Vaughn turned to look behind him.
A stern-looking witch was stepping through a narrow archway, leading a well-dressed couple and a young girl into Diagon Alley. That archway, he knew, led to the Leaky Cauldron. He'd been there once before, though the hunchbacked barman, Tom, had refused to serve him any butterbeer.
He still wondered what it tasted like. Sweet? Buttery? Warm like cinnamon toast? He'd always been curious.
The couple trailing behind Professor McGonagall were clearly Muggles. Their clothes gave it away, a tidy business suit and a floral summer dress. Perfectly normal. Which, in a place like this, made them look almost alien.
Molly Weasley noticed them immediately and lit up.
"Professor McGonagall! Oh, thank Merlin, it's so good to see you!"
McGonagall's severe expression eased into something gentler. It wasn't surprising. With five of the Weasley children already at Hogwarts - and all in Gryffindor, she was well acquainted with the family.
"Mrs. Weasley," she said, walking over with the Muggle family. "Out buying school supplies, I presume?"
"Indeed," Molly replied. Then her eyes shifted to the girl. "Oh - and is this young lady a new student?"
"She is," said McGonagall. "This is Mr. and Mrs. Granger, and their daughter, Hermione Granger. She'll be starting Hogwarts this year."
Hermione smiled politely, though her eyes wandered toward Vaughn and Ron with undisguised curiosity.
McGonagall looked between them. "And this is Mrs. Weasley's son Vaughn, and…"
"Ron," he said, stepping half out from behind his mum.
"Ron Weasley," she finished with a nod. She gave Ron a polite smile, then turned her full attention back to Vaughn. A faint trace of amusement tugged at the edge of her mouth.
She leaned down and offered her hand. "Mr. Weasley. A pleasure."
"Likewise, Professor," Vaughn said, returning the handshake with polite confidence.
Then he glanced past her, toward the Grangers. The parents were stiff, clearly unsure how to behave here. But the girl? She stared openly, full of questions she hadn't yet found the courage to ask.
Vaughn raised one hand and snapped his fingers.
A faint spark of magic flowed outward. Instantly, Hermione's bushy hair floated up and began to drift in midair like seaweed underwater.
It was a tiny trick. No wand needed. Barely even magic. But to Muggles?
Mr. and Mrs. Granger gasped, covering their mouths in astonishment.
Hermione's eyes widened. She reached up, gently trying to press her floating curls back down, but they just bounced back up. She glanced at Vaughn again, eyes shining with delight. She looked like she was ready to chase him down and demand answers.
McGonagall cleared her throat. "Ahem. Mrs. Weasley, I still need to escort the Grangers to Gringotts. We'll leave you to your shopping."
She hesitated, then added with a glance at Vaughn, "And Mr. Weasley, please refrain from doing that sort of thing in front of Muggles. The Ministry frowns on it, strongly."
"Yes, Professor," Vaughn said, all innocence and charm.
As they left, Hermione kept looking back over her shoulder. Vaughn gave her a small wave and a bright smile.
She stared, dazed for a moment, then flushed and quickly turned away.
What a delightful little witch, Vaughn thought.
He watched her disappear into the crowd, only to be interrupted by Ron muttering beside him.
"Aren't we going to get our wands? There might be a queue at Ollivanders, you know."
Ron was practically vibrating with anticipation. As far as he was concerned, the Grangers were already ancient history.
Vaughn raised an eyebrow. "What's that look for?" Ron asked, rubbing his face nervously.
"Nothing," Vaughn replied, amused. "As long as you're happy."
Ron was very happy. It was his first time in Diagon Alley, and he was soaking in every sight like a sponge. Even as he nagged to visit Ollivanders, he came to a complete stop outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour.
Molly noticed and, probably wanting to keep him from losing his mind later when Vaughn started getting new robes and books, bought him a cone.
With the ice cream pacifying him, they continued shopping. Vaughn followed Molly from shop to shop, Madam Malkin's, Flourish and Blotts, and several others, collecting books, robes, and cauldrons. Thankfully, most of the shops now offered owl delivery, which saved them from having to lug everything around like packhorses.
"Books, robes, cauldron, scales... oh, and you're allowed a pet this year," Molly said, scanning the list. "There's the owl emporium and the Magical Menagerie just ahead. Vaughn, have you decided what sort of pet you want?"
Vaughn looked over at Ron, who was too busy licking his cone to pay attention. A mischievous thought struck him.
"I think I want a cat."
Ron froze. His expression went blank.
He could already see the future, his poor rat, Scabbers, being hunted across the Burrow by a sleek predator with whiskers.
But... a wand...
The promise of a brand-new wand whispered in his ear like temptation itself. That, and the taste of strawberry vanilla, helped him swallow his fear.
He said nothing.
The Magical Menagerie was the largest pet shop in Diagon Alley. Nearly every legal magical creature you could imagine was crammed inside.
A cheerful witch with enormous black-rimmed glasses greeted them as they walked in. When Vaughn said he was looking for a cat, she lit up and waved her wand.
A row of cages glided forward.
"Ah, a boy of taste! So many students go straight for owls, thinking only about utility. But a true companion? That's where a cat shines. Please look at this selection. Many of them have Kneazle blood, very clever little beasts!"
The cats clearly understood what was happening. Several leapt up, tails flicking, voices raised in hopeful meows.
One, however, stood out.
It was massive.
Where the other cats were dainty and curled up daintily in their cages, this one looked like it belonged in a forest. It was four feet long, twice the size of the others. Its fur was thick and glossy, a blend of deep orange and golden yellow, like glowing embers. It paced with a calm intensity, eyes fixed on Vaughn like it had already chosen him.
It pressed its squashed little face against the cage bars, and when Vaughn reached out, it tried to wedge its head through the gap.
"Oh, she's fond of you already!" the shopkeeper said with a gleam in her eye. "This one's a Maine Coon with Kneazle heritage, rare to find in Europe. Most are bred in the Americas."
Vaughn offered a finger through the bars. The cat gently wrapped a heavy paw around it, soft pads squishing his knuckles affectionately.
He was sold.
And the color of her fur, it reminded him of a drink he used to like back in his old life. Fruity, bright, tangy. Familiar and cheerful.
"I'll take her."
After paying, Vaughn left the shop with his new feline companion. She was heavy, at least fifteen pounds and her size made it difficult for a still-growing eleven-year-old to carry her without stumbling.
When they caught up to Ron, he stared at the enormous cat with a look of dread.
"That... that's a cat?"
"Of course," Vaughn said cheerfully. "Her name's Fruity. Fruity, go sniff Ron. See if you can smell the rat on him."
"Meow~"