Harry had gone to Diagon Alley, but his mind had been back at Grimmauld Place, thinking on Snape's face and weird request. Couldn't Snape go himself? Was that why he'd been asking? Who was he getting them for?
Why, oh why, hadn't Harry asked a Single question?
Luckily, Hermione and Ron were too busy glaring at each other, or huffily (and Loudly) ignoring each other, or finding ways to subtly hurt each other to care much about a somewhat distant and distracted Harry Potter. Not that Harry would like being ignored all the time, but he'd been spending well over a month with both of them, and too much attention made Harry want some alone time, even if he took it while his friends were right there. Squabbling, true, but right there.
Harry Potter had made his decision, and he put it into action after he had gotten home. After all, he knew that Snape was as likely as a gorgon to answer his questions (or was that a sphinx?). So, he had made up his mind not to ask at all.
Instead, he was going to find out the old fashioned way.
This was what found Harry Potter in the room with the books, carefully putting three small ink blots in a triangle above a larger ink blot. He blew some sand on the page, and then closed the book.
Only around another 500 to go, Harry thought, his mind grim with determination. He was going to figure out who wasn't allowed, couldn't, shouldn't go to Diagon Alley. And then he was going to figure out why.
[a/n: Harry stole the story again! Stop him!
Leave a review? Was this what you expected? He's... learning. Slowly, but he is learning.]