Conversation had been attempted in repeated fits and starts for almost ten minutes, but it was hard for Harry to get the wizard-born Gryffindors to focus on anything for more than a minute when there were muggles on the street.

Harry was striding up Charing Cross in the general direction of Tottenham in a brisk, city-scented breeze, with both Neville and Ron hanging off his arms.

"Why do they go so fast, Harry? What's the rush?" Ron asked about the cars passing.

"Why've they got the trees planted in the pavement?" Neville wanted to know. "Surely that kills the poor things in the muggle world too."

"What's up with the funny lights on the sticks?"

"Why does everyone seem to be wearing black?"

"Golly, but there's a lot of different fashion isn't there?"

"Why do all the men have short hair?"

"And where are all the beards? Do muggles not grow beards, Harry?"

"Where do they grow their food then?"

It was hard for Harry to spit out a complete answer before the next enquiry came along, and it was with relief that he saw their destination arrive on their left.

But even as Harry entered the muggle café, he found something kind of off. Even as the heavy door swung open under his extended hand, he stepped into the heavily tiled, green room with mild interest and a crinkled brow.

He knew had a good reputation: Hermione had looked this place up. Apparently her father had enjoyed the tea here and found the clientele very agreeable.

The place smelt quite pleasant too, Harry decided, as his small horde of mostly-nervous friends shuffled into the café behind him. There was a sweet aroma of freshly brewed coffee hanging in the air, the light scent of black tea and the enticing smell of fresh baking that enticed shoppers up to the café counter. Even the coloured shadows that messed with his vision and had been bothering him for so long seemed more muted and easily ignored, he realised with a blink.

That was an unexpected bonus, but still...

The sunshine that drifted into the place through huge glass panes at the front of the store was warm and cheerful enough to have the old gentleman with the skinny book dozing peacefully in his armchair, his tea cooling while he snoozed.

Barely any eyes glanced up as they entered.

The older of the businessmen by the left wall, arguing over what looked to be notes on a very square and clunky-looking laptop, shot them the briefest of looks before returning to his discussion.

That left the man in the grey suit reading the newspaper and the two businesswomen in power suits and shoulder pads to completely ignore the gaggle of teenagers. Perhaps Neville's awed look, wide-eyed and flushed, or Ron's gaping mouth, might have deserved a second look, but even the sullen teenager with the beanie and the discman was perfectly happy to ignore their entrance.

The near-constant tension that Harry tended to carry these days, the tightness in his shoulders that was always ready to be identified as Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, drained suddenly away. The muggles didn't care, and wouldn't, even if they knew who he was. Anonymous in London: the next chapter in his life.

Harry found himself shaking his anticipatory stress away.

But something still felt wrong.

While the solitary waitress was busy with the courier driver ordering takeaway at the counter, Harry turned back to look at his friends to find that, culture-shock aside, none of them seemed to sense anything odd.

Harry cocked his head, and made sure his wand was still easily accessible in his new forearm holster. It was.

Finally, he turned to nudge Dean. "What do you reckon then?" He nodded to the centre of the room. With an agreeable shrug, the other boy stepped forward to help Harry drag two tables together, creating a place for all eight of them to sit. The cheap-looking plywood-and-steel things were ridiculously light and flimsy in Harry's hands, being used to Hogwarts solid hardwood as they were; it was a matter of moments for the legs to slide over the green floor tiles with a squeak and a shudder.

Harry sat.

After a moment of thought, Hermione plonked herself down in the seat directly opposite him and shucked off her backpack to nestle it safely on the floor between her feet. Seamus and Dean decided on adjacent seats next to her with some kind of silent shoulder bump, leaving the pureblood wizards to fumble their way into seats around Harry. Somehow, even though this was all Hermione's plan, he'd been designated muggle guide, and wasn't that a mistake to make!

Around then, the waitress found time to drop off their flimsy paper menus and Harry temporarily dismissed his vague unease in favour of a more urgent concern.

"Right, folks, have a quick read of the menu – it works perfectly normally, just as you'd imagine, but there's no pumpkin juice here, so you'll have to order something else for drinks."

"No what?" Ron exclaimed, still uncomfortable enough in the muggle neighbourhood to keep his voice low. He shifted his weight a little on the chair and leaned in to Harry. "No pumpkin juice? Well, what else do they drink then? Gillywater? Ale? Mead? Fi—er, whiskey?"

Across the table, Hermione met Harry's eyes and stifled a grin.

"None of that either, mate, I'm afraid," Dean grinned, his teeth white against his skin. "But have you tried drinking coke, before? Coca cola is a big thing in the mug—…around here, I mean."

Ron's eyes lit up. "What's it like, then?"

Harry was stumped. "Er…a dark coloured drink, cold, er…lots of sugar, but, um…savoury?"

Ron looked back up from his menu to stare at Harry sceptically. "Ri—ight. Anyone else?"

Harry shifted in his seat. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't describe it well. The last time he'd had a coke was…well, he'd definitely had it at one of Dudley's birthday parties before, because Piers' mum had been there and hadn't known to not give him any…but…that must have been well before his letter, so…eight years old, maybe?

Seamus grinned. "Oh, me Da loves that one. It's fizzy, both tart and sweet – a bit like lemonade but…you know, not."

Ron looked even more lost. "Hermione?"

"It's a carbonated drink – that's the bit that makes it fizzy, Ron, they pump a kind of air into it – and with both sugar and caffeine in it, so it's a drink that makes you feel good to drink. It's not particularly healthy for you, but muggles seem to like a lot of it."

Dean leaned over. "Isn't it supposed to have something to do with rat poison though?"

"An urban legend, Dean."

Ron's eyes bugged out comically and he lowered his head to his menu where, finally, he had found the item on the menu. "And you recommend it, eh? Blimey, these muggles…"

On his right, Harry felt Fred's elbow nudge his ribs.

"And what's all this then?"

Harry found it much easier to lean over and help out the twins than try to follow Ron's current, mind-boggling confusion. "Oh, that's a list of the other cold drinks they offer instead of pumpkin juice. You've had orange juice before, I'm sure. And apple juice?"

"Yeah, Mum gets apples from the neighbours when they're in season and makes it herself. Why?"

Harry had to speak a bit louder for his voice to carry clearly over the other conversations that were picking up slowly around the table. "Well, these are other fruit drinks, mainly. I've never had cranberry before, but you know what that is right? Those little red…yeah. And when Aunt Petunia used to have pineapple juice, it always smells del—er, pineapple juice smells delicious whenever my family or anyone else, like me, has it. Of course."

George shot him a suspicious look while Fred startled. "Pineapple. Like, what you put on a good Christmas ham?"

Harry blinked. "Yeah, you know them then?"

"Well," Fred and George turned to each other to share something subtle without words. "We didn't know the muggles had enough to crush, or squeeze, or whatever. They grow them near London, do they?"

Harry didn't know, actually, and was a tad distracted by that weird sense of imbalance again. "Probably overseas, knowing them."

Ron may or may not have been muttering something about, "How do you squeeze a pineapple then?" and Neville had definitely just asked Dean if muggles had a thing with making juices out of Christmas food, when the waitress bustled back and everyone took the time to place their orders. Harry had just decided on an Earl Grey and almond biscotti when she took the menus and hurried off again.

The table was left in contemplative silence for all of six seconds.

It was broken, of all people, by Neville.

He'd apparently kept peering around the muggle building despite the distractions and, having dismissed the people in it as boring enough, noticed the sad little fern by counter and the tiny, wilted flowers that struggled on in the pot plants on each café table.

"Hey, Harry," the brunet boy asked in a low enough voice to have Harry looking up, concerned. "Do you think it's the lack of magic that has the plants like this? Are all muggle plants so…sad-looking?"

He started another round of purebloods peering about the room in curious contemplation of alien habits.

Harry's head jerked and he eyed the tiny potted violets on their table in surprise. He'd glossed right over them. "Honestly? I don't think so. My aunt's garden is always much healthier than this, even without me around. It's probably just a lack of time and attention, I reckon."

Nev nodded sagely. "They all need a repotting, except that one over by the sleeping wiz—man. That one's dehydrated. And the fern is horribly root-bound. Terrible shame. But I was thinking that even the trees in the road outside are doing alright in the sunlight? I was wondering about the muggle ceiling lamps myself, actually."

That was it!

"Sweet Merlin!" Harry found his mouth saying, and slapped his forehead. "It was the lights!"

His friends exchanged baffled glances that in no way referenced his previous intense discomfort.

"…What's that then?"

"The awkward feeling I had when we walked in here. The weird atmosphere. I couldn't think why I felt off-balance, but it was the lights! Merlin, but it's been years since I've been in a muggle room dark enough to need the lights on!"

This time, both Fred and George looked at Harry through narrowed eyes, but Harry was busy re-evaluating the room.

The chairs and tables might look cheap to wizarding eyes, but they were standard enough for the muggles to take for granted, even as the light reflected palely off the artificial polish. The ceiling lights in the room were much brighter and steadier than the gas or enchanted flames that wizarding places were wont to have.

And to Harry's triumph, he finally identified the tinny music piped through muggle speakers, scratchier than the charmed stuff, and the boring sense of order to the room, as the other suspects in making him feel so horrid before.

Even with the green-coloured tiles on the floor and walls, the room still looked far less lived-in than magical buildings tended to. The pale colours in the shadows, that Harry had been struggling with for a couple of weeks now, also seemed odd and a little half-hearted.

No wonder he'd been confused!

Breathing out a chuckle, Harry suddenly felt the world tilt around him as he realised that he no longer fitted here. With the muggles. His, what, his nine years at Hogwarts, all up, meant he had finally crossed to the other side. Then he swallowed down the sudden rock in his throat with some effort.

Meanwhile, Hermione smiled at Neville cheerfully as if Harry's little realisation wasn't earth-shattering. "They're electrical, Neville. Long, skinny wires run inside the walls and are turned on and off by a switch. Probably not great for plant photosynthesis, but they're particularly fire-safe." She craned her neck to finally point at a switch near the door that led to the kitchen. "Over there. That turns them on and off."

The table all turned to stare.

The twins looked very interested. "Long, skinny wires, eh? Dad has some of those at home, doesn't he, Gred?"

"Indeed he does, Forge. We've had a number of gains today, me thinks."

Ron's thoughtful frown turned into a smug grin. "We know all about that, Hermione, no need to go on. That's ekletricity, right? Like in toasters."

"That's one way of looking at it, I suppose."

Mutters of all kinds ran around the table for a little bit. Harry found himself promising to find the twins some wire at some point, so they could explore the possibilities, and agreed to find some pineapple sprouts for Neville's garden, or whatever baby pineapple plants were called. Seamus explained how his dad had to keep his telly in a garden shed so his mum's magic didn't make it go wonky. Neville perked up at the idea of garden sheds, and the conversation diverged into little groups for a while.

The food arrived, and Harry cupped the warm tea in his hands even as his friends around him muttered quietly and made observations about the curious muggle food. George liked the pineapple juice, apparently, and Ron had the hiccoughs from drinking his coke far too quickly.

Eventually, Fred and George kicked Seamus under the table, who squawked and elbowed Dean, who hissed at Hermione. She proceeded to nudge Neville, who whacked Ron on the head with slightly more force than either had been expecting, but then Harry was faced with the bright eyes of seven Gryffindors at once. An intimidating sight.

Harry blinked again as the measured silence seemed to spark between their shared gazes.

"Uh…guys?"

Fred leaned back in his flimsy wooden seat. "Well, Harry. Harry-me-lad. Harrikins. Harry Potter. Boy-Who-Lived—"

"—Harry James Justus Ambrose Corbin Potter, we believe, —"

"—or, as his friends know him, Haz."

Another pause.

"Wait, what? When did he become—?"

"I don't think he did, Ron. That's just the twins for you."

"Oh."

Harry felt a grin stretch over his lips and scratched his neck awkwardly. "Er, yes? You have my…full…attention?"

Fred and George leaned forward in their chairs, elbows on table, and only the fact that they were sitting next to Harry and not opposite him undermined the seriousness of the occasion.

"It has come to our attention," George spoke, waving a lazy hand around the table as he did so, "that you have aged, Harry-me-lad."

"Gotten wiser, if you will, young Harrikins," Fred added.

Ron joined in the fun. "Grown up a tad, or so I hear."

Opposite Harry, Seamus and Dean leaned forward too. "Older."

"More mature?"

"And uglier, though we won't hold that against you, Potter."

"We do live with Ron, after all."

"Oi!"

Harry felt a pleased blush begin at the back of his neck and creep upwards.

Neville figured out what was going on and threw in a grin. "And…uh…you know…um…it happened in Germany. Uh, Haz."

Hermione rolled her eyes fondly.

Although their voices were slightly muffled by the buzz of the people around them and the crackling music that whistled through the speakers, Harry received their message loud and clear.

"I think I'm getting the gist, go on?"

Fred nudged him with his elbow. "And, although it shows terrible taste for you to grow up so far from us, away from our encompassing support…"

George seemed to reach down and pulled out a small box from somewhere under the table. "…We've decided to be the bigger people about it, and are willing to celebrate the anniversary of your birth with you, despite the snub."

"Ta-da!"

There was a great rustling around Harry as all of his friends simultaneously seemed to pull little packages out from all kinds of places, and then coloured parcels sat brightly all over the table, between cups and saucers and the pot of tea.

Harry blushed and stuttered. "Aw, guys…you really didn't need to...Merlin, I've never had a birthday quite like this before…" He picked up his cup and turned it in his hands. "I don't really know what to say. Hermione, did you plan this? I really didn't see it coming!"

"With a little help from Neville and Ron," Hermione began, her eyes dropping shyly to dart around the table. Then she squawked. "Ron! Neville! Fredge—Ngh!—George, sorry,…Laps!"

There was confusion.

"Well, well, well, Hermione, we didn't think you had it in you, but—"

"The gift wrap!" she hissed, and with belated clarity dawning, Harry and then the rest of the table realised that they were displaying charmed gift-wrap in the middle of muggle London.

Of course they were colourful. They were red with little lions roaring, a deep blue with tiny golden snitches the whizzed in loops, a beautiful bold-coloured wrap from Neville that looked like it was plain block colours but was really just cycling slowly through each colour of the rainbow. And Fred and George's shared present might look a little bland, but their animated doodles were visibily squiggling animatedly around the parcel in question.

Only Hermione, Dean and Seamus had normal foil and cellophane.

Harry felt the world spin on its axis a little, again, at the realisation that he hadn't given the enchantments a second thought. The Gryffindor half-bloods had thought about it, for Merlin's sake! What were his survival instincts doing?

He found blinking the colours away from his eyes again, oddly radiating golds and blues and green where only shadows should be. The presents made them all seem worse, somehow, and a dawning realisation flickered through his mind before he lost its trace. Never mind, if it was important, it would come back.

"I see we have a problem," Fred announced to the table, each of the wizarding purebloods now hiding their gifts to Harry in their laps or under their sleeves.

"I don't suppose you – either of you – are old enough for a muggle repelling charm?" Neville tried hopefully, but Fred and George shook their heads sadly, even before they noticed Hermione's steely disapproval.

"Not even we—ouch, Hermione, that look burns! – not even we have escaped the Trace, unbelievable though it seems."

"A sad day, Forge, a sad day indeed."

"Right you are, old chap."

"I…" have, Harry managed not to say, and it spoke volumes about his reputation in this timeline that Hermione didn't even feel the need to flick him an oppressive glance. Apparently the thought that Harry Potter might be a rule breaker or, worse, lawbreaker had never even entered her head.

While another group of businessmen entered the café behind them with a sudden surge of chatter, and the sleeping old man snorted and woke up suddenly, Harry's wizarding friends were caught in silent indecision.

"Well…" Hermione offered, leaning thoughtfully over her half-finished scone. "We could go…somewhere more private?" Her forehead creased in thought.

"The Leaky's still close by," Seamus offered, while Dean suggested, "Or…is there a karaoke bar around here? Somewhere with a private booth?"

More interestingly, Fred and George leaned their heads very close together for a moment before Fred bent Harry's way. "We don't suppose you're any good at wandless magic, are you?"

"Well, I've never tried…"

"Always been a bit advanced for his age, hasn't he, Georgie?"

"Indeed he has…It wouldn't be out of the realm of expectation…"

"But I've honestly not…"

Neville sat up straight, his currently purple birthday gift neatly hidden by his woollen jumper, and cocked his head curiously Harry's way. "What are they asking you, Harry?"

Hermione frowned. "Boys, you might be older than him, but neither you nor Harry are in a position to bend the rules."

All three waved their hands. A chorus of "Oh, no it's not that," and "Certainly not!" managed to defend them all from Hermione's sceptical eye.

George spoke up. "We're just trying to convince Harry—"

"—In the interests of growth and development, of course, stretching his boundaries, developing as a wizard—"

"—it might be worth trying a simply wandless charm. Something easy."

"Familiar to him, for example. Often used." Both twins shot him another narrow-eyed look from over their parcel. It was a pale orange, and a medium-size scribble of a broomstick was currently turning loops in George's lap.

Hermione's eyes flickered. "I don't think I'm following…"

Harry, who was beginning to think that the twins had realised a bit more about him than he had been expecting them to, spoke up before something could go wrong.

There was the familiar feeling of worry and life drifting out of control. He scratched the back of his neck in a hopefully disarming manner.

"Presumably because I've always had to be concerned about muggles around me," he suggested. "Just, as an academic challenge. Which I have contemplated often, as a matter of fact."

The older boys sat back in their seats. "There you are, then. So, Harrikins, give it a go, eh?"

"Well," said Harry. He sat back in his flimsy muggle seat and looked at the audience before him. Seven faces stared back at him, all showing various degrees of interest and faith. There were, Harry realised once again, rather a lot of red-heads in the room, Merlin bless them. "I…how do I go about this, exactly?"

Fred shrugged, always helpful. "You're the expert, I'd venture to guess. How do you normally do it then?"

"With my…mmh…and a flick…?"

Hermione, whose face had been settling more and more into the stern lines of disbelief, leaned forward again to ask: "What, precisely are we talking about now?"

It took Ron to lean over and mutter, "Wandless mmhrmm."

She rolled her eyes and tossed her wild hair that was, Harry suddenly noticed, rather nicely tied back today; she'd gone to a lot of effort for his birthday. Despite her scepticism and, apparently, having fathomless depths of faith in Harry's abilities, Hermione did speak up to help him. "It all comes down to will, wand and word, doesn't it? I know we've gone over this before, Harry. And Septimus Snyde is always saying – yes, Ron, you already know how I like to research, it's not news – that they are listed in order of importance. I always—"

"Importance, is it?" Harry interrupted her before she could pick up momentum. He clasped his hands together and thought deeply for a moment. The table around him was quietly supportive and he had the oddest feeling that they were anticipating more than they ought.

Ron asked if anyone was going to finish the banana bread, and quietly helped himself in the silence.

"So, will it is then," Harry mumbled to himself. "The words support and help direct, but the purpose and force come first through my will. The shaping then, let me think a moment…"

There were instances that came to mind that might help, now that Harry had cause to go searching for them. Like back in second-year when he'd gone to fight the basilisk, and in his exhaustion felt power pooling just under his skin. Third-year, when he was learning the Fidelius, and the flow of magic within him had rippled like water and seemed to define the very boundaries of his self.

That time he'd used occuluseo and transfiguration to create a perfectly precise bathtub for Kreacher.

When he'd tried to repair a woollen sock with reparo, and felt the spellshape blossom and ripple and form within him, whispering out of his wand to feel flawlessly formed.

The muggle-repellant needed to be weak, Harry figured, not strong enough to send muggles careening out of their regular café. Of course for his first time, wandless, he probably didn't have to worry too much about that.

He breathed in, closed his eyes, and imagined.

He pictured the fragile little table with its equally short-term chairs ensconced in a little silver bubble. It would include his friends, head to toe, but only six extra inches beyond that so the aisles would be clear. A firm boundary; so muggles could walk past without wondering but would never even lay eyes on what was inside.

"Wish me luck," Harry muttered, and then exhaled, "Repello muggletum."

Eyes closed, he willed the magical well within him to surge and ripple outwards. Sluggishly, something unseen began to move and Harry furrowed his brow further and pursed his lips.

He visualised the intransient bubble over his friends and pushed hard…

Ron broke his focus. "You look a bit constipated, mate."

"Oi!" A defensive barrage of condemnations echoed round the table from various voices.

His concentration broken, Harry resurfaced from inside himself and opened his eyes up wryly. Was that the palest scent of ozone in the air? Heh couldn't tell.

"Thanks, Ron. Your support and comfort mean a lot to me in these trying times."

A few punches landed softly on Ron's shoulders and Hermione's hand poked his forehead. "What's he's trying to do is very difficult, Ron."

"Yeah, how'd you like it if we gave you comments like that every time we caught you doing homework?"

Abashed, Ron ducked his head. "Sorry, sorry. My mistake. It's just – you really did look like you were pooping, Harry, what with your face all scrunched up and pushing-like."

With a dignity far beyond that of a normal fourteen-year-old, Harry withheld his sigh. "You might be right, Ron. In fact, I think you raised an interesting point. Perhaps I came at this wrong. Lemme try again."

This time Harry remembered to settle deep into his occlumency trance that sat him close to his inner self, breathing deeply in and out at a comfortable pace. Soon he thought he could imagine the magic within him flexing in time with his rhythm and tried to lift it, somehow, and push it into movement with, "Repello muggletum."

Fred exclaimed, and then Dean whistled, only for the table to exhale in disappointment the instant Harry opened his eyes.

"Something happened, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, as if he wasn't the one doing the hard work, but her eyes were alight with enthusiasm and suddenly she looked like she believed this might work. Ron shot her a mildly irritated look, but everyone else was leaning forward or clapping, or with their hands over their mouths.

After a moment of consolation and encouragement, Harry held up both hands, silencing his good mates.

"Once more, folks, or I don't think I'll get it today. I got the willing this time, I think, but I reckon I forgot to pay proper attention to the shaping of it. One more try; here we go."

He took his time, felt for the magic deep inside before he willed it into action, and this time Harry remembered what he was visualising as he channelled the muggle-repelling charm up and out of him, over the table containing his friends. He imagined his magic flowing like golden syrup, shining like the golden haze of the Fidelius, floating like fairy dust.

He spoke the spell.

"Did it work?"

Harry knew it had worked as soon as he opened his eyes, even though Hermione was talking about "nothing 'popping' this time" and Fred and Neville were discussing whether to shout insults at the old man by the window or simply ask for more water.

Harry didn't need to say a word. His eyes were still doing that shadow-colour thing, but now, where he sat was positively shimmering with lights.

Before, the muggle tables had looked drab with only hints of orange and green and blue peeking out from the edges of shadows; pale tints merely flirted at showing themselves in the edges of his focus.

Now though, the space within his spell-limits was different.

As his friends began relaxing and trusting in his spell, their backs straightened and arms untensed. One present at first, and then others, emerged from where they lay on laps.

As his friends began moving, as Harry listened on idly to sighs of exclamation and rustles of fabric, twinkling little shadows seemed to jump out from behind charmed wrapping. Fred and George's doodles shimmered a bright blue around the inkwork, while Neville's colour-shifting gift fizzed with static and a curious silver and purple-swirl.

The drab muggle room was less boring all of a sudden, and Harry wondered idly what that meant in the wider scheme of things.

Harry's wand, when he snuck it out of its holster and tabled it casually on his right, had a bold and vibrant gold to its shadow and for the first time – belatedly, Harry realised with a flush – it began to occur to him that the colours in his eyes weren't just the lingering remains of a really bad portkey.

Having achieved something so substantial so early in his day trip, the rest of the day seemed to pale in comparison.

It was still fun, and Harry still returned with lots of warm, fuzzy feelings and a golden glow on his insides, and a pile of presents in his mokeskin pouch, too.

There'd been talking, and laughter. Ron had taken to tenpin bowling like a champ, and Fred and George had not been a surprise, but the winner of the day had unequivocally been Neville. It occurred to Harry belatedly that any guy who could toss garden gnomes as well as Neville did, would have similar and related gifts in other sports.

Hermione had pulled him to one side during the walk to the bowling place to grill him on spell theory for wandless work, which at least had the benefit of being expected and mostly familiar.

Ron, Dean and Seamus had made small talk and jokes and teased each other.

Fred and George had been delightfully invested in the details of muggle life that they passed. Harry was almost certain that they were taking notes for their business.

And all the time they'd left the café, walked to the bowling place and played their four-on-four game, Neville had been by his side, silently supportive without ever asking too much of Harry.

To say he wasn't touched would be a lie.

He was also off-balance, trying to act fourteen in a place that was out of his comfort-zone, where the habits of Hogwarts couldn't help him. He walked through the muggle world: half wondering at how old everything looked, now he'd come back in time; half wondering if this was what normal muggle children grew up to expect.

So despite the fun, it was a relief to see his friends off inside the dingy walls of the Leaky at the end of the day.

Fred and George Floo'd off immediately, happy to head home to their inventions. Dean and Ron and gone off with Seamus – some boy's night was happening, and they would have invited Harry if they'd thought he was interested, but Harry waved them off.

When Neville's grandmother came to pick him up, surprised everything was alright, and the taller boy waved goodbye, that was when Crow had fluttered in through an open window to land on Harry's shoulder again.

In front of the fireplace, Harry turned to Hermione.

"You really did plan the whole thing as my birthday party, didn't you," Harry stated.

"Did you enjoy your day, Harry?"

"I did! I've never done anything like it before. What made you think of," Harry spread his arms, "all this?"

Hermione looked to be getting a little rosy from the fire and she pushed her wild hair back behind her ears and looked at her shoes. "It just didn't feel right to do nothing for you, Harry. Especially after your name-change."

"Aww. Thanks."

"…Harry James Justin Ambrose Corbin Potter, right?"

"Almost." She seemed to want to talk about it, and Harry was prepared for all her questions. "I tried to do it the wizarding way, actually. So you got the rest right, but it's "Justus" because the arithmancy and rune symbology matched better."

Whatever she'd been thinking of was thrust from her mind as Hermione's eyes sharpened and that familiar thoughtful frown came back. "Really? I didn't know they did that. Fascinating. How did you learn about that, Harry? What are your sources?"

Harry opened his lips. Paused. Actually, this could be that missing learning moment… "I used a lot of sources, actually. There's like, seven letters from various people, I had conversations with…let's see, four wizards, two witches...two beings, I think…at least three separate creatures. And I don't even know how many books: I could get you some titles though."

She bit her lip, looking for all the world like she wanted to get a quill out and take notes. "Really now?"

As the Floo flared green, Harry tugged Hermione out of the way of the incoming witch and chose his next few words carefully. "I think it's really important to check multiple sources, as you know."

"Well, obviously—"

"But I also think it's important to watch out for their inherent biases in everything I read. How many sources do you normally use that are wizarding, would you say? While you might catch a pureblood's inherent bias by not being one, it's a lot easier to skim over a half-blood or muggle-born bias because we aren't aware of other opinions, you know?"

"But, the pace of progress, Harry…"

"Besides," he continued with finality. "How many sources do you use that aren't human? A magi-centric viewpoint is always going to be accepted as mainstream by, you know, witches and wizards. But what do the goblins think? Or the centaurs? Or Veela or house elves or vampires? I find myself working hard to try and widen my horizons recently, so to speak. Which did change how I did my research."

Hermione lost her words.

It was good to get back to Grimmauld Place at the end of the day and unload all his presents in his enchanted trunk compartments.

Hermione had been proud to present another charmed homework diary, which Harry gratefully acknowledged he'd regularly use, and it went straight onto his library desk where he could add to its pages daily.

From Ron, the beeswax-scented broom polish got placed carefully into a drawer next to his broom kit, and Molly's homemade brownies he'd also given were presumably digesting as Harry unpacked. They'd been new, Harry had realised in the café; he'd never had macadamias in brownies before and the experience had been delightful.

No plants from Neville this time, but the quaffle-sized pot he'd gifted went right onto the wall in Harry's library, it's enchanted surface turning a bold and happy golden that indicated all was well with Harry's favourite, first fern. The ever-full bottle of Sunshine Solution was promptly tucked into the top drawer of his desk for ease of access. Merlin bless Neville, for being so practical.

Dean and Seamus' gift, bought together, was a fancy looking wizarding camera which Harry had already spent five minutes fiddling with earlier, and he dug around in its smooth, leather camera case before all of the attachments were together. It was far heavier than Harry had been expecting, and not black at all despite his expectations – a camcorder of Dudley's, once upon a time, perhaps? Instead, the brown leather and copper edging was dignified and formal, and the whole thing smelt vaguely of leather polish. It got hung carefully on a hook above Harry's desk, for ease of use and visibility.

In the light of his enchanted window, the copper finishings gleamed.

Finally, as Harry moved about his library and set his things to rights, he threw himself down at the desk to open all of Fred and George's many packages. Boxes wrapped within boxes contained all of their latest product samples. Some finishings were a little rough around the edges, Harry noticed, but the spell work through his occuluseo was perfect.

Then, at the bottom of the biggest box, once everything else had been taken out of it, he saw a purple and gold-embossed card.

The First of September, at half-past eleven, when the Tower is asleep, the invitation stated.

The Gryffindor Common room

For a night of revelry, secrets revealed and Transformation.

WWW

It was only when he'd packed away his rubbish and moved to tuck the card into his new diary that Harry caught sight of the golden other side. In a small handwritten script, there was neatly printed: "We need to talk."