Vice versa (Harry Potter)

"Harry, Harry, over here!" Hagrid waved his massive hand.

 "Hi!" Harry waved back. "Shall we go shopping? It's almost a tradition now—every August you take me to Diagon Alley."

 "Well, yeah… everyone else is busy, and I actually enjoy it," Hagrid smiled.

 "Hagrid, can I bring my friend along?" Harry looked up at him hopefully.

 "Friend? What friend?"

 "An old friend, we've known each other since childhood!"

 "But he's a Muggle, isn't he?" Hagrid asked in a hushed, worried tone, bending closer.

 "Yeah, but don't worry—he knows all about us. I've told him everything," Harry said, leaving Hagrid momentarily stunned. "I write to him all the time. He's dying to see how wizards live! Come on, Hagrid, it's no big deal!"

 "And does the Headmaster know?"

 "Why would he need to know such a trivial thing?"

 "Well, I'll still tell him," Hagrid said, waving his umbrella with a frown. "Bringing Muggles around isn't exactly right!"

 "Go ahead, whatever," Harry shrugged. "What's the harm? Hermione's parents walk around with her, but my friend can't? What, am I worse than her?"

 "Well, they're her parents…" Hagrid scratched his beard awkwardly, then waved his huge hand. "Alright, call your friend. But..."

 "I gave him one of my robes—no one will even notice," Harry preempted the question. "Terry! Terry! Come on!"

 "I'm already here. I was waiting by the gate," his friend said, stepping onto the street with a grin. "Hello, Mr. Hagrid. I've heard a lot about you. My name's Terence, but you can call me Terry."

 "Oh, well, no need for 'Mr.,' just Hagrid," the giant said, a bit flustered. "Alright, kids, let's go… Harry, you got money? Dumbledore gave me some for you..."

 "I have some, but not much, so thanks to the Headmaster," Harry replied warmly, exchanging a glance with Terry. It seemed Dumbledore had either failed to access the vault or subtly hinted at the situation, but Harry wasn't about to refuse the money, even though he had plenty himself. "Give me your hand, Terry. This is going to be fun..."

Harry hated Apparating, though Terry somehow managed to handle it without any ill effects—probably because he wasn't a wizard.

 "Hagrid, I'm off to buy textbooks!" Harry shouted.

 "Alright, go ahead. I'll just have a quick drink over there," Hagrid replied in his usual way, ambling off.

 "What a colorful character!" Terry whispered enthusiastically. "And this place—it's incredible!"

 "Would you want to live in such chaos?"

 "No. But it's fun to look around! By the way, how are you doing?"

 "Great. For the first time in my life, I can see the world properly!" Harry grinned blissfully. "Well, through glasses, of course, but you wouldn't understand what it's like to be able to take them off and still see!"

 "You're glowing," Terry chuckled. "Good thing it all worked out… So, what's next? Where do you buy your textbooks?"

 "Over there. Looks like we're just in time—hear that? Sounds like a fight!"

 "In a bookstore?!"

Harry dragged Terry along, and they arrived just in time: a distinguished blond man in an expensive robe had knocked over a shelf after being punched in the eye by a balding red-haired gentleman, who bore a similar mark himself. A crowd had gathered, cameras flashed, and someone was speaking from a stage.

 "Perfect timing," Harry said, quickly taking in the scene.

 "The blond guy stuffed something into that book in the cauldron over there," Terry noted.

 "Interesting… Can you grab it? I'll distract him!"

With that, Harry rushed to help the blond man, whom he immediately recognized from descriptions.

 "Lord Malfoy, are you alright?" he asked, offering his hand with concern.

 "Thank you, I'm fine," Malfoy replied, scrutinizing Harry closely. "You're Potter, aren't you?"

 "Indeed, sir," Harry said with a polite nod.

 "Hmm…" Malfoy straightened up, brushed off his robe, tossed his platinum hair behind his shoulder, and looked Harry over. "A very polite young man… for someone raised among Muggles."

 "You should thank yourself, sir. It was you who allowed your son to lend me books from your remarkable library," Harry said smoothly. "I still have a long way to go to live up to the legacy of a noble family, but I'm trying my best!"

 "And it shows," Malfoy replied approvingly, glancing at his red-haired opponent—Weasley, of course—surrounded by his family. Ron glared at Harry with undisguised hatred.

 "I think we should leave, sir," Harry said quietly. "There are far too many reporters here, and, pardon me, but that's quite the shiner you've got…"

 "Well, Weasley's is worse," Malfoy said with satisfaction, gingerly touching his eye.

 "Here's your cane, sir. You dropped it," Harry handed over the heavy object, his stomach aching from suppressed laughter as he maintained his polite demeanor.

 "Thank you."

 "You should have just whacked him on the head with the handle—it'd work as well as a knuckle-duster," Harry couldn't resist adding.

 Malfoy smirked.

"Potter? Harry Potter?" whispers suddenly spread through the crowd. Harry winced as if in pain.

 "Harry?!" a shrill female voice called out. "It's our Harry! Oh, my boy! Come here!"

 Harry instinctively ducked behind the imposing Malfoy. Hugging Ron's mom was the last thing he wanted.

 "Molly Weasley," Malfoy muttered with a grimace. "You're right, young man; we should leave this place."

Harry exchanged a glance with Terry, who winked, signaling that the task was done, and nodded toward the exit.

 "Yes, sir, it's awfully noisy here," Harry said, following Malfoy outside. "By the way, do you happen to know who that golden-haired man on the stage is?"

 "That would be your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Malfoy replied with a saccharine smile. "Haven't you bought his books yet?"

 "No," Harry said firmly. "And now I definitely won't waste money on them."

 "Really?"

 "Unfortunately, sir… Looks like there's no point in attending Defense classes again this year," Harry sighed. "It's just awful how poor the education we're offered is! I had such high hopes…"

 "Yes, I've heard some things from Draco," Malfoy said thoughtfully. "But I must go. I think we'll talk again… in more suitable circumstances."

 "With great pleasure, sir," Harry said with a short bow, watching Malfoy's majestic departure.

 "What a peacock," Terry whispered, sneaking up behind him.

 "Yep. His son bragged that they have white peacocks at their manor. Spitting image, huh?"

 The boys burst into laughter.

"There you are!" Hagrid was approaching, smelling strongly of something alcoholic. "So, did you get your books?"

 "No, there was some sort of presentation," Harry said. "It's impossible to get to the counter. Forget it, I'll order them later. Let's move on—I still need tons of stuff."

*

"So, what do you think of Diagon Alley overall?" asked Harry, flopping onto the mattress.

"Amusing," snorted Terry, biting into an apple. "You know, it reminds me of a theme park. Your professor feels too real for this setting—I can barely picture him here—but Malfoy fits right in. And the rest of them too... Hey, that blond wonder, is he really your new teacher?"

"Looks like it. Why would Malfoy lie? It's a madhouse—every year a new one, and each more peculiar than the last! By the way, I wonder what happened to Quirrell," Harry pondered aloud. "Did he rot away or something?"

"You mean the one with the garlic and the turban?"

"Yeah..."

"Maybe he just went nuts," Terry shrugged. "Whatever!"

"Yeah. We're leaving soon, and I really don't want to go," sighed Harry, sitting up and hugging his knees.

"Really don't want to?"

"Don't provoke me, you maggot! You see what's going on! How am I supposed to split myself in two?"

"Before splitting yourself," Terry said thoughtfully, "figure out how you're going to explain yourself to the headmaster!"

"Why should I explain anything? It's my inheritance, isn't it?"

"Nice excuse! You wouldn't want to expose Snape, though."

"He'll rat himself out," Harry grumbled. "I don't know what Dumbledore has on him—besides the Death Eater thing, though a lot of people know about that, I've found out… Anyway, Snape grits his teeth but reports everything. Oh, damn!"

"What?"

"I'm an idiot! I should've asked the goblins to keep quiet about who helped me get to the bank. Or told them to say... Hey, Terry, you're better at this!"

"Hmm… hang on." Terry padded barefoot across the floor, leaned over the banister, and hollered, "Daaad!"

"What?!" came the reply.

"Dad, if a minor inherits a bunch of money, and their guardian does nothing but spend it while the kid gets nothing—not even ice cream—how do you phrase a petition to revoke guardianship? In plain words, please!"

"Inefficient or misallocated use of the ward's funds," Mr. Higgs replied. "Violation of the ward's rights. That's the simple version."

"Dad, can the bank, after the guardian is removed, avoid revealing who's handling the minor's affairs now?"

"Theoretically, yes. Why do you ask?"

"I read about it in a book and wanted to check if it's true! Thanks, Dad!" Terry returned to the room. "Did you hear that?"

"That's brilliant," Harry nodded with a sly grin. "Let's draft a letter, and as soon as I'm back at Hogwarts, I'll send it straight to Gringotts by owl. I bet the goblins won't mind helping out... And if the headmaster tries to meddle, they'll throw all that legalese at him so hard he'll hiccup for half a day!"

"No problem, we'll write it," Terry nodded. "Dad can check it if needed. By the way, here's your loot..."

"And what's this supposed to be?" Harry asked, startled.

"Just a notebook," Terry handed him the trophy. "But why are you suddenly so fixated on those guys?"

"At first, I just heard some noise, then I recognized Malfoy. Then I figured out the redhead was a Weasley—Ron was standing nearby."

"So what?"

"Think about it. If an important minister punches a regular clerk in the nose in front of a bunch of reporters, what would that mean?"

"Either he was high, or…" Terry scratched his head.

"Exactly—'or'! This is Malfoy we're talking about; he never does anything without a reason, and he wouldn't insult a Weasley just because. Sure, he might've said something nasty in passing, but a fight? I can't imagine it..." Harry examined the notebook.

He picked up a pen and scribbled in the margin. The note immediately disappeared.

 "Cool!" Terry said.

 Harry scrawled a rude word. It vanished.

 "Same to you!" the notebook retorted.

"Well then," Harry said in a dangerous tone, "this is clearly a bad object—dark magic, no doubt... Terry, you'd better not touch it again, sorry. I'll hand it straight to a professor."

 "No problem," Terry shrugged. "For a tour of your madhouse, I can give up the glory and all that... By the way, that red-haired girl definitely has her eye on you!"

 "Another Weasley!" Harry groaned. "God, I hope she's the last one in that family!"

 "Find yourself a girl," Terry suggested, "so they leave you alone. Someone you can actually talk to, but who doesn't get in your face. Doesn't even have to be particularly pretty—it doesn't matter right now."

 "I'll look on the first-year list," Harry nodded. "None in my year. Maybe Hannah, but after that prank… Should I apologize?"

 "Don't. She might punch you, and she'd be right... Now let's write that letter to the goblins!"