Right Hand Red DRARRY

Chapter One: Twister

"I take it back," Ron squeaked from the backseat. "Muggle driving is not less terrifying than a flying car."

"Shut it, Ron," Hermione said. "Flying cars are certainly more terrifying."

Her phrasing wasn't lost on Harry. And her fingers trembled as she unbuckled her seatbelt.

"It needs new shocks," Harry explained. Though that had hardly been the reason he'd almost run up onto the pavement. Twice.

Harry patted the wheel of his birthday present to himself, a fog-coloured 1961 Morris Minor sedan. He'd figure it out eventually, he knew. Even though he'd not be able to touch it for almost an entire year after this week.

"Ready?" he asked his passengers, but Ron was already shoving Hermione's vacated seat up and disembarking so quickly you'd have thought his underwear was on fire. "Guess so," Harry sighed. He pocketed his keys, stepping onto the pavement right under the Leaky sign.

By the time he'd worked out how to pay the meter, Ron and Hermione were already inside. It seemed loud for a Thursday afternoon when Harry opened the door and stepped into the tavern.

He didn't have to wait long for the din to go nearly completely silent as all heads turned toward him.

There were wide eyes and whispers of "Harry Potter," and "...saved us," and other such proclamations. Harry tried to meander through the pub unobtrusively -- as if he could -- skirting between close tables and giving small nods to people he knew but mostly avoiding eye contact.

It wasn't long - he hadn't even made it to the bar - before cheers started rising up and it seemed everyone wanted to buy him a drink. Hands patted his back, reached for his hand to shake it... Even the gnarled old hag that was a fixture at the far end of the bar lifted her face and gave him a smile. It would have been frightening had he not learned she rehabilitated stray cats for a living and was considered the prevailing medi-witch of her age. Which had been a very, very long time ago.

"Thanks," Harry said, smiling around compressed lips. "Thanks very much. No, that's not necessary, thank you."

He gave Ron a wide-eyed 'help me' face, but the git just downed half a Butterbeer and then shot him a foamy grin. "Want one? They're on the house."

Hermione rolled her eyes and kicked Ron's barstool, but she'd got a tea to go, so she couldn't be too cross with him.

"I'd just like to get going if it's all the same to you," Harry said. Then, "Hey there, Tom. Good to see you."

Ron shrugged, wiped his mouth, and then they were off.

"So what does everyone need?" Harry asked as he tapped the correct brick and sent the wall between them and Diagon Alley to transforming.

Hermione whipped out her list with authority. "Let's see. Ron is due for a new cauldron. I'd like a new rune set. Harry, I have here that you're to get new robes. Maybe we could all meet back at Flourish and Blotts after? Ron, you're meeting your mum at Gringotts, don't forget."

"How could I? I'm Knutless until I do."

Harry couldn't help but snigger a bit at that, but then the wall had become an arch, and all of Diagon Alley waited for them beyond, and Harry thought it looked nearly as awe-inspiring as the very first time he'd seen it.

Some of the shops had yet to fully recover, of course, but many were well into extensive renovations. Ministry emergency funds meant they might actually improve and expand.

Harry stepped out into the street, soaking in the hustle and bustle all around, the smell of sweets rich in the air and the sound of dozens of eleven-year-olds gasping, laughing, and chattering filling his ears.