Chapter 28-Meanwhile, the Diagon alley(part 2).

The Malkin filing system was mercifully straightforward-the bolts of cloth were sorted by type and color-and Harry had little difficulty with it. He hadn't known much about different materials though, so Maggie, Colleen and Dara took it upon themselves to give him a crash course while he worked. The Gryffindor had been able to identify some basic types, like silk, velvet, and linen, but by the time he finished unloading and storing the shipment, Harry knew more than he ever wanted to about shantung, taffeta, tulle, chiffon, seersucker, chintz, and damask. After he'd finished storing the trims, threads, fasteners, and other sewing paraphernalia his head was literally spinning with new terminology. Who would have thought that clothing could be so complicated!

Harry picked up his quill again. I've met some very nice people, and run into some others I haven't seen in a while...

Life had gotten exciting when Harry finished in the back, and then wandered out with one of the boxes of accessories. Madam Malkin had been waiting on a family. She had a blond boy up on a footstool, and was pinning the set of shimmery pearl-gray robes he was wearing to the correct length. Harry hung back, intending to approach her for instructions when she was finished. He was just thinking that there was something disturbingly familiar about the family, when the blond boy turned, and he had felt his blood turn to ice.

Malfoy!

Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, Harry had clutched the box close, and backed away. Thankfully the Malfoys didn't notice him. When his fitting was done, Draco hopped lightly off the stool, and left to go have a look in Quality Quidditch Supplies while his mother selected some robes for herself.

Harry had mentally crossed his fingers, hoping fervently Draco's father, Lucius Malfoy, would leave too. Narcissa Malfoy didn't know him that well, and probably wouldn't recognize him, but Lucius had seen him up close on the night of the Third Task!

Unfortunately, he hadn't gotten his wish. Lucius Malfoy was evidently expected to stay. Madam Malkin dragged her comfortable "waiting chair" over for him to sit in, then led Narcissa over to the fancier women's robes. On the way she noticed Harry.

"Oh, Sparky! Please forgive me for overlooking you. I'm afraid you'll have to make a little noise around here. Right here, Mrs. Malfoy. I'll be with you in one quick second. Now dear, the accessories are sorted by brand, and stored on these racks..."

Harry had listened nervously as the squat, mauve-robed witch rattled on about hair ornaments shoe decorations, and costume jewelry, all the while horribly aware of Lucius Malfoy's presence. At that moment, Harry had wanted to run for it more than anything he'd ever wanted before, but he managed to resist the urge. The comforting weight of the phoenix pendant against his chest helped calm him as well. As long as his hands were free, he had an escape.

Working rapidly, he had begun to sort out the accessories. He kept a wary eye on Mr. Malfoy, but the man didn't deign to acknowledge Madam Malkin's "hired help." Indeed, the other wizard was the very picture of bored, disgruntled masculinity. If the situation hadn't been so serious it would have been funny. Harry began to wonder if Mr. Malfoy had lost a bet with his wife-or his son.

Narcissa had been a challenging customer, insisting that Madam Malkin remain with her at all times, and dropping the robes she rejected in a pile on the floor. Harry caught the robe maker throwing harassed looks at the doors to the back room, but she didn't call for reinforcements. Perhaps they were running a bit behind schedule with the wedding things.

When Narcissa stepped on the pile of robes, after discarding her eighth or tenth set, Madam Malkin finally remembered Harry. Catching his eye, she glanced at the robes on the floor, then nodded toward a bar secured to the wall beside the mirror. Harry nodded his understanding when she looked him in the eye again, trying to ignore his stomach's uncomfortable lurch.

As he neared the fitting area, he caught Lucius Malfoy's attention. Resisting the instinct to squirm under the man's calculating gaze, Harry quickly did as Madam Malkin bade, wanting to escape the man's scrutiny as soon as possible. He'd been nervous as hell, mouth dry, heart hammering, palms sweating...

At first Malfoy surveyed Harry with bored disinterest. He seemed to dismiss the boy out of hand, which was perfectly fine as far as Harry was concerned. He had just hung the last robe, and about to make good his escape, when Lucius looked up sharply, as though realizing something. "Boy," he had ordered, "Come here."

Harry had reluctantly approached the man, every nerve in his body buzzing with alarm. When Malfoy had reached out and grasped his wrist he'd experienced a thick, reeling moment, certain that he was caught. Portkey! Harry had thought desperately, starting to reach for it, then his eyes had fallen on his trapped wrist. If he touched the pendant, he'd drag Mr. Malfoy to Hogwarts with him. Was this a good plan? Was anyone at Hogwarts? Perhaps he should try to wrench free first...what?

Malfoy had pressed some coins into his hand. Harry blinked, then looked at him blankly, irritating the other wizard. "I told you to go fetch me a copy of the Daily Prophet, you dim-witted dolt!" Malfoy snapped. "Now move!" he commanded, making dismissive flipping motions with his hand.

"Right away, sir," Harry said dazedly, after glancing at Madam Malkin, and receiving her grateful nod of permission. At the time he'd been too relieved to be annoyed by Malfoy's customary I-am-perfect-and-you-are-scum attitude, and really, the situation was just too funny. He'd had to battle down a shout of rather hysterical laughter when he'd returned with Lucius' paper and change-especially when Lucius had rather pompously gifted him with the few Knuts that had been left over. Talk about surreal! His position of "general laborer" had put him beneath Malfoy's notice.

At length, Narcissa had finally settled on a set of midnight blue robes charmed to sparkle like a twilight sky. After they left, Madam Malkin muttered something uncomplimentary that made Harry laugh out loud. The disparaging comment didn't suit the little dressmaker at all. "You weren't supposed to hear that," Malkin said sheepishly, turning the same color as her robes.

Harry immediately stopped laughing and covered his mouth contritely with one hand. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Madam Malkin gave him a curious look. "Whatever for? I should be apologizing to you for allowing him speak to you so rudely. I'm afraid I was rather shocked by his presumption. Thank you for being good enough to get his paper, though."

"It was nothing, Madam Malkin."

I'm working on a little project I hope Ron and Hermione will be able to help me with later in the summer. Some details are still being worked out at the moment, so I'll have to write more after everything is finalized.

Yeah, Fawkes had nearly shocked him out of his wits, and the Malfoy encounter had almost been enough to send him to St. Mungo's, but as far as Harry was concerned, the most unbelievable event of the whole ruddy day had occurred just as he was leaving the robe shop.

Hedwig had met him in the Alley with several sheets of parchment as he'd said his goodbyes to Madam Malkin and her staff. The Gryffindor's eyes had widened, and he had thanked the owl profusely while giving himself a mental slap when he realized what she had.

Geoffrey Reed, the manager of Flourish & Blotts had given him an assignment of sorts. He'd finished the night before, and planned to drop it off at the bookstore on his way back from Madam Malkin's, but had gotten so wrapped up in the box from Mrs. Figg's house, he'd forgotten to grab it on his way out.

"Hello, Mr. Patterson," Geoffrey Reed had greeted him when he'd entered the bookstore a few minutes later. "What can I help you with?"

"I've finished my revisions, sir...you said you wanted to see them?" Harry said, beginning to feel a little unsure of himself.

Mr. Reed seemed pleased. "Finished already, eh? Well, let's go to my office, and see what you have, shall we?" he invited, ushering Harry in and offering him a seat.

Perched uncertainly on the edge of his chair, Harry passed the parchment to Geoffrey, and watched uneasily as the manager began to peruse his work. On his first day at Flourish and Blotts, he had run across a box of pamphlets while cleaning out the back room. They were informational reading for muggleborns-an attempt to ease their way into the magical world.

When Harry had asked Mr. Reed why the pamphlets weren't being used, the man had sighed, obviously frustrated, and admitted that they were a failed experiment. The brochures had been written, and edited by highly acclaimed and accredited witches and wizards, but in spite of this, Muggleborn first-years consistently found them more confusing than helpful.

That hadn't made sense to Harry until he had read one. When he finished, he understood completely.

It wasn't that the information in the brochures was deliberately wrong or misleading, it was just...incomplete. It was a case of a witch or wizard trying to explain things that they considered perfectly normal to muggleborns, who had never experienced such things before.

Harry recognized this primarily because he'd made the same kind of mistake summer before second year. In his first floundering attempts to explain "perfectly normal" muggle things to Mr. Weasley, he'd glossed over tiny intermediate steps and left out details that were common knowledge in the muggle world thinking Arthur was aware of them as well. Things went much better when Harry realized his mistake, and became more methodical and detailed with his explanations.

The authors of the pamphlet evidently hadn't cottoned on to this subtle point. After having been part of wizard society for the past few years, Harry had the knowledge to fill in the unspoken steps, and was able to read and understand the document. If he'd been given this same paper going into first year, however, he wouldn't have been able to make sense of it. Hermione might have been able to, since she'd done all that preparatory reading, but it was by no means a sure bet.

When Harry pointed out his observation to Mr. Reed, the man had given him a thoughtful look, then floored him completely by suggesting he have a go at updating it. "You seem to have a feel for what muggleborns go through," Geoffrey had pointed out, interrupting Harry's incoherent sputtering. "Are you one yourself? Or one of your parents, perhaps?"

Harry had nodded, not specifying which question he was answering. "I didn't know I was a wizard until I got my Hogwarts letter," Harry said with a shrug and a grin, hoping Mr. Reed would draw the conclusion that he himself was muggleborn. The diversion worked, and that had basically been the end of that conversation.

Nervously shifting in his seat, Harry had watched Mr. Reed, trying to get a sense of what he was thinking. The manager wasn't giving a lot away, though, frowning slightly as he scanned the new brochure-well actually, it was more of a booklet now. Swallowing nervously, Harry prepared himself for the worst. How could he have been so stupid? Why had he ever thought he could do this? He could almost hear Vernon and Petunia's mocking voices now: So the little freak fancies himself a writer! Oh, that's rich! Who would be daft enough to believe anything you had to say?

"Excellent!"

Harry snapped back to the present, and opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed. "Sorry?"

"Outstanding work, Mr. Patterson, I must congratulate you!" Geoffrey was all smiles now. "You've hit the proverbial nail on the head! If I send this to Hogwarts today, maybe the staff can approve it in time to send it out with this years' letters. Mr. Patterson? I say, are you all right?"

Harry nodded, dumbly, still in a state of shock. Strict, picky, Mr. Reed actually liked his ideas! Unreal. It was like getting accolades from Percy Weasley. "Yes sir," he finally managed to say. "Sorry, I was afraid you wouldn't like it."

"Well it's not as formal as the original," Mr. Reed said, speculatively, "but that isn't necessarily bad. I rather like your lighthearted approach. This is supposed to be for eleven-year-olds, after all. I think besides leaving out pertinent information, we forgot to consider this document's intended audience. You've taken care of both splendidly."

"Thank you, sir. Erm, there's one more thing if you don't mind," Harry said hesitantly, wishing it wasn't so blessed hard to talk to adults. His friends were much easier to deal with. He waited for Reed's nod, then shared an idea he'd been kicking around ever since he'd taken on the project.

"I had someone who helped me along the first time I came to Diagon Alley. He answered my questions and did his best to explain things," Harry said, thinking fondly of Hagrid. "The brochure is a good idea, but perhaps we could offer the new muggleborn students and their families the same kind of chance. They could come to Diagon Alley in groups...maybe on Sundays when things are less crowded. It's kind of short notice to get a prefect to act as the guide and answer questions, but I could do that this year. I'm going to be around, anyway, and if I'm lucky, I might even be able to get my friends to help," Harry realized he was babbling, and stopped, looking uncertainly up at the other wizard.

Geoffrey had stared at the boy in front of him in amazement for a few seconds, then shook his head bemusedly. "Sparky," he said finally, "you're a treasure."

Sighing, Harry pulled his attention back to the present, and summed up his frustration in one heartfelt line. There's so many things I want to tell you, but I really need to wait until I see you in person. He felt sort of guilty then, and was glad the "letter" he was writing was just being used to organize his thoughts. The Weasleys were working very hard to put protective magic on the Burrow, and Dumbledore and his order were doing everything in their power to check Voldemort's progress. They didn't need to listen to his whining.

Harry threw down his quill in disgust, and glanced at his clock. This was going nowhere fast. Perhaps he should take a small break. He wasn't expected in the kitchen just yet, but he would be soon. He should probably go on downstairs-finish his letters later.

Tom looked up, startled, then smiled cheerily when he noticed Harry was in the kitchen. It really was too bad that those silencing charms were necessary on the boy's room and the back stairs. "You're early, tonight," you know, he said, watching as Harry donned an apron.

"I know," he said with a shrug. "I just got to a stopping point and decided to come early instead of starting something else."

Tom nodded. "Well, it's been pretty quiet so far this evening," he said, then stopped when the door that opened into Muggle London opened and closed accompanied by the jingling of bells.

"You were saying?" Harry snickered saucily.

"That's enough out of you, laddie," the old wizard replied with mock seriousness. "Obviously the customers were waiting for you to put in an appearance before they did."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Please. No one comes here just to see me."

"Oh really." Tom imitated Harry's expression and began ticking points off on his fingers. "What about that cute little witch who helps her mum and dad run their stand in the farmer's market?"

"Chandra."

"Mmm-hmm. And the little blonde clerk from Flourish & Blotts?"

"Erin. So?"

"And of course we can't forget Mrs. Talridge."

"Tom!"

"I'm just having you on, lad, but people have started asking for you. That's quite a compliment, especially since you haven't been at it for long." Chuckling fondly, the innkeeper reached out and gave Harry a little shove toward the door. "Now, let's go see who's here."

"Right," Harry said, pushing the kitchen door open, and stepping into the main part of the pub. At first there didn't seem to be anyone there. Harry exchanged a confused look with Tom. Someone had entered. "Hello? Is anyone here?" he called.

At first there was no answer, then at length, a very small, uncertain voice said, "Yes." There was a pause, then another voice, much younger than the first cried, "Mama! Where Mama?" and burst into noisy tears.

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