The afternoon sun slanted through the crooked buildings of Diagon Alley, painting everything in shades of gold that made even the somewhat dubious establishments look picturesque. Harry and Bill emerged from the Leaky Cauldron into the familiar chaos of magical commerce—owls hooting from the Eeylops window, the sweet scent of sugar from Sugarplum's wafting past, and the general atmosphere of barely controlled pandemonium that characterized wizarding shopping districts everywhere.
Bill pulled out a piece of parchment covered in Hermione's precise handwriting, and Harry couldn't help but grin at the sight. Some things never changed, regardless of cosmic enhancements or post-war complications.
"Right then," Bill said, scanning the list with the expression of someone who'd done supply runs for curse-breaking expeditions and recognized organizational overkill when he saw it. "Hermione's outdone herself this time. This isn't just a shopping list—it's a comprehensive expedition manifest with subcategories, priority rankings, and what appears to be footnotes explaining her reasoning for each item."
"Let me see," Harry said, peering over Bill's shoulder at Hermione's handiwork. The list was indeed comprehensive to the point of being slightly intimidating:
**ESSENTIAL SUPPLIES FOR AMERICAN EXPEDITION**
*Organized by Priority and Acquisition Location*
**CATEGORY ONE: TRANSPORTATION & ACCOMMODATION**
1. Five (5) interconnected expansion trunks with mansion-grade interior dimensions
- Specifications: Minimum 2000 sq ft internal space per trunk
- Must include: separate sleeping quarters, bathroom facilities, kitchen space, study/work area
- Interconnection charms to allow travel between trunks
- Climate control, self-cleaning, and security features
- Purchasable from: Magnificent Trunks & Cases (Diagon Alley) or possibly custom order from Wiseacre's if quality inadequate
**CATEGORY TWO: DOCUMENTATION & IDENTIFICATION**
2. Proper Muggle identification documents for international travel
- Passports (ensure photos are current and appropriately mundane)
- Driving licenses (American-compatible format)
- International wizarding identification (backup to Muggle documents)
- Location: Ministry of Magic, Department of International Magical Cooperation
**CATEGORY THREE: CLOTHING & PRACTICAL ATTIRE**
3. Appropriate Muggle clothing for American contexts
- Casual wear (jeans, comfortable shirts, practical footwear)
- Formal options (in case diplomatic situations arise)
- Climate-appropriate layers (Kansas weather can be unpredictable)
- Location: Muggle London (preferably somewhere with reasonable prices and good selections)
**CATEGORY FOUR: COMMUNICATION**
4. International communication mirrors (matched set)
- Emergency contact protocols
- Encrypted private channels
- Location: Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment
**CATEGORY FIVE: MEDICAL & SAFETY**
5. Comprehensive medical kit
- Standard healing potions
- Specialized treatments for magical injuries
- Muggle first aid supplies (for interactions with non-magical individuals)
- Location: Slug & Jiggers Apothecary
**CATEGORY SIX: EDUCATIONAL MATERIALS**
6. References on American magical culture and customs
- History of MACUSA (Magical Congress of the United States of America)
- Regional magical traditions
- Social protocols and etiquette guides
- Location: Flourish & Blotts
**CATEGORY SEVEN: FINANCIAL INSTRUMENTS**
7. Currency exchange and banking access
- Already handled via Gringotts (thank you, Harry)
- Backup emergency funds in both magical and Muggle currency
- Location: Gringotts (completed)
**CATEGORY EIGHT: SPECIALIZED EQUIPMENT**
8. Baby care supplies for Teddy
- Magical nappies (self-cleaning, comfort-enhanced)
- Portable crib with stasis and comfort charms
- Age-appropriate toys (educational and entertaining)
- Feeding supplies (bottles, formula, sterilization equipment)
- Location: Wiseacre's (baby section) and Slug & Jiggers (specialized infant potions)
**CATEGORY NINE: MISCELLANEOUS**
9. Personal items, entertainment for long journey, snacks
- Location: Various
**NOTES:**
- Priority should be given to Categories One, Two, and Eight (accommodation, documentation, and baby supplies are non-negotiable)
- Budget is apparently not a concern (Harry, we're going to have a conversation about your newfound wealth later)
- Please try to avoid anything that would cause international incidents or violate American magical customs
- Harry: If you see anything shiny and cosmic-looking, ask before purchasing. We don't need reality-altering artifacts complicating this trip.
Harry finished reading and looked at Bill with the expression of someone who'd just realized that "quick shopping trip" was going to take considerably longer than anticipated.
"She's very thorough," he said with a mixture of admiration and mild exhaustion.
"Hermione's planning could coordinate military invasions," Bill replied. "Though I have to say, the footnote about reality-altering artifacts is a nice personal touch. She knows you well."
"Too well," Harry muttered. "Right, where do we start?"
"Magnificent Trunks & Cases," Bill said decisively. "The expansion trunks are going to be the most complex purchase, and we'll want to get those sorted first. Everything else is relatively straightforward by comparison."
They made their way through the crowded street, Harry trying not to notice how people kept doing double-takes when they recognized him. His enhanced appearance apparently made him more recognizable rather than less—the combination of cosmic attractiveness and famous features was creating a stir that made him wish he'd thought to bring some sort of disguise.
"You know," Bill observed as they navigated around a witch who'd stopped dead in the middle of the street to stare at Harry, "you might want to consider a Disillusionment Charm or something. The attention's getting a bit excessive."
"The attention was always excessive," Harry replied. "At least now people are staring because I look different rather than because they want to discuss my traumatic childhood and whether I'm going to save them from the next dark wizard."
"Fair point. Though the number of people who look like they're considering asking for your autograph—or possibly proposing marriage—has definitely increased."
"Please don't mention marriage," Harry said with a slight grimace. "Ginny's possessive enough without random strangers declaring romantic intentions in the middle of Diagon Alley."
Bill laughed. "Speaking of Ginny, I notice she was wearing your old Quidditch jersey at breakfast. The one that's definitely too big for her and smells distinctly of cosmic-enhanced Potter. Any particular reason for that fashion choice?"
Harry's enhanced senses immediately provided him with detailed awareness of his own cardiovascular response to this line of questioning, and he decided that changing the subject was probably his best tactical option.
"Look, there's the shop," he said with perhaps excessive enthusiasm. "Let's focus on expansion trunks and avoid discussions of my sister's clothing choices, shall we?"
"Your inability to handle mild teasing about your romantic relationship is endearing," Bill said with a grin. "But sure, we'll focus on magical luggage. For now."
Magnificent Trunks & Cases occupied a narrow shopfront that somehow managed to look both cramped and impossibly spacious—the front window displayed a single trunk that appeared to contain a full-sized library, complete with comfortable reading chairs and ambient lighting that suggested the interior space had its own weather system.
Inside, the shop expanded in ways that made Harry's enhanced spatial awareness slightly uncomfortable. The walls were lined with trunks of every conceivable size and style, from simple school trunks with basic expansion charms to elaborate custom pieces that probably cost more than most people's houses.
A wizard who looked like he'd been carved from expensive hardwood and polished until he gleamed approached them with the kind of professional assessment that came from years of evaluating customers' needs and budgets.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said with a voice that resonated like a perfectly tuned instrument. "Barnaby Trunk, proprietor. How may I assist you today?"
"We need five interconnected expansion trunks," Bill said, getting straight to business with the efficiency of someone who'd dealt with magical merchants across three continents. "High-end specifications—mansion-grade interior dimensions, full amenities, climate control, security features, and the ability to travel between trunks via the interconnection charms."
Barnaby's eyebrows rose with the kind of interest that suggested they'd just described either his most challenging commission or his most profitable sale of the month. "That's quite an order. May I ask what this is for? Understanding the intended use helps me recommend appropriate specifications."
"International travel," Harry said. "Extended stay in America, mixed magical and Muggle environments, and we'll need to accommodate various needs—sleeping, working, caring for an infant, that sort of thing."
"An infant?" Barnaby's expression shifted to something more thoughtful. "That adds interesting constraints. You'll need noise dampening charms, safety features beyond the standard security protocols, and probably some sort of monitoring system so you can keep track of a mobile child without having to physically search an entire mansion-sized space."
"Can you do all that?" Bill asked.
"My dear sir, I can do considerably more than that," Barnaby said with quiet pride. "Though I should mention that trunks of this specification don't come cheap. We're talking about creating five separate pocket dimensions, linking them through stable magical connections, and ensuring they maintain structural integrity across international travel and varying magical environments."
"Cost isn't the primary concern," Harry said, which felt simultaneously liberating and slightly uncomfortable to say. "Quality and functionality matter more than price."
Barnaby's eyes lit up with the particular gleam that appeared in merchants' gazes when they realized they were dealing with a customer who had both substantial resources and reasonable priorities. "Excellent. In that case, let me show you what we can do."
He led them deeper into the shop, past displays of increasingly elaborate trunks, until they reached a private consultation area that looked like a comfortable study someone had grafted onto a workshop. A large table dominated the space, covered in parchment diagrams and what appeared to be three-dimensional magical models of trunk interiors.
"Now then," Barnaby said, settling into a chair and pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment, "let's discuss specifics. You mentioned five trunks—are they all intended for separate owners, or will some be shared spaces?"
Harry considered this. "Individual ownership—one each for myself, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, and Andromeda Tonks. But they should be able to access each other's spaces for coordination and emergency purposes."
"Smart thinking," Barnaby approved. "So each trunk needs a primary entrance keyed to its owner, with secondary access protocols for the others. That'll require sophisticated security charms that can distinguish between authorized users and potential threats."
"How sophisticated are we talking?" Bill asked with professional interest.
"Blood-keyed recognition charms, intent-reading protocols, and emergency override capabilities," Barnaby explained, sketching rough diagrams as he spoke. "The trunk will recognize its owner immediately, allow access to authorized secondary users based on preset permissions, and sound alarms if anyone unauthorized attempts entry."
"What about the interconnection between trunks?" Harry asked. "Hermione specifically mentioned being able to travel between them."
"That's where things get interesting," Barnaby said with obvious enthusiasm. "Traditional expansion trunks are single pocket dimensions—self-contained spaces. What you're asking for is essentially a network of connected dimensions, which requires considerably more sophisticated magic."
He pulled out a diagram showing five circles connected by glowing lines. "Each trunk will have dedicated portal points—think of them as magical doorways—that link to corresponding points in the other four trunks. You'll be able to step from one trunk directly into any of the others, assuming you have proper authorization."
"That sounds like it could create security vulnerabilities," Bill observed.
"Which is why we'll implement layered security," Barnaby replied. "The portal connections require both authentication and active permission from the destination trunk's owner. You can't just walk into someone else's trunk uninvited—they have to grant you access either permanently or temporarily."
Harry nodded, impressed by the thought that had gone into this. "What about the interior specifications? Hermione mentioned at least 2000 square feet per trunk."
"Easily achievable," Barnaby said with confidence. "Though I'd recommend going larger—2500 to 3000 square feet gives you proper room separation and storage capacity. For the layout..." He began sketching rapidly. "I'd suggest a central common area—living space, basic kitchen facilities—with separate private quarters branching off. Bathroom facilities in each sleeping area, climate control throughout, self-cleaning charms on all surfaces."
"What about the nursery features for Teddy?" Harry asked. "Andromeda's trunk will need specialized accommodation for a baby."
Barnaby's expression softened slightly. "Ah, yes. Edward Lupin—I read about him in the Prophet. Lost both his parents in the war, correct?"
"Yes," Harry said quietly. "He's my godson. We're bringing him on this trip, and I want to make sure his grandmother has everything she needs to care for him properly."
"Admirable," Barnaby said, and his tone suggested genuine respect rather than merchant flattery. "For Mrs. Tonks's trunk, I'll design a dedicated nursery area—reinforced safety features, monitoring charms, temperature regulation optimized for infant comfort. We can include a portable crib that interfaces with the trunk's enchantments, making it easier to transition between the trunk's interior and external environments."
"How long would something like this take to create?" Bill asked, always practical about timelines.
"Five trunks of this complexity... normally I'd say three weeks minimum," Barnaby said thoughtfully. "But if this is urgent—and international travel suggests it might be—I can prioritize the work and have them ready in a week. Though that will involve some late nights and possibly bribing my apprentices with extra pay."
"A week works," Harry said. "What's the cost?"
Barnaby pulled out a calculator—a Muggle device that some progressive magical merchants had adopted because it was faster than doing complex arithmetic by hand—and began tallying numbers with practiced efficiency.
"Materials for five high-grade expansion trunks... enchantment work at master craftsman rates... interconnection charms requiring specialized expertise... security protocols... infant-safety features..." He muttered calculations under his breath, fingers flying over the keys. "Expedited timeline means premium rates for the apprentices..."
Finally, he looked up. "Two thousand galleons. That includes everything—materials, labor, security features, interconnection charms, customization for the nursery, and expedited delivery. It's expensive, but you're essentially commissioning five custom homes with built-in portals and military-grade security."
Harry exchanged a glance with Bill, who gave a subtle nod that suggested the price was reasonable for what they were getting.
"Done," Harry said. "When do you need payment?"
"Half now, half on delivery," Barnaby said, already pulling out contract parchment. "Standard terms—if you're not satisfied with the work, I'll make adjustments until you are. My reputation is built on customer satisfaction, not on cutting corners."
The contract signing took another twenty minutes—Harry had learned from his Gringotts meeting to actually read contracts before signing them, which Barnaby seemed to appreciate. The terms were straightforward: half payment (one thousand galleons) immediately, the remainder on delivery, with provisions for adjustments if the trunks didn't meet specifications.
Harry authorized a transfer from his Gringotts account, and Barnaby provided him with a receipt and a promise that he'd send regular updates on the construction progress.
"One week," Barnaby said as they prepared to leave, shaking Harry's hand with genuine warmth. "You'll have five of the finest expansion trunks ever created, each one a masterpiece of dimensional magic and practical design. I'm actually excited about this project—it's not every day someone commissions an interconnected network of mansion-trunks."
"Thank you," Harry said sincerely. "This is going to make a huge difference for our trip."
"Travel safely," Barnaby replied. "And do send word about how they perform in American magical environments. I'm always interested in feedback about how my work holds up under unusual conditions."
Back in the bustle of Diagon Alley, Bill consulted Hermione's list with satisfaction. "Right, that's Category One sorted. Next up: documentation and identification from the Ministry."
"Joy," Harry muttered. "An afternoon at the Ministry. My favorite thing."
"Look at it this way," Bill said cheerfully. "At least you're not going there to face murder charges or defend yourself against accusations of being the next dark lord. Passport applications are positively mundane by comparison."
"Fair point," Harry conceded. "Though I'm half expecting someone to try to arrest me for having cosmic powers or declare me a threat to magical society."
"Harry, you're a national hero with an Order of Merlin and the personal friendship of the Minister for Magic," Bill pointed out. "The Ministry might be many things, but they're not stupid enough to antagonize you over paperwork."
They made their way to the Ministry entrance—the visitor's entrance in Muggle London, since neither of them felt like explaining Harry's cosmic enhancements to the toilet-based transportation system. The red telephone box accepted them with its usual mechanical reluctance, and they descended into the marble-and-gilt chaos of the Ministry's Atrium.
Harry immediately noticed the changes since his last visit during the war. The golden fountain had been replaced with a memorial—simple, elegant, listing the names of those who'd died fighting Voldemort's forces. His parents' names were there, along with Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred, and so many others who deserved better than to be reduced to carved letters on stone.
He paused for a moment, reading the names with his enhanced vision picking out details that ordinary sight would miss—the loving care with which each name had been inscribed, the fresh flowers that someone (probably Hermione or Mrs. Weasley) had left, the way the marble seemed to hold a faint warmth as though the building itself was trying to honor the fallen.
"Harry?" Bill's voice was gentle. "You alright?"
"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "Just... remembering. Seems like I should do that more often."
"They'd be proud of you," Bill said. "All of them. Even if you are creating new categories of banking clients and commissioning luxury mansion-trunks for American adventures."
Harry smiled despite the ache in his chest. "Sirius would absolutely approve of the mansion-trunks. He'd probably want to see if they could be used for elaborate pranks."
"And your parents would just be happy you're alive and making friends instead of hunting dark artifacts," Bill added. "Come on—Department of International Magical Cooperation is on Level Five. Let's get this paperwork sorted before Hermione sends us a Howler about incomplete documentation."
Level Five turned out to be surprisingly quiet compared to the chaos Harry remembered from the war years. The Department of International Magical Cooperation occupied a series of well-lit offices that managed to look both official and somehow friendlier than most Ministry spaces.
A witch with the kind of professionally competent demeanor that suggested she'd dealt with every possible variation of international travel complications looked up from her desk as they approached.
"Good afternoon," she said briskly. "How may I help you?"
"We need international travel documentation," Bill explained. "Specifically, we're looking at travel to the United States—both magical and Muggle authorization."
The witch's expression shifted to something more interested. "Ah, American travel. That's always... complex. The Magical Congress doesn't always coordinate well with British magical authorities, and Muggle documentation has its own complications. How many people are we processing?"
"Five adults," Harry said. "And one infant."
"Names?"
"Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginevra Weasley, Andromeda Tonks, and Edward Lupin."
The witch's quill froze mid-note. She looked up slowly, really seeing Harry for the first time. "Harry Potter. The Harry Potter."
"That's me," Harry confirmed with the resignation of someone who'd had this conversation approximately seven thousand times.
"Right," she said, visibly pulling herself together with professional determination. "Well. That's... this will be interesting. You understand that travel to America requires both magical authorization from the International Confederation of Wizards and Muggle documentation that will satisfy American immigration authorities?"
"We're aware," Bill said. "Which is why we're here—we need the magical side sorted, and guidance on the Muggle documentation."
"The magical authorization is straightforward," she said, already pulling out forms. "Standard travel permits, good for six months with option to extend. You'll need to register with the American magical authorities within forty-eight hours of arrival, but that's procedural. The Muggle side is more complicated."
"How complicated?" Harry asked warily.
"Well, you'll need passports—proper Muggle passports with all the appropriate documentation. Birth certificates, proof of identity, photographs that look suitably mundane. Then there's the matter of visas—Americans are particular about who they let into their country, and they ask rather a lot of questions about purpose of visit, duration of stay, financial resources..."
"Financial resources aren't a problem," Harry said. "And purpose of visit is... consulting work."
"Consulting?" The witch raised an eyebrow. "What sort of consulting?"
Harry exchanged a glance with Bill, trying to determine how to explain "cosmic superhero mentorship for American farm boys" in terms that wouldn't sound completely insane.
"Agricultural consulting," Bill supplied smoothly. "Specialized knowledge about unusual farming techniques and magical crop management. Harry's developed some... unique expertise in that area."
It wasn't technically a lie—Harry could apparently make plants grow through cosmic influence, which definitely qualified as "unusual farming techniques."
The witch looked between them with obvious skepticism but apparently decided not to press the issue. "Right. Agricultural consulting. Well, that's actually easier to process than some explanations I've heard. We can work with that."
She began pulling out forms with practiced efficiency, explaining each one as she went. Magical travel permits required basic information—name, date of birth, magical signature registration (which required Harry to touch a crystal sphere that immediately lit up like a miniature sun and made the witch's eyes widen), and intended duration of stay.
"Your magical signature is... notably enhanced," she observed carefully. "Is that related to your recent absence from Britain?"
"Long story," Harry said. "Involves cosmic enhancement, genetic awakening, and approximately four weeks of intensive education in dimensional management. The short version is yes, my magical signature has changed, but I'm still me and I'm not planning to cause any international incidents."
"Cosmic enhancement," she repeated slowly, making a note. "I'm going to flag your file for the Department of Mysteries to review. Not because there's a problem," she added quickly, seeing Harry's expression, "but because they like to be aware of unique magical phenomena, especially when it involves someone with your... profile."
"As long as they don't try to dissect me or demand I participate in their research projects, that's fine," Harry said.
"I'll make a note," she said dryly. "No dissection, no mandatory research participation. Moving on—the Muggle documentation is going to require a trip to the Muggle liaison office. They handle the interface with Muggle authorities and can arrange proper passports with minimal questions asked."
"How do they do that?" Harry asked curiously.
"Carefully," she replied. "And with extensive use of Memory Charms, judicious documentation forgery, and strategic placement of magical civil servants in key Muggle administrative positions. The exact details are classified, but I can assure you that your passports will be completely legitimate from the Muggle perspective."
They spent the next hour filling out forms, providing information, and navigating the Byzantine complexity of international magical bureaucracy. Harry discovered that his cosmic enhancement apparently made several of the standard documentation spells behave oddly—the photograph enchantment kept producing images that looked slightly too perfect, the magical signature registration kept trying to recalibrate itself, and the identity confirmation charm produced a reading that the witch described as "technically accurate but philosophically concerning."
"What does 'philosophically concerning' mean?" Harry asked.
"It means the charm is having difficulty determining where 'Harry Potter' ends and 'cosmic entity with reality-altering potential' begins," she explained. "Which is unusual but not unprecedented—we've processed documentation for part-veela, part-giant, and various other magical hybrids. You're just the first cosmic-enhanced wizard I've personally encountered."
"I'm unique," Harry said with dry humor. "It's a recurring theme in my life."
"Well, your uniqueness is making for interesting paperwork," she replied. "But I think we've got everything we need for the magical side. The Muggle liaison office is two floors down—Level Seven. Ask for Agnes Pemberton, mention that I sent you, and she'll handle the passport arrangements."
Agnes Pemberton turned out to be a formidable witch who looked like she'd been handling Muggle documentation since before Harry was born and had developed very firm opinions about proper procedure in the process. She took one look at their request and immediately pulled out a filing system that appeared to contain backup identities for approximately half the British magical population.
"International travel," she said briskly. "American destination. Party of six including one infant. Standard procedure—I'll need photographs, basic biographical information, and approximately three hours to process everything through our Muggle contacts."
"Three hours?" Bill asked. "We were hoping to get this sorted today."
"Three hours is sorted today," Agnes replied with the kind of finality that suggested arguing would be both futile and potentially hazardous to one's health. "Proper Muggle documentation requires coordination with actual Muggle authorities, strategic application of Memory Charms, and careful insertion of your records into their filing systems. That takes time."
She pulled out a camera—Muggle technology, Harry noticed—and began taking photographs with professional efficiency. "Try to look less like a cosmic entity and more like an ordinary young man," she instructed Harry. "Americans get suspicious of passport photos that look too perfect."
Harry tried to look ordinary, which apparently involved suppressing the unconscious golden glow his eyes had developed and convincing his cosmically enhanced features to appear slightly less like they'd been carved by angels with perfectionist tendencies.
"Better," Agnes said after several attempts. "Still too attractive to be completely believable, but Americans will just think you're British and assume we all look like we walked out of period dramas. Now then—biographical information. Full names, dates of birth, places of birth..."
The process of establishing their Muggle identities took most of the remaining afternoon. Agnes was thorough to the point of being slightly frightening, verifying every detail and cross-referencing information with records that Harry was fairly certain shouldn't technically exist.
"Right," she said finally, once they'd provided enough information to satisfy her exacting standards. "Come back tomorrow afternoon—around three o'clock. I'll have your passports ready, along with supporting documentation that will satisfy American immigration authorities. Don't lose them, don't let Muggles examine them too closely, and for Merlin's sake, try not to do anything that would require explaining why your passport photo looks like a fashion model while you're standing there radiating enough cosmic energy to power a small city."
"I'll do my best," Harry promised.
"See that you do," Agnes replied. "I take pride in my work, and I'd prefer not to have to explain to American Muggle authorities why one of my clients is obviously not quite human."
Back in Diagon Alley—it was nearly five o'clock by the time they escaped the Ministry's bureaucratic embrace—Bill consulted Hermione's list with satisfaction. "Categories One and Two are sorted. That leaves clothing, communication mirrors, medical supplies, books, and baby equipment. Shall we tackle the rest now, or admit defeat and come back tomorrow?"
Harry looked at the remaining categories and felt his enhanced stamina—usually quite reliable—suggesting that perhaps continuing to shop while his brain was still processing forms, photographs, and philosophical concerns about his magical identity might not be the wisest decision.
"Tomorrow," he decided. "We've made good progress, and I'd rather not accidentally make poor purchasing decisions because I'm tired and overwhelmed by bureaucracy."
"Wise choice," Bill agreed. "Besides, this gives Hermione time to add to her list if she thinks of anything else we might need."
"Please don't give her ideas," Harry said with mock horror. "The list is already comprehensive enough to coordinate a military invasion. If she adds anything else, we'll need to requisition a cargo dragon just to transport everything."
Bill laughed as they made their way back toward the Leaky Cauldron and the Floo connection home. "Welcome to expedition planning with Hermione Granger. Where 'prepared' means 'ready for absolutely anything including scenarios that violate several laws of physics.'"
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Harry said with genuine affection. "Though I reserve the right to complain about her thoroughness while secretly appreciating that she's keeping us organized."
"That's the spirit," Bill said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Now let's get home before Mum starts worrying that we've been kidnapped by over-enthusiastic shopkeepers or detained by Ministry officials with concerns about your cosmic signature."
As they stepped into the Floo and disappeared in swirls of green flame, Harry reflected that shopping—even extensive, complicated, bureaucratically challenging shopping—was considerably more pleasant than most of his previous adventures had been.
No dark wizards, no mortal peril, no prophecies or horcruxes or desperate attempts to save the world while barely surviving another day.
Just practical preparations for an American adventure, funded by wealth he was still coming to terms with, organized by friends who cared enough to make comprehensive lists, and aimed at helping someone who needed guidance navigating abilities that could reshape reality if not properly controlled.
All things considered, he'd take complicated shopping trips over dark wizard confrontations any day of the week.
Even if Hermione's lists did require their own filing system and strategic planning to execute properly.
—
The green flames of the Floo deposited Harry and Bill in the Burrow's sitting room with the usual combination of efficiency and mild disorientation that came from magical transportation. Harry stumbled slightly—his enhanced reflexes were still calibrating to the particular physics of Floo travel—but caught himself before face-planting into the worn carpet that had probably witnessed similar arrivals from various Weasleys over the years.
The sitting room was empty, but the sounds and smells emanating from the kitchen told a comprehensive story that Harry's enhanced senses could read like a particularly detailed novel. Mrs. Weasley was orchestrating dinner with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd been feeding large families for decades—pots bubbling on the hob, the distinctive sizzle of something delicious in a pan, and that particular combination of herbs and roasting meat that made Harry's stomach remind him that he'd been too focused on bureaucracy to eat proper lunch.
More interesting were the voices—Ron and Hermione engaged in what sounded like a spirited debate about the relative merits of different airline carriers, Ginny apparently reading aloud from a guidebook about Kansas with periodic commentary that suggested she found American geography both fascinating and slightly absurd, and Mr. Weasley asking questions about airplane mechanics that were probably making everyone else regret mentioning commercial aviation in his presence.
"Sounds like everyone's already gathering for dinner," Bill observed, brushing soot off his dragonhide jacket. "Ready to face the inquisition about our shopping expedition?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," Harry replied. "Though I suspect 'we commissioned five mansion-trunks and spent most of the afternoon navigating Ministry bureaucracy' isn't going to satisfy Hermione's need for comprehensive debriefing."
"She'll want receipts, timeline projections, and probably a full written report with appendices," Bill agreed cheerfully. "But at least we can honestly say we accomplished two major categories from her list."
They made their way to the kitchen, where the long table had been extended to accommodate the growing dinner party. Mrs. Weasley looked up from her cooking with the kind of maternal satisfaction that suggested she'd been mentally counting down the minutes until everyone was safely home and within feeding distance.
"Harry, Bill!" she beamed, immediately abandoning her sauce to fuss over them. "Perfect timing—dinner's nearly ready. How did the shopping go? Did you get everything sorted? Bill, you look exhausted—have you been running all over Diagon Alley? Harry, dear, you need to eat more, even with all those cosmic enhancements you're still too thin—"
"Mum," Bill interrupted gently, "we're fine. Shopping went well, bureaucracy was tedious but successful, and we're both ready for whatever excellent meal you've prepared."
"Diplomatic as always," Ginny observed from her seat at the table, looking up from her Kansas guidebook with a grin that made Harry's enhanced cardiovascular system do interesting things. "So, did you actually accomplish anything productive, or did you just wander around Diagon Alley looking at shiny things?"
"We accomplished quite a lot, actually," Harry said, settling into the chair beside her with careful attention to his enhanced strength and the structural integrity of furniture that had been serving the Weasley family since before he was born. "Commissioned five top-quality expansion trunks with mansion-grade interiors, interconnection charms, and specialized features for Teddy. Spent several hours at the Ministry sorting out international travel documentation. All in all, a successful afternoon of bureaucratic navigation and expensive magical purchases."
"Five expansion trunks?" Hermione's eyes lit up with the particular gleam that meant she was already mentally cataloguing specifications and organizational possibilities. "With interconnection charms? That's brilliant—we'll be able to coordinate so much more effectively if we can actually move between the different spaces. What are the interior dimensions? Did you specify climate control? Security features?"
"All of that and more," Bill confirmed, pulling out the contract from Magnificent Trunks & Cases and handing it to Hermione with the air of someone presenting evidence to a particularly demanding judge. "Barnaby Trunk assured us they'll be ready in a week—five custom-built mansion-trunks, each with approximately 2500 to 3000 square feet of interior space, full amenities, and enough security features to protect against everything short of a direct assault by trained curse-breakers."
Hermione began reading the contract with the kind of focused intensity she usually reserved for particularly complex theoretical texts, occasionally making small sounds of approval or interest as she processed the specifications.
"This is excellent work," she said finally, looking up with genuine satisfaction. "The security protocols are comprehensive, the interconnection system is elegantly designed, and the special features for Teddy's care are thoughtfully implemented. How much did this cost?"
"Two thousand galleons," Harry said, waiting for her reaction.
Hermione blinked, then nodded slowly. "That's... actually quite reasonable for what you're getting. High-end expansion trunks typically run at least three hundred galleons each for basic models, and these are considerably more sophisticated than basic. The interconnection charms alone probably represent a significant portion of the cost."
"See?" Ron said to Hermione with satisfaction. "I told you Harry was wealthy enough to afford ridiculous luxury without bankrupting himself. You owe me five Knuts for winning that bet."
"You bet on my financial stability?" Harry asked with amusement.
"Hermione thought you might have sticker shock at the prices," Ron explained. "I argued that anyone who spent six years not actually thinking about money probably had no proper concept of what things cost and would just authorize whatever seemed necessary."
"That's... disturbingly accurate," Harry admitted. "Though in my defense, the trunks really are necessary. We can't exactly show up in Kansas and live in hotels for however long this consulting work takes."
"Especially not with a baby," Ginny pointed out. "Teddy needs stable, comfortable accommodation, and hotel rooms aren't exactly designed for infant care."
"Speaking of Teddy," Hermione said, looking up from the contract with sudden concern, "did you arrange for the specialized baby equipment I listed? The magical nappies, portable crib, feeding supplies?"
"That's on tomorrow's agenda," Harry assured her. "Along with communication mirrors, medical supplies, reference books about American magical culture, and appropriate Muggle clothing for various social contexts. Bill and I decided to call it a day after spending several hours navigating Ministry bureaucracy."
"Wise decision," Mr. Weasley said, looking up from the airplane magazine he'd apparently been studying with Ron. "The Ministry can be exhausting even when you're just processing routine paperwork. Add in cosmic enhancements and unusual magical signatures, and I imagine it becomes considerably more complicated."
"The witch handling my magical travel permit said my signature was 'notably enhanced' and 'philosophically concerning,'" Harry reported. "Which I'm choosing to interpret as a compliment rather than a warning."
"Philosophically concerning?" Ginny repeated with obvious amusement. "Harry, you've achieved a level of existential confusion that makes bureaucrats question the nature of identity. That's actually impressive."
"I'm a trendsetter," Harry replied dryly. "Creating new categories of banking clients, making identification charms recalibrate themselves, and generally ensuring that no bureaucratic system can process my existence without developing philosophical concerns. It's a gift."
Mrs. Weasley chose that moment to announce that dinner was ready, and the conversation shifted to the more immediate concerns of serving food, passing dishes, and ensuring everyone had adequate portions of everything. Harry found himself with a plate that could have fed a small Quidditch team—roasted chicken that smelled divine, potatoes that had been cooked to crispy perfection, vegetables that somehow made healthy eating look appealing, and enough gravy to constitute a serious commitment to flavor.
"Mrs. Weasley," he said with genuine appreciation, "this looks absolutely brilliant. Thank you."
"It's nothing special, dear," she replied with the kind of false modesty that came from knowing perfectly well that her cooking was spectacular but not wanting to seem prideful. "Just a simple family dinner. Though I did make extra, knowing that your enhanced appetite would need proper fuel."
"My enhanced appetite is deeply grateful," Harry assured her, already working his way through the chicken with enthusiasm that made Ron look slightly jealous.
"So," Hermione said once everyone had been served and the initial hunger-driven silence had passed, "what's the plan for tomorrow? We need to finish the shopping list, collect the documentation from the Ministry, and start making actual travel arrangements."
"I was thinking we could tackle the remaining categories in the morning," Harry suggested between bites of perfectly seasoned potatoes. "Communication mirrors from Wiseacre's, medical supplies from Slug & Jiggers, books from Flourish & Blotts, and baby equipment from wherever sells high-quality magical infant supplies."
"Wiseacre's has an excellent baby section," Mrs. Weasley offered. "I purchased most of Ginny's early care supplies there, and they were very good about explaining how the various enchantments worked. Though that was sixteen years ago, so they've probably updated their inventory since then."
"We can check there first thing," Hermione said, already making notes in the margins of her list. "Then the apothecary for medical supplies—I want to ensure we have treatments for common ailments, magical injuries, and anything that might come up with Teddy. Slug & Jiggers will have standard potions, but we might need to visit the Apothecary Association for specialized infant medications."
"You're very thorough," Bill observed with admiration. "Most people would just pack a few basic healing potions and hope for the best."
"Most people aren't traveling to America with a cosmic-powered wizard, a reality-responsive infant, and the ambitious goal of providing superhero consulting services without causing international incidents," Hermione replied. "Thorough preparation is the only sensible approach to this situation."
"She's got a point," Ron said, claiming another serving of chicken with the casual efficiency of someone who'd spent years competing with six siblings for food. "Though I have to say, 'superhero consulting services' makes this whole expedition sound considerably more impressive than 'help a farm boy learn not to accidentally destroy things with cosmic powers.'"
"Marketing matters," Ginny said with a grin. "If we're going to do this, we might as well make it sound professional. 'Superhero consulting' has a nice ring to it—very American, very entrepreneurial, very 'we definitely know what we're doing and aren't just making this up as we go along.'"
"Are we making this up as we go along?" Harry asked with mock concern.
"Absolutely," Ginny confirmed cheerfully. "But we're doing it with style, comprehensive preparation courtesy of Hermione, and enough money to make our improvisation look like sophisticated planning."
"That's... actually a pretty accurate description of how I've approached most challenges in my life," Harry admitted. "Improvise frantically while hoping that luck, friendship, and occasional bursts of competence carry me through."
"And it's worked remarkably well so far," Mr. Weasley pointed out. "You've defeated dark wizards, survived impossible odds, and apparently gained cosmic superpowers in the process. Your improvisation skills are clearly quite advanced."
"Hear that, Harry?" Ron said with satisfaction. "Dad thinks your ability to make things up on the spot qualifies as an advanced skill. You should add it to your resume—'Harry Potter: Advanced Improviser, Cosmic Entity, Agricultural Consultant to American Farmers.'"
"Please don't help me write my resume," Harry requested. "That description makes me sound like I have no idea what I'm doing but occasionally get lucky enough to avoid complete disaster."
"Is that not accurate?" Hermione asked innocently.
The table dissolved into laughter, and Harry found himself grinning despite being the target of everyone's amusement. This—sitting around the Burrow's kitchen table, sharing a meal with people who knew him well enough to tease him about his life choices, planning an adventure that was equal parts ridiculous and necessary—this was what he'd been missing during his cosmic education.
Not the power, not the enhanced abilities, not even the understanding of forces that shaped reality itself. Just this: family, friendship, the comfortable chaos of people who cared about each other enough to make comprehensive shopping lists and laugh at each other's expense while planning impossible things.
"Right," he said once the laughter had died down, "tomorrow we finish the shopping, collect our documentation, and start making actual travel arrangements. Airlines, hotels, rental transportation—all the practical details that turn 'ambitious plan' into 'actual expedition.'"
"I've been researching American hotels," Hermione said, pulling out yet another set of notes that suggested she'd spent considerable time on this project. "There are several options in the Kansas City area that would work as a base of operations while we're consulting with your—" she paused, searching for appropriate terminology, "—your cosmic counterpart."
"The son of El," Harry supplied. "That's what Pev called him. Another Kryptonian heir who's apparently been raised by farmers and is currently in the process of discovering abilities similar to mine."
"Do we know anything about him beyond 'farm boy with superpowers'?" Ron asked with genuine curiosity.
"Not much," Harry admitted. "Pev mentioned he's been causing incidents—rescuing people, preventing accidents, that sort of thing. Classic superhero behavior, really, except he's probably not thinking of it in those terms. More likely he's just trying to help and hasn't quite figured out the implications of having abilities that exceed normal human limitations."
"So he's basically you," Ginny observed, "but American, raised on a farm, and probably with fewer dark wizards trying to kill him on a regular basis."
"That's a disturbingly accurate summary," Harry agreed. "Though I'm hoping the 'fewer dark wizards' part means he's had a more peaceful childhood than I did."
"Low bar," Ron muttered. "Very low bar."
Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat with the particular sound that meant she was about to say something that everyone needed to hear whether they wanted to or not. "Harry, dear, I know you're planning this expedition and you're very capable, but I want you to promise me something."
"Of course," Harry said, recognizing the tone of serious maternal concern.
"Promise me you'll be careful," she said, her voice carrying weight that spoke of years spent worrying about children who'd inherited the Weasley tendency toward danger. "Not just with the cosmic powers and the American farm boy and whatever complications arise from superhero consulting. I mean with yourself, with your friends, with Teddy. You've spent so long being responsible for everyone else's safety that sometimes I worry you forget you're allowed to be safe too."
The kitchen fell quiet except for the gentle crackle of the fire in the hearth and the soft tick of the clock that tracked where various Weasley family members were at any given moment.
Harry looked at Mrs. Weasley—this woman who'd opened her home to him, fed him, fussed over him, loved him like one of her own despite having no obligation to do so—and felt something in his chest expand beyond even his cosmic enhancements.
"I promise," he said quietly. "I'll be careful. Not just with everyone else, but with myself too. Because I've learned that the people who love me care about my safety just as much as I care about theirs."
"Good boy," Mrs. Weasley said, though her voice was thick with emotion. "That's all I ask. Be careful, be safe, and come home when you're done with your adventures."
"Always," Harry promised. "I've got too much to come home to now. Family, friends, a godson who needs me, and apparently enough money to accidentally reshape economies if I'm not paying attention to my spending habits."
"Speaking of your godson," Mr. Weasley said, clearly attempting to lighten the mood, "when are you planning to pick up Teddy? Before or after the shopping expedition?"
"After," Harry decided. "I want to have everything sorted first—the trunks commissioned, the documentation processed, the supplies purchased. That way when Andromeda and Teddy join us, we can focus on final preparations and actually spending time together rather than rushing around trying to sort logistics."
"Sensible," Hermione approved. "And it gives Andromeda a few more days to prepare herself and Teddy for international travel with a group of people who collectively represent enough chaos to concern any reasonable guardian."
"We're not that chaotic," Ron protested.
"Ron, we're planning to take a six-month-old baby on an international expedition involving cosmic superhero consulting, American agricultural magic, and an ambitious young man who can probably fly faster than commercial aircraft," Hermione said patiently. "We are the definition of chaotic."
"Fair point," Ron conceded. "Though at least it's organized chaos, thanks to your comprehensive planning."
"Organized chaos is still chaos," Ginny observed. "It's just chaos with proper documentation and backup supplies."
The meal continued with comfortable conversation, occasional bursts of laughter, and the kind of easy companionship that came from people who genuinely enjoyed each other's company. Harry found himself relaxing in ways his cosmic education hadn't quite prepared him for—letting go of the constant awareness of his enhanced abilities, the perpetual calculation of potential threats and opportunities, the weight of responsibility that came with having power that could reshape reality.
Here, in the Burrow's kitchen, surrounded by people who'd known him before the cosmic enhancement and still treated him like himself rather than like some kind of supernatural phenomenon, he could just be Harry. Not the Boy Who Lived, not the Master of Death, not the Last Son of House Rell.
Just Harry Potter, eating excellent dinner, planning an ambitious adventure, and grateful beyond words for the family he'd found.
By the time dessert appeared—one of Mrs. Weasley's famous treacle tarts, still warm from the oven—Harry felt more settled than he had since returning from his cosmic education. The enhanced abilities were still there, humming quietly in the background of his awareness, but they felt less like foreign additions and more like natural parts of himself that he was learning to integrate.
"Tomorrow," he said as they were finishing their tarts, "we tackle the rest of the shopping list, collect our documentation, and start making real plans for this expedition. And then..." He paused, looking around the table at the faces of his chosen family. "Then we have an adventure. A proper adventure, with preparation and planning and hopefully fewer near-death experiences than my previous adventures have featured."
"I'll drink to that," Bill said, raising his glass.
"To adventures with proper planning," Ron added.
"To comprehensive preparation," Hermione contributed.
"To not dying," Ginny said cheerfully.
"To family," Mr. Weasley said warmly.
"To coming home safe," Mrs. Weasley finished, her eyes bright.
They clinked glasses—pumpkin juice all around, though Harry suspected there might be a bit of celebratory Firewhisky in Mr. Weasley's glass—and drank to the future.
Whatever complications awaited them in Kansas, whatever challenges came with helping a cosmic farm boy learn to manage reality-altering abilities, whatever chaos inevitably accompanied any endeavor involving Harry Potter and his friends, they would face it together.
With comprehensive shopping lists, expensive mansion-trunks, proper documentation, and most importantly, the kind of love and loyalty that made even impossible things feel achievable.
Harry caught Ginny's eye across the table and saw his own feelings reflected there—anticipation mixed with slight anxiety, excitement tempered by awareness of the challenges ahead, and underneath it all, the absolute certainty that whatever happened, they would face it together.
Tomorrow, they would shop.
The day after, they would finalize preparations.
And then, they would begin the next chapter of their story—one that involved international travel, cosmic consulting, and the ambitious goal of helping someone navigate abilities that could reshape reality without causing any major disasters in the process.
It was going to be interesting, complicated, and probably occasionally terrifying.
But then again, that was just life with Harry Potter.
And really, would anyone want it any other way?
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