Harry came to the pub, and stepped into the door. Tom waved at him, the prank Harry'd pulled last year seemingly forgotten.

Inside the Wizarding World, Harry was now Harry Potter, Boy Hero. A cape would be fitting, wouldn't it?

Harry needed to go to Gringotts, first. He had his booklist, but needed the money... And if a bit more happened to leave Gringotts? No one would be terribly upset if he got a cape. Or Potions Ingredients.

Harry spun on his heel, and headed towards the nearest Apothecary.

This proved to be a mistake.

While most people had things to do that limited their gawking to staring, or the occasional child trying to stickily hug The Boy Who Lived (and tried not to punch innocent children, honest!*), the elderly were a different story.

Wizarding elderly, like many in the Muggle world, were often poor. Being poor and somewhat sickly, they went to the Apothecary. Being old, they didn't have much to do.

Harry, in short, found himself mobbed by the sort of people who wanted a lock of his hair for a souvenier. Which hurt. and smelled - there is nothing quite so unpleasant as old-people-smell.

Now, Harry'd learned, sometime in this Wild Farce of a wizarding world, that he could actually manage winsome (It was around when he started playing Quiddich, strangely - Alicia smiled at him to the point that Fred accused her of having wandering eyes).

He decided to use it now.

"Excuse me, would you mind hopping on one foot?" He said to an old lady.

She blinked, and started doing it.

Harry started pushing the boundaries, asking in his best End Of the World Voice, "Hop on one foot!"

The man took a hop, "Err, was that good?"

"Keep going!" Harry boomed, in the softest voice he could manage with that tone.

After all, the point wasn't to injure old daft people.

It was to make them rebel.

Around the second dozenth person, Harry knew he was in trouble.

He started giving them more creative orders, including getting four to spell out YMCA (While Hopping, of course).

Children started joining in, and then their parents decided to have a go.

It became A Thing.

"Yes, Tom, what is it?" Albus Dumbledore asked wearily, bent over a pile of paperwork.

"My ward you say?" Albus asked, momentarily confused, "Oh, yes, of course, Mister Potter."

He gave a world-weary sigh. Children would continue to be children, and he oughtn't to begrudge the child some fun, but abusing old people in order to have a laugh... Something would need to be done.

Albus thought about calling Minerva, only to realize that she was in London on a Muggle Visit, and would be quite a long time in coming. I really am getting old.

He threw some more powder into his floo, "Severus..." No answer. Albus remembered a line, "Severus, come out to pla-ay..."**

Snape stormed out of his basement (where he'd clearly been brewing, if the smoke coming off his eyebrows was any indication). "What?" he snarled, putting all his frustration*** into a fulminous rage.

"I need you to intervene." Albus started by saying, "Hear me out in full, first. There's been an incident down at Diagon Alley. It involves Harry Potter."

For a wonder, Snape did listen, his face resembling a stormcloud, more and more. "I'll make sure that ignorant whelp learns not to disrespect his elders."

*Harry, at this point, doesn't have that sort of PTSD. Yet. However, Uncle Vernon's fond of TV, and watches a lot of shows with veterans on them. PTSD and surprises can lead to guns getting fired. I've been right beside someone who headed down to the ground and pulled for a non-existent gun when a car backfired.

**You and I know this is probably not a line to use with Snape. Albus is a little daft sometimes.

*** Snape was in the middle of something, while brewing.

[a/n: What? You thought Snape was going to be pleased?]