Harry seemed to be taking his newest responsibility well, not that he wasn't used to odd chores from his aunt. He felt an odd sense of superiority at the idea of guiding Jeremy, his daughter, Nina, and his aunt through the Leaky Cauldron and around Diagon Alley on a search for the oddest school supplies required by any educational establishment in the world. He would get his own school supplies at the same time, dazzling Jeremy with his seventh-year knowledge of wizard culture, providing Nina with useful tips about which teachers to avoid (ineptness, freakish government loyalty, Dark Marks, and greasy hair were some dead giveaways), and show Aunt Petunia just what he'd been so attached to all these years. Hey, he'd been in intensive training for the past month; Harry deserved a bit of fun.

Before the shopping trip, though, there was this Wizard Muggle Alliance meeting. He amused himself for a moment with the memory of his trip to the Quidditch World Cup three years earlier but considered fashion shows a girly pursuit. Still, the thought of establishing some muggle ties wasn't so bad, especially as his memories of the mundane world were fading and each successive report of a muggle attack caused the race to seem farther and farther away from his own existence. Who, exactly, was he protecting?

But now they were here, and Harry was put to work hauling stepping stools for the makeshift stage and transforming Jeff's bathroom into a backstage makeup room.

"So, you're the protector of the small?" Jinnet greeted him between trips back and forth from the driveway with stools, which the Alliance members had generously donated.

"Erm, well, that depends," he responded uncertainly. "If I am, I haven't been doing very well lately."

"Oh, don't get a Messiah Complex on me," Jeremy accused. He really did lay into the newcomers, thought Petunia: it wasn't just me.

"Yeah, you're not much older than my nephew, and his most important responsibility in life is to learn to play the base well enough so that his band mates don't have to cover their ears," quipped Jill.

Nina had taken to Harry from the moment he had arrived. "Are there really unicorns at Hogwarts, or was Amanda just having me on?" she wanted to know.

"Yeah, and they especially like girls," he told her. "There are dragons and phoenixes and everything."

"See? You owe me a knut," Amanda told the girl.

"What's a knut?"

Harry laughed. "Don't worry, we'll exchange your money; it's not more than a few pence."

"So are there giants, too? Do they grind our bones? And horse men?" she continued innocently.

The wizard frowned. "You can't go assuming anything about other species. They… can get rather offended, especially the, er, horse men. How would you like it if all wizards thought you were like Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle, from their comic books?"

This put an end to her questions. Fortunately, it was time for the party to begin.

Arabella's voice came over loud and clear with the sonorous spell Harry had dutifully cast, rather glad of his new over-age privileges, and Petunia's joined hers with the aid of a regular electronic microphone. "And strutting down the runway in a Gladrags favorite from the Jill Prewett collection is Teresa the supermodel! Just look at the way she graces the catwalk with her stylish walk," announced Petunia of a blushing Teresa, right before she tripped straight over the lowest footstool. Jeff's son Dominic caught her gallantly and the show resumed.

Harry's prediction had been correct: this was a red-blooded male's worst nightmare. The other men seemed to be getting into it, though, as Timothy, a friend of Jinnet's who had been dragged along partially against his will, ambled through the stools in a forest green dress robe, clutching the arm of Amanda (clad in corduroys and a strapless red halter) in a way that made the muggle- raised present blush furiously. For one, he appeared to be considering an inter-cultural relationship, but for another, Petunia, true to her word, had daubed both the women and the men with mascara, lipstick, coverup, and bright green eyeshadow.

They had just gotten over their fit of giggles when the doors burst open and a voice called, "This is Dorian Dursley! Proceed into the kitchen with your hands up; we have the place surrounded and you are all hostages!"