November 28th 1994 - Diagon Alley, England, Wizarding Great Britain
In hindsight - because it was always in hindsight - Harry supposed he should have realised that taking a trip to Diagon Alley with a small squad of goblins visibly armed to the teeth would garner a fair bit of attention.
And make his guests for the outing a little uncomfortable.
Though admittedly, watching Ron squirm a little more out of the corner of his eye each time someone new pointed at them and turned to someone near them to immediately start gossiping was rapidly becoming one of Harry's new favourite things.
As it was he could barely keep the grin off his face as his best mate fluctuated between going as red as his hair or a sickly white from the attention and his own nerves respectively.
Hermione, who was walking beside Ron was doing a decent job of pretending she hadn't even noticed all the attention, all the while whispering at Ron.
No doubt trying to either distract him or otherwise talk him through his nerves.
Bill was strolling along merrily whistling a quiet but jaunty tune - earning him a scowl from his younger brother - already having gone on several trips out and about with Harry and having grown accustomed to the attention.
Professor McGonagall who had been volunteered to act as chaperone for Ron and Hermione while they were dragged along for dress robes for the Yule Ball, looked rather a lot like she was recalling each and every person that had once been her student.
Recalling them and every detention, poor mark and disappointed look she had ever given them.
Given how long she had been teaching at Hogwarts, Harry was pretty sure that equated to most of the people that had stopped to point and gossip in the street.
Considering how utterly unimpressed she looked as she marched on with the rest of the group, the young king wondered if a person could experience too much schadenfreude.
Although, to balance out his amusement at everyone else's expense he had the distinct dubious privilege of overhearing just how many people were contemplating whether or not he had anything to do with the Minister's poisoning.
After all, they said, he was very powerful and who knew what people that powerful thought about.
Did they even consider themselves a normal person anymore?
There was political tension there too, wasn't there?
Missed meetings and all sorts of things were published in the paper. What if he snapped?
What if he'd gone rogue?
It wasn't all bad though. For every suspicious or otherwise negative comment there seemed to be a compliment .
Some of them were rather embarrassing and wildly inappropriate. Especially since he hadn't miraculously aged three years when he wasn't paying attention.
Really, it had been bad enough hearing it from people his own age - never mind that he was relatively sure none of those people had been saying those things before he became a king and they had had a chance to really see him in action, magically speaking - but it felt like something else entirely to hear it from the people he was now.
Witches and the odd wizard that were closer to middle years than teenage.
It was not an entirely comfortable feeling, if he was being entirely honest with himself.
So he did the only logical thing and put it as far from his mind to look over later when he wasn't out in public being stared at.
Despite the uncomfortable attention the group made it to Twilfitt and Tatting's without incident, the owners having agreed ahead of time to close up shop to regular clientele in order to facilitate the security demands of having royalty in store.
Two men of middle years, both exceptionally well groomed and attired swept forward to receive them as the door gently chimed their arrival, sweeping into matching elegant bows in unison.
"Greeting and welcome to Twilfitt and Tatting's. I am Augustus Twilfitt head of production and this is my partner Nathaniel Tatting who leads our modest design team." The man dressed in shades of black and blue said as he straightened.
The gentleman introduced as Mr. Tatting straightened and gestured behind them to a group of five humans and a house-elf that were all neatly lined up like they were ready for inspection.
"These are our workers, they will be assisting us in seeing to your parties needs for the duration of your visit. Our house-elf Pella has prepared tea and snacks and will serve you directly if you have no objection." Mr. Tatting said, speaking to the group at large, though his brown eyes remained fixed on Harry himself.
Casting his glowing eyes over the humans, Harry absently noted that they were each almost as well done up as the two owners in dark colours. His eyes settled on the house-elf and he smiled, taking in the neatly pressed pinafore with the tailors logo stitched into one side of the chest and the matching child sized black shoes that had been polished until they shone.
"It's a pleasure to meet you all, I look forward to your diligent service." He said, offering a small smile to each of them before turning away to gesture to the small tea table and comfy looking chair that had been set up in one corner out of the way. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable, Professor, we're likely going to be a while."
"Hm, I believe that would be best." She agreed primly, and cast a last look about before she moved to occupy one of the well stuffed couches.
She was followed swiftly by Pella who in short order had snapped up a rather expensive looking tea service that was laden with an assortment of small cakes and biscuits, a fine china teapot with delicate flowers and vines painted on it, and enough cups for each of them.
Catching sight of the frown on Hermione's face as he turned back to their hosts, Harry withheld a sigh and resigned himself to finding time to sit his friend down for the chat he had been putting off for several weeks now.
For now though he turned his attention back to the two men and their assistants and forcefully dragged the teenage witch back to what they were actually there for with a sharp clap of his hands. "Let's leap to it, shall we?" He proposed. "My guests will need two outfits, both formal. One for the Yule Ball being held in a few weeks at Hogwarts and the other a black robe affair that can be worn to government functions."
Both owners nodded.
Mr. Twilfitt turned just slightly to indicate with an open hand to the array of podiums that had been spread about the store with plenty of space between. "If everyone will take up position upon the stands, we can get started on taking basic measurements."
"Then we can go into further detail as to the fabrics and styles." Mr. Tatting added.
It really was to their credit, Harry thought, that neither man so much as raised an eyebrow at the heavily armed goblins that had spread out to position themselves around the store. Nor the ones that were still stationed outside for that matter, making sure no one tried to sneak into the store or otherwise attack it while Harry was inside.
Both men seemed to be intent on largely ignoring them and instead focused all their attention on Harry himself.
Moving to take his place on the center-most platform, Harry idly wondered how often their clients brought their own guards shopping with them. Despite the shop's more exclusive nature, he somehow doubted many of the elitists that apparently favoured the store had remotely the same security concerns that Harry currently did.
Although, given how many of them had probably been either Death Eaters or sympathisers, maybe they did.
With both Weasley's and the one Granger similarly taking up their own spots the assistants sprang into action sweeping forward to start taking measurements, notably giving Harry a fairly wide berth. Instead Messrs. Twilfitt and Tatting themselves moved to work on the boy king themselves.
"Now, did his Majesty have any pre-existing preferences in regards to fabrics, no allergies to particular threads?" Mr. Tatting asked while his partner went through the motions of taking down the required measurements.
Harry shook his head as he moved his arms out from his sides as directed. "No preferences or allergies."
"Wonderful. If I recall correctly you were only commissioning your outfit for the ball, did you already have a look in mind?" The tailor asked, looking Harry over keenly, noting both the outfit he was wearing currently and his general colouring.
"I rather like the idea of wearing white and gold. If the decorations are anything like they've been previously I think they'll play up the winter theme. And speaking from experience, teenagers tend to be a rather colourful lot, so I'd probably end up being the only person wearing much in the way of white." The teen explained, going over what may or may not be the end result of a brainstorming session with Sirius and his very patient but much more socially acceptable Healer.
A conversation that may or not have only happened the previous night over dinner when Harry realised he maybe just might possibly need to have something to tell the tailors to avoid looking like he - very rightly - have absolutely no idea what he was on about.
Not a huge problem for Harry Potter. Bit of an issue for King Harry.
It was one of the weirder cases of double standards he'd encountered yet.
"Hmm, well with your hair and eyes and your nicely tanned skin you'll have no trouble standing out, even dressed in white in largely white surrounds." Mr. Tatting replied, one hand coming up to idly stroke his own pale stubble free cheek.
From his place off to one side Mr. Twilfitt cocked his head without seeming to remove most of his own task. "Will you be wearing this crown?"
"Ah, not this one, no. I'll be wearing the formal one for the occasion." Harry replied readily.
"I don't suppose his Majesty has brought it along with him?" Mr. Tatting asked, one black brow raised.
Reaching into his pocket the teen pulled out a shrunken box, ornate in design and with no visible latches or hinges. With nary a twitch he returned it to its proper size, absently noting that four of his goblin guard had moved closer to surround them.
Placing a finger along the side of the box where he knew the heavily enchanted magical lock was located, Harry pressed the smallest amount of his magic he could into the lock just the way he had been taught.
A moment later he was rewarded with a tiny flash of light as the bindings on the enchanted box released allowing the top half to gently float up a full two feet above the base to allow unimpeded view of the crown contained within.
Both men upon seeing it made a soft almost uniform sound of appreciation.
It was a nice crown, as far as they went. Though admittedly Harry's own knowledge base was limited at best. The goblins were all proud of it, which made sense since it had been personally crafted from raw elements by the goblin king, Dòrn Airgid the Ninth. And among goblins only the greatest smith can rise to the throne.
Intricately wrought gold formed the body of the crown, winding around a veritable galaxy of 'lesser' diamonds that gleamed and sparkled in the light. The gold wove around and up, towering above the base in seven even weaving golden tails that had been dotted with pristine diamonds of varying sizes so as to emulate stardust. But the literal crowning jewels were the seven thumbsize white diamonds that topped each of the seven points, gleaming in a way that only gems mined, fashioned and polished with magic could.
It probably should have been rather gaudy. Harry thought that if a human had crafted it, then it probably would have been, exceptionally so.
But the goblins greatest talents were tied to the earth, the guiding pulse of its call guiding them through dirt and stone and silt to exactly where they needed to be and precisely when.
Earth song guided their miners and their smiths and the stronger the connection the greater the guiding hand that would encourage or urge patience. As far as Harry had heard from his studies on goblin culture, the worship of the earth and its spirit was the closest the goblins came to religion.
It was also probably one of the biggest reasons goblins got on decently with the elves despite their subservience, but clashed so badly with most humans.
But the point of it all, was that goblin smiths were able to craft works of earth gifted metals and gems into works of art that defied human ability. It was why goblin crafted items were so sought after, and so rare, very few of them ever being sold or gifted to outsiders.
And the formal crown, which had been given a name that roughly translated to The Seven Stars of the Wizard King in English, was not an exception but rather the proof of that prodigious gift.
There was not a person that could see it on him, knowing anything about the goblin people and their beliefs and not understanding on a visceral level just what Harry and his efforts on their behalf meant to them.
For all that it would sit upon his head and declare him King, it was without a doubt a goblin statement.
If you dare, we will crush you.
Harry might have cried a little bit, curled up like a child in Sirius' lap the night Goldhammer and the shamans had presented it to him.
Which was alright.
Sirius would always keep his secrets.
"Oh...oh my." One of the men whispered before quietly clearing his throat. "Yes, I...we can definitely craft your attire for the evening to pay homage to such a gift."
Nodding a little in acceptance of the quiet promise Harry carefully guided the lid to close once more and waited patiently for it to reseal before carefully shrinking it and slipping it back into his pocket.
Once it was out of sight both men seemed to shake themselves and straighten.
"Well, if you'd care to make yourself comfortable, we'll get to work on mocking up some design sketches and picking out some sample fabrics for you to look over." Mr. Twilfitt suggested politely before subtly grabbing hold of Mr. Tatting and herding him to the back of the store where an almost hidden door no doubt led to the gritty business end of the store.
From a brief moment as he watched them leave, Harry had the idea that they just might be partners as well as business partners.
Shaking it off as none of his business he turned his attention instead to give his friends a cursory look over and noted that both Bill and Hermione seemed to be doing well enough but that Ron was looking well and truly out of his depth.
Deciding to take pity on him, Harry carefully stepped down from his own little platform and crossed the room to stop nearby but out of the way. "How are things going?" He asked both Ron and his assigned attendant.
Said attendant seemed to have finished with all of the youngest Weasley sons' measurements and from the looks of his notebook, was trying to draft up a list of fabrics and styles.
Though he didn't seem to have gotten very far.
"Harry help, I think he's speaking in tongues. What the hell's paisley?" The redhead hissed at him.
Biting the inside of his cheek so he wouldn't laugh, Harry offered the attendant a polite smile. "Paisley is the name for a kind of pattern that gets used in formal fashions a fair bit. Usually best in small amounts, I think, vest or tie."
"What?" Ron asked, frowning at him as if Harry had suddenly transformed into a totally new person. "How do you know that?"
"Part of my education. No one likes a king that lives in jeans and tshirts apparently." Harry replied with a shake of his head and a shrug before he turned to the attendant who seemed like he was doing some cheek biting of his own. "What have you got so far?"
The young man - Harry reckoned he was closer to Bill's age than Sirius' - cleared his throat and straightened as he was addressed, shifting a little to hold out his notepad for Harry to see. "Aside from Mr. Weasley's measurements...not much. He's veto'd lace and frills and anything 'too shiny' and green. But that's about as far as we've gotten."
Given the fact that Ron seemed about a mistimed snicker away from launching into a brawl, Harry gave his best mate a small smile he hoped looked friendly and not at all like he was laughing on the inside. "Can I make some suggestions?"
Throwing his hands up in the air as if to say 'I give up', Ron trudged down off his platform with a half. "May as well, I've not got a bloody clue."
"It's alright Ron, you haven't learned about this stuff like I had to." Harry told him, mirth effectively squished by how defeated he looked. "Why don't you get comfy, have some tea and cakes. You've already done the important bit."
Casting a glance towards the very inviting looking chairs and small mound of artfully arranged cakes and biscuits, the redhead huffed a sigh and deflated a little more. "Don't tell 'Mione."
"Secrets safe, Ron. You and McGonagall can talk quidditch, like about what my lot would need to get a league together." He suggested, giving his mate a pat on the shoulder.
Once the redhead was safely on his way turned his attention back to the attendant. "So, for him it'd probably be better to stay closer to something more classic. Black short tail jacket and matching slacks. Black ascot too, I think, rather than a bowtie. Plain white shirt, though that paisley idea's not bad. On a vest, double breasted. Black base, burgundy embroidering with matching burgundy pocket square. A set of black robes to complete the look."
The older man blinked then jumped to quickly write down Harry's 'suggestion'. "He won't mind that you're picking out his outfit for him?"
"Not really, we've been friends since the train to Hogwarts. He knows I wouldn't pick out a mess to have a laugh. The red ties in with his house colours, which he's proud of, and the mostly neutral design and colours won't clash with his hair or build." The teen reasoned, casting a look to where Ron was apparently back in full swing, if the arm gestures he was making while he talked to the transfiguration professor.
The man beside him shrugged slightly before reading back over his notes. "Were you thinking something similar for the standard formal attire you also requested?"
"More simple, classic white shirt, black suit and tie, white pocket square. That way it'll be good for most formal occasions."
The man nodded and made another note before giving Harry a quick bow. "I'll take this into the back then and pick out some fabrics."
Giving the attendant a brief nod, Harry watched him quickly head off in the same direction his employers had a few minutes prior before turning to cast a look toward Hermione and Bill. Assured that they still seemed to be doing fine on their own, the teen checked in quietly with Ruknukle before moving to take a seat next to Ron.
"That was quick." The ginger commented, raising an eyebrow in Harry's direction.
Harry shrugged. "I already have an idea about what you don't want to wear. Put that together with the stuff I learned about 'respectable fashion for the young gentleman' it wasn't too hard."
"Respectable fashion for the young gentleman?" Ron parroted, going a little bug eyed.
"One of the chapters from one of my etiquette books. The thing was written in the 1800's but it honestly still holds up pretty well, especially here where everyone's a bit old fashioned." He explained.
"A Potter studying etiquette, wonders never cease." Professor McGonagall said over the rim of her teacup, the corners of her lips twitching ever so slightly upward.
"Apparently not. Remus was just as surprised." Harry replied with a small grin, recalling the rather amusing and entirely overly dramatic unveiling of the depths of Harry's studies. "Sirius spent the evening when he was quizzing me looking like he'd swallowed an entire lemon tree."
The older woman huffed. "I'm sure you'll forgive my complete lack of surprise."
"Waste of time, I reckon, the lot of it." Ron muttered in aggravation around one of the teacakes that had disappeared into his mouth when Harry had taken a seat.
Professor McGonagall grimaced at the image he made and focused her steely eyes instead on her tea. "You, Mr. Weasley, could certainly benefit from a few lessons in common etiquette and deportment."
He frowned at her. "What?"
"Bad manners to talk with food in your mouth, mate. Makes people feel ill." Harry explained gently, though not for the first time so it was anyone's guess how long it would be before he forgot again. "Actually Professor, there is something I wanted to ask you, if you don't mind?"
She raised a gray brow at him curiously. "Oh?"
Steeling himself for whatever the outcome Harry inclined his head and pressed forward. "I was wondering if you'd do me the honour of accompanying me to the Yule Ball?"
Beside him Ron promptly started choking.
"Mr. Pot-"
"It's not a prank or anything sordid, Professor, I swear." He insisted quickly, cutting her off before she could start lecturing him in the middle of Twilfitt and Tatting's. "I've given the ball a lot of thought, particularly in combination to my new status. I'd appreciate it if you please at least hear me out."
Lips firmly pressed together, her eyes flicked from Harry to the ginger boy beside him who was now having his back rubbed after the wayward cake had been negligently spelled from his throat.
Finally after a long moment she nodded slowly. "Very well, though I urge you to tread carefully."
Nodding again, Harry considered how to best phrase the conclusion he had come to during his deliberation.
Deciding to err on the side of caution so he didn't find himself discretely jinxed into a duck himself, the boy king decided to take the long route rather than a more succinct explanation.
"You'll recall that even before I became a king I had a certain fame that led to a lot of gossip and scrutiny among my peers particularly, but from the world at large as well." He started, opting to give her his full attention, eye to eye. "Since the shift in my status that's increased exponentially. You got to hear a bit of it on the way here and have probably been hearing even more in passing around Hogwarts."
Taking a breath he let it out in a sigh, both hands coming to rest in his lap where he folded them so he wouldn't pick at his nails in a show of discomfort.
"The media in particular have been having a grand time poking at absolutely everything I do and given the type of gossip that seems to find its way into the Prophet or the few tabloids in the magical community, any girl that is seen with me will be picked to pieces. Both by gossiping adults that should know better and her peers. Taking a male friend wouldn't end up much better."
He paused again, giving that titbit time to sink in.
"You in contrast to someone my own age are a widely respected academic and a powerful witch to boot. You know very well what you're about and very few people would try to turn one mandatory ball attendance into some sordid scandal for gossip." He added. "Transfiguration has always been one of my better subjects and you were my head of house for three years. It wouldn't be a stretch for most people to assume that I choose to escort you in repayment for your guidance over the past few years."
"Particularly in light of certain marvels." She agreed after a moment, looking less tense and disapproving as he spoke.
Much to Harry's great relief.
"Yeah, and that dragon-duck thing you did too." Ron added helpfully then frowned. "It's not all bad though, right?"
"Not all bad. Most people are more willing to at least listen to what I have to say now instead of automatically assuming I don't know what I'm talking about because I'm only fourteen." He agreed, then smiled happily. "And it's good being able to build and learn, so there's that too."
McGonagall hummed quietly at that, holding her teacup out for the quiet house-elf to refill with a light snap and offered a quiet thank you in exchange. "Yes, well, every cloud has its silver lining. I'm sure you'll find one or two more if you endeavour to look."
"Oh there are a lot of nice things. I never have to worry about being hungry or sick, and I'm practically guaranteed to have a roof over my head no matter where I go. And that I've got even more people looking out for me." He agreed with a smile. "I don't really even need to worry about another nation deciding they want to add Volstar to their own territory, being such close allies with the goblins."
He paused a moment to think it over before making a face. "Really, the only things I actually need to worry about on a personal level is public opinion via the media, assassination attempts and whether or not someone close to me is going to become a target themselves."
"Blimey, that's a bit messed up mate." Ron muttered, pulling a face at that last bit.
"That's the risk when you're a public figure." Harry replied with a shrug.
The down to earth professor hummed again, regarding Harry over the rim of her cup. "You truly believe that something untoward may happen if you were to escort a witch or wizard your own age?"
The boy king paused a moment to consider how best to answer the question without earning himself a slap upside the head. "Well, there is the fact that I, a fourteen year old boy have somehow managed to accrue sufficient enemies to be forcefully entered against my will into a tried and true historical event that hasn't occurred in a couple hundred years which can with some accuracy be affectionately dubbed a death tournament."
She stared at him for a long moment then blinked a long, slow blink reminiscent of her animagus form before sighing. "I'll keep my wand close then, shall I?"
"Probably for the best." Ron piped up with a shrug as he reached for another tiny cake.
Much later that evening, after escorting a group of new settlers through the barrier around Volstar and seeing that they were introduced around. After they had been shown to the Seeker's Rest where they would stay while they sorted through the available housing options, Harry sat on one of the comfortable couches in front of the fireplace in his office.
While Sirius shook his way out of his seat and onto the floor in a thud with his laughter.
In hindsight - because it was always in hindsight - Harry supposed he should have realised that telling Sirius of all people that he was taking their old transfiguration professor to the Yule Ball at Hogwarts would have resulted with a great deal of laughter at his expense.
Especially since the aforementioned professor wasn't in earshot to scold him.
Remus wasn't much help, his eyes had been just as twinkly as Dumbledore and hadn't stopped being so for the last fifteen minutes it had taken for Sirius to slide boneless out of his seat.
"It's not that funny." Harry huffed, staring down at the shaking mess of a man.
Who of course only seemed to laugh harder.
The teen wasn't even sure why it seemed so funny to the two Marauders, though he was half sure it probably had something to do with an old joke or prank.
So resigning himself to waiting, he settled back in his spot, rolled his eyes and waited.
Which turned out to take quite a bit longer than he thought it would, since every time the animagus would catch sight of Harry or Remus he would break into his deep barking laughter anew.
On one hand it was good to hear and see him laughing.
On the other Harry would much rather it not be at his expense. Especially when he himself wasn't in on the joke.
"Old Minnie loves to dance." Sirius said once he had finally calmed down. "You don't even know how yet."
"Funnily enough, I was aware of that fact, thank you." Harry snarked back.
"Well, you've a couple of weeks to learn." Remus pointed out, pushing himself to his feet.
He made his way to the back corner of the room behind Harry's desk to where a magic powered record player sat, waiting to be used the next time they were stuck behind desks for hours doing paperwork.
He rifled through the records that had been neatly stacked on a shelf behind it before pulling out one and setting it.
After a moments fussing the mellow sounds of a stately waltz began to weave through the room.
Still grinning mischievously, Sirius held a hand out to the young king and gave a small bow. "May I have this dance?"
Eyeing the animagus for a moment Harry eventually sighed and placed a hand in the older man's and allowed himself to be pulled up out of his chair. "Alright, but it's your feet."
"Eh, I think I'll manage." The older man said as he led them both to an expanse of open floor. "Now, you need to learn how to lead, so pop your hand on my waist and we'll go for a spin."
Huffing a little at the sudden feeling of embarrassment that popped up out of nowhere, Harry did as he was told, placing his free hand on the older man's waist just beneath his ribs and arched an eyebrow up at him.
"Right, back straight, posture relaxed." Sirius urged, his own free hand moving to settle on the teens shoulder. "When you're ready, step and I'll follow your lead."
"We'll start with a basic three count." Remus said from his place near the player. "I'll keep the count so all you have to do is step in time."
Licking his lips against his sudden nerves, Harry swallowed then nodded. "Sure, nothing to it."
"Nothing to it." Sirius agreed, bowing his head to get the teen to meet his eyes.
Taking a deep breath, Harry kept his focus on the others calm gray eyes and took his first step.
It was echoed almost simultaneously by Sirius and joined by Remus's calm count.
"One, two, three...one, two, three...one, two, three…"
Around and around in a wobbly sort of circle they went, managing to keep time with Moony's pacing. At least until Harry got nervous again and tried to look down at his feet.
Which of course meant he ended up trodding on Sirius' foot before the man could get it out of the way.
Quick apology brushed aside with a patient smile, the animagus gave the teens shoulder and hand a gentle squeeze. "Don't think about it. You're the type of person that does their best work when they're barely thinking about it." He said softly. "So, don't think."
"Don't think…" Harry repeated quietly as they started again. "I don't think I know how to do that anymore."
"Then you should think about something completely different. Why don't you explain your crystal viewing thing to me, you barely had time the last time you stopped for a visit?" Sirius prodded, moving easily in answer to the teens movements.
Frowning a little, Harry nevertheless nodded and got to explaining the premise behind it all.
Then the rough draft of the rune selection.
Then the enchanting.
And then he didn't notice that Remus had stopped counting, too involved with explaining his newest invention.
Too busy spinning around the room with Sirius.