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// 26 — The Shop Around the Corner 
// Story: If Wishes were Ponies . . . . 
// by tkepner 
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As they left the bank, it was Scootaloo and Apple Bloom at his sides, each holding one of his hands, while Sweetie Belle trailed behind.

Their next stop was the bookstore, to the delight of both Hermione and Twilight. Dash chose to stay outside and watch the people in the alley. And wish she could fly while in this world.

Professor McGonagall warned, “We are on a schedule, so we can’t spend more than half an hour in the bookstore!”

Twilight walked in first, squee’d, and disappeared into the racks of bookshelves before either Rarity or Applejack could grab her. They both sighed and set off to find the book-hound. Pinkie Pie said, “Party books!” and disappeared almost as fast as Twilight had. Fluttershy wandered off as well with a loud, for her, “I wonder what books they have on the animals here?”

Hermione longed to follow Twilight, Harry could see, but her parents guided her to the register. The rest of the herd followed her.

“Here for your Hogwarts’ books?” asked the witch behind the counter. At Hermione’s and the other girls’ eager nods, he said, “The books are sorted into the different years over there,” she pointed to seven large boxes, numbered one to seven, on the opposite side of the store. Each was piled high with bags. “Each bag has all the books you’ll need for the coming year. Just go to the box with your year on it, pull out a bag, and Bob’s your uncle!”

Scootaloo gasped. “I get an uncle named Bob with my books?” she said excitedly, eyes wide in delight.

The witch behind the counter gave her a puzzled look. “You’re not from England, are you? That’s just an expression meaning you’re done.”

“Oh.” Scootaloo said in a disappointed tone. Harry put his arm over her shoulders. “Hey,” he said softly, “We’re your herd.” She smiled up at him gratefully. “Want to look around and see what kind of books they have?”

Hermione had already disappeared after Twilight, her mother admonishing, “Only three books, Hermione!” A faint, “Yes, mum,” came from the bookshelves.

Several minutes later, Harry saw Rarity, Applejack, and Pinkie Pie drag Twilight, her arms full of books, out from the back of the store, sputtering, “But I barely started that aisle! And the upstairs!” She gazed longingly at the staircase she could see ahead.

Pinkie giggled, “Silly, why don’t you just grab a catalogue from the front counter like this one?” She waved a thick magazine in front of Twilight. Twilight’s eyes locked onto the catalogue and she started following it like a cat tracking a laser dot. Rarity and Applejack shook their heads and followed behind her to make sure she didn’t suddenly make a break for the first-floor staircase. Pinkie continued, “Then you can order one of everything and have it delivered!” Twilight moaned and started to drool.

Harry shook his head. Knowing people as well as he did, Harry had grabbed Curses and Counter-curses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More). Then came Animagus: Harnessing Your Inner Animal because he was curious if his Equestrian form really was his animagus. Finally, almost as soon as he noticed it, he grabbed Protection Charm Your Mind: A Practical Guide to Counter Legilimensy. That last one scared him a bit — it was possible for wizards to read his mind? The spells might be a bit beyond him at the moment, but it was better to be prepared than caught lacking. Dudley had taught him that lesson.

Sweetie Belle had Hogwarts: A History, Modern Magical History; One Minute Feasts - It’s Magic! and Enchantment in Baking. Harry rolled his eyes at those last two. With her record for starting fires in the kitchen he shuddered to think what she could achieve with Earth’s magic added — and hands. Apple Bloom had found A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions, Good Gardens Guide 1990, and Shrubs & Trees for the Garden. Scootaloo had picked up The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle; Voyages with Vampires; and Wanderings with Werewolves, as well as several books that all started Harry Potter and . . . .

Scootaloo stopped in front of Harry. “Hey, Harry, did you see these books?”

Harry stared at the books, then grabbed the top one off the stack she was carrying, Harry Potter and the Pirates of Connacht. He quickly skimmed the first few pages. “What a load of tripe!” he said in disgust. “This thing claims to be the true story of one of my adventures as a child! It’s . . . it’s . . . garbage!” How dare they! How dare these . . . lowly wizards . . . tell lies about his life! He felt as if he knew just the awful, painful, delightful curses he wanted to hit them with . . . except . . . he didn’t know any spells like that. He shook his head uncertainly. He was a good colt!

He stalked to the front of the store to find Twilight with her stack of books at the register, the clerk ringing them up. “Twilight,” he said, furious.

Twilight jumped at his tone and looked at him worriedly.

He held up the book. “This is a bunch of lies about me!”

She gasped and grabbed the book from him. She started reading, quickly flicking the pages. She looked at him, no less upset than he was. She glanced around for Professor McGonagall. The Professor was at the front of the store talking with the Grangers while they waited on their daughter to return with her selections.

They both stalked over to the professor. “Professor McGonagall,” Twilight said tightly, “What are the libel laws like in this world?”

“Whatever do you mean?” asked the professor.

Twilight showed her the book.

“Ah, well, I’m not a solicitor, but the libel laws state clearly that you cannot print lies about anyone. And to use another person’s reputation to sell a product without their permission is also illegal, I believe.”

Twilight narrowed her eyes. “Fine! Where can I find a solicitor?”

The professor glanced out the front window of the store. “Well, the Goblins might be able to suggest someone for you. Other than that, I don’t know of any solicitors, personally, who deal with issues like this.”

Twilight turned to the boy. “Harry, I’m going to have a discussion with the Goblins. I’ll catch up with you later.”

She turned and headed for the door. “Twilight,” he said chasing after her.

“What!”

“Pay for the book!”

She stopped and blushed. “Right.” She headed back to the register and handed the wallet to Rarity. “Take care of things for me. I have an errand to run.” She showed the book in her hand to the clerk, who nodded. Twilight spun on her heel and headed out for Gringotts.

Harry looked up, “Professor McGonagall?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“Why are there books about me? Why did all those people in the pub come at me? Why am I a celebrity?”

She studied him carefully. The fillies were at his side, listening just as attentively. She sighed. “I suppose those dreadful relatives of yours told you nothing of this world?”

He frowned heavily. How did she know about the Dursleys? And how they had treated him? He shook his head, distrust flooding his mind. This would require a bit more thought, later.

She tsked. “Ten years ago a powerful and terrible Wizard was trying to take over the Wizarding World. He was so powerful, only the Headmaster could stand up to him in a duel. This vile wizard believed that only those of ‘pure’ blood should be allowed in our society. That the muggle-borns should be excluded, killed, even. He regarded the muggles as little better than animals — to be avoided where possible, and exterminated where not.

“He and his followers killed scores of people. Almost anyone who disagreed with him died. Whether they were pure-blood, half-blood, or muggle-born mattered not to him. Only the very brave defied him. Sometimes even the rumour that you were against him would draw his ire. Entire families were wiped out. Everyone was terrified of him. And nearly every family that did survive lost someone to his Death Eaters. Those were terrible times, indeed.

“The Ministry was about to collapse and the rebellion succeed, when he decided to attack your parents.” She shook her head sadly. “Fine people they were, your parents. I had them both in my classes. They were both in Gryffindor House, my House, and even made Head Prefects their seventh year, you know.”

She paused. “I don’t know why, but He Who Must Not Be Named . . . ,”

Harry could hear the capital letters as she said that. Rarity and Applejack were listening in, as were the Grangers.

“. . . decided to target them specifically, although they did defy him, fighting his followers, and even him, personally, several times. Perhaps Headmaster Dumbledore knows more. In any case, on Halloween night, 1981, he attacked your home. Your parents, I’m sorry to say, died fighting him off. Then he tried to kill you. He used the most evil curse known, the Avada Kedavra — it kills instantly when it hits you. Even if it just touches your hair, you die.” She looked out the storefront window, then back at Harry. “That’s one of the three curses that is an automatic life sentence in Azkaban, the wizarding prison, if you use it.

“It failed. You lived. And he was destroyed.” She paused, pursing her lips. “Almost everyone thinks he died, that you somehow killed him. Headmaster Dumbledore disagrees. He says the dark wizard was reduced to a spirit and is still alive, in a sense.” She looked at Harry intently. “With his ‘death,’ the revolt fell apart. His followers immediately fell to fighting among themselves, and the Ministry was able to recover and arrest them.

“Everyone was ecstatic that the Wizard had been destroyed, and they decided you were their saviour. After all, he had died attacking you, and all that happened to you was that scar on your forehead.” She glanced at it. “Dumbledore sent someone to your home to rescue you, then hid you away where no one in the wizarding world could find you. And, thus, you disappeared from our world.

“Rumours went wild about where you were and what you were doing. And how you had destroyed the dark wizard. In the absence of information, they made up their own stories.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Hence the scene in The Leaky Cauldron. And those books. To put it simply, they feel you are a hero for saving them from that dark wizard.”

Harry looked down at the floor in deep thought. He knew the Dursleys had always lied about how his parents had died. A car crash didn’t explain his occasional dream about a green light and an explosion. He needed far more information.

In a soft, kindly voice, she added, “I suggest you get the book, The Last Dark Lord. It has the most complete account of that time period, and has a chapter on your parents.”

Sweetie murmured, “I’ll get it,” and left for the bookshelves.

It took another fifteen minutes to get them all rung out at the register. Time that allowed Harry to think about what the professor had told him, and calm down from his fury about the lies in those books. He hadn’t been that furious at anypony, ever, that he could remember. And here he had done it, twice, today. He shook his head ruefully. He had better control of his temper than that. He would make sure to meditate every night before bed for the next week or so.

It was just that . . . something about the way these wizards acted just . . .  set him off. Maybe it was the feeling that they somehow thought they were superior to him. As if. He snorted and grabbed hold of Scootaloo’s hand. He would think about what he had just been told, later. After he had read that book. Twilight had taught him always to get the facts before making a decision. Which was ironic, considering how often she flustered herself with a problem before doing her research.

Rarity stared with dismay at the numerous bags and piles of extra books.

The Witch behind the register said, “Oh, are you muggles? I can shrink everything for you if you want, then when you get home just tap them with one of the children’s new wands and they’ll pop right back to normal.”

“Oh, then you can put everything in my rucksack,” volunteered Sweetie.

He watched carefully as witch performed the spell with her wand. He was absolutely, definitely, going to learn that spell! His studies with Twilight were beginning to pay off as he could almost see the way the spell was put together. He would have to try it once they returned to the house.

Sweetie smirked at him, “Oh, so you’re finally going to let me carry your books to school, are you?” She fluttered her eyes as she tilted her head. He rolled his eyes as the other two fillies laughed.

The fillies had been pestering him almost every day in Ponyville to carry his books for him during the school year. It seemed to be a pony tradition for fillies to carry the school books of colt friends. And, as the only colt member of the Cutie Mark Crusaders, they felt they should do that. His response every time had been, “I can bloody well carry my own books!” — even if his saddlebags were overly large for his frame and almost dragged on the ground. He wasn’t sure why he was so insistent, just that picking one of the three would probably annoy the other two and start another round of incessant squabbling.

Minutes later they were out the door and headed for their next destination, a place called Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed in a pale purple set of robes.

She smiled at Professor McGonagall. “Another group?” she said warmly.

“Yes,” said the older Witch, “Five this time.”

“Oh, my. That’ll take a few minutes. I have another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.”

Hermione handed her rucksack to her parents.

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Hermione on a stool next to him, while Harry and the other girls filed in behind and watched. She slipped a long robe over the girl’s head, and began to pin it to the right length.

Rarity and the others wandered around the shop looking at the various fabrics and items on display.

“Hello,” said the boy, “Hogwarts, too?”

“Oh, yes,” said Hermione enthusiastically.

“My father,” said the boy in an arrogant, bored, drawling voice, “is purchasing my textbooks, and mother’s examining wands.” He sneered down at the attendant before saying, “As soon as these bumblers finish my robes, I’ll be off to inspect racing brooms. Why first years can’t have their own, I don’t know.” He shook his head at the ignorance of others. “Father will get me one and I’m sure he will manage an exception for me.”

Harry couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. Great. The first wizarding kid they meet is a prat and a bully. Typical.

“Do you have a broom?”

“Oh, no,” said Hermione. “Why? Is it important?”

He sniffed, then said suspiciously, “Are you a muggle-born?”

“Er, yes?”

He sighed, as if deeply offended. “That explains it,” he said derisively.

“What?” Hermione said, perplexed.

He sniffed again, making a face as if smelling something bad, and looked up and away from her, ignoring her question.

Frowning at the obvious snub, Hermione stood in silence until the witch working on his robe said to the boy, “That’s you done, my dear.” 

Sneering at the witch, he hopped down from the footstool. “Took long enough,” he said disparagingly. “Well,” he said, looking at Hermione and the others with a dismissive glance. “I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose. At least you won’t be in Slytherin,” he said with a sneer.

Scootaloo handed her rucksack to Harry and took the boy’s place. She managed to keep a straight face until the bell at the front of the store tinkled to indicate he had left. “Wow,” she said, “What. A. Jerk.” The others all tittered while Harry shook his head.

However, before the seamstress could get started, Rarity came over. “That won’t be necessary, my dear,” she said to the witch. “Just provide me with one each of a colt and filly’s robe.” The witch looked at her blankly as Madam Malkin looked up sharply.

“I meant, boy’s and girl’s,” Rarity explained. “I’m a professional fashion designer and seamstress. All I need is a template.”

Madam Malkin was getting a bit red in the face, Harry saw. She was not happy at being upstaged in her own shop.

Oblivious to the witch’s reaction, Rarity held out a sash she had taken from a display. “What material is this? It’s absolutely marvellous! Do you have a bolt or two of it?”

The seamstress blinked, taken off guard by the question. “It’s acromantula silk. It’s very expensive, though. I think I might have an unused bolt.” She looked at the door to her stockroom.

“Does it take dye colours well?”

Madam Malkin nodded.

“Wonderful!” said a delighted Rarity. “I’ll take all you have!” She paused a moment in thought.

“And can you get me more bolts? Princess Luna would look absolutely stunning in a midnight-blue dress made from this! And I could make a matching dress in Princess Celestia’s day colours!” She stopped and smirked, “And Princess Twilight will have to beat off the stallions with a stick!” she snickered as the fillies exchanged excited looks. “Oh, this is so exhilarating! This flows so well!” She dragged the material across her arm and shivered. “I can make it look like an extension of their manes! This will cement my position as the premiere fashion designer in . . . ,” she caught herself, “. . . at home!” She spun in place. “I can hardly wait for the next Grand Galloping Gala at the Palace!”

She stopped in mid-spin and fixed the shopkeeper with a stare. “How long is a bolt?” She didn’t notice the Grangers and Professor McGonagal staring at her as they listened.

The witch replied, “Forty yards.”

Rarity frowned, “How long is a yard?”

The witch held her hands apart.

Rarity nodded, frowning, as she calculated. She looked back at the seamstress. “How soon can you get me ten bolts, with a reasonable retail mark-up, of course.”

Madam Malkin stared back at her. “That’s four hundred galleons a bolt!” she said after a moment. “And you want ten?” This strange woman was offering her what amounted to twenty year’s wages for a shop clerk — in one sale! “A week, I think?”

It was Rarity’s turn to frown. She turned to Sweetie Belle. “Dear, do you think you could loan me the funds for this until I can get more bits transferred over?”

Sweetie Belle shrugged. “Sure. How much do you need?”

Rarity turned to the seamstress, “Would two thousand up front be acceptable? And I’ll take the one bolt you have on hand?”

The witch nodded numbly. Her sales-witch stood nearby and stared, eyes wide at the sums being tossed around.

Sweetie Belle pulled her wallet out, started to open it, and then stopped uncertainly. “Uh, how do we do this? Two thousand coins is an awful lot. Do I just pour them out onto the floor?”

Madam Malkin blinked a couple of times, then said, “Oh. You’ve never used one of Gringotts’ wallets before?” If she was surprised that the older witch was asking the younger one for such a substantial loan, she hid it well.

The girl nodded, “That’s right.”

Madam Malkin smiled. “It’s really easy for something like this. Just open the wallet and say into it, ‘Transfer two thousand galleons to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions shop account as down-payment on four thousand four hundred galleons for eleven bolts of acromantula silk, I will be taking one bolt with me when I leave. Transaction complete.’ You want to make sure to add any information that might be important in such transaction, such as if it is a down-payment and if you are taking anything with you. That way, when you review your accounts later there will be that additional information to remind you of precisely what you were doing in that transaction.”

The shopkeeper said it a second time, slower, with Sweetie Belle carefully repeating it into the wallet. A moment later, there was a loud DING from the register at the front of the shop. Madam Malkin hurried over to it and then returned, smiling broadly. “Perfect!” she said. “Now let me get that bolt for you.” She headed into her stockroom and returned a moment later with the four-foot-long bolt of cloth.

“Here you go . . . Miss?”

“Rarity. And this is my sister Sweetie Belle. That’s Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger,” she said as she pointed at each.

Both the shopkeeper and the sales-clerk stared at Harry for a moment. Madam Malkin shook her head briefly, and said “And here’s a receipt for you listing the purchase. I’ll owl you when the other ten bolts get here. What’s the address?” She noted it down, frowning. “A muggle address, so I’ll make sure the owl goes at night. Okay?”

Rarity gave her sister a hug after putting the shrunken bolt in Sweetie Belle’s rucksack, as well as the two sample sets of robes — gratis for making such a large purchase. “Thank you, dear.” Sweetie Belle hugged her back with a soft, “Anytime, sis.”

The fashion-designer turned to the other mares, “And don’t any of you tell Twilight, either! I want to surprise her with this.” The agreement came with many eye-rolls and a bit of grandstanding by Dash that, “Of course, I won’t tell Twilight.”

The Grangers silently listened, eyes wide at the revelation that the nice young woman they had met and were shopping with was a princess! Professor McGonagall hid it better, but she, too, had noticed Rarity’s slip. Harry sighed. That secret hadn’t lasted long. The ponies hadn’t even been with the wizards and witches here a full day!

Just as they were leaving the shop, Twilight caught up with them. She did not look happy.

“Woah thar, Twilight,” Applejack said on seeing her friend, “Is every thin’ alright?

Twilight took a deep breath and looked over at the colt. “The Goblins have told me that there is basically nothing we can do about those books, Harry.”

Harry stared at her, stunned. “Nothing?” he repeated breathlessly.

“It seems,” she growled, “that your magical guardian, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, has given them permission to produce those books.” A small smile graced her lips, “However, the Goblins suggested a strategy. Starting tomorrow, and every day for a week, we will be running a full-page ad in the four largest circulation newspapers in Wizarding Britain declaring the books to be complete and total fabrications, published without your personal knowledge or permission. That the only thing factual about them is your name. And that you have received not a single solitary bit from their publication. Not to mention that they’re making profit off the fact that you were orphaned that terrible night ten years ago and had to grow up never knowing your parents.”

It wasn’t much, but at least it was something. Hopefully, that would kill the market for those books. He doubted it, though. However, if he ever had the chance he was going to let that Albus bloke know his displeasure! He frowned, wondering if this Albus was related to Headmaster Dumbledore. His frown deepened. It was highly unlikely that there were two Albus Dumbledore’s in the wizarding world. Just hearing that name spoken made him . . . angry for some reason.

Harry shook his head to get the bad thoughts out. “Thank you for trying,” he said.

Twilight smiled, “Anytime, Harry, anytime. I just wish I could do more.”

The girls had rotated positions again, with Apple Bloom acting as rear guard.

Their next stop was a shop named simply, Ollivanders. Below it was: Makers of Fine Wands since 382b.c.


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