Wednesday arrived, and the Weasleys and Harry were to make their way to Diagon Alley to meet Hermione and buy schoolbooks. Harry wondered vaguely how they were going to get there—the Underground was clearly foreign to them. As they headed down for breakfast, however, Ron began to explain the workings of a substance known as Floo Powder.

"So basically," he concluded around a mouthful of his seventh bacon sandwich ("Honestly, you boys will eat us out of house and home, I don't know where you put it all—have another, Harry dear") "you just throw a handful of the stuff in, but it can't be too big a handful because then the whole chimney will go up and if it's too small you might come up one stop short; then you say where you're going, and be sure to say it clearly otherwise you could come out, well, anywhere, really; keep your elbows tucked in, don't fidget or you might get off course, try not to breathe through your mouth, keep your eyes closed…"

"Ron, how exactly am I supposed to remember all this?"

"Don't worry, you'll get through all right. Watch the way Fred and George do it."

Harry did watch, and it didn't seem as complicated as Ron had made it sound. When his turn came round he threw a fistful of powder onto the fire, stepped in, opened his mouth to state his definition as loudly and clearly as possible, and immediately got a mouthful of hot ash.

"D-Dia-gon Alley," he coughed.

He had once wondered what it would be like to get inside a washer on spin cycle. He needed wonder no longer. It was hot, dizzying, loud, blurry, and painful, and it seemed to go on and on and on…

And then he fell face forward onto cold stone.

For a second he just lay there, relived that the noise and the motion had stopped. Then he got to his feet, dusted himself off, and looked around.

It appeared to be some kind of shop—big, cold, and dark, and full of weird things that gave Harry the shivers. He didn't know where it was, but it certainly wasn't anywhere in Diagon Alley. For one thing, no Fred and George awaited him to pull him to his feet and ask him about his first trip by Floo—in fact as far as he could tell he was absolutely alone.

Unless you counted that hand as a person. Or those decidedly human bones. Or that staring mask…

Harry winced and headed toward the door as fast as possible. He didn't recognise the street outside at all; it looked dark and narrow. Still, he supposed if it was a street it went somewhere, and maybe he could get directions or ask for help or…

He pulled open the door and nearly collided with the person coming in.

"Oh, excuse me," said Harry hastily, keeping his head down as he hurried past into the street. He didn't really want to meet the kind of people who would frequent a place like this. If he could just get by…

"Snape?"

Harry whirled around. There, looking surprised but not by any means threatening or gruesome, stood Draco.

"Malfoy!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same question," said Draco.

"Rotten Floo powder dropped me at the wrong grate. But why do you…?"

"I beg your pardon, Draco, will you present me?" said a man's voice.

Harry looked up. The man standing next to Draco could only have been his father—he had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold, grey eyes; he was wearing elegant black robes and an obviously gold watch, and he carried a cane with a snake head on it. Everything about him, from the green tie to the tips of his highly-polished boots, screamed pureblood, Slytherin, money. Just like Draco.

"Father, this is my fr…this is Harry Snape. Harry, this is my father, Lucius Malfoy II."

"Hi," said Harry.

"How do you do, Harry," said Mr Malfoy, smiling and offering his hand. Harry wasn't quite sure he liked the man's smile, but then, he hadn't liked Draco all that much at first, either. He took his hand, and the smile widened perceptibly. "Draco has told us much about you," he said.

"He talks about you all the time, too," said Harry. "Usually when we're doing something he doesn't like and he wants to threaten us with being sued or, or charged with something…"

Harry trailed off. "I'm looking forward to dinner," he finished lamely.

"Indeed," said Mr Malfoy. "We were most pleased to receive your acceptance."

"Speak for yourselves," muttered Draco.

"Just, um, how am I supposed to get there? I guess I could fly only I don't know where you live…?"

"I do beg your pardon. I had forgotten your peculiar circumstances. It is generally assumed when the date and name of the place are given that the Floo network may be used, but of course if that is not convenient…"

"No, that…should be fine," said Harry, but the mention of Floo powder reminded him of where he was and what he was doing. "Listen," he said, "I don't want to be rude, but I actually was supposed to be going to Diagon Alley, I ended up here by mistake. Do you know if it's far?"

Mr Malfoy raised his walking stick and pointed. "It's the next turn down that way. Draco, why don't you show Mr Snape the way? I'm sure you will have much catching up to do after spending a summer apart."

Draco frowned. "It's right down there," he muttered. "He can go by himself."

"Draco…" said Mr Malfoy warningly.

"No, it's all right, I can make it," said Harry. "I bet you've got, you know, stuff." He gestured at the shop behind him. "Maybe we can meet up later, though. I was supposed to be coming here with the Weasleys, so they're probably up there, and we could…"

"No fear then," said Draco, sounding for a moment just like Ron. "I get enough of Weasley at school, thanks, Snape."

"We were going to meet Hermione," Harry added.

Draco looked quickly at his father. Harry instantly realised his mistake: Draco might have told his father about Harry, but he would have steered far clear of the Hermione aspect.

Mr Malfoy cleared his throat. "Surely not the little Muggle-born girl?" he said, and there was no mistaking the contempt in his voice. "Harry, I think you need to choose your friends a little more carefully. My son would never be seen with someone of such low birth."

"Ever," agreed Draco, a little too forcefully. "See you later, Snape." And he flounced—there was no other word for it—into the shop.

Mr Malfoy swept Harry a bow. "We shall hope to receive you on the thirty-first, then, Master Snape," he said, and followed his son.

Harry made his way down the twisty alleyway, dodging the vendors who tried to press things on him, and found himself in the bright sunlight of Diagon Alley, right near Gringotts Wizarding Bank.

"Harry! Harry! Over here!"

And there was Hermione, racing down the steps, her bushy brown hair flying behind her.

"Oh, it's wonderful to see you again!" she said, hugging him. "Where's Ron and the rest? Why are you all alone? That alley doesn't look very friendly…"

"I came out of the wrong chimney, and I'm not sure where the Weasleys are, but I met the Malfoys, they went into a shop where they sell hands."

Hermione looked puzzled, but before she could say anything Harry heard his name being called again and Ron, Fred, George, Percy, and Mr Weasley racing down the crowded street toward him. Mrs Weasley and Ginny weren't far behind—Mrs Weasley was nearly frantic, and as soon as she had finished hugging Harry she brandished a clothes brush and beat off all the soot from his Floo foray. Then she pulled out a handkerchief and held it in front of his mouth.

"Spit," she commanded.

As she attempted to remove his nose with scrubbing, Harry wondered why someone with magic at her command would insist on using saliva as a cleaning agent.

Ginny giggled when he finally emerged, but clapped her hand over her mouth quickly to stifle it.

"And just what's so funny?" he asked.

"You look like a boiled lobster," she said, apparently torn between laughter and embarrassment.

He grinned and followed Hermione and Ron up the steps of Gringotts.

Mr Weasley was, of course, delighted that Hermione's parents appeared to be changing Muggle money (he had been no end excited, Ron whispered to him, about the fifty pence piece his sons had brought home). Harry found the contents of his vault as depressing as ever, but when he saw that the entire Weasley family were going to have to purchase school supplies with a small pile of Sickles and a single gold Galleon he realised just how comparatively well-off he was.

"If we're magic," Harry wondered aloud, as they left the bank and he, Ron, and Hermione began to wander away from the rest of the group ("You are all to meet us at Flourish and Blott's to buy schoolbooks in exactly an hour, and if you're so much as one second late…") "can't we just…you know…magic ourselves some more gold?"

"That's known as conjuration, Harry," said Hermione, ("Of course she would know" muttered Ron) "and unfortunately there are five principle exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, of which money…"

She launched into a very complicated explanation that sounded like a word-for-word recitation of something from a book. Harry and Ron understood a few words, like "food" and "Professor McGonagall".

"…and even were that not the case," she concluded, "even generalised conjuration is prohibitively operose, and conjured articles tend to be transitory unless constant magical pressure is exerted."

"Really?" Harry said, resolving to look up "operose" and "transitory" in the dictionary.

"They don't usually teach any conjuration until sixth year," she said. "Not even simple spells like water-conjuration, you know, like Coach did when Norbert set Malfoy on fire."

Harry blinked. Unpleasant as the past two months had been, they had also been blissfully free of any mention or thought of Harry's least favourite Quidditch coach.

"Conjuring live things," Hermione went on thoughtfully, "is the most difficult of all. Actually, according to the Principle of Artificianimate Quasi-Dominance…"

Harry and Ron stopped even trying to listen after that.

When they passed the ice cream parlour the three of them pooled some spare Knuts and came up with enough for three small cones, which they slurped at happily as they strolled down the street and wandered into any shop that looked interesting.

Ron liked the Quidditch shop best and practically drooled at the "genuine facsimile" Chudley Cannons robes. Hermione cooed over the reams of fresh parchment and new coloured inks in the shop next door (she ended up buying three bottles: scarlet for Harry, gold for Ron, and peacock blue for herself). Harry had to be bodily dragged away from the potions ingredients shop, where he'd gotten into a heated argument with the clerk about ptolemy.

"His entire premise is wrong!" Harry was exclaiming as they gained the pavement outside.

"Harry, we're going to be late to meet Mum," said Ron.

But when they arrived at Flourish and Blott's, Mrs Weasley was nowhere in sight. This may have been because she had not yet arrived, but was more likely because every other witch in the vicinity had.

Ron, the tallest of the three, peered over some heads for the source of the crush. "Gilderoy Lockhart's doing a book-signing," he announced, rolling his eyes. "Mum'll just love that!"

"Isn't that the gnome bloke?" asked Harry, straining his eyes for Mrs Weasley's fluffy red hair. "What's he so popular for?"

"He's quite clever and ever so brave," said Hermione in a slightly breathless voice.

Ron groaned loudly. "Oh, no, not you too…"

"He's faced all kinds of monsters…"

"Or says he has," said Ron.

"Oh, honestly, Ron…"

Ron and Hermione began sniping at each other and Harry decided to leave them to it. He pulled his booklist out and tried to edge around the crowd toward the Miranda Goshawk section; it was hard going and he stepped on quite a few toes. He finally got there, and was just reaching for The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 when he heard a loud, unfamiliar male voice exclaim "It can't be Harry Snape?!", and the whole shop went suddenly quiet.

Harry turned around slowly. He realised that he had wormed his way entirely through the crowd; the shelf of Standard Books was a lot closer to the display table than he had thought.

"Er, hello," he said. "Sorry, I'll just…I was just…er…"

The handsome wizard in forget-me-not blue robes and a matching hat leapt from his seat (which appeared to be surrounded by pictures of his own face) and grabbed Harry's hand.

"A real pleasure to meet you, Harry!" he said, loudly enough for the entire store to hear. The occupants promptly broke into applause.

"Ladies and gentlemen," (mostly ladies), "what an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on…"