As planned, their first stop was Gringotts. Harry needed to stock up on Galleons, while Hermione had to exchange some Muggle money for wizarding currency.
Suddenly, Mr. Granger steadied himself against a wall. "Whoa, kids, that Knight Bus ride's still got me a bit woozy… I'm gonna head to the Leaky Cauldron for a bit. Meet me there after you're done shopping?"
Harry noticed Mr. Granger's Adam's apple bob slightly as he spoke, his face flushed with an awkward redness. Stifling a grin, Harry asked, "Want me to come with you?"
"Hermione, here." Mrs. Granger sighed, pulling a few pound notes from her handbag. "Go exchange these for your wizard money. And don't spend it all in one place."
Then, with a stern look at her husband, she added, "And you—I'm coming with you to make sure you don't get carried away."
Mr. Granger waved his hands defensively. "Just one little drink! Something to settle the stomach, I swear!"
Hermione sighed, watching her dad's eager attempt to slip away. "Dad, don't overdo it."
"Got it, got it!" Mr. Granger was already practically skipping toward the pub, his steps light and his excitement obvious.
Harry burst out laughing as he watched him go. "I'd bet anything he's already forgotten about feeling sick and is dreaming of a Firewhisky bottle."
Hermione nudged his arm. "Don't make fun of my dad."
Still, a smile tugged at her lips. "Though… he is super curious about wizarding drinks. Last time, he asked me if Butterbeer was actually made with butter."
Harry glanced back at the Leaky Cauldron, catching a glimpse of Mr. Granger settled by a window, holding a hefty pewter tankard up to the light, inspecting it with glee. No trace of motion sickness there.
"Come on," Hermione said, tugging Harry's sleeve. "When we get back, he'll probably be raving about how 'brilliant' Firewhisky is."
Harry grinned, nodding. Moments like these felt warm, comforting.
A Muggle dad's curiosity about wizarding drinks was like a wizard's confusion over a microwave—those little sparks of wonder across their two worlds made Harry feel at ease.
They headed toward Gringotts, and as they passed the goblin guards, one caught sight of Harry's vault key, a flicker of subtle awe in their eyes.
The Potter vault's massive doors creaked open under magical force, revealing a dazzling pile of gold that nearly blinded them. Galleons were stacked to the ceiling, with smaller heaps of Sickles and Knuts scattered like pebbles in a golden desert. With a wave of his wand, Harry sent a small mountain of Galleons tumbling into his suitcase. The goblin escorting them pursed its lips, clearly unimpressed with his casual approach to "withdrawing funds."
As they left Gringotts' bronze doors, Hermione tugged at Harry's sleeve. "Why'd you take that many Galleons? Don't tell me you're trying to buy another Runespoor."
Harry didn't break stride, heading straight for Quality Quidditch Supplies. "Didn't you see it in the window? The new Firebolt. They say it leaves the Nimbus 2001 in the dust."
"Firebolt?" Hermione stopped dead, her eyes wide. "You just got a Nimbus 2001 last term!"
"You wouldn't get it," Harry said with a shrug, his tone as casual as if he were talking about buying gum. "Broomsticks are like Muggle computers—there's a new one every year. The Nimbus 2001 is great, but the Firebolt's faster…"
He quickened his pace toward the shop, his excitement bubbling over.
Hermione followed reluctantly, but as soon as they stepped inside, her eyes were drawn to the broom displayed in the center.
The Firebolt was jet-black, its tail adorned with silver anti-slip runes, its sleek body curving like a crescent moon. Suspended on a charmed pedestal, it seemed to glow faintly, radiating elegance.
Even Hermione, who knew next to nothing about Quidditch, could tell this broom was a cut above the Nimbus series. The rune-etched metal fittings alone screamed "expensive."
"Well?" Harry sidled up, a proud grin on his face. "Way better-looking than the Nimbus 2001, right?"
Hermione nodded, but her jaw dropped when she saw the price tag: Price on Request. "It's gorgeous, sure… but price on request?"
"You get what you pay for," Harry said, reaching for the broom handle only to be stopped by a magical barrier. "Imagine chasing the Snitch on this thing—no one could catch me."
"I think you just like spending money," Hermione teased, poking his arm. "The Nimbus 2001 is plenty good enough. You don't need to chase luxury like this."
Harry just smiled, unbothered.
Suddenly, a familiar argument broke out nearby.
"Look at the acceleration charms on this thing—the Firebolt's speed blows the Nimbus series out of the water!" George Weasley's voice rang with certainty.
"Speed's useless without balance!" Fred shot back, clutching a Nimbus 2001 brochure. "The Firebolt hasn't even been market-tested. Who knows if it'll—"
Harry turned to see the Weasley twins in a corner, locked in a heated debate, faces red as they argued over broom design.
(The Firebolt was designed by Randolph Spudmore around 1993, when the broom market was dominated by the Nimbus Racing Broom Company. It took twelve months for the Firebolt to surpass the Nimbus 2000 and 2001, becoming the top-selling broom of its time.)
"If you two want to keep arguing, start a debate club," Harry said, clapping Fred on the shoulder. "But heads-up: don't even think about dipping into my investment money."
Fred froze, then gave an awkward laugh. "Us? Never, mate. We've got business ethics…"
"He was just saying we should grab a Nimbus for now," George said, throwing his brother under the bus before turning to Harry, more serious. "Don't worry, your investment's safe with us."
Harry raised an eyebrow. Truthfully, he didn't care much what the twins did with his Galleons. Since investing in their "Tongue-Tying Toffee" last year, they'd quickly come up with "Frog-Skull Sweets," a new product that lowered people's voices. Harry had been impressed enough to toss in another 100 Galleons over the summer. His warning was just a precaution to keep them from blowing it all on luxury brooms.
"Alright, you two keep at it," Harry said, waving them off and turning back to the Firebolt.
The shopkeeper, having finally dealt with a customer haggling over a Comet, hurried over, his face lit with enthusiasm. "Mr. Potter! I knew today's stars were aligned for something special when I saw you walk in!"
Rubbing his hands, the shopkeeper glanced between Harry and the Firebolt, his tone growing even warmer. "You've got an eye for quality! This Firebolt is Randolph Spudmore's masterpiece. Look at these runes on the handle—30% less air resistance. And the tail's auto-adjusting feature? Steady as a rock, even in a storm—"
The shopkeeper rattled on, throwing in a few jabs at the Nimbus series' flaws, all but shouting that the Firebolt was the ultimate choice.
Fred and George edged closer, their argument on pause as they listened intently.
Hermione couldn't resist. "Is it really as good as you're making it out to be?"
"Absolutely!" the shopkeeper said, thumping his chest. "Last month, England's national Seeker tested it three times and ordered one on the spot. Said it's at least two seconds faster than the Nimbus 2001 for Snitch-catching!"
"I'll take one," Harry cut in, his tone so decisive the shopkeeper blinked.
Recovering quickly, the shopkeeper's grin widened. "Mr. Potter, these Firebolts are rare—handcrafted by goblins, limited production. The price is a bit steep, and it's a custom order, so full payment's required upfront."
Harry didn't hesitate, counting out 500 Galleons from his pouch and sliding them over. "That enough? Oh, and add another 50 to engrave 'Harry Potter' on the handle."
Hermione's jaw dropped.
The shopkeeper, practically giddy, took the money and began jotting down the customization details. Hermione tugged Harry's arm. "Five hundred fifty Galleons? Harry, do you know how many spellbooks that could buy?"
Harry just grinned.
George let out a whistle. "Mate, that's bold. When our Frog-Skull Sweets take off, I'm getting one too."
As they left Quality Quidditch Supplies, the Weasley twins rushed off to Zonko's Joke Shop to "scout new ideas," parting ways with Harry and Hermione at the alley's entrance.
Barely two steps later, Hermione's lecture mode kicked in. "You're so reckless with money. The Nimbus 2001 is perfectly fine…"
Harry nodded absentmindedly, enduring the sermon until they reached Flourish and Blotts, where he finally got a break.
Cages of snarling Monster Books of Monsters lined the shop, their pages wriggling menacingly.
Harry watched them snap at each other. "Professor Kettleburn never used books like these. Looks like we're getting a new Care of Magical Creatures teacher this term."
"It's Hagrid," Hermione said confidently. Seeing Harry's surprise, she added, "The day you and Dumbledore went to the Chamber, I visited Hagrid. He told me Dumbledore approved it."
Harry blinked, then smiled. Hagrid teaching Care of Magical Creatures? That felt right.
Hermione tossed a few thick supplementary books into her basket. Harry's eyes caught a black-covered book in the corner, embossed with skull patterns. As he reached for it, a clerk hurried over and pressed it down. "Sorry, Mr. Potter, you have to be seventeen to buy this one."
Harry shrugged and followed Hermione out.
At Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, soft fabrics gleamed under magical lights. Harry spotted a silver-gray robe labeled "Thestral Hair Blend, Waterproof and Fireproof." He quietly asked Madam Malkin to wrap it up, whispering, "September 19th, and please write 'Happy Birthday, Hermione.'"
Hermione, trying on new school robes, caught the exchange and flushed bright red.
When Harry handed her the elegantly wrapped box, she fiddled with the ribbon, mumbling, "You actually remembered… You didn't have to get something so fancy. All I got you on July 31st was a bottle of Quick-Shine Polish. It's embarrassing."
"That stuff works great," Harry said with a laugh.
Hermione wasn't letting it go. She dragged him to the glove counter and pointed at a pair of dark brown leather gloves. "These are for you. Romanian Longhorn hide—heat-resistant and durable. Perfect for Quidditch."
Loaded with bags, they met the Grangers at the alley's entrance. Mrs. Granger spotted the fancy gift box in Hermione's hands and teased, "Looks like someone got a special present." Hermione's face turned redder, and she hid the box behind her back.
They returned to Hermione's house, laughing and chatting, the living room soon overflowing with new textbooks and shopping bags.
Watching Hermione carefully stow the robe, Harry felt this summer's end was livelier than he'd expected.
The final days of summer slipped away in laughter. When the steam of King's Cross Station rose again, Harry's trunk held a brand-new Firebolt and a pair of dragonhide gloves.
The Hogwarts Express compartment smelled of sausage rolls and orange juice. Harry pushed a pumpkin pasty toward Hermione, who took a bite just as the door slid open.
A wizard in a shabby gray cloak stood there, dark circles under his eyes heavier than his faded hair, clutching a worn suitcase. "Sorry," he rasped, voice like rusty hinges. "Other compartments are full. Mind if I…?"
"Come in," Hermione said, swallowing her food and scooting over.
The wizard said nothing more, settling into the far seat, stuffing his suitcase under it, and pulling his hat low. Within moments, he was asleep, his breathing as soft as a feather hitting the floor.
Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance, shrugged, and kept eating. The wizarding world was full of odd characters.
As the train rattled through a pitch-black forest, everything changed without warning.
The lights flickered out with a snap, and a bone-chilling cold flooded the compartment, their breath turning to mist.
Harry's heart sank, a sensation he'd never felt before gripping him. A blurry green light flashed before his eyes, followed by a woman's piercing scream, sharp and shattered, like glass shards in his brain. Mum! He lunged forward but was held back by invisible chains, forced to watch the green light swallow everything…
"Ahh!" Hermione's scream cut through the chaos.
Harry snapped back, drenched in cold sweat. At the compartment door stood a cloaked figure, radiating a rotting chill from beneath its robes.
A Dementor.
Before he could react, the wizard in the corner sprang up, wand aimed at the door. A brilliant silver light erupted from its tip, forcing the shadowy figure to retreat.
As the cold faded, Harry's legs buckled, nearly sliding off his seat.
"It's alright now," the wizard said, stowing his wand, his voice clearer. "I'm Remus Lupin, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
Hermione was still trembling, clutching Harry's sleeve.
Lupin rummaged in his suitcase, pulling out a foil packet of chocolate. "Eat this. It'll help with the Dementor's effects."
Harry shoved a piece in his mouth, the sweet warmth easing the icy dread.
"Thank you, Professor Lupin," Harry said sincerely.
Lupin smiled, his crow's feet crinkling. "I just happened to wake up." He handed Hermione a piece. "Don't worry, they're gone."
Hermione took it, her fingers still shaking. "What… what were those things?"
"Dementors, Azkaban's guards," Lupin said, his voice low. "Looks like this journey's off to an unusual start."
The train rumbled back to life, lights flickering on. Lupin leaned back, not sleeping this time, his gaze fixed on the dark beyond the window.
Harry chewed his chocolate, thinking that this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts class finally had a competent teacher.