Eldritch Asylum

by obsidian-fox

Crossover: Harry Potter, Lovecraft Shadows in London run deeper than they ever did in Nerima. Ranma begins an epic tale of good, evil, and the vast twilight between them. Summary inside. DEAD

5. Summer Daze

Eldritch Asylum

obsidian-fox and Xylix

Started: March 28, 2005

Last Update: July 13, 2005

Disclaimer: Many characters used in this story were not originally conceived by the author. Ranma ½, Harry Potter, and various other works of literature and art are used. This work is not for commercial use. I appeal to Copyright Fair Use in keeping this work legal; as such, I consider it fair use for you (whoever you are) to use any original characters or settings in derived works, should you choose to write one.

Eldritch Asylum may be archived.

Last Chapter: A child comes home. A banshee is tamed. An old man wobbles his tush. Dark men hide in the shadows, offering gifts, and talking around the bush. A man dies, but nobody mourns. A year dies, and another is born. Children grow taller. Relationships grow deeper. The sisters have met. The stage is now set... to move forward two years.

Last Chapter Credits to: Right Said Fred (I'm too sexy), B52's (Love Shack), REM (One I Love), Pink Floyd (Money).

Chapter Four: Summer Daze

... two years later ...

August 1993

You're gonna have fun whether you like it or not...

-oOo-

"Ranma; hey, Ranma! Get down here. Look at this!" Kathryn calls, pointing at something on the wall.

Ranma hops down from the fence and skates backwards in an arc before grinding to a halt at Kathryn's side.

The large bulletin board at which Kathryn points is covered with dozens of messages. Community bulletins specify sales, auctions, and upcoming club meetings. A poster targeted at youth gangs warns, Carry a knife – slash YEARS from your life! A crayon help request by a child asks for help finding a lost dog; by the picture, the dog is stick-thin, green, and has lopsided eyes. A wanted poster depicts a scraggly fugitive with wild black hair and gray eyes.

Ranma peers at the flier that grabbed Kathryn's attention and smirks. It details a paired skating competition with a cash prize scheduled near the end of August.

Audrey comes to a stop near the two. "We're going to be late," she reminds them.

"I bet we could put together a good program, with music and everything. Wanna go?" Kathryn asks enthusiastically, still focused on the skating competition.

"Sure," Ranma answers perfunctorily. She tears the flier off the wall, stuffs it in a pocket, hops up to the fence, and begins skating away, backwards.

"Hey!" Kathryn protests as she struggles to catch up. "I was reading that. And what if someone else wants to come?"

"We're in a hurry," Ranma reminds her.

"You'll have to go as a boy," Audrey huffs. "And wouldn't it be like cheating?"

Ranma shrugs. "How so?" she asks.

"Well it's paired skating; it's obvious that it must be a boy and a girl!"

"I know that! I was just wondering why you consider it cheating," says Ranma.

Audrey makes a face and stares at Ranma for a moment. "That's obvious too, isn't it? You're so far beyond normal that it wouldn't be fair to the competition. I doubt any of them can skate backwards on a fence."

Ranma laughs. "I'll bet some of them can. It isn't that hard once you have the trick down. And of course it's unfair; after all, I'm the best!" She hops down as she reaches the end of the fence.

Kathryn drops an arm over Ranma's shoulder. "We're the best," she clarifies. Her eyes twinkle dreamily. "We'll trounce them all. We'll be the golden pair!"

For some unknown reason, Ranma shudders.

The three girls continue skating at top speed for several minutes before reaching their destination – a broken down, dingy little building with a huge overflowing dumpster in the nearest alley. Only a large, rotting, wooden sign and the posters on the wall identify it as a theater.

"We're here," Ranma announces. "And just on time, too."

"My belly hurts," complains Kathryn, clutching her side and breathing heavily.

"You didn't have to force down that fifth plate, you know," chastises Audrey.

"But all the all-you-can-eat diners near home have already banned us!" argues Kathryn.

Ranma grins in reminiscence. Good food, good friends, and good fights... who needs more? Of course, lacking the latter, she's had to make do with the best substitutes available. Ranma glances up at the worn down little theater. A large sign announces the newest feature, Army of Darkness: The Medieval Dead.

"But if we didn't spend so long eating, we wouldn't have had to hurry, and your tummy wouldn't hurt," Audrey replies. "Further, you would have had more time to eat if you hadn't gotten distracted by those boys."

"They were cute! And I only followed them for a few minutes!" Kathryn squeals, blushing. "Besides, we spent a lot longer in that used bookstore."

"That was time well spent." Audrey declares. She displays a sack in her right hand. "I've wanted this book in hardback ever since I watched the movie."

"How will you ever find true love? You like books more than boys!" Kathryn accuses.

Ranma interjects, dramatically, "Wuv, tru wuv, bwings us togeda tooday..."

Audrey scowls at Ranma. "Boys are loud, messy, and noisy."

"- loud and noisy? Who'd've thunk it."

Audrey, pointedly ignoring Ranma, lifts her book to her heart. "Books," she sighs wistfully, "will always be my one true love."

"Be careful," Ranma warns, suddenly barring Audrey's path with an arm. Ranma looks around. She peers into the alley and scrutinizes the dumpster. She gazes narrowly at an elderly stranger shuffling along the sidewalk. She scans the rooftops and searches the streets.

"What is it?" Kathryn asks, frightened, looking around for whatever spooked Ranma.

Ranma's head slowly swivels until she stares directly at Audrey. "You're starting to sound just like Hermione," she pronounces solemnly.

Audrey thwacks Ranma with the book and gets only a grin in return.

Kathryn cracks up, laughing. "Come on! We need to buy tickets and get good seats," she announces, grabbing her friends.

"There shouldn't be any problem getting good seats. The movie has been in theaters for almost two months," Audrey says as she is dragged into the theater.

She is neither surprised nor particularly upset that the others ignore her.

Two hours later, the three girls come skating out of the theater, giggling and quoting to each other.

"Shop smart; shop S-Mart," laughs Audrey.

"Are all men from the future loud-mouthed braggarts?" Kathryn asks.

"Nope, just me, baby. Just me," Ranma replies. "And this is my BOOM-stick!"

Kathryn grins widely. "Klaatu, barada, nikto! Now you have to fight off an army of undead zombies," she says.

"Undead zombies?" Ranma asks, as though there is some other kind. "Not at all! You didn't sneeze, and you don't have an evil book."

Kathryn laughs. "That phrase is from The Day the Earth Stood Still where it was used to stop a giant robot. It has been used all over since then, even in Tron and Star Wars, or so I've heard from geeks at school."

"Maybe the robot movie stole it from an evil book," suggests Ranma.

Audrey shudders. "I wonder how much of Army of Darkness was based on reality."

Ranma fingers the ever-present iron amulet through her shirt.

Kathryn looks at the mousy girl as though she had grown a second head. "Evil books, time travel, mechanical hands, and armies of undead zombies... it's gotta be fantasy! Doesn't it?"

"Hermione's a witch and Ranma turns into a boy with a splash of hot water," Audrey says pointedly.

Kathryn blinks, dumbfounded for a moment. "Oh yeah. I hadn't really thought about it that way."

"Hello, ladies! What are you doing all the way out here?" a new voice cuts in.

"Hi, Jon!" Kathryn shouts, waving at him.

Officer Jon is in a parking lot across the street with a pad and pen, slapping a ticket on a green muscle car with MONEY blazing across the license plate. The three girls carefully look both ways before crossing to meet the officer.

"We had to come all the way out here to find a theater still showing Army of Darkness," says Audrey.

"Isn't that movie rated fifteen?" Jon asks, obviously disturbed that three children no older than twelve just waltzed in and watched it.

"Umm... yeah," says Kathryn.

"How's work?" asks Ranma. "Bust any bad boys recently?"

"No, not today. As you can see, I'm busy writing parking tickets. It's dreadfully boring work out here," Officer Jon says, smiling at the children, "but boring's the way I like it. There are worse places to patrol – places where a smart copper carries a gun and wears his armor. What about you? How was France?"

Ranma frowns. "I'd rather have stayed here," she says bluntly, her manner bearing no further questioning.

Jon glances at the other girls, but they shrug in confusion. Getting no answers, he walks the few steps to his patrol car and reaches into the window. "Well, since you're here, I can give you your mail and mail key. I was planning on swinging by this evening," Jon says, lifting out a large package and handing it to Ranma. "Two of those are yours."

"Thanks," Ranma answers. She immediately sorts through the pile, pulling aside the letters addressed to her and handing them to Kathryn and Audrey. She chucks the cruft into the nearby skip, keeping only a handful of letters.

"That one came to me by owl; it was the oddest thing," Jon is explaining, pointing at the letter in Audrey's hand. "I guess it somehow knew I was responsible for your mail."

Kathryn shouts in glee. "Ranma, you passed!" she declares, waving around the letter she was handed, already torn from its envelope. "You got a B in math and a C in science," she says. "Hmm... but the science score breaks down to a C in biology, a D in chemistry, and a B in physics."

Ranma frowns and grabs the letter from Kathryn, looking at it intently.

"What are those?" Jon asks, curious.

"Those would be Ranma's GCSE scores," says Audrey. "We'll be taking ours in three more years. She's five years ahead in those subjects, or at least she was; Ranma won't be allowed to advance in science until she has better scores."

"I should've studied redox reactions," Ranma says morosely, stuffing her scores into her pocket.

"You should have studied, period," corrects Audrey, earning a glower from Ranma.

"Afraid of falling behind, Ranma? Won't be quite so far ahead of the rest of us?" Kathryn teases.

Ranma suddenly grins wickedly and begins wiggling her fingers, reaching out towards Kathryn's belly and neck.

"No!" Kathryn squeals, moving to hide behind Audrey. She peers over the brunette's shoulder. "So, what's in the other letter, Audrey?"

"Unlike you, I don't tear into other people's mail the instant it's in my hands," retorts Audrey. She turns to Ranma. "May I?" she asks.

Ranma nods and the girls crowd around Audrey as she breaks the wax seal and opens the letter. It's blank. They all stare at it in confusion.

"Invisible ink?" Audrey asks after a moment.

"I think... here, let me see it," Ranma says, accepting the letter from Audrey's hands.

Golden script shimmers into existence as she touches it. She reads a few lines silently.

"Cool!" Kathryn crows, looking over her shoulder. "But it looks kinda weird. What's it say?"

Ranma smiles at her friend then looks back at the letter and reads aloud,

"Dear Ranma Granger,

"We trust you enjoyed your vacation in France." Ranma grunts noncommittally.

"By opening this letter, our offices have been alerted of your return to London. Due to your unique circumstances, we must test your qualifications to join your sister at Hogwarts.

"Officials from the Wizard's Office of Immigration will visit this afternoon. Please be home at no later than five o'clock for the tests. If you qualify, you will receive your official invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry- !"

Ranma excitedly shouts the last in delight and bounces on her toes.

Kathryn throws her arms around Ranma, pulling her into a hug, and Audrey quickly joins in hugging them both. If you go, I'll miss you, one of them whiffles into Ranma's red hair. Then they all are sniffling, hugging, and shedding tears of joy and sorrow.

Ranma wipes a tear from her eye and continues reading.

"Sincerely,

"(signed) Bartemius Crouch

"Head – Department of International Magical Cooperation

"P.S. Under the International Confederation of Wizard's Statute of Secrecy, you are required to keep the existence of wizards, witches, and the magical world secret from all but your immediate family.

"P.P.S. Under article XIV-b of the 1992 revised Muggle Protection Act, you are not allowed possession of magical artifacts unless and until you are officially a witch. Given that this is not yet the case, this message will self-destruct in three... two... one..."

The message disintegrates.

"So much for keeping a secret," utters Audrey, watching the fine dust drift away in the wind.

Kathryn nods. "I wish I was a witch," she says wistfully.

"So... would you ladies like a ride home?" asks Jon, looking at his watch.

The three girls nod and file into his patrol car.

-oOo-

Knock. Knock.

Hermione shifts in the cushioned recliner and lowers her book. She turns her head to the stairs and calls loudly, "Mom! Dad! Someone's at the door!"

"Get it honey, we'll be down in a minute."

Hermione groans, sets her book aside, then opens the door.

Two men stand outside, both wearing wizard robes. The first is fat, layered in folds of mahogany red. He stands up straight, smoothing out the folds of his robe with his beefy hands. The second slouches in his overly large green robes. He flashes a bright grin at Hermione and sticks out a hand.

"Name's Ethan, Ethan Fulke, and this is-"

"Mr. Waldgrave," The big one cuts in, holding himself in a dignified manner. "We are from the Ministry of Magic, in official capacity from the Wizard's Office of Immigrations. We are here to test Miss Ranma Granger."

Hermione frowns. "Ranma isn't here right now."

"Well then..." Walter says, turning to leave.

Elinore's voice drifts from the hall. "Come on in! I'm sure Ranma will show up soon."

Hermione opens the door wider, inviting the two in. Ethan flows through the door, quickly scanning his surroundings with interest. Mr. Waldgrave waddles after him, his girth barely clearing the doorway.

"We're awfully busy. Perhaps another time would be better?" Waldgrave offers.

"We haven't had any work all week," Ethan says dryly, staring at his partner incredulously.

Gareth makes his way down the stairs. "The girls will be here soon. It's almost time for supper."

"Go ahead and sit down. Would either of you like some tea?" Elinore asks.

Mr. Waldgrave sets himself down carefully into the recliner. The springs creak under his weight. "Yes, please."

"Nah," Ethan replies, plopping down in a chair.

Elinore heads to the kitchen.

They sit in silence for a moment.

Hermione asks, "What method are you going to use?"

"Pardon me?" asks Mr. Waldgrave, shifting in the chair.

"Sorry; I meant to say, how are you going to test whether Ranma has magic? I did some research of my own; it took me days to find anything. Almost all the books just talk about the ledger at Hogwarts that automatically writes down the names of all wizards born in Britain, and barely any of them say anything about how to determine whether someone is a born witch without it and none say anything about wizards that are not born wizards."

"Ah... I see." Mr. Waldgrave says. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Ethan stands. "I'm glad you asked," he says enthusiastically, whipping out his wand. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a tiny suitcase the size of his palm, and sets it on the table. With a flick of his wand, it grows to full size.

Mr. Waldgrave coughs loudly, "Well you see we didn't really have the time to fully-"

"- It was actually quite a brilliant idea if I do say so myself. One of my better ones, really...-"

"-the matter. Its really quite embarrass-"

"Ta da!" Ethan exclaims throwing open the trunk. Within, wands of willow, cedar, and birch are jammed in next to an old Cleansweep 7. Packed carefully to one side is a small glass ball with odd colors swirling within. A set of seven rings floating lazily within one another is crammed next to what appears to be a bright-yellow grip measuring device and a little clown doll.

The clown turns to face Hermione and narrows its eyes, but when Hermione looks again it appears wide-eyed and innocent.

Hermione scowls at it, and at the collection.

Gareth raises an eyebrow.

Waldgrave buries his face behind the tea cup Elinore hands him.

"Ah, did that clown just glare at my daughter?" Elinore asks, obviously worried and more than a little nervous. When nobody answers, she discreetly leaves the room.

"You see," Ethan explains proudly, "every last one of these devices responds to a wizard's magic. Hence, if the girl can operate any single one of them, it means she is a witch."

Gareth nods with understanding. "Simple but effective. How does this one work?" he asks, reaching for the clown doll.

"Well, it-"

"Die, Muggle! Ha ha ha!" the clown laughs at Gareth. "You'll never defeat me!" A rotating saw shimmers into existence in its hand. Whirrrrrr.

Gareth throws it to the ground, where Ethan discreetly steps on it.

"Well... I was going to say that it only attacks Muggles," Ethan says with a wide grin. "I- ah- forgot about the saw blade."

"And maybe Muggle-born," Mr. Waldgrave adds. "I told you we should've left that one behind."

The door flies open, and the doorway jams as three girls try to fit through all at once.

"We aren't late, are we?" Kathryn asks.

"No, you're just on time," says Hermione, glaring daggers at the clown under Ethan's foot, then at Ethan. "Mr. Fulke, was it? I'm pretty sure devices like that are illegal under the Muggle Protection Act..."

"But it's my son's fav-"

"Get that thing out of my house," demands Gareth.

"What happened?" asks Ranma.

"Oh, nothing..." says Ethan, waving his wand at his foot. When he steps away, the clown is gone.

"Wow! Are you wizards? Is that a magic broom? Look at all this!" Kathryn immediately runs towards the trunk, but is stopped and swept up by Gareth.

Ranma frowns. "What's going on?" she demands.

"Ethan's little toy just attacked Dad," says Hermione, scowling at Ethan.

Ranma's eyes narrow and she glares at Ethan. He loses his prevalent grin. She steps towards him menacingly, and he falls back a step. "You're lucky he isn't hurt," she says icily.

Ethan Fulke gulps.

Mr. Waldgrave clears his throat. "... Perhaps we should return later and do this in a more... controlled fashion?" he suggests.

Ranma glances at him. "No. I want to test now," she says.

"Besides," Ethan says, regaining his grin, "that was the most dangerous thing in there."

"Let me down," complains Kathryn, struggling in Gareth's grip.

Gareth sets her down. "Don't touch anything in the trunk," he warns her.

"Who are these girls?" Mr. Waldgrave asks gruffly.

"I'm Kathryn, she's Ranma, and she's Audrey," Kathryn answers, identifying each with a gesture. "So, how do these tests work?"

"Are you Muggles?" Mr. Waldgrave asks.

"You ask that as though a true Muggle could answer," Gareth says testily.

"There's only one way to find out!" Ethan declares. He tosses Kathryn the yellow grip-device. When Gareth glowers at him, he adds, "That one isn't dangerous at all... err... unless you try to swallow it or something. It measures a wizard's magical strength. It takes magic to squeeze it. Go ahead and try," he encourages... pointlessly.

Even as he speaks, Kathryn is already squeezing it as hard as she can, with both hands. The needle has budged a little, but is still well within the 'Squib' range.

"Sorry, but I don't think you have what it takes," says Audrey teasingly.

"There we go! Problem solved! She's a Muggle, alright!" Ethan declares.

"May I try?" Hermione asks.

Kathryn hands her the device.

Mr. Waldgrave says, "If they're Muggles, they shouldn't be here."

Ethan shrugs. "It isn't as if they didn't recognize us," he says. He glances at the girls. "Besides, if they ever start shooting their mouths off about it, we can just send in a team of obliviators and have their memory modified. You wouldn't make us do that, would you?"

Kathryn and Audrey blanch and shake their heads.

"Well then! There's no problem."

Hermione is able to squeeze the device to a middling score. She uses both hands, and it moves up to 'Wizard!'. She hands it to Ranma.

"Crush it for me!" Kathryn says enthusiastically.

Ranma grins and delightedly accepts the device. She squeezes. The needle tears past the highest rank, 'Dumbledore', before the whole device is crushed to a pulp in her hands. Painted wooden splinters and metal springs clatter off the ground.

Ethan and Mr. Waldgrave stare at her, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

"My toy," Ethan laments.

Mr. Waldgrave stands up. "Well, I think that does it," he says, pulling an envelope from his robes.

Hermione shakes her head. "Ranma can do that to anything. Concrete... steel... you... it doesn't prove she has magic," she says, directing a glare at Ethan.

Ethan stares at Hermione for a moment, then straightens his shoulders and heads back to the trunk. "Please don't squeeze this one," he says, handing Ranma the small glass orb.

All the colors in the orb immediately die out, leaving only a dark mist.

"That's not supposed to happen," Ethan says, taking the orb back from Ranma. He shakes it a few times, but it remains dark. "You broke it..." he whines. He turns back to his trunk, and lifts out the floating rings. His lower lip trembles a bit, and he puts them back. He digs around a little more before finally lifting out the Cleansweep 7. "Listen carefully; Don't break it," he says, setting it on the ground.

"Hey! I didn't have anything to do with the last one," Ranma protests.

"You still have that old thing?" Mr. Waldgrave asks.

"I'll have you know I was an excellent beater, and I have a lot of good memories with this broom. Now just watch. Up!" Ethan commands, and the broom wobbles and rises tiredly to his hand.

Kathryn laughs and claps delightedly.

Ethan sets the broom back down. "Now you do it," he says. "And don't break it!"

Ranma stands over the broom. "Up!" she commands. The broom doesn't even wobble. Ranma glares at it and it seems to twitch a little...

Mr. Waldgrave huffs. "That broom only listens to you, after all these years." He sticks a hand over it and commands "Up!" but gets no more response than Ranma.

"It's just faithful!" Ethan defends. He picks up the broom and carefully packs it back into the trunk. The broom shrinks on its way in. Then he sighs and pulls out the three wands.

"I still don't like this idea," Mr. Waldgrave says.

"Oh, hush. We won't get in trouble. Wands often react to wizards," Ethan says. He begins to hand the wand to Ranma, then pauses. "Just don't point it at anyone, and don't say anything," he warns.

"Like Abracadabra?" Kathryn asks.

Ethan grits his teeth. "Yes," he says after a moment. "Especially that."

Ranma accepts the wand, points it towards a wall, and flicks it. Dark sparks fly from the wand, float through the air, and splash against the wall.

"We have success!" Ethan declares. He snatches the wand back and packs it away. In a moment, the trunk is closed, shrunk, and back in his pocket.

Mr. Waldgrave hands the envelope to Ranma. "Okay, now we can go," he says, walking to the door.

Elinore rushes in and glares at the wizards. "What happened to my wall?" she demands.

Everybody stares at her for a moment, then at the wall. There is no apparent harm to it.

"What happened, dear?" Gareth asks.

Elinore doesn't answer. Instead, she stares at the wall. "I could've sworn..." she mutters. She walks back through the door. "GET IN HERE NOW!"

Everyone obeys. Even Mr. Waldgrave huffs and waddles into the next room.

They turn to look at the wall that has Elinore so upset, and find themselves staring at what appears to be a huge hole torn into the wall, twice the size of Mr. Waldgrave. Through it, they can clearly see the room they just exited.

Elinore again demands, "Now, what happened to my wall?"

Kathryn runs to the other room, then bounces back and forth through the doorway. "Cool!" she declares. "It's a one-way wall!" She tries to put her hand through the hole... and succeeds, then tries to pull it back... unsuccessfully. "Wicked!" she says, pushing the rest of the way through.

"Ha ha! Now this is interesting," Ethan declares, clapping his hands together. "It really is a one-way wall!" He pauses, considers, then adds, "Or maybe it's a one-way hole; the magic would be intrinsically different, but the effect would be similar."

"Fix it!" Elinore commands. "Now!"

Kathryn quickly returns to the room, then runs laughing through the hole again, dragging a reluctant Audrey behind her. Ranma simply gazes at the hole, as though suspicious of it.

"I'm afraid we've never heard of a spell quite like this one," Mr. Waldgrave says, fidgeting under Elinore's angry stare. "And it's really not our department. We'll... uh... send some people from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes to check it out," he adds, backing away. He steps through the hole and waddles towards the door.

"I wish I knew how to do that," Ethan adds wistfully, nodding in appreciation at the wall.

Elinore glares at Mr. Waldgrave's retreating back, then turns to Ethan.

Ethan grins at Elinore. "I'd pay to have that," he declares. He looks at Ranma. "If you ever figure out how to repeat that, you'll make a small fortune. Just consider the use in defense and plumbing! But, I really must go," he says. Pop! He vanishes.

Mr. Waldgrave, still visible at the doorway through the hole in the wall, grumbles something about etiquette and protocol then also disapparates.

-oOo-

Ranma follows Hermione as she hurries through the Leaky Cauldron, and arrives at a brick wall in the back. Hermione taps a brick with her wand. The bricks in the wall whirl, glide, and slide away to display the greatest wizarding supermarket in the United Kingdom... largely abandoned to the bad weather and early hour. Beyond, to one side lies a pile of cauldrons, dully reflecting the overcast sky. Opposite, an old man hurriedly hangs tarps over bundles of feathers, dried lizards, and other disgusting ingredients.

Hermione steps through the entrance. She glances back. "Come on," she says gruffly.

Ranma follows her sister, then turns to watch the entrance slide shut behind her.

They are alone.

Gareth dropped them off before heading to his office. Take care of your sister, he said to his girls, giving each a big hug. Kathryn and Audrey weren't allowed to come. Despite suffering the synchronized puppy-dog-eyes of Ranma and Kathryn, Gareth had managed to put his foot down. He agreed with Hermione that Diagon Alley is not a place for Muggles to enter as tourists.

"Come on!" Hermione insists. "We need to go to Gringotts."

"Why so grumpy, 'neesan?" Ranma inquires, turning to face her sister. "We aren't in a hurry."

Hermione scowls. "Look up! It's going to rain!" she shouts. "And I was planning to come with all my friends but you kept insisting we come as early as possible. And it's even a weekday; Mom and Dad couldn't come either!"

Ranma smiles at the roiling clouds, unconcerned at the possibility of rain. She almost takes a deep breath, but stops to the odor of rotten eggs and cabbage wafting from the apothecary. She wrinkles her nose. Then Ranma faces Hermione and grins wickedly. "You didn't want to come earlier? Were you satisfied with re-reading those books with that smiling dandy on the cover?"

Hermione grimaces in obvious disgust. "I haven't touched Gilderoy Lockhart's books all summer. I should burn them," she huffs as they begin walking towards Gringotts.

Ranma laughs. "You're just upset to learn that an author might actually lie in a book. But you could never burn a book, not even to save your life."

Hermione doesn't answer; she puffs her cheeks a little, staunchly ignores Ranma's comment, and continues to plod along the cobblestone road.

"You had a big crush on him..." Ranma teases.

Hermione shudders. "Had being the operative word. He seemed so perfect in those books... so handsome, winking and smiling as though it were just for me," she admits. Then she levels a penetrating glare at Ranma. "But it was all a lie. Like you. Who'd guess that sweet, pretty, little, perfect, genius Ranma who cooks and cleans too would be such a brat and hellion? How did I survive France with you?"

Ranma smiles prettily. "Oh. Whenever it got too bad, you just focused your thoughts elsewhere," she says, her voice all bubbly. "... in Egypt! Oh, Ron! Oh, how I wish you -"

"I never said that! And I do not love Ronald Weasely!" Hermione shrieks, face flushed in rage and blush. She suddenly scans the area and looks relieved when she finds the two people staring at her are too old to care or meddle. "We're just friends," she reiterates.

"I never said you weren't, oneesan. Perhaps thou dost protest too much?" Ranma replies, grinning. "Although it hardly matters how you feel," she adds dismissively.

Hermione displays a moment of relief, then she whips around and frowns at her sister. "Why not?" she demands.

"Well, you'll never get him to notice you until you grow a little," Ranma answers, lifting her own budding breasts in her hands. "You're even flatter than I am!"

"Arrgh," Hermione growls. She bats at her sister a few times, but Ranma dodges away like the wind, laughing delightedly.

"Put your hips into it, 'neesan," Ranma suggests, poking and prodding to correct her sister's form. "That's better! ... No! You're doing it wrong again."

A sudden flash of light and resounding crack of thunder ends the scuffle. Hermione and Ranma dash the last few meters into the Gringotts lobby, just beating the thrum of intense rain.

A few goblins frown at the pair in what is either distaste or their normal facial expression. With the exception of a scraggly man being escorted to a mining cart and an elderly woman slowly counting out bits of brass to a supremely bored and frustrated looking younger goblin, the lobby is empty of patrons.

Hermione wastes no time approaching one of the available tellers. "Muggle money exchange, please," she says, lifting her purse to the table. "What's the current exchange rate?"

"A galleon is five and twelve hundredths pounds with a three percent commission on the exchange – minimum of seven sickles," the goblin answers nasally.

Hermione pulls out a fist-sized roll of high-denomination bank notes, at which the goblin stares greedily. She counts them out then requests portions in Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. The goblin efficiently executes the exchange.

"There are gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and brass Knuts," Hermione explains to Ranma, pointing to each pile in tandem. "There are seventeen Sickles to a Galleon, and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, which seems really hard, but in practice simply isn't an issue. Mom and Dad told me the currency system that they used when they were my age is just as confusing."

Hermione spends a few seconds dividing the piles of each denomination in half. "Buy everything you need first, then keep some of it for school, especially the Sickles," she advises.

"Is it real gold?" Ranma asks.

The goblin drawls, "All Gringotts Galleons are made with real gold, though we cannot speak for other banks. Now, will you please take your business elsewhere?"

Hermione drops her share into her purse then hoists it to her shoulder. Ranma simply pockets hers. They walk towards the lobby entrance. It is still raining heavily outside.

"They're made with real gold, but they aren't pure. If they were pure gold, they'd be worth about eighty pounds each, not five," Hermione explains. "I read all about it in Great Greed: Goblins and Gold. Once upon a time, Galleons were pure gold. The goblins liked it that way, for they love gold, especially in its purest form, and there was no form purer than the Galleon."

Ranma rolls her eyes. "You memorized this?" she asks.

Hermione shakes her head. "I only read it twice. Anyway, then humans started trading with the goblins. The humans didn't love the gold; they loved only the wealth it represents, and the amenities that can be purchased with it. So crafty wizards soon began melting the Galleons down, mixing them with other metals, and minting new coins. It was easy to do with magic. If the wizards were careful, and nobody caught them, this effectively multiplied their wealth. Unfortunately for the humans, the goblins did catch them, and there is one thing that goblins love almost as much as their gold – and that is war."

Ranma grins and settles down to listen. So far it sounds like a good story.

"In one of the more famous cases, the purity was only one thousandth normal in almost a million coins. A goblin war party had approached a small Muggle mining town bordering the Swiss Alps and the Rhine, and demanded a million Galleons from them as a payment for the crimes of humankind. You see, the goblins didn't blame the few black-hat counterfeiters for the crime of devaluing the Galleon; they blamed all of humanity.

"The people of the town didn't have a clue why the goblins were upset. Most didn't even know what a goblin was before the goblins showed up. What they did know is that they couldn't take on the goblin war party. What they did have was a few resident wizards, enough gold for a thousand Galleons, and a very stupid idea. They begged for some time, and over the next week they made a million Galleons. Magic maintained their golden glitter. They gave the gold to the goblin war party in a big featherweight trunk, and sent them on their way. Of course, the goblin war chief demanded proof of purity before leaving, but the people had made a few real Galleons, and used these to demonstrate the purity.

"That night, the wiser people of the village packed up and left, encouraging as many to come with them as they could. A few days later the village was razed and destroyed in what began one of the largest human-goblin wars in history.

"War was waged for years before humans finally hashed out an agreement with Lord Gringotts of the goblins. This agreement established the Sixteenth Standard, in which gold purity is set to one-sixteenth in the Galleon, which was about average at the time. It also established the first bank of Gringotts and the cooperation of wizards with Gringotts goblins to prevent counterfeiting. That cooperation has since expanded into such things as curse-breaking for Gringotts as a profession, which is what Ron's eldest brother does.

"Unfortunately, the agreement did not set a standard mass for the Galleon, and crafty wizards soon began cutting coins into quarters, using magic to reshape them, enlarge them, and make them heavier. If they were careful, they could do all that without disturbing the anti-counterfeiting charms of the age, and since the coins were still a sixteenth pure..."

Ranma gets restless as Hermione's story shifts into a lecture. Hermione prattles on about the wars over Galleon mass, then eventually the Silver wars. To Ranma, it seems these Goblins are simply looking for more excuses to fight, which is certainly an attitude Ranma can sympathize with.

Ranma's attention wanders...

Outside, the rain has slowed but continues as a heavy drizzle. The earlier downpour left its mark in the form of giant puddles in the cobblestone road. Tiny splashes rise from the surface as each raindrop strikes.

The old woman finishes counting brass Knuts to the bored young goblin. That goblin takes the whole pile, dumps it into the funnel atop a huge, complicated-looking machine, then reads the number it prints at the bottom. After comparing the figure to one on another parchment, he nods then returns to the woman, obviously restraining himself from yelling at her for wasting his time. A few elder goblins watch this interaction closely from their elevated positions.

Other goblins are busy doing accounting or whatever it is they do when they don't have patrons.

Ranma returns to watching her sister's lips move, slowly, up and down. Her tongue and overly large teeth flash as she speaks. Sound escapes, as does the meaning. It's just another lecture. What did I do to deserve this? ... a memory, two echoes, one voice, two languages, one meaning... I'm better built to boot! and You're even flatter than I am!.

Oh. That.

Being squashed with a table wouldn't be so bad right now. At least it's over quickly.

The memory fades away, like a waking dream.

For Ranma, lectures are hell. Once upon a time, she thought school would be interesting... but even on that very first day, her mind began to wander. Mrs. Pearson called it Attention Deficit Disorder. Mr. Ogden called it a discipline problem. Ranma calls it getting bored, but, if she must choose, she leans towards Mr. Ogden's description. She doesn't like the idea of having a disorder. She likes the idea that some dedicated training would fix it. However, given that she spent the better part of two years on the wrong side of an insane asylum's cell, she realizes her attitude is definitely suspect.

"Ranma? You are listening, aren't you?" Hermione suddenly growls, looking angry.

"Huh?" Ranma asks, trying to recall the last few minutes. She fails. "Sorry, 'neesan. I zoned out there for a minute. Did you ask me something?"

"Well, I guess I couldn't expect any better from Harry or Ron," Hermione says with a sigh. She loses her offended posture. "I asked how you just dropped several handfuls of coins into your pocket. I just noticed that your pants aren't sagging or bulging at all."

Hermione hoists her heavy purse back to her shoulder in emphasis.

"Oh, that... I don't know how I do it. It's like lifting my arm. I just do it," Ranma answers. "I did it with my dagger, first, completely on accident; I didn't even notice until I tried to find it later."

"Your dagger!" Hermione shrieks, unnecessarily loudly. She glances around, notices a few goblins giving her the hairy eye, then hisses at her sister, "You aren't carrying it now, are you? You do know that it's illegal to carry a weapon -"

"Yeah, yeah. Carry a knife, slash years from your life – I've seen the posters," Ranma answers haughtily. "But my whole body is my weapon. What are they going to do? Dis-arm me?" Ranma releases a short half-laugh, half-snort then reaches deep into her pocket... impossibly deep... shoulder deep. "Anyhow, I've been practicing with bigger things," she adds, rummaging around. After a minute, she withdraws a large, canvassed easel and sets it on the ground.

Hermione stares, mouth agape and eyes wide.

The canvas contains a half-finished picture of a bright, orange sunset over a rippling lake. Trees on the opposite bank reflect in the waters, as do clouds, blending into mauve, all in a bright, impressionist style. Gazing upon the image suffuses Ranma with a feeling of warmth on this dreary day, despite being only half finished.

Ranma smiles. "I forgot I was carrying this until you reminded me. I ought to take it back to Kate. She has me to carry it around so she can capture any good scenes no matter where we are," Ranma explains. "She finishes them later, and auctions those she doesn't give away. Finished, this one's worth two-hundred pounds, easily..." Ranma trails off. Then she smirks and adds, "Of course she'd blow it all on candy, clothing, and computer upgrades. If you want it, I'm sure she'll give it to you."

Hermione nods absently, but catches herself. "I shouldn't," she laments. "Not when..." She trails off and turns to face Ranma. "This is the lake at Headwings! You've been carrying this around since before we went to France?"

Ranma nods.

"Even through the airports?" Hermione asks, examining the metal joints.

Ranma nods again.

Hermione gazes disapprovingly at her sister, and, for a moment, Ranma expects her to bring up the dagger again. But Hermione surprises her. "And you never once offered to carry our luggage?" she demands.

Ranma blinks. "Elinore asked me to hold hers. You could've asked."

Hermione frowns, then huffs a long sigh and turns away. "Come on. It's stopped raining, and we need to purchase our supplies," she says monotonously, stepping throuh the Gringotts arch.

"'Neesan, wait up! I'll bet there are all sorts of wizard things that do a much better job," Ranma calls. But her sister is already gone. It takes Ranma almost two minutes to pack the easel back in her pocket without damaging the painting. Then she dashes after her sister.

It takes only moments to find her. The elderly woman who earlier was slowly counting Knuts to the unfortunate teller has trapped Hermione in conversation just outside Gringotts... and is monologuing at her. Hermione, unwilling to be rude, simply can't escape.

Ranma almost laughs. Then the old woman notices her.

"Where are your parents, girl?" the old lady asks, sweeping Ranma into her monologue. "You had best run to them quickly. Haven't you heard? A murderer escaped Azkaban! He could be anywhere. He could strike at any time. He could claim you as his next victim! Why aren't you with your parents? Did they let you travel alone? At a time like this? When I was your age, a parent would be put in stockades for being so irresponsible. Or are you a runaway, girl? Hiding from your mother? If I were your mother, I'd put you on a leash – one of those magic ones that zap you every time you wander too far. Hey! Don't leave while I'm talking to you! How rude! Why, in my day- ... Hmm. They must be running to their parents, just like I asked. That's novel. ... Oh! What a beautiful dog."

Behind them, a scraggly black dog steps out of the shadowy Gringotts entrance. It gazes at the backs of the fleeing children, perhaps wondering how the little one picked up the taller one. Eventually it shrugs, or at least manages a close approximation for a dog, and slinks off to Knock Turn Alley.

"Thanks for the save," Hermione says gratefully after Ranma releases her.

"No problem, 'neesan. So what's this about a murderer?"

"That," Hermione cringes, "would be Sirius Black. He escaped the wizard's prison, Azkaban, where he was held for killing twelve Muggles and a wizard named Peter Pettigrew twelve years ago. It was all in the Daily Prophet a few weeks back... but don'tLetMomAndDadKnow, okay?"

Ranma peers curiously at her older sister, and pokes her with a finger. "So there is a devious bone in that body of yours, eh?" she says. "So... why shouldn't I tell Gareth and Elinore? They have a right to know about something like this."

Hermione grimaces, shamefaced. Then she counters. "You don't ever tell them where you're going when you disappear. They have a right to know that, too."

Ranma frowns. "I don't tell them because not even I know where I'm going, or what I'm going to do. I usually pick a random direction, find a secluded place, and perform katas or practice the violin. If I end up away from the city lights, I might lie down and gaze at the stars. But they don't worry because I can take care of myself, even in the rougher parts of London. I know to look both ways, to say No to strangers with candy, and how to defend myself against attack. They don't worry because they know I'll be back. What's your excuse?"

"They worry. They've just learned to live with it," Hermione states, meeting Ranma's eyes. She sighs and continues. "I guess I don't tell them because I'm afraid they'll pull me from school. Hogwarts isn't a safe place. Compared to the things I've already experienced, Sirius Black small-fry. Last year alone I was petrified by a basilisk for three weeks and turned into a cat-girl for five."

It's Ranma's turn to cringe. "You turned into a c-c- that thing that rhymes with rat and eats them too?"

"I did not eat rats! ... But I did have a large appetite for tuna," Hermione says. She frowns for a moment at her sister, then her lips widen into a devious grin. "That's right... You're an ailurophobe, aren't you?"

"Ai-lu-ro-what?"

"You're afraid of cats. Well, then... if you promise not to tell Mom and Dad, I promise not to buy a cat. Just think... a cat in the house, all summer...a cat in the car with you, when Dad comes to pick us up, unless, of course, you decide to walk."

"You'd do that!" Ranma asks, appalled.

"Of course. I was planning to purchase an owl but, well, the Magical Menagerie is just next door, and I really think you deserve it anyway – for France."

"Fine, 'neesan," says Ranma dejectedly. "I promise. But you can't use that against me again, and you have to tell me more about school ... I never thought you'd stoop to extortion."

Hermione laughs. "With you bringing back the banshee anytime you want something? I'll make a special exception, just for you," she says, patting Ranma on the head. She grabs her sister's hand and the two trot to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor.

"Well, I've been bursting to tell someone all this time. But... what should I tell you first? The story about the troll, Snape, Quirrel, the three-headed dog named Fluffy, and the plot by an evil dark lord to gain life and immortality? Or maybe I should tell you about the basilisk in the basement, polyjuice potion, and an evil diary by the same evil dark lord invented in yet another attempt to gain immortality."

Hermione ponders the predicament while she orders two mugs of hot chocolate.

Ranma grins. As opposed to lectures, she is always ready to listen to a good story whether it be about armies of darkness, samurai vampires, goblin wars, or even about lions pushing their cubs off a cliff... the latter is especially good if it stops there, like a horror story with a happy ending. A story about about an evil, powerful, dark lord trying to gain immortality and getting foiled by inept little children more than qualifies.

Hermione adds thoughtfully, "Of course, I haven't actually seen the dark lord. Harry's the only one that actually saw him. So maybe I should just leave that part out..."

"Nooo," Ranma complains. "If it's part of the story, you have to tell it."

Hermione smirks at her sister. "But there are so many other stories too... Maybe I should start with some more common stories about moving staircases, magic mirrors, talking pictures, twin tricksters by the names Gred and Forge, valentine singing dwarves, power and prejudice, lions and slimy snakes, gits that go by the name Malfoy, and a mischievous ghost named Peeves? Or perhaps I should tell you about the bludgers and brooms, the seekers and snitch, in the popular wizarding sport called Quidditch?"

Ranma shakes her head vigorously. "Do the other ones first," she demands. "Then do those."

-oOo-

Hours later, Ranma is more excited than ever about Hogwarts and is sincerely hoping that an evil dark lord decides to visit this year, too, so that this time she can be involved in stopping it... never mind that dark lords generally don't come to provide entertainment for children. To Ranma, who has been missing the excitement of true battle for longer than she can remember, the mere possibility of brutal violence with mountain trolls and evil lords of darkness is both exciting and intriguing. Good stories only ever manage to approximate it vicariously... a poor substitute for the real thing.

"I do hope Awelon finds his way home..." Hermione frets.

"Awelon's a mail owl," Ranma scoffs. "He's guaranteed for anywhere in Europe. Somehow, I don't think a London address will be that hard to find."

"But he's never been there before, and the weather's dreadful! What if he catches a cold?"

Ranma rolls her eyes and tugs a list out of her pocket. "Books, wand, clothing... that's it; we have everything else," she says tersely.

"I'll get your books!" Hermione volunteers.

"You just want to spend the rest of the day in the bookstore," Ranma accuses.

"So what if I do? You just don't appreciate good literature."

"Literature is what Audrey reads. You read reference manuals."

"Hmph! At least you should appreciate me spending my share of the money to buy your books."

"Hey!" Ranma protests. "It wasn't fair that you split the money fifty-fifty in the first place. I have to buy twice as much as you!"

"Well I have to buy books for five new subjects, and books are expensive. Besides, you'd better get moving; it can take hours to prepare the robes if you want anything special, and I really recommend the Cast to Last package. It's worth it. ... We're here! Madam Malkin's is just next door," Hermione declares, rushing into Flourish and Blott's.

Ranma stands in the drizzle for the moment, any attempt to have the last word foiled by Hermione's hasty retreat. A movement in the bookstore window catches Ranma's attention. She peers inside and gets quite a surprise. Within an iron cage behind the window, dozens of books are locked in a vicious battle royale, snapping and tearing at each other, pages flying everywhere.

Two books grapple a third and start tearing pages out of it, but a man appears behind the cage, pokes a knobby stick between the bars, and strikes them soundly. They settle for the moment. The man hesitantly reaches in with a thickly gloved hand. Several books snap at him aggressively, but he manages to shake them off and grab one of those he subdued. He rapidly binds it and hands it to a reluctant Hermione.

"Get one for me, too!" Ranma shouts, waving at Hermione through the window. She turns and trots to Madam Malkin's.

Ding! The door to Madam Malkin's chimes as Ranma pushes in.

"Be with you in a minute!" a woman's voice shouts from the back room.

Ranma takes a minute to look around.

A gentle breeze carries the scent of storm. The wind chimes jingle lightly. The bleak, gray ambiance casts a pallor over everything, incompletely held at bay by the oil lamps hanging in the small shop.

Racks of robes clutter the area, coming in a wide variety of colors and styles.

One robe features two red, oriental-style dragons, stitched into the expensive black fabric; the dragons are moving around, occasionally lashing out and biting one another, or exhaling a column of similarly stitched-in flame. Another robe displays the night sky in vivid magi-color – stars twinkle in the deep; the nebulous Milky Way spreads over the chest; a puffy cloud wanders around a leg, and a crescent moon is visible on the right arm. Both of those robes have prohibitive price tags, at one-hundred-nine and two-hundred-sixty Galleons, respectively.

Ranma gazes for a few moments longer at the dragons, vaguely wishing she could afford such extravagance. However, she allows the fancy to dissolve and moves to look for the plain black robes needed for the Hogwarts uniform.

Most of the robes are considerably cheaper, ranging from twenty-five Sickles to ten Galleons, depending on style and design. There are plain robes, robes for day to day use, and robes for formal wear – robes for all occasions. Dress-robes vary widely in style, from flowing garments to gaudy costumes. Even the plain robes come with a wide variety of colors and cuts, of which Ranma quickly picks her favorite – a design with deep, pocket-like sleeves and a folded collar. There are also quidditch robes and dueling robes, which Ranma imagines constitutes the whole of an active wizard's athletic experience.

Ranma frowns as she examines the dueling robes, touching the material tentatively. Although the robes are cut to provide mobility, they aren't suitable for martial combat. That is, one can run in them but cannot kick above the waist... at least not while leaving the robe intact.

Across the room, three girls are posing in front of mirrors and talking softly. One of them, a girl with twin brown pig-tails, briefly looks back to meet Ranma's eyes. The girls whisper to each other then glance at Ranma and giggle.

Ranma does her best to ignore them, finding a sign on a wall to occupy her attention.

The sign details various charms for the robes and their prices. They range from useful to extravagant: auto-repairing, auto-cleaning, auto-ironing, and auto-sizing form the Cast to Last package, promising robes that will always fit and be fit to wear; wizard pockets are available, with prices per pocket and capacity; other modifications include temperature-adjusting, fattening, slimming, beautifying, spangled, and color changing. The sign adds that special requests may be possible too. At the bottom, fine-print details that some charms will conflict or are difficult to work together, which may result in increased price. It also indicates these prices are for plain robes; due to a risks of a charm gone awry, prices are much higher for extravagant robes.

Ranma stops reading and turns when she senses someone approaching.

"How may I help you, dear? Hogwarts? Or are you looking for something in particular?" asks a kindly, squat woman that must be Madam Malkin. She vaguely reminds Ranma of Mrs. Pearson from before the teacher started scowling at Ranma as a matter of habit.

"Yeah, I need robes for school," Ranma answers. "But do you have anything that won't restrict my range of motion and that won't flash my knickers if I kick or jump?"

The girls across the room snicker.

"You may wear whatever clothing you're comfortable with under the robes," Madam Malkin explains. "Many people choose to wear more than their drawers. Are you a gymnast or something?"

Ranma nods. "Or something," she says. She kicks straight up and holds her foot above her. "I need robes that handle kicks and jumps without slowing me or showing me."

Madam Malkin stares at Ranma for a moment. "Well... I suppose I can come up with something," she says. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, I want the full Cast-to-Last package on all three robes, too." Ranma stops to considers saving for the other shops."Actually, if it works as advertised, I'll only need one robe, really. Make it just one robe," she decides.

Madam Malkin looks at her oddly. "Just one? Are you sure?"

The three girls whisper amongst themselves, looking in her direction.

"They're all plain black anyway," Ranma says dismissively. "Oh, but if I only have one robe, and it gets really wet, that might be a problem. Can you make it waterproof?"

Madam Malkin shakes her head. "Waterproof charms block most auto-cleaning charms, except those based on vanishing the grime – but those diminish the lifetime of the garment, making it just fade away over a few years, which really defeats the purpose of the auto-size and auto-repair charms. I could do auto-drying, but that reduces the effectiveness of auto-cleaning; you'd need to soak the robe to clean it off. Would that be good?"

Ranma considers it and nods. "That sounds good. So, what does temperature-adjusting do, exactly? Can I add it?"

Madam Malkin smiles warmly. "Just what you'd expect," she says. "If you feel too warm, the robes get cooler. If you feel too cold, the robes get warmer. It's popular for camping and standard for auror-robes, but don't expect it to be a miracle cure to weather woes; it doesn't protect your hands or ears, and a chill wind will still cut through as though your robes weren't there. And it isn't cheap; it requires installing a special liner. Further, enchanting that liner doubles the work for all those auto-charms; there's twice the material to resize, clean, et cetra, and I must be very careful not to disrupt the magic already in the liner... On the other hand, it feels like silk against the skin. I've often recommended it just for that."

Madam Malkin presents a fold of her own robe to Ranma, letting the redhead see the slick black liner stitched professionally within

Ranma reaches out and feels it, letting her hands slide across it. She gazes at the sign and performs some rough estimates in her head. Adding temperature-adjusting triples the cost of the robes, supposing 'double the work' means 'twice the price'. She won't be saving anything compared to buying three basic robes with the Cast-to-Last package. But... it feels really nice, like silk but slicker, like fur but cozier. Ranma grins at the thought of the material sliding smoothly across her skin, caressing her as she moves through a kata, drying any sweat, and keeping her cool as a warm winter breeze.

"Alright, I want that, too," Ranma says, deciding to indulge.

"Is that all? Anything else?"

Ranma considers the list of charms. "What about beautifying?" she asks finally.

Madam Malkin laughs. "It provides some... how shall I say it? Artificial shapeliness? I don't think you'll be interested in that... not for a few years, at least. Besides, it causes weirdness with the auto-size charms, so I don't recommend combining the two."

Ranma smiles wryly. "That's it, then – Cast-to-Last, auto-drying, and temperature-adjusting, with that wonderful liner." She pulls out her list and glances at it once more. "I guess I'll want one winter cloak and that pointy hat, too."

Madam Malkin smiles at the redhead and pulls out a measuring tape. "Okay, dear. Let's get you and your range of motion measured. Can you stand with your arms out?"

Ranma grins and subjects herself to Malkin's measurements and requests.

"That's it, dear. I'll get my needles working on the liner right away. I'll need to look up a few things... perhaps a few stretching and modesty-preservation charms. Come back in a few hours; supposing business doesn't pick up, I'll either have your robes or a good estimate of time and cost. My preliminary estimate is forty-two Galleons, plus ten for the Hogwarts cloak and hat."

"Thanks. Half later, right? See you in a few, then," Ranma says, producing coins from her pocket fistful by small, dainty fistful. After providing twenty-six Galleons, she steps to go.

"Strange girl," Madam Malkin mutters as she walks to the back room.

Ranma is stopped at the shop exit by the three girls. They block the path, silhouetted by the soft gray light that filters through the clouds. The oil-lamps glow upon their faces.

"Hello," says the pig-tailed girl, flashing a pretty smile. "Is it true you're buying only one robe?"

Ranma eyes her warily, but nods.

The girl titters behind her hand.

Another girl eyes Ranma's apparel with obvious distaste. "You should trade out your whole wardrobe. I wouldn't be caught dead in those... Muggle clothes."

Ranma's eyes narrow and she scrutinizes the girls.

The girl who earned Ranma's ire stands between her companions, with jade-green eyes, wavy black hair and a contemptuous sneer. She wears beautiful, flowing robes of palest green – almost white. A red rose is stitched prominently over her belly, and a wide, frog-skin belt accentuates her rather shapely figure. The girl with the twin brown pig-tails stands to the left, wearing a simple yellow dress. She shifts uncomfortably in response to the other girl's statement. Rightmost, the last girl stands proudly in trim, silver-gray robes and matching boots. She has pale, piercing eyes matching gloomy, gray skies, and a classically beautiful face. She examines Ranma, her expression neutral. In the severe lighting, only the auburn tresses flowing over her shoulders give her any color.

A gust buffets, sprays; light drizzle kisses the face. Chimes chinkle and clang.

"Muggle clothes are really popular in certain crowds," the pig-tailed girl protests.

"Only amongst mudbloods and blood traitors," The green-eyed child returns snidely. "You don't want to be labeled a blood traitor, do you?"

The pig-tailed girl looks away, chastened.

"Do you want something?" Ranma finally asks, irritated. "Or are you only blocking the path to be rude?"

"Oooh! So the mudblood has some bite, does she?" says the obnoxious girl. "Well I'll be gracious and answer your question. We want you gone. We don't want your kind at Hogwarts."

"The redhead does have a point," the girl in gray adds, speaking for the first time. Her silvery voice is calm, clinical, carrying no hint of contempt. "Why are we wasting our time with Muggle refuse? It is below our station to sully our hands with such things as removing the trash."

A stormy caress stirs every tress of her long auburn locks.

Ranma clenches her hands into fists. "Move," she demands.

"Listen to that – the mudblood thinks she can order us around. 'Move' she says," the green-eyed girl mocks.

"Or what? You'll strike us? How very... Muggle," the girl in gray adds calmly, glancing at Ranma's fists.

"You should know your betters, mudblood. If you lay so much as a finger on us, we'll make sure you never get to Hogwarts."

Ranma forcefully relaxes her hands. She approaches the girls and gently, but very firmly, shoves them aside. Glancing back as she exits the shop, Ranma says derisively, "You? My betters? Because your parents have... money? Status? So-called pure blood?" Ranma snorts. "Maybe they earned their position, but more likely they got it the same way you did: undeservingly, a legacy of someone who counterfeited coins centuries ago in your long, incestuous, ancestral history. Doesn't that make you proud, pure blood?"

She jabs her hands in her pockets then walks away, ignoring their glowering eyes and parting gibes.

-oOo-

By the time Ranma halts upon reaching her second destination, her annoyance and anger have already faded.

Peeling gold letters over the doorway proclaim the building's long family tradition – Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. The building is squeezed in at one end of the alley, looking almost as old as the family running it with rusty hinges, a sagging roof, and a single wand displayed in a cushion behind a dusty window.

Ranma steps inside. A bell tinkles. All of Ranma's senses scream

Hairs rise on the back of her neck. A chill sweeps down her spine. She shudders. She feels as though evil men, or maybe cats, are hidden in the shadows and are going to attack any moment now... or maybe now? ... but no attack comes.

Ranma peers around, looking into the corners, listening for any intrud-

"Good afternoon," a deep voice intones.

"Ack!" Ranma jumps back. She lands outside Ollivanders, looking around wildly, despite the feeling of imminent danger being gone.

"Well, I've never had quite that response before," a man says, appearing in the shadowy threshold of the shabby shop. He gazes at Ranma intently with eerie, silvery eyes that shine from the darkness. "I am Mr. Ollivander," he adds after a moment. "Who might you be?"

"I'm Ranma Granger," Ranma answers, looking at the old man curiously. "How did you sneak up on me?"

The man gives her a toothy grin. "Let an old man keep his secrets," he says. "So you're the young Granger girl. I was told to expect you... and to expect damages. But I also expected a human, and a sister to Hermione Granger. You are wholly neither. It is unusual for the Ministry to allow a non-human to carry a wand... although not so unusual for partial humans."

"I am human!" Ranma protests. "And Hermione is my sister."

"Oh?" He gives her the once-over with his glowing orbs. "Well, your magic is unlike anything I've seen in a human, and you certainly don't look like a sister to Hermione. But that is no matter. Come inside! I'm certain there is a suitable wand for you in here somewhere."

Ranma cautiously follows, but once again feels the intense sense of imminent attack. She stops at the door. "I-"

"I'm sorry – I didn't realize that you're unusually sensitive to the wands, or I would have prepared ahead of time," Mr. Ollivander interjects. He waves his wand and the boxes begin to shift and move so that they all point parallel to the wall.

Ranma feels the sense of danger ease, at least partially. She steps inside, still wary.

"There are others with such sensitivity, of course – those able to detect when a wand is pointed their direction," he explains. "But most children don't panic at the sensation. Have you had bad experiences with magic in the past?"

Ranma shakes her head, not wishing to discuss her history with this stranger. "None I remember," she says.

"Interesting qualification, Miss Granger," he says, shuffling through a few stacks of wands piled on his desk. He pulls out a tape measure. "Well then, let's get you measured. Which is your wand arm?"

"I'm ambidextrous," says Ranma.

"Oh? By birth or by training?" Mr. Ollivander asks, curious.

Ranma considers the question. "I don't know... a little bit of both, maybe. I favor my right hand when I'm not thinking about it, but my handwriting is better with my left hand. I practice with each hand. I'd prefer a wand that can be used with either hand, or maybe two wands so I have one for each hand."

Mr. Ollivander gazes at Ranma with his silvery moon eyes. "Ministry regulations allow you only one wand, Miss Granger," he says after a moment. "You must possess the pieces of your old wand or official ministry approval to replace a lost or broken wand... unless, of course, you're expelled, in which case I may not replace even a broken wand until you are registered with a qualified tutor. It's dreadful for business, really. But you can still practice with each hand. As you gain control, you'll be able to use your wand with either hand or even use another wizard's wand. For now, just pick an arm and let's get it measured."

Ranma sticks out her right arm, and Mr. Ollivander begins taking measurements with a largely autonomous tape measure. Then the man begins shuffling through various stacks of wands.

"So what is my magic exactly," Ranma asks as Ollivander picks out several wand boxes and sets them aside.

"Eh?"

"You said my magic isn't human. So what is it?"

"I'm not sure. I've never felt anything exactly like it before. I once sensed a vampiric wizard with a vaguely similar aspect; that probably means your magic has a strong association with darkness." He halts, then looks back and reassures her, "- as in physical darkness, not as in dark magic. Still, you should be able to use most spells... although you might find you possess some talents and limits that most wizards do not. Well, let's get started," he says, magically lifting a pile of over fifty wands and walking to the back of the shop. "Come on! I heard from my old friend, Mr. Fulke. He said to expect damages. You don't think I'm going to let you test wands in the main shop, do you?"

Ranma follows. "What is 'dark magic'? Is that what dark wizards use?"

Mr. Ollivander answers as he leads her back through his shop, around dusty benches and polished tools. "Dark magic is strongly associated with evil, such as magic uniquely useful for murder, torture, and... worse. It isn't a formal thing, although there is a list ofcensured spells at the Ministry. Dark wizards dabble in dark magic; not all of them are evil." He turns around and stares at her intently, his silver eyes piercing the gloom. "But not all of them are good, Miss Granger. It is best that you be careful; it doesn't do for you to be too curious about such things at your age... or at any age, really."

He leads her through the rear exit to his shop. Ranma gazes around, and sees several wooden dummies in a small lot, surrounded by a tall wooden fence.

"Let us not dwell on darkness, Miss Granger. Here, try this wand, beech wood and unicorn hair, ten and one third inches, quite stiff. Just give it a wave... at the dummy. And don't say anything."

"So I should say nothing?" Ranma asks with a smirk, accepting the wand.

"No; don't say that either," Mr. Ollivander answers with a light chuckle. "I'd rather not have my dummy disappearing on me. Just give it a wave."

Ranma closes her mouth and gives the wand a wave. A tiny red spark flies out, striking the dummy in its arm. It's entire left half becomes translucent for a moment, before restoring to normal.

"Interesting, very interesting," Mr. Ollivander says, pulling the wand from her hand. He examines it closely before placing it aside. "It seems you have an unusual talent for phasing magic, Miss Granger." He shuffles through a few boxes and places another wand in her hand. "Yew and phoenix tail feather, eleven and one eighth inches, flexible. Go on."

Ranma begins to give it a wave, but he snatches it out of her hand.

"No; that won't do at all. Let's see here," he mutters, once again shuffling through the boxes. "Mahogany and dragon heart string, nine and two thirds inches, stiff."

Ranma gives it a wave and the dummy fades away entirely.

Mr. Ollivander again takes the wand and looks at it curiously, not saying anything, then sets it aside.

The dummy pops back into existence.

"Here, black thorn and phoenix tail feather," he says, handing it to the girl. "Just give it a wave."

Ranma waves it, and the wand disappears. She looks at her hand for a moment, but the wand is just... gone.

Mr. Ollivander nods, as though expecting that result. "Aha!" He quickly shoves aside over half the wands in the pile. He shoves another wand in her hand, not even specifying its characteristics.

"I don't have to pay for that one, do I?" Ranma asks.

"No, no... of course not. Come on! Just give it a wave," he replies enthusiastically.

After thirty minutes, six more wands have disappeared, three fell into ash, two started twisting away and crawled off on their own, two are now translucent and mist-like, sitting on the counter with the other discards, and one is just a shadowy afterimage, still sitting exactly where Ranma finished waving it. The dummy itself has recovered from disappearance, one-way holes, translucence, blasting, vaporizing, rotting away, collapsing into a pile of ash... without burning, and once being turned into a shadowy afterimage like the other wand.

Mr. Ollivander is more excited than ever.

"What's up with that dummy, anyway?" Ranma asks. "It looks like it can recover from anything."

"The dummy doesn't recover. It's an auror target dummy; it just gets conjured again after being destroyed. Any old mass vanishes because the spell stops maintaining it," Mr. Ollivander explains. "Ash, ten inches, springy," he says, sticking another wand in her hand.

"You think this one's gonna work?" Ranma asks, raising an eyebrow at the old man; he hadn't specified the make of the previous thirty wands.

"Just give it a wave," he says.

"Your loss," Ranma says with a shrug. She waves it and... nothing... nothing at all. No sparks fly from the wand. The dummy doesn't suffer another major calamity. Just... nothing. She waves it again for good measure. Ranma looks at the wand, doubtfully.

Mr. Ollivander claps lightly. "There we go!"

"Are you sure? It didn't do anything."

"Exactly! It's a safe wand for you to carry."

"I think it's broken," says Ranma.

"I'd never sell a faulty wand; this wand is perfect for you... well, it might be a bit difficult to work with at first, but it should get easier as you use it. Come on; let's go ring you up."

Ranma leaves Ollivander's a few minutes later, and seven Galleons shorter.

-oOo-

"We sell magical instruments not musical instruments," a teenage boy behind the counter says, exasperated.

"But I want a magical violin! That's a magical instrument," Ranma declares.

"Look around. Do you see any musical instruments in here? We sell dark magic detectors, Omnioculars, sneak-o-scopes, lunascopes, weatherballs, and more... but not violins."

Ranma puffs a tired sigh. "Well then, where would I buy a magical violin?"

"I don't know. I just work here."

"Fine!" Ranma shouts. She slams a handful of Galleons on the counter, grabs her bag, and leaves the shop, almost in one motion.

She looks around, wondering where to go next.

Ranma had spent the last hour meandering about the alley, wandering into various shops, searching for gifts. A quick stop by Gringotts had replenished her supply of Galleons at significant detriment to her own savings. She had purchased gifts for Kathryn and Audrey and was now looking for a little something for her sister and, of course, herself.

Ranma gazes across the street to Flourish and Blott's, where her sister is probably curled up with the driest book in the shop. She lets her eyes wander to another shop to which she hasn't yet been: Quality Quidditch Supplies. A lanky boy with untidy, black hair plastered to his head by the regular drizzle, stands outside the window, focused on something within.

Ranma approaches and finds the targets of his vision is a well-crafted broom labeled: Firebolt. She glances at the boy, who is still staring at it, unblinking. "Be careful, or it will steal your soul," she intones in a hushed whisper.

The boy jumps, startled. "What?" he says, turning to face her.

"Alas! It is already too late," Ranma laments.

"What are you talking about?" the boy demands, his face all scrunched up in confusion.

"Ah!" Ranma exclaims, examining the boy's face and, especially, his forehead, where he possesses a distinct lightning-shaped scar.

The boy backs up a step, watching her warily.

"You're one of my sister's boyfriends," Ranma concludes.

"Huh?" the boy utters, looking a little dazed.

"Harry, right?" Ranma asks. She grins and sticks out a hand. "I'm Ranma Granger. It's nice to meet you in person; I've heard so much about you."

He stares at her for a moment longer before snapping out of it. He gives her hand a quick shake. "You're Hermione's sister?"

"What? Do you know any other Grangers?"

"No; it's just I didn't expect someone so-"

"- beautiful? Intelligent? Exuberant? Charming?" Ranma suggests. She flutters her eyes prettily.

"Well, I was going to say... red-haired, blue-eyed, Asian..."

"You mean that in the most complimentary way possible, of course," Ranma says dangerously.

"Err... of course," says Harry, backing up a step. "I just meant you don't look like Hermione at all."

"I am adopted," Ranma says. "Didn't she say anything about me?"

Harry pauses for a moment. "Yeah. I distinctly recall her saying you're- err..." he suddenly cuts himself off, then continues with, "She might have said something between talking about Hogwarts, A History and A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot."

Ranma reaches up and pats the taller boy on the shoulder. "In that case, I forgive you."

"Are you here with Hermione?" Harry suddenly asks eagerly. His eyes drift over to Flourish and Blott's.

Ranma nods. "Yeah, she's there... probably curled up with some sort of long, boring treatise on frooglebies," she invents.

"What the heck is a froogleby?"

Ranma shrugs. "I haven't a clue, but if they exist and there is a long and exceptionally boring treatise on them, then 'neesan is probably reading it. ... Say, do you know your way around the alley?"

Harry nods.

She grabs his arm and drags him away from the Quality Quidditch Supplies window. "Well then, you're going to help me find a few things, starting with a birthday gift for Hermione," Ranma says.

Harry resists the pull for a moment... or at least makes a valiant attempt. He quickly finds himself stumbling after the surprisingly strong girl. "I want to go see Hermione," he complains irritably. "Besides, the best place to get her gift is Flourish and Blott's."

"Let 'neesan buy her own books," Ranma says, still dragging Harry with her. "She knows what she wants better than we do. We're going to get her something better."

Harry manages to catch his footing and keep up with the smaller girl. "What would Hermione possibly find better than a book?" he asks. "And where are we going, exactly?"

Ranma halts, causing Harry to stumble again. "Good point," she says. She gazes at Harry, watching him get up. "I'm looking for something like a... wizard pocket for books? A portable library? Do you know where to find that sort of thing?"

After Harry is once again on his feet, he absently wipes a muddy hand on his clothing and attempts, ineffectually, to tug his other arm from her grasp. Giving up, he says, "I guess I can see how that would be more useful to Hermione than just a book, but it sounds expensive." He concentrates for a few seconds then adds, "The only place I can think of is Superior Sorcerer's Storage, which we just passed on the left."

Ranma blinks, and looks to the left. "I don't see a Superior Sorcerer's Storage shop," she says after a moment.

"That's because the entrance is very, very small," says Harry.

He points at a tiny, mouse-sized double door embedded in the corner of a building selling candles, cards, and crystal balls. It is almost completely hidden from view by a Muggle-style Daily Prophet dispenser and a stray bit of trash.

Ranma gazes at it for a long moment. "I imagine that is just fantastic for business," she says sarcastically.

Harry shrugs. "I only found it by accident," he says. "Just approach it... and will you let go of me, please?"

Ranma releases him, and he rubs his arm where she was gripping it.

"Is it true you faced an evil dark-lord three times, and a basilisk once, and won every time?" Ranma asks as she approaches the tiny door.

"No," he answers, frowning. "I just survived... and I'd-" Harry's voice suddenly becomes a sonorous roar.

Ranma wobbles unsteadily, almost falling. The cobblestone road has literally grown into a pitted valley. Each cobblestone is an irregular, stony hill, slippery and wet. Between the cobblestones, once mere rainwater trickles are now raging river torrents. A shadow looms above – an enormous, tattered, ratty shoe. It swiftly approaches, the mighty stomp of Gojira, ready to squash her like a mouse. Not pausing to think about what happened or how, Ranma leaps away, putting plenty of distance between herself and that shoe.

The effort turns out to be unnecessary. By the time the shoe lands, it and the boy wearing it are her size. Harry slips and stumbles, almost falling into a crevice between two cobblestones. After he regains his footing, he searches for Ranma, first looking the wrong direction, then into the rainwater ravine. In a moment of panic, he lifts his foot and examines the bottom of his shoe.

"Over here!" Ranma shouts, laughing and waving from several cobblestone hills away.

"How did you get all the way over there?" Harry asks.

"I hopped," Ranma answers lightly. She surveys, with some amusement, the torrential waters that should be tiny trickles and huge cobblestone hills that should fit comfortably underfoot. She was now small... either that, or everything else was much bigger, but she is inclined to believe the former. "Just imagine this place when the snows start," she says, grinning. "Three inches would cover us completely."

Harry looks around, but doesn't respond.

Ranma walks back to the boy, hopping casually over the crevices between the hills... although not performing any leaps Harry couldn't repeat. "Let's get inside," she says.

The children traverse the distance to the double-doors, then push them wide open

Ranma's main impressions upon entering are: large, loud, smelly, square. The place is huge, easily large enough to fit both Madam Malkin's and Ollivander's together plus a lot more ceiling room. The space is shaped oddly – just a cube of open space, with...- Ranma blinks... it's a cabinet; she gazes at some very large hinges in one corner of the room. As to loud and smelly, the whole area is inundated with the intense incense and Muggle music badly sung by a bored female somewhere outside the cabinet. "... Call him Mr. Raider. Call him Mr. Wrong. Call him Mr. Vain (mr. vain)... Call him Mr. Raider. Call him Mr. Wrong. Call him insane (insane)... I know what I want, and I want it now. I want you, 'cuz I'm Mr. Vain..."

The standard 'ding' of the door opening is washed away by this raucous noise... or at least Ranma considers it such.

Harry chuckles lightly. "I reckon that's Lavender."

Ranma just grimaces a little and tries to ignore the sound as she looks around.

She sees trunks and tents, chests and portable cabins with chimneys, bags and cans and pots and pans, desks and drawers and shelves and more. Much like at Madam Malkin's, a sign says that custom orders are available, with such abilities as expanding to accommodate the user's need, shrinkable, temperature and humidity regulation, various security features, and stay-clean environment. Most of the prices Ranma sees make her eyes goggle.

Harry is already lost in his own world, looking at a trunk labeled The Fugitive:

The Fugitive is designed for a man on the run. It is shrinkable for easy transport. It contains a bedroom, a stay-clean bath, a training room, a study, a potions closet, and a small kitchen with five years of food – guaranteed good for fifty years. The Fugitive and its occupants are untraceable by all means listed in the 1976 Auror's Handbook, as is any magic used by the occupants, excepting spells restricted by the Ministry. (Due to ministry regulations, it is not legal to enable a feature that violates this censure; see manual for details.) The Fugitive can turn invisible at command, allowing its user to hide indefinitely. Even the trunk, itself, is capable of running, hiding, and evading pursuers, leaving no scent and no tracks. And for the bored fugitive: WWN is built in, along with a fifty-year paid-for, untraceable, remotely-updating subscription to the Daily Prophet News, and a random crossword puzzle generator. Truly, a man on the run could ask for no better companion than – The Fugitive. Price: 29,999 Galleons

Ranma walks over to Harry and promptly goggles at the price. "You can afford that?" she asks doubtfully.

Harry shakes his head, still staring at the chest. "I don't think so," he answers uncertainly.

"Then why are you looking at it, baka?" Ranma says, bopping Harry on the head. She grabs him by his arm and drags him away from the chest, adding, "Let's get 'neesan's gift; then you may look for yourself."

"Will you stop doing that!" Harry yells at her, once again struggling to gain his feet.

"Okay! Since you asked so nicely," Ranma answers sweetly. She promptly halts her forward motion and releases Harry, letting him fall to the ground.

Harry just lies there and groans, glaring back up at the vicious redhead.

Ranma searches the area, but still finds no sign of the shopkeeper. "Hello!" she calls over the noise. "Is the vendor here? Is anyone? I need a vendor!"

Lavender's voice stops its singing, if you can call it that, and answers from outside the cabinet. "Uh? Did someone just call my name? ... I don't want to think I'm just hearing things... maybe that cabinet over there?"

"No! Not you! Please continue caterwauling tunelessly!" Ranma shouts at the wall.

Harry grunts and pushes himself to his feet. "Isn't that a bit harsh?" he asks.

Ranma looks at him blankly. "Uh... no."

Then the huge cabinet wall is suddenly jerked open and Lavender peers inside. Shelves filled with enormous crystals and candles can be seen behind her. She sticks her huge head in; a lock of her hair knocks a trunk from a precarious pile. "Oh! Hi, Harry!" she booms. Then she glowers at Ranma.

"Didn't you hear me? I told you to go away," Ranma says.

"Oh, I heard you, alright," Lavender rumbles dangerously. "You said I was'caterwauling tunelessly.'"

"Well, that is my opinion," Ranma answers simply.

"Uh... what is 'caterwauling', exactly?" Lavender resounds curiously.

Ranma stares up into Lavender's large eyes, and intones, "Caterwauling is the most horrible sound in the world. It is a high pitched cry in the city nights, a piercing wail, a plea for help from the very depths of hell. It is worse than the mandragora... worse, even, than the banshee's scream. It is a yowl by demons most foul... creatures with sharp claws, like tempered steel, eyes that shine through the night, and minds that know only greed, gluttony, lust, envy, and sloth." Ranma shudders, then continues melodramatically, "You might not believe in true evil, but it exists. Caterwauling is a shriek by Evil... in heat. I heard it once – in the city, at night, near the docks. I barely survived with my mind intact. I prayed to never hear such a horrible sound again, but I did."

Lavender is leaning close, listening with rapt attention. Harry is also watching with some interest.

"I heard it, just now, in your tuneless bellowing," Ranma concludes.

"Why you -!" Lavender thunders. "Ouch!" she adds when her sudden movement culminates with her head soundly striking a beam in the cabinet ceiling. Lavender glares at Ranma as though that were somehow Ranma's fault, then reaches in with her huge hand and attempts to grab the rude redhead.

Ranma dodges away, laughing delightedly. "Nyaaah!" she taunts, tugging her cheek down with a finger, and sticking her tongue out. "Did you know that you have a huge, enormous, protruding nose?" Ranma asks, rolling under another strike. "Actually, everything about you is huge and protruding except, well, your chest," she adds, bouncing over a third.

"Get back here!" Lavender roars, sweeping through the shop like an angry titan. Pots and pans crash into the ground, clattering and clanging as the metal settles. A display tent topples, then magically gets back up. A trunk skips and thumps from one end of the shop to the other, almost hitting Harry. "Sorry, Harry!" she booms in apology. Then she promptly throws another.

Harry just gives Lavender a frightened look in response, and wisely begins looking for salvation from random devastation. He finds it, unhesitatingly leaping into The Fugitive. The trunk promptly turns invisible and scuttles off to... somewhere; not even Ranma knows because The Fugitive is very good at its job.

"Snakes have better throwing arms than you do!" Ranma says, watching Lavender's throw go wide.

The errant trunk strikes a whole pile of dormant security chests. They promptly wake up, growing eyes, teeth, arms, and long, slavering tongues. Not finding any human targets in the immediate vicinity, they viciously begin attacking each other.

"Check it out! They're mimics!" Ranma says ecstatically, recalling several scenes from various video-games in Kathryn's collection. She watches one mimic brutally bite the tongue off another then swallow.

Lavender pays the mimics no attention as she searches for another heavy object to launch in Ranma's general direction.

"What in Merlin's name is going on here!" an outraged voice shouts, managing to gain the girls' attention. The speaker is a grizzled old man, dressed in purple pajamas and a nightcap. He lies half-sprawled on the floor, and half inside a toppled trunk. He has a cane in one hand and a wand in the other.

"It's her fault!" Lavender rumbles, pointing at Ranma.

Ranma and the pajama'd man stare at her, eyebrows raised. The hand with which she points carries what is obviously her next piece of ammunition: a portable cabin, with a chimney.

Lavender takes a peek in her own hand. She cringes. She looks back at the old man. She carefully, cautiously, slowly places the portable cabin back where she found it. Then she bolts! The cabinet door slams shut, just in time to block several hexes flying her direction.

"Slytherin's bollock's!" the pajama'd man screams.

The pitter-patter of feet in flight fades into the distance.

The grizzled man in purple pajamas then turns to face Ranma. He scowls and taps his foot impatiently.

"What?" Ranma asks. "I didn't actually do anything to damage your shop," she says quite truthfully.

"What is her name, child?"

Ranma pauses to think about it. "She never actually told me, and it's the first time I ever saw her," Ranma replies.

The man scowls at Ranma... well, his already-present scowl deepens. "Then can you at least tell me why was she wrecking my shop?" he demands.

Ranma grins. "So you are the owner! For a while there I suspected you were just squatting in that trunk. Well then, I was calling for you, and she must have heard me calling, so she opened the cabinet door. She was -"

"Just get to bloody point already!" the man shouts, waving his cane around.

Ranma blinks, and continues her line of thinking for a moment so she can find the point herself. "Well, since you insist, the point is that she wrecked the shop because she was angry."

"And why was she angry?"

"Because she perceived insult."

"And why did she perceive insult?"

Ranma frowns at the man. "If you wanted all this clarification, you should have listened to the whole story in the first place."

SLAM! The old man jabs his cane into the ground. "Just answer my questions so I can figure out how this is all your fault!" he yells.

Ranma's eyes narrow and glint dangerously. She slowly approaches the pajama'd man, saying, "If you must know, she was hostile to me from the moment she saw me. She wouldn't be the first girl to react that way. Just this morning a girl took one look at my clothing, called me a mudblood, and found my very presence to be insulting. Are you like her, trying to pin this on me because I'm a mudblood?"

The man falls backwards over the trunk behind him.

Ranma leans over, staring directly into his eyes. "Or are you like that girl, willing to risk everything to return a perceived insult?"

"Uh... No?" the man answers cautiously.

"Good! In that case we can get down to business," Ranma says, backing off and bringing her hands together gleefully. She surveys the destruction throughout the shop. She pauses for only a minute to watch two mimics bashing ineffectually at a third with their fists. Part of Ranma's mind registers that this is probably due to basic physics; structural strengths are relatively much higher at their current size. However, the rest of Ranma's mind moves on to more pressing business. "But first, I need to find Harry."

The old pajama'd shop owner also examines the devastation, tears in his eyes. "Stop that!" he screams at the mimics. He waves his wand at them a few times, and the mimics settle back into their dormant state and fly into a pile. Then the man just sits down and weeps into his hands.

"Do you know where The Fugitive is," Ranma asks suddenly. "It seems to have... escaped."

"What!" the man shouts, leaping to his feet. He looks around, panicking. "Fugitive! Get over here, now!" he calls.

The sound of quick scampering, iron pegs pounding the wooden floor, approaches. The Fugitive becomes visible at the owner's feet.

"You hid from that monster? Good boy," the owner says, patting the trunk fondly.

Click. Creak. "Aaaah!" Harry flies out, spat from the trunk's open maw. Thump. Harry groans.

SLAM! The old man's cane strikes the ground by Harry's head. "Trying to steal The Fugitive, boy?" the owner demands, glaring down at Harry. He waves his wand arm at the general devastation. "You thought you could take advantage of my situation?" SLAM! "Well, I got the better of you. The Fugitive can't be stolen, boy! None of my top designs can! Now, what have you got to say for yourself?" He pokes Harry with the pointy end of his cane.

"I wasn't trying to steal anything!" Harry protests. "I was just hiding!"

SLAM! "You can't fool me boy! We'll just see where the Wizengamot puts you... Azkaban! For years, maybe!"

Harry panics. "I'm telling the truth! I swear!" He looks at Ranma. "Tell him!"

"Alas, poor Harry! I know him well, shopkeeper... a boy of infinite gloom, orphaned by a great evil then forced to survive on scraps from those who don't want him. Just look at his shoes!" Ranma brings a finger to her eye, wiping away a single, perfect tear. "You can't blame him, shopkeeper. He knows not what he has done."

Harry glares at Ranma while pushing himself to his feet.

"Harry?" the old man asks. "Harry as in... Harry Potter?" He brings his cane up, pokes it into Harry's forehead, and swipes it across the boy's brow.

"Ouch!" Harry yells, clutching his forehead. "Are you trying to add another scar!"

"My apologies, lad. I did not know who you are. How can I help you? My shop isn't in the best condition right now – it's in the middle of inventory and reorganization... and a security renovation. But I'll help you if I can."

Harry just stares at him.

Ranma laughs aloud, then falls to the ground clutching her side. Her laughs grow silent after she runs out of breath, but she still lies there, convulsing in a rather undignified manner.

The pajama'd shopkeeper glowers down at the quivering redhead, then points his cane first at her, then the door. "You! Out!" he shouts.

Ranma points at Harry, and manages to wheeze aloud, "I'm with him," before releasing another peal of laughter.

"Is this true?" the man asks Harry.

"Yes," Harry answers somewhat reluctantly.

Ranma manages to calm down and regain her feet. "We need something like a portable library or a good book bag in the range of forty Galleons or less. I figure I'll pay for half, and Harry for the other."

The old man glowers at her. "Forty Galleons? Don't insult me! Who are you buying this cheap crap for? I sell lifetime investments. I sell superior sorcerer's storage, not rotting wooden buckets! The Potter fortune can afford The Fugitive on yearly interest alone! Oh, by the way, did you like The Fugitive, lad?"

"Uh," Harry says, looking a little dazed.

"Well, if that isn't good enough for you, there is The Exile," the pajama'd man says enthusiastically. "The Exile starts with The Fugitive, but adds a three-room suite. The first is a Muggle-technology shielding room with a Super Famicom – recently added – and Muggle television – in color, and a VCR because, let's face it, Muggle entertainment is better. The second room is an observatory allowing you to see everything in a five mile radius... and I mean everything. Finally, the third is an entertainment room, allowing any illusions you can come up with, plus three-hundred built in simulations from various Muggle source materials with complete visual and tactile sensations... if you know what I mean.

"Untraceable remote post is available in the study so you can read and write to others. The kitchen can automatically cook any recipe in its library, with three-thousand known recipes pre-installed. Every room is stay-clean.

"Most useful of all, it has a time-transformer, which allows you to compress time so you have up to ten times the time to train, sleep, or do work or, if you wish, dilate it, so the years fly by up to ten times faster and such legal conveniences as the Statute of Limitations can take effect. Further, the whole trunk can apparate, at your command from the observatory.

"With The Exile, who needs anything else. It is my greatest work of art! Pure genius! I live in a modified one myself! But I've only sold three, all of them to enlightened Muggles, but don't tell anyone. For you, lad, I'll give a special, low, one-time offer of seven-hundred-eighty five-thousand Galleons! And I'll even throw in free update service for the upcoming thirty-two bit systems!

"How does that sound, boy?" he asks, looking a little odd in his purple pajamas and nightcap. "I could start work on it tonight."

Harry briefly goes cross-eyed and wobbles a little.

"That sounds pretty sweet!" Ranma says. She turns huge, cute, puppy-dog eyes on Harry, and begs, "Harry, will you get me one of those? Pleeease?"

Harry gives her a long, incredulous look. "No," he intones.

"Well, then," Ranma says, turning to face the old man. "We need to talk about book bags and portable libraries."

"Certainly! Come this way," he says, leading them on in his purple pajamas. "I have just the thing! It can-"

"How much does it cost," Ranma interjects wryly.

"Oh, just fifty-nine-thousand-nine-hundred-ninety-nine Galleons. But it's worth every Knut, I assure you! It's called The Analyst. Why, it can store the entire Hogwarts library and the United States Library of Congress by rendering them into pure informational state... reversible, of course. Not only that; it will automatically catalog and index every passage of the books so you can find anything you're looking for by book, author, subject, or concept. It's a researcher's best friend! ..."

Ranma and Harry sigh. It's going to be a looong day.

-oOo-

"Well, at least we got it into the three-digit range," Ranma says positively.

Harry slumps, looking subdued. "Don't ever tell Hermione how much I spent on her."

"As you wish!" Ranma exclaims cheerfully. "Tell me again: when is her birthday?"

"Sunday, September nineteenth," Harry drones.

"And don't you forget it! And what are you going to do?"

"I still think she'll find it embarrassing," he says. Then he mumbles, "not to mention me."

Ranma stares at him darkly. "And what are you going to do?"

Harry sighs. "I'm going to tell her Happy Birthday, during breakfast. Then I'll... kiss her on the cheek... and give her The Compendium. Finally, I will show her how to use the gift's features."

"And if she hugs you?"

"Then I will hug her back, and kiss her on the cheek... again," he says mechanically.

"And?"

Harry turns a dead gaze towards Ranma and tiredly answers, "And I will be happy."

"Okay!" she says, skipping ahead for a moment. "But you aren't showing nearly enough enthusiasm! I'll drill that into you later."

Harry groans and rubs his temples.

"So what are you going to do when you see her today?" Ranma asks.

"I'm going to thank her for the Broomstick Servicing Kit," Harry says, a little more enthusiastic. "How can you still be so energetic?" he asks, looking at her spry form enviously.

Ranma grins widely. "Because I only spent twenty Galleons," she answers.

Harry's shoulders slump even further.

"It was you who decided to buy that chest."

"Believe me; it doesn't feel that way from where I'm standing." Harry puffs a beaten sigh. "It's just that a mere two-thousand-nine-hundred-ninety-nine Galleons seemed really cheap at the time."

"Well, it is a good chest," Ranma says. "What I don't get is why he has all those really expensive trunks and stores them all in a smelly cabinet."

Harry pulls a miniaturized chest from his pocket and examines it, frowning. "Maybe he likes the incense," he says. "I'm just hoping what he said about the Potter family fortune is true."

Ranma laughs. "At least you didn't buy The Exile," she says.

Harry groans. "Don't talk about it! I'm still tempted. If he said one thing about the Dursleys...-" He shudders. "This is killing me! Do you mind if I stop by Gringott's before we see Hermione?"

"Not at all! I need to stop by Madam Malkin's anyway!"

Far behind them, a tiny black dog standing at a mouse-sized door stares forlornly at a sign that reads, Closed for Repairs and Renovation.

-oOo-

Flip.

A few minutes pass.

Flip.

... and a few more.

Flip.

Hermione once again turns the page of Great Greed II: Silver and Steel, and loses herself in the words and the stories told by them.

Flip.

Ranma is wrong. The Great Greed series proves a text can be both great literature and great reference material.

Flip.

Flip.

Hermione hears something about someone's knee. She ignores it.

Flip.

"HERMIONE!"

Hermione jolts in surprise. "Hi, Harry!" She blinks. "You didn't have to yell, you know. You should be quiet in a bookstore."

Harry stares at her, exasperated. "Yeah, I did."

She sets the book aside and stands up. "It's good to see you again, Harry!" she says, wrapping him in a hug.

Harry stiffens a little and surreptitiously glances back at the Flourish and Blott's entrance. Then he hugs her lightly and pulls away.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Hermione asks.

"Your sister told me you were here," Harry answers. "What are you doing here? Your letter said you'd be here the last week before school."

"So you've met my sister, have you? She found out she is a witch yesterday and insisted we come. She can be very insistent."

"I've noticed," Harry states, rubbing his wrist.

Hermione's eyes narrow. "What did she do now? She didn't make you spend all your money, did she?"

Harry freezes.

"She did, didn't she! I'm going to have to have a talk with her."

"Really? Really, we're going to have to have a talk – a talk about your redundant repetitions, my dear sister, Hermione," says Ranma, walking in.

Hermione glowers at her.

Ranma poses. "Check out the new threads!"

Ranma is dressed in new plain black robes. They don't look particularly impressive, although she does cut a cute form in them – as she does in anything.

"These robes are temperature-adjusting, 'neesan. The liner feels like silk on the skin. I'd let you touch it, but I wouldn't want you getting... jealous. And I bet your robes can't do this!"

Ranma drops into a low, wide stance. The robes split into pants to accommodate the position. Ranma kicks straight up, rotates her hips, and drops her heel into a powerful axe-kick, stopping a hair's-breadth above a table.

She grins.

"Hmph! Only you would buy robes designed for martial arts," Hermione says.

"Now that's hardly true, 'neesan. That just tells me you haven't watched nearly enough martial arts movies."

"Why would I want to? It's not like they can teach me anything."

"Kathryn's getting better."

"The martial arts in those movies is completely fake!"

"I dunno... some of those coming from China and Japan are pretty good."

"They fly around on wires!"

"It's a reasonable simulation. I mean, you can't expect actors to roof hop."

"Uh," Harry interjects. "People can actually do that?"

"Yes." "No." Ranma and Hermione say at once.

"You've seen me do it," says Ranma.

"You're a special exception, like Spiderman. You were probably exposed to some freakish accident as a child – oh, wait! You were!"

"You'd think a girl who suddenly learned magic exists at age eleven would be more open-minded," Ranma says.

"I've seen wizards. You can't seriously expect that there are thousands of insanely strong martial artists duking it out all over the city, and nobody has noticed!"

"Who said there has to be thousands? There might only be hundreds, and they probably train most of the time. Besides, there are thousands of wizards."

"But wizards are trying to keep it secret and, more importantly, they can erase people's memories and use spells to hide their activities from others!"

"Well, there could be underground arenas. I've seen those in lots of movies."

"You're grasping at straws," Hermione crows victoriously.

"But it makes sense to fight in underground arenas. According to Jon, fighting is illegal."

"According to Officer Hurst, sneezing is illegal."

"You're exaggerating."

"He writes tickets for traveling one mile-per-hour over the speed limit!" Hermione screeches. "And he gives a long lecture."

"Only when he's really bored. And he hasn't done that to us since that first time. Besides, it isn't like you aren't a stickler for the rules."

Harry laughs aloud. He quickly suppresses it as the Granger girls turn their eyes towards him. "Don't mind me!" he says defensively.

Hermione suddenly looks distraught. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Harry! I forgot you were there!"

"Oh, no! It was quite interesting. Like watching tennis. . . played with a bludger."

Ranma snickers, then grabs her sister in a one-armed hug. "It's how we show our affection."

Hermione hugs Ranma back, wrapping both arms around her sister, then addresses Harry. "Whatever you do, don't say something like that around Fred and George. They might get ideas."

Harry thinks about it for a moment, then cringes. "Right."

"Hey, when is Gareth supposed to pick us up?" Ranma asks suddenly, searching for a clock.

"Oooh... that lining does feel good," Hermione says as she pulls her hands out of Ranma's robes. She looks at a dainty watch on her wrist. "Oh, no! We're already twenty minutes late! Sorry Harry! We've gotta go."

She grabs Harry in a tight hug.

Hermione doesn't see Harry's eyes widen in fright, or drift over to Ranma. Hermione doesn't see the dangerous glint in Ranma's eyes, or the devilish grin.

Hermione only feels Harry gulp, and hug her in return... then kiss her lightly on the cheek with his warm lips.

She blushes and pulls away. "SeeYouLater, Harry!" she says. She grabs her bag and Ranma, then she bolts from the store.

"Thanks for the Broomstick Servicing Kit!" Harry calls after them.

But they are already gone.