August 31st, 1993, The Leaky Cauldron, 10:17 AM
The Leaky Cauldron smelled of old wood, spilled butterbeer, and the particular mustiness that came from centuries of magical folk passing through its doors. Morning light struggled through grimy windows, turning the pub's interior into a study of shadow and amber.
Harry sat at a corner table with Luna, both nursing cups of tea whilst they waited for Hermione and Ron. The pub was moderately busy—a handful of witches and wizards scattered across tables, conducting quiet conversations or reading the Daily Prophet with varying degrees of concern. The front page still carried news about Mordred Slythra's escape, though the article had been relegated to a smaller column beneath something about Quidditch regulations.
"Jasper wanted to come," Luna said idly, her fingers tracing patterns on the table's worn surface. "Though a Golden Snidget in Diagon Alley might cause a commotion. People do get excited about XXXX classified creatures in public spaces."
"Probably wise," Harry agreed. He'd left Jasper at the Rookery under Xenophilius's supervision, and Osian had been convinced to remain on the grounds by the promise of particularly succulent garden vegetation. "Though I think Jasper would've enjoyed the attention."
"Oh, undoubtedly. He's developed quite the ego since his hatch."
The pub's door opened with its characteristic creak, and Hermione Granger stepped through carrying a large wicker basket that moved slightly, as though something inside had opinions about being transported.
She spotted them immediately, her face brightening. "Harry! Luna!"
Hermione wove between tables with the determined efficiency she applied to most tasks, her bushy hair pulled back into a somewhat controlled plait, her summer robes practical and comfortable-looking. The basket she carried emitted a low, rumbling sound that might have been purring or might have been mild complaint.
"Sorry I'm early—I got too excited to wait any longer." Hermione set the basket on the table with visible relief. "I wanted you to meet someone before Ron arrives. He's... going to have opinions."
"Opinions?" Harry asked, but Luna had already leaned forward with that particular quality of focus she reserved for creatures.
"You got a cat," Luna said, not quite a question.
"Half-Kneazle, actually. The witch at Magical Menagerie said he's got remarkable intelligence." Hermione opened the basket's wicker lid, and an enormous ginger cat emerged with the dignity of minor royalty surveying new territory.
He was spectacular in an odd sort of way—flat-faced, bow-legged, with a bottlebrush tail and fur that stuck out at peculiar angles. His squashed face gave him a permanently grumpy expression, but his amber eyes were sharp and assessing as they studied Harry and Luna with evident intelligence.
"His name is Crookshanks," Hermione said, her voice carrying the particular fondness of a new pet owner. "The shop said he'd been there for ages because nobody wanted him. Can you imagine? He's perfect."
Luna extended her hand slowly, palm down, letting Crookshanks approach at his own pace. The cat regarded her for a long moment, then butted his head against her fingers with surprising gentleness.
"Hello, Crookshanks," Luna said softly. "You're quite handsome, aren't you? In an unconventional way. The best sorts of things are unconventional."
Crookshanks purred—a deep, rumbling sound that suggested complete agreement with this assessment. He allowed Luna to scratch behind his ears, then turned his attention to Harry.
Harry offered his own hand. Crookshanks sniffed it thoroughly, his whiskers twitching, then apparently decided Harry met whatever standards half-Kneazles maintained. He rubbed against Harry's wrist, leaving ginger fur on his sleeve.
"He likes you both," Hermione said with evident satisfaction. "That's good. He's been rather... selective... about people."
"He's got excellent judgement," Luna observed. Crookshanks had settled in her lap now, his purring loud enough to attract glances from nearby tables.
The pub door opened again, and Ron stumbled through, slightly out of breath and carrying what appeared to be a rat cage. "Sorry! Mum insisted I bring Scabbers to get checked at the Magical Menagerie... he's been off his food lately and she's worried—oh."
Ron had spotted Crookshanks.
"Hermione. Please tell me that's not a cat."
"Half-Kneazle, actually. Ron, meet Crookshanks. Crookshanks, this is Ron."
Crookshanks's amber eyes locked onto the rat cage with immediate, intense interest. His body went rigid in Luna's lap, every line suggesting focused predatory attention. In the cage, Scabbers had gone very still—the particular stillness of prey that knows it's been noticed.
"Hermione!" Ron held the cage higher, his freckled face alarmed. "Control your cat!"
"He's not going to hurt Scabbers. He's just... naturally curious about small animals."
"That's not curiosity, that's hunting!" Ron backed away slightly. "Look at his face!"
"He does look rather committed," Luna agreed mildly, though she made no move to dislodge Crookshanks from her lap. "Perhaps we should keep them separated for now?"
Hermione sighed but retrieved Crookshanks, tucking him back into his basket despite his obvious protests. "He'll adjust. Ron, you're being dramatic."
"I'm being realistic. That thing wants to eat Scabbers."
"Don't call him a thing. He has a name."
They settled into familiar bickering whilst Harry exchanged glances with Luna. This was going to be an interesting year if Hermione's new pet spent it trying to murder Ron's rat.
Once Crookshanks was secured—still visible through the basket's gaps, his amber eyes tracking Scabbers with unnerving focus—they made their way through the pub's back door and into the brick courtyard. Tom the barkeeper nodded at them, and Harry tapped the required bricks with his wand, watching the archway form with satisfaction that never quite faded.
Diagon Alley spread before them in all its chaotic glory.
The cobblestoned street was packed with families doing last-minute school shopping, the shops' windows gleaming with displays designed to catch eyes and empty purses. The air smelled of parchment and potion ingredients and roasted chestnuts from a vendor near Gringotts. Owls hooted from the Eeylops Owl Emporium, and somewhere someone had dropped a bag of Dungbombs, creating a pocket of distinctly unpleasant atmosphere.
"Flourish and Blotts first?" Hermione suggested, already moving in that direction. "I want to make sure they have all our textbooks. The list said some are new editions this year."
But Harry had noticed something about Hermione that the Leaky Cauldron's dim lighting had hidden. Now, in proper daylight, it was unmistakable.
She looked... different. Stronger, somehow. Her shoulders were broader, her posture more upright, and there was a solidness to her that hadn't been there last term. Not larger, exactly, but more defined. Athletic in a way that suggested deliberate training rather than coincidental growth.
Luna had noticed too. Her grey eyes tracked Hermione with that particular quality of observation that missed nothing. "You've been exercising," Luna said. Not a question.
Hermione glanced back, surprised, then smiled slightly. "Martial arts, actually. My parents thought it would be good for me after... after last year. All the petrification business made them worried about me being defenceless." She shrugged, but her eyes held determination. "So I've been training all summer. Karate, specifically. It's rather brilliant, actually... there's something satisfying about knowing exactly how to move your body, how to generate force, how to break someone's grip if they grab you."
'Like combat training,' Harry thought. 'Like what Dad's been teaching me. But the Muggle version.'
"That's excellent," Luna said warmly. "Physical capability is important. Teacher says magic is only one instrument of many."
"Exactly!" Hermione looked pleased that someone understood. "Everyone acts like wands are the only thing that matters in a fight, but what if you're disarmed? What if you can't reach your wand? I want options.Plus, don't they all say a healthy mind in a healthy body, "
They made their way down the Alley, dodging families and the occasional wizard trying to navigate whilst reading and walking simultaneously. Quality Quidditch Supplies came into view, its window dominated by a single broom on display that drew crowds like moths to flame.
The Firebolt.
Even Harry, who found Quidditch more interesting to play than to obsess over, had to admit it was spectacular. Sleek lines of streamlined mahogany, goblin-wrought silver foot-rests, each twig in the tail individually selected. The plaque beneath it proclaimed it the fastest racing broom in existence—capable of speeds up to 150 miles per hour, acceleration from zero to that speed in ten seconds.
"Bloody hell," Ron breathed, pressing against the window like a first-year at Honeydukes. "That's... that's beautiful. That's art. That's..."
"Expensive," Hermione supplied. "The price tag says it's not even listed. If you have to ask, you can't afford it."
Inside the shop, Harry spotted Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, both pressed against the window from the other side, their faces mirrors of Ron's awed expression.
"I'm going in," Ron declared. "Just to look. Just to... appreciate it. I'll catch up with you lot in a bit."
He disappeared into the shop before anyone could object, leaving Harry, Luna, and Hermione standing on the cobblestones.
"He'll be in there for an hour," Hermione predicted. But there was something in her expression—a flicker of interest as she glanced at the Firebolt display—that made Harry look at her properly.
"You want to look at brooms too," Harry said.
Hermione's cheeks coloured slightly. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not obsessed with Quidditch like Ron—"
"But you're thinking about trying out for the team," Luna finished. "It makes sense. You've been training your body. You want to test what it can do."
Hermione bit her lip, then sighed. "Maybe. I watched Ron play last year, and I kept thinking... thinking that it looked like flying and fighting combined. Like three-dimensional combat where you have to think and move and react all at once. And after the martial arts training, after learning how my body works, how to control it..." She looked at the Firebolt through the window, her eyes bright with determination. "I want to try. Just try."
"You should," Harry said firmly. "You'd be good at it. You've got the mind for strategy and now you've got the physical training. That's more than most people start with."
Hermione's smile was grateful and slightly nervous. "We'll see. I haven't even touched a broom since... But... we'll see."
They continued down the Alley, allowing Hermione to peer into Quality Quidditch Supplies whilst Luna and Harry waited patiently. Eventually, Hermione emerged looking thoughtful, and they moved on toward Flourish and Blotts.
Except halfway there, they passed a shop that made all three of them stop.
Atid Stella.
The window display showcased various products, the Runic Lamps, a new line of protective amulets, what appeared to be improved potion ingredients storage, and several items Harry didn't recognise but suspected were revolutionary in ways he didn't yet understand.
The shop was busy. Wizards and witches moved through its doors in steady stream, and through the window Harry could see staff members—all wearing Atid Stella's distinctive deep blue robes—assisting customers with obvious expertise.
"Your dad's company is doing well," Hermione observed. "My parents read about Atid Stella in that article the Prophet ran last month. They were impressed by the innovation focus."
"Teacher says they're changing how magical commerce works," Luna added. "Making quality accessible instead of exclusive."
They were about to move on when Ron caught up with them, his expression still slightly dazed from extended Firebolt exposure.
"That broom," he said reverently. "That broom is... Luna, why are you staring at Atid Stella?"
"We were admiring the window display. Shall we go in?"
The shop's interior was even more impressive than its facade suggested. Clean lines, excellent lighting—the Runic Lamps, naturally—and an atmosphere of competent professionalism. Staff moved efficiently, answering questions and demonstrating products with the kind of knowledge that came from genuine understanding rather than scripted sales.
Behind the main counter, Ms Rogeiros looked up from consulting with a customer and spotted them. Her face brightened—Ms Rogeiros had known Harry since he was ten, had watched Atid Stella grow from Ethan's ambitious plans into concrete reality.
"Harry! Luna!" She finished with her customer and moved to greet them properly. "And Miss Granger, Mr Weasley. Lovely to see you all. School shopping?"
"Getting our supplies," Hermione confirmed. "It is wonderful. So organised."
"We try." Ms Rogeiros's smile was warm. She glanced toward the back of the shop. "Actually, if you have a moment, Mr Lupin is here. I'm sure he'd love to see you."
"Uncle Remus is here?" Harry's face brightened. "We haven't seen him since—oh, months."
Ms Rogeiros led them through a door marked 'Staff Only' into a back room that functioned as combination office and storage. Remus Lupin stood beside a desk absolutely buried in parchment, his expression hovering between resignation and faint despair.
"Harry!" Remus's face lit up properly. "And Luna, Hermione, Ron. This is unexpected."
"Uncle Remus!" Harry moved forward for a hug, which Remus returned with obvious warmth. "What are you doing here? Ms Rogeiros said something about Professor?"
"Ah. Yes." Remus glanced at the mountain of parchment with something like affection mixed with horror. "Well, it's rather complicated, but the short version is that Hogwarts has been working with Atid Stella since your first year, Harry. Those Runic Lamps in the shape of candles throughout the castle? That's Atid Stella innovation. Better lighting, more aesthetic, more efficient than traditional lighting."
"I noticed those," Hermione said. "They're brilliant. The library's lighting improved dramatically."
"Exactly. Well, Dumbledore's been so pleased with the results that he wants to explore more applications—improved heating systems, better preservation charms for the library, enhanced wards, that sort of thing. But implementing new systems in a thousand-year-old castle whilst gathering proper statistics and ensuring nothing conflicts with existing magic..." Remus gestured at the parchment mountain. "That requires someone to oversee it. Someone who understands both the educational environment and the technical specifications."
"And that's you?" Ron asked.
"Partially. Ethan managed to convince Dumbledore... and more impressively, the Board of Governors... that having me serve as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor whilst also working with Atid Stella to evaluate and implement improvements would benefit everyone. I get to teach, which I've always wanted to do, whilst simultaneously managing the technical evaluation, which keeps me employed by Atid Stella." Remus's smile turned slightly wry. "And it gives Ethan plausible deniability. When things go wrong or paperwork needs signing, I'm the one at Hogwarts dealing with it rather than him."
"So Teacher is avoiding paperwork by making you do it," Luna observed.
"Essentially, yes."
"That sounds like Teacher."
"It absolutely does." Remus looked at the parchment mountain again. "Though I didn't quite grasp how much paperwork would be involved. Every measurement, every test, every student complaint about temperature in the corridors... all of it needs documenting."
Ms Rogeiros chose that moment to return carrying another stack of parchment. "Mr Lupin? These are the requisition forms for September's equipment deliveries. They need your signature by tomorrow."
Remus's expression became hunted. "How many?"
"Forty-seven."
"Forty-seven forms for equipment delivery?"
"Hogwarts has very thorough documentation requirements." Ms Rogeiros set the stack on top of the existing mountain with the precision of someone building a very specific type of torture device. "Also, Ethan says you're responsible for the monthly report to the Board of Governors about implementation progress."
"Of course he does," Remus muttered. But his eyes held warmth despite the complaint. "Right. Well, I should probably start on these before they multiply further."
They said their goodbyes, leaving Remus to his parchment fate, and made their way back through Diagon Alley to complete their shopping. By the time they'd acquired textbooks, ingredients, new quills, and various other necessities, it was well past noon.
The Leaky Cauldron's lunch crowd had thinned slightly, leaving them able to claim a booth near the back. Tom brought shepherd's pie and butterbeer, and for a while they simply ate, the comfortable quiet of hungry friends sharing food.
It was Ron who eventually brought up the topic they'd all been avoiding.
"So," he said carefully, mopping up gravy with a bit of bread, "Sirius Black and this Mordred Slythra bloke. Mental that they both escaped, innit?"
The atmosphere shifted subtly. Hermione set down her fork. Luna's expression became more focused.
"Mum and Dad couldn't quite believe it when they heard about Black," Ron continued. "I mean, they knew him. Before. Before everything went wrong. Dad said he was James Potter's best friend, said he was funny and loyal and..." Ron trailed off, glancing at Harry. "Sorry, mate. Bit awkward."
"It's fine," Harry said, though his voice was carefully controlled. "I don't remember my parents that much. Don't remember him either. He's just... a name. A betrayal."
"Yeah, but that's the thing." Ron leaned forward slightly. "Dad said something odd the other night. Said he and Mum never quite understood how Black could've done it. How someone who loved his friends that much could just... turn. Dad said betrayal like that doesn't fit with the person he knew. Mum said she hoped things were different. Whatever that means."
'Different how?' Harry wondered. 'Different as in he didn't actually betray them? Or different as in there were reasons?'
"And now he's dead anyway," Hermione said quietly. "Fell off a cliff in Wales trying to escape Aurors. The Prophet said they found his wand fragments at the bottom."
"Yeah." Ron's expression was troubled. "Mum cried when she heard. Even after everything, even knowing what he'd supposedly done, she cried. Said it was a waste. Said too many good people had died or been destroyed by the war."
Luna had been quiet through this, but now she spoke, her voice thoughtful. "Sometimes people aren't what stories make them. Sometimes the truth is more complicated than guilty or innocent."
They sat with that for a moment. Then Hermione shifted the topic slightly, her practical nature asserting itself.
"What about Mordred Slythra? The Ministry's been searching for him for weeks now. Have they found anything?"
"Not according to Dad." Ron took a long drink of butterbeer. "It's like he's vanished. No sightings, no traces, nothing. Dad says the Aurors are running themselves ragged chasing leads that go nowhere. It's like the bloke's a ghost."
"That's not encouraging," Hermione said. "Especially with school starting tomorrow."
"Yeah, but the Ministry's put protections on Hogwarts. Dad mentioned it last week... some sort of enhanced wards? additional security measures. They're worried Slythra might try something during term, what with it being a big gathering of students and all." Ron's attempt at reassurance was somewhat undermined by his expression. "So we should be safe. Probably. Safer than last year, anyway."
"Last year we had a basilisk in the plumbing," Harry pointed out. "The bar for 'safer' is quite low."
"Fair point."
They finished their lunch with conversation deliberately steering toward safer topics—Quidditch prospects, Hermione's new study schedule (which she'd already created), Ron's hopes that this year's Defence teacher would last more than a year. But beneath the normalcy, Harry felt currents of unease.
Two escaped prisoners. One supposedly dead, one missing. Enhanced security at Hogwarts. Remus taking the Defence position with Atid Stella backing. His own summer spent learning how true wizards fought.
Everything felt like pieces arranging themselves on a board Harry couldn't quite see yet.
'Third year,' he thought, watching his friends laugh about something Ron had said, watching the ordinary chaos of the Leaky Cauldron continue around them. 'What's third year going to bring?'
Outside, Diagon Alley bustled with its usual energy. Families prepared for school. Shops sold their wares. Life continued with its mixture of magical and mundane.
And somewhere, hidden in ways the Ministry couldn't track, Mordred Slythra moved through Britain like a ghost, hunting something only he knew.
But for now, in a booth at the Leaky Cauldron, four friends finished their lunch and pretended that everything would be fine.
Tomorrow they'd board the Hogwarts Express.
Tomorrow, third year would begin.
Tonight, they could still pretend the world was safe.