A glimmer of hope
Harry spent the rest of the afternoon trying not to think about Draco Malfoy. But no matter how hard he focused on dusting shelves or organising inventory, Draco’s sharp grey eyes and smirk lingered in his mind.
It was unusual for customers to take much notice of him—most barely glanced his way unless they were barking orders. But Draco’s casual curiosity had unsettled Harry, though not unpleasantly.
By the time Harry finally finished his chores and trudged upstairs to the small, cramped room he called a bedroom, he was exhausted. The single window barely let in light, the wallpaper was peeling, and the bed creaked with every movement.
Still, Harry sat on the edge of the mattress, pulling out his star-shaped charm. The smooth surface glinted faintly in the dim light, and he closed his fingers around it.
“Maybe one day,” he whispered again, his words barely audible.
The next morning, Harry woke early, as always, to prepare the shop for opening. He was arranging a display of tarnished silverware when the bell above the door jingled.
“Harry, dear!” Mrs Weasley’s warm, familiar voice filled the room.
Harry turned with a grin. Molly Weasley, her red hair bundled atop her head, bustled in with an energy that belied the hour. Behind her trailed Ron and Ginny, their arms laden with boxes.
“Morning, Mrs Weasley,” Harry said brightly. “What brings you by?”
“Oh, I thought these might help,” she replied, setting down a box and pulling out a patchwork quilt. “We’re clearing out the attic, and I thought you might be able to sell these. Family heirlooms, but we’ve no room for them anymore.”
“Thanks,” Harry said sincerely, though he doubted Vernon would let him keep much of the profits.
“Need any help?” Ron asked, setting his box down with a thud.
“I’m good,” Harry replied, though he appreciated the offer.
Ginny elbowed her brother. “Honestly, Ron, you just want an excuse to avoid Mum’s cleaning frenzy.”
“You try surviving the Burrow during a spring clean,” Ron muttered.
Harry chuckled, feeling a rare moment of normalcy in their company. Mrs Weasley gave him a quick hug before bustling out with her children in tow, leaving the shop feeling a little brighter than before.
That evening, as Harry was closing up, the bell above the door jingled again. He glanced up, surprised to see Sirius and Remus stepping inside, their presence a welcome relief from the monotony of the day.
Sirius, ever the dramatic one, threw his arms wide. “Harry! Your favourite godfather has arrived!”
Harry smirked. “You’re my only godfather, Sirius.”
“Details,” Sirius said with a wave of his hand.
Remus, standing just behind him, smiled warmly. “How are you, Harry?”
“Same as usual,” Harry admitted, setting down the broom he’d been using to sweep the floor.
“Well, not for long,” Sirius said, pulling an envelope from his coat with a flourish. “Because we’ve got something exciting for you.”
Harry took the envelope hesitantly, his name written in elegant script on the front.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s an invitation,” Remus said, a spark of excitement in his voice. “To the Malfoys’ masquerade ball.”
Harry blinked, staring at the envelope. “A ball? Why would I be invited to that?”
Sirius smirked. “Narcissa insisted. She wants it to be a grand event, and she invited half the city. Plus, she’s family.”
“Barely,” Harry muttered, thinking of the distant connection between the Blacks and the Potters.
“You’re going,” Sirius said firmly. “No arguments. It’s about time you had a bit of fun.”
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Sirius held up a hand.
“Remus and I will help with everything. Just trust us, okay?”
Harry sighed, glancing at the invitation. The idea of attending a grand event felt like stepping into another world—one he wasn’t sure he belonged in.
Still, a small part of him, the part that clutched his glass charm at night, dared to hope.