Are You Afraid of Me?

Sirius didn't get it.

Driving wasn't complicated—you just had to not hit people, right?

Why were there rules? Gryffindors hated rules!

"It's a law designed to ensure safe and smooth transportation," Hermione explained. "It's the same logic as the Floo Network regulations."

Sirius grumbled in dissatisfaction.

"Sirius, if you do want to buy a car, a driver's license is a necessary thing," Arthur said, taking one hand off the wheel to flick his wand. A small drawer in the dashboard slid open, and a card flew out, landing in Sirius's lap.

It was a plastic card, printed with Arthur's photo, name, birthdate, and what was obviously a fake home address.

"What's this?" Sirius turned it over, prodding at it with a puzzled expression.

"It's a Muggle thing," Arthur explained. "You need one to drive."

"How much does it cost?" Sirius asked, then turned to Hermione. "Hey, Hermione, ask your parents if they'd be willing to exchange some Muggle money for Galleons."

Hermione tilted her head. "Buying a car and getting a license isn't cheap. Exchanging Galleons would be a rip-off for you. How much do you need? I can lend you some."

She pulled out a wallet she rarely used and took out a thick stack of banknotes—

Five-pound, ten-pound, twenty-pound, and even fifty-pound notes, adding up to at least seven or eight thousand pounds.

Arthur turned his head, eyes going wide—

And nearly rear-ended the car in front.

"Not a problem," Sirius waved a hand dismissively. "You need Galleons too, don't you?"

Hermione, unfazed, replied, "But pounds are useless to you. Aside from buying a car and getting a license, you're not exactly planning to live in the Muggle world."

Sirius hesitated.

Ron stared at the wad of cash. "How much Galleons is that worth?"

"About fifteen hundred," Hermione calculated quickly. She didn't give an exact number—not because she was bad at math, but because she wasn't entirely sure how much she had.

"… How much?" Ron looked like he'd just been slapped by Crookshanks.

"Fifteen hundred," Hermione repeated.

Ron gaped. In his mind, it was hard to equate money with paper. "These fancy bits of paper are worth that many Galleons?"

"I'm so glad to hear you using the phrase 'fancy bits of paper,'" Hermione said approvingly. "It seems like Harry and I have improved your grammar."

Sirius was still uncertain.

To him, pounds were about as useful as scrap paper.

Whenever he dealt with Muggles in the past, he'd usually use his uncle's inheritance—or ask the Dursleys to help, exchanging jewelry and gold for their money. Even he knew that swapping Galleons for pounds was not a smart deal.

Hermione shoved the money into his hands. "We're—" she hesitated, cheeks turning pink, "I mean, I think we can consider ourselves family, right?"

She took a deep breath, steadying her voice. "It's just money, Sirius. You don't care about it, I don't care about it."

Ron and Arthur watched her, completely awestruck.

So cool.

When would they be able to say something like that?— "It's just money, I don't care."

"…That's a lot of money," Sirius murmured, shifting the bundle in his hands. "Shouldn't the Grangers—"

"No, it's mine," Hermione interrupted.

As the daughter of dentists making over a hundred thousand pounds a year—the treasured child of a high-income British household—Hermione never lacked money.

She paused. "It's just my allowance. Even though I've been at Hogwarts all these years, my parents still send me money every month. Little by little, I've saved over ten thousand pounds. As long as you're not planning to buy a ridiculously expensive car, it should be fine."

"…Ten thousand pounds," Ron echoed, then turned to his father. "Dad, what's the exchange rate at Gringotts?"

"Five pounds per Galleon," Arthur answered. "But Muggles can only exchange twenty Galleons max—"

Ron didn't even hear the second half—his mind was reeling. He slowly did the math, then stammered, "That's… that's two thousand Galleons?"

Hermione nodded.

Ron squeezed his hands into fists. "How are you so rich?!"

Hermione answered confidently, "I get a hundred pounds a week. Even though I spend some during the summer, I still save more than ten thousand."

"Since I won't be spending it anyway, I might as well lend it to Sirius."

That was enough to convince him.

But what truly swayed Sirius were three simple words—

"We're family."

He accepted the money openly, without guilt.

"I'd recommend a Ford," Arthur suggested enthusiastically, honking the horn for emphasis. "Americans might be tacky, but they do make great cars."

"No, I think Jaguar makes better cars," Sirius argued.

Arthur hesitated. "But those are expensive."

Sirius puffed up his chest. "Hermione's rich."

Arthur tightened his grip on the steering wheel—

This insufferable, filthy-rich family!

—

They arrived at the Leaky Cauldron.

Arthur pressed a button on the dashboard, activating a magical enchantment that blended the old Ford seamlessly into the unseen wizarding pub.

They entered Diagon Alley.

As always, it was bustling with energy.

Their first stop was Flourish and Blotts.

"Let's see…" Ron skimmed his booklist. "How to Defend Yourself Against Dark Wizards—this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook?"

"…Sounds dangerous," Hermione murmured, frowning. "I have a bad feeling our professor might be… extreme."

Sirius looked oddly amused.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

"I doubt anyone could be more extreme than Crouch," Ron muttered.

First day of class, and the man had immediately started with the Unforgivable Curses.

"…It's not Moody anymore?" Hermione sighed. "Moody seemed like the type to assign something like The Light's Might instead."

Arthur lowered his voice. "He can't."

"The Ministry re-hired Moody as an Auror training instructor."

He paused. "And they passed a new law—Ministry employees are forbidden from holding outside jobs or earning external income."

"They say it's because of Ludo Bagman."

"…But it's obviously targeted at Dumbledore. I've been questioned several times already."

Harry lowered his voice, too. "But Dumbledore doesn't even pay you."

Arthur straightened. "Pay? That's such a vulgar concept."

Harry stared at him blankly.

"…No pay is a problem," Arthur admitted. "But at least this means our stipends—well, you know—have increased. I now get nearly thirty Galleons a week."

That was enough to buy new books and clothes for the children.

After buying their books and potion supplies, they returned to the Leaky Cauldron to wait.

With Rita around, boredom was impossible.

She always had some outrageous gossip to share—even old Tom, the bartender, listened in fascination.

It wasn't until dinnertime that they finally spotted a man with white hair, grumbling as he walked out of Diagon Alley with a young girl.

The man was dressed in a long golden robe, wearing stockings—looking like a medieval noble. But his wild, unkempt white hair made him seem as if someone had smashed a vanilla ice cream onto his bald head.

What caught Harry's attention most was the pendant around his neck—

A golden chain, holding a peculiar emblem—

An equilateral triangle, enclosing a circle, bisected by a single line.

"That's—" Hermione noticed it too.

"The Deathly Hallows," Harry nodded. "Why is he wearing that?"

Ron craned his neck. "What? What?"

"The necklace around his neck," Hermione whispered.

Ron squinted. "… That is the Deathly Hallows?"

"It's the symbol of the Deathly Hallows," Harry corrected.

"…Another believer in the legend?" Ron looked between Harry and Hermione, both of whom firmly believed the Hallows were real.

Harry nodded.

And as they approached—

Luna Lovegood trembled, hugging herself.

Harry's gaze locked onto hers.

"…Are you afraid of me?" he asked.

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Powerstones?

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