(Author's note: I am not a writer, just taking my first step into creating fanfiction. I heavily used ChatGPT, so if there's anything wrong or things I should add, inform me so I can fix it.)
The last morning of summer began with lists.
Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of the flat, catching on the neat stacks of parchment spread across the small dining table. Evelyn stood at the head of it like a general reviewing troop formations, quill in hand, her Grimoire resting closed but within immediate reach at her left. She had developed the habit over the past two months of keeping it close—on the table at meals, beside her chair in the evenings, within arm's reach when she worked. No one questioned it anymore. It had become as natural as her wand.
Harry leaned back in his chair, scanning the supply list upside down. "You've checked that three times already," he said. "We're not going to forget anything."
"That is not the point," Evelyn replied evenly, making a small notation beside Standard Size 2 Pewter Cauldron. "Preparation is not about likelihood. It is about elimination of uncertainty."
Harry grinned faintly. "You've been saying things like that all summer."
"And yet," she said without looking up, "we have not once needed to make an emergency purchase."
He couldn't argue with that. The past two months had run with a surprising smoothness. Mornings had been structured, afternoons productive, evenings calm. They had learned how to share space without friction, how to cook simple meals without setting anything on fire, and how to divide responsibilities without either of them feeling supervised. It hadn't felt like children pretending at independence. It had felt… functional.
Harry watched as Evelyn finally set the quill down and folded the parchment with precise alignment. "So that's it?" he asked. "Summer's officially over?"
"It concludes today," she said. "Tomorrow begins the transition." She rested her hand briefly on the cover of her Grimoire, fingers brushing the worn leather. "Year Two will not resemble Year One."
"That sounds ominous."
"It is realistic."
He stood, stretching. "Well, realistic or not, we still have to get to the Alley before it's completely packed."
Evelyn nodded once. "We will withdraw additional funds first. Your schooling vault. My guild vault."
Harry's expression shifted slightly, still faintly impressed despite having heard the explanation before. "It's still strange that you have your own vault."
"It is not strange," she corrected calmly. "It is contractual."
The Charms Guild had opened it after her third spell publication, establishing a royalty account under her name. She had reviewed the documentation twice before signing. The arrangement ensured that every licensed use of her spells credited her directly. It was practical. It was structured. It was proof that her work existed beyond the classroom.
Harry picked up his glasses from the table and slid them on. "You're not nervous?" he asked. "About going back?"
Evelyn considered the question carefully before answering. "I am prepared," she said at last. "Nervousness is inefficient."
He laughed under his breath. "You've definitely changed this summer."
"So have you."
He hesitated at that, then shrugged lightly. "Yeah. I suppose I have."
There was no awkwardness in the admission. Living together had reshaped both of them in small, steady ways. Harry had grown more deliberate. Evelyn had grown slightly more flexible. The house had settled around them as if it had always expected two occupants instead of one.
Evelyn slipped her Grimoire into her satchel and fastened the clasp. "We leave in five minutes," she said. "Bring the final list."
Harry grabbed it from the table, scanning it once more out of habit. "If Ron had known we were this organized," he said thoughtfully, "he probably wouldn't have spent half the summer planning to rescue me."
Evelyn paused at the door. "He was planning what?"
Harry blinked. "Oh. I forgot to mention. Hermione hinted at it in her last letter. Apparently Ron had some grand idea about coming to get me if I didn't reply."
Evelyn's expression did not change, but there was the faintest flicker of amusement in her eyes. "Then we arrived ahead of schedule."
"Yeah," Harry said, opening the door. "You did."
They stepped out into the late-summer air together, the door locking neatly behind them. The season had ended not with chaos or confinement, but with structure and choice. Whatever Year Two held, they would enter it not as children waiting for rescue, but as students returning prepared.
Diagon Alley was already swelling with families by the time Evelyn and Harry stepped through the Leaky Cauldron and into the brick passage beyond. The familiar archway opened onto a rush of sound—owl cages clattering, cauldrons scraping over cobblestones, children darting between storefronts while exasperated parents called after them. The air smelled faintly of parchment, polished wood, and something sugary drifting from further up the lane.
Harry adjusted his glasses and gave a low whistle. "It's worse than last year."
"It is peak season," Evelyn replied, scanning the movement with measured calm. "Crowds are predictable. We proceed directly to the bank first."
Harry followed her through the current of people toward the white marble façade of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. The building gleamed in the sun, its towering doors already open to admit a steady stream of witches and wizards. Goblins stood at their high desks inside, quills moving rapidly across long sheets of parchment as they processed withdrawals and vault requests with sharp, efficient precision.
Harry leaned closer as they stepped inside. "Still makes me nervous," he admitted quietly.
"Institutions are designed to appear imposing," Evelyn said evenly. "It discourages foolishness."
They approached separate counters. Harry gave his name first, voice steady but still carrying that faint note of awe whenever he entered the bank. The goblin behind the desk examined him with sharp, intelligent eyes before nodding and summoning the key to the Potter schooling vault.
When Evelyn stepped forward to the adjacent counter and stated her name, the goblin's gaze sharpened slightly. "Miss Carmichael," he said, tone clipped but respectful. "Royalty account. Charms Guild registry."
"Yes," Evelyn replied. "Withdrawal for academic supply procurement."
The goblin inclined his head and retrieved a different key—smaller, etched with the Guild's insignia. Harry glanced sideways, still not entirely used to the fact that her vault existed because of her work rather than inheritance.
"You really don't think that's strange?" he asked under his breath as they were escorted toward the carts.
"It is structured compensation," she replied calmly. "The Guild publishes a spell; they remit payment. That is the purpose of contracts."
They descended separately into the depths of the bank, the cart tracks rattling sharply beneath them. Harry's stop came first. He stepped out into the familiar stone chamber of the Potter vault, gold piled in measured stacks, silver and bronze sorted in neat columns. He withdrew a careful portion—enough for books, robes, supplies, and emergency reserves—then locked the vault again with deliberate care.
Evelyn's vault lay further along a branching corridor, smaller but impeccably arranged. Instead of inherited hoards, it held tidy trays of coin deposited at regular intervals. There was something quietly satisfying about its orderliness. She withdrew a measured amount as well, calculating anticipated expenses mentally before sealing the vault once more.
When they reemerged into the bright marble hall upstairs, Harry looked faintly thoughtful. "You earned yours," he said after a moment.
Evelyn fastened her coin pouch securely inside her satchel beside her Grimoire. "And you did not choose yours," she answered. "Circumstance is not merit."
He considered that, then gave a small shrug. "Still feels odd."
"It should," she said. "It prevents complacency."
They stepped back out into Diagon Alley, coin secured, lists reviewed, and purpose clear. The real rush of shopping still lay ahead, and somewhere beyond the crowd waited their friends, their books, and whatever complications Year Two intended to introduce.
Harry glanced at her. "Books next?"
"Yes," Evelyn said. "Efficiency first."
They merged into the current of students and families moving toward the bookshop, unaware that by the end of the morning, the Alley would feel far less orderly than it did now.
They had barely made it halfway down the Alley when a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Harry!"
Harry turned instinctively, and the grin that spread across his face was immediate. Ron was pushing through the crowd, red hair unmistakable even in the thickest cluster of robes. Hermione followed close behind him, her expression bright and relieved, while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley navigated the slower pace of younger children and stacked supply bags behind them. Fred and George lingered slightly back, whispering to one another with identical smirks. Percy walked stiffly at their side, arms full of books and importance. Ginny hovered near her mother, clutching her empty cauldron with shy anticipation.
"Blimey, you're actually here," Ron said, skidding to a stop in front of Harry. "We thought—well, I thought—"
"That I'd vanished forever?" Harry asked lightly.
"That we'd have to come get you," Ron corrected, lowering his voice. "I had a whole plan, you know."
Evelyn arched an eyebrow. "A structured plan?"
Ron hesitated. "Well. A plan."
Hermione folded her arms but couldn't suppress her smile. "It involved several highly impractical elements."
"It was brilliant," Ron insisted. "We were going to rescue you. Properly."
Harry glanced at Evelyn with quiet amusement. "She beat you to it."
Ron stared. "Yeah, well, that's the annoying part, isn't it?" He shifted his weight, then added with reluctant admiration, "You got there first."
Mrs. Weasley stepped forward before the conversation could escalate into details. She pulled Harry into a warm hug that left him blinking in surprise, then turned her attention to Evelyn with a more measured look. "It's good to see you both safe," she said, though there was an unmistakable note of concern beneath her kindness. "We were rather worried."
"We were stable," Evelyn replied calmly. "There was no cause for alarm."
Mrs. Weasley's lips pressed together gently. "You're twelve," she said, not unkindly. "Both of you. Twelve-year-olds shouldn't be managing a household alone."
Harry shifted, but Evelyn answered first. "The arrangement has been functional for two months," she said. "All necessities were met. Finances secured. Correspondence maintained. There were no incidents."
Fred snorted quietly. "Sounds more organized than our place."
"Fred," Mrs. Weasley warned.
Mr. Weasley, meanwhile, studied Evelyn with quiet curiosity. "And you're quite certain you had everything you needed?" he asked, tone thoughtful rather than accusatory.
"Yes, sir," Evelyn said evenly. "We maintained structure. It was efficient."
Harry glanced between them. "It was fine, Mrs. Weasley. Really. Better than fine."
There was a pause. Mrs. Weasley seemed to weigh the protest, her expression softening slightly as she took in Harry's steady posture and Evelyn's composed stance. Whatever she had expected to see—frazzled children or reckless independence—wasn't present.
Hermione stepped forward, saving the moment from becoming too heavy. "Evelyn, I received your letter about the Guild royalties," she said eagerly. "Three spells now? That's extraordinary."
A few heads nearby turned at that. Evelyn adjusted her satchel subtly, her hand resting protectively over the outline of her Grimoire beneath the flap. "The publications were approved earlier this summer," she said. "The royalties are contractual."
Ron blinked. "You're getting paid for spells?"
"That is how publication functions," she replied.
George leaned toward Fred. "We're in the wrong business."
Ginny looked up at Evelyn with open curiosity, though she said nothing. Percy cleared his throat importantly, as if considering whether Guild publications required official documentation.
Mrs. Weasley finally exhaled. "Well," she said, smoothing Ginny's hair, "you're both here now. That's what matters. Let's get these books before the shop becomes impossible."
"Too late for that," Ron muttered, eyeing the swelling crowd outside the bookstore.
Harry glanced at Evelyn. She gave a small nod, posture straight, composure intact. The concern had been aired. The questions had been asked. And while Mrs. Weasley might not fully approve, she had not forbidden the arrangement either. That, for now, was sufficient.
"Books first," Evelyn said quietly.
Together, the group turned toward the crowded entrance of Flourish and Blotts, unaware that within the next hour, the Alley would erupt into spectacle, scuffle, and something far more consequential slipping silently into a small girl's cauldron.
The crowd outside Flourish and Blotts was thicker than expected, stretching in a loosely contained line down the cobbled street. A large, glittering banner hung above the entrance:
GILDEROY LOCKHART
Order of Merlin, Third Class
Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League
Five-Time Winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award
Hermione's eyes lit immediately. "He's here," she breathed.
Ron groaned. "Brilliant."
Harry adjusted his glasses, squinting at the display window stacked entirely with the same set of glossy, self-portraited covers. "All of those are on our list, aren't they?"
"Yes," Hermione said reverently.
Evelyn stepped inside with measured calm, the noise amplifying the moment the door shut behind them. The shop was packed wall to wall with witches clutching copies of Magical Me and Break with a Banshee. Flashing cameras popped near the back, where a golden-haired wizard sat signing books with an exaggerated flourish.
Gilderoy Lockhart looked exactly as advertised—robes of forget-me-not blue, dazzling smile fixed in place, hand moving dramatically across parchment.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" he called, voice amplified magically above the din. "Thank you for your patience! Autographs for all!"
Mrs. Weasley shepherded Ginny and the others toward the queue, while Mr. Weasley began collecting the required textbooks from a side shelf. Evelyn remained close to Harry, one hand steady on the strap of her satchel, her Grimoire pressed flat against her side beneath it.
It happened quickly.
Lockhart's eyes lifted from his signing table and landed on Harry. His smile sharpened instantly. "Well, well, well," he boomed. "Is that not the famous Harry Potter?"
The crowd shifted like iron filings toward a magnet. Cameras swung around. Before Harry could retreat, Lockhart had swept forward, grasped his arm, and pulled him toward the signing table amid flashes of light.
"Let's give them what they want!" Lockhart declared, raising Harry's hand high. "Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived!"
Applause rippled through the shop. Harry blinked in stunned discomfort.
Then Lockhart's bright gaze shifted slightly.
"And," he continued grandly, "if I am not mistaken… Miss Evelyn Carmichael?"
Evelyn felt the shift of attention before she moved. She stepped forward with deliberate calm. "Yes," she said simply.
The cameras pivoted again.
Lockhart clasped his hands together theatrically. "The youngest spellweaver to have three charms published by the Guild! Extraordinary talent! A rising star!"
A murmur surged through the room. Hermione looked ecstatic. Ron looked stunned. Fred and George exchanged identical expressions of intrigue.
Lockhart seized Evelyn's free hand and positioned her beside Harry. "What a moment! Youth, brilliance, and inspiration gathered in one place!"
Evelyn maintained composure, though her grip tightened almost imperceptibly on her satchel. She did not smile broadly, but inclined her head politely, allowing the flashes to continue without protest.
Harry leaned slightly toward her and muttered, "We should charge him."
"That would require negotiation leverage," she replied under her breath.
Lockhart pressed a full set of his books into Harry's arms, then stacked another into Evelyn's before either of them could object. "A complimentary set, of course!" he declared. "The next generation must read my work closely!"
Fred whispered to George, "Bet she already has."
"Annotated," George added.
Eventually, Mrs. Weasley extricated them from the spectacle long enough to gather the rest of their required texts. The Lockhart volumes were heavy and excessive, but unavoidable. Hermione clutched hers as though they were rare treasures.
As the crowd began to disperse slightly, another presence entered the shop—cooler, sharper. Conversations dipped in volume near the doorway.
Lucius Malfoy stepped inside with effortless disdain, pale hair gleaming, gloved hand resting lightly on his cane. Beside him stood Draco Malfoy, expression twisted into a smirk the moment he spotted Harry.
"Well," Lucius said softly, surveying the chaotic display of Lockhart posters and scattered books. "Celebrity seems contagious this season."
Draco's eyes flicked to Evelyn's stack of books and the satchel at her side. "Still carrying that little notebook everywhere?" he drawled.
"It is not little," Evelyn replied evenly.
Lucius's gaze sharpened slightly at that. "Ah. The published prodigy," he said, tone smooth as polished stone. "How industrious."
Mr. Weasley stiffened immediately at the sound of his voice. Mrs. Weasley's posture changed as well—protective, braced.
The air shifted. The spectacle of publicity dissolved into something tighter, more volatile.
And just beneath the hum of tension, unnoticed by anyone—not by Harry, not by Hermione, not by Evelyn holding her Grimoire firmly at her side—the first thread of the coming year waited quietly to be set in motion.
The shift in the room was immediate and unmistakable. Where moments before there had been excited chatter and camera flashes, now there was a tightening silence, as though the very air had decided to hold its breath.
Lucius Malfoy surveyed the scene with thinly veiled disdain, his pale gaze sweeping over the stacks of Lockhart books, the Weasley children, and finally settling on Harry.
"Enjoying the attention, Potter?" he asked smoothly.
Harry straightened slightly. "Not particularly."
Draco gave a soft, mocking laugh. "Didn't look that way from the stage."
Evelyn shifted half a step closer to Harry without appearing to do so deliberately. Her hand remained firmly around the strap of her satchel, the outline of her Grimoire steady against her side. She did not rise to Draco's bait.
Lucius's eyes flicked toward her. "Miss Carmichael," he said lightly. "I hear congratulations are in order. Three published charms at your age. Most ambitious."
"It is standard Guild procedure," Evelyn replied, her tone calm and even. "Submissions are reviewed on merit."
"Merit," Lucius repeated, faint amusement threading through the word. "Of course."
Mr. Weasley stepped forward then, placing himself subtly between the children and Lucius. "Is there a problem, Malfoy?"
Lucius's smile sharpened. "On the contrary. I am merely observing the company my son must keep this term. Public spectacles and… unconventional domestic arrangements." His gaze moved pointedly between Harry and Evelyn. "Two children maintaining a household alone. The Ministry does enjoy its oversights."
Mrs. Weasley's expression hardened. "They are perfectly capable."
"Are they?" Lucius asked softly. "Capability and propriety are not identical concepts."
Arthur Weasley's jaw tightened. "I would be careful what you imply."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Father, honestly. Look at them." He gestured lazily toward Harry and Evelyn. "Potter can't even manage his own fame without being rescued. And she"—his eyes narrowed slightly—"carries her little spellbook like it makes her important."
"It is not about importance," Evelyn said calmly. "It is about documentation."
Harry shot her a sideways glance, clearly fighting the urge to grin at her choice of phrasing.
Lucius's expression cooled further. "Documentation," he repeated. "Yes. One never knows when one's work may be… scrutinized."
Arthur stepped forward fully now. "That's enough."
Lucius turned his attention to him with deliberate slowness. "Still tinkering with Muggle artifacts, Arthur? Or have you found more dignified pursuits?"
"At least my pursuits are honest," Arthur shot back.
The tension snapped.
Books toppled as Arthur lunged forward, shoving Lucius hard into a display shelf. Lockhart shrieked in outrage somewhere behind them. Draco staggered back, knocking into a stack of cauldrons. Mrs. Weasley cried out sharply, trying to reach Arthur while Fred and George shouted encouragement that did not help matters.
"Arthur!" she called. "Arthur, stop it!"
Lucius shoved back with equal force, his cane clattering to the floor as both men grappled. Shelves rattled violently. A rain of parchment and glossy Lockhart portraits cascaded to the ground.
Before the altercation could spiral further, a massive hand seized each man by the collar and hauled them apart with effortless strength.
Rubeus Hagrid stood between them, expression thunderous. "That'll do!" he boomed, holding Arthur and Lucius at arm's length like misbehaving schoolboys. "Not in a shop full o' kids!"
Arthur was flushed and furious. Lucius looked coldly livid, smoothing his robes with stiff precision once Hagrid released him.
During the chaos, Lucius stooped to gather a handful of Ginny's fallen textbooks from the floor. His movements were smooth, controlled. He placed them back into her battered second-hand cauldron with a faint curl of disdain at their worn edges.
"Do be careful," he murmured silkily to Mrs. Weasley as he straightened. "One never knows what one might find in a Weasley girl's possessions."
He stepped back, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. No one noticed the additional weight now resting quietly at the bottom of Ginny's cauldron. Not Harry, distracted by Arthur's anger. Not Hermione, still indignant. Not Mrs. Weasley, scolding.
And not Evelyn, who was watching Lucius's expression rather than his hands.
Draco shot Harry one last venomous look before following his father toward the door. "See you at school," he muttered.
Lucius paused at the threshold, meeting Evelyn's eyes briefly. There was something calculating there—cool, appraising—but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Then he turned and disappeared into the Alley.
The shop was left in disarray. Lockhart fluttered uselessly among fallen books, loudly insisting that autographed copies were now collector's items.
Hagrid crossed his arms. "Blimey," he muttered. "First day o' term's not even started."
Evelyn slowly exhaled, tension easing from her shoulders. She adjusted her satchel, ensuring her Grimoire was still secure. It was.
Harry leaned toward her quietly. "You okay?"
"Yes," she said. "You?"
"Yeah." He glanced toward the door where the Malfoys had exited. "He hates us."
Evelyn's gaze lingered there a moment longer. "Hatred implies emotion," she said thoughtfully. "That was strategy."
Harry frowned slightly, but before he could ask what she meant, Mrs. Weasley was ushering them toward the exit to salvage what remained of the afternoon.
The Alley outside was still bright, still loud, still crowded—but something had shifted beneath it, something subtle and unseen.
And somewhere, at the bottom of a small girl's cauldron, the coming year had already begun.
The walk out of Flourish and Blotts was louder than the fight itself.
Mrs. Weasley's voice carried over the cobblestones as she marched ahead of them, Ginny's cauldron clanking lightly at her side. "Honestly, Arthur! In the middle of a bookshop!"
Arthur, still flushed but no longer furious, adjusted his glasses sheepishly. "He insulted you, Molly."
"And that gives you permission to wrestle him into a shelf?"
Fred leaned toward George. "Worth it."
"Completely," George agreed.
"Not helping," Percy muttered, clutching his stack of books like they might file a formal complaint.
Harry walked beside Ron, both of them replaying the spectacle in low, animated tones. Hermione followed, indignant on principle but secretly energized by the drama. Ginny kept close to her mother, quiet and thoughtful, one hand occasionally brushing the rim of her cauldron as if steadying it.
Evelyn remained slightly apart from the noise, her posture composed, her satchel secure at her side. Her fingers brushed the leather edge of her Grimoire once, confirming its presence by instinct more than doubt.
Mr. Weasley slowed his pace just enough to walk alongside her. "You handled that well," he said quietly.
"There was no advantage in escalation," Evelyn replied.
He studied her for a moment. "You're very deliberate."
"Yes, sir."
A faint smile tugged at his expression. "That can be useful. Just remember—sometimes people aren't puzzles to solve. Sometimes they're simply unpleasant."
"I am aware," she said evenly. "But unpleasantness often precedes intent."
Arthur hummed thoughtfully at that, then moved forward to rejoin his wife before she could begin a second lecture.
Harry fell into step beside Evelyn. "You were watching him," he said under his breath.
"Lucius Malfoy?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"Yes."
"Why?"
She considered her answer. "Because he was not angry."
Harry frowned slightly. "He looked angry."
"He was controlled," she corrected. "That is different."
Ron, overhearing, snorted. "He's always like that. Thinks he's better than everyone."
"Arrogance is not the same as intention," Evelyn said softly.
Hermione gave her a curious look but didn't press further. The group had slowed near the edge of the Alley where families were beginning to disperse. Purchases had been made. Tempers had cooled. The spectacle was already becoming rumor.
Mrs. Weasley turned to Harry and Evelyn once more, her expression gentler now. "You'll both be at King's Cross on the first, yes?"
"Of course," Harry said.
"We'll meet you there," she added firmly, though it sounded less like instruction and more like reassurance. Her gaze lingered a fraction longer on Evelyn. "And if you need anything before then…"
"We are sufficiently provisioned," Evelyn said calmly. Then, after a beat, "But thank you."
It was not effusive. It was not defensive. It was simply precise.
Mrs. Weasley nodded once, accepting the answer even if she did not entirely approve of the arrangement.
Goodbyes followed—quick, bright, filled with anticipation for the train ride and the return to school. Ron promised to save them seats. Hermione reminded them twice about reviewing the second-year reading list. Fred and George made vague threats about "experimental fireworks." Percy corrected their grammar.
When the Weasleys finally disappeared into the crowd, Diagon Alley felt oddly quieter.
Harry exhaled. "That was… a lot."
"Yes," Evelyn agreed.
He adjusted the weight of his book bag. "You really think Malfoy was planning something?"
"I think," she said carefully, "that he rarely does anything without purpose."
Harry looked unconvinced but thoughtful. "Well. Whatever it is, we'll deal with it."
Evelyn's gaze drifted briefly back toward the direction Lucius had gone, then toward the small knot of red hair vanishing into the opposite crowd. Everything appeared ordinary again—families shopping, owls hooting, the late-summer sun reflecting off polished windows.
Order restored.
But she had learned something over the past year.
Surface calm did not guarantee internal stability.
She adjusted the strap of her satchel and turned toward the Leaky Cauldron. "We return home," she said. "Tomorrow begins transition."
Harry smiled faintly. "You and your transitions."
"It is simply a matter of preparation."
They walked back together through the archway, purchases secured, summer concluded.
Behind them, the Alley carried on as if nothing had shifted.
And somewhere, unnoticed in the bottom of a second-hand cauldron, the first thread of the coming year waited patiently to be pulled.
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