Chapter 22

September 8th 1999

NYC

Fred had never held any type of desire to visit New York City, he'd always thought it to be London but bigger, louder and far more hectic, if that were even possible. But here he was, all because he had decided he wanted to buy a pair of shoes identical to the ones Hermione's parents had bought her in the hopes that maybe she could put her old pair into storage and step out in a new, less destroyed pair. He had been right about New York; it was far too busy, far too noisy and he suspected that people moved so quickly here that they forgot to breathe. He stood on the path outside Macusa, having used their portkey service to get here, knowing that he had six hours before his portkey back to the UK would expire and he would be stuck here indefinitely. Six hours to navigate an entirely alien city, in a country he had never even wanted to visit, with no idea where to even begin. All for a pair of shoes.

Ever since Hermione had told him what she had needed to do in order to protect her parents, he had been stuck in a state of shock and awe. For her to have willingly taken her parents' memories, memories of her and everything about their life together, had taken an immense amount of courage and he was amazed that she had been so incredibly strong. In truth, he had assumed they had died; she rarely mentioned them, although now he could see that it was simply too difficult, never saw them and with her being the most wanted muggleborn in the country during that time, best friend to Harry Potter and on the run with him, it made sick kind of sense that Voldemort would have tortured her parents for information as to her whereabouts. He'd been expecting to hear a very different story to the one that she told and it had horrified him to learn the true extent of her sacrifice for the cause. They had abandoned their cake and coffee shortly after when he pulled her into a quiet alley and apparated them back into her flat. He'd made sure she had taken her potion and she'd quickly fallen asleep on the sofa, where he'd kept watch over her for a few hours before leaving a note for her, telling her to come and get him if she needed him and then things had gone back to their new normal. He was proud of her for the amount of strength she showed, but he knew the time would come when she would need to break down.

Fred reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out the map that he had picked up in the foyer of Macusa that served to aid visiting magical folk with their exploration of the muggle city. He ignored the warnings about magic, knowing that he had no intention of even pulling his wand out of its hiding place in the back of his belt, and squinted down at the impossibly small writing that he hoped would tell him where he was supposed to go, but it didn't help. Groaning as he realised he would need to ask for help, he turned on his heel and re-entered the Macusa building, crossing to the welcome desk to beg for help. After trying to explain to the witch behind the desk that he needed to get to Tim's Squirrel and her having spent at least five minutes trying to figure out where that was before realising he meant Times Square, he re-emerged onto the street with written directions feeling much more hopeful about his adventure. The written instructions told him to go 53 blocks north-east, which would have been fine if he had any idea what the hell constituted a 'block'. With a sigh, he pulled a compass, which he had stolen from his Dad's shed of muggle contraptions at the last Sunday dinner, from his pocket and turned himself until he was facing north before he began to walk.

It took all of the knowledge Hermione had imparted upon him about muggle traffic to keep himself alive as he quickly discovered that car owners in New York might be insane. The lights at the crossing were easier to decipher because they literally told him when to walk and when not to walk, which he was grateful for. He had been walking for half an hour before he encountered his first major issue, as he found his thus far straight walk ground to a halt by people claiming to be doing magic and he momentarily lost sight of his goal, wondering if he had accidentally stumbled into some kind of magical section of the city. He put the compass back into his pocket as he pushed his way through a crowd, trying to see what kind of magic these people were doing and snorted to himself when he found them to be doing simple card tricks and illusions, quickly deciding it wasn't worth his time. He pushed back through the crowd and glanced around, watching as people milled around and congregated around various types of performers. He was tempted to stay and watch too, but reminded himself why he had come to New York in the first place and pushed on in his mission. He did note that it was nice to see people not frantically running from place to place though.

He walked for half an hour more before his eyes were assaulted by the largest number of advertisements, lit up screens and bright signage that he had ever seen in his life. He stood still on the path, ignoring the tuts and complaints from the people who had to change their courses in order to navigate around him, marvelling at the sheer scale of, well, everything. Times Square, he thought to himself with a laugh, would absolutely blow his Dad's mind and he was greatly amused as he pictured Arthur's reaction to seeing such a muggle marvel of technology. The advertisements were so vibrant, filled with every colour he could think of and absolutely ginormous. It did cross his mind that it would be better if the images moved and wondered what it would look like in a world where magic could be used to make that happen, but shook the thought away; he sounded a bit too much like his father for his own comfort. It amazed him that people were walking with their heads down, eyes on the pavement, because in his honest opinion the area was beautiful and he made a mental note that he had to bring his father here one day before turning his attention to finding the street that would hold his destination. The problem was, there were so many streets leading off of the main one that he had no idea where to begin. Something about New York city left him feeling completely and utterly lost at all times. He sighed, looking around himself to try and find some type of clue, but nothing jumped out at him. He tried to stop a few people who passed by, but two of them didn't speak English and the one person who did was very rude with what seemed to be a love of profanities. He was about to give up and begin aimlessly wandering down every street in turn, when his saviour arrived.

"Are you okay, mister?" a voice said from behind him and he swivelled around, coming face to face with a policeman, complete with a funny looking hat and Fred smiled.

"Oh good, you're a policeman!" Fred said by way of a greeting and the man before him chuckled, nodding.

"And you're British!" he pointed out with a thick accent that sounded so bizarre to Fred, "what d'ya make of the city?"

"It's very big, very noisy and I am very lost," Fred grinned as the policeman gestured for him to move further to the side of the path, following behind before signalling for Fred to continue, "I'm looking for a shoe shop."

"Ok, which one?" the policeman asked, frowning when Fred shrugged and looked at him blankly, "do you know what street it's on?"

"No idea," Fred admitted, sighing and the police man smirked in amusement, "all I know is that it's on a street off of Times Square."

"Right," the other man sighed, frowning as he looked around them, "well there's…"

The kind, albeit confused, police man listed off a long stream of words that meant absolutely nothing to Fred, but he nodded along and looked in whichever direction the man pointed in whenever he did so. Fred was beginning to feel like his quest was doomed, but then he caught the last words of his saviours sentence.

"...there's a little boutique store on 43rd," Fred had a good feeling about this, though he couldn't explain why, and asked for directions to the boutique, "just head up there until you see a 43 on one of the road signs, you'll find the store."

"Thank you!" Fred grinned and the lovely policeman looked shocked when he grabbed him by the shoulders and squeezed them, "you might have saved the day!"

"You're welcome!" the uniformed man chuckled, though his confusion was written all over his face, as Fred pushed on in the direction of 43rd street.

When he arrived at his destination, having triple checked the road sign to make sure he was on the right street, he grinned to himself when he saw a small, rundown looking storefront halfway up. He approached it and was very pleased to find the window full of shoes in a variety of shapes and sizes, both mens and womens, with a brightly coloured neon sign hanging in the window that said "handmade in store, made to order: available, Italian leather", accompanied by a flashing image of a boot. Feeling positive that this was indeed the place where he would find Hermione's shoes, he walked to the door and pushed it open, hearing a small bell jingle as he did so. The man behind the till greeted him stiffly, giving him a slight smile before returning to whatever had been occupying him before Fred's arrival and Fred left him to it, walking around the shop and trying to spot the shoes that had become so familiar to him. He eyed every shoe in the shop, working his way around at least three times before he sighed and approached the counter. The man who had greeted him looked up and smiled again.

"Looking for something in particular, buddy?" He asked, a slight Italian lilt to his American accent, "or are ya gonna keep walking in circles?"

"I'm looking for a pair of shoes," Fred replied, ignoring the eye roll that the man gave at what even he could admit was a fairly obvious statement, given the fact that he was in a shoe shop, "women's size… I don't know American sizing, come to think of it but she's a size 6 in UK sizing, they're brown with stitching around the front and someone bought an identical pair, hopefully from here, about two years ago."

"More Brits?" the man asked and Fred nodded, smiling hopefully, "I actually think I remember them, they came in with a bushy haired girl and then the guy came back later for the shoes."

"Yes!" Fred exclaimed, slamming his hand down on the counter and offering an apologetic look when the man behind it jumped, "yes, do you remember the shoes he bought? I need a pair of those."

"Those specifically?" the man asked and Fred nodded excitedly, watching as the man reached down and pulled a huge book from under the counter and flipped through the pages. When he stopped, he looked up to Fred and shook his head, "that was the last pair of those shoes we made, sorry."

"Dammit." Fred sighed, dropping his head and squeezing his eyes shut.

He had come so far, gotten so close and yet it appeared he would be leaving empty handed and he hated the hollow feeling that settled in his gut at the realisation. He had travelled 3000 miles, traversed the most insane city he ever had any plans of being in, asked for help from muggles and magical folk alike, found the right shoe shop and made it here in one piece only to be told that they didn't have the shoes. He groaned, lifting his head to thank the man when said man spoke, a small smile playing on his lips.

"We still got the pattern though," he offered and Fred's jaw dropped open, hoping that this man meant what he thought he meant, which was confirmed when he continued, "we could make a pair as a custom order, if you still wanted them."

Fred could have kissed him and he would have, were it not for the fear that he might be punched in the face or otherwise arrested by the muggle police for assault.

A week later, two trips to New York and many Galleons (that he had converted into muggle dollars at Gringotts, a service he had hitherto been unaware they offered) shorter, Fred sat in his living room above Wheezes smiling as he held the shoes in his hands. They were identical, they were honestly very lovely and he didn't care that he'd needed to portkey to America twice in a week, or how much money they had cost him. There was nothing he wouldn't do to put a smile on Hermione's face and the least that the incredible witch deserved was a pair of shoes that didn't have any holes in them. Now to work on his plans for the old pair…