We got to the pub fairly quickly, and I, naturally together with Hermione, quickly passed through it to Diagon Alley.
"What do you want to buy?" she asked, eager to take charge of this shopping run.
"Two Sneakoscopes, an enchanted notebook, a couple of books, pick out a self-writing quill, and other small things."
Let her run the parade if she can handle it. I know how strong that trait is in her, and I see no need to force someone to step over themselves, cutting off a piece of who they are just because I do not particularly like it.
It was not especially crowded that day. Snow harmoniously, surely not without magic, covered signs, roofs, and shop windows. The shops were decorated for the holiday, though without fanaticism. All of this further created a sense of artificiality, as if everything around was just scenery.
"Then," Hermione thought for a moment, "this way."
She literally grabbed my hand and dragged me through space and time with the persistence of an icebreaker. Her importance and determination amused me.
"Let us look at books," Hermione practically burst into the bookstore. "Are you looking for something specific?"
"I think I need something powerful, substantive, and without any filler on potion-making."
"I hear you, young man," a voice came from the side, from behind the bookshelves.
"Oh," Hermione startled, turning toward the voice. "Sorry, we did not notice you."
Well, speaking for everyone is not necessary. An elderly wizard approached us, slightly hunched, which made his already short stature seem even smaller.
"No problem," the wizard waved it off. "Wait at the counter, I will bring what you need."
He disappeared somewhere into the depths of the shop. Hermione did not last long and within thirty seconds was already glued to one of the many shelves of books, carefully studying the spines. It was impossible not to notice that her gaze was fixed on one particular book, but she tried hard to at least step aside and look at something else. I grew curious and moved closer.
"Advanced Charms: From Use to Creation," read the title on the spine of that rather hefty book.
"Here is your reference," the same shopkeeper's voice distracted us as he placed a thick tome on the counter. "One thousand two hundred and seven pages of the most concise, precise, and comprehensive description of known potion ingredients."
After a moment's thought, I took the book Hermione had been eyeing and placed it on the counter.
"And this one as well, please."
Hermione lightly tugged at my jacket sleeve.
"That is really not necessary."
"Yeah, sure."
"That will be thirty-seven Galleons and fifteen Sickles," the shopkeeper nodded. "Rare editions."
"Pricey…"
"When you create a full-fledged printing press like the Muggles have, printing books in large runs, then you can sell them for Knuts."
Slipping my backpack off my shoulder, I took out thirty-eight Galleons, received two Sickles in change, and put the books into the pack.
"We should hurry, Mione. We do not have that much time."
My sister nodded, shyly and happily thanked me for the book, and again took charge of our shopping trip. We made our way through Diagon Alley fairly quickly and bought various small items, most of which I planned to send as gifts. Among other things, we had to stop by the confectionery on the neighboring street, that very one, the best in magical England, to order delivery of the richest assortment of pastries for Daphne Greengrass on the morning of December twenty-sixth.
In the end, we managed quite quickly, though I sometimes had to unobtrusively adjust the route of the determined icebreaker "Hermione." Father was waiting in the car parked not far from the Leaky Cauldron.
"Did you buy everything you wanted?" he asked as soon as we got into the back seats.
"Yes. Everything," my sister answered, and I just nodded.
"Excellent. We do not have much time left, so let us go."
The drive passed calmly, and the reason was simple. I shoved the book I had bought for Hermione into her hands. Half an hour later, following some clever routes which, judging by the lack of traffic jams, Father and a handful of other motorists knew, we pulled up to a large property behind a tall ornate cast-iron fence. We drove up to the gates, and Father turned around.
"Well then, go on, ring the bell, announce your arrival."
Getting out of the car, I found the doorbell in the gate column, walked up, and pressed the button. A characteristic chime sounded from the speaker, and after ten seconds an unfamiliar voice spoke.
"Finch-Fletchley Manor, how may we help?"
"Good afternoon. Hector and Hermione Granger. We have arrived by invitation of Justin Finch-Fletchley."
"Opening the gate. Please proceed."
The gates began to open, and I returned to the car.
"Unbelievable," Hermione could not help herself.
The manor grounds were large, and for some time we drove along a path from which the manor itself was visible at any point. Large and somewhat strange. It felt like they first wanted to build a large rectangular tower, then gave up and built a brick-and-wood Victorian-style house around it. At most it had three floors, at least one. Around the house were gardens, paths, gazebos, and other decor. Expensive and lavish, as one acquaintance from my past life would say. At the front entrance, the road formed a large ring around a fountain. Following the rules, Father pulled in on the left side.
"Well then, kids, go visit and behave yourselves. Call about forty minutes before you want to leave, I will come pick you up."
"Alright, Dad," I nodded, and slinging my backpack over my shoulder, got out of the car.
Hermione followed. We had just headed for the porch when Justin came out of the doors, dressed casually and shooing someone back inside.
"Oh, Hector, Hermione!" he waved at us happily. "Come on in quickly, the wind is cold."
Climbing the steps quickly, we greeted him and went inside. The rich but not ostentatious hall, in dark wood tones with bronze elements, created a sense of massiveness and monumentality.
"Perhaps," Hermione mused, glancing at her jeans, "I should have dressed more properly."
"Nonsense," Justin waved it off with a smile, and out of the corner of my eye I noted a figure in a black tailcoat passing by. A butler? A valet? Just hired staff? Who knows.
Justin led us into a large living room where children I knew very well were seated on sofas and armchairs: Hannah, Susan, Ernie, and Zacharias. While the girls were chatting sweetly, discussing fashion magazines piled around them, the boys were engaged in entirely different activities. Zacharias was enthusiastically examining fairly large model airplanes, apparently assembled by Justin, and at the same time reaching toward a big box with the image of a vaguely familiar triangular spacecraft. Well, he is more or less familiar with the ordinary world, so it is not surprising that he took interest in such things.
Ernie, on the other hand, stared like an idiot at a large color television with a flat screen, though clearly a CRT. The device was neatly recessed into a wall niche and did not look too out of place.
"I do not understand," Ernie shook his head. "How does this even work without magic?"
"On electricity, Ernie," I answered as I walked in.
This drew everyone's attention, and they immediately smiled and waved.
"Oh, Hector!" Ernie jumped to his feet. "Do you know how this Mordred-damned device works?"
I headed for one of the free armchairs by the table with tea and sweets. Justin led Hermione to the girls and himself went over to Zacharias, apparently to open the model box.