The Leaky Cauldron.
Harold slid expertly into his usual seat in the corner of the bar and waved to Old Tom.
"The usual," he said. "But double this ti."
Harry hadn't even figured out what "the usual" was when the innkeeper had already placed two bottles of Butterbeer and two plates of cookies in front of them.
"You're the only one who orders cookies in a bar," Old Tom grumbled.
He hadn't originally stocked cookies at all—this was a bar, after all. All kinds of rough-and-tumble witches and wizards ca through here, the kind of people who started every story with "Back in my day, I ate roast dragon with my Firewhisky!"
So in this context, suddenly serving a plate of cookies seed a little… off.
But Harold insisted on ordering them every ti. Old Tom had tried refusing several tis, but in the end, tired of the pestering, he baked a batch.
He hadn't expected that would only encourage Harold further—now he wouldn't order anything else. Every visit: Butterbeer and cookies.
If that were all, Old Tom wouldn't have minded too much. Baking a batch of cookies wasn't such a big deal.
What really got him was that Harold brought soone else this ti. And not just anyone—The Boy Who Lived.
If other people saw that and started ordering cookies too… What would happen to his bar? This wasn't Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop!
The thought of every table in his bar adorned with a plate of cookies made Old Tom's temple throb. That was a nightmare he didn't want to face.
But Harold didn't care.
He ordered cookies simply because he didn't want any of the other bar food—which usually reeked of garlic. Even if Old Tom's cookies were diocre, at least they tasted normal.
Harold leaned on the table, listening idly to a few wizards nearby shouting over one another, occasionally munching on a cookie and sipping his Butterbeer.
Harry listened for a while too, and realized that one of them was talking about how he'd once slain a giant.
It sounded… familiar. Oh, right—last year's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Gilderoy Lockhart, had been just like that. Always boasting about heroic feats that turned out to be total fabrications.
Still, Harold seed genuinely interested.
By the ti the cookies were gone, Harold had also drained his Butterbeer.
"This is how I relax," he said, turning to Harry. "The wizards here always have a new tall tale I haven't heard. Though it's always giants or dragons… Wish they'd switch it up once in a while."
Harry was speechless.
He hadn't expected Harold's idea of relaxation to be this… unique. The source of thɪs content is novel⸺fire
Just like that ring of his.
He couldn't help glancing at Harold's index finger again—and, as expected, shivered a little.
Toward noon, as the storytellers gradually filtered out of the Leaky Cauldron, Harold and Harry prepared to head back to Diagon Alley.
But before they could leave, soone approached them—none other than the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge. He seed to have co specifically to find Harry.
"How are you finding things here?" he asked as he sat beside them, his plump face wearing a warm smile. "Or do you prefer living with your aunt and uncle?"
"No," Harry replied. "I like it here in Diagon Alley just fine."
It felt a little surreal.
The Minister for Magic—a big shot, surely on the sa level as Dumbledore—was here, talking to him.
Just yesterday, it was Minister Fudge who arranged for Harry to stay at the Leaky Cauldron and told him not to worry about the punishnt—said blowing up his aunt wasn't a big deal.
Harry had thought that would be the end of it. He never expected Fudge to follow up the very next day.
But honestly, Harry wasn't used to this kind of kindness.
"Minister… is this really the only reason you ca?" he asked.
"Well, sort of," said Fudge, his expression turning a bit awkward.
Just then, soone happened to be walking toward them—helping to change the subject.
"Oh! Minister Fudge!"
The newcor was tall and thin, like a bamboo stick—almost the exact opposite of Fudge.
He hadn't even reached Fudge before bowing deeply. From Harold's angle, the man's torso was practically parallel to the floor.
Quite the spectacle.
"Such an honor to see you here, Minister."
"Yes, quite," Fudge replied impatiently. "And you are?"
"Barl Wilson," the man said. "I'm an Auror with the Ministry, currently searching for soone who used magic illegally outside of school and also activated an unregistered Portkey."
Hearing this, Harry's face turned crimson. "I—I think I'm the one you're looking for. I used magic… outside of school."
"What?" Barl Wilson turned, clearly surprised the culprit would just co forward like that.
"No, no—this has nothing to do with you," Fudge interjected. "He's looking for soone else. What that person did was far more serious than inflating a relative."
Fudge clearly knew the details and now couldn't resist expanding on them.
"That individual not only broke the rule about underage magic outside school but also escaped when our people went to investigate—using an unregistered Portkey."
"Completely lawless!" Barl Wilson suddenly exclaid, startling everyone. "Don't worry, Minister—I'll catch them!"
"Ah… yes, thank you," Fudge replied offhandedly.
His attention was entirely on Sirius Black's escape right now, not so underage wizard's minor infraction.
If not for that Portkey, he probably wouldn't even rember this case. He'd only brought it up just now to change the subject.
After all, what Minister would personally handle a case this small?
"This has nothing to do with you, Harry," Fudge said with a smile. "We all know you've already admitted your mistake."
Harry's eyes flickered.
In truth, when he'd co to Diagon Alley, he'd been planning to grab so gold from Gringotts and run. Where to? He hadn't decided yet—Fudge had found him first.
"So…" Harold suddenly asked, "does this person you're after live in Diagon Alley?"
"Hard to say," Fudge said, adjusting the brim of his hat.
"Too many people co and go through here. Makes it easy to slip away again. I doubt Old Tom keeps track of who uses the Floo Network every day. That person probably counted on that and set the Portkey here.
"But it's also possible he lives in Diagon Alley… or even the Leaky Cauldron."
Fudge looked at Harold, as if only just realizing there was soone else sitting next to Harry.
"Right, and you are?"
"Harold Ollivander," Harold replied. "I live here in Diagon Alley—and I'm still a student. Want to have an Auror check ?"
"Ollivander…" Fudge's lips twitched. "Any relation to Garrick Ollivander?"
"He's my grandfather."
"No wonder your na sounded familiar." Fudge's deanor changed instantly, his smile now as warm as the one he gave Harry.
"So, do I still need an Auror to search ?" Harold asked.
"You must be joking. Of course not! Why would a fine young man like you break the rules?" Fudge chuckled.
"Well, I must be off—so many things to deal with."
He stood up and looked at Harry again.
"Rember, don't go wandering off into the Muggle world, understood?"
Once Harry gave a firm nod, Fudge tipped his hat and left the Leaky Cauldron.
(End of Chapter)
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