A thick summer warmth hung over Diagon Alley early that August morning, the sun reflecting off cobblestones and bouncing light across the array of wizarding shops. Despite the bustle of witches and wizards darting between storefronts, Harry Potter felt a nagging tension coiling in his chest. He walked alongside Severus Snape, whose dark robes and stern aura commanded a respectful berth from most passersby.

Clutching a light satchel, Harry mentally reviewed the day's plan: buy new textbooks, replenish potions supplies, pick up any extra items Snape deemed worthwhile. A swirl of foreign sensations mingled in his thoughts—this was the first time he'd be in Diagon Alley without the usual swirl of Dursley drama or complete loneliness. Instead, he felt a strange sense of formality, trailing next to the imposing professor who'd taken him in for the summer.

They rounded a corner near Gringotts, navigating through small knots of families perusing the bank's white steps. Just ahead, Lucius Malfoy and his family stood by a black iron lamppost—Narcissa in elegant robes, Draco crossing arms impatiently. Their presence formed a small pocket of space as lesser-known wizards gave them a wide berth. Lucius's silver snake-head cane glinted in the sun.

Snape inclined his head in greeting, voice low. "Lucius, Narcissa, Draco."

"Severus," Lucius responded, nodding curtly. His pale gaze swept to Harry, flicking over him with mild curiosity. "Potter," he said, neither warm nor hostile, simply acknowledging. "I trust your summer with Severus has been productive?"

Harry mustered a polite nod. "Yes, sir. It's… been quite informative."

A faint smirk curled Draco's lips. "So I've heard. Father's told me how you've been working on wandless spells. I'm curious to see if you can manage a real duel." He said it with a teasing edge, though no malice—just the usual challenge that now seemed more friendly rivalry than scorn.

Narcissa offered Harry a short, carefully measured smile. "I'm pleased to see you looking well, Mr. Potter. Draco's said nothing but how you plan to keep your circle strong this year."

Harry felt a flicker of gratitude that her tone was at least polite. The Malfoys had their own worldview, but Draco had become an ally, and Lucius—while formidable—had partly cooperated in their group's advantage by offering Draco advanced lessons in politics.

Snape cleared his throat. "Shall we proceed? The supply lists for the new year are out, and Hogwarts expects more specialized materials for certain electives this term."

Draco groaned theatrically, though his eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Yes, potions stock for the advanced track. As if father wasn't already making me brew half the day." But he looked to Harry with a conspiratorial grin.

Lucius raised a brow. "You might be grateful for that practice when you see the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." He let out a soft, contemptuous exhale. "Gilderoy Lockhart—a flamboyant fraud, I suspect."

Narcissa nodded in subdued agreement. "His books are full of self-praise, yet many details contradict verified Ministry records. The man's vanity is legendary."

Snape's lip curled. "Dumbledore's choice, once again ignoring staff recommendations. An idiot, yes—someone who sows illusions of grandeur with no real skill. If he's half the braggart rumor suggests, the students will learn next to nothing."

Harry frowned, recalling the name—Lockhart had plastered his face across multiple wizarding magazines, boasting wild feats. "Lockhart… My friend Hermione—" he caught himself, remembering Hermione wasn't exactly a close friend, "well, a few students last year liked his flamboyant style. But yeah, I've heard he's all talk."

Draco snorted. "Father told me that certain individuals think Lockhart's popularity with the press will 'boost Hogwarts' reputation' after the Quirrell fiasco. Ridiculous."

Lucius drummed his cane lightly on the cobblestones. "Regardless, we must accept it—for now. That said, we prefer you boys to be on guard. Lockhart's incompetence might be more dangerous than facing an actual threat, because you'll never know if he's prepared for emergencies."

Narcissa placed a gloved hand gently on Draco's shoulder, her tone soothing. "And do be polite if possible, Draco. The wizarding press adores him, and it would reflect poorly on us if you confronted him publicly."

A quick hush settled. Harry couldn't help but note that behind the Malfoys' caution lay a certain scorn. They'd handle Lockhart with their usual cunning, gleaning what advantage they might while ignoring his incompetent bluster.

Snape gestured toward the hustle of shops. "Indeed. Enough discussion of fools. We have errands. Flourish and Blotts first for textbooks, I believe, and then the apothecary. If the two of you—" he glanced at Draco and Harry, "—plan on advanced potions, you'll need a specialized list. The new Defense teacher's required texts might amuse you, though it's primarily self-glorifying nonsense."

Harry tried not to laugh as Draco rolled his eyes. "Great. Another stack of Lockhart's ridiculous autobiographies. I suppose we'll have them all in hardcover."

With that, the group set off, weaving among families hauling school trunks and brand-new secondhand robes. Harry found it curious—shopping with Snape and the Malfoys instead of navigating alone. Yet the arrangement felt strangely natural, a reflection of how alliances had shifted since last year's upheavals.

They passed Gringotts—Lucius paused to confirm a detail with a goblin about Draco's expense account—then pressed on to the main thoroughfare of Diagon Alley. The swirl of color, the hoots from nearby owls, the aroma of fresh baking from a café, all fused into the vibrant, chaotic heart of wizarding life. Despite the underlying tensions—Lockhart's upcoming arrival, Dumbledore's questionable decisions—Harry almost smiled, reminded how alive magic felt in these streets.

No sign of the Weasleys yet—that awaited them later, though none of them suspected the friction that would soon unfold. For now, the mood remained civil if laced with faint sneers at lesser shops or petty gossip from passing acquaintances who recognized Lucius. Harry walked a step behind Snape and Narcissa, Draco at his side, as they aimed for the flourish of quills and parchment that signaled Flourish and Blotts, the first stop on their back-to-school list.

Flourish and Blotts bustled with late-summer frenzy, families stocking up on textbooks for the coming Hogwarts term. Sunlight cut through the dusty windows, striking the bright covers of Gilderoy Lockhart's flamboyant display. Everywhere Harry looked, Lockhart's smirking face grinned from posters, each boasting some new "heroic" exploit.

Harry stood with Severus Snape and the Malfoy family—Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco—near a towering stack of Lockhart's collected works. The Malfoys regarded the scene with thinly veiled contempt. Snape, arms folded, radiated quiet disapproval at Dumbledore's flamboyant new Defense Against the Dark Arts hire. Already, the professor had commented on Lockhart's fraudulent reputation.

Amid the press of wizards and witches, Lockhart himself emerged from behind a purple curtain, decked in lilac robes that matched his sparkling smile. He spread his arms wide, voice carrying above the din. "My dear fans! Gilderoy Lockhart, at your service! Here to sign books and delight you with my soon-to-be legend as Hogwarts' Defense professor!"

Some bystanders clapped politely; others looked skeptical. Harry felt his stomach twist, recalling both Snape's scorn and the Malfoys' snide remarks about Lockhart's vanity. Draco rolled his eyes, muttering, "He's unbearable."

Then, in a classic move of showy dramatics, Lockhart caught sight of Harry. His jaw dropped in mock surprise. "Harry Potter! Well, well—look who's come to see me!" The crowd parted, heads whipping around. In an instant, Lockhart was upon Harry, grin nearly splitting his face.

Harry tried to ease backward, but Lockhart snatched his arm, showboating for the onlookers. "Just in time for a photo opportunity, dear boy," Lockhart trilled. "You and me, side by side, the best of wizarding celebrity and the best of wizarding academia! A perfect introduction to my new Hogwarts post!"

Before Harry could protest, Lockhart pulled him forward, hoisting an enormous copy of Magical Me in front of them. The bright flash of a wizard photographer's camera burst across the shop. "Yes, yes—this will do splendidly!" Lockhart crowed, oblivious to Harry's discomfort as he tightened his grip on Harry's shoulder.

A wave of indignation prickled up Harry's neck. He's manhandling me in front of everyone. He half-wrenched free, but Lockhart persisted, leaning in with a stage whisper, "Play along, dear Harry, the crowd loves a good show—"

"Unhand him, Lockhart." Snape's voice sliced through the air like a chilled blade. In a single, fluid motion, Severus stepped closer, batting aside Lockhart's hand from Harry's shoulder with a swift flick of his wand-free arm. The hush that fell was deafening.

Lockhart, eyes wide, forced a simpering smile. "My, my—Professor Snape. Merely giving the public a treat. No harm done—just a friendly photo."

Snape's lip curled in barely restrained loathing. "Mr. Potter is not your prop for theatrics. Kindly conduct your 'friendly photos' without manhandling him." His gaze burned cold as he locked eyes with Lockhart. Lockhart swallowed, uncertain how to respond to Snape's intimidating stance.

Harry exhaled relief, stepping back out of Lockhart's personal space. An uneasy clamor resumed, some spectators exchanging doubtful murmurs. Draco shot Harry a wry smirk that seemed to say, You see? This is the fraud we warned you about. Meanwhile, Lucius and Narcissa looked on with thinly veiled scorn, apparently content to let Snape put Lockhart in his place.

Just then, the Weasleys arrived. Molly corralled her brood, while Arthur tried steering them clear of trouble. But the tension soared as Fred and George Weasley recognized Harry—standing with Snape, of all people. A flicker of surprise crossed both twins' faces. Meanwhile, Ron glowered at the Malfoys, resentment plain on his features.

Lockhart, eager to restore attention, brandished a quill from an inner pocket. "Ahem! Let's all keep the mood light, shall we? Autographs, photos—your professor is graciously ensuring we keep things… civil!" He forced a laugh.

Another camera flash lit the scene, capturing the exact moment Lucius Malfoy strode up behind Draco, exuding aristocratic disdain for both Lockhart's spectacle and the Weasleys' presence. Then, in a move that spelled rising confrontation, Arthur Weasley came forward to grab some Lockhart textbooks from a sale bin, only to cross paths with Lucius.

The older Malfoy sniffed. "Ah, Arthur… so the rumors are true. You're still rummaging for discount volumes?"

Arthur's cheeks reddened. "Better that than paying fortunes for worthless—" He abruptly clamped his jaw at Molly's urgent tug, though the friction lingered in the tense set of his shoulders.

In the swirl of prickling silence, Harry caught sight of Ginny Weasley standing awkwardly behind a display. She clutched a battered old cauldron, looking skittish as if something weighed heavily on her mind. Odd, Harry thought fleetingly, but his attention was yanked away when Lockhart performed a flamboyant bow:

"Indeed, indeed!" Lockhart said, voice pitched loud enough for the entire store. "No need to fuss, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Malfoy—I'm sure we can all be… refined. After all, you'll have me at Hogwarts soon, turning out top-tier young witches and wizards, like dear Harry here!" He gestured again at Harry, smiling like they were old friends.

Harry resisted rolling his eyes, remembering Snape's swift intervention moments ago. At the edge of his vision, he noticed the Weasley twins: Fred and George locked eyes with him, exchanging wry, almost apologetic looks about the general fiasco. Then, in unison, they offered Harry a subtle wink as if acknowledging "this is ridiculous, but we're not holding grudges against you." A breath of relief passed through Harry—some part of the Weasley family didn't harbor outright hostility.

Snape remained stoic, wand hand discreetly close if Lockhart tried another stunt. Lucius and Narcissa ushered Draco to finalize their purchases, while Arthur, thoroughly peeved, stomped over to claim used copies for Ginny. The tension hovered on a knife's edge, but no explosive argument broke out—Lockhart's ceaseless prattle dominated the room, draining away the impetus for a deeper confrontation.

At last, Snape turned to Harry. "We have what we need," he said coolly, ignoring the fiasco in the shop. "Let's leave." Harry nodded, handing Lockhart's forcibly gifted book to Draco with a shrug—Draco smirked, as if stifling laughter at the memory of Snape smacking away Lockhart's grip.

As they exited, the Weasleys parted to let them pass—some wearing disapproval, some embarrassment. Harry offered a small nod to Fred and George, who returned it with faint, conspiratorial grins. With that, the Slytherin-laden group left Flourish and Blotts behind, stepping into the Diagon Alley sunshine. The swirl of tension receded into the shop's interior, leaving behind only the lingering echoes of Lockhart's vain proclamations.

Outside, Snape ushered Harry forward, scorn etched across the professor's features. "A buffoon and a poseur," he muttered darkly about Lockhart. "We'll see how long the staff endures him."

Harry let a shaky breath out, mulling over the fleeting eye contact with the twins, Ginny's odd behavior, Ron's simmering hostility, Lockhart's flamboyant pushiness. The upcoming school year loomed full of unknown challenges, but at least one thing was clear: Severus Snape would not tolerate Lockhart's antics—and Harry had grown strong enough to stand up for himself against a false idol if needed.

The midday heat pressed gently into Diagon Alley as Severus Snape, Lucius, Narcissa, Draco, and Harry retreated from the throng of shoppers to a quieter corner café near Gringotts. A row of small tables occupied a terrace shaded by a striped awning. While Lucius arranged for their meal with a brisk conversation about the café's "private seating," Narcissa settled at a table, elegantly smoothing a linen napkin across her lap. Draco plopped into the chair beside her, eyes roving the bustling Alley. Harry, still feeling a bit unsettled by the earlier chaos in Flourish and Blotts, took the seat closest to Snape, who sat with reserved composure.

They'd parted ways from the Weasleys with minimal fuss, and the fiasco with Lockhart had ended without further drama—though the memory of him yanking Harry for a photo still rankled. At least the swirl of Diagon Alley provided a much-needed sense of normalcy. Shoppers passed by the terrace, ignoring their small group for the most part, though some did a double-take at Lucius Malfoy or whispered upon recognizing Harry Potter.

When their order arrived—sandwiches, a light soup, and cool beverages—the five of them momentarily focused on the meal. Draco and Harry exchanged a smirk, reflecting on the day's earlier events: Lockhart's spectacle, the tense stand-off with the Weasleys, and Snape's swift intervention.

"Well," Lucius said after a few bites, dabbling the corner of his mouth with a napkin, "we have the bulk of the supply list taken care of. Only a few minor items remain—an updated potion ingredient here, an advanced runic chart there."

Narcissa nodded. "We can pick them up next week, if needed. Draco, dear, you won't need them until after the first few lessons anyway." She took a polite sip of her iced drink.

At that moment, Harry glanced down the alley and spotted a store sign shaped like a racing broom—Quality Quidditch Supplies. A bright new broom model in the window caught his eye, shining under the shop's enchantment. His heart gave a flutter; it had been a while since he'd checked out the Quidditch store's updated stock. A faint grin nudged his mouth.

Draco followed Harry's line of sight, noticing the same store sign. "Ah—Quality Quidditch Supplies," he murmured, lighting up with immediate interest. "They posted an ad in the Daily Prophet about a new line of mid-range brooms. Might be interesting to see."

Harry turned to Snape, face coloring slightly with excitement. "Er—Professor Snape, do you think we could… maybe pop over to the Quidditch store after lunch? Just to look around."

Snape arched a critical brow, finishing his sip of tea before responding. "Mr. Potter, your broom needs are presumably met for next term's Quidditch, unless you plan to buy another…?"

Harry flushed. "N-no, not necessarily. But I'd like to see what's new, especially the new gear. And maybe a look at the updated protective sets." He tried not to sound too eager, aware that Snape's permission wasn't guaranteed.

Draco chimed in, looking from his mother to his father. "Could we, Father? Just to browse, if nothing else. We've done everything else on the list. I won't ask for a new broom unless it's truly superior. You know I'm quite happy with my current model." He gave a half-smirk, confidence lacing his tone.

Lucius hesitated, eyes flicking between Draco and the store sign at the far end of the alley. "We do have the time, I suppose. If your mother and I are not delayed by other errands…"

Narcissa pursed her lips but offered a graceful nod of consent. "Draco's correct—he's satisfied with his broom, but an upgrade in gear or training materials might be worthwhile. And it can't hurt for Harry to keep track of Quidditch innovations." She glanced politely at Snape.

Snape, setting aside his teacup, regarded Harry and Draco with a measured look. "If it amuses the two of you to visit that store, I'll not forbid it. Considering your input in the day's errands has been relatively unobtrusive, I see no issue—provided it's a quick detour." A faint ghost of a smirk crossed his lips. "And mind you, I'll be quite displeased if you come out demanding some overhyped new broom."

Harry grinned, relief flooding him. Draco let out a soft laugh. "Understood, sir. We'll keep a civil approach."

Lucius, finishing his soup, laid down his spoon with a decisive click. "Well, then. We'll settle the bill here. Draco, you and Mr. Potter have fifteen minutes in that store before we proceed to the last errands."

Harry nodded enthusiastically, grateful for this break in the day's tensions. Maybe this school year—despite Lockhart's fiasco—will hold some good times on the Quidditch pitch, he thought, excitement stirring at the idea of flying again.

They quickly finished lunch, exchanging mild talk about the upcoming term. The conversation tiptoed around Lockhart's appointment, each adult warily referencing "the new Defense teacher" with scorn. But for Harry, thoughts of Quidditch overshadowed those frustrations. Once the plates were cleared, Lucius signaled the café staff to handle payment, and the group rose to depart.

Narcissa paused to readjust Draco's collar, brushing off invisible dust. "Go on, then—see what's new. We'll wait just outside, or perhaps browse the apothecary next door. Don't dawdle." She offered a faint smile.

Draco nodded, beckoning Harry to follow as they strode eagerly across the bustling walkway, weaving around witches with laden shopping bags, until they reached the quaint, broom-shaped sign of Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Snape and the Malfoys lingered behind, though not too far, each adult wearing their distinct expression of caution or mild indulgence. For one small pocket of time, the day's earlier tensions faded into the background, replaced by the simple joy of exploring new Quidditch gear—a testament to the fact that, even in a swirl of House rivalries, incompetent professors, and looming wizarding politics, Harry and Draco could still relish a moment of normal teenage excitement.

The door chime of Quality Quidditch Supplies sang a cheery note as Harry and Draco stepped inside, the shift in atmosphere immediate. Gone was the bustling noise of Diagon Alley; in its place, the cozy hush of polished wood floors and neatly arranged broom racks. Overhead, decorative banners for the Harpies, Arrows, and other professional teams hung in proud display, while to the side, a glass case boasted the newest Quidditch bracers and gloves.

Draco let out a soft whistle, eyes sweeping over a tall stand of shimmering broom models. "Look at that," he murmured, gesturing to a new mid-range racing broom, all sleek lines and silver trim. "Not as fancy as my father's custom broom, but still."

Harry, half-distracted, gravitated toward a nearby shelf showcasing Seeker-centric gear. Metal stands held goggles with anti-fog charms, ear guards that muffled the roar of the crowd, and a variety of gloves. One pair caught his eye: dark green gloves with a subtle serpentine pattern pressed into the backs, and a palm surface that glowed faintly under the store's overhead enchantments.

"These look… interesting," Harry muttered, picking them up. A faint stickiness clung to his fingers, though not unpleasant—more like a firm grip that let him hold the glove in midair without slipping. He turned them over, reading a small tag: Seeker's Edge: Enhanced Grip for Broom and Snitch Handling—Approved for Official League Play. A wave of excitement rippled through his stomach.

"Sticky palm gloves," Draco observed, drifting closer. "They're new this season. Some big Quidditch star requested them after losing the Snitch in a hailstorm." He smirked. "Might be an advantage for you, Potter—though watch the rules; certain referees might call it an unfair edge. But I doubt they're actually illegal."

Harry shrugged, trying on one glove, feeling how it molded to his hand. "If Slytherin's Keeper—Marcus Flint—approves, we could definitely use it. Let's see if Snape or someone else complains." He flexed his fingers and smiled at the surety of grip. "I… kinda like them."

Draco gave a nod of mock seriousness, crossing his arms. "We can ask my father or Snape if they mind you picking them up. Or you could just buy them yourself—no one's likely to suspect a cunning plan behind a pair of gloves." A hint of a grin touched his mouth. "Better than that time we tried illusions on your broomstick." He caught himself, not wanting to mention their group's more covert illusions in a public store.

Harry let out a soft laugh, slipping the gloves off to read the price tag. "I might. They're pricey, but… if I can get them, it'd be worth it. Merlin knows every advantage helps on the pitch."

They continued exploring the shelves, Draco occasionally plucking up a set of streamlined bracers or showing Harry a catalog of advanced Quidditch drills. The store clerk, noticing their interest, hovered a short distance away, ready to answer if they had questions but wisely not interfering.

Eventually, they meandered to the corner that displayed house-colored gear—Slytherin's emerald scarves and shimmering broom decals in silver. Draco, pulling an emerald Chaser's band out of a bin, turned to Harry, a spark lighting his grey eyes. "I've been thinking," he said in a low voice, "about trying out for the Chaser position this year. That is… if I can knock out the competition in tryouts."

Harry's brow lifted. "Chaser? But I thought you were content just watching me hunt the Snitch and occasionally taunting the other team from the stands."

A faint smirk crossed Draco's lips. "Standing on the sidelines was fine when I didn't trust the team. But after last year's insane match records—and seeing you in action—I want in. Slytherin still needs a solid offense, especially since we lost a Chaser to graduation. Why not me?" He shrugged, though his tone carried determination.

A flicker of amusement mingled with genuine support rose in Harry's chest. "Well, good. That'd be brilliant—us both on the pitch. You and I can coordinate maneuvers. If you pass the quaffle well, I can… well, do my Seeker thing. We'd be unstoppable, especially if the rest of the circle pitches in with illusions or wards." He realized too late he'd spoken a bit too freely about their illusions, but no one else seemed to overhear.

Draco nodded, lips curving. "So, it's settled. I'll try out. Father's not thrilled about me 'mucking around with a public house team' instead of focusing on pureblood alliances, but… he knows it builds 'character.' And if I succeed, we can push Slytherin's dominance in Quidditch even further."

Harry's grin matched Draco's excitement. Even if Lockhart's a fraud, even if the Weasleys still glare at me, at least Quidditch might be fun this year. The idea of them on the same team, forging synergy on the field, fueled a surge of anticipation.

They continued browsing, stopping once in front of a stand advertising "limited-time Quidditch trunk customizations"—blazing personal logos, house emblems, enchantments to keep gear fresh. Draco turned the handle on a demonstration trunk, half-impressed. "We could look into these if you get those gloves."

A voice behind them coughed politely, and they turned to see the store clerk. "Pardon me, sirs—did you need help with sizing or any custom fit? Those gloves especially need a quick palm measure."

Harry glanced at Draco, who shrugged. "Sure, let's get them properly fitted. Then we can see about checking out with Professor Snape."

Nodding, the clerk retrieved a measuring tape from her belt. Harry felt the subtle excitement warm him—the idea of new gear, a new year, and Draco stepping up as a potential Chaser. Despite the day's earlier tensions with the Weasleys, a sense of camaraderie lingered here, in the Quidditch store's hum of broom polish and sporting pride.

Once the measurement concluded and the clerk explained how to properly "charge" the gloves with wandless synergy (which Draco teased Harry about mastering), they left the display. Outside, the rest of their group presumably waited. In that moment, as Draco and Harry exchanged grins, their shared Quidditch future seemed one of the bright corners in an otherwise complicated wizarding world.

Exiting Quality Quidditch Supplies, Harry and Draco were greeted by the warm sunlight of Diagon Alley. Clutched in Harry's arms was a small box containing the pair of enhanced Seeker gloves he'd had fitted moments ago—a sample case, so he could demonstrate them to Severus Snape. Just beyond the store's threshold, Snape, Lucius, and Narcissa stood together near a potion ingredient stall, finishing a short discussion about a newly released advanced potion kit.

Noting Harry and Draco's return, Snape arched an eyebrow. "You two appear exceedingly pleased. I suppose you found something more interesting than that tacky broom display?"

Draco stepped forward, an air of feigned politeness underscoring his words. "Professor, Harry found a new pair of Seeker gloves. Very good quality—Seeker's Edge. Sticky palms for better broom and Snitch grip."

Harry swallowed, carefully lifting the box for Snape to see. "They're not cheap, sir," he admitted, "but they could be really useful. Especially after last year's… well, extended matches, any advantage on the pitch helps."

A flicker of mild amusement crossed Snape's face, though he schooled it quickly into neutrality. "So you wish to purchase specialized gloves, relying on gear instead of pure skill to catch the Snitch?"

Lucius offered a quiet sniff of skepticism, though not outright disapproval. Narcissa glanced at Draco, weighing how to approach the conversation. Draco, sensing Snape's resistance, piped up again, "Father, Mother, you do see the use, right? They're not some gaudy marketing ploy—these gloves have an official league stamp. And Snape did say we can't rely on illusions or borderline-legal tricks alone."

Narcissa's gaze flicked to the box. "Yes, I recall reading a snippet in Which Broomstick? about them. If they're recognized by professional referees, presumably they're within Hogwarts rules."

Snape exhaled a low breath, crossing his arms. "You truly believe these gloves will improve your Quidditch performance, Potter? I would hate to see you squander your Galleons on a novelty."

Harry nodded, nerves fluttering. "Yes, sir. They have an actual function—just a bit of extra grip. Not an unfair cheat, just… you know, a small edge."

Severus's dark eyes roved between Harry's earnest face and Draco's supportive stance. Behind them, Lucius glanced around as if impatient to finish. Finally, with a soft intake of air, Snape relented, though not without a tone of caution. "Very well, if you truly want them and can pay or arrange payment. But mark my words: don't rely on gadgetry at the expense of skill. If I find you slacking in training, Potter, you'll regret the purchase."

A bright flicker of relief lit Harry's eyes. "Thank you, sir. I promise I won't. I—er, appreciate it." He cradled the box a bit closer, smiling.

Draco smirked knowingly, tipping a slight nod to Lucius—who, in return, gave a minuscule shrug of acceptance, evidently unbothered. Narcissa turned to a passing wizard to settle a minor purchase for Draco's own Quidditch gear, leaving Severus to eye Harry one final time.

Snape regarded the boy's excitement and added a last admonition, low-voiced. "Remember: these trinkets are not a replacement for genuine training. Don't expect them to save you if you face a real Bludger barrage or a cunning opponent."

Harry stiffened his spine. "I understand, Professor."

With that, the matter concluded, and the group resumed their meander through Diagon Alley's crowd. Draco glanced at Harry, a grin stealing over his features. "You'd better practice those gloves in the sanctuary," he murmured softly, "or Snape will claim you're 'slacking.'"

Harry laughed under his breath. "If we manage them well, maybe our next match won't take five hours… or half the day."

A mild snort escaped Draco, and they fell in step behind Lucius and Narcissa. Their arms weighed with new supplies, the last sunlight glinting off the small box that held Harry's new gloves—a tangible sign that, even in a swirl of serious alliances and wizarding politics, they could still savor Quidditch as a bright corner of their Hogwarts life.

The late-afternoon sun glinted on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley as the small party emerged from Quality Quidditch Supplies one last time. Harry, clutching a bag containing his newly purchased Seeker gloves, stood beside Draco, who had added a few small items—extra broom polish, a new set of quaffle-handling grips—to his own haul. The final register ring had sealed the purchases, leaving them both buoyant with anticipation for the upcoming Quidditch season.

Just beyond the shop's threshold, Lucius and Narcissa paused by a lamppost, exchanging a few words with Severus Snape about their respective next steps. Lucius, cane in hand, glanced at Draco and Harry with a faintly satisfied air, while Narcissa offered Draco a reminder about their evening schedule. Meanwhile, Snape stood near Harry, posture reserved yet watchful of the street's lingering bustle.

Draco spun on his heel to face Harry, a soft grin quirking his mouth. "Guess we'll see how those gloves handle real practice soon," he said, tone half-joking. "Try not to rely on them too much—or Snape will remind you about skill versus gadgetry."

Harry chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind." He tapped the side of the shopping bag gently. "But I'm glad we got them. And those extra handgrips you found will probably help you if you do get that Chaser position."

A flicker of excitement lit Draco's eyes, though he tried to mask it with casual indifference. "No question—I'm aiming for that spot." Then he hesitated, as if unsure how to phrase a genuine goodbye in front of both sets of guardians. "Anyway… see you back at Hogwarts, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, equally uncertain how to express camaraderie while Lucius and Snape looked on. He forced a small grin. "We'll… take the Cup again this year—both the Quidditch one and, hopefully, the House Cup."

Draco's smirk deepened. "Naturally."

Lucius raised a hand, signaling Draco's attention. "Come, Draco," he said, a note of finality in his voice. "We have an engagement to keep." Narcissa gave a polite tilt of the head to Snape and Harry before following Lucius. Draco shot Harry a last wink, then moved off down the alley, the Malfoy family's tailored robes blending into the crowd until they vanished from sight.

A hush settled, leaving Harry and Severus standing in front of the Quidditch store. The chaotic swirl of Diagon Alley felt calmer now, tinged with the day's late-summer glow. Snape gave Harry a measured glance. "Ready to depart, Potter? I see no further reason to linger."

"Yes, Professor," Harry answered, rebalancing the shopping bag on his hip. A mild pang of satisfaction coursed through him—they'd done everything on the list, navigated the drama with Lockhart and the Weasleys, and even found a small piece of Quidditch excitement for the upcoming year.

Snape nodded, his black robes shifting as he turned. With a final glance at the bright Quidditch storefront behind him, Harry followed his guardian down the cobbled path, weaving past witches and wizards finishing their own errands. Soon they slipped out through the winding corridors that led to the less-crowded exit, ready to Apparate or Floo back to the quiet refuge where Harry would continue his summer training.

Though the day had been fraught with tension—Lockhart's bombastic display, the fleeting confrontation with the Weasley family, and fresh revelations about the new school year—Harry felt a subtle current of confidence running through him. He was returning home with Snape, Quidditch gear in hand, and Draco's informal promise of partnership on the pitch sealed. For the moment, that was enough to make the weight of the world and the uncertain future fade, replaced by the mild glow of a day's success.