Intervention
By FenrisWolf
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DISCLAIMER - I don't own anything related to Harry Potter, JK Rowling does…darn it.
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Chapter Eight - To Diagon Alley, and Beyond
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With a week left to go before school resumed, the much-anticipated trip to Diagon Alley was finally scheduled for all and sundry, a last chance to load up on all the things that were required for a year at school, as well as a few of the luxuries that made that year bearable. O.W.L. results had finally arrived, along with their school lists for the coming year, and as usual Hermione was frantic to pick up her books and get a head start on her reading.
"After all," she'd told her patient (and for once, wisely silent) boyfriend, "getting fourteen O.W.L.s is no guarantee I'll do well on my N.E.W.T.s!" Harry, having received an acceptable but hardly stellar seven O.W.L.s, decided that discretion really was the better part of valour, and merely nodded his agreement.
However, a few of the members of the Order, most notably a certain greasy-haired potions professor, had objected to diverting their sparse resources to cover a 'bunch of children who should know better than to risk their lives and the lives of those who protect them when there's a war on'. Apparently the debate over the issue was sufficiently heated that it continued even after the official meeting had broken up, following Mr. and Mrs. Weasley back to the Burrow along with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks.
Harry and Hermione were returning from an evening stroll in the garden (interspersed of course with an evening snog) when they heard the voices being raised in the kitchen. They were about to continue upstairs to their room, figuring the argument was a private one, when the sound of Harry's name caught their attention. Since by definition any conversation that discussed Harry concerned him, they turned from the stairs, approaching the kitchen and the arguing voices therein.
"I see your point, Kingsley," Arthur Weasley was saying, "but really, how much risk are we talking about? The Ministry is finally paying attention to the threat, The Order will be on alert, and Diagon Alley will be filled with other witches and wizards, not all of whom will turn tail and run at the sight of some black robes and a comic opera mask. And let's not forget that the so-called 'children' are all quite skilled as well. And besides, the Death Eaters have been quiet all summer. There hasn't even been a sighting…"
"All the more reason to be cautious," Shacklebolt grumbled. "If they're quiet it's because they have something big in the works. Who's to say that Potter out in public isn't what they're waiting for? And it's not about whether we can handle whatever they throw at us; it's about whether or not it's wise to risk provoking a confrontation with them for no better reason than a simple shopping trip!"
So intent were the adults on their argument, the young couple managed to observe from the doorway without being noticed. Mrs. Weasley was clearly torn between supporting her husband's stance and agreeing with the need for caution, while Tonks's normal Devil-may-care attitude was evident in the slight look of disgust she was turning towards her superior. "C'mon, Kingsley, I thought you were the one who always fancied the idea of having the chance to bust some pureblood bigot's arse for his troubles, why pull back now that you might have the chance? Not going soft on us, are you?"
The dark-skinned Auror opened his mouth to respond, but Harry spoke first, causing the adults around the table to jump. "Since it concerns us, shouldn't you be asking our opinion, too?"
"What? Oh, Hello, Harry…Hermione," Kingsley replied. "As to what we're talking about…well, since it's Order business and you're not Order members, I'm afraid your opinions don't count for much at this point. After all, we're the ones who'll be doing the guarding and bearing the brunt of it if it goes down the crapper; you kids are really just along for the ride, so to speak."
Harry frowned, his irritation at once again having people making decisions that affected him without his input rising, but before he could respond, Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. "Actually, I think I'd like to hear what they have to say, Shacklebolt; anyone who's been through as much as Harry has is no starry-eyed dreamer, and Hermione's not your average witch, either. Frankly, I'd trust their opinions over that of some Order members I could name."
"So would I," Tonks piped up brightly. "Wotcher, Harry, Hermione, you two still going at it like rabbits I hope?"
The teens blushed as the two older wizards at the table chuckled and predictably Mrs. Weasley threw a glare at the irrepressible auror. "Nymphadora, really!" she huffed.
"What?" Tonks asked innocently, ignoring for once the use of her hated first name. "Bloody inspiring, it is, young love and all that. Makes me wish my Woofie was back from his mission for Albus…"
Harry's mind boggled briefly as the image of Tonks calling Remus 'Woofie' to his face, and what's more, him letting her, flickered through his mind. Any more thoughts along that line were derailed when the senior of the two aurors coughed. "Yes, hm, I suppose you do have a point, Arthur. Harry, do you have anything you think is relevant to add to the discussion?"
Harry glanced at Hermione, and that feeling of wordless communication that had been growing between them flared to life again. He nodded slightly, tacitly giving her the floor.
Hermione looked at the expectant faces of the adults and, realizing they were all wizarding raised, asked, "How much do you know about Muggle politics?"
Arthur took in the blank looks of his companions at the young woman's question and shrugged. "Probably not as much as we should, since we live right among them. Why?"
"Because all across the planet, Muggle governments are struggling with something very similar to the tactics used by the Dark Lord and his followers. People like the Death Eaters are called 'terrorists', and deciding what methods to use to deal with them is one of the thorniest problems facing their society."
"I think I have heard a bit about it, now that you mention it," Mr. Weasley offered. "Religious fanatics of some sort, aren't they?"
"Religion is one of the big motivators, but it's not the only one," Hermione agreed. "Political factionalism, long-standing hatreds between ethnic groups, you name it, they'll embrace it as a reason. So far the Americans seem to have escaped the worst of it, but they have their own crazies as well. There was a secret organization founded after the end of their Civil War whose whole purpose was to keep people like Mr. Shacklebolt 'in their place'. They've been pretty much discredited, but the Ku Klux Klan still has followers.
"There're others; Right-to-Lifers using murder to stop what they view as murder, Earth Firsters torching automobile dealerships to protect the environment, and dumping tons of pollutants into the air in the process, the list goes on. But except for a very few cases, the US has avoided any real widespread bloodshed. Other countries haven't been so lucky."
"This is all fascinating, I'm sure," Kingsley interjected, "but what does it have to do with what we were discussing?"
"I'm getting to that, if you'll just give me a moment more," Hermione replied, her tone calm despite his challenge. At the Auror's nod she continued. "Israel, in the Middle East, would be the best example. They've been fighting a continuous battle for existence ever since they were founded as a homeland for the Jews after the Holocaust of World War II, when literally millions of them were slaughtered for their beliefs. They've fought tooth and nail to stay alive, against invading armies, economic warfare, and continuous acts of murder and barbarism that would make even the Dark Lord sick, and they refuse to budge. They understood early on that you couldn't reach a compromise with fanatics. You either resist them or go under. And that's what we need to do with the Death Eaters."
"I'm afraid I don't see the connection, dear," Mrs. Weasley admitted, her tone towards Hermione warmer than it had been since the Bonding. "What does fighting, um, 'terrorists' have to do with a shopping trip?"
"I think I can answer that, Mrs. Weasley," Harry answered, putting his hand over Hermione's as he stepped into the discussion. "Every time we change our plans, give up doing what we normally do, alter our way of life, out of fear over what the Death Eaters might do, by that much they've already won. The reason they act the way they do is to make people afraid to resist them. And if you start giving into them on little things, it makes it that much easier to give in on big things. You have to show bravery in all parts of your life, not just the major bits, if you want to beat them."
"So, what, we go about our business as if there's nothing wrong? Don't take any precautions?" Kingsley asked skeptically.
"I said bravery, not stupidity," Harry replied caustically, earning a snort from Tonks. "Sure you take precautions, you'd be fools not to, but you don't let them stop you, either. As soon as you stop being who you are, the battle's already half over, and not in your favor."
To Hermione it felt like she might burst with pride at the respect with which the Order members seating around the table were looking at Harry (and though she didn't notice it in her case, at her as well). "Damned if that doesn't make sense," Shacklebolt admitted. "Arthur? Molly? I already know what you think, Tonks."
Arthur nodded as Molly smiled. "I'd say it's unanimous. Who's going to go back and give them the committee's decision?"
"What committee?" Hermione asked in surprise.
"Oh, the blowhards back at Headquarters couldn't reach a decision on the Diagon Alley trip, so Dumbledore picked the four of us to make a choice one way or the other, and tell the rest. Congratulations on winning your first debate with the Order!" she finished, clapping as the girl she was only half-teasing blushed.
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Two days later the caravan of shoppers and their watchdogs took the Floo directly to a private room at the Leaky Cauldron, where any final adjustments in the plans would be made prior to venturing out in public. Fortunately the Order did not have to rely entirely on their own resources to protect their charges. The Ministry was well aware that the Alley would be packed with families doing their shopping prior to the beginning of term, and extra squads of Aurors, beefed up with a delegation from the Unspeakables department, were on guard throughout the wizarding merchant's district.
In the Cauldron the students were animatedly planning their purchases, with minor variations based on gender. The girls were excitedly discussing the latest fashions, and whether they should buy their dress robes on the alley or wait for a Hogsmeade weekend to see what else might be available. There had been another unexpected bit of news included in the packet that had contained their O.W.L. results and school lists. On a separate sheet, signed by Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, had been the announcement that another Yule Ball was to be held. Harry still remembered the excited squees coming from the girls' room when the letter arrived:
In an effort to bolster school morale and ameliorate some of the harsh feelings that remain after last year's unpleasantness, Headmaster Dumbledore has proposed, and the Board of Governors has agreed to, the establishing of an annual Yule Ball, attendance to which is open to all students in Third Year and above.
Inasmuch as this is to be an annual event, it has also been decided that the Yule Ball will be a Masqued Ball, and that those students who wish to participate may win house points for their costume's originality, complexity, and adherence to the Ball's theme. This year, the theme will be The Faerie Court, and any costumes pertaining to this theme will be acceptable, so long as they remain in good taste. It should be noted that a great many advanced forms of transfiguration and charms may be applied to such efforts, and that if students wish to pursue their costume designs as an extra credit assignment for one or both subjects, they should speak to their professors in advance.
Finally, those members of the student body who choose to participate in the Masqued portion of the Ball will choose from amongst their number a King and Queen to reign over the festivities. The faculty of Hogwarts joins together in wishing all our students a pleasant and memorable evening.
Needless to say, all the girls, even Hermione (not surprising after her smashing success fourth year) were aflutter over the idea. Even Tonks got into the act, offering a few suggestions on how to really 'catch people's eye' so wild that even Luna looked askance at them. Still, it meant that Harry had an even better chance of diverting attention from his side errand, and the idea of actually being able to dance with Hermione this time around was exhilarating.
They were all just about ready to head out the door and into the Alley when the fireplace flared green again and Neville Longbottom tumbled into the room, but it was a very different looking Neville from the one they'd seen just a couple of months ago on Platform 9¾. "Bloody Hell, Neville, is that you?" Ron blurted.
"Um, yeah," the fellow Gryffindor replied, blushing slightly. "How have you all been? Good summer so far, Harry?"
"Bit rough at first, but I'm doing all right; how about you, Nev?" Harry asked, quite pleased to see him again. Ever since he'd heard the Prophecy, he'd felt a special kinship with the young man who might have been the Boy Who Lived instead of Harry. Quiet and unassuming, just about everyone missed the core of steel that had place Neville in Gryffindor, a steadfast bravery that had served him well in their ill-fated journey to the Department of Mysteries
Neville smiled as he brushed the Floo residue from his robes. "Pretty good; Gran bought me a new wand at Ollivander's to replace my dad's broken one, and it feels loads better. I think it might really make a difference on how well I can perform the trickier spells in Charms and Transfiguration, bring my marks up a bit." He shrugged. "Maybe if I do better in class Gran won't be so upset about having to buy all new clothes for me this year; nothing seems to fit any more. Kind of weird, really." Neville shrugged his shoulders and tugged at his too-short sleeves
"Well, you have changed a bit," Hermione interjected in a major example of understatement, while Ginny nodded her agreement, her eyes wide. Like the other boys, Neville had experienced a growth spurt over the summer, but while Harry and Ron had shot up a few inches, Neville looked like he'd been stretched on the rack, standing a full six inches taller than just a couple of months before. The demands on his system created by the growth spurt had finally pared away his persistent baby fat, revealing the angular and not unhandsome features underneath.
All in all Harry suspected Neville might find himself in the awkward position of having to beat the girls off with a stick, and he was somewhat amused to see Ginny noticing this as well. Even more amusing, Harry noticed Ron noticing Ginny noticing Neville, and the resulting older brother glower he threw at his oblivious classmate would have done justice to the Ferret.
"Down, Ron," Harry murmured. "Neville's a nice enough bloke; would you rather have Ginny interested in him or a player like Seamus?"
"I'd rather she wasn't interested in anyone," Ron grumbled back. "Better yet, I'd like to lock her up in one of those Muggle watchamacallits, a monastery, until she turned 30, that way she'd be safe."
Choking back a laugh and agreeing with his best mate, Harry resolved to wait until they were in private before he told Hermione just where Ron thought his sister would be safe from lustful males. Instead he just said, "Well, between the two of us, not to mention the threat of the Wrath of Gred and Forge, I think we can keep her safe from any unwanted attentions. However, mate, it's only fair to tell you that if it's wanted attentions, all bets are off. Sticking our noses in where they're not welcome not only will piss Ginny off, it'll piss her sister off, and I have every reason not to want to have to face a hacked off Hermione Granger."
"I never thought I'd see the day when Harry Potter was whipped," Ron observed with a snicker, to which Harry just smirked.
"And loving every minute of it, Ron; loving every minute of it!"
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The initial portion of the shopping went off without a hitch; first stop, as always, was Gringotts' Bank, where Harry finally picked up one of the Ever-Filled purses the goblins supplied to their wealthier patrons. Of course it wasn't really ever-filled, that was an advertising gimmick suggested by a Muggleborn employee who'd spent his youth playing fantasy games. What the purse did do was hold whatever amount you put into it virtually weightless, and only allowed the person to which it was keyed to withdraw it. With the purchases he planned to make Harry didn't want to run short, so he quickly transferred a couple of thousand Galleons to the bag, still slightly amazed that his withdrawal barely scratched the surface of the piles of coins within his vault. Stashing the pouch safely inside his robes, he rejoined his friends and off they went, next stop, their schoolbooks.
Flourish and Blotts was insanely busy with first through seventh years scrambling to pick up their texts and other supplies, while a quick trip next door to the Stationer's Shop took care of quills, parchment and the like. After that came Madam Malkins, and for a change Ron and Ginny didn't have to pinch Knuts to make ends meet. Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes were doing so well the Twins informed their siblings that, since they didn't have to return to school themselves, the next few years' worth of school supplies were on them. Ginny was positively bouncing after being told, and even Ron showed more than usual excitement at the prospect of back-to-school clothing.
As for Harry, his initial plans to bypass Madam Malkin's in favor of his errand at the jeweler's had been altered when Mrs. Weasley took a scandalized look at his own collection of too-small school clothes and Dudley's castoffs. Ring or no ring, she refused to permit him to return to Hogwarts dressed as a ragamuffin, and that was that. He would still have time for his stop at the House of Winton, but first he would be properly dressed.
He had to admit she had a point as he quickly assembled replacements for the uniforms and robes he'd outgrown over the summer, as well as some casual attire that Madam Malkin had begun carrying for her Muggleborn customers. Dudley's castoffs were all well and good for situations where clothing might be soiled or damaged (detentions in Potions being a prime example), but now that he was with Hermione, he knew there would be Hogsmeade weekends and the like when he'd want to look nice for her. Speaking of his girlfriend…
When he found her, she was standing before a table loaded with bolts of fabric and rolls of ribbon, as well as a vast selection of buttons, hooks, eyelets, and numerous other items too esoteric for Harry to identify, but which he suspected were all connected in some way to the construction of clothing, or more specifically, ball costumes. To his surprise, though, Hermione looked neither eager nor happy, but rather had a sad expression on her face. "Love, what's the matter?" he asked, slipping his arms around her from behind.
"It's nothing, really," she sighed, clearly lying as she continued to look longingly at the materials, running her hands over a bolt of cloth that had caught her eye. It was a gauzy material with a silvery sheen to it, light enough that it looked to be spun out of cobwebs, and stitched with thousands of small, white crystals that made the fabric glitter as if it were spun from enchanted snowflakes. Next to the fabric were several rolls of embroidered trim, the motif of which was an interlace of leaves and vines in a verdant green so rich and vibrant that it appeared the foliage was a real, living presence, and not a facsimile picked out with bits of colored thread.
Obviously Hermione had already been thinking about what she'd like to make for the Ball, and just as obviously, she had found some of the materials she needed here at Madam Malkin's. And while Harry had no idea what she intended to do, the idea of her dressed in that gauzy, translucent cloth seemed like a smashing idea to him, which only made him wonder all the more about her sadness. "Come on, Hermione, don't make me beg; something's bothering you, and I want to know what it is."
"It's not that important, really, Harry," she tried to insist, but when she felt his stubbornness rising to the surface, she relented. "It's just that when I asked my parents for the funds to cover my supplies, I didn't know about the ball. They'll send more, of course, but by then I'll be back at school, and-"
Before she could finish, he'd leaned in and silenced her with a kiss. "I know you didn't bond with me for my money, love; but it comes with the package. You like the material, buy it; I'll just tell Madam Malkin to add the price to my bill."
"I can't let you do that, Harry!" she objected. "It's far too expensive; what would my parents say? As far as they know, we've only just started dating. If I tell them I let you spend that much on me, they'll know something else is going on, and I want to tell them in person about us."
Harry shrugged again. "So tell them it was a loan and you'll pay me back when you can. If it makes it sound any better, tell them we wanted matching costumes and had to get the material for both at the same time. How's that?"
Hermione looked at the fabric again, biting her lip in indecision. Even before she'd learned of the magical world, the young Hermione Granger had been secretly addicted to the stories and fables spun about the Fair Folk, from the tiny pixies that supposedly inhabited Victorian gardens to the wondrous tales of the realms Underhill, where a century could pass in the course of a single night's revelry. The material's decidedly elfin look appealed to her tremendously, and the idea of entering a ball on Harry's arm dressed as two visitors from the court of Oberon and Titania was almost irresistible.
A thought suddenly occurred to her, and a wicked twinkle appeared in her eyes as she said with her back still to him, "I'll agree under one condition, Harry, and that's that you let me make your costume as well. That way, if my parents ask about the costs, I can honestly say I traded my skills in transfiguration and charms for the materials involved. Does that sound all right to you?"
Harry had learned a great many new things about Hermione over the last few weeks, but recognizing some of the personality quirks she showed only to him was still a work in progress. That at least was the excuse he told himself later on when he realized he'd missed the brief appearance of Mischievous Hermione in his arms. At the time, though, all he said was, "Well, sure, that sounds fine to me. I was going to have to ask for your help anyway; either that or impose on the house elves to help me whip something up." He smiled as she sniffed at his small jibe, and then continued, "You just pick out whatever you think you'll need, and I'll cover the tab, okay?"
With another of those un-Hermionelike squeals of happiness to which Harry thought he was in danger of becoming addicted, she turned and threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you, Harry! And remember, it's not a gift, just a loan; I don't want you to think I'm one of those girls you have to spend your money on to make her happy."
"I'd never believe that, love, just as long as you can accept that having the chance to splurge on you every so often does have the effect of making me happy," Harry replied with a kiss.
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Half an hour later saw Harry and Ron heading back up Diagon Alley, supposedly to make their stops at Quality Quidditch Supplies and Eeylops Owl Emporium while the girls finished their shopping at Madam Malkin's. In reality Ron took over the announced errands, while Harry made his planned excursion to the House of Winton. Fortunately Vector Lane's entrance ran alongside the wizarding sport shop, making the detour a simple matter indeed.
The first sight of the jewelry store was certainly impressive, Harry thought to himself. The overall style of the outer façade resembled the Egyptian Revival of Victorian times, but where the Muggle fashion was for motifs that looked like what British decorators thought Egyptian pharaohs might have liked, Winton's décor gave the impression the pharaoh Ankhnaten himself could have planned it. Certainly the black marble columns veined with gold, the vibrantly painted bas-reliefs done in the stylized realism of the Mad Pharaoh's reign, all surmounted by the great, rayed disk representing Aten, gave that impression, one of great age, exquisite taste, and extreme wealth.
For a moment Harry was slightly nervous, wondering how a family a poor as the Weasleys had developed such a close relationship with a merchant who clearly catered to only the wealthiest clients, and then he flushed, annoyed with himself for even thinking about it. Just because the Weasleys were currently suffering though a period of financial setbacks didn't mean it had always been that way; for all he knew, there had been a time when the Weasley fortune had rivaled the Malfoys.
With a quick nod of acknowledgement to his Order-supplied escort, Harry entered the establishment, and quickly discovered that while the style in which it was decorated was quite different from the outer motif, the interior of Winton's still reflected elegance, taste, and old, old money. Everywhere he looked was rich hardwood paneling, interspersed with sculpted, burgundy velvet wall coverings and masterfully executed wizarding portraits. Bronze gas lamps, cast in the form of stylized dragons, were mounted on the walls, filling the room with a warm glow that sparkled off the jewelry on display everywhere in velvet-lined glass cases, cases over which a handful of obviously well-to-do customers hovered, each attended by a courteous and knowledgeable staff member. The few snippets of conversation he heard told Harry that Winton's staff maintained an almost familial relationship with their clientele, their conversations over the jewelry interspersed with questions and anecdotes about the day-to-day events that comprised each other's lives. 'No wonder Mrs. Weasley recommends them so highly,' he thought, 'coming here must be like attending a family reunion.'
Of course, even the best family had its bad pennies, and a reunion was one of the places they were almost guaranteed to turn up. "You'd do well to remember who my father is," an all-too recognizable nasal voice whinged, attracting Harry's attention to a confrontation between an elderly, well-dressed wizard and a thin figure with familiar, platinum-blond hair. "A word from him, and half your business would dry up over night," Draco continued, his tone reeking with Pureblood haughtiness and condescension.
"That would be regrettable," the older wizard acknowledged calmly, "but the policy initiated by my grandfather stands; the House of Winton no longer creates any pieces featuring that particular motif. If you absolutely must have a cloak clasp of that design, I am afraid you will have to purchase it elsewhere."
Harry watched the spots of color appearing on Malfoy's pasty cheeks with a certain amount of satisfaction; it was rather pleasant to see someone outside of the Order who wasn't even remotely impressed or intimidated by the threat of the Malfoy name. Of course, the little fact that Lucius Malfoy was currently languishing in Azkaban might have something to do with it, but somehow Harry suspected that even if Malfoy Senior had been standing in his son's place, the reaction of the House of Winton would be the same, polite attentiveness without any trace of servility.
Draco seemed to realize the same thing and with a snarl turned to leave, only to rock back on his heels at the sight of Harry watching his humiliation. "Potter! What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he snapped. "Winton's doesn't cater to the sort of riffraff with whom you seem to prefer to associate. You'll need more than the lint in your pockets to trade here, even blood traitors like the Weasleys should've been able to tell you that."
Harry glanced around quickly and realized that for a change Draco was without the comforting support of his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. "Careful, Malfoy, your muscle isn't around to back you up, not that they ever did you much good. And not that it's any concern of yours, but the Weasleys actually directed me here; apparently the House of Winton doesn't use the same measure of a wizard's wealth or worth as you do."
"Talking about the Weasleys and wealth in the same breath is a joke," Malfoy sneered, his nose raised haughtily as he took in the shabby, ill-fitting hand-me-downs and too-small robes Harry still wore. "From the look of things, you're no better off, a scruffy beggar without two Knuts to rub together."
Succumbing to the urge to take the haughty Slytherin down a peg or two, Harry calmly displayed his Gringotts purse, earning a look of surprise from Malfoy as he recognized its significance. "Not everyone who has money chooses to flaunt it; I've more than enough to shop wherever I want. And what's it to you whether I shop here or not? From the sound of things, they don't have what you were looking for, anyway." Harry smiled wickedly as he asked, "What's the matter? Did they stop making the pieces with the ferret decorations?"
He watched as Draco turned a shade of puce that would have made Uncle Vernon proud, and then heard the sound of a strangled snort of laughter coming from the wizard with whom Malfoy had been arguing. Harry was startled, to say the least; the story of the Amazing Bouncing Ferret was legendary among Hogwarts students by now, but he'd no idea it had spread beyond school grounds.
From the wizard's reaction, though, it would seem that it had, and from the way Draco was all but frothing at the mouth, this wasn't the first time he'd encountered it. "What I'm shopping for is none of your business!" he finally blustered. "Apparently the House of Winton has fallen even lower than I'd been led to believe, if they'll deny a Malfoy and cater to the likes of you…" his eyes narrowed. "Who're you shopping for, anyway? You don't have any family to buy jewelry for," he sneered callously.
A month ago that might've actually hurt Harry, but these days it would take more than a hackneyed insult to get under his skin. Instead he smiled calmly, something he knew would make Draco even angrier, and replied, "Funny you should say that, Malfoy; sometimes the family we find for ourselves is closer to us than anything mere blood might offer. I'd rather have people who care about me than a bunch or relatives who only care about judging me, wouldn't you?" Seeing he'd struck a nerve, he turned his attention away from his fuming rival and said to the watching wizard. "In case you haven't guessed, I'm Harry Potter. I have an appointment to meet with Roger Winton about a piece of jewelry."
Smiling, the older wizard nodded. "Of course, Mr. Potter, Mrs. Weasley owled us that you'd be coming by. I'm Roger Winton; I have an assortment of items for you to look through, one of which I'm quite should meet your needs. If you'd care to step this way…"
Harry started to move past Draco, only to feel the other boy's hand touch his arm. Jerking aside in an instinctive, defensive move he turned towards the expected attack, only to find Malfoy eyeing him curiously. "You really are shopping for a gift for someone, aren't you? The great Harry Potter finally had the stones to get himself a girlfriend?"
"I don't see why that matters to you one way or the other, Malfoy," Harry growled warningly, but as usual Draco couldn't resist the chance to bait someone, enemy or friend it didn't matter one way or the other.
"Why, that should be obvious, Potter," he drawled, "I just want to know who it is so I can lay my bets on how long it takes you to get her killed." He grinned nastily as Harry turned white and continued, "Chang had the good sense finally to get shut of you, so it's not her, and you were hanging around that other Ravenclaw, what do they call her, Loony? No, even you're not that hard up; must be one of those Gryffindor chits…"
Harry's hands were balling into fists as he struggled to control the emotions Draco's baiting was triggering, but it was getting harder by the second. The smell of ozone was getting stronger and his vision was narrowing to the face of his tormentor as Malfoy continued his taunts. "Let's see, I wonder if the Weaslette finally decided to repay you for saving her life; I suppose her family figures a short marriage to a rich husband is better than no marriage at all, considering they can't afford to dower her. Is that it, Potter? She spreading those skinny legs of hers for you?"
Harry barely checked himself from lunging at Draco as Roger Winton snapped, "Mr. Malfoy! We do not tolerate such language on our premises; if you cannot behave in a civilized manner, I will have to ask you to leave!"
Draco just sneered, secure in his belief that the Malfoy reputation would continue to protect him from facing the consequences of his actions. "Oh, do be quiet, Winton," he drawled in the best imitation of his father he could manage. "You no longer have my business, so I'll say my piece and leave when I'm ready, not before." Feeling that he'd properly put this tradesman in his place, he turned his attention back to his favorite sport, Harassing Harry. "So, not the Weaslette, then? I wonder whom else…no, surely not!" he said in mock horror. "You and Granger? Not even you would stoop that low…or would you?" He grinned nastily as the anger in Harry's face gave him his answer. "So Skeeter gets the scoop after all, you really are shagging that Mudblood bitch-"
"IMMOBULUS!"
Harry managed to control his lunge as the spell shot past his shoulder and struck Malfoy full in the face, freezing him in mid-syllable. "You were warned, Mr. Malfoy," Roger said in a clipped tone as he stepped past Harry, snapping his fingers and calling out, "Gnarklock! Attend me!"
A goblin dressed in a uniform similar to that worn by the guards within Gringotts popped into existence next to the jeweler. "You called, Master Winton?" he asked, smiling a toothy goblin smile.
Roger Winton indicated the immobilized Draco with distaste. "Please remove this person from the confines of our business. He is to be considered from this time forward to be persona non grata, is that clear?"
"Completely, Master Winton," Gnarklock replied. "And if he does return…?"
"If Mr. Malfoy returns without permission, he is yours to do with as you will," the older wizard answered, earning an even toothier grin from the goblin, while within the binding of the Immobulus hex Draco fainted. Taking hold of the unconscious wizard's robes, Gnarklock vanished with his prize. Sighing, the head of the House of Winton nodded to Harry. "If you'll step this way, Mr. Potter…"
Harry cleared his throat. "I'm sorry about that, Mr. Winton; I shouldn't have provoked him in the first place; if I hadn't he probably wouldn't have gotten all nasty towards me, or caused such a scene. Oh, and if you don't mind, I'd really rather be called Harry; every time someone calls me Mr. Potter I feel like I'm in class and have done something wrong, or they're talking to someone else."
Roger Winton smiled at Harry's words. "That's fair enough…Harry, I certainly remember my school days well enough to sympathize. As for Mr. Malfoy, I receive the distinct impression that the simple fact of your existence was enough to provoke him; anything you said was just the icing on the cake, as it were."
"I suppose," Harry agreed reluctantly before another question occurred to him. "I wonder what made Malfoy faint, though; goblins look a bit scary, but I didn't think they were that frightening…"
The older wizard looked at him oddly. "Don't they teach the reasons behind the Goblin Wars in Hogwarts any more?" he asked.
Harry blushed a little. "Well, they do, but the professor's a little boring," he replied, thinking to himself, 'Dead boring, actually.' "I must've missed that part…"
"Hmm. I suppose you've never heard what the goblin name for wizards, 'chuglirkchyk' means, then?"
"No, why? Is it significant?" Harry asked, curious.
"Oh, you could say that; 'chuglirkchyk' means, literally, 'food that talks'…"
~~~~~~
To Roger's surprise, Harry didn't find the idea that goblins thought he'd look best with an applesauce garnish terribly disturbing. Actually, compared with all the insane reasons people kept coming up with for wanting him dead, being thought of as a random protein source was kind of refreshing. Still, it was something to keep in mind in case the president of Gringotts ever decided to ask him to dinner…
Roger was still chuckling quietly as he lifted the flat case out from under the counter and set it in front of Harry before raising its lid. Inside were well over two dozen different rings, each one a unique and beautiful example of the jeweler's art. Even so, he was able to quickly pare down the number from which he had to choose.
First to go were the yellow gold and silver rings, it would have to be white gold or platinum, nothing else would be good enough as far as he was concerned. Second, beautiful as they were, the diamond solitaire rings just wouldn't do. If the gems were small enough to be tasteful, it made them seem commonplace, ad those large enough to stand out were ostentatious. No, In his mind's eye, the ring Hermione wore had an emerald-cut stone, and the only gem that felt right to him was a true emerald.
Those two criteria were enough to reduce the number of choices to only half a dozen, three in platinum and three in white gold. Two of the white gold rings were discarded as too plain, just bands with a set of prongs to hold the stone. There was a thin line between simple elegance and simply boring, and these two erred on the side of caution. The third white gold ring showed promise, with two ¼ carat diamonds flanking a two-carat emerald, but again the band itself was too plain, and with a shake of his head he turned his attention to the platinum rings
As soon as he took a closer look Harry knew that the problem was not going to be finding Hermione a ring, it would be deciding which ring to choose, as all three rings remaining were absolutely gorgeous. All had large, flawless emeralds, ranging in size from ½ to 1½ carat. Each ring had two additional gems flanking the center stone, accentuating it; two with diamonds, the third with sapphires. After a moment's scrutiny he set aside the ring with the sapphires, feeling that in this case the blue of the sapphires detracted from the beauty of the emerald.
Now down to two choices, Harry resolved to examine the rings as carefully as he could before making a final selection. "Could I borrow a magnifying glass?" he asked, looking up from his examination of the settings.
"Try this instead," Roger offered, extending to Harry a watch repairman's loupe, its framework supporting multiple magnifying lenses that could be used separately or in tandem. Nodding his thanks, Harrys slipped the framework on in place of his own glasses, adjusting the arrangement of lenses until he could see the finest detail or flaw with perfect clarity.
The first of the rings had a ½ carat emerald, flanked by two 6-point brilliant cut diamonds. The band was a half-round in cross-section, with a thin line etched around its circumference to add a touch of individuality to the otherwise unremarkable design. Harry turned to the last ring, and his eyes lit up in pleasure as the details leaped out at him.
The 1½-carat emerald was the deepest color of any he'd seen so far and within its heart there flickered a hint of elusive blue, the sign of the finest quality stones. A tapered, baguette cut diamond was set into the band on either side of the emerald, the counterpoint of shapes making a pleasing transition from the rectangular cut of the emerald to the smooth surface of the ring. With a happy smile Harry held up his selection. "This is the one."
The jeweler took the ring from Harry's fingers and held it up in the light, examining it with his own discerning eye. "Ah, yes; an excellent choice, if I may be so bold as to say. I'm sure the young lady in question will be very happy." Summoning one of his subordinates with a snap of his fingers, he sent the ring off for a final polishing, and to have its various sizing, protection, and loss prevention charms activated. After he'd explained to Harry what was being done with his selection, he asked, "Now, is there anything else with which the House of Winton may help you?"
Harry was about to say no when he spotted a selection of jewelry in a prominently placed display case at the center of the store. An assortment of brooches, combs, pins and ornaments, all heavily enameled and engraved in a style that flowed and swirled in a way that made the jewelry look almost as if it had been grown rather than crafted, was artfully arranged around a Muggle portrait of a striking woman with thick, lustrous hair and dark eyes that were hauntingly familiar. She was dressed in a theatrical costume from some bygone era, and was wearing many of the pieces of jewelry that were on display.
He glanced at the name inscribed under the painting, and was vaguely disappointed when 'Sarah Bernhardt' didn't ring any bells. "Who is she?" he asked, intrigued by the force of personality that was projected the image captured in the photograph, even though it lacked the magical animation a wizarding portrait would have offered.
"That, Harry, is the great stage actress Sarah Bernhardt, also known as 'the Divine Sarah' to her admirers," Mr. Winton replied. "She was an international star in her day, incredibly popular with all walks of society, at a time when society was far more stratified than it is today. She wore that jewelry when she played the role of 'Cleopatra' to sold out audiences in Europe and the Americas."
"Was she a witch?" Harry asked, fascinated.
"No, she was a Muggle, but she had many admirers who were wizards," the jeweler replied. "One of them commissioned these pieces for her as a tribute; the charms on them are subtle, and the restrictions on the use of magic on items that came into contact with non-wizards were weaker then. Still, having pieces of jewelry that would never break, or allow themselves to be lost or stolen, must have been a tremendous asset to an actress who traveled as extensively as she did, sometimes performing in a different theater every week. The protective charms were keyed to her, so that when she passed away the magic on them faded. The collection came up at auction a few years ago, and we purchased them through a Muggle intermediary and put them on display here."
Noticing the rapt way Harry was studying the pieces, he said hesitantly, "I'm afraid these are on display only, and not for sale at any price…"
"That's understandable," Harry replied agreeably as an idea percolated in his imagination. "But could your still produce something similar to them on request?"
Roger Winton contemplated the items on display, going over in his mind the type of workmanship involved and which of his craftsmen had the necessary skills. "Given enough lead time, it shouldn't be a problem," he admitted. "What precisely did you have in mind, and when did you need it?"
"Well, there's going to be a Masqued Ball at Hogwarts this year, just before the holidays. The theme is 'the Faerie Court', and I was thinking…"
~~~~~~
AUTHOR'S NOTE - Sorry this took so long and that I didn't get to the proposal, but I've been wrestling with a cracked molar since last weekend, and between the toothache and the painkillers, I haven't been writing too well (hence any really bad typos in this chapter, I swear). I'm just about to head off to have it pulled, so hopefully by this time next week I'll be working at full capacity again. I now have ideas to cover thru the Yule Ball, so lots more chapters to come. Besides, I'm curious to see just how many reviews I can actually generate on this story. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, they really make my day!