Vernon Dursley appeared to be distinctly uncomfortable. For his Uncle to become flustered was not on its own an unusual occurrence mused Harry, as there were a great number of topics which were more than capable of pushing Vernon Dursley out of his comfort zone and into what his wife exasperatedly termed his 'fight or fight' response. In fact, just last weekend Harry and Dudley had stood awkwardly by as his Uncle spoke animatedly and at length about the rising cost of living to a lanyard clad twenty year old outside of their local supermarket who had made the critical error of judgement in approaching him and asking if he would like to make a donation to charity.
Today's specific trigger for Vernon Dursley's discomfort, however, was making him hot under the collar in a far more literal sense than was usual.
"How the ruddy hell do you lot go about wearing these things in the middle of August!"
As they wound their way along one of the crowded paths branching off Carkitt Market and back onto Diagon Alley propper, Harry privately felt his uncle had a point. Full length robes were, as far as he was concerned, entirely impractical as summer wear - even with the comparatively temperate weather that London experienced. Even if they were open on the front and were deceptively lightweight considering the sturdiness of the material, surely there was a magical equivalent of shorts and a t-shirt?
That being said, as Harry tugged on the sleeve of his own robe and tried in vain to encourage some level of airflow through the garment, he couldn't help but feel grateful for the show of wardrobe solidarity from his Uncle. The 36 hours since he'd received his Hogwarts letter had been such a maelstrom of events and emotions that if it weren't for his Aunt and Uncle being there with him every step of the way he was sure he would have had a heart attack and keeled over - just like Mrs Figg who used to live down the street. Unlike Mrs Figg, however, Harry was determined to never be found by paramedics alone, covered in cats and smelling strongly of ammonia.
"Now dear, I'm sure it's not quite that bad."
Ever the adventurer when it came to all things clothing, Harry's Aunt Petunia was not one to miss out on a fashion trend due to something as minor as how the garment made the wearer feel.
"Everyone's wearing them, look! It'd be strange not to do the same. Besides, they're a clever lot. Well, Lilly always was anyway, so they're bound to have come up with something for the heat. Plus, the craftsmanship is wonderful! How often do we get to wear tailored clothing and at such a reasonable price? And that one we got Dudders will go so nicely with his new pants. I'm so pleased we updated all of your measurements when school ended, it would be just terrible if the three of us came home wearing ours and he missed out to play with his friends!
"Yes, just terrible" Harry's Uncle muttered under his breath. Turning his head to the side, he addressed the final member of their group. "She's got the right of it though, doesn't she? Your lot do have a way of dealing with this heat?"
"Indeed we do" mused Charity Burbage. "You'll have to forgive me, however, I was never much one for the more trade focused magics. We can pop by the guild halls later if you'd like to procure the services of an enchanter. Otherwise, well, given that you've twice asked me to kindly stop pretending money grows on trees, unless you're willing to allow a greater level of flexibility with your budget you won't find many journeyman tailors who have the skill to augment their own garments. For that you'll need to be prepared to patron merchants displaying a higher level of proficiency. Most artisan tailors also have at least a magistery if not a mastery of some spellcraft that complements their primary trade. They'd have no qualms in creating for you a set of exceptionally fine robes. Then upon completion they could enchant or perhaps even inscribe them for your comfort. For an additional fee, of course. "
"Yes, of course! Bah! They sound no different to a car salesman. They pretend to give you their best price all the while knowing they'll fleece you on all the extras you need to drive the damn thing off the lot!"
Sensing the start of another one of his Uncle's rants, Harry quickly tuned him out and instead reflected on Ms Burbage's presence in their group. Indeed, given that it was she who had set into motion the most recent series of events that had led them to this outing, there was no shortage of things to reflect upon.
From the moment of her arrival at their home this morning (a ministry sanctioned event which they were forewarned of at the bottom of the letter from Hogwarts Harry had received just yesterday) Cultural Liaison Officer Charity Burbage was concise, efficient and displayed a high level of education regarding what she termed non-magical, or muggle society. From her professional attire which would not have looked out of place in any of the offices around the country, through to her knowledge of current events, Ms Burbage had blended seamlessly into the surroundings of London as she directed them towards from Privet Drive toward London and the Leaky Cauldron Tavern some six hours previously.
From there she had taken them on a whirlwind guided tour of Diagon Alley, outlining all of the major landmarks as they worked their way through the list of Harry's school supplies, right up to their most recent stop at the apothecary. When an earlier shop keeper stopped in the middle of serving them only to stare directly at his forehead, she'd also given him a somewhat less than satisfying explanation as to why a previously unknown to him, forty year old man knew precisely who he was.
Parts of the story he'd heard before from his Aunt when she sat him down in the kitchen one day after school when he was nine and explained to him why she was the one picking him up and not his mum. That talk had lasted long past dinner, with Harry being led down the proverbial rabbit hole as question after question led to answers which sounded impossible. Harry would have said as much too, if not for the strange things that had only ever seemed to happen whenever he was particularly excited or afraid. Like the time that Dudley beat up the boy at school who had stolen Harry's copy of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory out of his bag and tried to flush it down the loo.
Once Harry had noticed it missing, and once his bully had noticed him notice that it was missing, he had then made it clear and in great detail to Harry how the book had come to be missing and where it ended up. Harry had been incredibly upset though the rest of the morning and had spent lunch alone locked inside the cubicle and sitting on the toilet from which he had rescued his now thoroughly soaked paperback. The book had been part of a much larger library of Roald Dahl novels his Aunt and Uncle had gifted him on his previous birthday and had previously belonged to Uncle Vernon who, in his own teenage and young adult years, purchased, read and then re-read absolutely everything that he could of Dahl's, finding the books to be an outlet and an escape from friends and co-workers who often considered him too brash and loud. By the time Vernon was in his early 30s, he had amassed an impressive collection.
Dudley, who after enjoying a thoroughly satisfying roast beef and gravy sandwich, found himself en route to the closest men's room and as such happened upon an inconsolable Harry by pure chance. After taking care of his most pressing need, Dudley decided that the best course of action was to punch his cousin's bully one or more times in the stomach until Harry felt better.
It was that sequence of events which led to Harry standing over Piers Polkiss, watching with a sense of morbid satisfaction as his cousin hit his bully repeatedly. Having never participated in anything more violent than play wrestling with Dudley and his Aunt Marge's bulldog Ripper (an activity that both boys would later come to regret after the dog lived up to its name, effortless shredding their shirts and taking a bite out of the cuffs of Dudley's new jeans), Harry's initial satisfaction at seeing his tormentor getting a taste of his own medicine soon gave way to a sense of uneasiness and guilt, which quickly fed the flames of fear - St. Grogory's were known for being a no-nonsense school when it came to violence and the principal had no qualms in suspending a student or even expelling them should they feel the case called for it.
Not being able to stomach anymore, and terrified of the consequences of what they'd done, Harry grabbed at his cousin's arms to stop him, and not before succeeding received an accidental elbow to the shoulder for his efforts.
"Enough! He's had enough Dudley. We should go - I want to go now!"
Although hesitant at first, Dudley quickly climbed off of Piers, suddenly much less certain in his actions now that the adrenalin had begun to leave his system. As Dudley stood back up, a long groan followed by a sharp exhale came from the boy on the ground.
"You should listen to your whimp of a cousin." Piers, still protecting his stomach and unable to pull himself into a sitting position, was smirking up at them from the ground. "You should go and not come back, because I'm going to tell everyone! Everyone in class, all the lads at cricket practice, even the kids in the upper years. Everyone will know what you did, Dursley, and then the teachers are gonna kick you out of school!"
At that remark Dudley had gone very quiet and lost a lot of the colour from his face. Like Harry, this was his first fight of any kind and he was starting to wish he'd never even started it. He'd just wanted to stick by his cousin, that was what he was supposed to do right? His dad had told them both before that family should look out for one another, and what good was being big if he didn't use that to his advantage when he needed to?
Harry, sensing the situation was beginning to spiral out of his control, was firmly starting to panic and so he did the only two thing he could think of doing; he begged.
"Please don't tell! Please, please, please! I don't want you to tell!" I don't want anyone to know! Don't tell! We won't tell anyone either, we'll just forget my book and we'll forget everything and then you can forget and PLEASE JUST FORGET!"
It was then that one of the strangest things that Harry had ever experienced occurred. Piers, who just a moment before had been glaring cruelly up at the two boys suddenly lost the edge to his stare as his eyes shifted out of focus and the muscles of his face relaxed. This was followed by a very pregnant pause, during which Harry a still upset Harry traded uncertain glances with his equally bewildered cousin.
"Oh my stomach… Oh… why does it hurt? Why am I on the ground? And why is Potter here?"
Harry and Dudley, now even less certain than they were before, continued to stare at the groaning boy on the ground. Piers, displeased with the lack of answers, grew steadily more agitated.
"Well!? And what's with the dumb faces? And you, Potter, you look like you've been crying. Your cousin is such a wuss, Dud. What's your problem, freak? Stop staring and answer me!"
Put on the spot, Harry blurted out the first thing he could think of.
"You, ah, fell. We were playing and you sort of…." Harry trailed off and looked down at his shoes, feeling Piers' unimpressed glare burning into his head.
"Playing? I don't play. And I definitely don't play with you little creep." Turning his attention to Dudley, Piers' voice lost much of its aggression and took on a note of uncertainty. "Dud, what is this?"
As Harry watched his cousin remain standing in silence, still unable to offer up anything close to an explanation that would satisfy Piers, Harry felt his confidence grow. He didn;t know why, and he didn't know how, but for some reason, Piers truly couldn't remember what had happened. Sensing a need to end things before they could change again for the worse, Harry piped up again.
"We weren't, playing… I mean, not playing… you and I, I mean…" Harry started as Piers switched his full attention back to the boy. "You were, err, hanging out with Dudley when you fell and I just kind of was nearby and so…"
"And so you started crying because I fell? You're pathetic Potter. Whatever. If you tell anyone about this, you're dead."
Grumbling and covered in dirt and sweat, Piers tenderly lifted himself to his feet, sent Harry one last glare and Dudley a look he couldn't decipher and walked off in the direction of the classrooms.
Staring after him, and wondering what he'd done to deserve such a break, Dudley jolted Harry from his thoughts.
"What the hell just happened?"
Both boys would avoid Piers whenever possible for the remainder of their time at St Grogerys, not wanting the boy to risk having a change of heart. He never did though, and for all intents and purposes appeared to truly have no memory of what had occurred that day at lunch. Harry and Dudley never spoke of it either, not to each other and not to Harry's Aunt and Uncle, both of whom were disappointed in Harry for ruining one of his books and had him tidy up the yard that weekend to remind Harry of the importance of taking care of personal property. Dudley, who had been fully expecting to have been on the receiving end of any punishment, not Harry, began to spend more time with his cousin. The two of them grew closer together in the face of a shared secret and a sense of loyalty in not ratting out the other. It would be almost six months later that Harry would learn the truth of this and the other infrequent but strange occurrences he had experienced throughout his life from his Aunt.
Shaking himself from his thoughts, Harry realised their group must have been walking for some time while he was caught up in old memories - they now found themselves on the northern side of Diagon Alley and a shop front proudly proclaiming 'Quality Quidditch Supplies' grabbed Harry's full attention.
"What's quidditch?"
Drawing the rest of the group's attention to the focus of Harry's attention, it was Ms Burbage who answered his Question.
"Quidditch is the most popular sport in Britain. The most popular sport on the continent too for that matter. Teams are made up of 10 players - one Keeper, one Seeker, two Beaters and six Chasers. Much like rugby, two teams play against each other, although all players ride flying broomsticks rather than running on the ground as you would of course be more familiar with, having of course been raised knowing only non-magical sports."
"Further unlike rugby, there are 3 balls - one Quaffle, one Bludger, and one Snitch. Chasers score points by throwing the Quaffle through a set of hoops at their opponents end of the field. Beaters try to prevent them from scoring by using small bats to hit the bludger - which sort of homes in on nearby players - at them, either throwing off their rhythm and teamwork, or well, roughing them up somewhat. The Snitch doesn't factor in too much until the game is exactly one hour in. Prior to that the Seeker acts as a seventh Chaser. Once the Snitch has been released into the game, a team's Seeker may choose - or not - to detach themselves from the chaser's and pursue the Snitch, as while catching this ball earns a team no points it does end the game earlier than the allotted three hour timeframe. As you can imagine, there's an element of strategy to ensuring the game ends during a favourable moment for your team."
"Flying in the air to play rugby? Well I'll say, I don't think much of your fashion, but this quidditch might just be alright. And those other plays get bats you say to hit the second ball? Sound a bit like cricket doesn't it, Harry? You'll have to give that a go eh!."
Turning to face their guide for the day, Vernon continued unabated. "Both our boys play. Batsman, you know, and thumping good ones at that. Nothing like sport for young lads to build their strength. I remember playing myself - not for any club mind - just Smeltings, my old school. I'm hoping our Dud gets on the team right quick when he heads there this September. I know the head of the PE department anyway, he's a Smelting's man himself, a couple of years above me in school but I've heard he always makes time for the old boys who want a chat about their sons. We'll have to see if we can get you on your school team too Harry, surely they'd welcome someone with a background in sport. How does that sound?
"It sounds wicked" enthused Harry, already imagining himself flying through the air.
"It sounds dangerous" quickly interjected Harry's Aunt.
"Oh posh! Boys will be boys, you know that Pet. What's the fun without a bit of risk, eh?"
Ignoring her husband for the moment, Aunt Petunia turned to speak with Charity Burbage. "I know Lilly mentioned that in your world, rules were often more like guidelines, but I rather would have thought the national sport would be a bit more sensible and a little less… well, brutal. Everything else has just seemed so orderly today you know. Different of course, but still quite reasonable. I've seen plenty of safety precautions which I confess, has certainly settled some of my concerns about sending Harry away to a magical school. Even that man in the apothecary had proper equipment to handle the raw ingredients he fetched for us, and he didn't rush to complete his work."
"Yes, you're quite right of course" replied Ms Burbage. "Standards have come a long way forward from the Britain of the 1970s which Mrs Potter would have been familiar with. In fact our national motto, 'Order ab Chao' was directly instituted by Minister Umbridge when she took office some six years ago now on a platform of reforming many of the more unacceptable leniencies that had begun to pervade our society. She's had enormous success with a lot of the more traditional and conservative voters in the Wizengamot thanks to her innovative policies, including greater governmental oversight of the press to enforce media integrity and not to mention the nationalisation of education institutions so as to better ensure all students receive the same quality of education, no matter where they choose to attend."
"These last few years there's also been a trend toward the tightening of immigration standards for any applicant with a non-magical background. It's nothing personal ofcourse" Ms Burbage quickly amended. "All in the name of preserving wizarding society and protecting the Statute of Secrecy you know. In fact, it's thanks to her that the Department of International Magical Cooperation was able to be merged with a number of other offices to create the Department of Foreign Affairs - a move I and many others owe our positions to!"
"Once upon a time I might have taught at Hogwarts you know, but what with the Muggle Studies elective being removed in favour of simply updating the history curriculum to involve a mandatory syllabus on major global social, economic and political events of the Twenty First Century, they covered all the important elements anyway so there really just wasn't the need for me there. Besides, thanks to my current job, I get to make the most of my passion for all things muggle anyway! Imagine if my position didn't exist so as to better help you and your nephew acclimatise yourselves. What a culture shock that would have been!"
"I'll say!" agreed Aunt Petunia. "Still, I'd feel better if Harry kept right away from any of this Quidditch nonsense. You will won't you Harry, dear?"
Harry, feeling the weight of his Aunt's eyes on him, made a noncommittal gesture with his shoulders.
Sensing the desire of a pre-teen to ignore their guardian's well meaning - if misplaced - worry, Charity decided to take pity on her young charge for the day.
"If it makes you feel any better Mrs Dursely, the school does require students who play for one of the house teams to be at least in their fourth year of education at Hogwarts and to compete only while wearing a piece of light weight chest armour under their robes. The chest piece is of course equipped with all the necessary safety enchantments."
"See Pet, nothing to worry about. The lad will be fine!" Vernon immediately seized the opportunity that was offered to him to bring his wife around. "Shame that about having to wait a few more years though, but the time will go by in a jiffy and you know what they say Harry, talent is forever! Anyway, I'd like to get back home sometime today, and preferably beat the traffic. Can't be too much still left on your list eh lad?"
Taking a moment to consult his school list and the corresponding ticks that denoted his successful purchases for the day, Harry happily noted that there was only one remaining item left to purchase.
"Just my wand to go Uncle Vernon."
"Excellent! Very well then, where to?" This last remark he directed towards their guide for the day.
"The other end of the Alley." Was the quick reply. "Although it won't take us more than a 15 minute walk. Left hand side of the street, the shop front has seen better days but the quality of product is indisputable. Look for the sign proclaiming Ollivander's.
