Shadows of the Past

A few days later, Harry decided it was about time that he got out of the house and became more familiar with his surroundings. A woman was set to come in and clean at around noon, but he didn't plan on being home. He was still craving solitude and didn't feel like having the forced conversations that accompany having a stranger in your home.

He wasn't worried about her finding any of his magical items. He had left strict instructions for her to stay out of the library and the rest of the items, like his broom and robes, were locked in his bedroom closet.

Walking up the high street, Harry found himself wondering what exactly muggles his age did. His only point of reference was Dudley and he wasn't about to go around beating up small children and smoking on street corners. He found it somewhat humorous that at one time Mr. Weasley, who thought he was some sort of muggle expert, had quizzed him. Now, he felt more like Ron, ignorant to the ways of the non-magical world. Granted, he still knew how to use their money and transportation, and wasn't likely to gawk at things like plugs, but he felt lacking in some of the more social aspects.

"Oy! You up there! Coming through!" Harry turned and saw three boys roughly his age, barrelling down on him. They were riding skateboards and evidently found it more convenient to make him move, rather than avoid him themselves. Harry stepped into the entryway of a store, and they passed him by without incident. Harry shrugged to himself and then continued on up the street. He supposed he could learn one of those muggle sports; his broom certainly wouldn't be of much use anymore. He felt a pang of regret and realized that there were certainly things he was going to miss about the wizarding world. However, in this case, the cons outweighed the pros.

Harry passed several storefronts, nothing grabbing his interest until he came upon a bookshop. Harry impulsively decided to step inside and instantly knew Hermione would have loved it. Books filled the tall shelves, which seemed to be crammed into every available nook and cranny of the store. He walked through the first couple of rows, and suddenly heard a squeal of delight from somewhere up ahead. Harry stuck his head around the corner of a bookcase; curious as to who was making the odd noise. As soon as he realized who it was, he spun around and began stalking out of the store, not caring that he was bumping into several people on his way out.

"Hey Harry!" The squealer was calling after him, but Harry ignored it and exited the store, stepping out into the sunlight. He knew he was being followed, and he continued into an alley where he leaned against the side of a building, waiting for them to catch up.

"Harry, what's wrong with you?" Hermione Granger came charging down the alley, her bushy brown hair splayed out behind her and a frown on her face. "Listen, I know you and Ron don't care much for books, but that doesn't mean you had to be rude and ignore me while you made a scene storming out of that store!"

"Sorry, Hermione," Harry mumbled. He was starring at a place on the opposite wall, about three feet left of Hermione's head, his eyes glazed and unfocused. Harry had made a run for it because he didn't care to engage in conversation with a figment of his imagination, especially not in the middle of a crowded bookshop. The last thing he wanted was to end up in some mental institution. It was then though, that Harry remembered something Ron had said to him back in their second year. 'Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world.' Harry found that he was mouthing the words to himself. Clearly, seeing apparitions of dead people could only be worse.

"Harry!"

"What?" he said, somewhat dazed as he was rudely snapped back out of his reprieve.

"You can't possibly tell me nothing's wrong," she said, dropping her hands to her sides somewhat helplessly.

"Nothing's wrong," he ground out through clenched teeth.

"I can't help you if you won't let me," Hermione said in exasperation.

"Hermione, what makes you think that if I don't let Ginny help me, I'm going to let you?"

"Fine," she said, trying to look as if she didn't care one way or another. However, it was clear to Harry that he had sufficiently stepped on her feelings.

Harry was momentarily tempted to apologize to her. None of this was her fault, but he couldn't go on with his life having conversations with people who weren't there. He had to get rid of her, no matter how much it hurt. "Listen, Hermione, why don't you just leave, you don't need a friend like me."

She looked like she wanted to stay, to try and figure out what was troubling him, but finally she nodded and faded away. She would be back, as they all came back, never remembering the previous time around. That was part of what made it so hard for Harry. No progress could be made.

Harry sighed and sunk heavily to the pavement. He would have probably remained like that for quite a while if he hadn't heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Hey, you're Harry Potter aren't you?" Harry found it somewhat odd that there was someone talking to him. Mostly because the alleyway had been deserted when he had entered, and he hadn't noticed anyone come in. He found himself hoping that they hadn't witnessed his seemingly one-sided conversation with a brick wall named Hermione. He pulled himself to his feet and was greeted by a middle-aged man wearing dark blue robes.

"Erm, yes I am," Harry replied, somewhat wearily. The man looked a little star struck and Harry stood there for a few minutes, feeling more and more self-conscious. "What are you doing down here?" he asked finally, breaking the silence.

"Oh!" the man said, snapping out of his stupor. "Well, a couple of my friends and I had set up our own private tavern back here a few years ago." He gestured to the back wall of the alleyway, and a doorway and a couple windows materialized out of the brick. "I doubt the Ministry even knows it's here." Harry was beginning to wonder why the man was telling him all of this. "We're having to move out now because a group of muggle boys found out about us two days ago."

"Why didn't you tell the Ministry?" Harry asked in surprise. "You should have had a team come over here and modify their memories."

"It's not as serious as it sounds, I promise," the man said, waving a disregarding hand. "They simply spotted one of us entering from the muggle world. Essentially, watched a man disappear into a brick wall. They suspected it was more of a trick than magic per-say. They were studying the wall, looking for a secret opening, for a full hour. We watched them from inside."

Harry was still frowning, and for a moment, he felt like Hermione. No doubt, she would have disapproved of the whole situation in general.

"We put a muggle repealing charm on the place so we could move out," he continued. "I almost thought it was defective when I saw you out in the alley. I thought you were one of the boys from before." He was eying Harry's muggle clothes with a curious expression.

"Right, well I'm not a muggle," Harry said, somewhat lamely.

"Oh yeah, I know!" the man replied with an excited grin on his face. "We haven't quite finished cleaning out the place. If you'd like, you can come in and have a drink." Harry was almost afraid the man was going to continue with 'it'd be a real honour...' To his relief, he didn't.

"I suppose so," Harry replied, deciding that he could probably at least catch up a little on what was going on back in the wizarding world. He had decided not to subscribe to the Daily Prophet because a fair chunk of it was glamorised gossip anyway.

"This is such an honour," the older wizard said, his eyes lighting up. Harry had to fight the urge to groan out loud. "By the way, my name's Charles Novack." Charles stuck out his hand and Harry shook it, feeling a bit foolish. "Well, I suppose we should step inside." He gave a glance down the alleyway, as if afraid a mob of muggles was going to jump out of the shadows and attack them.

For a private bar, Harry was surprised to see that it reminded him a lot of the Hog's Head Inn. A thick layer of dust and flyspecks covered the two windows, and frankly, Harry was surprised that Charles had been able to spot him through them. The floor was made of rough, unfinished wooden planks and besides the bar three rickety looking tables filled what was left of the space. Two other wizards were busy boxing up glasses and bottles and one of them had just thrown a pinch of floo powder into the fireplace. After the flames turned green, he then shoved a rather large crate through the stone fireplace.

"Hey mates, you were right. It was Harry Potter!" Charles's voice boomed in the small pub and the other two men looked up at Harry. He immediately started to kick himself for coming in. It took less than a minute for Voldemort's name to come up and before he knew it, excuses and forgotten appointments were flying out of his mouth as he hastily retreated back out into the alleyway. Thankfully, no one followed him out, and he dropped his head back, squinting up into the sunlight. Harry sighed heavily. If this outing was any indication, then people everywhere were teaming to hear the inside story about what really happened to He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.

He was already receiving several owls a day from the Daily Prophet and other various wizarding publications that wanted to hear what had happened over two months ago in the forests of Scotland. He was glad that he had made his home unplottable; otherwise, they'd most likely be at his door.

Harry started to make his way back out of the alley, his shoulders slumped forward. He found himself slightly perturbed that even after throwing himself into the muggle world, he had still managed to trip over magical people and places. As he passed the bookshop from earlier, he paused to gaze in the window. A shopkeeper was restocking a shelf with heavy, leather-bond books. She had bushy hair and for a moment, he was reminded of how Hermione had used to pour over the books in the library. With a shake of his head, he continued walking and found himself wondering if any of this would ever change.

Harry again passed the boys who had almost run him down on skateboards, but he didn't notice and continued up the high street. They were sitting on the stoop of a vacant store, and a sign in the window advertised its availability for lease. The three boys watched him closely as he passed, but Harry didn't even glance at them. Once he was by, the tallest of the three boys leapt to his feet and produced a lock-pick from his pocket. He started to work on the lock, his long brown hair falling into his eyes. He irritably brushed it out of the way and about fifteen seconds later, the door swung open.

The three of them piled inside and once the door was safely shut behind them, the boy who had picked the lock let out a heavy breath and leaned against the dusty counter.

"If you don't mind me saying, you two have lost it." He rubbed a damp palm against his forehead. "I've picked a fair few locks, but never in broad daylight right on the high street."

"We figured if you had enough skill and the composure to pull this off, then there would be no problem with deserted lanes in the middle of the night," one of the other two boys said, grinning widely. "We had to make sure you were reliable."

"And it would appear you are," the other boy cut in. "It's one hell of a rush isn't it?"

"It sure is," the brown haired boy said with a large smile plastered across his face. "My heart's still in my throat."

"Well Aidan, it's your lucky day. As long as Scott here agrees with me, I think we may have a job for you."

*****

Matilda Brown was somewhat wide eyed when she stepped into Mr. Potter's home. Even though he was only nineteen, a good eight years younger than her, she considered it a professional courtesy to refer to her clients as Mr. So-And-So, and Mrs. What's-Her-Name. And frankly, she figured he deserved it. Anybody that young with enough money to buy a house this big deserved some respect.

The house certainly was large. He had informed her earlier that it contained five guest rooms, a master bed and bath, and a large library with a study. The last however, he had requested she stay out of. Matilda had to admit that she was slightly curious why he wanted her to stay out of the library, but as it meant less work to do, she had decided not to press the issue.

The house was incredibly dark. Black, heavy drapes hung over the numerous windows in the entryway. It made her feel like the house was in mourning. To her right, a grand staircase led upstairs and there were French doors underneath it. Ahead, was a hallway that led away from her to what she presumed was the rest of the house. The entire length of the hallway was lined with windows on the left hand side, but there were more drapes on those windows as well. The house actually seemed like it would be bright and cheerful if the drapes weren't drawn.

Matilda felt uneasy in the dark and complete silence of the home. Sighing heavily, she decided she'd better get started by having a look around. She proceeded to the French doors under the staircase and turned the doorknob. Nothing happened, and she figured the study most likely resided behind those doors. She was about to continue checking the rest of the house when there was a knock at the front door. She considered not answering it. After all, she wasn't Mr. Potter's servant; he only paid her to clean the house. In the end, curiosity got the best of her and she made her way over to the front door.

Standing on the front steps were two women. One was about fifty or so and the other looked roughly eighteen. The older woman was holding and enormous fruit basket and had a plastic smile plastered on her face.

"Can I help you?" Matilda asked, eying the woman carefully.

"We just thought we would bring by a 'Welcome to the Neighbourhood' gift," the older woman said, putting her new facelift to the test. Matilda was afraid her skin was going to split under the strain of talking.

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Potter's not home at the time. Perhaps if you would come back later." To her surprise, the younger woman was actually starting to pout, however, the other woman's face actually lit up and the skin stretched even tighter.

"Well, that's quite all right. My name's Mrs. Abigail Foster. I live just a little way up the street. This is my daughter, Victoria."

Matilda shifted on her feet, uncomfortable with the situation. This woman probably thought she was Mr. Potter's maid. "Uh, I'm not Mr. Potter's servant," she said. "I just clean his house for him. This is actually the first time I've ever been here."

"Oh, well yes, of course," Foster said with a very high-pitched fake laugh. "Well dear," she continued, pushing past Matilda, "why don't you continue with what you where doing and Victoria and I will just put this basket in the kitchen."

Matilda was about to protest, but Victoria had followed her mother into the house and they were already making their way down the hallway to the rest of the home. She shrugged and headed upstairs, let the old bat and her airhead daughter deliver their stupid fruit basket. At least then they'd be gone and out of her hair.

*****

Mrs. Foster tutted slightly to herself, Potter's home was dreadfully depressing. Everything was dark and barren. She and her daughter had hardly encountered any art pieces or furniture on their way to the kitchen. Victoria almost tripped on the upturned edge of a rug because it was so difficult to see in the low light of the house.

"It sure is dark in here," Victoria commented after she had stumbled on the fourth rug. If Abigail didn't know better, she would have suspected they were tripping her daughter on purpose.

"Yes, well we'll change that once you're married," Abigail replied. She had big plans for her daughter, which happened to include marrying her off to some rich guy. This Harry Potter fit into her scheme nicely. He was roughly the same age as Victoria, was rather handsome as far as wealthy men went, he only lived a few houses away, and of course the most important factor of all, he was rich.

Victoria didn't reply, but nodded absentmindedly. She was content to let her mother do all the hard work of finding her a husband. After all, if the situation ended up being unbearable, she could always get a divorce and take him for all he was worth.

When they found the kitchen, Abigail plopped the fruit basket down onto the island with a loud thud and started to snoop around. Victoria was leaning against a kitchen cabinet, watching her mother open various drawers and cupboards. She noticed a frame laying face down on the counter near her, and walked over to it. Upon picking it up, she squealed in surprise, startled by the image. Her mother came over to her, her shoes clicking on the tile.

"What's wrong?" she asked, concern on her face.

"Oh, it's nothing. I was just startled because it was a moving picture," Victoria said, holding up the frame. The image was a group shot of six people, and they where smiling at each other and being all around merry.

"I saw one of those at the electronics store just the other day," Abigail said. "It plays a short video instead of just a photo. I was considering getting it for your father's birthday." She looked at the photo for a few seconds. "That's Potter there," Abigail said, pointing to a young man with rumpled black hair and glasses.

Victoria nodded and studied the photo for a few more seconds. Matilda then came into the kitchen, having finished checking out the upstairs. She coughed slightly, making them aware of her presence. She was amused to see Victoria jump out of her skin in surprise. "Well, I've got to get on with the cleaning, and I'm sure you ladies have other engagements."

"Yes, we were just leaving," Abigail said, gesturing for Victoria to follow her. Once Matilda heard the front door close, she sighed heavily. It probably hadn't been a good idea to let them in while Mr. Potter wasn't home, but at least they had delivered their gigantic fruit basket and left. Matilda deciding to start cleaning in another room and wandered out of the kitchen.

On the counter sat the frame that Victoria had hastily put down. The people in the wizard photo were still waving merrily. Aside from Harry, there was a smiling Hermione, Ginny, Ron, Draco, and Neville. They were oblivious to how close they had come to being forced down the garbage disposal earlier that morning by Harry.