Peter glanced over his shoulder, drawn by a faint commotion behind him.
From the narrow archway beside the Leaky Cauldron, a tall, sharp-featured witch in emerald green robes stepped out, followed by a young Muggle couple and a small, curious-looking girl.
Peter instantly recognized the witch—Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and Head of Gryffindor House.
He'd seen her once during a visit to Diagon Alley, though back then, the surly innkeeper Tom had refused to sell him a Butterbeer. He still remembered the disappointment. Back in his previous life, he had always wondered what Butterbeer actually tasted like. It seemed like the perfect comfort drink after a long day of wizarding nonsense.
But now his attention shifted to the newcomers. The couple—clearly Muggles—stood out like sore thumbs among the robed shoppers. The man wore a clean gray suit, and the woman a simple, floral summer dress. Their daughter, though, was bright-eyed and bouncing slightly on her toes as she took in the magical scene.
Molly spotted the group at the same moment and beamed.
"Professor McGonagall! Oh, Merlin's beard, it's such a pleasure to see you again!"
The older witch's face, usually drawn in a strict, no-nonsense expression, softened just a touch. She stepped forward with the Grangers in tow.
"Mrs. Weasley. I see you're here for school shopping?"
"Yes, indeed!" Molly said proudly, nudging Ron forward. "This one's finally heading off to Hogwarts. That'll make six!"
Professor McGonagall gave a small, knowing smile. "Yes, quite the Gryffindor legacy."
She turned and gestured to the Muggle family beside her. "This is Mr. and Mrs. Granger, and their daughter, Hermione Granger, who will be starting Hogwarts this term as well."
The Grangers smiled politely and waved, visibly trying not to look overwhelmed. Hermione peeked out from behind her mother, her eyes wide behind a thick fringe of chestnut hair. The moment she spotted Peter, she froze, as if trying to remember a face she had only seen in a photograph.
"And these," McGonagall continued, glancing back toward Peter and Ron, "are Mrs. Weasley's sons, Peter Weasley and…" she paused slightly as Ron awkwardly hid behind Molly's shawl, "…Ron."
"Hello, Professor McGonagall!" Ron blurted out, then immediately went red.
Peter, in contrast, stood tall and extended a hand.
"Professor McGonagall. A pleasure."
McGonagall took his hand with unexpected warmth. "Mr. Weasley," she said with the faintest trace of a smile tugging at her lips. "It's good to finally meet you. I've heard… quite a bit."
Peter offered a modest smile, but his eyes flicked past her toward Hermione. The girl was still watching him, wide-eyed and hesitant.
And then—snap.
Peter lifted a hand and gave a soft snap of his fingers. A small shimmer of magic pulsed through the air like a ripple in a pond. It was subtle—non-verbal and nearly unnoticeable—but enough to create a gentle breeze around Hermione.
A few floating motes of golden light drifted toward her, scented faintly of honey and citrus.
Hermione blinked, then gasped as the lights formed into tiny, glowing letters in front of her eyes:
"Nice to meet you, Hermione."
The letters twirled for a second before popping into soft sparks.
Hermione's mouth fell open.
Peter gave her a wink.
She turned pink all the way to her ears.
The girl's long, frizzy hair—messy and unbrushed, with curls tumbling over her brow—suddenly lifted into the air like tendrils of seaweed floating underwater.
The faint shimmer of magic danced through each strand.
It was a simple little trick, wandless and quiet, barely more than a breeze of intent. But to a Muggle family standing in the heart of Diagon Alley, it might as well have been a grand illusion straight from a fairytale.
Mrs. Granger gasped softly, clutching her husband's sleeve.
Mr. Granger blinked twice, eyes wide behind his glasses, while Hermione's jaw dropped. She stared at the strands floating over her forehead, waving her hands in front of her face as if trying to smooth them back down. They gently resisted her, drifting lazily, still enchanted.
And then she looked at Peter.
Not with fear—but with awe. The kind of wonder only a child discovering real magic for the first time could have.
She took a half-step forward, mouth parting as if to ask, "How did you do that?"
Before she could, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat sharply.
"Ahem. Mrs. Weasley," she said, voice crisp but not cold, "I'm afraid I still need to escort the Granger family to Gringotts to exchange their Muggle currency. We'll take our leave now."
Then, just before turning away, she gave Peter a sideways glance, her tone lower and laced with meaning.
"Mr. Weasley… while your control is impressive, I must remind you that casual displays of magic in front of Muggles—however charming—are frowned upon by the Ministry. Be careful not to push that line."
Peter raised a hand in a small salute, smiling like a student caught doodling in class. "Of course, Professor. I'll behave."
McGonagall gave him a look. The faintest smile betrayed her approval before she turned on her heel.
As the Grangers followed, Hermione twisted to look back, eyes still fixed on Peter. Her hands brushed her now-settled hair, cheeks blooming pink as she met his gaze.
Peter grinned.
The girl nearly tripped over her own feet, flustered.
What a sweet kid, Peter thought, watching her vanish around the corner. She's going to have fun at Hogwarts.
Then came the unmistakable voice of Ron, impatient and utterly uninterested in subtle social magic.
"Aren't we going to buy wands yet? What if Ollivander's is full and we have to wait in line?"
Peter turned and raised an eyebrow. His younger brother was fidgeting, eyes darting up and down the alley, clearly more concerned about his new wand than anything else.
He stared at Ron for a few seconds, until Ron shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the silence.
"…What?" Ron finally asked, rubbing his nose. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Peter chuckled. "Nothing. Just… as long as you're happy."
Ron narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Weird."
Ron was certainly happy. This was his first time in Diagon Alley, and he was nearly overwhelmed by everything he saw. Although he'd been urging them to buy a wand first, the moment they passed Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, his legs suddenly seemed glued to the ground, and he couldn't move another step.
Perhaps sensing that he might feel left out once Peter began buying brand-new books and robes later, Molly uncharacteristically indulged him and bought him an ice cream.
With the cool treat in hand, Ron finally stopped rushing ahead. Molly then took Peter to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Flourish and Blotts, and the other necessary shops to buy school robes, books, and supplies.
Thankfully, most of the shops offered owl delivery services, saving the family from the hassle of hauling bags of books and cauldrons through the crowded street.
"Books, robes, cauldrons, scales... Oh, right, you're allowed to bring a pet as well. Over there are Eeylops Owl Emporium and the Magical Menagerie. Peter, what sort of pet are you thinking of?" Molly asked.
Peter glanced at Ron, who was still distractedly licking his ice cream, completely unaware of the world around him. With a mischievous smile, Peter said, "I want a cat."
Ron froze, his face going pale in an instant.
He could already imagine the pitiful days ahead for poor Scabbers back at home, constantly harassed by Peter's new pet.
But... a new wand...
The devil's whisper echoed louder in his mind, overwhelming any lingering resistance. The thought of finally getting a proper wand, combined with the soothing effect of the sweet ice cream, made him swallow his protest.
The Magical Menagerie was the largest pet shop in Diagon Alley. Aside from the magical beasts banned by the Ministry, nearly every kind of companion fit for a young witch or wizard could be found there.
Its owner, a Witch with oversized black-rimmed glasses, welcomed the Weasleys warmly. Upon hearing Peter's request, she eagerly waved her wand, pulling over an entire string of cages toward the front.
"You've got wonderful taste, Mr. Weasley," she said enthusiastically. "Most young wizards rush to buy owls, thinking only of their use, not their company. It's refreshing to see someone value personality too. Come, take a look—these are all the cats we currently have in stock. A fine variety, I must say. And between you and me, many of them have Kneazle blood. Very clever creatures!"
Meow~ Meow~
Dozens of cats mewed from the cages, their curious eyes gleaming as they stared at Peter through the bars, as if evaluating him in return.
The cats were indeed intelligent. It was as if they instinctively knew someone was here to adopt them. Many who had been lounging lazily moments ago suddenly perked up, stretching and meowing softly toward Peter.
One in particular caught his eye—a massive feline that dwarfed all the others. While most of the cats were barely two feet in length, this one was a full four feet long!
It was striking, its long, silky fur giving it a regal, almost oversized appearance, as if it were two or three cats stitched into one. More than just size, it was also the most animated of the bunch, pressing its large, serious face eagerly against the bars of its cage. When Peter extended a hand toward it, the creature responded with even greater enthusiasm, trying to wedge its entire head through the gap as if desperate to reach him.
"Oh, Mr. Weasley," the Witch in thick-rimmed glasses exclaimed with delight, "it seems this little lady is quite fond of you! She's a Maine Coon with Kneazle blood—exceptionally rare in Europe. They're usually bred in America, you know."
Peter gently wiggled his fingers near the bars. The massive cat didn't lash out but instead pulled his hand close with its broad, padded paws, wrapping around his fingers in a soft, possessive grip.
Her gentle behavior instantly endeared her to Peter. And her fur—oh, that fur. A gorgeous blend of orange-red and golden hues, just like the layered fruit tea he used to drink back in his past life.
"This one," Peter said without hesitation.
After paying, Peter led his new companion out of the shop. The cat was undeniably heavy—fifteen pounds at the very least—and her long body made her quite the handful for Peter's still-growing arms. He cradled her awkwardly yet proudly, a determined grin on his face.
When Ron caught sight of the feline, his entire face went pale.
"Th-this is a cat?"
Peter beamed. "Of course it is. I've named her Fruit Tea. Fruit Tea, go on—smell the mouse stink on Ron!"
"Meow~" came a melodic purr in response, as Fruit Tea fixed her curious, intelligent gaze on Ron... and then sniffed.
Ron reflexively stepped back, clutching his shirt as if to hide the squirming Scabbers inside.