Harry Potter Blogfest

Michael is hosting the great Harry Potter Blogfest. Here is my entry.




I have often been told that I look just like Mr Weasley, but until last Christmas I hadn’t realised how true it was. I was walking down a street in Shoreditch on Christmas Eve, one of those lanes that seem impossibly narrow, lined with shops full of curiosity, when I caught a glimpse of myself. I turned to look and, there, on the other side of the glass, was a version of me, resplendent in floor length robes and a purple velvet hat.
I couldn’t help myself. I grinned and went into the shop.
“You look just like Arthur Weasley” I said, sure that it would be a great compliment. “From the Harry Potter books,” I added when the man stared at me in surprise.
“He is Arthur Weasley,” the ancient man behind the counter said. It was more of a cackle, to be honest. He had a white beard that disappeared below the counter, probably all the way to the floor. “You’re the one what looks like Arthur Weasley.”
I held out my hand. “I’m Dominic,” I said. “It’s amazing to meet you actually, you know, in reality.”
Arthur shook my hand warmly enough but he seemed puzzled. “I don’t think I know you,” he said. “I think I would know if I had met myself before.”
“You’re famous, Arthur,” I said. “Everyone knows you.”
The old man laughed, slapping his hand on the counter, took a wheezing breath and collapsed into a fit of coughing.
“Are you alright Pestival?” Arthur said. He strode across the room to slap the old man on the back and catapulted him halfway across shop. I helped Arthur hoist the old man to his feet, Arthur apologising all the while. The old man grinned and waved away Arthur’s apologies.
“There you are Arthur, just what I been saying. You’re forever tinkering with them muggly things but you don’t know nothing about what’s happening in the muggle world.”
Just then the door opened and a little girl with a mass of red hair bounded into the shop, followed by a couple in their late twenties. The girl ran up to Arthur, but stopped when she caught sight of me. She looked quizzically backwards and forwards between us, and then grinned.
“Grandpa One,” she said, pointing at Arthur “and Grandpa Two.” She pointed at me.
“Bloody hell,” the young man said looking at me. “How did you do that, Dad?”
“You must be Ron then,” I said, “and Hermione,” as the young woman joined us. “And this must be little Rose!” Seriously I know those books too well.
Rose beamed up at me. “Where’s Grandma Two?” she said.
Ron put his father’s hat on my head. “What do you reckon, Hermione?”
“Ron, I can read you like a book, and I think you are very mean to your mother.”
Ron grinned. “Oh come on, Hermione – two Dads! Let’s see if Mum can tell the difference!”
And that was how I came to spend a magical Christmas Eve in the best house in the world.