Luckily, he'd grown rather skilled at negotiating 'alone time' without Gran hovering over him, watching every movement. Though sometimes he wondered whether she'd kept track of every little thing, like when he took lunch, when he fed Trevor, and when he'd gone to the loo. It sounded ridiculous to him, really, but he didn't put anything past her. And even as he ducked into the fireplace, handful of Floo powder clutched tightly in his hand, Gran's voice still rang in his head: "Two hours. One second longer and I'll come after you myself."
Two hours.
Once he'd arrived (oh how he hated travelling by Floo but he hated apparating more), he headed straight into the twins' shop. His head instinctively ducked, as he figured that there might be some nasty surprise waiting for the random visitor. He didn't actually encounter anything that smelled awful or blew up in his face or transfigured him into something big and yellow and feathery, but it felt right to be cautious.
He glanced around, searching for a familiar face in the crowd, wondering what Hermione might have to say.
And more importantly, the stuff she'd have to leave out.