"So, tell me, Charlie, what's got you so happy?" Ted looked at the cheerful redhead with interest. He had never had the chance to speak with another young wizard.
Learning about the magical world from books was intriguing, certainly — but he wasn't yet sure which parts of those books actually reflected reality. Only a wizard could answer that. And since he would be stuck at the robe shop for a while, he figured he might as well make the most of the time.
"Just got the letter this morning — I'm going to be a house prefect next year," Charlie said, grinning. "Mum got so excited she brought me here for a new robe… and threw in a broom while she was at it."
"So you go to Hogwarts? What's it like?" Ted asked, offering a smile that was a little more curious than innocent.
"Yeah, I'm a fourth-year — Gryffindor. It's great. The school's this massive old castle, and the Quidditch is the best outside the professional league. I'm the Seeker on our house team. Normally they announce prefects during the fifth year, but Professor McGonagall made an exception for me since I'm on the team, and... well, Mum promised the broom," he added with a grin.
Looking at Ted, Charlie was reminded of his younger brothers — always tugging at his sleeve with questions about school. And just like with them, he didn't mind answering.
Ted asked about subjects, magical creatures Charlie had seen, the most useful books, and even a little about Quidditch. Charlie answered everything patiently, laughing often, especially when recounting stories about certain teachers and their quirks.
Eventually, Ted's robe was finished.
As he looked it over, he noticed the hood's fabric was far softer than the rest — its colour slightly more vibrant, too.
The purple-robed witch caught his gaze and smiled. "It's Acromantula silk," she said warmly. Ted caught the twitch in her face and knew exactly what it meant — or at least he had a very good guess.
"I didn't order it," he said bluntly, making it as clear as possible that he had no intention of paying for it.
He remembered seeing Acromantula silk in Slug & Jiggers Apothecary — it had gone for a Galleon per ten grams. The hood looked to be around a hundred grams, making it worth at least ten Galleons.
"I know, dear," she replied quickly. "It's on me. We ran out of other types of black, and I didn't check. I don't like disappointing people," she added, still smiling, though her hesitation was obvious.
"Thank you, Madam Malkin. Do you do deliveries?" Ted asked politely, now wearing a wide, genuine smile — something rare for him. He couldn't help it. He'd been thinking about magical materials all day, and now he was getting a rare one for free. It made him... delighted.
<==============>
By the time Ted left Madam Malkin's, night had fallen. Most shops were already closed, and only the occasional cloaked wizard moved through the shadowed street, vanishing into side alleys as quickly as they'd appeared.
Ted stood once more in front of the brick wall he had passed through that morning.
On his person, he carried only a small leather wallet containing a fifty-pound note and a credit card, a simple leather pouch from Gringotts containing a single Galleon and four Sickles, the book A Hundred Concoctions for Beginners tucked under his arm, and a small bag of magical sweets in his pocket.
The rest of the things he bought would be delivered to him via Owl-mail, saving him the trouble of carrying them, or explaining them to his father... or whoever it is that will receive him when he comes back home after disappearing for over a day.
He tapped the bricks again in the same pattern, slipping back into the Leaky Cauldron's quiet back room.
With a flick of his wrist, he pulled out two candies from his pocket and popped them in.
They were Hocus Pocus Jelly Beans — a bizarre brand of magical candy that randomly altered the eater's appearance for a few minutes.
As he swallowed, his hair shifted to a vibrant green and a thick, bushy black moustache exploded beneath his nose, nearly covering his mouth. Fixing his hair to help hide his face as much as possible, Ted passed through the pub quickly, exiting onto Charing Cross Road without stopping.
Only after he left the pub, Ted pause for a short second.
'Too exposed.' He determined immediately.
Without rushing, he turned left and walked down the street, casually scanning his surroundings. A moment later, he spotted a small park squeezed between two streets, its iron gate slightly ajar.
'Perfect.'
He slipped inside, making his way to the nearest tree wide enough to hide behind. Out of sight, he waited.
Barely a minute later, the mustache faded away, and his hair returned to its usual dark color.
Stepping back onto the pavement, he eye the road, considering his options. He could either try to catch a bus or flag down a taxi.
Ted didn't know the bus lines — he'd never actually ridden one — so he opted for the more familiar choice: a taxi.
He stood in front of an old bookstore next to the Leaky Cauldron and raised his right hand, mimicking the gesture Henry, the family chauffeur, had taught him years ago.
Minutes passed. Several taxis drove by. None stopped.
A lone child — maybe nine years old — standing in the dark?
Most drivers likely assumed he couldn't pay, or that he'd only cause trouble.
Ted sighed. Maybe he should give up and ask someone for directions to Kensington — a thought he didn't relish. Attention was the last thing he wanted. And Kensington Palace Gardens... wasn't exactly inconspicuous.
It was the most expensive, exclusive street in London. Royalty, ambassadors, and magnates lived there. His family — the Blakes — were the outlier. His grandfather had apparently earned his place among them through some connection to the royal family... though Ted had no idea what that connection was.
When he asked the etiquette instructor once, she only said: "The man built the Blake Group from nothing and was a legend in his time. He passed of lung cancer, just before you were born."
Not that Ted had much interest in meeting the man.
From what little he'd heard, his grandfather was just a colder, older version of his father. And Cassius Blake was already far from warm. The old man would often ignore him entirely — sending him off on random trips under the excuse of 'broadening his horizons' whenever business demanded his attention.
Just like the one yesterday. A visit to the National Gallery.
If his father had actually cared, he would've known Ted had already been there last summer. And it wasn't like Ted was the kind to forget — important or not, once he saw something, once he learned it, it stayed.
Every place. Every word. Every feeling.
Remembered. Perfectly.
And that, his father knew...
So 'broadening his horizons'? Ted could only see it for what it was. A lazy excuse to send him away.
Just as he was about to head toward the nearby bus station, a sudden screech of wheels tore through the air behind him.
Startled, Ted spun around — just in time to see a massive, vibrant purple triple-decker bus tearing down the street against the flow of traffic — and heading straight for him at frightening speed.
His instincts kicked in immediately.
Ted jumped back, reaching the safety of the shop wall behind him, eyes narrowing as the towering bus screeched to a complete stop — from full speed to dead still — in the space of a second.
Mouth slightly agape, Ted stared as the bus doors hissed open and two elderly witches casually stepped off and vanished into the Leaky Cauldron like nothing unusual had just happened.
Then —
"Welcome to the Knight— Are you getting on, or just planning to lean against the wall all evening?"
An old man — presumably the conductor — called out to him, noticing Ted's bewildered expression.
Ted blinked. Once. Twice.
Then, still lightly bewildered, he stepped forward.
"I—"
But the old man, clearly not one for patience, moved right ahead.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the standard witch or wizard.
Just stick out your wand-hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Cedric Cableway, and I will be your conductor this evening.
For only the price of eleven Sickles, our driver, Ernie Prang, will take you where you want to go. For thirteen, you can get a hot chocolate, and for fifteen, a hot water bottle and a toothbrush in your color of choice."
Ted studied him for a few moments, weighing his options.
He didn't like the idea of talking to strangers for directions. And travelling alone this far — by bus or otherwise — wasn't exactly something he had experience with.
This walk through Diagon Alley? It had already been the longest unsupervised journey of his life.
Without hesitation, he pulled his last Galleon from his pocket and handed it over.
"I'll take the toothbrush," he said flatly. Then, after a beat — glancing at his still-rumpled appearance — added, "No hot chocolate."
Cedric shrugged, seeming faintly disappointed. Probably at not getting to see another kid ruin his shirt.
"Suit yourself. Still costs the same." He accepted the coin, counting out two Sickles in change. "Your destination?"
"Kensington Palace Gardens — Number 4."
Ted didn't miss the way Cedric's expression shifted — familiar recognition giving way to a faint flicker of surprise.
Clearly, the man knew the place.
Without comment, Ted accepted his ticket and stepped aboard the Knight Bus.
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This chapter was edited(I'm sorry if your comments were deleted as a result.)