{Leaky Cauldron}
{31th June 1992}
{Rigel’s POV}
I step into the Leaky Cauldron behind Harry, leaving the cold and wet weather of London behind. The tavern’s low, soot‐dark beams and glowing brass lanterns felt infinitely more reassuring. Molly Weasley and the Weasleys sat in the corner, her face radiant as she listened to Ron and Ginny bickering. Before her, Ron and Ginny are midway through a breakfast that looks more feast than al—sizzling rashers of bacon, eggs fried golden around the edges, and a mountain of herb‐buttered potatoes.
"Rigel! Harry!" Molly calls, waving us over. We bustle over to their table, looking at the steaming platter of food on display. "Here, Harry, try these fritters, and Rigel, you’ll want a taste of these potatoes." Her eyes flick to Ron’s gravy‐sared chin and Ginny’s shy expression as she reaches for her fork.
I accept the plate gratefully. "Thank you, Molly." I glance at her closely, catching the hurried tension in her shoulders as she glances from us to her children. Swiftly, I add, "If it’s all right, we thought Ron, Ginny, Harry, and I might pop into Diagon Alley this morning. You and Arthur could enjoy a quiet morning. We’ll be back by one for lunch."
Molly’s smile falters for a heartbeat, her eyes betraying worry. Her children are her world, and she’s always feared letting them out of her sight. But she gathered herself and answered, "Well... All right. But no detours, understand? If you’re not back by one, I’ll hunt you down."
Ron tugs on the tablecloth, nearly sending Molly’s teacup flying. "Don’t worry, Mrs. Weasley. We’ll be—" I continued.
"—Back here on ti," Ginny finished for him, voice bright. "Promise."
Harry nodded as well, "We’ve got a schedule, planned for everything. Right, Rigel?"
I grin, lifting the fork and taking a bite off the potatoes. They were okay, a bit sweet for my taste, "Exactly. Let’s finish up and get going."
After reassuring Molly for a little bit more as we ate, we finally managed to get her to agree. After having a second round of breakfast this morning, we finally walked through the back door. Shifting bricks gave way to the bustling streets of Magical London’s premier shopping street.
’Huh, is there a ward that controls the weather over the whole alley?’ I thought. It was a point that I would look into later.
Sunlight floods Diagon Alley, its crooked shops and colorful awnings alive with morning bustle. Wizarding families thread between shops, carts rattle with cauldrons, and the murmur of incantations drifts through the air. I guide our group first to Flourish & Blotts. The bell above the door jingles as we enter an ocean of books—tos bound in dragonhide, scrolls tied with silk. Ginny’s eyes are wide as she looks around, her first ti without supervision in Diagon Alley.
I followed Ginny, who was already standing in front of a large tower of old books.
"Oh!" she squeaks. "Look, here are the travel guides!" She pointed to an old to labeled ’Global Customs and Ministry Procedures.’
I, on the other hand, point to a leather volu embossed with bronze letters: Navigating the Indian Ministry of Magic. "This one will tell us what forms to fill out and what we need to register."
Ginny carefully runs a fingertip over the spine. "And this?" She lifts Rituals and Redies of the Deccan—its cover illustrated with lotus blossoms and incense smoke. "It’s about local healing magic in India."
"Hmmm, that’s a nice one, take that one as well," I say. "I was planning on exploring that when we go there."
Harry, anwhile, thumbs through a stack of Hogwarts’ History volus, barely glancing at the travel books, or any book in particular. He looks around uninterested. Ron and Harry murmured amongst themselves as they looked at the bookshop with a frown. With a conspiratorial grin on their faces, they nodded at each other, and Ron said, "You guys browse the books. We’ll look for so stuff in the anti."
"Yeah, see you at the Leaky Cauldron," Harry grinned as they both slipped outside the bookshop, the bell chiming announcing their departure. Shaking my head, I look back and share an amused glance with Ginny, while she was shy around Harry, she had co around to my presence during yesterday’s dinner.
They scatter excitedly, elbows jostling as they head deeper into the shop. Ginny and I slip a handful of guidebooks into her bag, two heavy tos, a set of bound parchnt, and we head back into the daylight.
...
Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions stands just a few paces down. The bell above the door chis softly as we enter, and the air inside is thick with the scent of lavender and the steam of fabric. Lantern light glimrs across walls hung with row after row of British dress robes, erald robes trimd with pearl buttons, burgundy velvet overcoats edged in black fox fur, and evening robes of navy brocade embroidered with silver filigree. Ginny’s eyes go wide as she takes it in. I let her drift forward while I hover by a nearby display.
"Rigel, look at this one," she calls, lifting a deep green satin robe from its hanger.
"Try it on," I encourage, stepping aside. "It would look good on you." I offered.
She hesitated, but at my continued gestures of encouragent, nods shyly and ducks behind the curtain, her eyes brighter as she stares at the dress in her hand. While she went to try it on, I drifted to a rack of midnight-blue robes stitched with golden buttons, which seed a bit over the top, yet still a lot tar than the other frivolous options. I run a finger across the smooth velvet and set it aside as Ginny erged a few minutes later.
The green robe falls around her like water. She turns, the buttons gleaming. "It’s beautiful," she breathes, smoothing the satin.
"You look incredible," I say, offering a smile after staring at her a bit. She had a youthful energy that distinguished her from the other girls. "But let’s see..." I wave toward a burgundy velvet dress. "Try this one."
Her hesitation was brief this ti as she hurried back behind the curtain. As Ginny disappeared for a mont. I step to the center of the shop and scan the aisles behind, rows of dress robes beckon to be tried, which I have no intention of doing. I lift a charcoal-gray ensemble and examine its tailored cut, picturing how it would drape on at a formal Ball. The seamstress approaches, holding out a asuring tape, and the tape flew out of her hands, automatically taking my asurents.
’Huh, I guess I know where Olivander got his asuring tape from.’
Monts later, Ginny erged in the burgundy dress. The deep red highlights the blush on her cheeks and her crimson hair. She looked like autumn personified, her youthful energy perfectly complenting the attire.
"It suits you," I reply, stepping close. "Now let’s try sothing fun." I guide her toward a quieter corner, not giving her any ti to think or look and ask about the price of the robes. We arrive at the corner where a single mannequin stood alone, its robes unlike any British fashion displayed out front. I pull aside a saffron-and-indigo set embroidered with lotus vines and peacock feathers. "Traditional Indian saree, perfect for the journey we’re about to take. You want to try it?"
Ginny’s breath catches as she touches the fabric: the saffron gleams like the morning sun, the indigo deep as dusk, perfectly capturing the mont. "It’s stunning," she whispered.
She hesitated for a mont, likely unsure how to put it on, when I gestured to the attendant who was looking in our direction. With prompt steps, she arrived, and they both ducked behind the curtain. Knowing that they would take so ti, I walked back over to the counter, draping the charcoal-gray ensemble over one arm and tucking my fingers into the pocket of the travel robe I’d looked at earlier. I ordered both of the dresses that Ginny had already tried and the ones I was holding while I waited.
Then Ginny steps out, the saffron saree flowing around her as she did a slow twirl. The gap in the cloth perfectly shows her slim waist. The gold embroidery glitters in the light as she bead at . Tiny bells tinkle softly with each step. Her face glows. "This robe has charms, you hear the noise it makes when I move, apparently they simulate so form of jewelry they traditionally wear."
"You look stunning," I say. "This will be good for functions and ceremonies while we are there. Let’s buy it."
The seamstress returns with her tape asure and the fitted robes I had ordered according to our asurents, then she begins checking the hem lengths and sleeve cuffs of Ginny’s new saree. Ginny watches with shining eyes as the final notes are jotted down, and the seamstress nods.
"What do you think?" I ask, getting an excited nod from her, but then her smile dampened sowhat as her eyes strayed toward her bag, in which I’m pretty sure Molly had given her so money to buy so necessities.
’Right, need to distract her sooner or later.’
"You turn 18 next week, right?" I questioned whether I’d get a nod of approval from her.
"Go change back, I have a surprise for you." I grin at her narrowed eyes, "Go go," I shoo her back behind the curtains, and then nod to Madam Malkin, quickly paying her the galleons for all the robes.
’Molly’s going to kill , but she can’t say no if I say it is a birthday gift, right?’
...
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AN: Exploring Ginny’s character a bit, I realised I haven’t given the girls much substance, so I’ll focus on changing that this upcoming year.
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