Passing by the gleaming window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, Harry couldn't help but stop in his tracks as if struck by lightning. The morning sun streaming through Diagon Alley caught the display, creating dazzling reflections that made the shop window look like a treasure chest filled with jewels.
Adrian noticed Harry's eyes lighting up and followed his gaze with growing curiosity. When he saw what was displayed in the window, he couldn't help but pause, understanding immediately why the boy had been hypnotized.
No wonder Harry was immediately captivated by what was in front of him.
In the window sat a beautiful broomstick—a Firebolt, the most coveted racing broom in the wizarding world.
For any Quidditch enthusiast, the allure of a Firebolt was undeniable—it was the Ferrari of the wizarding world, the ultimate symbol of aerial supremacy. Harry was no exception to its magnetic pull.
"Do you like it?" Adrian asked softly, though the answer was written plainly across Harry's face in wonder and longing.
Only then did Harry turn his head, as if emerging from a trance. He scratched his head nervously, saying embarrassedly, "...No... well, yes, this broomstick must be incredibly fast."
"Let's go inside and take a look," Adrian spoke while opening the store door with a gentle chime of the bell, walking in first.
As soon as Harry entered, he found the shop packed with people—witches and wizards of all ages crowding the interior.
Most of them were gathered around the window displaying the Firebolt, their faces pressed against the glass barrier that separated them from their dreams. The air hummed with excited conversations in multiple languages, filled by gasps of admiration and calculations of savings plans.
In the moment he stood dazed by the overwhelming atmosphere, Harry realized Adrian had already disappeared into the crowd like a ghost, leaving him alone with his burning curiosity.
But this didn't dampen his enthusiasm at all—if anything, it intensified his focus. He now only wanted to examine up close this broomstick that existed only in dreams and the pages of Quidditch magazines.
Harry squeezed into the crowd, his heart pounding. The press of bodies around him was forgotten as he managed to work his way to the front, where the Firebolt sat in splendor.
The Firebolt gleamed with an enchanting luster under the display lights, every detail on its streamlined handle was absolutely perfect beyond belief.
He didn't know how long he had been staring when Harry felt someone tap his shoulder.
He turned to look and found Adrian watching him with an amused expression.
"I think you've seen enough," Adrian said. "We should go."
"Oh, alright," Harry replied reluctantly, his feet seemingly rooted to the spot.
Adrian pulled the reluctant Harry away from the display like someone pulling a child from a sweet shop. They crossed through the crowd, past displays of Quidditch equipment that now seemed ordinary in comparison to what they had just witnessed.
Back on the street, with the familiar sounds of Diagon Alley, Harry suddenly felt something heavy in his arms.
Coming to his senses as if awakening from a particularly vivid dream, he discovered that somehow a long, rectangular box had appeared in his embrace.
"This... this is..." Harry's tongue suddenly tied in knots, his green eyes wide as saucers.
Adrian tucked his hands into his robe pockets with casualness and leaned close to Harry's ear. "A suggestion—it's best not to open it right now. Too many eyes watching in the street."
Harry stood frozen in place, looking completely at a loss.
Seeing this, Adrian winked at him. "Alright, I have other matters to attend to. You can return to the Leaky Cauldron first. We'll see each other later."
Harry clutched the mysterious box tightly, feeling as though his heart might leap from his chest and soar around Diagon Alley on its own.
After Adrian left, Harry immediately broke into a run, his pace quickening with each step.
Passing Flourish and Blotts, he nearly collided with a clerk who was levitating a stack of heavy books through the doorway.
"Watch it, kid!" the clerk called out in annoyance, his balanced stack of books wobbling dangerously.
"Sorry!" Harry called back over his shoulder, but his voice was breathless with excitement.
Harry continued running forward without looking back.
Harry had barely burst through the wooden door of the Leaky Cauldron, his chest heaving and his face flushed with exertion, when he heard a familiar exclamation that cut through the pub's noise.
"Harry! Over here!"
Looking up, he saw Ron sitting at a round table in the corner, his red hair was particularly conspicuous. He was excitedly waving his arms nearly knocking over the foaming butterbeer in front of him in his eagerness.
Hermione sat beside him, looking remarkably composed as she held a frighteningly thick book that could have doubled as a weapon. Upon seeing Harry, she immediately broke into a brilliant smile.
"How did you two get here so early?" Harry asked breathlessly as he ran over, his face still maintaining an excited expression.
"My mum said she needed to buy things for Ginny first," Ron explained, gesturing vaguely toward the ceiling as if his mother might appear at any moment. "New robes, books, the usual first-year necessities. She dropped us off and said she'd be back in a few hours."
As he spoke, his eyes had already fixed on the long rectangular box in Harry's hands with the intensity of a hawk spotting prey.
"What's that?" He asked curiously, though his voice carried a tone of growing suspicion that said he might already know the answer.
Harry couldn't contain his smile any longer, it spread across his face like sunrise breaking over the horizon.
"Come here," He beckoned to both of them while heading toward the staircase that led to the guest rooms, taking the steps two at a time in his eagerness.
Ron and Hermione exchanged puzzled glances and immediately followed.
Once the three reached Harry's small room, Harry placed the box on the bed as if it were made of the most fragile glass.
"Stop being mysterious," Hermione said, looking at the box with confusion and exasperation. "What exactly is it? You're acting like you've found the Holy Grail."
At this moment, Ron seemed to realize something, his face went through a rapid series of expressions.
"Merlin's beard!" he suddenly exclaimed, his voice cracking with disbelief. "This couldn't be—"
Harry nodded, his eyes shining with excitement. He took a deep breath, savoring the moment, and slowly lifted the lid with the reverence of someone unveiling a masterpiece.
The Firebolt gleamed with dazzling brilliance even in the dim room.
Immediately, Ron let out a breathless gasp that sounded like all the air had been knocked from his lungs, while Hermione looked completely bewildered by the intensity of her friends' reactions.
"Um... a broomstick?" Hermione tilted her head, looking at the excited Harry with the expression of someone trying to understand why people got so worked up about sporting equipment. "You bought a new broomstick? What about your Nimbus 2000?"
"Oh—Hermione, forget about the Nimbus 2000!" Ron's face flushed an unnatural red as he said to her incredulously. "This is a Firebolt! A Firebolt! Do you understand what that means? Compared to this, the Nimbus 2000 is as slow as a Flobberworm crawling through molasses on a cold day!"
"Oh, I see," Hermione nodded, though her expression said she was taking their word for it rather than truly understanding.
Although she didn't know about Firebolts and their reputation, she knew about Flobberworms and their famously sluggish pace. And judging from Ron's shocked reaction the broomstick in front of them must be truly extraordinary.
Harry carefully removed the broomstick from the box, his hands trembling slightly as he examined it closely.
At the tail of the broomstick, he saw a small "7" marking engraved in elegant writing—each Firebolt had a unique numerical identifier.
This must be the seventh Firebolt ever produced.
Harry suddenly felt feverish all over, his skin tingling with anticipation—he couldn't wait to use this broomstick!
"How much did you spend?" Ron asked, his voice trembling slightly as he did mental calculations that probably involved selling his entire family's assets.
Harry shook his head, still staring at the broomstick with amazement. "I'm not sure. Professor Westeros gave this to me."
Now Ron was really unsettled, his face going through a complex series of expressions that said his worldview was shattered.
"Wait!" He widened his eyes and asked with the intensity of someone demanding answers to life's greatest mysteries, "Why would Professor Westeros give you something so precious? This costs more than my family's house!"
Harry shrugged without answering.
At this moment, Ron suddenly had a light bulb moment, his expression shifted to one of understanding.
"Ah, I know, you're not Professor Westeros's illegitimate son, are you..."
"Ow, Hermione, why did you hit me?" Ron rubbed his arm where Hermione had smacked him.
Adrian never hesitated to give the best things to those close to him.
Including Firebolts.
Although the owner of Quality Quidditch Supplies had initially said that purchasing a Firebolt required advance ordering and a waiting list that stretched for months, with the power of money and perhaps a few well-placed connections, this wasn't a problem that couldn't be solved.
Even though this broomstick was very expensive—costing more than most wizards earned in a year—it posed no financial pressure for Adrian.
Honestly, he also wanted to try this legendary Firebolt himself. The reviews in Quidditch magazines had been universally enthusiastic. So, he had bought one for both himself and Harry.
After completing his purchase and arranging for Harry's surprise, Adrian continued south through Diagon Alley. The street was bustling with late summer shoppers, parents dragging excited children from store to store, and the general chaos that came before the start of a new school year.
He walked all the way to the Magical Menagerie. He was here to visit Ruskin. Come to think of it, they hadn't been in contact all summer.
"Welcome," came the automatic greeting as Adrian pushed open the door, setting off a chorus of animal sounds from the shop's residents.
Adrian walked to the counter, where a female clerk immediately approached with the practiced smile of someone used to dealing with difficult customers and temperamental magical creatures.
When she saw Adrian, she paused slightly, her expression shifting from professional politeness to recognition. "Ah, it's you, Mr. Westeros," she said, her voice having a tone of relief that showed his arrival was a bright spot in an else difficult day.
Adrian nodded politely. He also recognized the female clerk—she was the same employee who had served him during his first visit to the shop.
"Is Ms. Ruskin in?" He asked.
At this question, the female clerk's expression immediately turned resentful.
"The boss went traveling to Beauxbatons in France," She sighed heavily and muttered quietly, "and it's the busiest time right now..."
Adrian raised an eyebrow slightly, his fingertips tapping lightly on the counter. "When will she return?"
This time, the female clerk didn't answer directly, but the resentment on her face intensified to the point where she looked like she might start throwing things.
Seeing this, Adrian asked no more questions, understanding that some situations were better left unexplored.
Everything was left unsaid, but the message was clear.
'What an irresponsible boss,' Adrian thought with a mixture of sympathy for the clerk.
Unlike him….
Well, he had to admit, he seemed to be no better. He often went out on adventures and didn't really mind his own shop, leaving it to run itself or simply closing when he felt like traveling.
The difference was that his shop had almost no customers, so his absence didn't inconvenience anyone.
What a sad thing.
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