Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Fools Rush In
Chapter Two
Ah, yet another beautiful day in Little Whining Surrey, a good proportion of the undiagnosed obsessive compulsives in London getting ready in the exact same way as they did yesterday and will tomorrow, the grass the same length on everyone’s lawns, and the sweet smell of cleaning products lingering around number four.
This was where his shameful plan came into effect; Harry needed a little bit of chaos to slip away, and what better way to achieve that than to muddy-up the almost identical and abnormally clean cars. It was so embarrassingly juvenile, but there was actually no need for a more complex plan than to cause a slight ruckus, slip away through the hedges and run like hell. He had even gone to considerable risk, entering Dudley’s room to find a bus timetable, some spare change and had spent a noxious twenty minutes working out how to buy a train ticket online with Dudley’s credit card. The stench in the room, a mixture of unwashed male and gone off food combined with the musty odour of cigarette smoke and the unpleasant tang of stale beer, had almost made him retch. Only years of dealing with the smell of the potions dungeon had kept his gag reflex in check and he had managed to escape, eyes streaming, but undetected. Honestly, how his aunt with her obsession with cleanliness, ignored that cesspit was beyond him, the smell alone was enough to down a small dragon.
The plan was perfect, so simple that it only took him half an hour earlier in the morning with a few buckets of muddy water, more mud than water, so childish that the neighbours wouldn’t suspect him, and so ridiculous his watchers would presume it was just a truly awful attempt at revenge, that the boy-who-lived had finally cracked and started throwing mud around and that he was only one step away from throwing crap.
Three... two... one... and then the sweet sound of Mr. Number Seven, always the first one out in the mornings, leaving his house. He had expected some display of anger that would bring all the others running, but the whimper the man let out was frankly embarrassing for males everywhere. Harry had to satisfy himself with the betrayed and horrified look on the man's face and hope others would cause more of a distraction; he knew his uncle wouldn’t let him down.
He heard the pounding steps of his uncle approaching the front door as he slumped further and discreetly leaned towards the almost unnoticeable gap in the hedge, and there it roar of rage complete with disjointed sentences and unnatural skin tone. And so began operation scuttle-through-the-hedgerows, which was a lot harder now that he was almost a respectable height for a grown man than it had been when he was a midget. He repressed a cackle as he approached the bus stop, he needed to be discreet and manic laughter at any volume was always very noticeable.
He had worn his most respectable clothes, and by that, he meant Dudley’s old clothes that he had transfigured and charmed so that it no longer appeared as if he was an extra on the set of ‘Oliver’. He may be male, and he may not have the best fashion sense, but he could damn well tell what items of clothing someone should never ever wear, though the wizarding world’s opinion on what colours were acceptable was somewhat dubious. He occasionally felt tempted to hex all Dumbledore’s robes plain black, but then he also wanted to throw shampoo at Snape whenever he saw him, and both ideas were extremely dangerous to his health.
He put on his best innocent face as the bus pulled up, glad he had timed his run to perfection. With relief he slumped down into a seat, getting no more than a cursory glance from the driver. He was glad he had decided not to wear a cap or some equally obvious disguise, though the idea of a fake moustache was tempting. The make-up he had stolen from his aunt to hide his scar was quite sufficient.
He re-read the directions Dean had given him to their rendezvous point. Seamus had been unnaturally excited about Harry's ‘daring escape,’ as he called it, and had wanted them to have code-names (hairy bear for Harry) and secret nonsensical phrases to confirm their identity when they met up. Clearly, Dean had been allowing him to watch spy movies again, something that had been banned after third year. Seamus had spent a significant portion of the year introducing himself as Finnegan, Seamus Finnegan, humming spy music under his breath, and had become increasingly paranoid as the year progressed once Fred and George started paying the lower years to act suspiciously around Seamus, and even went so far as to move his possessions slightly while he slept.
The twitch Seamus had developed had been entertaining for a while, but they had been forced to end the charade and set him straight after ‘The Incident’.
The bus pulling into the train station drew him out of his musings and he hopped off in search of his train, he only ten minutes before the train left and had to find Dean and Seamus before then. Aah, there they were, Dean saw him first and nudged Seamus who was looking slightly anxious, hopefully not due to a relapse into the behaviour of third year. He grinned at them, it was nice to see people looking pleased to be in his presence.
‘Hey mate, I see you made it,’ said Dean as he slapped Harry on the back, while Seamus just smiled sleepily in welcome.
‘Aah, it’s before nine in the morning, I had almost forgotten about Seamus inability to function without vast amounts of caffeine. You haven’t been amusing yourself by denying him tea again, have you?’
His only reply was the smirk that crossed Dean’s face as he ushered the two of them onto the train.
‘The bastard tried to feed me coffee. COFFEE. Claimed it was all he had, but I know better...’ was Seamus semi-coherent response as he slumped into a seat.
‘Not to be rude, but we’ve never been the best of friends, so what’s with the invite?’
‘You don’t really beat around the bush do you?’ was Dean’s reply.
‘We both always liked you, Seamus a little too much in my opinion, but there you go, except you were so close to Ron and Hermione, since before first year in the case of Ron, and never seemed like you needed or particularly wanted any more friends. Last year though, especially at the end of the year, you really seemed to be distant from everyone, especially Ron and Hermione, and looked like you needed a break.’
Seamus nodded in agreement, far more awake than he had been a few minutes ago, ‘and who better for having fun than us? Hermione is not the um... most exciting person to be around and Ron is a bit thick half the time. That, and I was getting bored with only Dean and Nev to hang around with in the dorm.’
‘You guys hang around with Neville?’
‘Yeah, not really ‘til this year. He’s kinda come out of his I-love-plants-a-little-too-much shell. It’s stopped me worrying about what he gets up to in the greenhouses all the time he goes there. Only Professor Sprout spends that much time there and the thought he might be into her is only slightly less disturbing than the thought he might like getting spanked by the Whomping Willow.’
‘I might point out at this time that I, like any normal half sane person, thought he was dating someone or just had a life outside the tower, but Seamus was actually pathetic enough to follow him around for a week and said he spent most of his time in the greenhouses. He must have just been lonely.’
They all paused for a moment of contemplation broken by Seamus’ comment
‘Dean, I normally wouldn’t swear in the presence of ladies,’ he nodded his head to indicate Harry at this point who bared his teeth in reply, ‘but sometimes you are such a fucking womanI. It’s probably all the fruity artwork.’
‘Chicks dig artists,’ was Deans’ reply followed by a string of insults mainly centred on Seamus’ physical insufficiency which he finished off by claiming that no woman on any uncertain terms would ever consider touching Seamus.
Harry was mildly surprised at Dean’s vocabulary, but internally mused that it was always the quiet ones.
‘Lavender Brown,’ was Seamus’ smug reply
‘I thought she was dating Ron?’ Harry interjected
‘Oh please, she is such a slut. She's made a pass at nearly every male in the school above thirteen, and I know for a fact she spent the second half of the year lusting after that centaur teacher. He’s only human-ish from the waist up for Merlin’s sake, so Seamus, Lavender doesn’t count and Harry, how bloody oblivious are you?’
‘Clearly very,’ was Harry’s dry reply. ‘But obviously not nearly as bad as Ron. Firenze? Really? Poor Ron, don’t think he could quite measure up.’
This brought about a good deal of childish sniggering and the rest of the journey consisted of the guys naming every girl in the school, most of whom Harry didn’t know by name and had to be described for him.
They arrived in Norfolk quite early and Seamus immediately insisted that he be given teaI. It may have been past nine in the morning but one must drink many cups of tea in a day in order to function properly, as they were gravely informed by Seamus.
This was the most serious that Harry had ever seen Seamus being and while Dean looked like he was still in the mood to torment Seamus, the slightly fanatical and somewhat murderous gleam in Seamus eyes when he mentioned tea led Harry to agree. That, and he was starving.
After a very long, leisurely breakfast in which Seamus' tea cravings had been temporarily sated, they agreed on the first order of business for the day: shopping. None of the three were particularly happy about this, but after Harry pointed out he would look like a hobo once the transfiguration and charms wore off his clothes, they agreed.
One and a half slightly traumatised hours later, and with Harry still flexing his ‘Quidditch toned muscles’, they decided to venture into the magical area of Norfolk. They had chosen Norfolk as the place to go shopping as the magical population in the area was small and both Seamus and Dean agreed they didn’t want to be mobbed, although Seamus repeatedly pointed out the benefits of fan-girls.
‘Ugh, I could really use some fan-girls about now, these bags are so heavy. I bet you could have just batted your beautiful green eyes at them and those that wouldn’t have fainted would have been more than willing to help.’
‘Why Dean, I didn’t know you felt that way about me, I thought Seamus was the man for you. I’m sorry Seamus; you clearly are going to have to find someone else to warm your bed on those cold winter evenings and warm summer evenings. Dean, I’m afraid you also shall soon be sleeping alone, I doubt Seamus will forgive you and the manly bits just don’t do it for me. On the other hand it does get freezing in the evenings... which do you prefer, big spoon or little spoon?’
As Dean’s hands were full he couldn’t give Harry the finger, although he made a valiant attempt. Seamus on the other hand turned around to peer at Harry’s eyes.
‘Huh, never noticed you had green eyes, you really can’t really see them through your extra nerdily-thick glasses.’
‘Touché Seamus, touché, although now that you mention it I could do with some new, preferably indestructible ones. Do you know if there is such a thing as a magical opticians?’
‘There is no way any wizard would willingly let another poke around at their eyes with a spell, not even a healer. When they say the eyes are the window to the soul, they mean it. So yes, there are wizard opticians, but I don’t know if there is one here, Didcot Way is really small.’
Seamus had, over breakfast, attempted to answer as many of Harry’s questions about the wizarding world as he could, with the occasional interjection by Dean who had to translate the occasional wizard custom into Muggle terms. Harry was slightly uncomfortable once he realised how little he truly knew about the world he had spent the last five years in.
They reached the entrance to Didcot Way, a lamp-post that when tapped with a wand made the wall behind it, covered thickly in ivy and vines, a gateway to walk through.
Didcot Way was by no means as impressive as Diagon or Knockturn Alley, it was a short, old, cobbled and winding street and so narrow that perhaps only four or five people could walk abreast in it. The buildings were crooked and almost curving over the street, blocking out most of the daylight. But the street was lit by floating balls of butter yellow light, giving it a mysterious air at first glance. On further inspection, the buildings did not seem to loom so much as slump and Didcot Way gave the impression of slumber rather than the ominous air of Knockturn Alley, or the bustling and cheery aura apparent in Diagon Alley. Few people were apparent, and those that were rambled languidly from shop to shop. Like all exclusively wizarding areas, it seemed seeped in ancient magic and the air had a certain curious quality never found in the Muggle world that seemed to relax his body and shout ‘home’ to him in his mind.
They spent a while meandering from small poky shop to small poky shop, getting their bags shrunk and lightened in a dusty bookshop where Harry bought a few books and luckily, at the real end of the alley found a small opticians. The three were greeted by a middle aged balding man wearing the most unusual goggle-like glasses which changed colour, both glass and frame, at seemingly random intervals.
‘Good day young sirs, might I inquire as to which one of you fine young gentlemen wished to honour my establishment with your patronage?’
Harry presumed he did not get many customers.
‘That would be specky-four-eyes over there. He wants all the girls, and perhaps boys, to be able to see his beautiful big green eyes better.’
With a little difficulty Harry restrained himself from giving Dean some beautiful black eyes.
‘Yes, I need new glasses, preferably as indestructible as you can make them’
‘Well then, you have come to the right place, Orville of Orville’s Observations makes second to none eye-wear. You shall soon have all the young witches and wizards rather amazed and impressed when they see you in these’
Harry controlled his initial urge to laugh though Seamus and Dean had far more difficulty behind him; Orville had proudly presented Harry with a pair of glasses a small girl would have been proud of. They had lurid purple frames which twinkled slightly like the night sky, but what really made them ridiculous was the moon in the top corner of one of the lenses, an occasional cloud drifting in front of it.
‘They can also be set to dawn’ the shop owner explained in a satisfied voice and as he spoke the frames changed to a bright pink and the moon brightened immensely to a yellow sun. Harry briefly wondered if Dumbledore’s infamous twinkle was, in fact, tiny suns on his glasses lens but thought it best not to ask.
‘Have you any... ah... less impressive glasses? Perhaps in black?’
‘Are you sure young man? Few would fail to observe your superior taste...’ he trailed off at Harry’s decisive nod, ignoring the renewed snickers from the other two teenagers.
With a slightly disappointed sigh and a flick of his wand a tray was produced with a wide range of black glasses. Harry thanked the man and told him he would call him when he made his choice as the shop keeper was beginning to look less than impressed with Seamus and Dean's continued laughter and gasped comments.
‘Seriously guys, shut the hell up and help me’ was Harry's amused comment and he proceeded to pick glasses and try them on.
‘You know Harry, you look completely different with your glasses off. Wait, I’ve got it, student by day, jump into Hagrid’s hut, whip off your glasses and it’s dark lord slayer by night.’ Seamus sniggered to renewed mirth.
Finally, after thirty seven dirty jokes and twelve comments mocking Harry and his ‘simply delightful green eyes’ a pair were chosen and the shop keeper summoned back. He placed an unbreakable charm, a charm to prevent them from being removed from Harry’s face by anyone other than him, a charm that immediately summoned them to Harry with a word and numerous other handy little charms on them, for a small fee of course. The minute Harry put them on they automatically changed to fit his prescription and Harry could see better than he could remember being able to in years. Thanking the man and paying a hefty sum, they left.
The title of a shop caught Harry’s eye on their way back up Didcot Way; ‘The Suspicious Shop for the Suspicious’ and Seamus demanded they have a look around.
Inside was all the paraphernalia he had seen in Moody’s office and more, including books such as ‘What to Do When You Know They Are Coming to Get You,’ ‘3512 Ways to Avoid Capture,’ and ‘So They Have Finally Found You.’ Harry flicked through a few and they seemed to have been written by some deeply paranoid and disturbed people, although they did contain some useful spells and potions. One of which caught his immediate attention in ‘What They Did to You and How You Can Prove It’. It appeared to have been written by a wizard claiming he had been abducted by green striped tmongerflops, whatever they were. But the Revelation Potion was present in a less detailed form and just as a reference in two of the other, more rational books, so Harry felt that the potion was worth a shot. It was made from mostly common ingredients, the complexity seemed to lie in the brewing aspect, and with practise should be possible for even the average brewer, which he felt he was.
Harry picked up a few more books and a foe-glass while Dean and Seamus amused themselves buying some tiny and delicate looking gadgets. Finished with their purchases, the three headed back out into the street.
It was now getting past lunch time, and Harry mentioned he wanted to pick up a few ingredients in the apothecary he had spotted on the way down before heading back to the Muggle world for lunch and then catching the train home when the glint of light off a shop window caught his eye and he glanced at the window of ‘Magical Monsters and Charming Creatures.’ Slowly, an evil smile spread over his face. Perfect, it was just perfect.
Ah, yet another beautiful day in Little Whining Surrey, a good proportion of the undiagnosed obsessive compulsives in London getting ready in the exact same way as they did yesterday and will tomorrow, the grass the same length on everyone’s lawns, and the sweet smell of cleaning products lingering around number four.
This was where his shameful plan came into effect; Harry needed a little bit of chaos to slip away, and what better way to achieve that than to muddy-up the almost identical and abnormally clean cars. It was so embarrassingly juvenile, but there was actually no need for a more complex plan than to cause a slight ruckus, slip away through the hedges and run like hell. He had even gone to considerable risk, entering Dudley’s room to find a bus timetable, some spare change and had spent a noxious twenty minutes working out how to buy a train ticket online with Dudley’s credit card. The stench in the room, a mixture of unwashed male and gone off food combined with the musty odour of cigarette smoke and the unpleasant tang of stale beer, had almost made him retch. Only years of dealing with the smell of the potions dungeon had kept his gag reflex in check and he had managed to escape, eyes streaming, but undetected. Honestly, how his aunt with her obsession with cleanliness, ignored that cesspit was beyond him, the smell alone was enough to down a small dragon.
The plan was perfect, so simple that it only took him half an hour earlier in the morning with a few buckets of muddy water, more mud than water, so childish that the neighbours wouldn’t suspect him, and so ridiculous his watchers would presume it was just a truly awful attempt at revenge, that the boy-who-lived had finally cracked and started throwing mud around and that he was only one step away from throwing crap.
Three... two... one... and then the sweet sound of Mr. Number Seven, always the first one out in the mornings, leaving his house. He had expected some display of anger that would bring all the others running, but the whimper the man let out was frankly embarrassing for males everywhere. Harry had to satisfy himself with the betrayed and horrified look on the man's face and hope others would cause more of a distraction; he knew his uncle wouldn’t let him down.
He heard the pounding steps of his uncle approaching the front door as he slumped further and discreetly leaned towards the almost unnoticeable gap in the hedge, and there it roar of rage complete with disjointed sentences and unnatural skin tone. And so began operation scuttle-through-the-hedgerows, which was a lot harder now that he was almost a respectable height for a grown man than it had been when he was a midget. He repressed a cackle as he approached the bus stop, he needed to be discreet and manic laughter at any volume was always very noticeable.
He had worn his most respectable clothes, and by that, he meant Dudley’s old clothes that he had transfigured and charmed so that it no longer appeared as if he was an extra on the set of ‘Oliver’. He may be male, and he may not have the best fashion sense, but he could damn well tell what items of clothing someone should never ever wear, though the wizarding world’s opinion on what colours were acceptable was somewhat dubious. He occasionally felt tempted to hex all Dumbledore’s robes plain black, but then he also wanted to throw shampoo at Snape whenever he saw him, and both ideas were extremely dangerous to his health.
He put on his best innocent face as the bus pulled up, glad he had timed his run to perfection. With relief he slumped down into a seat, getting no more than a cursory glance from the driver. He was glad he had decided not to wear a cap or some equally obvious disguise, though the idea of a fake moustache was tempting. The make-up he had stolen from his aunt to hide his scar was quite sufficient.
He re-read the directions Dean had given him to their rendezvous point. Seamus had been unnaturally excited about Harry's ‘daring escape,’ as he called it, and had wanted them to have code-names (hairy bear for Harry) and secret nonsensical phrases to confirm their identity when they met up. Clearly, Dean had been allowing him to watch spy movies again, something that had been banned after third year. Seamus had spent a significant portion of the year introducing himself as Finnegan, Seamus Finnegan, humming spy music under his breath, and had become increasingly paranoid as the year progressed once Fred and George started paying the lower years to act suspiciously around Seamus, and even went so far as to move his possessions slightly while he slept.
The twitch Seamus had developed had been entertaining for a while, but they had been forced to end the charade and set him straight after ‘The Incident’.
The bus pulling into the train station drew him out of his musings and he hopped off in search of his train, he only ten minutes before the train left and had to find Dean and Seamus before then. Aah, there they were, Dean saw him first and nudged Seamus who was looking slightly anxious, hopefully not due to a relapse into the behaviour of third year. He grinned at them, it was nice to see people looking pleased to be in his presence.
‘Hey mate, I see you made it,’ said Dean as he slapped Harry on the back, while Seamus just smiled sleepily in welcome.
‘Aah, it’s before nine in the morning, I had almost forgotten about Seamus inability to function without vast amounts of caffeine. You haven’t been amusing yourself by denying him tea again, have you?’
His only reply was the smirk that crossed Dean’s face as he ushered the two of them onto the train.
‘The bastard tried to feed me coffee. COFFEE. Claimed it was all he had, but I know better...’ was Seamus semi-coherent response as he slumped into a seat.
‘Not to be rude, but we’ve never been the best of friends, so what’s with the invite?’
‘You don’t really beat around the bush do you?’ was Dean’s reply.
‘We both always liked you, Seamus a little too much in my opinion, but there you go, except you were so close to Ron and Hermione, since before first year in the case of Ron, and never seemed like you needed or particularly wanted any more friends. Last year though, especially at the end of the year, you really seemed to be distant from everyone, especially Ron and Hermione, and looked like you needed a break.’
Seamus nodded in agreement, far more awake than he had been a few minutes ago, ‘and who better for having fun than us? Hermione is not the um... most exciting person to be around and Ron is a bit thick half the time. That, and I was getting bored with only Dean and Nev to hang around with in the dorm.’
‘You guys hang around with Neville?’
‘Yeah, not really ‘til this year. He’s kinda come out of his I-love-plants-a-little-too-much shell. It’s stopped me worrying about what he gets up to in the greenhouses all the time he goes there. Only Professor Sprout spends that much time there and the thought he might be into her is only slightly less disturbing than the thought he might like getting spanked by the Whomping Willow.’
‘I might point out at this time that I, like any normal half sane person, thought he was dating someone or just had a life outside the tower, but Seamus was actually pathetic enough to follow him around for a week and said he spent most of his time in the greenhouses. He must have just been lonely.’
They all paused for a moment of contemplation broken by Seamus’ comment
‘Dean, I normally wouldn’t swear in the presence of ladies,’ he nodded his head to indicate Harry at this point who bared his teeth in reply, ‘but sometimes you are such a fucking womanI. It’s probably all the fruity artwork.’
‘Chicks dig artists,’ was Deans’ reply followed by a string of insults mainly centred on Seamus’ physical insufficiency which he finished off by claiming that no woman on any uncertain terms would ever consider touching Seamus.
Harry was mildly surprised at Dean’s vocabulary, but internally mused that it was always the quiet ones.
‘Lavender Brown,’ was Seamus’ smug reply
‘I thought she was dating Ron?’ Harry interjected
‘Oh please, she is such a slut. She's made a pass at nearly every male in the school above thirteen, and I know for a fact she spent the second half of the year lusting after that centaur teacher. He’s only human-ish from the waist up for Merlin’s sake, so Seamus, Lavender doesn’t count and Harry, how bloody oblivious are you?’
‘Clearly very,’ was Harry’s dry reply. ‘But obviously not nearly as bad as Ron. Firenze? Really? Poor Ron, don’t think he could quite measure up.’
This brought about a good deal of childish sniggering and the rest of the journey consisted of the guys naming every girl in the school, most of whom Harry didn’t know by name and had to be described for him.
They arrived in Norfolk quite early and Seamus immediately insisted that he be given teaI. It may have been past nine in the morning but one must drink many cups of tea in a day in order to function properly, as they were gravely informed by Seamus.
This was the most serious that Harry had ever seen Seamus being and while Dean looked like he was still in the mood to torment Seamus, the slightly fanatical and somewhat murderous gleam in Seamus eyes when he mentioned tea led Harry to agree. That, and he was starving.
After a very long, leisurely breakfast in which Seamus' tea cravings had been temporarily sated, they agreed on the first order of business for the day: shopping. None of the three were particularly happy about this, but after Harry pointed out he would look like a hobo once the transfiguration and charms wore off his clothes, they agreed.
One and a half slightly traumatised hours later, and with Harry still flexing his ‘Quidditch toned muscles’, they decided to venture into the magical area of Norfolk. They had chosen Norfolk as the place to go shopping as the magical population in the area was small and both Seamus and Dean agreed they didn’t want to be mobbed, although Seamus repeatedly pointed out the benefits of fan-girls.
‘Ugh, I could really use some fan-girls about now, these bags are so heavy. I bet you could have just batted your beautiful green eyes at them and those that wouldn’t have fainted would have been more than willing to help.’
‘Why Dean, I didn’t know you felt that way about me, I thought Seamus was the man for you. I’m sorry Seamus; you clearly are going to have to find someone else to warm your bed on those cold winter evenings and warm summer evenings. Dean, I’m afraid you also shall soon be sleeping alone, I doubt Seamus will forgive you and the manly bits just don’t do it for me. On the other hand it does get freezing in the evenings... which do you prefer, big spoon or little spoon?’
As Dean’s hands were full he couldn’t give Harry the finger, although he made a valiant attempt. Seamus on the other hand turned around to peer at Harry’s eyes.
‘Huh, never noticed you had green eyes, you really can’t really see them through your extra nerdily-thick glasses.’
‘Touché Seamus, touché, although now that you mention it I could do with some new, preferably indestructible ones. Do you know if there is such a thing as a magical opticians?’
‘There is no way any wizard would willingly let another poke around at their eyes with a spell, not even a healer. When they say the eyes are the window to the soul, they mean it. So yes, there are wizard opticians, but I don’t know if there is one here, Didcot Way is really small.’
Seamus had, over breakfast, attempted to answer as many of Harry’s questions about the wizarding world as he could, with the occasional interjection by Dean who had to translate the occasional wizard custom into Muggle terms. Harry was slightly uncomfortable once he realised how little he truly knew about the world he had spent the last five years in.
They reached the entrance to Didcot Way, a lamp-post that when tapped with a wand made the wall behind it, covered thickly in ivy and vines, a gateway to walk through.
Didcot Way was by no means as impressive as Diagon or Knockturn Alley, it was a short, old, cobbled and winding street and so narrow that perhaps only four or five people could walk abreast in it. The buildings were crooked and almost curving over the street, blocking out most of the daylight. But the street was lit by floating balls of butter yellow light, giving it a mysterious air at first glance. On further inspection, the buildings did not seem to loom so much as slump and Didcot Way gave the impression of slumber rather than the ominous air of Knockturn Alley, or the bustling and cheery aura apparent in Diagon Alley. Few people were apparent, and those that were rambled languidly from shop to shop. Like all exclusively wizarding areas, it seemed seeped in ancient magic and the air had a certain curious quality never found in the Muggle world that seemed to relax his body and shout ‘home’ to him in his mind.
They spent a while meandering from small poky shop to small poky shop, getting their bags shrunk and lightened in a dusty bookshop where Harry bought a few books and luckily, at the real end of the alley found a small opticians. The three were greeted by a middle aged balding man wearing the most unusual goggle-like glasses which changed colour, both glass and frame, at seemingly random intervals.
‘Good day young sirs, might I inquire as to which one of you fine young gentlemen wished to honour my establishment with your patronage?’
Harry presumed he did not get many customers.
‘That would be specky-four-eyes over there. He wants all the girls, and perhaps boys, to be able to see his beautiful big green eyes better.’
With a little difficulty Harry restrained himself from giving Dean some beautiful black eyes.
‘Yes, I need new glasses, preferably as indestructible as you can make them’
‘Well then, you have come to the right place, Orville of Orville’s Observations makes second to none eye-wear. You shall soon have all the young witches and wizards rather amazed and impressed when they see you in these’
Harry controlled his initial urge to laugh though Seamus and Dean had far more difficulty behind him; Orville had proudly presented Harry with a pair of glasses a small girl would have been proud of. They had lurid purple frames which twinkled slightly like the night sky, but what really made them ridiculous was the moon in the top corner of one of the lenses, an occasional cloud drifting in front of it.
‘They can also be set to dawn’ the shop owner explained in a satisfied voice and as he spoke the frames changed to a bright pink and the moon brightened immensely to a yellow sun. Harry briefly wondered if Dumbledore’s infamous twinkle was, in fact, tiny suns on his glasses lens but thought it best not to ask.
‘Have you any... ah... less impressive glasses? Perhaps in black?’
‘Are you sure young man? Few would fail to observe your superior taste...’ he trailed off at Harry’s decisive nod, ignoring the renewed snickers from the other two teenagers.
With a slightly disappointed sigh and a flick of his wand a tray was produced with a wide range of black glasses. Harry thanked the man and told him he would call him when he made his choice as the shop keeper was beginning to look less than impressed with Seamus and Dean's continued laughter and gasped comments.
‘Seriously guys, shut the hell up and help me’ was Harry's amused comment and he proceeded to pick glasses and try them on.
‘You know Harry, you look completely different with your glasses off. Wait, I’ve got it, student by day, jump into Hagrid’s hut, whip off your glasses and it’s dark lord slayer by night.’ Seamus sniggered to renewed mirth.
Finally, after thirty seven dirty jokes and twelve comments mocking Harry and his ‘simply delightful green eyes’ a pair were chosen and the shop keeper summoned back. He placed an unbreakable charm, a charm to prevent them from being removed from Harry’s face by anyone other than him, a charm that immediately summoned them to Harry with a word and numerous other handy little charms on them, for a small fee of course. The minute Harry put them on they automatically changed to fit his prescription and Harry could see better than he could remember being able to in years. Thanking the man and paying a hefty sum, they left.
The title of a shop caught Harry’s eye on their way back up Didcot Way; ‘The Suspicious Shop for the Suspicious’ and Seamus demanded they have a look around.
Inside was all the paraphernalia he had seen in Moody’s office and more, including books such as ‘What to Do When You Know They Are Coming to Get You,’ ‘3512 Ways to Avoid Capture,’ and ‘So They Have Finally Found You.’ Harry flicked through a few and they seemed to have been written by some deeply paranoid and disturbed people, although they did contain some useful spells and potions. One of which caught his immediate attention in ‘What They Did to You and How You Can Prove It’. It appeared to have been written by a wizard claiming he had been abducted by green striped tmongerflops, whatever they were. But the Revelation Potion was present in a less detailed form and just as a reference in two of the other, more rational books, so Harry felt that the potion was worth a shot. It was made from mostly common ingredients, the complexity seemed to lie in the brewing aspect, and with practise should be possible for even the average brewer, which he felt he was.
Harry picked up a few more books and a foe-glass while Dean and Seamus amused themselves buying some tiny and delicate looking gadgets. Finished with their purchases, the three headed back out into the street.
It was now getting past lunch time, and Harry mentioned he wanted to pick up a few ingredients in the apothecary he had spotted on the way down before heading back to the Muggle world for lunch and then catching the train home when the glint of light off a shop window caught his eye and he glanced at the window of ‘Magical Monsters and Charming Creatures.’ Slowly, an evil smile spread over his face. Perfect, it was just perfect.
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