He raised his hand automatically and tried to make his hair lie flat—
“You’re fighting a losing battle there, dear,” said his mirror in a wheezy voice.
As the days slipped by, Harry started looking wherever he went for a sign of Ron or Hermione. Plenty of Hogwarts students were arriving in Diagon Alley now, with the start of term so near. Harry met Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, his fellow Gryffindors, in Quality Quidditch Supplies, where they too were ogling the Firebolt; he also ran into the real Neville Longbottom, a round faced, forgetful boy, outside Flourish and Blotts. Harry didn’t stop to chat; Neville appeared to have mislaid his booklist and was being told off by his very formidable looking grandmother. Harry hoped she never found out that he’d pretended to be Neville while on the run from the Ministry of Magic.
Harry woke on the last day of the holidays, thinking that he would at least meet Ron and Hermione tomorrow, on the Hogwarts Express. He got up, dressed, went for a last look at the Firebolt, and was just wondering where he’d have lunch, when someone yelled his name and he turned.
“Harry! HARRY!”
They were there, both of them, sitting outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor—Ron looking incredibly freckly, Hermione very brown, both waving frantically at him.
“Finally!” said Ron, grinning at Harry as he sat down. “We went to the Leaky Cauldron, but they said you’d left, and we went to Flourish and Blotts, and Madam Malkin’s, and—”
“I got all my school stuff last week,” Harry explained. “And how come you knew I’m staying at the Leaky Cauldron?”