"Alright, we've got books, quills, and enough parchment to wallpaper the Burrow," I said, checking the shopping list as we rounded the corner of Diagon Alley.
"You're the only one who could say that like it's a threat," George muttered.
Fred elbowed him. "Don't challenge him. He'll do it. And we'll have to help."
The street was alive with noise and movement—witches haggling over cauldrons, children pointing at enchanted toys, and the faint but persistent sound of a magical flute someone refused to turn off. A charmed broom zipped overhead, missing a lamppost by an inch and prompting a chorus of gasps.
"Where to next?" Molly asked, trying to corral her children like a shepherd managing sheep with attitude.
"Flourish and Blotts," Hermione said immediately, clutching her book list like it was sacred scripture.
"I want to check the broom shop," Ron added.
"I'd like to stop by the trunk vendor," I said, adjusting my coat slightly. "For reasons."
"Reasons," Fred echoed.
"Suspicious reasons," George added.
Molly gave a warm nod. "Alright, we'll split up and meet back at the fountain in an hour. No wandering, and don't be late."
I gave her a courteous smile. "We'll be good," I said. Then, under my breath, added, "Mostly."
"Did you say something, dear?" Molly asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Nothing," I replied smoothly. "An hour, right?"
The moment we split off, I walked with the boys toward Quality Quidditch Supplies, but let my pace slow just enough to be "lagging." Hermione noticed, of course.
"You're not going in?"
"Later. I'm on a very tight non-schedule." I lingered by the display window, pretending to examine the Nimbus 2001. Through the glass, I watched Harry and Ron press their faces against the broom rack like children at a candy store. The Weasley twins were pointing animatedly at a box of high-velocity Bludgers . The moment their backs turned, my hand never moved—but one, two, three items flickered and vanished into my inventory.
Quidditch gloves Harry liked. Ron's favorite polish kit. The twins' prank-enhanced goggles.
Christmas list? Checked off. With style.
She looked at me suspiciously but was soon pulled along by Ron's shouting over the latest broom model, which had unnecessarily dramatic flame decals.
I slipped away into the throng.
The streets of Diagon Alley were a buffet of opportunity.
Small vials. Rare root samples. A display of enchanted tinctures that smelled like citrus and sulfur.
Inventory.
Swipe. Click. Stored.
I moved through the crowd with a polite smile and the grace of a pickpocketing ballet dancer. I never reached out for anything, but things vanished from shelves and windows anyway.
A wand holster from a boutique vendor? In. A charmed ink that auto-corrects bad spelling? Oh yes. A palm-sized orb that glows in the presence of lies? That one was just for fun. A pair of self-writing quills—not quite as precise as the French one, but still dependable? Absolutely. A dicta-quill that records speech and transcribes in real time? Needed. Desperately. In.
I even passed a stall selling enchanted socks that heated themselves. I took two pairs. One for me, and one for Dumbledore. He didn't know it yet, but I considered that my charity work for the year.
A magical mirror that lied to you about your appearance? I took that too. Might be useful if I ever needed to gaslight a poltergeist. I was curious on whether Peeves was vain.
Eventually, I strolled into a narrow, cluttered shop run by a squat, balding wizard with spectacles so thick they may as well have been magnifying glasses.
"Ah, you again," he said, squinting. "You here to return my trunk?"
"Actually," I said, reaching into my coat, "I'm here to pay for it."
His eyes widened as I dropped a bulging sack of Galleons onto the counter. It hit with a solid thunk, drawing every gaze in the room. A child gasped. An old witch clutched her handbag. A small rat on the shelf fainted.
Fred and George, who'd just followed me in, stared like they'd seen a unicorn sneeze gold.
"That's... that's real, right?" Ron whispered.
"Depends," I said. "Define real."
"Is that considered a lot?" asked Harry.
Everyone in the store just turned to look at Harry gobsmacked.
The vendor blinked. "I—well—I suppose this will more than cover it. Would you like a receipt?"
"No need. Consider this your bonus for not chasing me down when you had the chance."
"And also for not asking what was inside it," George added helpfully.
"Especially that," Fred said.
Fred clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Remind me to be on your good side forever."
"That's already the plan. You're pre-approved for plausible deniability."
We exited the shop just as the noon sun hit full force. The street was hotter, louder, and somehow even more chaotic than before.
"So, where to next?" Ron asked, shielding his eyes.
"Books," Hermione said firmly, tugging at his sleeve like a determined academic anchor.
...
shit
As we turned, I noticed a familiar pale-haired pair lingering outside Flourish and Blotts.
Lucius and Draco.
Draco spotted us, said something to his father, and Lucius turned his head slowly toward me.
His smile was small. The dangerous kind.
"Let's walk a little faster," I said calmly.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"Nothing yet. But I don't like foreshadowing."
Hermione snorted.
"I think we all learned to listen when he says things like that," Ron muttered.
We pushed ahead toward the bookstore, completely unaware that the next chapter of our day was waiting to sneak up behind us.