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It was a warm sunny Saturday. Diagon Alley was packed full, particularly on the weekends, as all manner of witches and wizards passed though to buy their magical goods. Some haggled over prices - 'This was 6 sickles last week, how is it 9 now!?' one particularly red-faced witch shouted outside of a magical ingredients shop. A wizard with a long, drooping moustache was peering over a set of scales weighing Dragon Manure - 'And you're sure you haven't charmed this to be in your favour?' he asked with scepticism, one end of his moustache dropping on top of the scales leaving that owner exasperated and the tip of his moustache a little darkened. There was one wizard though that wasn't haggling, or screaming, or shouting and it was Harry Potter, who just as he's done every day, stood outside of Quidditch's Quality Supplies staring at the latest model of broom.
"If you keep staring at it I'm going to have to charge you, Mr. Potter!"
Harry didn't look to see where the voice came from, he knew it already. It had been the same one trying to talk him into buying it since he first looked two weeks ago. It was Quentin Quaffpuff, owner of the shop. He was a rather thin man in purple robes with a gold lining, polishing a snitch with a rag while standing in the doorway. "Every day now you stop, you stare, you don't buy."
Harry pointed at the tail of it. "I notice something new every time. Do the bristles trim themselves?"
"Of course it does!" Quentin said, puffing out his chest as if he made the broom himself. "This is top of the line, absolute quality. You'll save galleons on broomkit repairs if you buy one. I've told you this at least twenty times."
"Yeah but who's counting?" Harry grinned.
"I am," Quentin said, his charming voice losing a little enthusiasm. He stepped outside, the snitch with a looser-looking wing desperately trying to get away. "Look, Harry, I do payment plans. A few galleons now, a few next week, you understand?"
"I have a Nimbus 2000, Mr. Quaffpuff."
"But not a Firebolt. You're two generations behind now!" He says, stepping closer. "You said you play Quidditch at Hogwarts, Mr. Potter, and - you didn't hear it from me - maybe some teams at next years Quidditch World Cup will be flying these." He said as if it meant a big deal. Harry nodded like he understood what this meant.
"Maybe next time." He said, and began to walk away.
"You say that every time! Oh, no, wait!" He called out, and Harry turned around only to see a golden blur dart off into the sky.
He can't justify buying a really expensive new broom when he has his Nimbus he had told himself plenty of times. It hasn't let him down yet, so he can just stare and look longingly for now, despite trying to be forced into a debt. He began to wander through the markets and stalls, all who tried to offer him something - 'Getchur scales here! Come on, just 8 galleons!' Luckily Harry had met some nice shop owners here who steered him away from the markets. 'Out for a quick sickle or two, if you get my meanin'.' Terry Eeylops once told him, the owner of Eeylops Owl Emporium Harry visited sometimes. He wagged a dirty finger in his face. 'They'll sell you some old beetle eyes and before you know it, you're covered in boils in St. Mungo's!' so Harry has steered clear since. He was going to head back to the Leaky Cauldron for a cool drink when a sudden, high-pitched voice shouted.
"Harry! Harry, is that you?"
He turned around and there, hair twice the size and carrying a stack of books that almost covered her face was Hermione Granger, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Granger behind her with their own stacks of parchment and quills and potion ingredients, which Mrs. Granger held at a distance like they were about to explode. It wasn't difficult to see the family resemblance as Mr. Granger had bushy, brown hair, though greying at the temples, and Mrs. Granger although having long blonde hair had the piercing brown eyes Harry had come to know the past two years. They seemed a bit pale in the face, though.
"Oh it is you!" She said, rushing towards him, the stack of books teetering side to side. "I didn't expect to see you here. Are you buying your school supplies too? It's terribly busy, I don't like it." She says.
"That's weekends for you." Harry said surprised. He closed the gap and grabbed half the books from her pile to carry, grateful to see a friendly face from Hogwarts.
"Oh, thanks." Hermione said relieved, her arms were starting to feel like jelly. "What on Earth are you doing here?"
"Is that Harry, dear?" Mrs. Granger asks, dodging a wizard carrying a crate of hooting owls.
She had forgotten her parents were there and almost dropped the remaining books in surprise. She cleared her throat. "Mhm. Yes. Mum, dad, this is Harry a friend from school. You met him last year here, remember? At Flourish & Blotts?"
"Was that with the fella who had the too white teeth? He definitely had some work done, veneers I imagine." Mr. Granger said holding an armful of different coloured vials, trying to recall what it was like last year - terrifying, mostly, but that 'wizard' stood out in the most awkward of ways.
Hermione tried to nudge her dad in the side to not talk about dentistry here but Harry snorted. "Best description of him. Hi, Mr and Mrs. Granger. Nice to see you again."
"Yes, yes, you said that twenty times since, David. Harry, nice to see you again." Mrs. Granger adds with a warm smile, though she looked rather sickly as she held a large, brown paper bag that was wet at the bottom and drippping.