Chapter 8: The Curtain Call at Madam Malkin's part-1
Hermione Granger sat at the far end of the table, dressed in what could only be described as a layered defense system. She wore a turtleneck, a denim jacket buttoned to the top and jeans.
The morning sun filtered through the crooked windows of the Burrow, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air and casting a spotlight on the most socially awkward breakfast in the history of wizard kind.
It had been roughly twelve hours since the "Sweater Incident," as I had mentally cataloged it. The tension in the kitchen was thick enough to be cut with a dull knife, or perhaps dissolved with a Scourgify if one was feeling particularly reckless.
Hermione Granger sat at the far end of the table, dressed in what could only be described as a layered defense system. She wore a turtleneck, a denim jacket buttoned to the top and jeans.
She looked less like a witch preparing for a shopping trip and more like a muggle preparing for an arctic expedition. Her eyes were puffy and she jumped every time a spoon clattered against a bowl.
Harry Potter, sitting opposite her, was staring intently at his porridge as if it contained a map to a dimension where he hadn't seen his best friend's undergarments three times in twenty-four hours.
I, however, was feeling fantastic.
(System status check,) I thought, buttering a slice of toast with gusto.
"Good morning, host," the system's voice breezed through my mind. "Current status: Excellent. Your magical core has expanded by fifteen percent thanks to the attribute points distributed last night. You are currently operating at the magical capacity of an average Auror."
(Delightful,) I replied internally. (And today is Diagon Alley. The land of crowds, bustling shops and infinite variables.)
"Everyone ready?" Molly Weasley chirped, trying to inject some normalcy into the atmosphere. She was bustling around the kitchen, checking a long parchment list. "We have a lot to do today. Books, potion ingredients and Ron, you need new dress robes. The ones from fourth year are... well, let us just say they have seen better days."
"New robes?" I asked, my ears perking up. "Does that mean we are going to Madam Malkin's?"
"Yes, dear. We will meet up with you there after we stop at Gringotts," Molly said.
I suppressed a grin. Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. A clothing store. Fitting rooms. Measuring tapes that moved on their own. It was a tactical playground.
"We will take the Floo Network," Arthur Weasley announced. "Harry, you go first."
One by one, we stepped into the green flames and vanished.
When I stumbled out of the grate at the Leaky Cauldron, brushing soot from my shoulders, I found Harry and Hermione standing in the corner of the pub, looking distinctly uncomfortable. The pub was crowded and every time someone bumped into Hermione, she flinched and clutched her denim jacket tighter.
"Relax, Hermione," I said, walking over and patting her shoulder—which felt like patting a brick wall due to the layers of clothing. "Lightning does not strike the same place four times."
"It does when you are around," she muttered darkly, though she didn't pull away. "I just want to get my books and go back to the Burrow. I am feeling... unlucky."
"Nonsense," I said. "Come on. To the bank."
The trip to Gringotts was uneventful, save for the Goblin cart ride which I found exhilarating and Hermione found nauseating. With our money bags heavy with galleons, we stepped out into the blinding sunlight of Diagon Alley.
The street was packed. Witches and wizards bustled everywhere, buying cauldrons, owls and broomsticks. It was a sensory overload of magic.
"Right," Molly said, checking her watch. "Arthur and I will get the books. You three go to Madam Malkin's and get fitted. We will meet you at the ice cream parlor in an hour."
"Got it, Mum," I said.
We wove through the crowd. I noticed that my "Clumsy Aura" was passively affecting people around us. A wizard dropped his stack of dragon liver; a witch tripped over her own cloak. It was like walking in a bubble of mild chaos.
We arrived at Madam Malkin's. The bell tinkled as we entered. The shop was busy. Several students were getting fitted for the upcoming term.
"Hogwarts, dear?" Madam Malkin asked, bustling over. She was a squat, smiling witch dressed in mauve. "Got the lot here. Step on up."
She pointed to the circular fitting pedestals in the center of the shop. They were raised platforms, surrounded by velvet curtains on circular rails for privacy, though the curtains were currently pulled back.
"Ladies first," I said, gesturing gallantly to the pedestal on the left.
Hermione hesitated, eyeing the pedestal suspiciously. "I... I do not need much fitting. Just the standard size."
"Nonsense, dear," Madam Malkin said, grabbing Hermione's arm. "You have grown since last year. Up you get. We need to measure the hem."
Hermione sighed and stepped up onto the pedestal. Harry took the pedestal next to her, separated by about three feet of empty space.
"Arms up, chin up," Madam Malkin instructed Hermione. "I will just pin the hem of the sample robe to get the length right."
She draped a long black robe over Hermione's thick muggle clothes. It was a tight fit over the denim jacket. Madam Malkin began pinning the bottom of the robe, using shiny silver pins.
"I will handle the young man," an assistant said, moving to Harry and throwing a robe over him.
I stood back near the mirror, leaning against a rack of dress robes. I had a clear view of both of them.
(System, activate Silent Casting skill,) I commanded.
"Skill active," the system replied. "Targeting parameters ready."
I looked at the setup. Hermione was standing on the stool. Madam Malkin was kneeling at her feet, pinning the robe. Harry was standing on the next stool, looking bored.
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