A/N: Chap 23 review responses are available in my forums.

sp

Chapter Twenty-Four: Rich

The man lies unmoving on the bed, pale and wasted, his flesh hanging loose on his bones. The only sign he lives at all is the occasional blink, and the rise and fall of his chest.

Within his chest, dark, watery magic lays still, surrounded by a halo of silver magic. The silver encases the man's mind as well, shrouding his thoughts securely. He is naked save for a thin sheet covering him.

The door opens and a young woman steps in—a witch from the swelling of silver-blue magic in her chest. She is a rather homely woman with a long, slightly bulbous nose and a wide face highlighted by the high planes of her cheekbones. She is heavy set, but not truly fat. It is rare for a witch to be truly fat, since magic burns calories so quickly.

Beside her stands a tall, gaunt man with a sunken face that reminds Harry a little of the still figure on the cot. "I'll keep your secret," the woman said, "but you know my price."

"He is virile," the sad-faced, broken man said.

The woman nods, smiling saucily. "Do you want to watch?"

The man makes a strangling sound before turning to leave; the witch laughs as she turns to survey the still figure on the cot. She casually pulls the sheet back and clucks her tongue. "He's not feeding you enough, my boy. But you still have meat where it counts."

She points her wand at the man's sex and says, "Mas Turbare!"

Almost instantly he begins to harden. Nodding in satisfaction, the witch hitches up the skirt of her robe to reveal nothing underneath, steps onto the bed until she straddles him, and then lowers herself onto him, grunting with pleasure. "Yes, that will work."

She begins to bounce while the man simply stares without seeing at the ceiling, moaning with her pleasure as she essentially rapes a defenceless man.

So caught up is she in the throes of her passion that she never notices how the room grows cold; she never sees the mass of dark blue magic in a vaguely human form emerge from the wall opposite the unseeing man, or how the blue magic settles into the unconscious figure.

The witch does not stop. She is too far gone in her lust to see her death approach. She finishes with a moan and leans over him, panting from her exertion and the pleasure it brings her. "Yes, that will do," she finally says. "The potion will ensure I conceive. I will have my child at long last."

For the first time, the man's stare changes direction as a thin film of black rises across his irises and pupils, until he blinks across a solid black surface. He turns and looks down at the crown of the satiated witch and sneers. His hands lift and swing together like scissors. The witch's neck snaps with a shockingly loud crack. She never even makes a sound she slides boneless off him to fall to the floor.

The man with black eyes reaches down and takes her wand. The door opens moments later as the sad-faced man enters. He sees his son sitting up with pure-black eyes and the witch on the ground, and cursing tries to pull his wand. He is not fast enough.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry woke with a scream and barely rolled off his bed before he was noisily sick all over the floor. When nothing else came but bile, he clutched at the throbbing agony in his head, curled up on his knees as he did so.

The door to his small room in Privet Four Drive, Little Whinging, swung open with a crash. "What's going on here?" Uncle Vernon bellowed. "What's this racket? What's wrong with you, boy?"

Behind Vernon, Aunt Petunia stood at the door and stared at the pool of vomit and the way her nephew clutched his head. "What is wrong with you?" She echoed her husband.

Harry sat up, and both adults sucked in a gasp. Blood ran from his nose and dripped form his blood-shot eyes like tears. Even worse, he'd let his veil drop, and so his eyes had that strange illumination the Dursleys had come to intentionally forget over the past three years. "Sorry," Harry said weakly.

"My God, what is wrong with you boy? It's not some freakish disease is it?" Vernon demanded. "You're going to clean that mess up, I'll have you know!"

"I know," Harry said, not bothering to hide his bitterness. He pushed himself to his feet on the side of the bed and took a step before falling with a thud to his knees and clutching his head again. "Just get out!" he cried. "I'll clean it up, I promise. Just leave me alone!"

Harry heard them leave and lay where he fell, taking shallow breaths. This was easily one of the most painful visions he could remember having. A few minutes later, he felt a cold cloth press against his head. He fought to open his eyes and saw Aunt Petunia move away from the compress she handed him to quickly clean up his vomit.

"Get back in bed, Harry," she said in a low tone, just above a whisper. "Don't bother getting up tomorrow. I know you'll be useless."

"What?" It was all he could do to utter that one word.

"This happened to your mum when she was sixteen," Petunia said. It sounded so odd to hear this woman speak so calmly of his mother. "It was a vision, wasn't it? That's what that horrid witch McGonagall called it."

Harry nodded. "I watched a woman die," he said.

"Anyone you know?"

"No. She wasn't very nice either, but she…she didn't deserve to die."

Petunia said nothing, but helped him stumble back to his head. To his utter shock, she adjusted the cloth back on his forehead. "I hate magic," she said dully. "Nothing good ever comes of it. I know what Lily did to me—it was in Dumbledore's letter. If we were cruel to you, Harry, remember that we had good reason."

More shocking than her words, though, was Harry's own. "I know," he admitted. "And I'm sorry. You didn't deserve to be stuck with me either."

Petunia nodded. "No, we didn't. Lily could be cruel sometimes. But then so could I; we never got along well, most especially when that Severus boy started hanging around. I know none of this is your fault, Harry. We were not good guardians to you, and that won't change. I just can't make myself like you—I know you represent the death of those children I so desperately wanted but could never have. I think it best for all that when you turn seventeen, you leave and not return."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." She said absolutely nothing he had not heard before; nothing he did not know with absolutely certainty. And yet her words hurt him worse that the spike in his brain the vision caused. Tears washed blood from his face and he wiped them away with his hand, staring at the watery red on his palm.

Petunia said nothing more before standing and leaving the room. When she was gone, Harry balled his fists to his eyes, pulled his knees up, and ground his teeth in a low, guttural cry.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry couldn't help but grin when he opened the door of Number Four Privet Drive and found Neville Longbottom on the doorstep on the second day of August, just two days after their respective birthdays and a week after his horrid vision.

"Hey, mate," Neville said, returning the grin. "You ready?"

"Yeah." Harry said. He grabbed his trunk and Hedwig's cage and without a word to the occupants of the house left and closed the door behind him. Neville glimpsed inside to see a thin, rather homely woman silhouetted against a back window, hugging herself tightly.

The two boys walked down the side walk toward the Bentley idling at the curb. "I didn't know your Gran had a car," Harry said admiringly.

"She doesn't. This is Uncle Algie's. He works with the Muggle government sometimes so he has one. Come on in."

The two boys piled into the car, and in so doing entered a space five times larger than the exterior of the vehicle. More surprising, though, was that there was no driver. "The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole."

The car started driving on its own, and outside the countryside literally began to blur. "Uncle Algie has the car charmed like the Knight Bus," Neville said. "Won't take but minute. So how's summer been?"

"Boring as always," Harry said. "Uncle Vernon won't let me do any real studying, but I got all of my Muggle Studies work done. Biology was the worst."

"Oh, I don't know, I think Chemistry was. And Geometry." Neville chuckled. "So, did anything…you know, happen? Any visions or anything?"

"I had a vision of Dudley stealing a neighbour's bike and blaming it on me," Harry admitted, purposely leaving out his worst vision. "Got a nosebleed for it. But I borrowed his video camera he never uses and caught him stealing on tape, then accidently left it at the neighbour's house. I might have accidently written a note on it telling the people to watch the video."

"What happened?"

Harry snickered. "Got locked into my room without food for three days."

Neville stared, lips parted in surprise. "No food for three days? Harry, that's not funny!"

Harry shrugged. "I had snacks in my trunk, and I'd sneak out after dark and raid the fridge. It was totally worth it, though. The bobbies brought Dudley to the house right in front of all the neighbours and gave him a final warning after they found a whole bunch of other stolen stuff at his gang's hideout. One more, and they'll bring him up on charges. I thought Uncle Vernon was going to have a stroke right there! Definitely worth it."

Neville shook his head. "Harry, it's still not right."

Harry's smile dimmed. "Yeah, I know, Neville. But it could be worse. He doesn't hit me any more, not since McGonagall came and scared the living hell out Aunt Petunia. Brilliant, that was. So, enough about me. What'd you do this summer?"

"We spent most of the summer in Spain," Neville said. "Gran says the heat is good for her fire gout. It was nice, I suppose. There's a nest of Merpeople near Santa Margarita. I couldn't understand them at all, but I bet you could have."

"Sounds fun," Harry said, smiling to cover a little touch of envy. He'd never even left the country before, or even the London metropolitan area, for that matter, before going to Hogwarts.

He looked outside and saw the countryside blurring outside the window. The car was nothing like what he'd heard about the Knight Bus in class. For one thing, neither boy was thrown violently about the interior of the car. For another, the car didn't flit about right at other Muggle objects in a seemingly suicidal dance. Instead, the car just blurred through the countryside until with grind of gravel under the tires they came to a stop on the edge of a rough country estate. In the distance, the two boys could see a slightly lopsided house with the tips of orchard trees behind it.

Over the whole, Harry could see a glimmer of rainbow magic—Muggle repelling charms, Unplottable charms, protective wards and other protections all anchored in buried ward stones along the edge of the property. "Wasn't Ron supposed to be waiting for us at the gate?" Harry wondered.

Neville grimaced. "We're supposed to fetch him," Neville said. "Brace yourself—Ron's little sister was telling the whole school last year that she was going to bond you."

"Right. She and half the other girls in the school. I just don't get it, Neville."

"Well, hard not to be a big fish in such a small pond," Neville said. "Think about it, thirteen boys, twenty-seven girls. And the third years are even worse. You could be the skinniest, ugliest git in the world, and it won't matter, you'd still have someone interested in you."

"You mean like Ginny Weasley?"

Neville laughed. "Exactly! Come on let's go see how bad she has it for you."

The two boys climbed out of the car and made their way up the dirt path to the lopsided house. Before they even reached the porch, they heard a girlish voice scream, "Mum, he's here! He's here!"

"Merlin help me," Harry said, stopping mid-stride.

The door flew open and a wide bodied woman with curling reddish hair bustled out clad in an apron overlaying a garishly yellow sunflower dress. "Why, it's Harry Potter!" the witch said in a loud, grating voice. Then, to Harry's utter shock and dismay, the woman grabbed him and started to pull him into a hug.

Blind panic spilled into a burst of accidental magic, and Mrs Weasley stumbled away in surprise. Neville very quickly said, "Hello, Dame Molly! Dame Augusta wanted me to say hello. How are you?"

Molly Weasley looked from the perfectly still, tense and pale Harry Potter to an overly eager Neville Longbottom. Before she could respond, the door opened and Ron came out. He took one look at Harry, then Neville, and then where his mother sprawled awkwardly on the steps. "Mum, you didn't try to hug him did you?" he asked. "I told you!"

Ron stepped down to Harry and said, "You alright, mate?"

"Er, yeah, fine, Ron," Harry said. "Dame Molly, are you alright?"

Mrs Weasley stood and brushed herself off. "Quite alright, Harry, quite so. My apologies. I do tend to hug first and ask questions later. So, perhaps we can do this again. Molly Weasley, how do you do?"

She did not offer her hand, of course. Purebloods were not supposed do that, and usually for good reason. Instead, Harry gave a respectful bow as to someone of Dame Molly's political rank, even if the family finances did not quite add up to the title. The Weasleys were rich with children, which gave them a certain political pull and helped Molly, the surviving wife of Arthur Weasley, rise to be the dame of the Weasley coven. First formed by Arthur's great, great, great grandfather in the 1700s when he was able to bond with four witches, the Coven had managed to survive through marriage and the unusual fecundity of its members.

On the other hand, with seven children between Molly and her recently passed sister wife Adeena, Arthur's respectable salary as a department head was stretched thinner than most. However, his three oldest were now graduated from Hogwarts with Percy's graduation the previous year, leaving only his four youngest—Fred, Georgina, Ron and Ginevra.

"It is an honour, Dame Molly," Harry said. "And I am sorry, you just…surprised me."

"More like terrified," Molly said with a gentle smile, "and no doubt I'd do no better in your shoes. Well, come in then for a cuppa, and then you'll be on your way. Ron, you told them right?"

"Sure, mum. We'll be right on in."

With a final nod, Molly turned and walked back into the house. When she was gone, Ron looked nervously over his shoulder at the house before edging closer to his dorm mates. "Right, listen up, we have to take Ginny."

Harry felt a moment of panic again. "What?"

"Ron, I only invited you," Neville said, upset but too polite to say anything else.

"I know!" Ron whined. "It ruddy well wasn't my idea, I'll tell you that much. Mum just got it in her mind that Ginny should come since we were shopping for school supplies. I'm sorry, I really am, but you just can't say no to Mum."

"What about the twins?"

"They already did their shopping," Ron said darkly. "Traitors."

"This is a bad idea, Ron," Neville said.

Ron started to open his mouth, but Neville continued and said, "But I also know what it's like when a coven Dame wants something. So let's just get it done."

"I'm sorry, guys," Ron said dejectedly.

Harry smiled wanly. "No worries, mate. It'll be okay. Like Nev said."

Five minutes into tea, Harry wished to eat his words. Ginny spent the entire time staring at him with wide, soulful brown eyes, and he could see her magic boiling right behind them, eager to latch out at the first sign of affection. It was as if she had been practicing to ready her magic for such a thing, or perhaps been solidly coached.

For her part, Molly sat at the table in their crowded, low-ceilinged home talking amiably with Neville about his Gran while sneaking surreptitious glances at her daughter and Harry. It was finally Neville who said, "Dame Molly, thank you ever so much for the tea, but I'm afraid we must be on our way if we're to finish by the time Gran set."

"Of course, of course!" Molly said. "Thank you so much for taking Ginevra along. She's grown up so much, why just last week we had to get her adult bras!"

"Muuuum!" Ginny whined.

It was such a completely, obviously rehearsed interaction that Harry suddenly found himself relaxing for the first time. Yes, Molly wanted her daughter to bond Harry and was being completely underhanded about it, but they were also being so bitingly obvious in their underhandedness that he realized there was no chance of a sneak attack from either of them.

Ron looked as if he were about to be sick, but Neville put on his young pureblood face and said, "How charming! She is quite lovely. Well, are we ready, all?"

"Quite right!" Dame Molly said, suddenly bursting into motion again as she ushered them toward the door. "Ginny, Ron, just get the essentials. I already have your robes and sundries. Books, Ginny your Pre-potions kit, Ron your full potions kit, plus quills and parchments."

"We know, Mum," Ginny said, at least this time without a whine.

Soon enough, Molly had them out of the house and the three boys and one girl started down the long dirt path to the patiently waiting car. "I'm sorry 'bout that, guys," Ginny suddenly said. "I know you didn't want me to come. I already had a day planned with Julie Parkes, but when Dame Augusta Flooed to invite Ron, Mum just got it in her head this would be a perfect chance for me to butter up Harry."

Harry stared at her, genuinely surprised. Neville raised a brow. "And you don't want to anymore?"

"Oh no, I do!" Ginny said energetically, while ginning at Harry. "I just don't want to play games about it like Mum does. I really like you, Harry, and when you're ready I would love to bond with you."

Her honesty was almost as frightening as her intensity. "Er, well, thank you, I suppose," Harry said. "I'm not really interested in that at the moment, though. Maybe when I'm older."

"Okay," Ginny said easily enough. "Just think of it this way—if you bond with me, then you won't have to worry about anyone else poaching you. After all, a wizard can only be poached once."

"Actually, Ginny, I'm pretty sure my Occlumency is strong enough that I won't be poached at all," Harry said.

She looked at him, cheeks flushing, and said, "Do you want to test that?"

"Ginny, cut it out!" Ron said.

Ginny rolled her eyes. Then, with a last grin at Harry she said, "Wanna see my bra?"

"Ginny!" Ron shouted.

Chuckling, Ginny climbed into the car. "This is going to be a disaster," Harry muttered.

"With Ginny, it always is," Ron agreed.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry did not like Goblins, and the Goblins did not appear to like him. It was a matter of human courtesies that the Goblins never bothered to emulate. There were no expressions of "Thank you" or "Your welcome" in Gringotts. Rather, there were ugly little creatures snarling "What do you want?"

Interestingly enough, the witches and wizards in the bank took it in stride, but most likely because they could not understand what the goblins were really saying. After the last year with Professor Kettleburn and Professor Flitwick, Harry understood enough about his magical linguistic skills to know what he was hearing was not English, but was in fact Gobbledygook, the language of the Goblins. It was a harsh, guttural sound that humans would not have been able to duplicate easily, and it was a language couched in violence.

"I spit at your mother's womb you foul, stinking whore to goats," the teller in Harry's line said to the witch in front of him. She did not appear to understand and merely took her money bag. When the wizard in front of Harry stepped up, the same Goblin continued, "And this one is one of the goats. What do you want, Wizard?"

The last was in heavily accented English. The wizard said, "Fifty gallon withdrawal, here is my vault key."

The goblin waved the key over a ward stone, confirmed the wizard's identity, and then reached into a drawer below to remove a small leather satchel. "A five sickle fee has been deducted. Go away now and fuck your mother's arse with a spade."

Harry tried not to snicker.

"Great, a stupid, ignorant, stinking human brat with shit on his arse and his brains. What do you want, wizard?"

"I want a hundred galleons," Harry said. "Here's my vault key."

The goblin took the key and waved it over the stone. His heavy brows drew together over black, beady eyes, "Bandysnatcher, this is the Potter boy," he said to a fellow teller. "Should I mention the Black estate?"

"Why bother?" the other teller said while ignoring an impatient-seeming witch before him. "If the boy never finds out, the vault will escheat to Gringotts."

"I know about the Black vaults," Harry said. Now he did, at least.

The goblins turned and stared, as did the witch in the line beside him, the two wizards behind her, and the people in line behind him. Harry rolled his eyes. "Magical omniglot. The Prophet made a whole circus over it last year when they first thought I was a Parselmouth, remember?"

The goblins did not look pleased at all; but then again he'd been listening to them insult every patron. "You are under age," the goblin before Harry said. "You cannot claim an inheritance under human law."

"I am a guest of Dame Augusta Longbottom," Harry said. "I'm sure she'll be able to suggest steps to take."

It was a test. Harry didn't really like name-dropping; it made him feel like a Malfoy. However, it was Ron's and Neville's belief that Neville's Gran scared everyone. The way the goblins reacted, Harry began to think his friends were right. The scowling increased exponentially. "Fine. There are your hundred galleons. Now come with me. Line closed!" the Goblin shouted.

"Bloody hell, second time today," the wizard behind Harry said.

"Sorry," Harry said as he pocketed his money pouch.

"No worries, Mr Potter. I'm used to it," the wizard said with a wan smile. "So if you can understand them, can you tell me what they're really saying?"

"Not in polite company, sir," Harry said, before scampering off after the goblin.

The waddling creature opened a door allowing Harry behind the teller desks and led him to a wide, low-ceilinged hall of dark, ornately carved and stained oak panelling. There were no portraits, instead the wood was carved with intricate reliefs of goblins raiding a human village and viciously killing and beheading the males and…doing vile things to the women.

Harry looked away and concentrated on the goblin in front of him. They stopped at the only door in the hall. The goblin did not knock but instead walked right in. Within was another room at least as large as the grand entry-way. Harry saw with relief that he was not the only wizard in the room. In fact the hall was lined with human security guards in very Muggle-like uniforms, but with wands instead of fire arms. There were a series of ten desks in two rows of five, and four of them had witches or wizards sitting at them speaking to goblins on the other side.

"Wait to be called," the goblin said.

Harry nodded and said nothing else. From what he had heard and seen, Goblins despised receiving human courtesy as much as having to give it. "Potter!" a goblin in the back row called.

The other witches and wizards in the room turned to stare openly as Harry made his way across the floor to the desk of the waiting goblin. "Sit," the Goblin said.

Harry sat. The goblin grabbed a shimmering yellow ward stone and slammed it on his desk. Instantly a cone of yellow magic rose up around them. "We may now speak in private," the Goblin said. "You are underage, you may not directly claim an inheritance until you are seventeen or bonded and married with a witch. These are the laws of your Ministry. You do not have a magical guardian appointed to oversee your affairs."

"Could I appoint one?" Harry asked.

"It is permissible."

"What about Remus Lupin?"

The goblin reached for and touched another ward stone. "Remus Lupin," he said into the stone. A moment later, a sheet of parchment appeared on the goblin's desk. "Unacceptable. He is a werewolf and not permitted to serve as a guardian for a minor in any capacity."

"Headmaster Dumbledore?" he asked.

"The Chief Warlock, Headmaster and Supreme Mugwump does not have time to act as a guardian," the goblin said. "You keep naming wizards. Would you not want a witch to oversee your finances as is traditional?"

Truth was, the only woman Harry would have wanted was Charity Burbage, and she was gone. He racked his brain trying to think of someone he could appoint, but when the answer came he seriously questioned his own sanity. Hesitantly, he said, "Professor Severus Snape?"

The goblin called up a one-sheet for Snape before nodding. "He is a wizard of age appropriately bonded to two witches by order of the Sabbat. However, he has a child now. Why would he wish to help you?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "Could we ask?"

The Goblin shrugged, took another piece of paper and wrote a quick note on it before folding it into the shape of a paper airplane. He stamped it with another ward stone, and then threw it into the air. It disappeared silently.

They waited in tense, uncomfortable silence for almost twenty minutes before Severus Snape appeared with a twirl of black robes clutching the paper airplane. He took one look at the goblin, then at Potter, and finally rolled his eyes. "For Merlin's sake, you stupid child, what are you thinking?"

"I heard the goblins say the Black Estate would escheat to them and that didn't seem right."

The goblin shifted in his seat and muttered in Gobbledygook about foolish youngsters keeping their jaws clamped. Snape sat down in the seat next to Harry. "Potter, you are well aware of the fact that I do not like you. Could you not think of anyone else? Dame Augusta, perhaps?"

"I…was hoping I could have a wizard as my magical guardian," Harry admitted.

Snape frowned thoughtfully. "And worst of all, I can actually understand that."

He wiped a hand over his face and with his doing so Harry realized the man looked exhausted. "How is your baby?"

"Loud and smelly," Snape said, unable to hide a touch of pride. "Eileen Aurora Snape. Unfortunately, like her mother she prefers to sleep during the day rather than at night. Goblin, we are discussing that mongrel Black's estate, correct?"

"Correct."

The potions master considered Harry closely for a moment before nodding. "I will accept the position of your magical guardian on one condition. I watched Longbottom in pre-potions last year with great trepidation. He is totally unsuited to potions and if I had my way, he would not be taught. We begin true brewing this year, and he will be a danger to everyone. You will partner with him and keep his destructive tendencies under control, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Snape nodded. "Fine, give me the forms, goblin."

The goblin did so. Snape looked through and then scowled. "This provision is not Ministry standard."

"So what?" the goblin sneered.

"So I won't have my personal vaults held liable to Gringotts for Potter debts." He took his wand and cross the portion of the form out. When he finished, the whole paragraph disappeared and the form automatically renumbered itself. "And this provision is ridiculous. Do you honestly think I'm going to let you claim Potter's oldest girl child as payment for services rendered?"

"We have a right to propagate our race," the goblin snarled.

"Not with Potter spawn," Snape snapped back, crossing that paragraph out too. He continued reading the contract carefully. Finally, he pressed his wand to the form and his name appeared. "There are the guardian forms and the claimant forms. Have the contents of the Black vault moved to the Potter family vault minus the fifty galleon services fee and my five per cent stipend as guardian. My fee you can put into the Hogwarts scholarship fund."

"House Black owns five real properties," the goblin finally said. "A house in London, another in Cambridge, a cottage in Majorca and two in the Virgin Islands previously used by slave traders."

"Have the deeds transferred and any legitimate taxes owed deducted from the Black portion of the Potter vault," Snape ordered. "And make damned sure the accounting of those taxes matches that of the Ministry or Gringotts will be held liable for the difference plus penalties."

"I know the law, wizard," the Goblin growled.

"Knowing the law and following it are not the same, goblin," Snape snapped back. "Are we done then?"

"We are done. Get out."

Snape stood, grabbed Harry's arm painfully, and pulled the boy back out into the main hall of the bank. "What a combination of smart and stupid," Snape muttered.

"Sir?"

"It was smart to claim your inheritance. Goblins steal unclaimed estates after five years. But it was utter idiocy to ask for me, and even greater idiocy for me to agree. Blast Albus for making me accept. You had better not start expecting me to wipe your arse and tuck you in at night, Potter."

"No, sir!" Harry said. "Er, and thank you, professor ... For your help."

Snape rolled eyes. "Get your school supplies and go back to whatever hole you're staying in, Potter. And remember—you're partnered with Longbottom all year."

With that, Snape spun and Disapparated away. Harry walked out of the bank to find Ron, Neville and Ginny waiting impatiently for him. "What took so long?" Ron asked.

"Sorry, had some unexpected business," Harry said. "Let's go shopping. I think it's going to be a long year."

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Author's Note: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.