"Merlin's saggy ballsack, Harry," George exclaims.

"George!" Molly scolds him, but George ignores her completely, staring with Fred at Harry's box of letters. Harry doesn't even know where to start with it - he feels even better than he had at Christmas last year, with so many letters to reply to, different hand-writing his name on the envelopes and different sorts of twine tying the notes together.

"How do you organize it all?" Fred asks, looking horrified at all the post.

"I just keep it in a box at the moment," Harry admits, "I'm going to buy some files when I go into Diagon Alley this week. Is it still alright if I go with the Grangers on Friday, Mrs Weasley?"

"Oh, of course, dear," Mrs Weasley says, obviously trying not to show her relief at not leading Harry around Diagon Alley as well as everyone else. "And the rest of us will go on Sunday." Harry smiles at her, and he walks into the living room, sitting down on the floor with some parchment, his quills and some ink.

He starts with the tied notes, first. Two are from Hagrid asking how his summer's going, and the rest are just from people in his year. He picks out the three parcels, then: one of them is from Honeydukes for a packet of sugar quills he'd forgotten he'd ordered, and another is a new Slytherin scarf. The third one isn't something he'd ordered, though - it's a small, wooden box, and inside is a set of training snitches, nestled with a broom-polishing kit and a set of Seeker's gloves. Harry frowns at the contents, and then he picks out the letter attached.

Dear Mr Potter,

You do not know us, but you do know our daughters, Padma
and Parvati. Padma shared with us the details of what happened
at Hogwarts during the first Quidditch match of the season. We
have been informed as to how the stand began to crumble beneath
you, and how you pushed her back, focusing on getting her to safety
before you focused on yourself.

We were obviously grateful and relieved, and when Padma returned
from Hogwarts this year and we went to Diagon Alley for her and
Parvati's school things, she expressed the desire to buy something
for you as a token of her gratitude.

Enclosed is a training Seeker's set - Parvati tells us you're quite the
devil on a broom, Mr Potter, and while you may not wish to join your
house team (so our daughters hope, lest you win Slytherin the cup),
we hope you might enjoy their use.

Yours truly,
Ajit & Rachna Patil

Harry stares down at the page, utterly taken aback, and Percy comes into the room, peering down at him.

"What's wrong?" Harry wordlessly hands him the letter, and as Percy holds the parchment in his hands, reading through the neatly looping lines of script, Harry touches the three snitches in the box. One is half regulation size, and the other gets faster the closer the seeker gets to catching it. The third is a normal snitch, just like you'd use in a real Quidditch match.

"Oh, that's nice of them," Percy says, handing the letter back. "Have you got a broom?" he asks, pointing to the polishing kit, and Harry shakes his head.

"I thought I might get one this year," Percy nods his head approvingly, and he sits down on the sofa, picking up a book and making no more effort as to conversation. Harry sets the Patils' letter aside to reply to first, and then he begins to read through the letters in envelopes. He's distracted as he goes, though, and he keeps glancing back to the Seeker's kit, overwhelmed with gratitude.

He can't believe they'd been so nice.

---

"Now, just drop in the Floo powder and step into the flames. Make sure you speak clearly now, Harry," Mr Weasley coaches him. "We don't want you ending up in the French quarter of Dublin."

"Is that likely to happen?"

"Probably not, probably not-" Mr Weasley says hurriedly, and Harry shakes his head, throwing down the Floo powder before stepping into the green flames.

"The Leaky Cauldron!" Harry says loudly, and he keeps his elbows in just as Mr Weasley had told him, closing his eyes tightly until he stumbles out of the fireplace. He falls on the floor without any grace at all, his glasses flying over the tile, and he groans as Tom Darcy, the barman, picks them up.

"First time in the Floo, eh, Harry?" he asks lightly, and Harry nods his head, pulling himself up and taking his glasses back. "You'll get better at it. Want me to take a look at that graze?" Harry glances at his right arm, which he'd dragged over the floor on his way down, and sighs.

"Yeah, please, Tom," he says, and when the Grangers come into the pub, Harry is sat at the bar, holding his arm out and letting Tom rub a healing balm that knits the torn skin together, leaving it warm to the touch but intact.

"What did you do?" Hermione asks, concern obvious.

"Oh, he just fell getting out of the Floo, lass," Tom says, "Happens all the time." Tom assures her, and Harry smiles at him, getting down from the stool. "Have a good time."

"Thanks, Tom," Harry says, and with the Grangers, they move into Diagon Alley. They go to Gringotts first, and Harry gets some money out of his vault while the Grangers exchange some Muggle notes for Galleons. Rather than returning straight to the high street, the Grangers let Harry and Hermione lead them into some of the side streets, so they can go through some of the secondhand shops.

Harry is careful to read over the signs over the doors before they go into any of them: he doesn't want to end up going in a shop full of dark magic implements, but for the most part he's aware those shops are in Knockturn Alley, which they're careful to avoid.

Harry and Hermione spends much of the morning exploring the shops, picking up cheap books in their scores, and Harry even finds a few leather photo albums for his pictures. "Oh, Harry, look!" Hermione says at around eleven o'clock. Harry glances away from the enchanted letter box he'd been musing over, coming over. On the shelf, slightly battered but still in their boxes, are three complete sets of Gilderoy Lockhart's complete works.

"Excuse me," Hermione calls across the room, where a pretty older woman, Dawn, is talking with Mr and Mrs Granger, "How much are these?"

"4 knuts apiece," she replies easily, "10 for the three sets together."

"One for you, one for me, one as a present for Ginny?" Harry asks, and Hermione vigorously nods her head, picking up the three boxes and lugging them - not with too much ease - to the glass cashier desk. Harry peers at the letter box a few moments more, and then he picks it up. He sets it on the table, too, but then he stops short.

"Sorry," he asks, "Is that a Cleansweep Six?"

"Yeah," Dawn says, nodding her head and glancing at the broom for a moment before she picks it up, passing it over the desk for Harry to have a look at. "Still works just fine, of course - it's just a bit outdated." This seems to go completely over the Grangers' head, but Harry will explain it later, over lunch. The Cleansweep range is reliable, and even though it's probably a bit of money to spend, it is an investment.

Besides, it's not like he can spend all of his school money on the Nimbus 2001 he'd seen in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"How much?" Harry asks, and Dawn smiles at him. Harry smiles right back.

---

"Merlin's beard," Harry says as he stops outside of Flourish and Blotts as they exit, and Hermione glances at him quizzically, but he points at the sign tacked up to the inside of the glass, advertising Gilderoy Lockhart's book signing on Sunday.

"God," Hermione agrees, "7 Sickles for the whole set, and on sale. We got a really good deal."

"Not the price," Harry says impatiently, "He wrote me a letter."

"Lockhart did?" Hermione asks.

"Yeah. I didn't realize what his name was, to be honest - he has this big flowy signature, but it's that one," Harry says, jabbing his finger at the gold inked G. Lockhart signed on the portrait photo of Lockhart in the window.

"A famous author's writing you, Harry," Mr Weasley says, waggling his eyebrows, "You truly are reaching high places." Harry laughs, shaking his head, and he thinks about the letter Gilderoy Lockhart had sent him. Now he knows what the man's name is, he'll be able to reply.

The letter had been arrogant nonsense, of course, so he doesn't know if he wants to.