Be Wary of Clear Skies

4: Wingardium Leviosa!

Hermione entered Madam Malkin's alone, after she'd successfully convinced Matron Brooke that they'd save time by splitting up. The Matron had reluctantly agreed, leaving Hermione to get fitted for her new school uniform while she went off to buy a cauldron and a strange assortment of what had to be the magical equivalent of lab equipment.

The shop was dimly lit, with rows upon rows of fabric on rolls on every wall, their rich colours muted in the soft light. In one corner, on a small podium near the window, mannequins displayed various robes and outfits. Like everything else in Diagon Alley, Madam Malkin's was enchanted in all sorts of ways. The mannequins were moving slowly, striking a new pose every few seconds, moving with a fluidness that was almost lifelike. Had they not been faceless, Hermione might've mistaken them for real people, hired to model robes for the shop all day long. It was uncanny.

In the centre of the room, a lady Hermione assumed to be Madam Malkin was fussing about a stool, her flowy, grey robes sweeping the floor as she directed a hovering, and clearly magical, measuring tape. On the stool stood a boy around her own age, with untidy, black hair and round glasses.

As Hermione approached, a bell extended magically in the ceiling announced her arrival by clinging loudly. The woman turned to look at her, face softening into a warm smile.

"Another first year?" she asked brightly.

Hermione couldn't help but wonder if there was a glowing neon sign above her head, visible to everyone but her, but she nodded and managed to return a polite smile.

"We'll get you sorted in no time!" The woman exclaimed, waving her wand with a flourish. A second stool appeared out of thin air beside the one the black-haired boy was already standing on. "Up you go!"

Hermione stepped over and climbed onto the stool. To her surprise, the wood felt as solid as any ordinary chair would beneath her feet, despite having been conjured from thin air.

Madam Malkin gave a sharp whistle, and another measuring tape sprang to life, zipping around Hermione as it took her measurements.

"Hi!" The boy next to her said, his voice bright with enthusiasm. "I'm a first year too!" He was surprisingly confident, and he smiled broadly at Hermione.

"Hello," her own voice was a small whisper in comparison.

"Exciting, isn't it? It's finally happening!" he continued, cheerfully ignoring her shy response. "I don't think I could have waited any longer. I'm really looking forward to seeing the Gryffindor common rooms–and the Quidditch pitch!"

Hermione stared at the boy. She didn't know what Gryffindor or Quidditch were, but she didn't want to seem ignorant, especially not in front of the first classmate she met. It would be just her luck to embarrass herself before she even got on the train, making sure she stayed awkward and friendless. She settled for a simple "Me too," with a shrug, hoping the boy would keep talking.

"So, you think you'll be in Gryffindor too? I'm sure I will be. Both my parents were. My dad played on the Quidditch team, so I'm hoping they will let the first years try out. I'd love to play for Gryffindor. I suppose it doesn't really matter which house I'm in, as long as I make the Quidditch team, truly. Though I'd rather not end up in Slytherin–my dad says their common rooms are slimy. Do you like flying?" The boy spoke with the fast enthusiasm of someone who had no filter between his thoughts and his mouth, and the words came tumbling out like a bag of marbles down a flight of stairs.

"It's alright," Hermione replied with another shrug. Noncommittal answers usually worked well with people who enjoyed carrying the conversation themselves, and Hermione was determined to learn as much as she could without revealing her ignorance until she absolutely had to.