Awakenings
Chapter 5 — Bewitched
By Lady Alchymia
Four days before his birthday, Harry’s happiness was complete when Ron escaped Auntie Muriel. On his way to work, Mr Weasley dropped off his two youngest and helped Remus deliver a particularly large consignment of orchids to market. Ron went straight to the poolroom. Ginny wasn’t far behind. Hermione watched from the poolroom balcony, using a charmed megaphone to call out encouragement between chapters of whatever she was reading. Late in the day, Remus joined the fliers and managed to surprise Harry with some very deft dodging.
"Oh! He did it again!" Hermione called out helpfully through the megaphone when Remus caught Harry unawares for about the fifth time.
"Whoa! Where did you come from?" laughed Harry.
Remus just grinned. "Your father taught me that move."
"Show me!" Harry demanded at once.
It wasn’t easy; it just felt so unnatural, like he was fighting his own body as much as gravity, like a bird reversing mid-swoop. Still, he could see why his father perfected the dodge: it was completely unpredictable.
"I think you’re getting the hang of it," Remus said, nodding approvingly. Harry wasn’t convinced.
"I’m still drifting to the left," he complained.
"That’ll come good with practice," Remus assured him.
Down in goals, Ron and Ginny practiced increasingly aggressive drills.
Hermione finally grabbed the charmed megaphone and yelled, "Hungry, now!"
Landing on the balcony, Remus winced at how late it was.
"Time flies when you do," he apologised.
Down in the kitchen, he passed around ice-cold pumpkin juice and suggested pizza for dinner. The teens roared their approval. Remus made them promise not to tell Molly Weasley.
"Back in a tick," he said. "Don’t go blowing up the house."
Whilst waiting for food to miraculously appear, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Ron dissected the transformation of Black House.
"Well, the best bit by far is definitely the library!" Hermione declared categorically.
"Big surprise," smirked Ron.
"Pity they couldn’t get rid of Sirius’s mother," Ginny said.
"Yeah," Ron agreed. "Would’ve been good to get rid of her before the party."
Hermione and Ginny gasped.
"What party?" Harry asked, looking around at three mortified faces.
"Ow!" cried Ron. Ginny had given him a solid punch in the arm.
"What’s going on?" Harry said, a smile playing on his lips.
"It was supposed to be a surprise!" Ginny complained, punching her brother again.
"Yeah, I’m kinda getting that," Harry said with a wink to Ron, who smiled back sheepishly.
Hermione bit her lip and moaned, "Oh, Remus is so going to kill us! He so wanted to surprise you!"
"Well, I am surprised," Harry said brightly, "so no problem."
Just then, Remus strode into the kitchen, his arms full of pizza boxes. He halted at a pained look from Hermione.
"He knows!" she wailed. "Ron just let it slip!"
Ron, who was doing a good job of disappearing under the table, cast Hermione a filthy look and mumbled under his breath something that sounded a lot like what a Seeker usually chased. Remus dumped the pizzas on the table, shot a hard glare at Ron, and cuffed him across the back of the head for good measure. Ron’s fingers tiptoed towards the pizza. Ginny shoved the steaming boxes towards Hermione, who sternly picked out the smallest slice she could find for Ron’s plate (Harry slipped him a bigger piece under the table). A secret no more, the finer points of ‘Potterfest16’ came spilling out over hot mushroom and pepperoni. Harry learned Dumbledore was in on the party and was arranging for a Portkey to bring the guests into Headquarters. The windows would be charmed to show different scenery, and Mr and Mrs Weasley and Mad-Eye Moody would be joining Remus as chaperones. There would be a party on Friday night, Harry’s actual birthday, and the younger guests would stay for the weekend. The members of the Order of the Phoenix also planned to honour the occasion with a feast on the Sunday night. Harry was mightily bemused and impressed by his friends’ elaborate plans for him. He was in bed, reading over the lengthy guest list, when Remus stopped by to say good night.
"Oh, shut up," Remus said, laughing at Harry’s impish grin. "It was supposed to be just a small thing at The Burrow. Then the twins and the Order got involved, and it seemed to take on a life of its own. Shove over."
Harry made room for Remus to sit down on the bed.
"So is that what this whole Black House Blitz was about?" he asked. "Getting the house ready for a party?"
"Among other things, but yes," Remus said wryly. He looked at Harry shrewdly. "How do you really feel about this weekend? Is it too much?"
Harry, still reeling from the Black House Blitz, couldn’t help but remember all the years of watching Dudley being pampered with parties and gifts.
"Yes, it is too much," he said, "but it’s seriously tragic how much I’m looking forward to it."
Over breakfast next morning, Remus suggested Harry do some more drawings.
"The walls are looking a bit bare now, don’t you think?" he said meaningfully.
"Oh, you don’t really want my drawings out here, do you?" he said weakly, looking around for support from his friends. It was one thing to have pictures in his bedroom, but to display them around the house like he thought they were so good, well, that was just embarrassing.
"Oh!" cried Hermione, clapping her hands. "You should do drawings of the girls for the party. We can put their faces over which bed they are to sleep in!"
Harry groaned into his corn flakes — hardly the support he was looking for.
"Excellent," Remus said, "that’s settled then! Oh, Bill and Fleur’ll be here tonight. I think I’ll make Toad in the Hole — get a bit of a French thing going."
Harry suppressed a shudder; he’d eaten Remus’s Toad in the Hole and strongly suspected Remus used real toads.
"You must be pretty busy," Harry suggested hopefully. "Why don’t I cook tonight?"
"Oh, only if you want to," Remus said, swiftly handing over a notepad and pencil that came from nowhere. "Make a shopping list for me, and I’ll fetch what you need."
Harry chuckled softly. He knew he’d been had but found he didn’t mind too much. He spent the morning flying with Ron and the afternoon baking steak and kidney pies. Knowing he had Weasleys to feed, he made extra. When he was done, he poked his head back into the poolroom, but Ginny was having so much fun on his borrowed Firebolt, Harry decided to let her be. Collecting Sirius’s doubly patched-up guitar, he joined Remus and Hermione in the library.
"I didn’t know you played the guitar," Hermione said happily. "Play something for me!"
"I’m just learning," said Harry.
After mucking about for awhile, tightening a new set of strings, Harry squinted at his new Weird Sisters’ Greatest Hits music booklet, guessing at the chords and strumming as many strings as seemed appropriate. He suspected the guitar was out of tune. He wasn’t really sure what it was supposed to sound like, but it didn’t sound good. After smiling encouragingly for a minute, perhaps in the hope Harry was just warming up, Hermione found something at the furthest end of the room needing her attention. Remus just smiled benevolently over his newspaper; Harry suspected Charmed Earplugs.
"Those pies smell good," Remus remarked. "Fleur’ll be pleased — I don’t think she thinks very highly of my cooking."
"You’re not that bad," Harry lied. He laid down his guitar and stretched languorously along the leather Chesterfield — a fatal error.
"Oh good, you’re done!" Hermione said brightly. "Now you have time to do the drawings of the girls for the party!"
"Ugh ..." Harry moaned, sticking a purring pillow over his head. "I really don’t think that’s such a good idea."
"Why ever not?" Hermione asked. "They’ll absolutely love them!" She reached over, nicked his pillow, and took a swipe at him. Harry stole the protesting pillow back.
"Knowing my luck, I’ll turn them all into hags! Half of them will be in tears before the party even starts!"
"Don’t be silly; they’ll be beautiful! Oh, come on, Harry, it’ll be brilliant!" She gave him her best, doe-eyed look.
Harry rolled his eyes and punched his pillow, which puffed up delightedly.
"I can’t do that many girls; they take hours! And I can hardly do some and not others."
"Easy!" declared Hermione. "Just do them quarter-size. You’ll be through them in no time!"
"Arghh!" Harry growled, having run out of excuses. His pillow breathlessly mimicked him. "Rawrr!"
"I’ll take that as a yes!" declared Hermione, racing from the room. She reappeared shortly with Harry’s drawing pad, charcoals, and guest list.
Harry dragged himself from the couch, leaving his pillow to deflate forlornly. "All right, who’s up first?"
Starting with Abbott, Hannah, Harry worked steadily for the next two hours. Hermione was banished early on because she kept distracting him, continuingly leaning over his shoulder to ask ‘how he was doing’. Ever mindful of his troublesome subconscious, Harry made sure the images of the girls were as flattering as he could possibly make them. He whizzed through Hannah, Katie Bell, Susan Bones, and Lavender Brown, but came completely unstuck on Cho Chang. He tried three times, but no matter what image he fixed in his head, she always appeared on the page with tears streaming down her face. Growing quite vexed, Harry didn’t know why she’d even been invited to his party anyway.
Drawing further into his memory, he thought hard about the first time he saw her on the Quidditch pitch in his third year. Then he recalled how she broke off the chase to warn him about Dementors invading the pitch, later learning it had been Malfoy and his apes in disguise. It had been perfect payback how Gryffindor went on to win the game, but Harry felt a small pang of guilt. Even though he was confident he would’ve beaten Cho anyway, he imagined she regretted ever trying to help him. Somewhat grudgingly, he had to give her credit for never giving him any grief about that.
With a resigned sigh, he shut his eyes and dug deeper, concentrating hard on reviving memories of how he felt about Cho back then, how hard and long he ached to be with her before everything went so thoroughly pear-shaped. When next he opened his eyes, he was rewarded with an image of a very pretty, shyly smiling, somewhat younger version of Cho Chang.
Everyone was in good spirits over dinner, but Harry found the teatime banter oddly affecting. He couldn’t help but wish that Sirius was with them. Catching Remus watching him, he tried to make more of an effort to join in the table-talk, which was animated and polarised, ranging from Quidditch, to music for the party, to what the girls would be wearing. Fleur offered to take the teens clothes-shopping for the party. Harry and Hermione jumped at the chance, but Ron and Ginny declined in favour of more Quidditch practice (Harry suspected the real reason was a lack of pocket money).
Harry smiled again at the little gestures of affection between Bill and Fleur; just small things — a gentle touch here, a secret glance there. He’d certainly never seen his aunt and uncle behave like that. Ginny caught Harry’s eye and mimed puking while the others weren’t looking. She didn’t seem to be as taken with Bill’s girlfriend as Ron certainly was. As they were clearing plates away, Hermione quietly confided to Harry that Bill had always been Ginny’s favourite — he could ordinarily do no wrong in her eyes, but she couldn’t understand why he would choose beauty over brains.
"Doesn’t give Bill much credit then," Harry whispered back. "I mean, Fleur might be good-looking, okay, absolutely stunning, but she was Champion of her school. The Goblet of Fire didn’t care what she looked like. She knows her stuff. I mean, yeah, she can be a bit haughty sometimes, but she’s been nice enough to me."
Hermione just shrugged. Then her eyes narrowed at Ron, who was gazing dreamily at the blonde witch. Harry suspected Ginny might not be the only one who was jealous of the Frenchwoman.
Next morning, Remus escorted Harry and Hermione to meet Fleur at the Leaky Cauldron. But instead of Diagon Alley, she took them to Harrods. On arrival, she led them down a set of Egyptian escalators to a food hall overflowing with delectable smells and sights. In a far corner of the food hall, behind Harrods Bank, stood a plain green door with a sign that said ‘Closed for Repairs’. Opening it, Fleur led them into what appeared to be an unused janitor’s closet, full of mops and feather dusters. She closed the door and tickled it with a green feather duster. The closet descended like an elevator and opened onto a luxurious atrium lobby dotted with easychairs and drenched in charmed sunlight. A signpost pointed in all directions to the names of various departments: Ladies Wear, Wizardwear, Teen-Witch, Dress Robes, Magical Portmanteaux, Millinery, and such.
"’Arry, why don’t you go look round in zee Wizardwear," Fleur said, waving regally to the left. "’Ermione and I will join you soon."
Without a backward glance, the girls were off. Harry didn’t get very far before he heard a soft pop behind him. In a flash, he spun about, wand in hand.
"Good morning, young sir," said an elderly, elegantly robed wizard, betraying not the slightest awareness of Harry’s wand pressing into his chest. "My name is Abernathy; may I offer you any assistance?"
Harry stuffed his wand back into his jacket. He was suddenly very conscious of the state of his old jeans and split trainers. If Mr Abernathy had any negative thoughts about Harry’s appearance, he had the good manners to hide them well and led him into a recognisably male clothing area with racks full of Wizarding robes mixed with Muggle garb.
"Why don’t I leave you to browse?" He handed Harry a card with a single word: ‘Abernathy’. "Just wave my card when you are ready and I shall be delighted to assist you." Bowing ever so slightly, he Disapparated with the very faintest of pops.
Harry chose a few casual shirts and black cargo pants to start with. As he neared the fitting room, he noticed a pair of young witches poring over a table of coloured sweaters. Smiling wickedly to himself, he crept up behind them.
"What size do you think he is?" Hannah Abbott asked.
"I’m not sure — small men’s, I’d guess," Susan Bones said, holding up two sweaters side by side. "Do you think the blue or the black?"
Harry slipped between them and said, "Well, if it were me, I’d go the green." The girls jumped and Harry grinned at their horrified faces. "Morning!" he said brightly. He was quite delighted to see them, the last time having been when they helped save him from Draco Malfoy and his goons on the train. "And what brings you ladies down to Wizardwear?" he asked with an innocent air.
"Harry!" Hannah cried, glancing at Susan for support. "We ... er ..."
"Right," Susan said nervously, "um, we were ... um ..."
"Brothers!" blurted Hannah.
"Just checking out some things ..." Susan added lamely.
Hufflepuffs were such hopeless liars, Harry thought fondly. He decided to give them a break.
"Well, I’m glad you’re here." He held up two shirts. "What do you think, the black or the blue?"
Relieved, the girls happily launched into style-guru mode, finding things for Harry to try on then sitting in judgement on a sofa just outside the fitting rooms, vetoing anything they didn’t like. After not very long, the novelty of this wore off for Harry. Fortunately, Mr Abernathy came to his rescue.
"I think we might need Geoffrey," he decided and clapped his hands three times in quick succession.
There was a loud crack and flourish of robes and standing before them was a very neat, attractive man of middle years. Mr Abernathy introduced him, and Geoffrey circled Harry, scrutinising him. Geoffrey finally stopped whatever it was he was doing and, with a theatrical wave of his hands, screwed up his eyes and metamorphed into a near-perfect clone of the black-haired lad. Even though Harry had seen Tonks morph many times, he was still stunned to see a twin of himself; the only things missing were his scar and glasses.
"Now, why don’t you just sit down, my dear, and let me take care of these," said Geoffrey in a voice that wasn’t Harry’s.
Reaching for a pile of clothes, Geoffrey disappeared into the fitting rooms, and Harry squeezed onto the sofa between Hannah and Susan. This is more like it, he thought, very pleased.
Striding around confidently, Geoffrey modelled outfit after outfit, never seeming to tire. The girls were delighted, and Geoffrey seemed to love having an audience. Although glad to have escaped the changing rooms, Harry still found it very odd to see himself strutting about, especially when Geoffrey decided he needed to style his hair with ‘product’.
Nudging Hannah, Harry inspired a fit of giggles when he whispered in her ear, "Do I look a tad gay to you?"
With the help of Geoffrey and the girls, Harry settled on a decent selection of formal and informal Muggle and Wizarding clothes, jackets, belts, shoes, and other bits and pieces for the year ahead. Geoffrey gave a low bow and Disapparated to the ringing sound of the girls’ applause. Feeling well-chuffed to be done with his shopping, Harry beamed at the girls and thanked them for all their help.
"I guess I’ll see you on Friday then," he said, winking at them.
The girls glared at him.
"You’re not supposed to know about that!" Hannah cried, swatting him in the arm.
"Why didn’t you say something earlier?" Susan said, laughing indignantly.
"Watching you two try to lie was just too adorable," Harry said cheekily.
Just then, Fleur and Hermione walked up to join them, but they didn’t seem to have bought anything yet. Fleur went straight to the counter and rifled through Harry’s choices, nodding approvingly. She had arranged for him to have a credit facility between Harrods and his Gringotts bank account, and leaving the girls to catch up, Harry signed for his purchases and watched Mr Abernathy pile them into a bottomless, feather-light Harrods bag. It occurred to Harry that Remus could use some new clothes, too, and he asked Fleur to pick out more things to add to his bill. Fleur was delighted to oblige.
As soon as Remus’s clothes were added to Harry’s very convenient shopping bag, Fleur briskly announced it was time for lunch. Harry was pleased to learn that Susan and Hannah were able to join them. Fleur led them up to the Sea Grill on the Muggle ground floor, where every type of seafood was on offer. Sitting at the marble counter, Fleur held court between Hermione and Hannah, airily dismissing Hermione’s challenging questions about French house-elves (a debate Harry had every intention of staying well out of).
"Zey are ’appy to know zey are much better cooks zan zee English elves," Fleur said haughtily, as if that encapsulated everything that needed to be said on the subject (Harry could only dream).
"Be that as it may," Hermione said waspishly, "don’t you feel they should be free to —"
To Harry’s left, Hannah was listening intently to the debate, but Harry tuned out. He was more interested in the rich aromas of seafood, spices, and fresh produce, sizzling on the other side of the pink-marble counter. To his right sat Susan, her long, auburn plait dangling past the seat of her stool. She picked at her barramundi fish fillet and gave Harry a searching look.
"How have you been, Harry?" she asked quietly. "I know it hasn’t been the greatest year for you."
"No, it hasn’t," Harry agreed ruefully. "But it helps having good friends around. I’m really looking forward to the weekend."
"So am I," Susan said, giving his arm a warm squeeze before turning back to her fish. "Fred and George have been in their element. I never knew they were so bossy. We were all given such strict instructions not to tell you anything. So tell me, who let it slip?"
"Ron," said Harry, grinning. "I think Remus was tempted to bite him."
"Right ..." said Susan slowly. "Fred said Professor Lupin was your new guardian. How’s that working out? I always liked him."
"It’s going well, I think," said Harry. "Remus was good friends with my parents, and we already knew each other pretty well. There’ve been a few hurdles," he admitted. "Full moon wasn’t much fun."
"But preferable to your Muggle family?" Susan suggested curiously.
"Definitely," said Harry emphatically.
Susan smiled sympathetically and shifted gears. "Hermione tells me you’re into the guitar. What kind of music do you play?"
Harry shook his head ruefully. "I wouldn’t call it playing."
"Still learning?" prompted Susan.
"Still trying to work out how to tune the rotten thing," Harry admitted with a laugh.
"You’ll get there," she said encouragingly. "Are you getting lessons?"
"Nah, just mucking around," said Harry. "Going slightly insane trying to memorise all those chords. There must be a million finger positions."
"It helps if you learn them in natural chord progressions," suggested Susan. She smiled at Harry’s blank expression. "Half the songs these days only use three chords. And there’s other stuff that helps — like pivot fingers — you don’t want to move your fingers around more than you have to. Here, I’ll show you." She reached for Harry’s right hand and said, "Pretend your fingers are the first four strings, and your knuckles are the frets. Right?"
Susan’s eyes strayed to the spidery writing on the back of Harry’s hand, and her expression darkened for a moment, but she made no comment. Instead, she curled her hand around Harry’s fingers and pressed down with three of her fingertips.
"So that’s A Major," she said. Holding her second finger steady, she shifted the other two. "And that’s A Minor 7th." She shifted two fingertips again. "And that’s A Dominant 7th." Susan repeated the chords, humming along for good measure. "See how you don’t need to move your second finger?"
Harry’s mullet was getting cold, but he was rather enjoying Susan Bones playing his fingers.
"Keep going. I need more chords."
"You need more fingers," Susan countered with a laugh. "Oh, and you’ll want to learn slide fingering." Susan demonstrated by sliding her fingertips up and down his knuckles (Harry found that particularly enjoyable). "I could probably scrounge up some old lesson books for you, if you like," she said brightly. "I’ll bring them on Friday."
"Excellent. So, you play a lot?"
"Not recently — I’m on the piano mostly."
"Cool," Harry said, adding cheerily, "someone just blew up my piano." He grinned at the appalled look on Susan’s face. "No — no, it’s all good, seriously. It was this horrible, ratty old thing, and I scored a brand new one as an apology."
"That is one serious apology," Susan noted, impressed.
Harry tugged his fringe down over his scar, knowing full-well why the members were making such a fuss about him.
"Why do you do that?" Susan asked in a voice only he could hear.
"What?" Harry asked, wondering what he’d done.
"Pull your fringe down. You do that a lot."
"Oh," Harry said uncomfortably, "is that all. Old habit, I guess." Susan raised an eyebrow inquiringly, clearly waiting for more. "Don’t like people staring at — you know," said Harry, hoping he sounded like he didn’t care. Susan frowned and Harry tensed again, now realising what he just said. "Sorry, I didn’t mean you were staring at it — I mean …"
Susan reached up with cool fingers to push the hair off his face. "You’re more than a scar, you know."
Harry relaxed again.
"Doesn’t always feel like it," he admitted, though felt it was nice for someone to say so.
Susan and Harry spent the rest of lunch chatting about Wizarding musical groups, though Harry felt somewhat ill-informed on the subject.
"Seriously," Susan said when Harry failed to recognise half the artists she mentioned, "you have got to get a wireless. How can you not know the Chocolate Sultanas, I ask you." Harry could only apologise for thinking the all girl band was a snack. "Is it really?" Susan said curiously. "Is that a Muggle thing?"
"You’d hate them," Hannah declared lightly, pushing away the remnants of her healthy tuna salad. "Chocolate Grasshoppers all over again. Come on, we’ll be late."
Harry’s smile faded; he wouldn’t have minded talking longer with Susan, but she and Hannah needed to meet Hannah’s mother.
"Come on," Hermione said to Harry, pulling him off his stool. "I need a man’s opinion!"
Harry both relished and feared what that implied.
Heading back down to the Wizarding level, he let himself be dragged through a tortuous route to a place where no man ever wanted to go. The route was made even more hazardous by racks of women’s clothing charmed to move around on their own, looking for customers. They finally arrived in the Teen Witch section, where Harry flopped down in an armchair outside the fitting rooms and waited. And waited. When Hermione finally emerged, Harry made a show of carefully appraising her, tilting his head this way and that, as Susan and Hannah had done to him.
"What do you think?" Hermione asked nervously.
Harry’s lips twitched. "Nice legs."
"About the outfit!" Blushing, Hermione tried to push the denim skirt towards her knees. "It’s too short, isn’t it?"
"Not possible," Harry said cheekily. Hermione blushed a deeper shade of pink. Harry waved his hands in apology. "No, no, sorry, sorry; you look very nice," he assured her, but strangely enough the rest of the skirts Hermione tried on were all much longer.
Sleepy from lunch, the boy sank lower and lower into his armchair whilst Hermione tried on a long succession of formal and informal robes, all of which looked fine to him.
"But which do you prefer?" Hermione wailed.
"They all look good to me, but they’re your clothes," said Harry, in what he thought was a very reasonable way, "just pick what you like the best."
"You are no help whatsoever!" complained Hermione. "Look, clear off if you’re not going to help me!"
Turning on her heels, she disappeared back into the fitting rooms. Harry raised an eyebrow to Fleur (who was currently being doted on by no fewer than four sales assistants). A slight Gallic shrug was all he got in return.
"I’ll see you up in the food hall, shall I?" he suggested, racing off before Fleur could object.
Alas, he never made it that far.
It was clearly Dark Magic. Harry tired hard not to panic, but the stands, they kept moving — no matter where he went. Everything moved with him, ensuring he stayed right in the middle of Ladies Lingerie: Harrods very own Department of Mysteries. As if in the eye of a frilly pink hurricane, he spun around nervously and accidentally knocked over a display of bra and panty sets. He started to pick them up before realising what they were and stumbled backwards, dropping them as if burned.
"Need a hand?" asked a girl’s voice.
Harry jumped up, his cheeks crimson.
"Oh, thanks ... sorry ..." he mumbled. He stood by uselessly whilst a blonde girl in purple and pink robes collected and neatly restacked the underwear. "Sorry ... thank you very much," said Harry. "Um, sorry for being so clumsy."
His eyes darted around, failing to find freedom. How could girls possibly need so much underwear? The girl smiled at him.
"Don’t worry about it. Looking for something in particular?" Harry shook his head, horrified. "Kidding!" she said. "You English boys are such easy marks."
Noticing her accent, Harry offered a feeble smile. "You’re American."
The girl’s blue eyes narrowed. "Canadian."
"Oh, Canada," Harry said, nodding, to which the girl just rolled her eyes. Harry moistened his dry lips. This was not going well.
"I’m here on vacation," she offered. "How about you?"
"No, I live here. Here in London, I mean. Not ‘here’ here — I’ve never been in here before in my life — truly!" The boy knew he was babbling. The girl just stood there, mildly amused. "I’m sorry," he said, relying, as only an Englishman could, on charm through apology. "I’ve never been able to think too clearly when surrounded by girls’ underwear." The girl giggled. "Not that it isn’t very nice underwear," he added quickly, for he now noticed she was carrying several of the utterly insubstantial items. "They look nothing like my aunt’s." The girl giggled harder. "Not that I would know!" he assured her. He really couldn’t dig himself a hole big enough. "I’m sorry; I should really stop talking now …"
Still giggling, the girl returned her selections to the shelves and held out her hand.
"Hi, I’m Natalie, Natalie Ramsay."
Harry swiped a sweaty hand on his jeans. He was sorely tempted to say ‘Neville, Neville Longbottom’.
"I’m Harry. How do you do?" he said, shaking her hand.
"Good," said the girl easily.
Still searching for the exit, Harry was torn between wanting to stay and chat with the pretty girl and wanting to run screaming from the lingerie department. Then Natalie’s surname registered and Harry’s mortification escalated. Was there any chance — any chance at all — that she wasn’t related to the inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion?
"You’re not related to Madam Elizabeth Ramsay, are you?" he asked weakly.
"She’s my auntie. Why?"
Harry surreptitiously checked his fringe was back down over his scar again. "Oh, no reason … I was just reading this article …"
Natalie brightened again.
"On the Wolfsbane? Cool!"
She immediately launched into a stream of bubbly chatter about the Canadian Ministry’s Werewolf Support Program. Harry made a Herculean effort to nod intelligently and pretend he was not surrounded by quivering, hot-pink knickers. At last, Natalie seemed to appreciate his predicament.
"Oh, do you want me to show you the way out?"
"Yes, please," Harry said gratefully.
Natalie held up a hand against a stand nudging Harry in the back and said firmly but politely, "We’re fine, thanks." The stand immediately moved aside. Natalie did the same with the next, and the next. "You just need to be firm with them," she whispered to Harry.
Dodging eager undies, she led Harry through the maze and back to the lobby. He started to mumble a thank you, but she stopped him as if he was another stand of smalls needing a firm hand.
"You owe me. I’ve been bored out of my brains with just my parents to talk to." She flopped down on one of the couches, pointed to the seat beside her and said, "Sit."
Harry sat. Tongue-tied, he just stared at the girl; she was even prettier in the charmed sunshine — and she clearly had no idea who he was (a fact for which Harry was immensely grateful). Natalie waited a moment, perhaps in the hope Harry might actually speak. When he didn’t, she blew out her cheeks and volunteered she’d been travelling through Europe with her parents for the last month and England was the last stop on their way home.
"Do you go to school here in London?" she asked.
"No, no," said Harry. "I’m at Hogwarts."
"Oh, my dad went there," Natalie said interestedly. "I’m at Peace River Academy. Smack dab in the middle of nowhere."
"Best place to be sometimes," Harry said ruefully.
Natalie ventured some more questions and Harry started to relax a little; this wasn’t so hard. It turned out they were in the same year at school. In an effort to prove he wasn’t a complete idiot, he fell back on his extensive knowledge of DADA, quizzing the girl at length on what material they covered in Canada. Natalie seemed bemused by all the school talk.
"Why? What do you do for Defence?"
"Well," Harry said, "we’ve only ever had one decent teacher and that was my guardian, and that was only in third year. Last year was absolutely pathetic! We weren’t even allowed to do spells in class!"
Natalie winced appropriately. "That must be hard."
"Yeah," Harry said, moistening his lips. Having exhausted DADA, he was just trying to work out how to casually drop into the conversation that he was Seeker for Gryffindor when the girl asked why he had a guardian. Harry was a bit taken aback.
"Oh. Well, I’m an orphan, you see. My parents died when I was small."
"Oh, God, I’m so sorry!" gasped Natalie. "I’m sorry, things just fall out of my mouth sometimes without thinking."
"It’s okay, it was a long time ago," Harry assured her. "Listen, when you go back to Canada, could you write to me and tell me what you’re doing in Defence? Who knows what they’ll throw at us this year. And anything you’ve got on the Werewolf Support Group would be great, too."
Natalie was pleased to oblige and pulled out her address book and a pencil.
"I’m afraid I can’t give you my home address," apologised Harry. He found an empty spot and wrote down The Burrow for his address. "This is my friend’s address; he’ll pass on any owls. Or you can just get me at Hogwarts."
Closing the book, he handed it back and was relieved when Natalie shoved it straight back into her bag; he still had a chance to make a decent impression before she realised who he was. Then he spotted Hermione walking towards him and his spirits soared. He leapt to his feet and beckoned her to hurry up.
"She," he told Natalie, jabbing a triumphant finger towards Hermione, "she is the reason I got stuck in Ladies Lingerie!"
Hermione burst out laughing. "What on earth were you doing in there?"
"Getting lost!" complained Harry. "You abandoned me! I’ve been in demon infested mazes that were easier to get out of!"
Hermione giggled helplessly into her hands. Vindicated as not having some kind of underwear fetish, Harry rocked on his heels and beamed at both girls.
"Luckily, Natalie came along and rescued me. Natalie, this is Hermione — Hermione, Natalie. Natalie is here on holiday from Canada."
"Oh lovely," Hermione said interestedly. "Are you attending Fleuve de Paix? That’s Peace River," Hermione added for Harry’s benefit.
"I know that," Harry muttered, who knew no such thing.
Hermione launched into all sorts of questions about Canadian house-elfs, leaving Natalie somewhat bewildered and Harry increasingly vexed. He’d only just met the girl and Hermione was SPEW-ing all over her! Trying to regain some control of the conversation, he jumped in when Hermione at last paused to draw breath.
"Have you been down to Diagon Alley yet?" he asked Natalie.
"No, but I’m going down there tomorrow," she replied happily. "I can’t wait; I’ve heard about this amazing new joke shop!"
Hermione and Harry exchanged impressed glances.
Feeling brave, Harry turned back to Natalie and said, "Erm ... would you like some company tomorrow? I could show you around if you like. Only if you want to, I mean."
Natalie’s eyes lit up. "That’d be great!"
"I’ll need to check with my guardian," said Harry, crossing his fingers, "but it should be okay. I’ll send my owl if it’s a problem. Where are you staying?"
"We’re at the Leaky Cauldron." Natalie checked her watch. "Actually, I’d better go rescue Dad. I promised I wouldn’t be gone long."
Harry and Natalie arranged a time to meet and made their farewells. Fleur materialised a short while later. Deeply pleased with himself, Harry followed her and Hermione back up to the Muggle Food Hall, where he spent the longest time at the coffee counter, trying out different blends for his guardian, as well as stocking up with some of Ron’s favourite dishes.
"Pretty girl, Natalie," remarked Hermione, as they passed the fresh produce section.
"Oh? I didn’t notice," said Harry, sniffing a melon. Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry laughed. "So, are you the only one who can have a pen-pal?"
They found Remus waiting for them at the Leaky Cauldron, checking the employment classifieds and sipping a coffee.
"All done?" he asked pleasantly.
"Yeah," Harry said, "I got some really cool stuff. Is it okay if I come back to Diagon Alley tomorrow?"
"Should be," said Remus, folding up his paper, "but we can go down now if you want to pick up something."
"Oh, I think Harry already picked up what he wanted — didn’t you, Harry?" Hermione observed sweetly.
"Very funny," Harry said. "No, thank you, Remus, tomorrow’ll be good."
After thanking Fleur profusely for their day out, Harry and Hermione headed home on the tube with Remus. Remus sniffed hopefully in Harry’s direction.
"Do I smell coffee?"
Back home, Harry made a pot of coffee using a new French Vanilla blend. Taking a sip, Remus exhaled a sigh of pure joy.
"Maybe this Harrods thing wasn’t such a bad idea after all," he said. "So show me what you got." He waved his mug towards the Harrods bag. Harry obligingly spilled his purchases across the kitchen table. "These look a bit big for you," Remus remarked, pulling some items closer.
"Yes, they’re actually for you," Harry said firmly, tossing a pair of socks at his guardian. "I thought we could both use a little sprucing up."
To Harry’s relief, Remus smiled at the socks and went off to try on his new clothes. By the time he returned, Hermione and Ginny were badgering Harry to finish his drawings (he hadn’t yet got to ‘W’). They all looked up as Remus appeared at the doorway. The change was remarkable. Looking years younger, he earned a wolf whistle from Ginny and a ‘very nice indeed’ from Hermione. Harry was delighted; for the first time he could ever remember, he saw Remus Lupin blush.
"I’ll do the drawings after dinner," Harry told the girls. "Remus promised me some flying practice."
"Right," said Remus, "well, I think I might put some old robes back on if we’re going to do that."
Harry stayed up late that evening to complete the drawings of all the girls. Sorting through the stack, he carefully checked each one off against the guest list. He stopped at Susan Bones and smiled as he thought of how sweetly hopeless she was when trying to cover up about his birthday. Looking at her drawing more critically, he decided he could do better.
He rated Susan as pretty, but she wasn’t really in Natalie’s league, though when he tried to recall Natalie’s face, he couldn’t seem to remember too many details. Picking up a fresh charcoal, Harry turned his mind back to Susan, easily picturing the way her face lit up when she was talking about music, and remembering, too, how good it felt when she was ‘playing’ his fingers. Comparing the two drawings of Susan, he happily ripped up the first; it didn’t nearly do the girl justice. With only one more girl left on the guest list, Harry turned over to a fresh sheet. Closing his eyes, he let his hand find its own way. When he was done, he was bemused to discover that instead of Ginny Weasley’s face, he had drawn his and Susan’s hands, with Susan demonstrating guitar-fingering. It was an odd image, full of fingers and knuckles, but he liked it.
After pinning the fingers picture up on his wall, Harry settled back at his desk and repeated forcefully to his disobedient fingers, "Ginny, Ginny, Ginny, Ginny!"
******
Author Notes: