17

Chapter 17: Strategic withdrawal

Harry was of two minds about returning to the Dursleys'. On one hand, his relatives were sure to be even more intolerable this summer due to him accidentally summoning the Knight Bus right on Aunt Petunia's lawn. This will surely provoke them to actively try to hurt him. On the other hand, he had his glove, which will allow him to retaliate to some degree. On this thought Harry actually grinned. Just look at the silver lining, eh? He glanced at the said fragment of clothing critically. Note to self: investigate the possibility of sewing runes into clothes, also, look into the magical capacity of silver.

He exited the barrier between the Platform 9¾ while still wearing a small smile. He looked around in search for the members of the Dursley family, and found them standing near the other platform. He tsked and, after picking up his trunk, walked to them determinedly. As he came closer, on a whim he started smiling pleasantly.

The smile visibly unnerved the scowling family.

"Hi!" he said brightly. Dudley was apathetic and visibly bored. Aunt Petunia looked at him suspiciously. Vernon assumed the "You are annoying me" stance and jerked his head in the vague direction of the parking with an irritated grunt.

"After you," he answered with a slight bow and an exaggerated flourish, deciding to go with the flow of random madness.

The ride to Privet Drive was no more and no less awkward than it was last year. Harry was put off-guard with this, but from the cruel spark in Dudley's eyes, he expected the Dursleys to blow up any second.

His expectations were proven correct only after they were already there and he entered the house. He turned to close the door behind him when his peripheral vision caught something moving at his head from the side. Only reflexes honed by a long practice of avoiding Bludgers allowed him to duck in time. They didn't prevent him from catching a follow-up kick right at his face. The pain blinded him for a moment. He was thrown at the door, which creaked pitifully, not designed to handle this kind of abuse to itself.

Harry caught himself, shaking his swimming head, and lifted his left hand with the glove threateningly to ward off any kind of follow-up on the beat-down. It wasn't needed, though, as Vernon was still standing there, swelling with rage and seemingly gathering anger.

"What was that for?" he checked the mouth and nose. The latter was leaking blood.

"The stunt you pulled last year. We were the laughing stock of the neighbourhood for a month!" the obese man spat and took a step forward. Harry's eyes narrowed as he focused on the glove. A quick gesture.

BZING

The fist met the amber translucent octagon with a metallic sound. Vernon made a strangled sound and clutched his hand, glaring at the teen with hatred and fear. Aunt Petunia hissed in a loathing tone:

"Get out, you little freak."

Harry snorted and sent Vernon into the corridor wall with a hand wave.

"With pleasure, auntie. My summer prospects clearly just saw a radical improvement!" with that, he turned sharply and exited the house – not two minutes after entering it in the first place.

Fifteen seconds later, the Dursleys' lawn was defaced once again as the Knight Bus materialised on it to pick Harry up. The teen glanced at the destruction from the window before the bus departed.

I won't be able to return, whatever Dumbledore has to say about it.

That Evening

Harry frowned at the letter in his hand.

"'Take the Knight Bus to the Little Birdiegurn, walk right into the forest, follow the path until the crossroads, take the left, then the right near the river. Inevitably, you will stumble across a shack that looks like it would collapse at any given moment with a scarecrow wearing a wig right in front of it'," he looked up on the ramshackle building before him and searched for the scarecrow. For some reason, he found it standing on the roof. "O-kay... that's weird. I suppose I'm here. 'Knock thrice, then once, then four times.' Fine, whatever..."

He walked to the door resolutely and knocked in the requested pattern. Almost immediately a crash was heard from inside and hasty steps sounded.

The door opened and the adolescent was drawn into a hug.

"Harry!" Sirius shouted in glee, releasing his godson and looking over him. "Frankly, I thought you wouldn't come."

"You invited me," the teen noted and walked inside, dragging his trunk behind him. "As good as spending the summer in the Diagon Alley sounds, it's not as cool as crashing on my godfather's couch."

"Ah, well, technically, you'll be crashing on your sorta-uncle's couch," Sirius said, gesturing at the kitchen door, from behind which sounds of water and clunking of dishes could be heard. "It's Moony's place."

"Ah... okay, I don't have a problem with that, assuming Lupin... Moony, is actually agreeable to my presence here."

"Oh, he's certainly agreeable, or will be when he learns you're here."

"Sirius, are you saying I virtually broke into someone's house?"

"Nope," the Marauder said with a wink. "More accurately, I broke you into Moony's house. Big difference."

"But... oh, well, can't do anything about that now. Hey, Professor!" Harry walked into the kitchen, waving jubilantly at the severely startled man.

"Harry? What the... what are you doing here?"

"Ah, you see, I had a little spat with my dear relatives, and as a result I found myself in need for a place to crash in. I wrote a letter to Sirius to see if he would have any ideas, and he suggested coming here. He forgot to mention it's your house, so..."

Remus groaned at that and leaned on the table.

"Padfoot, I see that your casual disregard for your friends' private property boundaries is as lacking as ever."

The man in question shrugged unabashedly.

"Well, seeing as his place is currently uninhabitable, I suppose that you could stay here. Did you tell anyone that you're here?"

"Nope."

"We'll need to tell Dumbledore, just in case..."

"Why? It's my business where I spend my holidays," Harry interjected reasonably.

After a lengthy argument Remus acceded to Harry's request for his location to be hidden, or "not be told to others", as the older man insisted to call it.

"Now that it is settled, what shall we do?"

Sirius barked a laugh.

"Not much to do around here, kid, so I say we go and celebrate our reunion. There's this bar in London I have put my eye on..."

"Padfoot, he's fourteen. It's not an acceptable age to go to such places. He won't be allowed in, for starters."

Remus' claims were quickly dismissed.

"Mr. Padfoot feels the need to inquire as to whether Mr. Moony's memory has grown weak in his old age as he seems to have forgotten the infamous night of the 30th of October, 1972."

Cue sputtering.

"Do I want to ask?"

"No."

"No!"

"As I thought. Anyway, I got drunk a couple of times already, I think I've got a handle as to where my limits lie. Don't worry about that, Professor."

"Call me Remus or Moony, Harry. I'm not your professor anymore."

"Only if you insist. Know this, though: in my heart, you're going to stay a Professor forever." Harry didn't even bother to hide the teasing glint in his eyes.

"He's got a point," Sirius drawled, slinging a hand over the teen's shoulders and peering at Remus. "You look like a Professor, you know. Hey, maybe we can get you laid with that! We'll play on that student-and-teacher kink that all young girls seem to have..."

"I don't have to put up with this sort of abuse," the werewolf huffed, turning slightly pink.

"You love it and don't bother denying this. Anyway, can you disguise the kid so that he'll look 18?"

"Kid? Really?"

"You're doing the face, you were always best with that," Lupin grumbled, brandishing his wand and doing a few gestures, muttering under his nose all the while. Sirius shrugged and also got his wand out.

"Fine by me. Let's see, Hara Iskaze. No, not quite what we need. Hara Iskaze. A bit thinner... Hara Iskaze. Perfect, we can work with that."

Harry looked around in search of a mirror. Seeing this, Remus just conjured one, and the teen scrutinised his new appearance. He looked... like an adult. A shade of stubble, no baby fat...

"Okay, now, Moony, get your ass in that fancy suit of yours – the respectable one. I'll go get my own 'Le Rogue'," Sirius winked and turned to leave the kitchen. Remus looked at his back and spoke up.

"For the record – I think this is a very, very bad idea!"

"Spirit of the hunt, Moony!" the man answered cheerfully, causing the werewolf to groan, and vanished from view.

"What?" Harry blinked.

"I'll explain later. Do you have any fancy Muggle clothes?"

"Uh... yes, I got a rather nice one last summer. Should be fine with a bit of spell-work, I guess."

"I'll help you with that."

Ten minutes later, three males stood in front of the modest house.

"All right, pre-start checks: Money?"

"Check."

"Glamour charms?"

"Check."

"Wands?"

"Check."

"Heads?"

"...Check."

"All right-o! Now, take my hand, Harry, I'm going to side-along you. Remus, we're going to that bar we've finished with last time. Now, onwards!"

"You sure it's the right sort of club, Sirius?" Harry was glancing around, trying to look inconspicuous.

"Don't mind the gay guys by that table – I think they just stopped here to wait for someone. No, believe me, kid – we're exactly where we need to be."

"Again with the 'kid'. I'm not a child."

"I'll tell you two reasons why it doesn't matter. First, you don't get to choose your nicknames. Second, if you're not a child at heart now, you will become one sooner rather than later."

"Why would I do that?"

"You're hanging out with me, that's enough."

"Well, I'm still a responsible and mature member of society, and I've been with you for how many years?" the werewolf asked dryly as they neared the bar.

"Remus, you're a separate head case. Anyway, we'll have... what will we have?"

"I dunno. You're supposed to be the expert here."

"Oh fine. B-52. Three of them."

Harry watched with interest as the barman – a young man of maybe twenty years – quickly manipulated bottles with what he assumed to be alcohol. Soon, three shots of triple-layered cocktails were set before the company.

"So ... is there any special trick to this?" Harry asked, sizing his shot up.

"Oh, kid, there are so many ways to drink alcohol it's not even funny. This one, for example... Light 'em up, please. Thank you."

The barman immediately ignited the three shots with a matchstick.

"Now, in one gulp, through a straw."

Harry did so, and immediately his nervousness about this whole affair was washed away by the pleasant heat that spread from his stomach.

"Feels good, right? It's just a warm-up, kiddo. This will be a night to remember!"

Harry felt horrible.

Sure, he went through worse things, but Deep Bomb hangover was certainly in the top ten of his mortal suffering list. He tried to open his eyes, but failed. On his third try, the left eyelid cracked open. He capitalised on the small success and gradually managed to reboot his senses.

He was lying in bed. A quick pants check showed that a) he was clothed, b) he had someone's arm draped over him. Carefully, Harry turned his head, trying not to aggravate it, and noticed that whoever it was that was near him, it was a girl.

After spending a couple of minutes processing this unexpected turn of events, he sat up excruciatingly slowly. The teen stumbled from the bed, summoning a sudden bout of nausea and a spike of a migraine, and made his way to the kitchen. From the vague memories of last night's events that waddled in his head like flobberworms in a cauldron, he could recall Sirius saying something about a stock of hangover cure potions he had there. A potion sure sounded nice – hell, Harry would agree to drink anything barring Skele-Gro just to get rid of it.

He opened the door to the kitchen and his field of vision was immediately occupied with Sirius' face.

"Morning," his godfather said in a tone so bright it made Harry's teeth clench.

"Potion. Now."

"Someone can't hold their liquor. What happened to Mr. 'I-know-my-limits', huh?" Sirius teased, passing the desired vial. Harry gulped its contents down without noticing. Immediately, colours returned to the world, the blunt pain in his head vanished and sickness left as if it never were there, making him groan in bliss.

"Oh damn, that's the stuff... No, I can hold my liquor just fine for a guy who barely ever drinks, it's the hellish stuff that you gave me caused trouble."

"Just as planned. You can't just gulp down three Deep Bombs and remain standing unless you have some experience, which you don't."

"Who came up with the idea of mixing beer and vodka in that insidious manner, anyway? The first two went in all right..."

"Hell if I knew."

"And wait. Are you saying you intended to get me ridiculously smashed?"

"Yes, I did. Before you start shouting and wake Moony up, tell me: what do you remember of last night?"

Harry creased his brow and sat down opposite his godfather.

"Well, we went to first bar, drank a couple of cocktails, and then went to the club. There we met some girls, went to the floor, found out I can't dance worth crap. After that... another bar, we're there with the same girls. I've been talking a lot... then I started... oh dear, I started making out with that blonde," the teen's eyes widened as he remembered the fact that he woke up with someone in his bed, which eluded him to this moment.

"A-ha. Look, kid, I knew that in your condition you wouldn't be able to do much and would just embarrass yourself, end up with an issue and be miserable for a good while. It's better if you didn't do anything due to passing out cold."

"You speak as though you have already went through something like that," Harry noted. Sirius sipped his tea and shook his head with a smirk.

"Not me. Prongs did."

"Father?"

"Yeah. One summer evening after fifth year we went out to the Muggle London. Ended up picking up chicks – even Wormtail. Anyway, Prongs was drunk like you won't believe, and due to this and him going through another 'Lily will never love me' phase, he bedded his chick. Need I say that it didn't go as swimmingly as he hoped? Drunk sex isn't the best out there, even if it is the most popular way to get your cherry popped. Well, he was crushed for the remainder of the holidays."

For a while there was a silence, broken only by the sounds of Harry pouring himself some tea.

"Putting my father's shenanigans aside, what do we do with her?"

"A Confundus and side-along Apparition to London. I'll get to it in a bit," Sirius quietened, looking at the teen searchingly. "What's wrong?"

Harry grunted irritably.

"What isn't? I kind of cheated on Susan, kidnapped an unfamiliar girl and I don't object to the plan of just depositing her in the middle of the city without a smallest idea of what happened. In short, I feel like a complete and utter scumbag."

The tirade was met with a shake of a head and a shushing motion.

"Hold it right there. First of all, you were absolutely smashed. You can't blame yourself for fooling around a bit. The chick was a redhead, so you probably confused her with your girlfriend."

"Bollocks. I'm almost certain there was no confusion taking place."

"What I'm trying to say is you are not to blame here. Besides, Susan can't be mad at you for something she doesn't know about. Why are you upset?"

"Because... I have betrayed her confidence. Her trust."

The awkward silence that followed was broken only by Remus stumbling inside with a weary face and a weak salutation. The werewolf immediately walked to the fridge and started rummaging inside.

"How are you two faring?"

"Swimmingly, if you don't count the guilt fest pup decided to throw."

"What?" Lupin glanced up, throwing a worried look at Harry.

"He's beating himself up for making out with that girl because he has a girlfriend."

"Ah. Well, that's an unpleasant situation," he took a pack of eggs out of the fridge and went over to the sink in search for a pot.

"Tell me about it. The party man over here keeps telling me that as long as you're intoxicated, it's okay," Harry grumbled.

"You made it sound much less persuasive than what I said."

"Po-tah-to, Sirius. Anyway, I think I'll get her to London and walk her to her place. That's the least I could do."

"Good thinking, Harry."

The teen shrugged and went for his wand. Instead, his hand grasped a tissue. He took it out and almost threw it in the bin, but stopped at seeing the writing on it.

"What the hell..."

Albus Dumbledore was mildly perturbed.

He returned to his office from a weekly Wizengamot session, and after a couple of minutes spent sitting down and calming his nerves with herbal tea and sherbet lemon, he noticed the fact that the trio of apparatuses made to monitor the wards on Privet Drive were telling him that Harry was not there. On further inspection, they showed that Harry returned there for a brief time the day before, but left shortly.

The old warlock frowned and immediately started the search.

A couple of rather archaic, but effective scrying spells he found his young charge to be in London, in good health and not under duress of any kind. Albus carefully took note of the location given, applied the special, modified Notice-Me-Not charm and with a sharp half-turn on his heel Disapparated.

He found himself on a street in the suburbs. Harry was walking right past him when he appeared, and the quiet characteristic pop startled the teen into instinctively jumping aside and gesturing with his hand, creating a yellow-tinted shield between them.

Dumbledore dropped the charm and peered at the young wizard.

"I sincerely hope you did not just cast a spell outside of school, Harry."

"I didn't, Professor," Harry was frowning, "Why are you here?"

Albus glanced at his dropping arm and his eyebrows twitched up in recognition and surprise. Dabbling in enchantment already? Clever, very clever. Indeed, as he hasn't cast the shield directly, it shouldn't have set off the Trace.

"I have come because the wards on the Privet Drive warned me you were not there. May I inquire as to why you left?"

Harry leaned against the wall with a sigh and lifted his eyes upwards.

"The Dursleys were really, really mad at me. Granted, they did have something of a good reason this time, but still, I did not feel safe there, even with this," he gestured to his gloved left hand. "So, I left. In the process, the Knight Bus ruined their front yard – again – so I suspect that if you try to return me there, they wouldn't be very amendable to the idea. By the way, sir, I can't help but wonder how you found me in the first place."

"Oh, a couple of simple spells. Magic can do a lot if you approach it creatively."

"Creepy. Very creepy."

"Ahem. The particularities of my search aside, you need to return. The wards on the house must be recharged, and they can only do so if you are within the house for a prolonged time period."

Harry groaned slightly and started bargaining.

"Professor, they won't be glad if I came back, and that feeling is mutual. I simply do not want to see them again."

"You can only spend the nights there, spending the days elsewhere. I dare say you have enough friends to meet and visit to last you this summer," the old man suggested. Harry blinked.

"That would be acceptable, as long as I really don't have to interact with the Dursleys."

"Then it is settled. Take my hand."

After throwing another notice-me-not on them both, Albus vanished with a crack, pulling the teen with him.

The old warlock was good to his word, negotiating with Dursleys and successfully persuading them to let it go (after repairing their front yard with a minute twitch of his wand). Unfortunately, Aunt Petunia was adamant that Harry 'compensate' them for his stunt with some chores done, and Dumbledore didn't see it as unreasonable.

A couple of hours every other day spent washing dishes, caring for the plants and doing other menial work was nothing the teen couldn't handle. And he could do it without being bothered by anyone! Still, Harry sometimes caught himself thinking about creating a look-alike golem so that he wouldn't have to do such things. Something to look up when I'm back at Hogwarts.

Meanwhile, he was having a blast meeting his friends.

"Yo," Harry walked into the twins' bedroom with a jovial wave. "How's it going, gents?"

"Hey! Look who decided to visit," Fred called back, not taking his eyes off the boiling cauldron. "Close the door, will ya?"

Harry obliged, looking around with curiosity. He has never before been in this particular portion of the Burrow, as it was always closed so that no one but the twins themselves could enter, but it seems that he has earned enough favour with them by now to be allowed into their sanctum.

The room was... spacious. Much more so than Ron's, but then again, it was a room for two people. The window was very wide, allowing the natural light to bathe the room fully, but Harry could see the dark drapes near it. Many shelves near the walls were home to various books, clothes thrown haphazardly around (there was a sock hanging from the lamp), and many, many trinkets of unknown purpose. All of it was painted wildly in vivid colours. There were no beds in sight.

It all was Forgery to the extreme.

Currently, both inhabitants were sitting near a simmering cauldron. Fred was the one stirring and watching the fire while George was writing something or other down and periodically throwing prepared ingredients in.

"Do I want to know what kind of calamity this is going to bring?" Harry asked dryly, sniffing the vapours experimentally and immediately sneezing.

"Probably not, it will spoil the surprise," came an immediate answer.

"Fair enough. Ron told me to come up here. Did you need me for something or had he finally earned the right to enter here?"

"Both. Listen, you know about our idea to open a joke shop?"

Harry nodded. More than once he heard them talking about it during quiet evenings in the Common room, and occasionally even thrown in an idea or two.

"We have decided that we are ready to begin. Our first line of products is more or less ready, and the market has grown decidedly stagnant. It's time for us to shake it up a bit."

"Sounds good, but what do you need me for?"

"We need a starting capital," Fred said seriously. "We crashed in a big way when Bagman tricked us, and we just can't go through all the trouble to get funds the usual way."

"How much do you need?"

"A hundred galleons would do it. We have decided to do some work not related to our burgeoning business and scrounge up some more money – that's where Ron comes in."

The younger redhead stumbled into the room.

"Did someone mention me?"

"I did, in fact. I was just about to tell Harrykins here about your newfound talents," Fred replied, stirring the potion, which had just started producing ruby red smoke. Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron who was sporting a wide grin on his face.

"Talents? What is it, have you finally unlocked your singing voice?"

"Sod off," the redhead huffed in a manner oddly reminiscent of Hermione. It was an internal joke in their dorm – Ron very much liked to sing, and did possess a good ear, but alas, he was a growing boy, and the mutation of his voice chords had been making singing difficult for him. It didn't stem his enthusiasm, though, and thereby the other boys in the dorm had to suffer through his vocalising (which sounded like very, very bad yodelling) every third evening or so. "That joke grew a beard a year ago."

"A singing beard," George muttered without looking.

"So, what have you been up to?"

"Oh, this and that... when I returned from Hogwarts, mum roped us all into helping her with a Great Clean-Up. I found her old school books. Did you know she writes in them just as you do?"

"No."

"Most of them were potion books. So, I picked them up, and started looking through them. You know, so that I had a reason to stop cleaning."

"Did you get anything new from them?"

"In fact, I did! She had these little titbits written here and there to explain what's happening when and why and... I just was surprised."

"I can see that."

"Well, the next day, I overheard those two sods talking about a certain idea of theirs..." he stopped and gestured to Fred to speak up. The twin checked the flame once more and turned towards Harry.

"Do you know that many students have certain potions delivered to them with owl order?"

Harry stared for a couple of seconds, then his brain finished piecing together the input information.

"You want to sell potions."

"Yep. Not many stores are willing to sell many potions via owls – it's not a guaranteed source of income. Most of them sell their products directly..."

"Yeah, I know, cut to the chase. You want to set up shop in Hogwarts. I have three questions. First, will you have to do this business covertly?"

"Not as such, we aren't breaking any laws, and as we are going to do this unofficially, no one could begrudge us this. It has been done before, but right now, we will have a near monopoly on a starving market. We will just have to be careful not to attract the attention of the staff."

"Hm. Next, what's my involvement?"

"We told you. A hundred galleons would be enough to set us off, and we will earn enough money to get ourselves a shop by the end of the year."

"Lastly, what kind of potions are you planning to sell?"

"The usual: Pepper-Up, Incense of Awareness, Bruise-Be-Gone, Essence of Dittany, general antidotes. We thought about Wit-Sharpening, but you know they are toxic and we don't need anyone ending up in the Hospital Wing and busting us."

"Plus, it'll be me doing most of the brewing. I tried a couple of things here with the twins, and mum's books certainly helped, but I'm no great potioneer. As long as it's nothing fancy, I can do it. But I don't wanna risk messing up a Wit-Sharpening Potion," Ron concluded with a shrug.

"You have my blessing."

The sun was positively out to kill him. The black-haired young wizard adjusted his spectacles and scowled at the offending ball of fire, striding with all due haste to the entrance of Gringotts.

"Harry!"

The teen stopped walking at the sound of his name, turning to the caller. His eyes quickly found the familiar face.

"Tonks! What are you doing here?"

The Auror shrugged from her (obviously conjured) seat in the shade.

"A patrol job. Usually, I don't get those, but I lost a bet."

Harry leaned to the wall near her, smoothing over his heated hair.

"I think patrol duty involves – you know – patrolling, as in walking around with an intimidating face."

Tonks immediately morphed her head into one resembling a male thug.

"I can do intimidating. Walking in such heat? Not so much."

"Perfectly understandable."

"By the way, what are you doinghere? Did you pull a runner like you wanted?"

"Well, I did, but Dumbledore caught me the next day and negotiated a compromise. I sleep at my relatives' house, but spend my days elsewhere."

"And now you want to go on a shopping spree? I noticed you were going to Gringotts."

Harry shrugged.

"Well, I wanted to talk to my account manager first, but after that – yes. I need some dress robes for some sort of event this year. Plus there's a new project of mine..."

"A project?" Tonks grinned and winked at him. "What is it this time, lil' ant?"

"Well, this," Harry took a tissue from his pocket and, after smoothing it over, gave it to the Auror. She peered at the scrawls on it curiously.

"An... enchanted robe?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't take Runes, what does it do?"

"I think it makes the wearer fly."

Tonks goggled at him.

"Correction: levitate. There's also some runes there that hint at shield charms, but I haven't figured out what they do yet," Harry rubbed his neck with a frown.

"Haven't figured out? This is your handwriting! Don't you remember what is it you wrote down?"

"It is, but why do you think it's written on tissue? I was drunk at the time."

The young woman laughed, her hair shifting to bright green from her mirth.

"Yes, laugh it up," Harry grumbled, taking the scheme back and looking at it ponderously. "I'll have to copy it to parchment and take it apart. Why the shield..."

"Only you could get sloshed and draw up something wonderful. The only thing I get the morning after is the hangover," Tonks sighed.

"I'll have to remember to take a notebook next time I go out into a bar. Say, when does your 'patrol' end?"

"An hour and half," she answered after lazily twitching her wand in a non-verbal Tempus. "I can hang out with you after that, so long as you get me an ice-cream or two."

"Done."

He walked off with a lazy salute and quickly made his way to the Gringotts. I wonder how Tearshape is going to react to my idea.

An hour and half later

Harry was boiling. He and Tonks have just chosen a table in Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour, as he was in critical need of cooling down.

He quickly bought them some frozen goodness and seemingly started experimenting on if it is possible to melt it with a glare.

"So, you go into the bank, spend some time there, and then return pissed off as all get out. Bad news?" Tonks was stretching her legs lazily in her seat, slowly savouring her strawberry-flavoured ice-cream. Harry grunted.

"You can say that, yes."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He considered it, playing with his spoon thoughtfully.

"Might as well get it off my mind. Did you know that only goblins are permitted to trade goods with Muggles?"

"I remember reading about it. It was the primary concession we made after the third rebellion. Why do you mention it?"

Harry snorted.

"Well, I had this brilliant idea... no, scratch that: I had this dozen of brilliant ideas about how I could get rich very quickly by playing with Muggle markets and magic. And I didn't think that goblins had the same thought in their heads already and had cut the competition pre-emptively."

"Yeah, they are conniving little buggers. In the end, though, joke was on them – their magic isn't exactly the marketable kind," Tonks cracked a grin. "They are very good at defensive wards and anything to do with stones and metals, but they would never let anything forged by them into Muggle hands. And wand-magic was prohibited to them by the same treaty that gave them exclusive rights to trade with Muggles."

"So it's more like 'we can't profit from this, so we won't let anyone else'?"

"More or less. They invest their gold, but nothing more."

Harry snorted and finally started eating.

"Can I get another, by the way?" Tonks asked slyly. The teen lifted his eyes at her.

"Already? Oh, fine, I need one too anyway. Do you have any paper on yourself by any chance?" he dropped the tissue with runes scrawled on it on the table.

"Let me get my notebook..."

Twenty minutes and six ice-creams later, Harry was oscillating between bursting with pride at his accomplishment and being aggravated at the many things that eluded him in this scheme.

"I guess I can understand this section," he grumbled to himself, scratching his head dejectedly, "It's madness, but it can work. I think I got the idea from that girl and her joke about gravity and Monroe. But this matrix... blast me, it's just beyond good and evil. Bah, I'll just figure it out experimentally. Hey, Tonks, do you know anything about where I can get the cheapest possible clothes?"

"What?" she blinked, having spent all this time observing him amusedly. "Why would you need that?"

"I need to have something to experiment on. A lot of somethings, as my work on a rune-inscribed glove proved."

"Gotcha. You need cheap robes? There's this shop right behind the corner..."

"Well, I don't need robes exactly – I think that some cheap T-shirts would do for the beginning," he glanced over the rows of runes on the sheet of paper before him. "Then I'll need to move on to robes, but it's relatively far off."

She shrugged and stood up, lazily stretching her legs.

"I think I know a place or two that will have what you need."

Without further ado, she dragged Harry from his seat and introduced him to what would be the most torturous task given to any man; clothes shopping with a woman.