Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company are the creation and property of JKR.
CHAPTER ONE:
"Have we got everything?" Harry Potter glanced at his friends as they walked along Diagon Alley.
Hermione Granger peered at the list she was holding. "Almost. Well, just one more thing, really."
"What?" Ron Weasley raked a hand distractedly through his red hair. Bloody shopping!
"Our gift to Bill and Phle - I mean, Fleur," she quickly amended. "We have to hurry, too. Your mum's going to want these things soon."
"I can't believe they forgot so many things at the last minute!" Ron complained. "We barely have two days to go."
Harry spotted the annoyance on Hermione's face. Ron hadn't exactly been a great help on this trip. He'd been complaining non-stop since Mrs. Weasley had sent them off to run some errands. "I'll take care of it," Harry volunteered, handing his shopping bags to Ron. "You guys go ahead and give your mum this stuff."
Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. Typically, it was Ron who actually said it. "Um, maybe that's not such a good idea ..."
"Oh for pity's -!" Harry nearly swore. It didn't take a lot to set him off these days, not since the loss of Dumbledore. "The Death Eaters are not going to attack me in the middle of Diagon Alley! There are probably more Aurors than shoppers around."
"Harry, we're just worried," Hermione said reasonably.
The dark-haired youth sighed. "Look, just go, okay? I promise I'll be right behind you. Can't take that long to find something." Besides, this was probably the best chance Harry had to spend some time by himself. There were precious few days left between now and the tasks he had set for himself. Find the horcruxes. Find Snape. And somehow, kill Voldemort.
Thankfully, Hermione acquiesced. She nodded, grasped Ron by the wrist and led him protesting through the crowd. Right before they disappeared from sight, though, Harry noticed that Hermione's hand had slipped lower, so that his friends wove their way through the alley holding hands.
He frowned. Well, it had only been a matter of time, really. He didn't know why he felt so surprised. Shrugging, the young wizard turned and headed in the opposite direction.
Behind him, a rough-looking man in a cloak peeled away from a shop window and followed in his wake.
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Contrary to his prediction, it took Harry awhile to find a likely-looking shop. He realized at that point that he'd never really shopped for a wedding gift before, and that it was a whole different undertaking from buying gifts for his friends. He'd known Ron and Hermione for years, and had a clear sense of what they would find interesting.
Harry liked Bill Weasley well enough, but he was pretty much clueless as to what Bill actually liked. As for Fleur, he had no idea at all.
So the young wizard started looking for a generically suitable wedding present, which is a harder task than it sounds. He was finally down to a starter set of fine silverware versus a group of crystal goblets, when it happened.
The attack came out of nowhere. One moment he was standing quietly in front of a display, waiting for the shopkeeper to show him some wares of a different design. In the next there was a stabbing pain in his right side.
Harry's Quidditch-honed reflexes enabled him to whirl away just as his attacker moved to stick him again with what looked like a silver icepick. Instinctively, he kicked at the stranger's shin. The man howled and tried to grab him.
The teenager attempted to run past his attacker while reaching for his wand, but a hard shove from behind caused him to sprawl headfirst into a table full of crockery. The wand flew from his fingers.
The stranger lurched towards the dazed boy, closing the distance fast despite his lumbering gait. The slim icepick gleamed maliciously in his hand.
Harry scrambled for his wand, but knew he'd run out of time. He was moving too slowly, and the man was coming on too fast. A large, meaty hand grasped him by his shirt.
"Impedimenta!"
Suddenly the man was flying off his feet. The bulk of him crashed into a wall and slid down into an unconscious heap on the floor.
"Harry! Harry, are you alright?" Hermione ran forward, her wand still at the ready in case the attacker was faking. She had shouted the spell aloud, as much to distract the would-be assassin as out of sheer nervousness. When it looked like the man was out for good, she turned her full attention to her dazed friend. She helped him to his feet.
"Hermione? What're you - you didn't go back, did you?" Harry realized in an aggravated tone. He knew he should be thankful, but for some reason he was annoyed, too. He picked up his wand.
For her part, the girl looked suitably apologetic. "I did. I was almost at the floo when I got this bad feeling. I shoved the packages at Ron and ran back. Here," she said as the tall boy stumbled, "lean on me a little."
"Sorry, I'm still a bit ..." Harry grimaced as he placed his right arm around her shoulders for support. Hermione placed her arms around his middle to steady him, and suddenly Harry realized that he was practically embracing his best friend for the first in what seemed like a very long time. Hugged, yes. Hermione was a girl and she was a lot more demonstrative than the two blokes who were her best friends. A sustained contact, though, the last he could remember was when she had literally rushed into his arms when the three of them had first been reunited at Sirius' house, back when Harry had first found out about the Order of the Phoenix. But there hadn't been so many curves to her then.
He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling embarrassed and awkward. "Maybe I should sit down for awhile." He grabbed a stool and gratefully sank down.
"Are you hurt? Oh Harry, you're bleeding!" the girl exclaimed.
"I am?" He looked down at himself but couldn't see anything. Oh yeah, he'd been stabbed.
"Not there," Hermione said, "here." She lightly touched a spot on his right side near the back, just below his ribs.
Harry tried to crane his neck, but couldn't see it. "Is it bad?" It wasn't painful, at least.
"I'm not sure, I can't see it." Hermione frowned. "Take off your shirt."
"You're joking."
"This is no time to be modest! All I can see right now is the blood on your shirt. I need to look at," she swallowed, "the damage. I'll just lift it, okay?"
He nodded, and felt a sting as the girl tugged his shirt upwards. Hermione carefully prodded the area around the wound. He heard her sigh in relief. "It's trickling blood but not badly. We should get you back home so the others can take a look at it, though. How do you feel?"
"Woozy, but that's probably because the guy knocked me down." Harry grimaced as she pulled his shirt back in place. "Who is he, anyway?"
"Probably a Death Eater," the girl surmised, "but I don't understand how he could've gotten past the Aurors."
"Merlin's beard, what happened here?!" The shopkeeper, newly returned from the storeroom, gaped at the mess in front of him. He nearly dropped the boxes he was carrying.
Hermione immediately pointed at the culprit, who was still unconscious. "That man came in here and attacked my friend."
"But why would ...?" Harry could practically see the shopkeeper's eyes bugging out of its sockets as he slowly put things together. Teenage boy. Scar revealed by mussed up hair. Sudden outbreak of violence. "You, you're - oh this is horrible!"
"I'm sorry," Harry said quickly. "I'll pay for any damage -"
"No, no, not at all!" The balding man was shaking his head emphatically. "Mr. Potter, sir, it's an honor. But to have this happen to you in MY shop, it's ... it's just ..." he stammered. "You must not think badly of us, sir! We really do have good security. I don't understand how this could've happened."
He sounded so distressed that Harry found himself trying to reassure the man that of course he didn't think badly of the place, could've happened anywhere really. From the corner of his eye, the young wizard spotted Hermione turning away to stifle a grin.
Finally, she took mercy on him and interrupted. "I'm sorry, sir, but we have to get this looked at. If you could do us a favor and explain what happened to the Aurors? I'm sure they'll be here soon."
"Of course, of course! But please, you must let me do more than that! Here," the shopkeeper pushed the boxes he was still holding into the startled boy's hands, "take these, free of charge. Is there anything else you'd like? Something for your girlfriend, maybe? We have some lovely pins."
Harry flushed. "She's not -"
"I'm not -" Hermione squeaked.
"There has to be something," the shopkeeper waved their protests away. "At least let me give you a token for your trouble. Here, it's from our new line for Hogwarts students." He grabbed a small velvet box off of a display table and opened it.
Inside was a platinum replica of a rampant Gryffindor lion. Even to Harry's unschooled eyes, the emblem was exquisitely made. Every line of their House symbol was etched in precise miniature. A tiny ruby flashed at the point where the eye was supposed to be. "I don't think ..."
"Please." The man sounded near tears. "It's the least we can do for what's happened here today."
When her friend looked like he was going to protest again, Hermione bent near his ear and whispered, "Harry, take it and let's get out of here! We'll be stuck here for hours if the Aurors catch us. And we do need to have your wound looked at."
Because he was still dizzy, Harry gave in. The last thing he wanted was to spend hours being grilled by the Ministry. The shopkeeper happily pinned the Gryffindor lion on his cloak as Hermione took the boxes of silverware and crystal from him. As quickly as she could, she ushered her wounded companion through the shop doors and away.
The shopkeeper stared after them for a bit, nonplussed at the speed of their exit. Then he turned his attention to the slumped figure on the floor. His eyes widened. Where was the icepick?