When Sirius finally accepted that Harry could not abandon Dursleys to live at Grimmauld Place, he left from Privet Drive with the heavy resignation of a man forced to leave his most precious treasure in the hands of those who neither valued nor understood it.
However, in the days that followed his departure, Sirius's absence from Little Whinging did not an an absence from Harry's life. Quite the contrary, a steady stream of letters began arriving at Number Four Privet Drive with the persistence of sumr rain.
Faced with these frequent letters, the Dursleys were deeply displeased but didn't dare obstruct them. This fear, however, found its outlet in their treatnt of Harry.
If they could not stop the letters, they could at least make their displeasure known through the honored Dursley tradition of making Harry's life as unpleasant as possible. Their policy evolved from active cruelty to sothing more insidious—complete ignorance of his existence.
No longer was a place set for Harry at the dining table; his chair was removed completely, as if it had never existed. During conversations, they would speak around him and through him as if he were rely another piece of furniture—less useful than the television, less decorative than Aunt Petunia's cherished doilies.
Paradoxically, Harry found this treatnt not distressing but liberating. The Dursleys' willful blindness granted him a freedom he had never before experienced within Privet Drive. He could move through the house like a ghost, unobserved and unperceived upon, free to pursue his own interests without their constant disapproval and petty tyrannies.
However, one overheard conversation did manage to pierce through his newborn composure and plant a seed of nervousness in his mind.
Late one evening, as he passed by the partially open door of the sitting room, he caught fragnts of a heated discussion between Vernon and Petunia. Vernon wanted to throw him out, but Petunia disagreed.
Soon, the calendar pages turned with the progression of sumr, bringing them into the warm embrace of early July.
Half a month of vacation had passed in this strange new rhythm of isolation and freedom, and after allowing himself a brief period to adjust to his altered circumstances, Harry threw himself wholeheartedly into the demanding training regin that Adrian had made for him.
However, at Harry's request, the first magic he chose to learn was the Animagus transformation.
This decision, made in a mont of ambitious enthusiasm, had quickly turned itself to be perhaps the most tedious and psychologically challenging form of magic he had ever encountered.
The initial step alone, sothing that sounded unreliably simple when described in textbooks required holding a single mandrake leaf continuously in one's mouth for an entire lunar month, from one full moon to the next.
The leaf could never be swallowed, never be spat out, never be removed for any reason at all, or the entire process would need to begin again from the very beginning.
One Sunday morning, Harry arrived at Adrian's shop earlier than usual.
"Good morn... ing..." Harry spoke unclearly, his tongue clumsily pressed against the mandrake leaf, afraid he might accidentally swallow it, just like the previous three tis.
"Very good, Harry," Adrian put down his quill and looked up from a pile of orders from Diagon Alley's beauty potion shops. "Today is the tenth day. It seems you've finally mastered the technique."
Harry nodded slightly, not daring to make any large movents for fear of displacing the leaf.
He sowhat regretted choosing to learn this complex magic, but abandoning it now would be such a waste. Thinking about having to keep this wretched leaf in his mouth for another twenty days made him feel irritated. He truly couldn't understand how the first person to invent this magic had managed it.
Adrian noticed Harry's mood and comforted him. "Every successful Animagus has gone through this. I underwent this exact process myself, years ago. This is why so few people master this magic."
Harry's eyes brightened with sudden interest, the leaf temporarily forgotten in his curiosity. "Then... what form does your Animagus transformation take, Professor?"
Adrian smiled slightly. "That's a secret."
Harry felt sowhat disappointed at this response.
"If and when you do successfully master this magic," Adrian continued to remind him seriously, "I strongly recomnd maintaining absolute secrecy about your abilities. The knowledge of an unregistered Animagus form can be the difference between life and death in dangerous circumstances—it's a card you can only play once, and only if no one knows you possess it."
Harry absorbed this advice with the seriousness it deserved, and nodded.
At that mont, the shop's atmosphere was suddenly disrupted by the distinctive "pop" of house-elf Apparition.
Dobby appeared in the center of the workspace, his d eyes bright with excitent and his ears quivering with enthusiasm. In his small hands, he carried a wooden tray with what appeared to be golden, steaming at pies that filled the air with rich, savory aromas.
"Mr. Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby exclaid, his voice pitched high with delight. "Dobby heard that Harry Potter was visiting today and took the liberty of baking fresh beef pies! Dobby hopes Harry Potter will enjoy them!"
Harry stared at the mouth-watering pastries with the expression of a man facing the cruelest possible temptation.
The pies looked absolutely perfect—golden-brown crusts that promised flaky perfection, steam rising from small vents that hinted at rich, seasoned filling within.
At any other ti, he would have fallen upon them with grateful enthusiasm. But now, with the mandrake leaf requiring constant vigilance, even the simple act of eating had beco a complex negotiation between desire and magical necessity.
Mid-July arrived with the heat that often characterizes the English sumr's peak intensity.
The approaching full moon—still a week away—seed to hang over Harry's consciousness like a finish line that remained enticingly out of reach. Each day brought him closer to completing the first phase of his Animagus transformation, but also tested his resolve with increasing psychological pressure.
Dudley had beco extrely irritable lately, probably due to his diet, and since Vernon and Petunia had no way to deal with their precious son, the Dursley household had beco chaotic. Harry had no desire to stay there any longer than necessary.
Therefore, as soon as dawn broke, Harry ca to Adrian's place as usual.
He had, over the past weeks, gradually adapted to the constant presence of the mandrake leaf in his mouth. What had initially felt weird now seed almost natural, and his speech had improved to the point where casual conversation was possible, though still requiring careful attention to pronunciation.
At midday, after enjoying yet another of Dobby's culinary masterpieces, he had settled himself comfortably on the cushioned sofa near the shop's large front window. The afternoon sunlight stread through the glass with gentle warmth, creating the perfect environnt for relaxation.
Harry stretched out with the contentnt of soone who had found temporary refuge from the world's complications, allowing the golden light to shower him as he dozed in peaceful comfort.
"Knock knock!"
The sound shattered Harry's tranquil mont like a stone through glass. He jerked upright, instantly alert and slightly disoriented, his eyes focusing on the window that had been the source of the disturbance.
A familiar face was pressed against the glass, with ssy brown curls gleaming golden in the sunlight, her mouth moving constantly as if saying sothing—it was Hermione!
Harry stared in surprise, nearly spitting out the mandrake leaf in his mouth, and quickly got up to open the door.
"How di'd you manage to get here, Hermione?" he asked as he opened the door, his words still slightly affected by his oral obstacle but were understandable.
"Professor Westeros wrote back to ," Hermione looked sowhat excited. "My parents ca too."
She stepped aside, revealing what was undoubtedly one of the most amusing sights Harry had encountered in recent mory. Mr. and Mrs. Granger stood behind their daughter, clearly having made their best possible attempt to dress appropriately for a venture into the wizarding world.
The results, while well-intentioned, were spectacularly misguided.
Mr. Granger had sohow acquired what appeared to be a wizard's robe, though it was so oversized that it might have been tailored for soone twice his height and breadth. The cloth pooled around his feet and threatened to trip him with every step, while the sleeves extended well beyond his hands, giving him the appearance of a child playing dress-up in adult clothing.
Mrs. Granger's clothing was no less remarkable. She wore a traditional pointed wizard's hat that appeared to have been purchased from so sort of novelty shop rather than a magical outfitter.
The hat's most distinctive feature was a collection of small, glittering stars that had been attached to its brim and danced and bounced with every movent of her head, creating a constellation of tiny lights that would have been charming at a children's party but seed slightly ridiculous in the current context.
Adrian erged from the shop's back room at precisely the right mont, drawn by the commotion at the entrance and imdiately grasping the situation. He approached the small group with a welcoming smile.
"Welco to my establishnt," He said, his voice carrying warmth without a trace of the amusent that Harry was struggling to suppress. "I've been expecting your arrival for quite so ti now. That's a particularly striking hat, Mrs. Granger."
Mrs. Granger's hand flew self-consciously to the brim of her star-decorated headpiece, her cheeks flushing with embarrassnt.
"Thank you so much," She replied in a tone of uncertainty. "This was actually a gift from Hermione. We thought... well, we hoped we might be able to blend in a bit better in the magical community."
Hermione leaned closer to Harry, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Daddy even purchased a book about wizard etiquette when we visited Diagon Alley, but I had to explain to him that most of the information was completely fabricated nonsense."
Adrian nodded with understanding, extending his hand toward Mr. Granger in a gesture of formal greeting. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Granger. This isn't our first eting, of course. Please, all of you, co inside."
Mr. Granger accepted the handshake with obvious nervousness, his anxiety manifesting in a mont of perfect physical cody as he promptly stepped on the trailing hem of his oversized robe.
The resulting stumble would have sent him tumbling to the ground if not for Adrian's quick reflexes and even quicker wandwork—a subtle gesture that shortened the robe's length by several inches.
"Oh, thank you very much," Mr. Granger said awkwardly, scratching his head.
After everyone entered the shop and sat on the sofas, Harry asked Hermione in a low voice. "So what exactly happened?"
"Didn't Professor Westeros ntion it?" Hermione tidied her hair and explained. "Ron told that as long as there's an adult wizard nearby, you can use magic around them because the Ministry of Magic can't tell who's actually casting the spells. So, I wrote to Professor Westeros hoping I might be able to visit for a few days during the holidays. You know, he's the only professor I can contact who lives in the Muggle world. Look—I even brought my wand with !"
"I see." Harry understood completely.
He could certainly relate to her situation—sumr vacations without access to magic were indeed nearly unbearable for anyone who had grown accustod to the wonders and conveniences of the wizarding world.
At this point, Hermione noticed sothing odd about Harry and asked. "Do you have sothing in your mouth?"
"Oh, yes..." Harry began explaining about the Animagus transformation.
anwhile, the Granger parents curiously examined the shop's interior.
Honestly, it wasn't much different from an ordinary plant shop, except that the plants on the shelves were sowhat different—these plants moved on their own, and so even glowed.
Suddenly Dobby appeared beside the coffee table, startling the Granger couple.
"Please don't be alard," Adrian said quickly. "This is Dobby, my employee and assistant. He's perfectly harmless and quite helpful."
Dobby bowed to everyone, and after serving tea, imdiately disappeared.
"How absolutely amazing," Mr. Granger said, his voice filled with the wonder. He leaned forward slightly and asked. "Is he perhaps a goblin? We encountered so at the bank when we visited Diagon Alley—"
"Well... they're not the sa species," Adrian reminded him tactfully. "You'd better not say that in front of goblins, or it might cause so unnecessary trouble."
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