XIII – Eight Sickles and Nine Knut

13th of December 1999 – 4th of Mars 2000

2nd of May 1998: Battle of Hogwarts
1st of September 1998 - 30th of June 1999: Harry is in Seventh Year
6th of September 1999: Harry becomes an aspiring Auror

"It's crazy, this year," Ron complained one evening two weeks before Christmas, slumped in his chair. "We've never seen that many customers. We'll probably open next Sunday. George is starting to ask himself whether we shouldn't employ an extra person for the week."

"Kreacher can help Master Ron," the Elf affirmed while serving him a full plate.

"That's nice of you, but you'll have to be at the counter," the shopkeeper declined.

"Kreacher can do it," the House Elf repeated.

"Really? Your client buys two products: the one costs five Sickles and three Knuts and the other costs three Sickles and seventeen Knuts. He gives you a galleon. How much do you give him back?"

"Eight Sickles and nine Knuts," Kreacher answered almost immediately.

The boys needed a few extra seconds to complete the equation as well. They looked at the elf, flabbergasted to find out that he had got the right answer so quickly.

"How did you do that?" Harry asked.

"Kreacher goes shopping every day for Master Harry and Master Ron," the servant replied in an offended voice. "A good elf must know how to count to not waste his masters' money."

Effectively, every week, Harry dropped a few coins into a box in the kitchen that was planned for that purpose, but he had never thought about the way in which his employee used it.

"Where do you go shopping?" he asked with curiosity, realising that he had never seen an Elf in the streets of Hogsmeade or on Diagon Alley.

"In the back rooms," Kreacher answered mysteriously.

Noticing Harry's puzzled look, Ron explained:

"All shops have a small room in the back where elves can discreetly apparate to. That's where they're served."

"You have that kind of place in your shop?" Harry asked, slightly shocked.

"Yes, but in general people come to buy their joke items themselves."

"And what does Hermione think about it?" Harry asked, wondering why he had never heard his friend complain about that practice.

"There's no law stopping elves from shopping normally, so the Ministry can't do anything," Ron explained. "And when Elves are offered to come into the shop, they usually refuse."

"You can have some bad encounters there," Kreacher indicated with disgust. "Blood traitors, wizards from disrespected families…"

Harry and Ron looked at each other and, after a glance, they decided not to answer.

"Well, I can take you for a try tomorrow," Ron decided. "If Harry agrees, of course."

"If Kreacher isn't too scared to meet wizards from disrespected families," Harry accepted.

"Kreacher can undergo that to help his young Master," the servant assured stoically.

On the following Saturday, Ginny and Hermione decided to check out for themselves how Kreacher was dealing with his new job. Harry transfigured himself carefully to make sure he didn't create any riots, and they took a pinch of Floo Powder to travel to Diagon Alley via the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace. There were a lot of people in the Weasley brothers' shop when they entered. While Ginny melted into the crowd to complete her Christmas shopping, Harry and Hermione positioned themselves in a corner to watch how people reacted when seeing a House Elf behind the counter.

In a first time, the customers laughed at that spectacle, probably thinking that it was an extra joke. Then, when the creature authoritatively took the items placed on the counter and announced the total price, their expression changed. Those who were handed change back checked it with suspicion and, when they noticed that the amount was correct, they looked at the surprising cashier with a surprise sometimes mixed with embarrassment or disgust.

Harry saw Ginny have a long discussion with Kreacher when it was her turn. She came back towards them, visibly furious.

"Filthy idiot!" she pestered. "He refused to give me the ten percent off that my brothers always allow me. Apparently, he wasn't given instructions to."

"Ron probably forgot to point it out," Harry answered, looking around until he saw his friend busy showing clients around.

"Couldn't he just take my word for it?" Ginny raged.

"Elves are incorruptible," Hermione recited as if she was advertising a placement post for one of her protected elves.

"In any case, Harry, you owe me seven Sickles and twenty-one Knuts."

"Why me?" Harry protested.

"It's your elf!" Ginny declared firmly.

While he was opening his wallet, Harry wondered how the Weasleys, even though they were so poor, managed to have children so hard in bargain.

As usual, the Weasleys and Co met at the Burrow for Christmas Eve. Around a delicious meal, the conversation turned to Kreacher's performance.

"He was fantastic," Ron assured them. "Not a single counting error, although it's easy to lose track when there are so many people!"

"It's a shame he didn't want to come this evening," Molly sighed.

Ron had indeed offered it to the Elf, but the creature had declined, pretexting that it wasn't appropriate. He had nevertheless let himself be convinced to join his brethren at Hogwarts and had left with a huge bag of sweets and small presents prepared by the two Weasley brothers.

"So, Hermione," George asked, "when are you going to start sending elves to every shop?"

"Not any time soon," Hermione sighed.

"Why not?" a surprised Harry asked.

"In your opinion, what will people think when they realise that elves can be employed instead of them and do work just as well, if not better?"

"They will blame them," Harry understood.

"Exactly. I've known since long that elves can read, write and count. But I'm hesitating to really put that quality on display. Disdain is already difficult enough to battle. But resentment… especially since one doesn't exclude the other."

"But then, you'll leave them to look after household tasks?" Ginny asked, visibly hostile towards that idea.

"At the Ministry, we're trying to look for a slot they could appropriate themselves without making concurrence to wizards. Just like Goblins invested in the bank; no one could protest about that, since no one had thought about it before. It's the best way for them to really become independent."

"It won't happen from one day to the other," Ron estimated.

"We never imagined it to be easy or fast," Hermione replied. "If you had listened a bit better in History of Magic lessons, you would know that it took centuries for us to manage to live side by side with Goblins peacefully. In this case, since wizards aren't scared of elves, it should happen slightly faster. But it will still need at least two generations."

After supper, they proceeded to the traditional exchange of presents. Harry had received a large doubled cape that was magically waterproofed, which would be quite comfortable when he was on duty. She had even chosen him quite a discreet model, not too luxurious, so that he could stay unnoticed. On his side, he had gotten her a very pretty evening dress that was a lot more expensive than what she usually spent on clothing.

Mrs Weasley stepped towards the radio, probably so that she wouldn't miss the moment when her favourite singer would be announced, but a cough from Bill interrupted her:

"Hum, hum," he started. "Fleur and I have something to announce."

All eyes turned towards the young couple. Anticipating the news, smiles began to sprout.

"A new little Weasley will join us in the following May," the future father confirmed.

Mrs Weasley ran towards them and took her son and daughter-in-law in her arms:

"Oh, my children, what a joy, what a joy!"

Arthur joined them, tears in his eyes. He clapped Bill on the back and kissed Fleur on the cheek:

"It's the best Christmas present you could've given us," he affirmed.

Everyone drank to the baby, and in the euphoria of the moment, Mrs Weasley completely forgot about Celestina Warbeck.

On the morning of the first of January, Harry was on guard duty. As soon as he arrived at the HQ, he was sent to Diagon Alley. Pritchard was already there. Under the eyes of a few passer-by's, he was looking at a limp body in one of the alleys that meandered behind the shops. When he saw Harry, he signed to him to come closer and explained:

"We were signalled this corpse this morning. Stone dead, apparently from a knife. Look at the wound in his thorax. It's not bleeding anymore, and the body is stiff, so it happened quite a while ago. A healer will come to take charge of it, but we'll collect the first clues like professionals. So, wound by blade, length…" (he put his wand on the wound and cast a measuring spell) "three centimetres. That's either a small knife or large pocket knife."

He put his hand on the deceased's torso and palpated softly.

"Broken rib," he announced. "Look, press here and on the other side, can you feel the difference?"

"Yes," Harry answered after having completed the action.

"Did you read what was explained about that in your manual?"

Harry, who hadn't even bought the books he was supposed to study with, blushed.

"If I was you, my boy, I'd get started right now," his instructor advised. "Otherwise, when you'll suddenly have to learn three thousand pages off by heart for your exam, you'll mix up everything. So if you study in parallel to what we do, it'll make more sense in your little aspirant's head."

Harry, embarrassed, nodded to show he had understood. Pritchard continued his presentation:

"So, the blow was struck with a certain force. The killer is probably male. Now, let's make a description of the victim. I already searched his pockets, there's nothing that could give us his identity. So, take out your notebook and get to work!"

Harry enunciated while he was writing:

"Human, male, light skin, light brown hair, brown eyes, average build, err…"

Pritchard looked at the corpse's mouth and added:

"Teeth without any particular sign, size…" (He used another measuring charm) "One metre seventy-nine. Wearing a dirty brown cotton robe, beige trimmings at the wrists and neck. No wallet on him, empty pockets, not even a wand. Was probably robbed. Okay, let's take a picture of him."

He pulled a camera out of his purse. Pritchard's chaplain was made with the same principle as Hermione's beaded handbag. Harry had interrogated Pritchard on the subject, and his instructor had pointed out that all Aurors had one of them. Like that, they always had the instruments with them that could help them in their investigations. Other professions, such as the healers, also used them for first-aid items.

Harry had asked his friend whether she had gotten her inspiration from a purse hanging around Kingsley's or Tonks' waist. Hermione had admitted that the metamorphmagus had once shown her hers and that she had later remembered that when planning their trip. Harry had found a huge number of them in a shop in Diagon Alley.

Pritchard briefly combed the man's hair and wiped away the blood that was trickling down the side of his mouth. Then, he photographed him for further reference.

While he was finishing, a tired-looking man stepped towards them. His green overall designated him as a healer.

"Here's a client for you," Prichard announced. "We'd like to know how he died, at what time exactly, if he had food before that, his general health status, and then we'd like him to be preserved until the end of the investigation."

"I love your little presents, Pritchard," the man yawned, "but I would enjoy them better later in the day and even later in the year."

"Magic belongs to those who stand up early," Harry's partner replied. "We'll leave him to you; we're going to have a natter with our first witness to continue the investigation in happiness and a good mood."

The two Aurors and the healer separated and Pritchard asked to all the surrounding people:

"Who alerted us?"

A slightly overweight man in a dirty apron stepped forward:

"I did. I found him there. I don't know who did that."

Pritchard looked at the other gapers.

"No one has any declarations to do about this sad event?"

They shook their heads, avoiding his gaze.

"Well, get lost! Show is over."

While the onlookers slowly started going away, Harry's partner started his interrogatory.

"Your name, your address, time at which you discovered the body?"

"Howard Belly. I own the bar that is right there. I saw him when I came out to collect my delivery of Butterbeer this morning and I alerted you."

"Where are your barrels?" Prichard asked while looking around him.

"I brought all of them inside," the man explained, shrugging.

"When exactly?"

"Dunno."

"You weren't in too much of a hurry to alert us, hey?"

"And? He's dead, it ain't gonna make a difference. Me, if I don't pack away my wares, they can get stolen."

"And while you were at it, you hid all the illegal drinks and herbs you had in your possession, right?"

"If you say so," the innkeeper answered sarcastically.

"I want the exact time when you discovered the body," Pritchard repeated dryly.

"Around seven," the witness finally answered.

"Weeeeell, I see you're getting your memory back. Have you ever seen the guy before? In your bar yesterday evening, for example."

"It's possible…"

"Do you know his name? Is he a frequent client?"

"It wasn't the first time I saw him, but I don't know how he's called."

"Did he come alone or with other people? When did he arrive? At what time did you see him last?"

"How should I know? There's 'round fifty people in my bar that wanted drinks immediately, so I didn't have time to chat. I'm a barman, not a babysitter."

"When did he arrive?" Pritchard insisted.

"Early evening, I'd say. Maybe six o'clock."

"Left?"

"Dunno, I told you. He wasn't there when I closed at midnight. Don't come digging for chizpurfles in my head."

"You didn't come out into the alley, yesterday evening?"

"I did, to bring out my empty barrels, but there ain't no light. So I can't tell you if he was already there."

"Fantastic," Pritchard groaned. "Well, we're going to leave. You, stay in the area, we might come back with more questions."

"Mmmh."

Harry and his partner went back to the HQ, hoping that someone had prepared coffee.

On the way back, Pritchard briefly summarised the situation to Harry.

"It's possible that it was just a drunken fight that ended badly. In that case, if we don't have any witnesses that saw the scene or saw them leave together, we have little chances to figure it out. It can also be a planned murder, be it because of a family, money or love problem. That's why we'll investigate about his private life… once we've identified him. We'll start by printing the photo, showing them to colleagues and compare it to those we have in our folders."

"Someone stole all his belongings," Harry pointed out. "Maybe that was the reason."

"Pickpockets usually aren't murderers. They'll rather go for knocking out their victims. It would only make sense if he had a very important object on him. In this case, we come back to the hypothesis of a planned murder. How does one identify a dead or unconscious wizard?"

Harry hadn't mugged up his lessons, but he knew the answer:

"You show his wand to Ollivander."

"Exactly. Taking away the want can be a tactic to make us lose time. I bet you that the other stuff was only stolen to make the wand's disappearance less obvious. The murderer tried to complicate our task."

"So you're saying it was planned beforehand?"

"Not necessarily. It could be a fight that got out of hand, a clumsy stab, and an unintentional murderer who panics. For tomorrow, I want you to give me a list of all the official ways to identify someone. You can add to it the method that is most commonly used, even if it isn't in your manual: when the photo is done, we'll send it to the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Three quarters of all British wizards and witches went to school, which makes teachers precious sources of information. The younger a person is, the more you have chances to get facts about him."

Harry had never developed a wizarding picture and didn't know that it was part of the Auror's hidden talents. While he was being explained the principle and the spells to use, he had a thought for Colin Crivey. He wondered what job the young man would have chosen if he had survived. Maybe he would've liked to have a career in journalism…

The development was more delicate than if they had taken a picture of a living person. This was because the magic of the camera caught a part of the wizard or witch's energy, and that's how the personality of the model was represented in the picture. But in their case, they could only become a static picture. To make the identification easier – wizards were troubled by unanimated pictures and it distracted them – they had to use a special spell that made the subject move artificially. Harry took that in charge and managed it decently on his first try – their model just had slightly jerky movements.

"That's good enough." Pritchard decided. "It's pretty good for a first time."

They wrote a letter to Aristotle Brocklehurst and handed the picture around to their colleagues, in case one of them could give them information on their mysterious victim. Visibly, no one had worried about his absence to a point where they alerted the Ministry. They also looked for eventual details on the innkeeper, but only found an old investigation about a fraud in the way he obtained his beer. Harry quickly went home for dinner, then went back to meet his partner at the tavern where the murder had been committed.

They posted themselves at the entrance and showed their picture to everyone who entered the pub. At first, the clients seemed rather reluctant to answer. But after realising that they were in the presence of Harry – he hadn't transfigured himself – they changed into first-rate citizens ready to do anything to help the ministry. Sadly, most of them couldn't bring them any helpful information: they didn't know the person on the photo. Some had seen him in the bar once or twice, but didn't remember ever having talked to him.

"Is it just an impression or am I actually scaring them?" Harry asked between two arrivals.

"Oh yes, my boy," his partner answered. "You're the nightmare of everyone who doesn't have a perfectly clear conscience. That's just how popularity works."

Harry thought about that information for a while before he declared:

"You know, I think I found a way to easily capture Dark Wizards."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. We put our suspects face to face with a boggart. If Voldemort appears, we can let them go. If it's me, we can send them straight to Azkaban!"

Pritchard fixed Harry for a few seconds before he burst out laughing.

"I was scared that you had no sense of humour," he ended up hiccoughing, "but now, I'm reassured. We'll get along great!"

Oh yeah, Harry thought. Seeing the Weasleys on a regular basis can leave its marks.

At around eleven o'clock, the innkeeper came out to scowl them:

"Say, have ya finished annoying my clients? I need to earn a living, here."

"It's therefore in your best interest if our investigation finishes soon," Pritchard snapped back. "Are you sure you told us all you knew?"

"I didn't see anything, I told ya!"

"If you remember a detail or if you hear anything interesting, you call us," Pritchard demanded.

"If I accept, you'll leave?"

"If you accept, we won't ask our colleagues to come here every evening to search all your clients," the Auror answered severely.

The man went back into the bar, visibly furious.

"We're still staying for half an hour," Pritchard decided, but from the tone of his voice, Harry understood that he didn't have much hope to still find a helpful witness.

The next morning, they received an owl from Hogwarts, indicating the name of their victim: Robert Kimberley. He was thirty-five years old and had graduated from Ravenclaw seventeen years ago.

A little research permitted them to determine that he had lived in the suburbs of Liverpool and that he was a bachelor. He worked for a print worker, but his current boss hadn't worried about his employee's absence. Since it was the festive season, the latter had a few weeks off.

They interrogated his colleagues and learnt that Kimberley liked bets and gambling. Harry and his partner therefore went to visit establishments famous for proposing poker tables on Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley. Two tenants admitted half-heartedly that he was a regular client, and Pritchard decided to turn the investigation in that direction.

"Do you think he owed money to someone?"

"Or someone owed him some. There's more use in getting rid of a creditor than a debtor."

When he came back home the following evening, Harry let himself fall on an armchair in front of the fire. He poured himself a glass of Firewhisky instead of the usual Butterbeer and tried to find out what was exhausting him to that point. Maybe it was the case on which he was working – his first real investigation. Not only the crime itself, but he was also getting the impression that, despite all his adventures, he hadn't seen that much of the wizarding world, having stayed locked in school, at the Burrow or under a tent with his friends. Frequenting Aurors as well as questioning crooks, innkeepers and others had led the young man to discover a universe very different to the one he thought he knew.

It was as if new horizons were opening themselves to him every day. He was getting used to hearing slang, being in sordid situations, and listening to his colleagues describing their love life in a very crude way. He had been surprised by the machismo he heard in some of the Auror's words. Visibly, except for a few special cases, most women in the Auror body had only arrived recently, and the older members sometimes seemed to think that their feminine colleagues didn't belong in the HQ. They didn't refrain themselves from making sexist comments, not even caring to check whether there were any girls around. Harry was surprised not to see them snap back more, but they seemed to prefer pretending they hadn't heard anything rather than opening a direct conflict with their tormentors. It was probably a good thing for the group's teamwork, but Harry still didn't like it. It made him even more uncomfortable to know that if he tried to do anything against it, he would only create a commotion. He was already in the centre of attention enough these days.

He couldn't understand what made certain people feel superior to women. Most of those he knew had always seemed to hold their place. The cold Petunia wasn't especially submissive towards her husband – but their narrow mind and their lack of heart didn't make them any better. The brilliant Hermione, the incorruptible Minerva, the warm and comforting Molly, the courageous Ginny, the dignified Andromeda and even the wild Bellatrix had managed to force his respect – even if it was mixed with disgust and hatred in what concerned the horrible Death Eater.

It was true that their investigations sometimes brought them to frequent prostitutes, who weren't an example of feminine empowerment. Harry couldn't stop himself from being embarrassed in their presence. When his partner had teased him about it, Harry had snapped back that he didn't want to be on the first page of a tabloid. But in reality, besides his puritanical education, Harry was profoundly shocked that one could sell their intimacy for money. For him, who was so attached to his freedom that he had managed to resist to Voldemort's Imperio when he was fourteen years old, that sacrifice seemed monstrous.

His current investigation was still broadening his knowledge by making him discover the universe of gambling and everything connected to it: fraud, cheating, embezzlement. According to Pritchard, even Goblins profited from this lucrative market.

At the rhythm at which days were passing, the two Aurors found out more about their victim. It seemed like the man had two debtors. Harry and Pritchard didn't know their names, but they had received a description of what they looked like. They were now waiting for one of them to show up in the gambling environment and that the tenant of the place called them.

Harry was so occupied by his investigation – he only stopped thinking about it when he was with Ginny or Teddy – that he was almost surprised when Ron suggested inviting someone again for the end of January:

"We could invite Neville for dinner. Or Luna."

"Luna is overseas," Harry reminded him. "The Christmas card that Ginny got from her came from Reykjavik, and she was announcing her departure for Norway."

"Searching for her Crumple-Horned Snorkacks again," Ron smiled. "I'll send an owl to Neville."

In his answer, Neville asked whether they could rather meet during the week, since he was spending his weekends with his girlfriend.

"I didn't know he had one," Harry remarked when Ron told him about their friend's answer.

"Hermione told him about it. She doesn't approve of Neville's choice, actually."

"Why not?"

"Apparently, his girlfriend looks at Neville with adoration and always brags that her boyfriend is a Hogwarts hero."

"How does Hermione know that?" Harry wondered while thinking that his own girlfriend was doing exactly the contrary.

"Hermione's still in contact with a lot of people. I always wonder how she manages to answer to all the owls she's receiving. She even stayed in contact with Lavender and Parvati. Thanks to them, she knows all the latest gossip."

"And how are they doing?" Harry asked even though he didn't really care.

"If I remember well, Lavender has a new boyfriend and Parvati's writing fashion articles for the Prophet. In case it interests you, we'll be wearing hoods on our robes this summer."

"Fantastic!" Harry said, trying to imagine how that would look.

"It's because spring is looking rainy," Ron explained very seriously.

He cast Harry an amused look before adding:

"You're too naïve, Harry! Hermione knows that there's no point telling me about fashion."

Neville, Harry and Ron were very happy to meet again. Neville remembered how the Aurors had suddenly arrived in his apothecary a few months ago.

"Your partner has an impressive voice when he says 'Auror Office, could you please answer our questions'," Neville remarked with a laugh.

"We weren't investigating about you," Harry reassured him.

"Yeah, but we didn't know that. Errors of preparation do happen sometimes. In the end, since we never heard anything more about the story, we supposed that it wasn't our fault."

"Yes, we rapidly ended it off afterwards," Harry confirmed. "It was an accident."

Neville affirmed that he didn't have anything thrilling to talk about and started asking questions about the job of Auror. Harry told him about it and ended up asking:

"Do you have regrets?"

"Why would I have some?" Neville asked.

"You were offered a post in the Auror Office when you got your NEWTs, right?"

"That's true. I have to admit that I hesitated. It would've made Grandmother so happy. But I prefer looking after plants. I feel in peace when I do that. I didn't fight because I liked it, but because what was happening in the Year of Darkness couldn't be tolerated. Please don't tell my grandmother about it, please. She'd never forgive me."

Harry promised, while wondering in the back of his head whether he liked to fight. Why had he wanted to become an Auror? Was it so important for him to be in the action? Neville had stepped back when the situation had become normal again, but Harry had stayed there where he would be the first to know if a Dark Wizard appeared. He had often had the impression that he always had bad luck, and that he was the only one who could do something, but in the end, wasn't he putting himself into that position every time? That was what professor Snape always said. And would Dumbledore have put hopes on him if he hadn't had that personality?

In what proportion had chance played a role in his life to bring him there where he was now?

After the discussion he had had with the Weasley parents, Harry had thought a lot about an eventual bringing closer of the wizarding and muggle worlds. Having grown up outside of the world of magic, he decided that he show the example. On a Saturday of February when Ginny wasn't there, he decided to go for a walk in the surroundings of Grimmaurd Place. He invited Ron and Hermione to come with him. His friend was doubtful at first, but when Hermione insisted, he ended up following them. The boys put on old Muggle clothes that dated from their last journeys to King's Cross. As for Hermione, she still lived at her parent's place and therefore had a mixed wardrobe.

The suburb where they lived wasn't very beautiful, but Hermione – who sometimes went shopping in the capital with her mother – made them take public transports and took them to more enjoyable roads. They looked at different shops and even spotted a park where small children were having fun. Hermione showed them, with the help of a map, which busses and trains to take to go to places that could possibly interest them.

Ron admitted that even though Muggles walked so quickly that one could think Death Eaters were after them and cars made the roads loud and stinky, it wasn't too bad on this side of the city. The presence of women wearing short skirts despite the cold probably helped make it enjoyable for him. He only regretted that the huge grassy parts of the park couldn't be used for Quidditch.

"I'll bring you Muggle money next time, and we'll go do some shopping," Hermione decided in the tone that she had always used to describe them their work plans at Hogwarts.

"We know how it is," Ron protested. "We've done it during the Year of Darkness."

"Under an invisibility cloak. It doesn't count," their friend answered firmly.

The following week, Harry went to fetch Teddy one afternoon and suggested to Ginny that they take him to the Muggle park. The young girl accepted without enthusiasm to wear one of Hermione's dresses and to accompany him.

On his side, Teddy was overjoyed to be able to run as much as he wanted, which made the people they walked by smile. Just in case, Harry had made him wear a bonnet, as the young boy had a tendency to change the colour of his hair to match that of the people he saw around him.

They found a playground and sat down on a bench, with Teddy on Harry's lap, to permit their young friend to watch the other children play around loudly.

"Does he often see other children?" Ginny worried, noticing the child's fascination for the spectacle in front of him and his reluctance to participate.

"I don't know. I need to ask Andromeda. In any case, I could bring him here regularly."

"It's risky. If he makes unintentional magic, it's going to cause you problems. Can you imagine the number of Muggles that will have to get their memories erased?"

Harry looked at the other parents and answered:

"Everyone is looking at their child or is busy chatting with someone else. Maybe no one will notice if a child suddenly appears at the top of a slide or who bounces when he falls. I didn't have that many incidents, you know."

"I suppose your Aunt didn't really take you to the playground often," Ginny countered.

"But Hermione probably did. Like all other Muggle-born wizards and witches. We'll just have to make Teddy understand that he shouldn't change his hair colour all the time."

As if he had understood what they were talking about, Teddy ripped off his cap while breaking into laughter.

"That won't be easy," Ginny commented while putting it back on firmly.

Fifteen days later, Hermione took everyone to go buy Muggle clothes. Even Ron, who usually wasn't especially sensitive to fashion, was surprised by the variety of clothing that they saw. On Diagon Alley, there was a small shop who sold Hogwarts students just enough to not be noticed in King's Cross Station. According to Molly, the situation had become slightly better, but in Harry's time the choice had been very limited. There had been uncomfortable jeans, T-shirts and shapeless jackets for the boys, as well as skirts reaching to the ankles and white bodices for the girls – in short, nothing that made one want to stay in these clothes. But when Hermione took them into a classic Muggle shop, the young Weasleys discovered a selection of tailorings, sizes and colours that left them in awe.

Most of Ginny's reluctance melted away when she tried on a short dress that showcased her curves. The interested look that a lot of the male clients cast her probably helped a lot. Ron stopped to state that these clothes were horribly uncomfortable when his girlfriend found him well-cut denim pants and an orange sweatshirt – which had stayed his favourite colour even though he had stopped supporting the Chudley Cannons. Harry had the pleasure of finally finding jeans that actually fitted him and a jacket in which he didn't look ridiculous. He then asked Hermione to take them to a shop for children so that he could buy some clothes for Teddy.

On the same afternoon, Hermione initiated them to cinema. Ron was delighted by the popcorn. The movie Charlie's Angels – probably not chosen in function of Hermione's personal taste – finished convincing the Weasleys.