shelf. Sure enough, it was green. "I think I've got it!" he called to Mr. Alivander, beginning to trot towards the front of the shop.
Mr. Alivander reached for it, and once again Harry noticed how old his hands had become. Last year while climbing on one of the many high ladders in his shop, Mr. Alivander had fallen and suffered severe back problems. That was how come he had finally relented to hiring some help. So, Harry stepped in willingly, needing the money.
"Here, try this," Mr. Alivander said, lovingly pulling the 9-inch wand out of it's box and handing it to the scared boy in front of him.
The boy just stood there, looking stupidly at the wand he was holding.
"Come on now, give it a wave," Mr. Alivander said kindly. Harry couldn't understand how Mr. Alivander could always stay so patient. He supposed it might be from his years of practice.
The boy gave the wand a wave and suddenly many wand boxes were flying in Harry's direction. Hurriedly, Harry threw himself into a ball on the ground.
"Nope, not the one," Mr. Alivander chuckled, smiling at the little boy who now looked like he was in shock.
Harry gingerly pushed the wand boxes aside and began to stand up, being careful not to step on one of the boxes that had piled on top of him.
"You okay there, Harry?" Mr. Alivander asked, smiling while throwing the green wand box into the pile which littered the floor. Harry smiled weakly and began to pick up.
"No, no, boy," Mr. Alivander scolded, forgetting about the boy that still stood stock still in his shop. "It's lunch time, off with you." Harry tried to protest, but he noticed Mr. Alivander's resolute face, nodded, and exited the store.
"Now, which wand could be yours?" Harry heard Mr. Alivander mutter in the background.
Harry started walking to a small corner café that surprisingly served many muggle drinks. He intended on getting his favorite mocha, with marshmallows. He smiled at the thought, and the thought of Ron in a coma completely disappeared from his mind.
"Harry!" he heard a familiar voice behind him, and turned around. It was Cho.
"Oh," he muttered, having completely forgot about the meeting he had set up with her the night before. He forced himself to smile and said, "Hello, Cho."
"Harry, I'm so glad I caught up with you! I checked in Alivander's, but he said you were already off, and he had no clue where. Did you completely forget about our meeting?" Harry noticed the hurt look on Cho's face, and decided that a little white lie wouldn't hurt.
"No, course not," he smiled. "I just, well, I thought I might grab a mocha before we discussed, well."
Cho laughed, "We will discuss, but not over lunch. I hate talking between mouthfuls. Let's discuss over mochas, shall we?"
Cho smiled, and Harry suddenly realized how come he had had such a deep crush on her during is fourth and fifth years at Hogwarts. Harry nodded.
"Where's this mocha shop?"
"This way," Harry said, pointing down the block.
"Let's go." So they walked off together, towards the mocha shop.
***
The feast was over, and Dumbledore retreated into the staff room behind the Great Hall.
"That went well," he smiled, saying his customary post-sorting feast statement. The teachers barely noticed his comment.
Professor McGonagall was staring at a new painting of Diagon Alley that Dumbledore had purchased the summer before. The people were bustling around the alley, and Dumbledore loved being able to look for people he knew.
Professor Snape was sitting on a plush purple chair reading a thick fiction book called "What If" that talked about historical events and contemplated upon "what if this had happened instead.or this didn't happen." Dumbledore had read it a few summers ago and had given it to Professor Snape, highly recommended.
Professor Sprout was flitting around the room, obviously looking for something.
"Hello all," Dumbledore said, loudly enough for the whole room to hear. "And welcome to a new year at Hogwarts." The teachers glanced at him briefly before returning to whatever they had been doing. Dumbledore sighed; his staff never seemed to show his same enthusiasm for a new school year.
"See anybody you know?" Dumbledore asked Minerva, walking over to her and standing beside her.
"What?" Minerva said, turning around briefly. "Oh," she said when she saw that it was Dumbledore. "Er, no." Minerva's mind had drifted off long ago to other things more important than who was now in Diagon Alley.
"Hmm." Dumbledore said, gazing at the portrait, obviously unaware of his employee's lack of attention. "Is that.no, it's not. Their heads are the same, that's all."
"Yes." Minerva said, unaware of what she was agreeing to.
Professor McGonagall had received word a couple days ago that Hermione had gotten a job at the Daily Prophet. Minerva had taken a liking to Hermione since the sorting 12-some years ago, and she couldn't believe that Hermione would take a job at such a foolish newspaper, especially after how it so rancidly attacked both Harry and Dumbledore in her 5th year. How could Hermione do that? Minerva had had no time since receiving the news to write Hermione a letter, but she fully intended to when she had the chance.
Dumbledore glanced over a Professor McGonagall, noticing for the first time that her mind wasn't on the new painting.
"A sickle for your thoughts," he said, turning away from the painting and towards her.
Professor McGonagall sighed. "Hermione has gotten a job at the Daily Prophet."
Dumbledore smiled, "That's great! Why are you so worried?"
Minerva looked at him like he was daft. "Have you forgotten how hard the Daily Prophet made it for you seven years ago?"
Dumbledore frowned, he hated thinking about that horrible year.
"Well," Minerva said sharply. "I cannot understand how Hermione can get a job at such a place when it attacked her best friend so horrifically."
"Maybe," Dumbledore said in a soft voice. "Maybe that's why she got the job."
Professor McGonagall looked up at Dumbledore, confused. "But." she said, but Dumbledore was already walking away and she knew that it would be foolish to attempt to ask him what he meant.
***
Ginny was dozing in the uncomfortable high-backed chair she had sat next to Ron's bed. The nurses had pleaded with her to go home and sleep, but she refused saying, "What if he wakes up?" The nurses were too kind to argue and crush her hopes of a revival.
Ginny moved restlessly in response to the dream, which was actually more of a memory.
Ginny woke up with a start. She looked at Ron; he was the only one she had left. He couldn't die, he just couldn't.