A/N: Sorry this took so long. Being a grownup is a trap. 0/10 do not recommend.

V

And so, Willy Wonka went from the worst birthday he'd ever had to the best summer holiday of his life, all in the space of a single day. Every morning he awoke to golden sunlight – the curtains were enchanted to open on their own at the right time – and to the smell of something lovely coming from the kitchen. Florean could make more than just ice cream, and there was always something sweet to go along with their eggs and toast: jams, sticky buns, fruity drinks, and once even a sugary cereal Florean had bought at a Muggle shop for them to try. Even when he made something like porridge, he let Willy put fruits or cinnamon or honey into it – something his father had never allowed.

Every day after breakfast, Willy would spend the morning with Florean in his shop, learning the names of all the magical ice creams and what made each of them so special. He didn't yet have a wand, and so he couldn't help Florean make the customers' orders; but he learned how to operate the till and practiced with wizard money every evening so he could make correct change of the unfamiliar coins. He learned where everything was kept and could run back to the storerooms or freezers whenever something ran out; and every day at lunch, he would bring his sandwich down to the shop and eat at the soda counter, where he could watch Jerome Jordan make floats. Jerome was very funny, and he taught Willy how to do things like imitate people's voices or make up rhymes on cue. He told Willy that he had been in Gryffindor house at school, as had his wife Vera, and he and Florean taunted each other good-naturedly about the superiority of each of their former Quidditch teams. That led Willy to asking lots of questions about how Quidditch worked, and Florean bought him a magazine where he could read about professional Quidditch teams and famous players. Willy was not terribly interested in sport as a rule, but he was fascinated by the pictures in which tiny people on broomsticks zoomed back and forth across the magazine's slick pages. One Scottish team wore bright purple uniforms, and Willy tacked their picture on the wall above his desk where he could watch them zip around as he fell asleep.

As much as Willy loved working in the ice cream shop, of course, Florean insisted that he spend his afternoons out and about, exploring and generally being an eleven-year-old boy. And so, after lunch each day, Willy would say goodbye to Florean and Jerome (Florence made herself scarce as soon as breakfast ended and he rarely saw her until supper) and he would go out on an adventure. For the first few days, he simply made his way up and down Diagon Alley, seeing what was in each of the fascinating shops and businesses. Florean gave him some pocket money, and he often stopped to sample little treats at sweet shops or restaurants; at the tea shop, he even tasted various teas in little cups that he could eat after they were empty and which tasted like honeycombs. He looked at the titles of books on shelves and bought himself a few more magazines, and on one occasion he found a wizard comic book about a funny Muggle called Martin Miggs. He bought all four issues that were for sale in the shop, and decided that later he would try to find older issues in the secondhand shops if he could. His father had not liked comic books, and so Willy felt it was now his duty to read as many of them as possible.

When Willy had been in Diagon Alley almost a week and was quite settled into his new life, Florean took him down the street one day to Matthew Vicary's dental practice, where Willy met the wizard dentist's family. His first thought was that Vicary and his wife Anne were quite the opposites of each other; the dentist was all long, straight lines and – except for his loud green boots – a stark contrast of pale skin and black clothes. His wife, on the other hand, was full of soft curves and wore bright yellow robes with frills and tropical birds around the edges that made her dark skin glow warmly in the sun. She had grown up in the Caribbean, where her father had been Ministry of Magic Ambassador to Grenada, and her voice had a beautiful and unfamiliar cadence to it that made Willy smile.

Their son, Ian Vicary, seemed to be the perfect mixture of his parents. His skin was a warm brown color that fell right between the extremes of his mother and father; like his father, he was tall and slender, but all of his lines were softened and he had none of his father's sharp edges about him. He spoke like a Londoner, but his clipped words were often blurred around the corners by his mother's smooth cadence. He wore mostly Muggle clothes, and told Willy – much to his relief – that young witches and wizards tended to wear whatever was popular among the non-magic folk at least until they were out of school. He did show Willy a loudly colored garment in his wardrobe which he said was for fancy dress occasions, and Willy told him that he rather hoped he wouldn't have to go to any such occasions any time soon.

Willy began to spend most of his afternoons with Ian Vicary, and the two became fast friends. Each day, Ian would come for an ice cream after lunch at Florean's shop, and then the boys would keep each other company until time for supper. On bright days, Ian helped Willy explore all of the corners of Diagon Alley he had not yet discovered by himself. He learned that there were cross streets with still more wizarding shops – one of which they were not permitted to go down, and so naturally, they began making plans to visit it in secret. In the meantime they visited the Post Office, where Willy learned about how the owl-post system worked and how he had gotten his letter from Deputy Headmistress McGonagall. They went to the Menagerie at least once a week to see the animals, and plotted at length how Ian might save up enough money to buy the margay cat that had just been brought in from the Americas (and how to convince his parents he should have it). Ian also took Willy to the Quidditch shop and told him the histories of many of the teams, and their strengths and foibles. Ian favored the Wimbourne Wasps, and showed Willy magazine covers featuring a player named Ludovic Bagman, who was expected to be chosen to play for England by next year. He said that his father favored a team called the Montrose Magpies, but that their team captain had died in an accident two years before and his father was still upset about it; and his mother had disliked all Quidditch on principle ever since she was ten and her brother had used an enchanted coconut as a ball and hit her on the head. Ian said he would quite like to play for his house team when they started school, and the boys began to speculate about which houses they might be in.

"My mum's whole family's been Gryffindor," Ian told Willy over a batch of candyfloss they were sharing one afternoon, watching Florence and her friends from a distance as the teenagers played some Muggle game at a café table. "At least, all the ones who came back here for school. A lot of Dad's family, too. They say it goes in families a lot of the time. But Dad was Ravenclaw, so I suppose I could go either way."

"I don't know," Willy said absently. He was staring into the cloud of candyfloss, thinking of how it reminded him of something an insect would make, like an egg casing or a cocoon. He wondered if the same spells that made chocolate frogs and ice mice could make something like butterscotch butterflies – and if you had candy butterflies, could they be made to spin chrysalises of magical candyfloss? He would ask Florean when he got home for supper.

"I don't know about me," he repeated after a long moment. "My dad was in Slytherin house, Florean told me. I think all of his lot were."

Ian made a face, but didn't offer comment. "Your mum?" was what he finally asked, pulling off another long piece of candyfloss. Willy shook his head.

"She was a Muggle." As he let the candy dissolve on his tongue, he watched Ian make a different face. He had green eyes like his father, but they were darker and only showed their bright color when he was puzzled, as he was now.

"I thought they didn't like Muggles, the Slytherins?"

"Don't they?" Willy asked. It was the first he'd heard of it, anyway. Then he thought back to his first afternoon with Florean, when he'd asked about the houses and Florean had been very keen to tell him that all the houses were equal, and not to judge anyone by their house, and he wondered if this had been part of what Florean had been thinking about.

"Don't act like they do," Ian was shrugging. "Dad got the mick taken out of him at school when he signed up for Muggle Studies, and it was all Slytherins coming after him. And Mum says it was always Slytherins trying to get Grandad to stop working with Muggle politicians in Grenada. Odd for a Slytherin to marry a Muggle, anyway. They usually keep pretty closed ranks."

Willy thought about it for a moment, and then shrugged. "I don't think my dad got on with his family," he offered in explanation, and Ian smirked as he pulled some candyfloss apart into its thinnest threads.

"Well, there's the first thing you and he have in common, then."

Ian dangled the candyfloss above his mouth and then dropped it in, laughing around it; and after Willy had pondered it and realized it was true, he began to laugh with him.

There were, of course, a great many rainy days that summer as well as bright ones, and those the boys spent indoors in either of their bedrooms, reading comic books and listening to records and playing games. Ian brought Willy lots of back-issues of the Martin Miggs comics and taught him how to play Exploding Snap, and they discovered that Florean was better at it than both of them. On occasion, Florean took the boys to some Muggle shops, and they added some Muggle comics to their collection as well. At the Vicary house, Willy met Ian's younger sister Claire, who was ten and quite insufferable, at least in Ian's opinion. Claire spent most of her summer days writing in a stack of notebooks and diaries, which she said contained a story she was writing but which Ian said probably contained plans to make him miserable. Ian wanted very badly to get hold of one of the diaries and read it, and so many of their own rainy-day plots involved coming up with ways to steal one. When they were not doing this (or when they had been caught at it by Mrs. Vicary and sent to Ian's room), they were listening to records. Willy discovered that there were quite as many wizarding singers and groups as there were Muggle ones, and Ian had a very large selection of both. His favorite was a jazz group called Prospero, who all seemed to have very long braids and waved happily at Willy from their album photo, winking at him behind colored sunglasses. Their music had very few words, but was excellent for reading on rainy afternoons. Ian's sister Claire favored the sort of angry rock-and-roll music that had been played by those Muggles who had upset the Jubilee that spring, and Willy was astonished to find that there were wizard musicians of that ilk as well – Claire's favorite was a band called Witches of Warboys, or just "Warboys" for short, and she played them loudly enough to be heard through the walls of Ian's bedroom whenever they had gone more than a few hours without a good row between them. Ian thought it was the most desperately hideous thing he had ever heard; Willy, who was simply amazed at being in a house where loud music could be played, would only shrug and say that perhaps it might grow on them in time.

On a warm and breezy morning near the end of August, Willy entered Florean's kitchen to find the table stacked with fresh blueberry scones and a canvas bag slung over the back of his usual breakfast chair. The bag was emblazoned with a large capital "F" in magenta and aqua stitches, and Florence appeared to be wearing an identical one over her shoulder as she stood, finishing off the blueberry drink she had clearly chosen instead of the scones. Willy sat and began to pour honey onto his scones, wondering why Florence hadn't yet run off to join her friends for the day. His question was answered as soon as Florean came to the table.

"Well, Willy," he grinned, and Willy saw that he was wearing a pair of high-top trainers instead of his usual heeled shoes. "How would you like to spend the day getting yourself kitted out for your school term? I trust you still have the list that Professor McGonagall sent with your letter."

"Is that what the bags are for?" Willy said, swallowing a mouthful of scone and honey. Florean nodded.

"Got to have something to carry home all those books. I thought we'd go out and make a grand day of it, especially since it's your first time buying wizarding supplies."

"Isn't it a bit early?" Willy asked, and Florean shrugged.

"Well, your term doesn't start until the first of September, that's true. But over the next week and a half, every wizarding family in the country with school-aged children will be turning up in Diagon Alley to do their own shopping. It'll be crowded, it'll be noisy, all the best things you'd like to buy will have gone, and if it stays warm and sunny, most of them will end up right here at my shop wanting an ice cream. The last ten days or so of August are one of my busiest times of the whole year. So it's always been a habit of mine to take Florence for her shopping a bit before all of that starts up."

"And now you have to take both of us?"

"Hmph," Florence scoffed from the other side of the kitchen, unwrapping her first bubble gum of the day. Her father gave her a knowing smile.

"You know, I believe Florence is old enough to go shopping on her own this year. Would you like that, darling?"

"Can I?" Florence asked, sucking a bubble back against her mouth. Florean grinned and waved in the direction of the paper sticking out of her pocket.

"Yes, just let me see your list so I can reckon how much money I should send with you. Thank goodness your robes still fit from last year, so at least we don't have to worry with that again."

After perusing Florence's list, which Willy thought looked rather more interesting than his own, Florean counted out a sizeable pile of coins and put them into a snapping change purse, along with a little roll of Muggle paper money, and handed them over to his daughter.

"Now get what you need, but don't spend everything on fancy quills and glitter ink, alright?"

"Sure," Florence said, blowing a large bubble almost as soon as she'd finished speaking; then she disappeared from the kitchen with a pop. Florean sighed and put Willy's empty plate into the sink.

"She'll come back with no less than five fwooper-feather quills," he muttered, "and two of them will be the exact same thing but with differently colored grips."

Not knowing what a fwooper was, Willy finished his glass of milk and tried to look sympathetic.

"What did Florence need Muggle money for?" he asked as he pushed his chair back under the table and reached for his bag. Florean checked that his trainers were both tied and then unhooked his eyeglasses from his shirt front.

"She's taking Muggle Studies again this year, and apparently, they're all supposed to go and buy a novel from a Muggle shop so they can read it and do a report on what it reveals about Muggle culture. If you ask me, some students are going to have a learning experience just trying to buy something with Muggle money. Good job Florence has been doing that for years, so I can send her out to the shops on Charing Cross with relative peace of mind."

"Will I take Muggle Studies?" Willy asked, and Florean chuckled.

"Only if you choose it, and not for a few years. Of course, since you've lived as a Muggle, you won't really need a subject like that. And right now, all you have to worry about are the basics. Now, run into your room and get that list, and then we'll be off."

Willy did as he was told, and a few minutes later he stood outside the shop, watching as Florean changed the sign on the door to Closed. Willy read over his list again.

"Are we going to get my uniform first, or my books?" he asked. Florean bounced his eyeglasses in his hand and grinned.

"Neither. I think the first thing we should do is make sure you feel like the proper wizard that you are, Willy. What do you think?"

"A wand, you mean?" Willy beamed. Florean took out his own wand and tapped his eyeglasses; the lenses changed from the clear glass of spectacles to a wild sapphire blue. He then put his wand away, gave Willy a cheeky wink, and put on the sunglasses dramatically like a character on television.

"Oh, yes, Willy. Your very first wand."

Florean took Willy to the southerly branch of Diagon Alley, past the tall and imposing façade of Gringotts Bank, where there were a range of shops and businesses that seemed somewhat more sedate than the crowded storefronts and restaurants near the ice cream parlour. There were shops selling second-hand books, second-hand robes, and second-hand everything else, alongside a newspaper office, a business with a flashing advert about quick loans, and two offices which Florean told Willy were home to rival book publishers. There were a few tea rooms and restaurants, and one very fancy-looking clothing shop which Florean gave a wide berth as they passed; Willy saw the face of an employee eyeing Florean darkly through a curtain in the window, and thought that perhaps the businessmen did not get on with each other. Standing out in bright contrast from these more serious shops was one that appeared to sell toys and jokes, and Willy thought that he would very much like to have a meander through that one if Florean gave him any more pocket money between now and start of term. Today, however, Florean steered him past the bright and tinkling storefront and led him toward a very ancient-looking building further down the street.

"Ollivander's?" Willy read aloud from the sign above the door. Florean nodded.

"He's the best in the business, at least in Britain. He's got a knack for matching people with exactly the right wand, and most children get their first wands from him before starting Hogwarts. Bit of an odd duck – doesn't blink enough for my taste – but he'll have exactly what you need somewhere in that shop. Come on."

Florean led Willy inside the narrow storefront, where Willy could see nothing except a chair, a counter with a till, and a rather shabby window display consisting of a wand lying on a ratty blue pillow. All of this was covered in a gentle veneer of dust, and even the little bell that sounded as the door shut behind them was quiet and unobtrusive. Behind the till, Willy could see a very long, narrow room that seemed to be made of nothing but shelves full of long boxes. There were no adverts or coupons, or signs promoting deals or listing prices; Willy thought that Mr. Ollivander must be very well-known indeed, to not need any advertising. Even the display wand in the window looked as though it had been placed and forgotten about years before. Willy stared at the wand on the pillow, noting that it was a much darker wood than Florean's and had a more decorative handle, and he wondered what his own wand would look like.

"Florean?"

Willy jumped and spun around at the unexpected voice. The old man behind the till must have moved like a stalking cat, because Willy hadn't heard him approach. He was spindly but not frail, with a great deal of silver hair that Willy noticed was almost the same pale shade as his eyes. He saw what Florean meant about the not-blinking. It was like looking at an owl, if an owl knew secrets about you.

"Garrick!" Florean grinned, extending a hand. "It's been quite a while." Garrick Ollivander shook Florean's hand once, softly, and let go.

"Pear, twelve and a quarter inches. Solid. Good for charms. You haven't broken it, have you?"

"Not on your life!" Florean laughed, then he turned to Willy. "Mr. Ollivander always remembers what wands he's sold everyone, even years back. His brain's like a vault. No, Garrick," he repeated, turning back to the wandmaker. "I'm just here as this young man's escort today. Thought we'd get in before the crowds hit next week." At this, Mr. Ollivander shifted his gaze, seeming to notice Willy for the first time. He stared until Willy thought his eyes must have dried out from not blinking; then he made a clicking sound with his tongue.

"You can't be Wilbur Wonka's grandson?" he said, finally blinking. Willy shuffled one toe in the dust on the floor.

"His son, sir," he corrected, and Ollivander made an odd gesture with his large eyebrows.

"Left it rather late, didn't he?" The question seemed to be rhetorical, so Willy didn't answer. Mr. Ollivander was already scanning boxes on a shelf, tapping his chin with one long finger. "I sold Wilbur his first wand decades ago. Not long after I took over the shop from my father. Elm. Ten inches. One of my most precise wands. You look like him, except the ears. Wilbur had terribly funny ears." As he said this last, he put a handful of wand boxes on the counter beside the till and reached into one of his coat pockets, pulling out a little tape measure. Willy had his arms and hands measured, and then Mr. Ollivander went back to the shelves and pulled out a few more boxes. The tape measure kept fluttering around Willy, measuring various parts of his body as the wandmaker continued muttering to himself. "Now, has Florean explained to you how wands work, Mr. Wonka?" he asked, putting one more box on the stack. He snapped his fingers at the tape measure, and it whipped away from Willy and coiled itself on the counter. Willy shrugged.

"A little, sir. I know that they're all different to each other, and that you can't do very strong magic with somebody else's wand."

"Indeed," Ollivander nodded. "They're all unique, because they can be made of many different types of wood, and have one of three magical cores made from a magical animal's hair or feathers or innards – and every tree is different, and every animal is different, so no two wands will be alike. When a wizard gets hold of just the right wand, you can always tell. Well, we shall try some of these I've brought out and see if any of them suit you, hmm?"

Ollivander lined up the wand boxes along the counter and opened the first one, which held a pale brown wand with barely any camber and no decoration at all on the handle. He held it out for Willy to take. "This is elm, and very similar to your father's. Sometimes it goes in families—"

As soon as Willy's hand closed around the wand, there was a loud POFF! from behind them, and as the cloud of dust and stuffing settled, all three of them turned to see that the pillow in the window had exploded in place. The wand it had held was rolling gently back and forth amongst the debris.

"—and sometimes it doesn't," Ollivander finished flatly, dusting bits of stuffing off his coat. "I've been meaning to get a new pillow."

Willy gingerly handed him back the elm wand, and he boxed it up before moving to the next one.

They tried several wands in succession, a few of which did nothing at all and one of which (made of cherry wood) tried to run away from Willy's hand, which Florean found particularly amusing. Willy was beginning to feel discouraged, as there were only two more boxes to go. Ollivander opened the next to last box, revealing a reddish-hued wand with a twisting, helical shape that tapered out only as it neared the tip.

"Dogwood, with a core of unicorn hair. Ten and three quarter inches, and quite bendy. Try that one, young man."

With a small sigh, Willy obliged him. The effect, much like that of the first wand they'd tried, was nearly instantaneous; but this time, the result was not destruction. No sooner had Willy's fingers closed around the swirled handle than a quivering patch of magenta light began fluttering about the room – it looked like the patch of reflected light one could summon by waggling a piece of glass in a beam of sunlight, except for its wild raspberry color. Then another light appeared and joined it, and then another, and then another. After a few seconds, a quaking swarm of lights flickered all over the walls, ceiling, and floor of Ollivander's shop. They were not just magenta now, but a riot of shades – carmine, strawberry, plum, violet, lavender, coral, rose, powder pink – and they jumped and twitched around the room like the sparkling shapes inside a giant kaleidoscope. Willy gasped, and as he did so, his nose filled with the faint scent of berries and chocolate.

Florean patted him on the shoulder and leaned down to grin at him. "There. Told you, didn't we?"

"Excellent!" Ollivander was agreeing. He still wasn't blinking quite as much as Willy would have liked, but his long fingers were pitter-pattering against each other in a subdued clap. "Bravo, Mr. Wonka. Yes, that was quite good. And such a relief that it didn't scream."

"Scream?" Willy asked blankly, still grinning at the lights that were beginning to fade. Ollivander was nodding to himself as he gathered up the other wands they had tried.

"Oh, yes. Dogwood wands have been known to do that, you know. Terribly noisy wood, dogwood." He tapped the stack of wand boxes with his own wand, and they floated through the air and back to their places on the shelves. Willy eyed him curiously, and then held the handle of the twisting wand up to his ear. He didn't hear anything, but he supposed anything was possible.

Mr. Ollivander put the spiraled wand back into its box and tied it with a string, and Florean counted out some gold Galleons to pay for it. Willy had another twinge of guilt watching this, but Florean caught his eye and winked.

"You don't need to worry about it," Florean reassured him as they came out of the wand shop and back into the street. "Remember, you're not a burden. Actually, I like a good day of shopping every now and then. And I'll make piles of money next week when all the other shoppers pop in for an ice cream. Alright?"

"Alright," Willy said dubiously, looking over his shoulder at the wand shop window, where Mr. Ollivander was using his wand to vanish all of the exploded bits of the pillow.

"Good," Florean smiled. "Now, let's go finish getting you kitted out, hmm?" He patted Willy's shoulder again, and they headed back to the main section of Diagon Alley as Mr. Ollivander placed a new purple cushion in the window behind them.

Florean took Willy first to a wizarding tailor's shop, where a short, round woman in wine-colored robes plonked him onto a stool and began to measure him. Like Mr. Ollivander, she also had a tape measure that darted about of its own volition, and it zoomed and zipped around every part of Willy's body while its owner took notes with a peacock-feather quill. As she worked to pin cloaking fabric to the right length, her assistant began to put appropriately sized trousers, shirts, and shoes into a bag. These were all shades of gray, black, and white, which greatly disappointed Willy; but Florean reassured him that he would have some color to wear once he was sorted into a house and got his house-colored kit.

After the measuring and pinning, Florean and Willy left the shop to make other purchases while his robes were being hemmed to the right length. They went to a bookshop and bought his textbooks, plus a journal, some rolls of parchment, and a set of color-coordinated quills; and then they were off to a shop near the Leaky Cauldron entrance where they purchased a cauldron for making potions, something Willy was keenly interested in as it seemed a useful skill for producing sweets. They stopped in at the Apothecary and said hello to Mr. Vicary before buying a package of ingredients for said potions; and at a wizarding equipment shop, they bought scales and a telescope and a set of potion phials with little liquid measurements marked on them in gold writing. They also browsed a selection of dragon hide gloves which ranged from very cheap (these looked like moldy leather garden gloves) to quite expensive (a range of interesting colors and patterns, made from the hides of rarer dragon breeds). To show Willy once again that he wasn't concerned about the money, Florean encouraged Willy to pick his favorite gloves regardless of the price, and Willy left the shop with a pair of iridescent purple gloves that Florean said were made from the skin of an Australian dragon and skillfully dyed.

When they had bought all the requirements on Willy's list and had gone back to the tailor to pick up his finished robes, Florean and Willy began making their way back to the ice cream shop through the thinning crowd. The day was beginning to cool now that afternoon teatime had passed, and the first of the evening breezes was gusting playfully down Diagon Alley. Willy adjusted the bag on his shoulder as they neared the ice cream parlour, thinking that he was going to have blackberry ice cream after supper that night and looking at his list one more time to be sure they hadn't forgotten anything. He read the last bit of the list again and then looked up at Florean.

"An owl or a cat or a toad?" he asked, holding up the paper. "Am I supposed to take an animal with me, Florean?"

"Oh, it's not mandatory, but many students do like to keep one around. Depending on what kind you get, they can be useful – and it's also nice to have a friend when you go away to a strange place."

"Useful like… an owl can deliver your post for you?" Willy asked, and Florean nodded.

"Yes, and sometimes you can practice your safer spells on animals, as long as it's something that won't hurt the creature. Toads are especially good for that, although Florence informs me that the tide has turned since my school days, and that now none of the rad young people would be caught dead with a toad." He chuckled a little, seemingly at himself, and then glanced across the street from the ice cream shop. After a moment, he said, "Would you like a pet, Willy?"

Willy followed his gaze across the street, where he saw a sign over a shop door that read Magical Menagerie. It was a shop he had been inside with Ian many times, scheming to get the margay cat to which the Vicarys had repeatedly said no, but Willy had never looked to get any of the animals himself. His father had thought that all animals were dirty things, and would never have allowed one in their house, and so it had simply not occurred to him. Willy grinned up at Florean.

"Could I?"

In response, Florean took out his wand and flicked it up at the façade of the ice cream parlour, opening one of the windows of the upstairs flat. He took the bag from Willy's shoulder and placed it on the ground beside the wrapped uniform package; then he swished his wand at their purchases and Willy watched, fascinated, as the items floated high above the street and into the open flat window.

"I hope I've landed those on your bed or your desk and not on the floor," he said wryly, flicking the window shut with his wand, "but we'll find out later, I suppose. Come on, Willy. Let's go and get you something with fur or feathers."

Inside the Menagerie was close, warm, and just a bit smelly, but much quieter now in the late afternoon than when Willy had been in before, nearer to midday. Most of the things that made loud noises had either gone to sleep or were busy with their dinner, although the cats and the ferrets were now beginning to move restlessly in their cages. The witch who ran the shop was behind the counter, measuring out food into little bowls and stopping every minute or so to toss her long curtains of black hair back over her shoulder or to push her green-tinged spectacles back up her nose.

"Hello, Bridget!" Willy said, for he had been in the Menagerie enough times with Ian that they had become familiar. Bridget was still measuring food, but she waggled her mouth and made the extra-long cigarette she was smoking dip up and down in greeting.

"'Ello, Willy," she muttered, making unintentional smoke rings. "If you're here about that cat again, he's locked up for the day. Damned thing tried to eat one of my rats instead of his lunch. And he's being punished." She said this last in the direction of the margay cat's cage, where the cat in question glared at her from its upside-down perch and mewled irritably.

"Did you have a certain cat in mind already, Willy?" Florean asked, and Willy shook his head.

"Ian wants that one," he said, pointing to the margay, "but he can't convince his parents, so he comes in all the time to see it. I come with him usually."

"Fortescue, is that you?" Bridget said from behind her hair, which was hanging dangerously close to her lit cigarette. "Thought you weren't an animal man."

"Hello, Miss Kettleburn," Florean grinned. "No, that was never on my account. Val was always so allergic, and so I just never bothered. But we're here now to see about getting Willy a little friend to take to school next month."

"Well, take a gander around, Willy," Bridget said as she began putting the remaining food bowls into their cages. "See what strikes your fancy."

Willy did just that. He gave the toads a glance, although he remembered what Florean had said about them no longer being in vogue among teenaged wizards – and they did look rather boring. The owls were more intriguing; but something about the way they stared down at him seemed very judgmental, and Willy felt that if he got an owl, he would have to ask its approval every time he did anything, which was rather too much like having his father around. He wandered over to the wall of cat cages, holding out his hand to say hello to the margay while looking at all of its neighbors. He had gotten accustomed to several of them over the summer simply by proximity, and he considered how it would be having each of them as a pet. There was a black one with a little shirt ruffle of white on its chest and lovely green eyes, but Willy knew from experience that it was possibly the stupidest cat on the planet, and he didn't think it would be much company. There was an enormously fat spotted one that Willy didn't fancy having to carry around. The tortoiseshell-patterned one was very pretty, but she hissed at everyone except a select few people. In fact, none of the cats seemed precisely what Willy was looking for. He sighed.

"It's a pity I can't have one of the other kinds of animals," he said glumly, eyeing one of the fruit bats above his head. Florean put his hands in his pockets in his characteristic way.

"Well, why not?"

"The letter said an owl or a cat or a toad," Willy reminded him. "Doesn't that mean other kinds aren't allowed?"

Florean thought for a moment and then shrugged. "Well, Willy, if you'd asked me that ten years ago, I would have said yes. But things have gotten a little easier in recent years."

"Why?"

"That rule," Florean explained, "was put into place by the headmaster during my time at Hogwarts. You see, a long while back, someone had a jarvey – that's like an overgrown magical ferret – at school, and it attacked someone. And then later, during your dad's term at school, actually, someone let something dangerous loose and a girl was killed. And so I suppose that Professor Dippet got fed up with complaint letters from parents, and he laid down a hard rule about what pets you could keep at Hogwarts. He must have reckoned that nobody could get into too much trouble with an owl or a cat or a toad. But he's retired now. The new headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, well… he's not such a stickler for rules and the like. They never bothered to take the prohibition out of the letters, but I know of more than one of Florence's friends who've taken things like tortoises and rats and even a budgie in recent years, and Professor Dumbledore never minded. I think as long as you don't bring something that's dangerous, or too big to live in your dormitory, you shouldn't have any problem."

He patted Willy on the shoulder, and Willy grinned. His options now broadened, he wandered up and down the other sections of cages. Puffskeins looked very low maintenance, but they also didn't seem to do very much other than vibrate, and so he passed them over. He liked the look of the Nifflers, but Florean warned him against them, as he would not be very popular in his dormitory if all of his classmates' valuables went missing. He thought that the magic rabbits were interesting, but then what would he do if his rabbit transformed itself into a floppy hat which then got thrown into the laundry? It seemed too risky. Willy had ruled out nearly everything but the ravens, and was about to ask Bridget if he could take one of the birds out and meet it, when something landed on his head.

TAKTAKTAKTAK!

"Hey—what?" Willy jerked instinctively as whatever it was tapped aggressively at the top of his skull. He threw his hands up to catch it, but the creature had already scrambled down his back and over his shoulder.

"Fauntleroy, you stoppit!" Bridget barked from the other side of the room, spitting out her cigarette and trying to find her wand amongst her robes. Willy did a twisting little dance, trying to see what was crawling on him, but now the thing had crawled up under his jacket and was working its way out the back of his collar. "Bloody animal's learned how to unlock his cage. Arresto momentum!" Bridget spat, jerking her wand at Willy's back. He felt a cool tingle, as though he'd been touched by something electrical, and whatever was crawling on him slowed to a wriggle and then stopped completely. "Levioso," Bridget continued, and Willy felt the whatever-it-was lift clear of his back. He spun around to see what he had just been rescued from.

It was a squirrel.

Willy felt himself laugh aloud in relief that it was not some sort of poisonous insect or vampire bat or some such. The grey squirrel Bridget had called Fauntleroy hung suspended in midair, his tail twitching restlessly and his little black eyes gleaming with the apparent urge to commit crimes. Willy heard Florean start laughing behind him as Bridget stomped across the room, waggling her wand under the squirrel's nose.

"How many times, Fauntleroy? Hmm? How many times have I told you not to ambush customers and knock on their heads like you're trying to get through a bloody door? Do we all look like great walking door knockers to you? No, don't answer that. Just go eat your chestnuts and behave. Finite." She waved her wand curtly, and the squirrel suddenly dropped to the floor with a squeak. As Bridget marched back to the counter to hand out the last of the food bowls, Willy watched the squirrel glare at her and – he thought – stick out the tip of his little pink tongue before running straight up Florean's trouser leg.

"Well, hello!" Florean grinned as the squirrel scampered up his shirtfront and onto his shoulder. "What are you about, little friend?" In response, Fauntleroy rapped the knuckles of his little claws against Florean's forehead and sniffed his face.

"Trouble and a half, that one," Bridget grumbled from behind the till. "I don't even trade in squirrels. Someone brought that one in for me to look at, he says, and then pops out and never comes back. Like he was glad to be rid of him. Soon found out why, little menace. Can't see a new person without beating them about the head. Suppose that's his way of saying hello."

"Oh, I don't think I'm any the worse for wear," Florean said gently as Fauntleroy regarded him with a bold stare. Abruptly, the squirrel then turned and leaped back onto Willy, where he scampered madly back and forth across the boy's shoulders. Bridget shrugged.

"Well, at least he seems to like you. Some folks, he knocks once and leaves alone. Others he keeps knocking on and on, like he's waiting for an answer. And every now and again, he'll knock on somebody and suddenly get all twitterpated and try to claw them. Thought he was going to eat the nose off Barty Crouch's boy last month."

"Well he might do," Florean nodded. "There's something not quite right about that boy."

While the adults talked, Willy kept up his little spinning dance, giggling and trying to catch the squirrel who stayed only just out of his reach. The chase finally ended when Fauntleroy took a dive into Willy's shirt pocket and curled up there, popping his head up once to check that Bridget wasn't coming after him before snuggling back in again. Florean watched all of this, and then ambled slowly over to the counter.

"You don't trade in squirrels, then," he said, a little grin plucking at his cheeks. Bridget snorted.

"Not on your life."

"So does that mean this one's not for sale?"

Bridget, who had dropped down to the floor to find the cigarette she'd spat away, popped back upright with the cigarette hanging between her lips and her eyes wide. "Never thought anyone'd be fool enough to buy him!" she muttered around the cigarette. "What d'you want a jumped-up rat that goes around knocking people in the head for?" In reply, Florean turned and looked at Willy, who had found a stray nut on the floor and was playing keep-away with the squirrel in his pocket.

"Willy?" he prompted. "Would you like to take Fauntleroy to Hogwarts as your pet?"

Willy's face lit up; then he stopped and looked down to speak into his pocket. "Excuse me, Fauntleroy, but would you very much like to come to school with me? Or would you rather stay here in the shop with Bridget?" There was a squeak from the depths of Willy's shirt pocket, and a tiny pair of claws reached up and pulled down the pocket flap, buttoning it closed. Florean laughed.

"Well, Bridget, I think the jumped-up rat has made his wishes clear."

Bridget stared at them for a few seconds, then she shrugged. "Good riddance to bad rodents," she muttered, punching a button on the till.

Bridget charged Florean only one galleon for Fauntleroy the squirrel, as she felt it was unconscionable to ask any more than that for the pocket-sized criminal. They stayed in the shop a little while longer so that Willy could ask Bridget questions about caring for a squirrel (he took out his pocket notebook and kept a careful list of notes on the subject), and they bought a hanging basket for Fauntleroy to sleep in; this was shaped like an egg lined with fluffy bits and had a round hole for an entrance, and had a net of macramé ropes to hang from. Willy wondered if they should buy a supply of nuts and other food, but Florean assured him that his ice cream shop had plenty enough nuts and berries to feed one squirrel until the start of the school term – and after that, it would be taken care of by the Hogwarts kitchens.

Fauntleroy sat on the kitchen table that night as Willy and the Fortescues ate supper, occasionally nabbing choice bits of Willy's sweet potatoes and making long, uncomfortable eye contact with Florence until she threw a bit of bread at him to make him stop. He had knocked and sniffed at her head for several minutes before making up his mind about her earlier, and now it seemed his great pleasure to irritate her as much as possible. Willy found this terribly funny, and even Florean had to stifle a chuckle as the squirrel popped one of Florence's gum bubbles all over her face after dinner.

At bedtime, Willy hung the drey-basket from a hook above his desk and placed Fauntleroy into it carefully as he wished him goodnight. No sooner had Willy climbed into bed, however, than he felt the scamper of little claws across his chest and up onto the pillow beside him.

"Alright," Willy murmured, brushing the squirrel's tail out of his face, "but just until term starts. When we get to school, you have to sleep in your basket."

There was an impudent squeak in the darkness beside Willy that told him Fauntleroy would take his words under advisement – but that he would make no guarantees.