Diagon Alley is the main magical street of London, and this is one of the reasons why there are always quite a few wizards here. But now, when all letters from Hogwarts have been received, there are even more wizards here—no one wants to delay the purchase of necessary things for school, textbooks, stationery, ingredients or school uniform.
And so, this crowd walks back and forth, everyone makes noise, traders call out, and we stand on the summer veranda of Fortescue's cafe. We—me, Hermione, Daphne and Pansy. And if my sister can well put up with Daphne's existence, then Pansy for her is the most unpleasant personality, an ulcer, and generally... Pansy sees in Hermione a target on which slander can be practiced as a skill—this is read in the look.
"Daphne," I smiled at the girl and received a light return smile, "Parkinson."
A couple more greetings sounded, after which I immediately gave my proposal, stopping the possible beginning of a conflict.
"Ladies, you are, one might say, your own here, you know everything. Can you tell me how to get to the library?"
"That is," Pansy smirked, folding her arms under her chest, "in the company of beautiful ladies you are interested only in their knowledge of the road to the library?"
"Pfft, call me a beautiful lady," Hermione snorted.
"And I do know why you need the library," Pansy shot a glance at Hermione and looked at me again. "Yes-yes, I know for sure."
"Let's go," Daphne nodded briefly and stood at the head of our group.
Leaving the veranda, we joined the stream of other wizards, moving towards Gringotts. Of course, the bank itself did not interest us, although I am thinking about going to these bloodthirsty shorties and asking about the possibility of opening a vault and about conditions. We passed the bank, along the right street—the bank building, like an icebreaker, divided Diagon Alley into two other streets.
Literally one block later, where there were noticeably fewer wizards, we approached a small-looking building, the decoration and design of which were taken from somewhere in antiquity, and all this somehow spoke for itself about one thing—here is a library. Well, and the corresponding sign, of course, left no doubt.
Without further ado we went inside.
"Oh, inside it is bigger than outside," these were the first words of Hermione examining rows of high cabinets with books going into the distance, and the only obstacle for my sister on the way to knowledge was a large reception desk, behind which as many as two elderly witches with severe faces and looks worked.
"Need to register," Daphne explained and pointed her hand to the desk. "Pansy?"
"Eh... Okay. Although I have nothing to do here, but for company..."
"And you?" I asked Daphne.
Hermione seemed to teleport to the desk, and was already finding out what needs to be done for registration, and generally, what books there are, what rules, and everything-everything-everything about this place. The elderly witch without enthusiasm, but also without negativity, calmly answered my sister's questions with the same speed with which they were asked.
"I already have, and for quite a long time. Thought that there would be something interesting for me here, but... This is, for the most part, an ordinary library. There is little advanced knowledge of magic here, and there is no question of something really complex and dangerous. It is, for a second, under the control of the Ministry."
We approached the desk, to the second witch.
"I would like to register, ma'am," I smiled at the elderly witch, distinguished by a short haircut of completely gray curly hair.
"First name, last name," she also began to speak without any unnecessary emotions.
"Hector Granger."
"Age."
"Fifteen full years."
"Your wand, please," the lady pointed her hand to a dark stone surface in the desk, where, apparently, the wand should be placed, which I did.
The lady entered the parameters of the wand into the papers she was processing.
"You can take it."
Literally ten seconds later I was given a library card.
"Don't lose. Restoration—five Galleons," this madam spoke strictly. "Map of the library and sections there, can take a brochure. If you don't know how to use the library, can take a brochure. To familiarize with rules—can take a brochure. If you..."
"If we have at least one question—can we take a brochure?"
"You catch on quickly," the madam nodded neutrally. "For such there is also a brochure."
Parkinson registered immediately after Hermione, and therefore we finished all this almost simultaneously. Where is sister? Correct—picked up all brochures and now stood, waited for us, and as soon as we finished with light bureaucracy, she immediately moved with a smile deep into the library.
"You don't have to say anything," Pansy rolled her eyes to the ceiling sufferingly. "I'll look after her. But you owe me, Granger."
We followed Hermione, absorbed in reading book spines on cabinet shelves.
"Mione, I'll go for a walk."
"Yes-yes, of course," she was already somewhere in her own world.
"If anything—meet at Fortescue's cafe."
"Yes, I think so too."
Smiling, I nodded to myself, turned around and went with Daphne to the exit from the library.
"Hope they don't fight."
"Don't worry," Daphne smiled much more naturally and brightly than recently at the cafe. "Pansy is more than capable of finding diplomatic ways of interaction. Just her school image was strongly dependent on the circle of communication."
"And she doesn't plan to communicate with Malfoy anymore?"
We left the library, finding ourselves again on a crowded street, even if there were incomparably fewer wizards here than directly on Diagon Alley.
"No more than necessary. Well and need to understand that they have known each other for quite a long time and just like that, without consequences, such contacts cannot be thrown aside."
"And unprofitable, right?"
"Of course. You know, amusing thing," Daphne thought, putting her hand on the crook of my elbow, and so we went along the street. "Many understand that school will not last forever, therefore try not to spoil relations within the house if there is no sense in this. But with children from influential or significant families, relations are easily spoiled by those who are much poorer, much less influential."
"Too big a difference in the circle of communication affects, both current," I nodded, "and future. Let's say, the same Weasleys, I am sure, will cross paths with Malfoy unless on Diagon Alley. This does not make them or Malfoy neither bad nor good—they simply live in different worlds, different values."
"I think so too."
So, talking about nothing, we walked along magical streets, which was quite difficult due to the huge number of wizards around—too much bustle, too noisy. As a result, we came to the conclusion that we need to walk through shops not particularly popular among wizards. For example, related to potion making. Yes, oddly enough, this unique discipline with truly the widest and unusual capabilities for wand magic is not popular among wizards, and this can be understood—about a third of all ingredients have a rather disgusting appearance, smell, or some other nuance not conducive to attractiveness. And potion making does not shine with aesthetics, and far from everyone is able to appreciate the elegance of this discipline.
First of all we went into the "Potioneer's Lair" shop. Yes, not the most popular, a schoolboy has nothing to do here. But it is here, in an atmosphere of light gloom, in perfect cleanliness and order, that one can see, evaluate or buy really high-quality high-class tools. Showcases and shelves literally burst from various knives, tongs, stirring rods from different materials, cauldrons. One more beautiful than another and, accordingly, more expensive. There were tools both for every day, simple-looking, and gift ones, beautiful, in individual boxes upholstered in velvet, or whole sets. The dwarf shard allows even with a cursory glance to evaluate the high quality of absolutely every, even the most inconspicuous object.
In this shop we got stuck for a really long time, enthusiastically evaluating and discussing certain goods, surprised at amazing prices for really rare, rarest ingredients indicated in the price list, and not put on display, as they like to do in more consumer goods shops, as if setting a goal to drive away the curious. But I was much more interested in the frankly weak assortment of cauldrons, and I hurried to find out about the reasons for such a deficit from the seller, a middle-aged wizard in a strict dark blue suit with high and narrow cuffs—they immediately catch the eye, and I even know the reasons, because nothing should interfere with hands working with ingredients and potions, and ordinary clothes, and especially an ordinary robe do not contribute to such.
"Excuse me, sir, I noticed that cauldrons are extremely monotonous, albeit different in size. Can you tell what the reasons for such are?"
"Unfortunately, sir," the seller smiled sadly, "the Ministry introduced regular inadequate restrictions for imported and domestic cauldrons. Now there is a strict and completely inflexible norm and standard on wall thickness and materials used."
"But allow me," Daphne was surprised. "Do these parameters not affect the quality of the potion, even if to a lesser extent than... Everything else."
"You are right, young lady," the seller nodded. "Professionals take these factors into account to obtain potions of the highest class. Moreover, many to achieve such quality of their products select cauldrons almost for each individual potion."
"And what is the point then?"
"Besides fines and collecting money?" the seller smirked. "Incidents happen too often when brewing a potion by an insufficiently qualified potioneer using, for example, thin-walled cauldrons for brewing potions requiring high temperature. Or because of an causeless desire to buy an unusual cauldron, from unusual material. Incorrect selection of ingredients—and that's it. Good if the matter is limited to light injuries."
"So isn't it better to introduce a restriction on the sale of goods?" I was surprised. "Well, for example, to buy something unusual and potentially dangerous—confirm the degree of mastery? Are there any, don't know, symbols, regalia that a master potioneer can boast of if desired?"
"You think, young man, like a correct sapient. In the Ministry they think like greedy sapients. Your approach will not allow walking through the population with fines and sanctions, although it is really much more practical."
"Yeah," I thought. "And also, this will force manufacturers and buyers to go underground, inflate prices for products."
Daphne looked at me, and understanding flashed in her gaze.
"And then the Ministry will be able to conduct raids to cover such points, seize property and so on... And profit here. And in two-three years, when there will be many dissatisfied, and the richest and most influential suddenly realize that they have nowhere to buy the best potions, because they simply will not be on sale..."
"Then they will cancel. Allegedly 'will reach' them," I smiled back.
"Yes, young people. If you are interested in my humble opinion, I am inclined to think the same as my colleagues."
Having talked a little more, we were about to leave, but I decided that since we study with Snape, and neither Daphne nor I are going to turn off halfway, we should acquire high-quality products. I don't know all the nuances of creating such, I don't know the requirements for tools, and therefore now I will buy this, and then, when I analyze and consult on this issue with Snape, create my own.
"Sir, I would like to purchase two full sets of tools. For myself and for my companion."
"This is an excellent decision. Any preferences?"
"Perhaps, without unnecessary decorations. We have to work with them almost every day."
I know that Daphne, albeit a girl, is inclined to be purely pragmatic in these matters. And I know that our tools are at the school level, a little better—I didn't bother about this, and Daphne just doesn't get bought, because the family is not interested in the daughter as a potioneer.
"This is not cheap," Daphne glanced at me with slight doubt.
"So what? These are necessary and useful things, and I see that even the most modest and cheap set of those presented is head and shoulders above what we are forced to buy at Hog. I simply won't be able to work with those tools now, knowing that I could take something worthy."
We spent almost an hour selecting tools by hand. It turns out that many sets went sort of "loose", and were compiled already directly by the seller, who helped to select each individual item for the client's hand—a set was compiled from them, samples of which were presented in showcases.
The purchase cost me quite expensive by local standards—one hundred and thirty-one Galleons and six Sickles. Was it worth it? At least the fact that Daphne stood hugging the case for five minutes, dreamily smiling and generally, looking at me with slight contentment and gratitude—definitely worth it.
Putting purchases in bags, we went further through the shops. It was already lunch time, the number of wizards decreased a little, and now Diagon Alley looked somewhat freer. Not much, but already better—there was no such wild pandemonium.
"It seems to me..."
We stopped next to the cafe, and light smells of fruits, chocolate and various tea did not leave indifferent neither me nor Daphne's indecently rumbling stomach.
"...that it is time if not to have lunch, then to have a snack. Moreover, Pansy and Hermione are coming here. Hmm..."
"And they don't look pleased with each other's company," Daphne smiled. "This is funny."
The girls approached us quite quickly, ignoring each other's existence and almost demonstratively turning away to the sides.
"Go into the cafe, have a snack?" I expressed a proposal to which everyone nodded in agreement.
The summer veranda was almost empty—many prefer the imaginary privacy of the hall in the cafe itself, and seeing crowds of people—a spectacle not for everyone. But now, when the morning and pre-lunch rush subsided, and wizards with children passed the sprint called "shopping for school", the veranda looked like a fairly attractive solution.
Taking a free table, we waited for the waitress to pay attention to us, made an order and began to wait. Although Fortescue's cafe specializes in ice cream, tea and hot chocolate in various variations, there is also something for a light snack here too—a fairly rich assortment of sandwiches, seemingly even very, very high quality.
Conversation begged itself, and I decided to start it myself as soon as the waitress left.
"So, how is the library?"
"Very interesting," Hermione nodded importantly. "I didn't expect such a wealth of ordinary fiction from different countries. True, according to catalogs, there are not very many books on magic there. More precisely, there are many of them, but they are of the same type, and topics are not too diverse. Seems not much more complicated than the school curriculum."
"She ran around the entire library," Pansy snorted. "As if she was afraid that some book would be stolen from under her nose."
"And you, Parkinson, did nothing but interfere. Either criticize my choice, or issue a caustic comment, unclear for what and why. Although I didn't ask your opinion."
"Oh-oh, yes if not for my comments, you would have walked like that, reading the spine of every book and trying to understand what and where can be searched."
"I wasn't interested at all to see what detectives are on that stupid shelf," Hermione was indignant.
"Well yes, snotty novels—much better, where there detectives."
"Charming," I smiled and exchanged glances with Daphne, who smiled exactly the same way, looking at this squabble. "You definitely need to have a snack, and the mood will be better."
"Here, by the way," Pansy turned to us, pointing her hand at Hermione. "If not for me, she would have remained there, tormented by hunger and thirst."
"What care, almost brought a tear," Hermione snorted, and my hearing caught the grumbling of her stomach. It seems not only I heard this, and we all looked at sister.
"Everything is not so bad," Hermione blushed slightly.
Soon the order was brought to us and we spent half an hour in a much friendlier atmosphere, albeit not devoid of barbs from Pansy and Hermione towards each other, sedately enjoying food. Well and after—a logical continuation of the visit to Diagon Alley. Hike for necessary purchases.
Must say that not otherwise than a miracle helped us avoid meeting with various classmates or just familiar students from Hogwarts who were here with parents. Yes, I saw many in the morning, and now there were few of them, but the street is small, there are not so many shops where you can buy necessary things, and some do not even have an alternative, like for example Flourish and Blotts. Daphne was especially glad that we never met her parents, who should have been somewhere here.
The very last in the list of shops, and at the same time the one whose visit turned out to be the longest, was "Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions", although no one says the full name—just Madam Malkin's shop. Daphne and Pansy, of course, took this issue very seriously, because as it turned out, adjustments can be made to some nuances of tailoring clothes and robes for a modest fee of half a Galleon and at the cost of an additional wait of as much as fifteen minutes for each individual case! I'm being ironic, if anything. Hermione and I wanted, as always, to quickly take measurements and that's it, but Daphne and Pansy stated that this is decidedly impossible—only full fitting, exact sizes, and generally, no finished products.
Had to stand while being measured, then stand, portraying a hanger—but this is only for the robe. Fitting, measurements, fitting—tiring. Although, not for me to complain—creation of my suit was also not fast, and I won't even talk about the number of magical manipulations.
We left the shop, in general, satisfied. Unless I was a little mentally tired, giving out compliments, deserved, although sometimes not very, and in principle this whole process exhausted me a little. Hermione was also glad of such an outcome of events and that the school uniform on her will now look a little better than usual. Although, sister tried to hide the fact of her joy behind a demonstrative unwillingness to talk to Parkinson. And I wouldn't say that this somehow upset Pansy.
When it was time to disperse, I asked Hermione to wait for me at the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. She looked at me with slight suspicion, but smiled and approached the passage. Pansy tagged along after her, clearly wanting to express a couple of malicious remarks—she will always find a reason.
"Daphne," we stepped a little aside, standing close to the "Quality Quidditch Supplies" shop, but so that it was almost impossible to pay attention to us. "Sorry that a full date didn't work out."
"It's partly my fault too. Couldn't go without Pansy. And magical streets—not the best place for such."
"And have you been to ordinary streets? In London?"
"And not only. In Paris, for example. But I don't like big cities. The air there is too heavy, stale, poisonous somehow."
"That yes... Even here, on Diagon Alley, the difference is huge, although we are still in London. Means, need to invite you somewhere where it will be both beautiful, and interesting, and clean air?"
"I don't know such places," Daphne shook her head slightly sadly. "In any case, we had a great time. You won't believe it, but my company for today could be in the person of Malfoy and someone else. And do you know that in our house he was nicknamed 'Peacock' back in the first year?"
"Yeah?" I couldn't hold back a smile. "Didn't know. Sure that I can guess about the reasons. Like a peacock, Malfoy in his beautiful clothes can be looked at and admired, but as soon as he opens his mouth..."
"Yes-yes," Daphne nodded, smiling frankly. "Everything is exactly like that."
Glancing behind my back, she smirked.
"It seems they shouldn't be left alone."
She sharply approached close, committing stupidity publicly, but quickly, easily and fleetingly.
"Thank you. And yes, the cakes were amazingly tasty. Especially against the background of principled deprivation of sweets."
"Glad you liked it."
Saying goodbye, I went to Hermione, and halfway exchanged a couple of words with Pansy walking to Daphne.
"So, did the date pass?"
"Passed, and will be even better. Don't be bored, Parkinson."
"Don't become a victim of a bookworm, Granger. She is phenomenally stubborn."
Of course, the last word had to remain with Pansy—not for me to shout across the whole street at the girl's back? Exactly.
"So, hero," Hermione smirked. "Walked enough with your beloved?"
"Did you learn to be caustic from Pansy?"
"Always knew how. Didn't consider it necessary to do it."
"And indeed. Home?"
"Home."
The way back home didn't take much time, thanks to our crazy magic bus of poisonous-purple color. Parents weren't there yet, but time hadn't come either, although dinner should be taken care of—Hermione took up solving this issue, moreover without any prompts. Well and I went to my room, where a letter was waiting for me. Strange. Usually owls carry a letter to the addressee, but to leave it like this... The sender must strongly doubt that the owl will fly to the addressee, who may be not that not at home, but even in another country—only in such cases ask to deliver to a specific address of wizard's residence. Funny, by the way, that you really ask the owl, for example: "Deliver home to so-and-so", and she delivers exactly where the person lives.
Checking the letter for possible traps, boldly opened the envelope and took out the letter. Mr. Delacour found another order. Claims that this time there simply cannot be any problems, and the order itself is in another country. Of course, he wrote not in plain text, but somewhat allegorically, but it was not difficult to understand the essence, knowing what topic he can write about at all.
Well, preparation and sending to another country—simple matter. Main thing, as last time, be ready for any surprises. Ah, well yes—need to answer too.
It seems my summer won't end so simply, and I so hoped that August would pass calmly.
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