as the archway into Diagon Alley opened in the wall.
Harry spent the long sunny days exploring the shops and eating under the
brightly colored umbrellas outside cafes, where his fellow diners were
showing one another their purchases ( " it , s a lunascope, old boy --
no more messing around with moon charts, see?") or else discussing the
case of Sirius Black ("personalty, I won't let any of the children out
alone until he's back in Azkaban"). Harry didn't have to do his homework
under the blankets by flashlight anymore; now he could sit in the bright
sunshine outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, finishing all his
essays with occasional help from Florean Fortescue himself, who, apart
from knowing a great deal about medieval witch burnings, gave Harry free
sundaes every half an hour.
Once Harry had refilled his money bag with gold Galleons, silver
Sickles, and bronze Knuts from his vault at Gringotts, he had to
exercise a lot of self-control not to spend the whole lot at once. He
had to keep reminding himself that he had five years to go at Hogwarts,
and how it would feel to ask the Dursleys for money for spellbooks, to
stop himself from buying a handsome set of solid gold Gobstones (a
wizarding game rather like marbles, in which the stones squirt a
nasty-smelling liquid into the other player's face when they lose a
point). He was sorely tempted, too, by the perfect, moving model of the
galaxy in a large glass ball, which would have meant he never had to
take another Astronomy lesson. But the thing that tested Harry's
resolution most appeared in his favorite shop, Quality Quidditch
Supplies, a week after he'd arrived at the Leaky Cauldron.
Curious to know what the crowd in the shop was staring at, Harry edged
his way inside and squeezed in among the excited witches and wizards
until he glimpsed a newly erected podium, on which was mounted the most
magnificent broom he had ever seen in his life.
"Just come out -- prototype --" a square-jawed wizard was telling his
companion.
"It's the fastest broom in the world, isn't it, Dad?" squeaked a boy
younger than Harry, who was swinging off his father's arm.
"Irish International Side's Just put in an order for seven of these
beauties!" the proprietor of the shop told the crowd. "And they're
favorites for the World Cup!"
A large witch in front of Harry moved, and he was able to read the sign
next to the broom:
** THE FIREBOLT **
THIS STATE-OF-THE-ART PACING BROOM SPORTS A STREAM-LINED, SUPERFINE
HANDLE OF ASH, TREATED WITH A DIAMOND-HARD POLISH AND HAND- NUMBERED
