The clothing, the storefronts, the wares on the street, all screamed eighteenth century – a far cry from what he was used to. Even his infrequent jaunts to Salem or one of the other American magical districts or most of the dozens of others around the world, were centuries in advance of what he was seeing. And when you added in what he was used to in the non-magical world, Harry was almost feeling culture shock.
As he walked along, his shoulder bumping Hermione's, he stared at the people around him. Their clothing was so old-fashioned.
His staring, though, caused others to notice him and stare back.
And then it happened. A stray breeze caught under his hood and it flared wide. At exactly the wrong moment.
"It's him! The Man-Who-Conquered! Harry Potter!" one man cried, his finger pointing straight at Harry, his eyes huge as he stared.
That one cry was enough to have everyone within earshot spinning in place, eyes searching before locking on to him. Eyes flicked firstly to his forehead where the thin white scar of his lightning bolt could still vaguely be seen in the right light, before switching to Hermione and then back again. Hermione's presence by his side seemed to be all the confirmation that they needed.
Within seconds, it seemed that half of the population of the Alley had surrounded them, some appearing so fast that they might as well have apparated.
"The Man-Who-Conquered!"
"Mister Potter, welcome back! Welcome back1"
"Where've you been?"
"The-Boy-Who-Lived!"
"Are you back for good?"
"Can you sign this?"
"Are you two together?"
"What have you been doing?"
"Do you have a girlfriend? Wife? Children?"
Harry was sorely tempted to use a banishing charm or at least a silencing charm on the crowd that had gathered around, pressing closer and closer as more and more joined them. Questions peppered him, the quality and quantity of them telling him that reporters had arrived.
Grabbing Hermione's hand so that he didn't' lose her, Harry began pushing through the crowd, excusing himself, it seemed, half a dozen times every metre that they were able to move. The bright garish orange of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes shone as a beacon of hope and sanctuary, a haven that Harry and Hermione worked towards.
"If you just say something to them, maybe they'll let us through," Hermione panted.
Deciding that she may be right, Harry stopped and turned to where the majority of the crowd stood behind them and flicked his hood back.
"It's nice to see you all again," he began his impromptu speech. "And it's good to be back in Britain. At the moment, I haven't decided how long I'll be staying for or what I'll be doing while I'm here. Well, other than catching up with friends and family. Hermione's told me about the rumours of my travels that have circulated here over the years and, from what I've heard, there were quite a number that were correct in some of the places that I've visited. I've enjoyed my time away; I've learnt a lot and even made some new friends. Right now, though, I'm off to visit one of my old friends, so, if you'll excuse me?"
He knew that it was pretty pathetic as far as speeches went and if Tony ever heard it, he'd never hear the end of it, but for what it was, it was good enough. O at least, it served its purpose and had some of the crowd backing off enough to allow the two of them to quickly reach the door of WWW without too much trouble at all.
ooo00ooo
"Pathetic!" the same platinum blonde-haired man that had incinerated his copy of The Daily Prophet that very morning stated. "Prince Potter abandons them all for years and as soon as he turns up again, they're all over him again."
"Sheep," his companion replied. "Crying out for real leadership."
"Hmph," the blonde snorted. "They had it and either killed them or left them to rot in Azkaban."
"One of these days …" the third of them said, a statement that the other two nodded to before all three turned away in disgust from the sight before them.
ooo00ooo
Where one would expect the sound of a bell announcing someone entering a shop, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes would never have something so plebeian. Instead, when Harry and Hermione rushed through the door, a great belch reverberated above them.
Harry looked up in surprise but, seeing the look of revulsion on Hermione's face, he found himself beginning to chuckle.
"It's random," Hermione stated, "and that's not one that I've heard before."
"You've obviously not been in here enough then, Miss Granger. I don't think you've heard the full range of fart sounds either."
"George!" Harry smiled, leaping forward to give the man in the horrid fluorescent orange and purple jacket a brief, manly hug.
"Thank goodness," Hermione muttered behind him, causing Harry to laugh even more.
"Good to see you, Harrikins. Heard you were in town," George said.
"You and everyone else in the magical Britain," Harry said bitterly.
Even here, Harry's presence was garnering a fair bit of attention as the few customers that were getting an early dose of their pranking mayhem needs took note of who had arrived and had begun drifting closer.
"Come on out the back," George waved, "and we can have a bit of a chat in private."
Harry nodded eagerly before following his host and partner.
In a lot of ways, Harry noted as they weaved through the shelves, WWW hadn't changed all that much. Every shelf was still filled with brightly coloured boxes and tins and bags. Over in the corner was a hideously pink section, obviously aimed at the young witch. A soft trilling to his left indicated where the pigmy puffs lived. And every now and then, a firework whizzed by, multicoloured sparks flying behind it.
.
.
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