Hermione couldn't help but sigh.
If Harry's apprentice could already commune with the elements, even commanding them to stand guard or relay messages, she was way out of her league. During the summer, when wizarding magic was off-limits, Hermione had thrown herself into studying shamanic arts with fervor. But sadly, her earth elemental, Dotty, was aloof, often ignoring her or going silent without warning.
Hermione had scoured Muggle myths, legends, and religious rituals for inspiration. She'd tried mimicking the solemn demeanor of church priests to commune with the elements, adopted bizarre rituals from obscure sects, and even dabbled in mysterious ceremonies from the Far East, complete with yellow incense and burning paper money.
Her effort was relentless, her dedication unmatched.
If only it actually worked.
"Not bad. You're getting along well with them," Harry said, pleased, sensing the elements stirring around the Lovegood household. "Keep it up, and after term starts, I'll teach you totem-crafting. Though, you'll need to build up some strength first—it's quite the physical task."
Luna was a bit too frail. Forget wielding totems in a fight; without training, she'd struggle just to carry one.
Sure, she could eventually summon earth elementals to form totems for battle, but as a traditionalist, Harry believed a proper shaman needed some muscle.
"I'll do it," Luna said, tilting her head, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Can I get as strong as you, Mentor?"
As she spoke, Luna flexed her arm, pinching her own muscle—or lack thereof. Compared to Harry's toned physique, her arm looked soft and delicate.
"Er, I don't think girls need muscles, do they?" Ron scratched his head, picturing Luna with Harry's brawn, capable of punching out Snape with a single blow.
The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
Terrifying.
"Exercise is good. It keeps you healthy," Hermione said, feigning seriousness. "But looking like him? Not necessary."
She rapped her knuckles against Harry's arm, which felt like hitting a brick wall—solid, unyielding, just missing a metallic clang. Then she turned and tapped Ron's arm for comparison.
"Ow! What was that for?" Ron yelped, clutching his arm and sidestepping away, eyes wide with protest. "Why're you hitting me?"
"You need to work out, Ron," Hermione said sternly, then turned to Luna. "Hi, nice to meet you. We're Harry's friends. I'm Hermione, Hermione Granger."
"Er, I'm Ron. You know, we're neighbors," Ron added, nodding toward the southern hillside, though The Burrow wasn't visible from here.
"Neville Longbottom," Neville said simply, uneasy with strangers—especially pretty girls.
"Hello! I'm Luna Lovegood, Harry's apprentice—oh, wait, that's not right. I shouldn't call you Harry, should I?" Luna faltered, uncertain.
"Correct. Unlike the other apprentices, you should always call me Mentor, whether we're in lessons or not," Harry said firmly.
After weeks of teaching Luna, Harry was certain his apprentice, despite her blank expression, was in high spirits. Was it because she'd made new friends?
"Got it, Mentor," Luna said obediently.
"Good," Harry nodded, satisfied, then turned to the others. "Luna grew up mostly alone, so her way of connecting with people is… unique. But she's a good kid."
"Merlin's beard, Harry, you sound like a decades-old wizard!" Ron exclaimed. "You're only a year older than her!"
"I'm her Mentor. It's different," Harry said, rolling his eyes. He turned to Luna. "Is Mr. Lovegood home? School's starting soon. Want to come with us to Diagon Alley to shop?"
"Diagon Alley? Sure," Luna said, tilting her head. "Dad's home. One moment."
She led them to the sitting room. The Lovegood house's entryway was cramped and dim, with peeling wallpaper and a threadbare carpet. A spiral cast-iron staircase led upstairs, flanked by teetering stacks of books and moldy newspapers. The sitting room, on the second floor, was equally cluttered and low-ceilinged, adorned with pickled onions, dried herbs, rusty copper pots, and old issues of The Quibbler plastered on the walls. Hermione frowned at the chaos.
"Luna's mother passed away when she was young," Harry whispered to Hermione. "Mr. Lovegood's had a hard time managing alone."
Hermione nodded silently, her heart aching for Luna. Her earlier competitive streak now felt petty.
Harry and Ron were regulars at the Lovegood house by now. To them, Mr. Lovegood was no stranger. Ron, especially, had grown fond of the man's eccentric tales, once he got past their initial bewildering nature. They were wildly imaginative, if not always factual.
Luna soon returned with Mr. Lovegood, who agreed without hesitation when Harry explained their plan. The man was remarkably carefree. Having confirmed Harry's elemental magic was real and that Luna was his legitimate apprentice, Mr. Lovegood treated their bond as a traditional wizarding mentorship, unbothered by Harry's age. Since a mentor was akin to a parent, he saw no issue with Harry taking Luna to Diagon Alley. Handing Harry a small pouch of coins, he entrusted Luna to him without a second thought.
"Is this how men raise kids?" Hermione muttered as they left, recalling Mr. Lovegood's ink-stained clothes and his hurried retreat upstairs.
"He knows I won't harm Luna," Harry said with a shrug. "She and her father have unique hearts—they see past appearances to the essence of things."
"Alright, we get it. Your apprentice is amazing. No need to sing her praises every second," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.
"Ahem. Is it that obvious?" Harry said, a rare hint of embarrassment in his voice. "Sorry, it's my first time taking an apprentice. I'm… not used to it."
To have such a gifted apprentice for his first? If this weren't another world, Harry would've already bragged to the Earthen Ring.
It didn't take long to return to The Burrow, where the Weasleys were dressed and ready to head to Diagon Alley via the Floo Network.
Mrs. Weasley, aware of Luna's tragic past, had taken an immediate liking to the quiet, well-mannered girl. The words "obedient," "quiet," and "sensible" were a golden trifecta in her book. She enveloped Luna in a fierce hug, stuffed her pockets with snacks, and insisted Luna stay close when using Floo powder, repeating safety instructions multiple times.
Her motherly outburst left Ron groaning with envy.
Green flames flared, and Harry stepped out of the fireplace into the Leaky Cauldron. The dim, cramped pub hadn't changed since last year—not even the reactions of Tom, the barkeep, or the patrons. Last year, they'd gawked at "the Boy Who Lived." This year, they marveled at "the youngest Quidditch player," "the one who sued the Ministry and won," and "the creator of new magic."
Mr. Weasley had to scowl and push through the crowd to avoid getting stuck in the pub too long.
"Merlin's beard, I swear Diagon Alley's never this crowded," Mr. Weasley said, wiping sweat from his brow as they broke free.
He was right. The street was packed, with barely enough space to see the shops across the way. The usual bustle was in full swing, with stores pulling out all the stops to attract customers.
"I think I know why it's so crowded," Fred said, his voice dripping with mock despair. "I saw a radiant face."
"A huge face—like it's been dosed with Cheering Charms," George added.
Their gazes landed on a passing witch clutching a book to her chest, a dreamy smile on her face.
Everyone knew what the twins were talking about. The book's cover featured a wizard flashing blindingly white teeth, sparkling unnaturally.
"Gilderoy Lockhart!" Hermione squealed. "He's a real wizard! A magical master!"
"Molly?" Mr. Weasley glanced at his wife.
"Oh, I know what you're thinking," Mrs. Weasley said, blushing. "Lockhart's holding a book signing at Flourish and Blotts this week. It was in the Daily Prophet."
"Curse Lockhart!" Fred and George shouted in unison, united in their disdain.
"Quiet, Fred, George!" Mrs. Weasley snapped. "Don't talk about Lockhart like that!"
"Five whole sets of books! Seven per set!" Fred said, ignoring her. "No class has ever needed five books! Merlin's socks!"
"It's not Lockhart's fault!" Hermione said, siding with Mrs. Weasley. "He didn't make us buy them."
"Really? I doubt a professor would assign so many books by the same author for no reason," Fred retorted.
"There's got to be some shady deal going on," George added.
"Fred! George!" Mrs. Weasley's eyes widened further.
Arguing, they made their way to Flourish and Blotts. Passersby were either parents hauling stacks of books or giddy witches clutching Lockhart's titles. Harry had seen his Hogwarts booklist, with Gilderoy Lockhart's name listed seven times. The Weasleys weren't poor, but with so many kids and no habit of saving, their finances were tight. Ron had mentioned this last year. No wonder Fred and George were fuming—Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts professors changed annually, meaning Lockhart's books might be useless next year. And since they'd never been required before, secondhand copies were impossible to find.
"Harry, are we just going to stand by?" Neville whispered. "I mean… we could…"
"Help them?" Harry replied quietly, glancing at the Weasleys. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley wouldn't accept it."
"Yeah," Neville sighed.
Even Ron, who'd complained about hand-me-downs from Charlie, would refuse outright charity.
They stopped at Gringotts first. Harry and Neville pretended not to notice the Weasleys' nearly empty vault. When they reached the Potter vault, Harry opened his enchanted suitcase and shoveled in mountains of Galleons, magical artifacts, and books. He wasn't leaving anything in goblin—er, Gringott's—hands this year. Last year, he lacked the means to take it all, but now was different.
Shoveling Galleons was hard work, so his friends, and even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, pitched in. The suitcase's connection to Mulgore wasn't a secret anymore—not after Mrs. Weasley checked on the boys one night and found their beds empty, nearly giving her a heart attack.
There was no need to hide it, anyway. Though he hadn't met Charlie or Bill, Harry trusted the Weasleys' integrity.
"First time doing something like this," Ron said, tossing the last shovelful of Galleons into the suitcase and throwing the shovel in after. "Feels pretty good."
"Hard not to enjoy time with these shiny little darlings," Fred said, winking. "Puts you in a great mood."
"Thanks for the help. Ice cream's on me," Harry said, handing each helper a Galleon.
Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Weasley objected, and everyone accepted the coin gladly. Mr. Weasley and Ron even debated which flavor at Florean Fortescue's was best, eager to dig in.
Once out of Gringotts, Mrs. Weasley declared they'd meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour, giving everyone free time. She sternly warned Fred and George to stay out of Knockturn Alley, where unsavory types and items often drew Aurors and Hit Wizards for raids, with the less clever ones ending up in Azkaban.
"So, what's the plan? Want to browse or shop first?" Harry asked Luna. "You too, Ginny. Don't be shy. I'm tight with your brothers, so just speak up."
As Mrs. Weasley predicted, Luna and Ginny had hit it off, whispering to each other the whole way. No one knew how they had so much to talk about.
"Let's shop first," Hermione interjected. "Madam Malkin's takes time for robes, and choosing a wand does too. We can order robes first, then do other things."
"No complaints here, but I'm hitting Florean Fortescue's first," Ron said, shrugging. "Matcha jelly ice cream is the best in the world. Dad's got no clue."
"I like cranberry," Neville mumbled. "Sweet and tart."
"Sounds fun!" Luna said brightly. "What about you, Ginny?"
"I'm fine with anything," Ginny said, looking down under Harry's gaze.
Diagon Alley, though the largest magical shopping street in Britain, felt small compared to Muggle commercial areas. It was so compact that Harry's group, casually strolling with ice creams, bumped into others who'd supposedly gone their own way.
Fred and George were at Gambol and Japes, stocking up on prank supplies. They'd made a tidy profit last year using Harry's name and were now stuffing bags with fireworks that supposedly ignited on their own or bloomed in water.
They were itching for a spectacular showdown.
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