As always, the Magical world of Harry Potter is the property of JK Rowling. If only I'd gotten there first….
Chapter Six
The intended early morning departure for Diagon Alley fell apart within minutes of breakfast being served. George, who had agreed to accompany them easily enough yesterday, was now surly about the whole idea. He stated plainly that there was no way he was going, and that no one could make him. During the next ten minutes or so while Heather, Ginny, Ron, and Mr. Weasley ate their breakfast, Mrs. Weasley worked to change her son's mind.
Heather checked and rechecked her watch as ten minutes quickly turned into thirty, and then into an hour. The longer they waited before setting off, the more crowded the shops would be and the more people she would have to contend with. Even after Ron joined in the attempt, it wasn't until close to noon that George capitulated.
Almost another full hour later, Heather, the Weasleys, and their auror escort apparated to London. Proudfoot had been joined by two aurors who's names and features were so nondescript that her eyes slid past one to the other without really taking them in, and a witch. She was a younger witch with blonde hair named Shelly Honeywell. As Proudfoot introduced each of them, Heather thought she could hear tension in his voice. She decided that he must still be upset at having been talked down to only four for the escort. Despite her nerves, Heather stood by her determination to not go shopping surrounded by a small army. After all, didn't the Auror Office have more important things to deal with besides her personal safety?
Honeywell was familiar to Heather. She had been at Hogwarts during her first and second years. Heather remembered her being fairly popular, always surrounded by a group in girlfriends in Gryffindor Tower. Her keen, blue eyes watched Heather, peering down at her from under a short, practical pixie cut that Heather doubted she'd ever be able to pull off. Her smile was kind, which did a good deal to bolster Heather's confidence.
The Leaky Cauldron had been transformed. The last time Heather had been here, in the guise of Bellatrix Lestrange, it had been all but abandoned. Once more, it struck Heather as how strange that it had only been a week ago that she had been here. It felt like an entirely different life. Her skin crawled as the memory of having to impersonate Bellatrix resurfaced. That memory also reminded her that the goblins of Gringotts would probably be less than happy to see her again.
Tom, the wizened barkeep, must have spent a good deal of time scrubbing and cleaning for it to look this nice, she thought as they came through the door. The normally grimy pub shined, its many tables and chairs filled with gabbing witches and wizards, reuniting with old friends and swapping the latest news. The moment the door closed behind the near dozen new arrivals, conversation died and eyes swung around. Any hopes they had held for passing through without incident ended then and there as the patrons took in the flock of redheads flanked by four aurors.
Heather was safely tucked into the center and so remained out of sight for the moment, but it didn't matter. Ron was almost as famous as she was, and his height made hiding him impossible. Hands reached out to grab him, pulling him into the throng. It wasn't long afterwards that a gnarled old warlock sitting on a tall barstool caught sight of the black haired girl doing her best to look inconspicuous.
"IT'S POTTER!" he bellowed, extending a crooked finger and pointing.
Ron was forgotten in an instant. There were cries of "Potter!" and "Harry!" from all sides of the pub until it turned into a sort of chant. Everyone pressed in until Heather was pulled bodily from the mass of Weasleys. The aurors did their best to prevent this, but as she wasn't really under attack, Heather disagreed strongly with this interpretation of events, there wasn't very much they could do. There were hugs, wet kisses on her forehead and cheeks, fervent arm pumping handshakes that made her whole arm sore, and more calls of her name. Faces passed in a whirlwind that made Heather's stomach flutter dangerously. "That's one way to get rid of them," she thought to herself, "be sick all over them." She could tell that there were questions about her appearance in the offing, but it seemed those could wait while what felt like the thousandth person thanked her for everything she had done.
Her breath began to catch in her chest as the wall of humanity continued to press in from all sides. She forced herself to remain calm, blocking out as much as she could while pushing relentlessly for the far wall and the door into the yard. More greetings, questions, even offers to buy her drinks flowed around her until they were almost unintelligible. Even under this cascade however she heard two wizards speaking to each other as she passed.
"He really does look like a girl," muttered the old wizard who had first spotted her.
"I know, it's true. Wonder why he's gone and done that" replied his friend.
As though this mention of Heather's changes broke some invisible barrier, more comments like that began to emerge. A little girl clutching at her mother's dress so as not to get trampled on shouted loudly, "He looks so pretty!"
Finally, the back wall was within arms reach. The door was already open, flanked by Proudfoot and Honeywell who had maneuvered around the edge of the mob to get here before her. Heather dove for the opening. From behind her she heard the other aurors shouting "Make a hole!" and "Stand aside, please. Official Ministry business!" In quick succession, Heather was joined in the yard by each Weasley in turn, each one careening out of the door like they had been shot from a cannon. They all looked disheveled and somewhat miffed by the rough treatment, unintentional as it might have been. Once everyone was outside, the door slammed shut and Honeywell sealed it with her wand.
"We won't be able to keep them back for long" said Proudfoot irritably. Now Heather had to admit that his desire for additional security might have had merit. He detailed one of the nameless aurors to remain behind and keep the door sealed for as long as he could, before tapping the correct brick and opening the concealed archway into Diagon Alley.
If Heather thought that the Leaky Cauldron had gotten a face lift, it was nothing to the Alley itself. Gone were the wanted posters of her face, replaced with smaller, more numerous posters depicting known Death Eaters still at large. The vagrant groups of "wandless" that had lived in the gutters were no longer there. Fresh paintwork gleamed in the sunlight from half of the shops and people in bright robes were everywhere. Here and there, like rotten teeth in a smile, were shops and storefronts that were still boarded up, but they didn't dim the overall effect of new life being breathed into the Alley. In the distance, Heather was happy to see that Ollivander's wand shop had reopened.
The shoppers they passed were too focused on their errands and greeting friends to notice the Weasleys pass. Wending their way through the crowd, the group aimed straight for Gringotts Bank at the far end of the row. As they passed the darkened exterior of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Heather saw George turn his head pointedly away from it.
It had been decided before leaving the Burrow that the bank should be the first stop. Like everyone else, Heather's money bag was practically empty. As the marble edifice loomed nearer, Heather's nerves, which had hardly recovered from the Leaky Cauldron, quailed again. Had the bank always looked that large and forbidding? As far as she could tell there was no lingering damage from a dragon erupting through it's roof, but she couldn't be certain.
At the bottom of the broad steps, Mr. Weasley pulled the group aside. "Molly, maybe Ginny and I should wait out here. It doesn't really make sense for all of us to go in after all."
"Y-yeah," piped up Ron quickly. His face had gone pale, accentuating his many freckles. "I think I'll stay with them, mum." His eyes constantly shot back and forth between his mother and the two goblins who stood at the top of the stairs, flanking the doors.
Mrs. Weasley looked uncomfortable with this decision but let it pass. "Oh, very well Arthur. Come on, George, Heather."
"Coward" Heather bit out quietly to Ron as she passed him, followed by Proudfoot and Honeywell. The other auror remained with the group outside.
Waiting for them at the top of the stairs were liveried goblins, replacing the security wizards who had been there before. Both bowed low and opened the doors for the group. Heather detected no open hostility from them as they passed, which she took as a good sign. She straightened her shoulders as the silver inner doors opened, revealing the spacious lobby. Like the exterior, any damage the dragon had done during its escape had been repaired, leaving no trace. On either side of the hall behind tall desks sat rows of goblins at work. Gringotts looked the same as it always had.
It took less than a minute before another liveried goblin approached and bowed. "How may we help you, Madam?" he addressed Mrs. Weasley politely.
"My son and I need to access our vaults, as does Heather here." Mrs. Weasley answered.
"Heather?" the goblin asked, shifting his beady black eyes to rest on Heather's face. At the sight of her scar, his entire body stiffened. "Very well," he said coldly, turning back to face Mrs. Weasley. "You and your son may follow me." He turned and walked away without waiting to see if they followed. Mrs. Weasley took several steps before realizing that Heather hadn't been included.
"Go on," said Heather, gesturing them onwards. "I'll catch the next one."
But another goblin did not appear, not until another wizard entered the bank. He was quickly whisked away, leaving Heather still standing there. She began to catch glares out of the corner of her eyes from the goblins, but whenever she tried to meet them, their eyes would drop back to their work. She sighed. It was to be expected, she knew. Whatever the justification for it had been, the goblins were unlikely to take her successful break in lightly. Their pride had been wounded, and they knew how to hold a grudge.
Minutes began to drag by. Behind her, Proudfoot rocked back and forth on his heels. "You're going to need to do something" he whispered to Heather.
She had already reached that decision but was unsure of what exactly to do. Doing her best to plaster a polite smile on her face, she approached the nearest bench where a goblin was counting a large pile of rubies. "Ahem," she said with a small cough. He didn't answer or acknowledge her presence. "I would like to access my vault" she continued. Again, nothing. She stood there for three whole minutes while he ignored her before retreating to her position near the entrance.
"Any ideas?" she asked Proudfoot.
"Unfortunately not. Goblins are tricky." said the auror, massaging the back of his neck. "They're going to ignore you as long as you let them, and anything you do to try and force them to deal with you is more than likely to blow up in your face."
"So then how can I get my money?" she asked, sweeping her gaze around the hall.
"As far as I know," Proudfoot said after a moment, "legally they can't stop you from accessing your vault. All they can really do is stonewall you until you give up or try fighting them in the courts. Problem with that is that it takes time, and the goblins have most of the best solicitors in their pockets, and they have very deep pockets."
"What if you played the Potter card?" suggested Honeywell.
"The what?" asked Heather.
"You know, the 'I'm Heather Potter, heroine of the wizarding world, defeater of the most evil dark prat in history,' approach. I seriously doubt they want to lose you as a customer here. Imagine the fallout from that."
This sparked an idea in Heather's mind. It wasn't her usual style, per say, but Honeywell was right. The only way to deal with this was directly, and loudly. "Cover your ears," she muttered to the two aurors before extracting her wand from her pocket. Looking around one more time to make sure no one was approaching her; she raised her wand into the air and let out a loud BANG! The muted noise in the lobby died as the echoes of the explosion reverberated in the air. No damage had been done, but it had done what Heather intended. All around her, the occupants of the hall, goblins and humans alike, were staring at her. A few people were working their jaws, trying to force their ears to pop.
"You know who I am," Heather said loudly into the silence once the echoes had died away. She kept her wand aimed at the ceiling. "I am here to access my vault." Her voice carried a good deal further than she expected it too.
Several tense seconds passed but no one moved. Heather was just about to let off another explosion from her wand when a door at the far end of the lobby and a goblin who looked older than any she had seen before stepped out. His jacket was finer than any other goblin in the hall, and she assumed he must be some sort of manager. He walked slowly towards her, either stiff with age or at a calculated speed meant to show his dislike, Heather neither knew or cared. She lowered her wand as he approached, careful to make sure there was no way for him to construe it as a threat. He came to a halt much closer to her than was necessary and gave her a jerk of his head that might have been a bow. Over his glasses, he fixed her with a deep scowl, which was accentuated by the many lines on his face. Speaking softly, he said, "Mister Potter. You are not welcome here."
"It's Miss Potter. And welcome or not I'm here to make a withdrawal." Heather replied in as close to a normal voice as she could manage. It was important with goblins, she knew from her extensive dealings with Griphook, not to give anything away.
"You are not welcome," the goblin repeated, a cold sneer breaking out on his lips.
Heather lifted her gaze. Every eye in the lobby was still fixed on them. Here went nothing. "Then I suppose," she said in a very carrying tone, "That I'll have to close my vault. Both of them, actually" she added as an afterthought, remembering that Sirius had left him the Black family vault when he died.
The goblin's sneer vanished. "Follow me," he said darkly and turned on his heel. Without waiting for her, Heather followed him across the lobby and through the door he had entered from. He led her into a well appointed office made from the same marble as the lobby. All around the walls were shelves filled with books bound in dark brown leather. On the spines of each book, gleaming in the light of a large chandelier hanging from the ceiling, were years written in gold ink that went back centuries by the looks of it. The door to the office slammed behind her as she entered, though not quickly enough to stop Proudfoot from sliding in after her. As soon as the latch clicked, all sense of propriety left the old goblin. He wheeled around and leveled a finger at Heather. "You are not welcome!" he spat. "You have defiled this bank, done a small fortunes worth of damage that we have only just repaired, and murdered dozens of our kind."
The outpouring of rage made Heather almost take a half step backward, but she caught herself just in time. It wouldn't do to show that she was rattled. After a steadying breath, she met the goblin's gaze. "I'll admit to the first two," she replied evenly, "but I didn't murder anyone."
"Their deaths are still yours to answer for! They were killed by the dragon you foolishly antagonized and set loose!"
"Fine-" Heather started to say, but the goblin cut her off. Spit flew from his lips as he shouted, "And we hold you personally accountable for those who were viciously murdered by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named for reporting your theft!"
"Now hold on a minute" said Heather, spluttering. "You can't blame me for that!"
"Oh yes, we most certainly can! Those goblins would still be alive today if it hadn't been for you!" he emphasized this last word with a jab of his finger that failed to connect with Heather's stomach.
That didn't stop his words from hitting her like a bludger. How could she argue with that? And how had she forgotten watching Voldemort murder dozens of goblins just for hearing about a small golden cup as she tried to find the surface of that cold lake? Not even in her darkest moods, reliving each death of the Battle, had she remembered them. "Look," she said, "I didn't what I had to do. Voldemort had to be defeated. In order to do that, I had to break in." She tried to inject her voice with a confidence she didn't feel, but it didn't work.
"So, to you the ends justify the means? As long as it's not you that has to pay the price of those acts, of course!" cried the goblin.
"That's not what I'm saying," stammered Heather. She took a deep breath to calm herself before her voice broke. "Yes, I do accept responsibility for what occurred during my break in, including the lives of all people and goblins who were lost."
"And the rest?" His eyes bore into hers, forcing her to stare at a point just above his head.
"Voldemort killed them, not me." Heather replied quietly.
"But they were only slain after delivering the news of your actions! How is that any different then if you had killed them yourself?"
"Because-" Heather began then swallowed hard. Her hands were at her side, balled into tight fists. She met his eyes and started again. "Because, Voldemort was going to kill you, me, anyone who got in his way the moment he decided he wanted to. He knew that when he hid that cup here. As soon as anyone found out about it, their life was over if Voldemort caught up with them."
"Cold comfort to the families of the fallen. Typical wizarding arrogance. This dismissal of goblin life is exactly what we have come to expect from wand carriers." He spat the final words like they were a horrific curse.
"You're right. Because there is no comfort, and I can't change that. I will do what I have to in order to repair the relationship I have had with Gringotts, but I won't argue every massacre in our races' shared history. I had to watch as Voldemort murdered, saw it from inside his own eyes as he cut down your comrades and mine. I saw him massacre strangers, people I knew, people I loved. There isn't any comfort for that. There's no magic that can make it right. But, it wasn't my fault that cup was inside the Lestrange's vault, it was his. I did what I had to do in order to bring him down. Because if I hadn't, none of us, goblin or human, would be safe. I won't apologize for that." Her chest was heaving with emotion as her speech came to an end.
"Then," said the goblin heavily, "We are at an impasse, Mister Potter."
"I would like to propose a compromise." Heather said after getting her breathing back under control. She ignored his misuse of her name again, though it did rankle. When the goblin did not answer, she took this to mean he was listening. "I think we can both agree that Gringotts would like to keep me, and more importantly, my gold as a customer here. After all, how do you think the wizarding world will react when 'The Chosen One' stops doing business here?"
The goblin's jaw worked slowly as he mulled over her words. "This….is true," he said slowly.
"And," Heather continued, feeling emboldened, "the Daily Prophet's office is just a few doors down. How easy do you think it would be for me to drop in and give a lengthy interview about just why I've been forced to close my vaults here?"
The goblin's scowl had returned, but Heather could tell she had won. His eyes bored into hers, but the fire there had been replaced by the calculating look Heather had come to know well during the planning sessions with Griphook. "What is this compromise?" he asked.
"I am willing to compensate Gringotts for the damage I and my friends caused during our break in, including replacing the dragon that we freed."
"Stole," cut across the goblin.
"Whatever. I am also open to providing monetary compensation to the families of those killed during the break in. Money cannot replace loved ones, but it's the best that I can do."
"And what about the families of those that were slain by He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named?" asked the goblin.
"Take that up with the Lestrange Family, if there are any left. I doubt that Voldemort ever had a vault here, or I'd say take it up there. Like I said, he killed them. Not me."
The goblin considered her words carefully. His hands were held in front of his waist, idly tapping their fingers together as he pondered. Heather could see the gears moving behind his eyes, looking for every benefit to her offer. She knew he would accept. There were too many ways for the goblins to come out on top, with the added benefit of having gotten the better of Heather Potter in the deal. They knew better than she just how much wizarding gold was piled in her vaults below, and there was little doubt in her mind that their demands would take a large percentage of it. So be it, there would still be more than enough for her to live on, and if it brought peace then it was a price she was willing to pay.
The goblin stuck out a nobbily hand. "You have a deal, Mister Potter. Please allow me to be the first to welcome you back to Gringotts Bank." After Heather had shaken his hand, he bowed to her.
"I told you, it's not mister anymore." She replied, letting out a long breath she didn't know she'd been holding in.
"Alas, until such time as you correct that matter with the Ministry of Magic, bank regulations require me to address you as 'Mister."
"Fine," said Heather, who was more than ready to bring this interview to a close. By now word of what was happening here was bound to have spread, summoning the crowds. "Are we good, then?"
"We are! I shall have a list of the damages drawn up and sent to your residence for approval. Once that has been paid, it shall be like nothing ever happened. Our representatives will be in touch to set up the other compensation at a later date."
"So, does that mean I can get into my vaults now?" Heather's head was throbbing now. Breaking in again seemed like it would be less perilous than this conversation had been.
He bowed again and led her back to the lobby. As Heather had feared, a knot of witches and wizards were waiting by the entrance waiting for a glimpse of her. A snap of the goblin's fingers summoned someone who quickly let Heather to a waiting cart.
"May I ask," this new goblin asked once she had settled into a seat, "which vault you would like to visit?"
"Six eighty seven," Heather replied. One of these days she would need to visit the Black Family vault, but today wasn't that day. Her head was pounding and all she wanted to go was get out of here.
Emerging back into the sunlight half an hour later, Heather found the Weasleys waiting for her, watched by a small crowd that had been forcefully asked to wait outside by the goblins. Rather than pressing in at the sight of her, this group stayed back. A few cameras flashed, and Heather saw more than one notepad in hand, quills flying across the parchment. For the first time since arriving in Diagon Alley, Heather wondered how she must look. Her t-shirt and jeans were plain enough, but they also clearly showed off the changes that her body was going through.
"Now," said Mrs. Weasley when Heather reached them, "Why don't you and Ginny come with me, while Arthur takes the boys where they need to go. That is," she said looking at Proudfoot and her husband, "unless you think we should all stay together?"
"Blimey, mum" said Ron, "we're old enough to go shopping on our own!"
"What's the matter, Ron?" teased Ginny, "Don't want to come dress shopping with the girls?"
"Not really," he grumped before saying to George, "C'mon. Let's get out of here."
"Well, alright," said Mrs. Weasley. "Arthur you may as well go with them. We'll meet up later at the Leaky Cauldron."
There were only half a dozen shops between the bank at their destination, Gladrag's Wizard Wear. As they passed, reporters began to shout questions.
"Mr. Potter, can you tell us what happened at Hogwarts?"
"Any reaction to the Ministry letting so many Death Eaters escape after the battle?"
"Mr. Potter, why are you still dressing like a girl?"
Heather ignored them as best as she could.
Proudfoot pushed open the door to the shop, allowing Heather to step inside, glad to be safely out of view again. The clothing shop was empty except for an older witch and wizard behind the counter, who had both looked up at the sound of the bell over the door. Proudfoot marched quickly up to them and held a brief, whispered conversation. "It's clear," he announced when he returned. "We have their permission to keep everyone out until you're done, but lets not overstay our welcome. Right, Honeywell, why don't you stay in here on watch while we wait out there."
"Right, boss." Honeywell replied. Could it be Heather's imagination or was she smirking at Proudfoot. Was it possible that the grizzled auror was embarrassed to be escorting a teenage girl around a dress shop? Ginny hadn't waited for any of this, but was already three rows away examining options while Mrs. Weasley was perusing dress robes. Heather turned her attention to the racks of clothing nearby, wondering exactly where she should start.
It wasn't the first time she had been in here. Before her fourth year Hermione and Ginny had dragged her with them searching for dress robes. This was before Ginny had officially met Heather, but that hadn't stopped her from pressing a beautiful green dress into Heather's arms and suggesting she try it on. So much had changed since then.
For a shop that supposed to be for 'Wizard's' wear, it was amazing just how much of it was taken up by witches clothing. There were rows upon rows of dresses, skirts, tops, pants, and witch's robes, and only a small section of the floor space for men. Along the back wall, a short distance away from the counter, was a curtain that Heather assumed led into a storeroom, and between her and it were probably a thousand different articles of clothing. Nerves fought with delight at finally being able to do what her fourteen-year-old self hadn't been able to, shop openly for herself instead of being forced to subtly point things out for Hermione and Ginny to get her. She had just reached out to grab a cute purple top when the bottom of her stomach dropped out.
In all her years of dressing as a girl, both before and after becoming Heather, she had never really paid attention to exactly what size she was. Ever since fourth year, Hermione and Ginny had smuggled her things to school in their trunks, replacing her old clothes with their cast offs or things Hermione managed to get for her during the summers. The few times she had gone shopping with them, they had been the ones to figure out what size she needed while she did her best to look nonchalant. Now that she was faced with needing to know this herself, she felt like an idiot.
"Something wrong?" asked Honeywell when Heather hadn't moved in what was probably several minutes.
Heather tried to find a way to correctly phrase her dilemma, while going pink at her own embarrassment. "I don't know what size I am." She whispered, hoping that no one overheard, not that there was anyone else in the shop.
"As in…" asked Honeywell.
"Yes" Heather replied curtly.
"Ahh," Honeywell said quickly. "Not a problem." She patted Heather's shoulder reassuringly and walked up to the witch behind the counter. The older woman nodded at whatever Honeywell was saying, then sent Heather a kind smile. At a wave from Honeywell, Heather approached. "You know who I am?" she asked the sales witch.
"Of course I do, dearie" she said, leading Heather towards the curtain in the back wall.
Rather than a storeroom, Heather found herself in an oversized closet filled with girl's underwear of all sizes and shapes, hanging on racks and stacked on little tables. Heather couldn't help it, her cheeks deepened from pink to scarlet, and glowed warm enough to fry an egg on.
"Oh, pish posh," said the sales witch. From her pocket she pulled out a tape measurer that wrapped itself instantly around Heather's torso. "We're all girls here, after all."
"Everything ok in here?" Ginny asked, poking her head through the curtain. When she saw the tape, not to mention Heather's face, her mouth curved into a wild smirk. "Oh I have got to be a part of this," she said eagerly, resting the pile of clothing she had been carrying on a table and moving into the space. With the sales witch, Heather, Honeywell, and now Ginny, it was starting to feel very warm in here. All the while the tape continued, taking in all of Heather's measurements.
When it had completed its task, the sales witch checked the results and gestured towards two sections of hangers and one of the tables. "You should be able to find anything you need there, my dear. Once you have picked out what you want, we can find anything else you might need." She retreated back out into the store proper in order to give Heather some space to explore, but Ginny dived in first. Clearly relishing in Heather's ordeal. One by one, she began holding up items for Heather to see, usually with some sort of comment like "Oooooh, you definitely need this," or "Your butt would pop in these!" A few of Ginny's selections were items that Heather might have chosen for herself; had she been given the chances. As this went on however, Ginny began picking up items Heather was certainly not going to purchase in front of Mrs. Weasley.
Ginny held up her last selection, a black lace covered bra with thickly padded cups. It's a push up bra," Ginny explained, "It'll make those girls on your chest stand right up."
"Err, I think I'll pass right now," Heather replied not making eye contact, tentatively grabbing a few from the pile Ginny had made.
"Oh, come on!" exclaimed Ginny in a voice Heather was sure carried all the way to muggle London. "Are you really telling me that Heather blessed Potter is afraid of bras? You're wearing one right now, for Merlin's sake."
"No, I'm not afraid of them. But that doesn't mean I need you shouting about them" Heather whispered furiously.
Ginny's grin spread but she let the matter drop. After selecting half a dozen bras, including one very lacey one she only chose to shut Ginny up, Heather moved on to the rest of the underwear section. As expected, Ginny started holding out the smallest, tightest, frilliest pairs she could find, insisting each time that Heather absolutely needed them.
"Just think of what they boys will think" she prodded, holding out what looked like a tiny scrap of fabric, sending a fresh wave of scarlet through Heather's cheeks.
"Not really my priority right now" Heather whispered back.
"Hmm, we'll see about that." Ginny smirked back.
After what felt like being shown every pair of knickers in her size, Heather finally handed over her choices to the sales witch, who banished them a basket behind the front counter. With this done, Heather pushed through the curtain and back into the main shop. Near the door, she could see Mrs. Weasley patiently waiting. She must have realized what her daughter had been up to, and dragged Ginny off to the boy's section to find something for Ron while Heather perused. Heather thought this a very good idea. Not only did it give Heather some privacy, but knowing Ron, he would need some help looking presentable for the Minister.
Heather wandered the many racks, grabbing a wide selection of clothes. Through the glass windows she saw wizards and witches trying to get a glimpse of her, and more than once caught the flash of a camera out of the corner of her eye. Doing her best to ignore this, she continued shopping. As the pile of clothes in her arms grew, she noted that most of her choices were neutral in color, tending to be shades of grey or black. She was sure Ginny would have something to say about that, and so towards the end she forced herself to pull down a pale blue sundress.
"That's very pretty, dear." Said Mrs. Weasley, rejoining her with Ginny in tow.
"It is, but I don't think I'm going to get it." She began to put it back on the rack when Ginny snatched it.
"Why not? You'd look amazing in it!" she exclaimed.
"Ginny" hissed Mrs. Weasley.
"It's just not really my thing right now," replied Heather. "Besides, where would I wear it?"
"Oh, Heather, "said Ginny in mock disgust, "Stop being so practical. Girls don't need a reason to buy something cute, we just do it."
"Besides, you never know when you'll need to dress nicely" added Mrs. Weasley.
"And you definitely need some color" added Ginny, pointing towards the stack of clothes in Heather's arms. She held out the dress, which Heather mutely took.
"Good lord, look at the time," said Mrs. Weasley suddenly. "Arthur and the boys should be done by now and we really mustn't be out too late tonight."
Heather took her ponderous stack of clothing to the counter and paid for everything. Her money bag felt considerably lighter after the transaction was complete. She knew that girl's tended to spend quite a bit of their money on clothes. Still, she hoped this would last a while. Her relationship with Gringotts might be repaired, but she wasn't eager to need to return to the back anytime soon.
Don't worry, dear" said the sales witch kindly after she handed over the last of Heather's bags, "One day this will all be perfectly normal."
Sending a glance over her shoulder at the noses pressed against the glass windows, Heather replied, "I really hope so."
Mrs. Weasley left the shop to meet her husband who was waiting outside. Rather than reenter the crowd, Heather, Ginny, and Honeywell all apparated directly from Gladrag's to the Burrow. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley joined them moments later, the rest of the group and escorts with them. The aurors waited until they all crossed the boundary of the wards before disapparating. As she turned, Honeywell sent Heather a wave.
"Sorry about that, Heather" said Mr. Weasley as they trudged towards the house, arms weighted down with shopping bags. "That crowd wasn't going to let you get much more done there today."
"Yeah, I'm surprised they didn't try apparating into Gladrag's when the aurors wouldn't let them in."
"Anti-apparition ward. Very useful" replied Mr. Weasley. "Did you, err, find everything you needed?"
Heather nodded, double checking that her more intimate purchases weren't visible in the bags. As they settled in around the table, Ron began telling Heather and Ginny about their time. They had been followed as well, but by a much smaller group. They hadn't even made it to Madam Malkin's before giving it up as a bad job.
"Well, it's a good thing that Ginny and I picked some things out for you," said Mrs. Weasley as she set to work making a late lunch.
"Yeah, and it's all frilly and pink," said Ginny, and Ron went pale as he saw his sister's grin. Laughing, Heather set off for her bedroom, already ready to be rid of the heavy bags.