Disclaimer: I own several of the stores in Hogsmeade. J.K. Rowling owns Hogsmeade and everything and everyone else in the immediate vicinity.
A/N: First, apologies for two things in the last chapter:
kippinator, Salysha, katie janeway, and guess: Sorry, sometimes my quest for amusing middle names gets the best of me. You are absolutely right! I still can't remember where I read that in the previous books, but OotP settled it beyond a doubt. Assume Hermione was so fired up about modern materialism that she forgot Harry's real name. :) Actually, you've done me a favor even beyond pointing out my error. You know that mysterious "J" in Remus J. Lupin? I think Jedediah just might fit nicely…
atalante: I am so sorry! I hope I didn't offend you. Believe me, I meant no insult whatsoever to the French. I know the anthem stands for a lot more than that, but we were reading A Tale of Two Cities in English class recently and it got me on a roll about the Revolution. I was only referring to the part where it talks about spilling enemy blood in the gutters, etc. I really shouldn't have listened to my mom, who emphasizes the violence—I think it's her favorite part. Please forgive me! (By the way, cool name!)
Whew. With that done, we can continue with the story, which should begin right about...*looks at watch*...now.
Shopping Can Be Hazardous to Your Health
Harry gulped in fear as he broke out in a cold sweat. Next to him, Ron's teeth were chattering as he looked wide-eyed at the assembled shoppers eagerly waiting to beat him to a pulp. A low growl was now rising from the crowd that blocked their escape, and the boys knew they were running out of time. Where could they go? Surely it was impossible to hide from a mob like this…
Hermione seemed not to have noticed their plight. She continued ranting and raving happily at the top of her lungs about how shameful it was that people nowadays cared more about their appearance than about those around them. And this wasn't just among wizards, oh no! Muggles were just as bad about it and so, in light of the fact that they had so much in common, she for one didn't see why they all shouldn't just cast aside their selfishness and vanity and unite in brotherhood with their Muggle neighbors…
"Oh, no," Ron whispered in horror. Harry gulped. Caught up in her righteous zeal, Hermione didn't realize the deadly danger of the topic she had just introduced—Muggle-wizard relations. If she continued in this vein, she was more or less condemning all three of them to a slow and painful death at the hands of the mob.
At this thought, Harry looked around with renewed fear at the irritable holiday shoppers bearing down on them from all sides. Perhaps, he thought, he and Ron could escape if they could get lost in the interminable racks of clothing. If only they could distract their attackers long enough to disappear…But there didn't seem much chance of that—the mob was growing angrier by the millisecond and the two boys were the closest targets.
In the background, Harry could still hear Hermione going on and on about how really, we're all the same deep down and if we just put aside our differences we can all make the world a better place, Muggle and wizard hand in hand, I love you and you love me, we're a happy family—
"ENOUGH!" a new voice roared from the midst of the crowd, cutting her off. Craning his head to see who the speaker was, Harry caught a glimpse of pale blond hair and winced, getting a very bad feeling about this. The crowd parted as the figure made his way up to where Hermione was standing, looking rather shocked that someone had dared to interrupt her discourse.
"Still at it, Granger?" sneered Draco Malfoy.
Yes, this was bad. This was very bad. In fact…Wait a minute. Harry paused in his panic. What was Malfoy doing here in FeyFashion? Surely someone like Draco Malfoy wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this!
Looking sideways at Ron, Harry caught his eye and guessed that he had had the same thought. The sheer quantity of blackmail such a thing could provide was staggering...
Suddenly, Ron nudged Harry, his eyes wide. "Harry?" he whispered hoarsely. "Do you realize what this means?"
"Yeah," Harry murmured back. "Eternal blackmail is what it means."
Ron stared at him as if he'd gone crazy. "What? How can you think of blackmail at a time like this? Don't you understand what's going on?"
Harry looked curiously at him, wondering what in the world Ron was talking about. Then it dawned on him: each and every wizard in the mob was riveted on what looked like the argument of the century, leaving him and Ron free to escape into the miles of clothing racks. This was probably the only opportunity they'd get to make a break for it, and it was important to make the most of it before it was too late.
"Come on!" he hissed, grabbing Ron's arm and pulling him along toward the nearest forest of robes. As they ducked underneath them and disappeared from sight, Harry reflected that this was probably the only time he'd ever be glad to see hot pink.
Once hidden from view by the clothes, Harry breathed again. He could hear Hermione saying something about how Malfoy couldn't be expected to understand enlightened philosophy if it smacked him upside the head and that he was a bigoted, smarmy brat who couldn't even bother to be nice to house-elves, goodness knows the poor creatures deserved it if anyone did, and—
"Oh, boy," Ron groaned softly, hitting himself on the forehead. "House-elves—this is not good." Indeed, Harry could already hear raised voices debating life, liberty, and the pursuit of clothing, with occasional accompanying shouts of support or rage from the crowd.
A thought occurred to Harry. "No, actually, this is great!" Ron looked at him in disbelief, apparently unable to fathom how a debate with Malfoy about house-elves could be described as "great" by anyone in their right mind. "See," Harry explained quickly, "we have to be here anyway, right?"
"You have to be here," muttered Ron, but he knew it was no use trying to wriggle out of this now—much as he might hate it, he was forever bound to play a key role in any dangerous projects Harry was involved in. "What about it?"
Now Harry understood how Ron must have felt a moment before while he was still thinking about blackmail rather than escape. "So since we have to get stuff here, what better time to do it than when they—" He nodded at the mob beyond their hiding place. "—Are distracted by Hermione?" Ron slowly nodded, seeing his point. They would still have to face the horrors of shopping at FeyFashion, but there was one good thing about it—they would be doing so without Hermione.
"Right," Ron said briskly. "Let's get it over with, then." He turned to the nearest rack of clothing. "What do we need?"
Harry felt around in his pocket until he found the now-crumpled list of presents. "Okay, um, we need an autographed set of Jersey Jinxes robes—"
"Athletic clothing," Ron said promptly. Harry stared at him in horror, not sure what to make of Ron actually knowing where to find something in FeyFashion. Shrugging uncomfortably, Ron muttered, "Well, it stands to reason. After all, there's the sign right over there." He pointed over Harry's head, toward the back of the store.
Harry turned in the direction indicated and saw the sign Ron was referring to. Still a little wary of Ron's newfound ability to find his way around, he began heading over to the department, carefully keeping a few feet away from his friend at all times.
When they arrived, Harry found that the required robes were indeed on sale. Sighing with relief that something was going right, he took a set off the rack and pulled out the list again. "Now we have to find the winter clothing section," he said grimly. Ron pointed to another sign on the opposite end of the store, and they made their way toward it, listening carefully to verify that the fight was still in full swing. It was.
"Oookay," Harry murmured, looking with some apprehension at the next seven inches of the list. "Great. Just great. Scarf, mittens, gloves, hat, sweater, leg warmers, earmuffs, and three pairs of thick socks."
Ron blinked at him, his mouth slightly open. "Blimey. Guess McGonagall wants him to dress warmly, huh?"
"Guess so," said Harry. He was trying not to laugh, having just gotten a mental image of Snape looking rather chastised while McGonagall told him sternly, "And I want you to dress warmly. Warmly, do you hear me, Severus? You'll catch your death of cold down in those nasty dungeons..."
Walking over to an enormous display, Ron beckoned him over. "Here, I found all the Muggle stuff. See how Snape likes getting a sweater for Christmas." He looked as if he would immensely enjoy seeing somebody else wear a sweater for once.
Harry gulped, still staring at the parchment in his hands. "Oh, darn," he breathed. "I never did get the right color for all this stuff. She said cream or beige or something like that, but she was going so fast and I just couldn't write it all down fast enough..."
Ron snorted. "Just get green, he'll never know the difference."
"Are you kidding?" Harry yelped. "She'd know! She'd kill me!" Since this was obviously true, Ron winced and avoided commenting. Instead, he perused the rack of clothes intently while Harry watched.
At last he straightened up and said, "Well, they don't have cream or beige."
"I'm dead," Harry moaned, burying his face in his hands. Ron held up a hand to silence him.
"But," he continued with satisfaction, "they do have off-white." Harry looked up, hope welling up in him once more as Ron happily waved a pair of mittens at him. Without a word—mere words could not express his gratitude—he rushed over to join Ron and began to search for all the other myriad items he had to find.
Within five minutes, the two friends had found all the articles of clothing required in off-white. Harry looked at the pile of knit clothing with grim satisfaction—against the odds, he had triumphed in his mission. Now they just had to pay for the merchandise...
At this point, Harry remembered something that he had no doubt unconsciously repressed to avoid the sheer horror of it. Turning to Ron, he started to say something about it, but his friend had already turned and was threading his way through the racks toward the checkout counter. Unless he wanted to be left alone in FeyFashion, there was nothing for it but to follow him as quickly as possible.
Harry finally caught up to Ron, panting heavily from having had to carry his load the thirty feet to the counter. "Ron," he wheezed urgently, "there's something—we forgot—what about—" Ron looked at him worriedly, obviously wondering what it was this time. It seemed every time Harry got like this, they just got in worse trouble.
His instincts were not disappointed. Catching his breath at last, Harry clutched Ron's shoulder for support and gasped, "What about the...the other shoppers?" He said the last phrase very fast, knowing that if he thought about it for long he would be overwhelmed by despair. Ron's mouth opened, but nothing came out. He closed it and tried again, but all that came out was a sort of strangled squeak of terror.
Feeling his heart pound faster and faster with every second, Harry said desperately, "Look, we can't panic now. We've got to get out of here! What if—" He gulped at the thought. "What if they're not interested in Hermione and Malfoy anymore? What if..."
"What if they're hunting for us?" Ron finished grimly. For a horrible moment, Harry thought his friend was about to go into his usual hysterical act, but he seemed to recognize the direness of the situation. "Right," he said flatly. "How do we get out?"
The two boys looked around, hoping against hope to spot some sort of emergency exit. Unfortunately, none was in evidence. Looking at each other wide-eyed, they gulped as one. What could they do now?
"Excuse me?" someone drawled behind them. Startled, Harry spun around, looking for the owner of the voice. A very bored-looking cashier was staring at him over her magazine, her perfect eyebrows raised in something between curiosity and contempt. Harry blinked at her for a second, then poked Ron.
"Oy, Ron," he muttered. "We have to pay." Ron nodded and brought his half of the pile up to the cash register quickly. After all, the faster they got this ordeal over with the sooner they could make their escape.
Apparently, the cashier didn't feel quite the same sense of urgency. She slowly picked up the pair of mittens, turning them over to look at them from all angles, and just as slowly began punching numbers into the cash register. "Been Christmas shopping, then?" she inquired languidly, reaching for the gloves.
"You might say that," Harry replied through gritted teeth, starting to make plans for his revenge on McGonagall. The minor problem of her being his head of house and thus entitled to expel him could be gotten around somehow, he was sure...
The woman was now examining the sweater minutely as if the price might be woven into the fabric. Looking sideways at Ron, Harry saw that his fists were spasmodically clenching and unclenching at his sides. [Just breathe deeply,] Harry told himself. [In...out. Very good. Very good. In...out. In...out...]
He was managing to keep his fear in check, but he had no idea how much longer he could hold out. If the cashier didn't put on some speed, he thought, he would probably start hyperventilating any second now. [Calm. Just stay cool, Harry. She'll be done soon, I promise.]
Harry was distracted from the disturbing fact that he was talking to himself again by the woman's slightly nasal voice. "That'll be forty-nine Galleons, if you please," she said with an air of satisfaction, pushing two bulging bags across the counter toward them. Ron choked.
Smiling as best he could under the circumstances, Harry paid the woman and thanked her rather insincerely. Then he picked up one of the bags and Ron took the other. "Well," Harry sighed, "I guess we'll have to sneak out through the front entrance." Ron swallowed hard, obviously wondering whether his friend had finally gone around the bend. "Oh, don't worry," Harry said optimistically. "Think about it. With Hermione and Malfoy having a row out there, what are the chances of them looking for us? Why, they've probably forgotten about us long ago."
Once more, Harry's unerring instinct for dramatic timing made itself apparent. No sooner were these comforting words out of his mouth than the boys heard the unmistakable sound of a large crowd heading their way. A large, very angry crowd.
Ron's face went the same shade as the clothing in the bags he carried. "Harry," he gulped, "what now?" Harry shook his head, feeling numb with terror. Surely this was the end...
Hardly knowing what he was doing, he turned to the cashier and demanded, "Can you get us out of here within thirty seconds?" The woman blinked at him uncomprehendingly, so he clarified, "Us. Out. Now." She raised her eyebrows again, but nodded and beckoned them to follow.
Ron seemed panic-stricken and showed no signs of moving, so Harry was forced to half-drag, half-push him along. The cashier led the way through a door behind the counter marked EMPLOYEES ONLY, beyond which was a hallway with various rooms leading off it. Silently, she pointed to the door at the far end of the hall, gave the boys a push in its direction, and slipped back through the door to the counter.
Now Harry could hear the sounds of the mob more clearly than before. It was much the same as it had been during Hermione's speech—death threats interspersed with incoherent yells and screeches. His flesh crawled at the thought of what would have befallen them if they had been ten seconds slower and at the thought of what would no doubt befall the poor cashier. He hadn't especially liked her, but that didn't mean he wanted to leave her at the hands of irate shoppers!
However, they had no time for luxuries such as pity. Grabbing Ron's arm, Harry ran for the door at the end of the corridor, flung it open, and rushed out into the fresh air, slamming the door behind him. Both boys leaned against the door, panting with relief at their narrow escape.
"So," Ron said at last. Harry nodded in agreement. There really wasn't much more to say on the subject as far as he was concerned. For him, the mere fact of survival was enough...
They lapsed back into silence for a few more minutes, feeling their pounding hearts gradually slow to their normal rates. Suddenly, Ron gripped Harry's shoulder in horror. Turning to him, he whispered hoarsely, "I just remembered...Hermione." No other words were necessary—Harry knew all too well what Ron was imagining in his mind's eye. The last time they had seen Hermione, she had been the focus of the fearsome mob they had so narrowly escaped. It would have been impossible for her to survive such an ordeal!
Ron's lower lip was trembling now. He seemed very affected indeed by the thought of losing Hermione forever. Of course Harry was as well, but he had never seen Ron act quite this way before. Why, it almost seemed as if—
His train of thought was interrupted as Ron broke out into loud wails. "NOOOO!" he moaned, covering his face with his hands in despair. "She can't..." He hiccupped a few times and slid down to a sitting position against the door, the winter clothing utterly forgotten in a heap beside him. "She just can't be...gone." Harry wasn't quite sure what to do under the circumstances, but he bent down, awkwardly put an arm around Ron's shoulders, and tried his best to be comforting and consoling. Ron's hiccups continued to issue from behind his hands.
"I...How can I live without her, Harry?" he sniffled. "It's like a piece of me is gone. Blimey, Harry, it's..." Ron searched for words, but could find none to express his sorrow. "I never had a chance to tell her how I felt about her," he said haltingly. Harry tried not to be disturbed by this comment and patted his back hesitantly.
"And how do you feel about me?" asked a very familiar voice from above. Hardly daring to hope that it could be true, Harry looked up. There stood Hermione, looking very much alive and in one piece and tapping her foot impatiently. "Really, I was wondering where you'd gotten to," she remarked rather severely, raising an eyebrow at her friends.
Ron stared up at her, his mouth slightly open in shock. "You, you, uh," he stammered brilliantly. "You're alive!"
Hermione snorted. "Of course. What, did you think something happened to me?" Looking from one astonished face to the other, she added more gently, "And where have you two been? Have you any idea how long I've been waiting out here for you?"
The two boys stared dumbly at each other, not sure what to say under the circumstances. Ron was the first to speak. "Well, we thought you were...you know." He tried again. "With all the...the shoppers—" Here he lowered his voice and glanced around as though passers-by might be listening and plotting to stampede them, not an unreasonable idea considering their recent experience. "We thought you were a goner for sure."
"I see," Hermione said slowly, her gaze traveling from Ron and Harry's haggard faces to the pile of clothes at their feet. "And did it not occur to you, Ron Weasley, that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself?" Ron blushed a little and didn't answer. Sighing and rolling her eyes a little, Hermione said briskly, "Well, come on. You can't sit here all day, you know."
With a little help from Hermione, Harry and Ron got to their feet and scooped up their purchases. As they set off toward Honeydukes, Harry asked meditatively, "But Hermione, I still don't understand. How did you escape?"
Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Escape? I just left."
"But you...we saw you...the mob...Malfoy!" Ron argued disjointedly, waving his hands around for emphasis. "You couldn't have just..."
"Just what?" Hermione interrupted coolly. "I will have you know that I had a very fascinating discussion with Malfoy on house-elf rights and Muggles. After that, I decided I'd had enough of FeyFashion, so I excused myself and left." Seeing the look on Ron's face, she added helpfully, "Walked out. Went through the exit and out into the street. You know." She illustrated by making little walking motions with her fingers. "Is there a problem?"
Nonplussed by her nonchalance, Harry and Ron turned to each other and shook their heads slightly. "I still don't know how you did it," Harry confessed. "If we'd tried that, they would've ripped us to shreds!" Ron nodded in agreement, gazing at Hermione in wide-eyed wonder.
"Honestly," said Hermione.
A/N: Once again, sorry it took me so long to update. But I really am working on fanfiction! I have a few new Harry Potter stories coming, a whole batch of Lord of the Rings, and ideas for stuff in many categories. Eventually I plan to have stories in twenty categories or more, but that's a sort of long-range plan. At the moment I'm working on Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Foundation, Amber, Series of Unfortunate Events, Incarnations of Immortality, and Animorphs. Anyway, back to the story. At this point I have no clue how long it will take them to finish shopping, but if this chapter is any guide...Oh boy. You gotta feel sorry for these kids. Thanks again to all the folks who corrected me on Harry's middle name, apologies to atalante for the French national anthem, and I sincerely hope that Chapter Three will be Coming Soon!