The Sun Sets Twice Again

Chapter Five

After a few vague attempts at conversation the girl, Artemis, had smiled slightly and quieted, retrieving a book from somewhere. Since then she'd been ignoring Harry, which suited him just fine. He wasn't much for conversation these days. He still didn't know how he was going to appear to the others. Hiding the thinness and insomnia was one thing, but acting happy, or even content but yet worried, was another. He didn't think he could pull off so much as a convincing 'decent' at the moment. He didn't want to manage anything at the moment, but he knew he had to pull himself back together and act--be? know?--how--what? who?-- he knew--thought?--he should. His head hurt. His head hurt and he was dizzy and there weren't any answers in the passing landscape. There weren't any answers in his head, either. Or any where else for that matter. He wasn't even certain of the questions.

It was beginning to get dark outside, the summer finally edging into fall. The air was cooling as well, but he felt as if he were going to boil alive. If the sleeve-less tops and shorts Sirius sent didn't show his loss of weight more obviously than the bigger shirts and trousers then he would be wearing them, though he doubted that would help. He was burning from the inside out, like a slow roast of muscles and joints and blood. The image didn't disturb him nearly as much as he imagined it should have.

The girl hadn't stared at him. Of all the things that might have caught this attention about her, her looks, her voice, her mannerisms, that was the only one that he had really seen for anything. She had glanced at his scar once, frowned, and hadn't looked at it since. She wasn't even looking at him at all now. Not sidelong glances or mutterings or anything.

It's not like he was stupid. He knew the rumours. The ones that implied he had killed Cedric. They were far off from the truth, of course, but they weren't wrong. Surely she had heard them too. Even if, by some stroke of timing or luck or lack of interest, she hadn't, he was *the Harry Potter*. The Boy Who Lived. He had defeated the Dark Lord at fifteen months; he had faced Death Eaters, a protective mother dragon, an escaped convict, and a Basilisk (taking orders from the memory of a boy who would be Lord Voldemort, though few people knew that). He had been at the resurrection of Lord Voldemort. He had been the youngest Quidditch player of the century. He was used to being stared at. And she wasn't so much as looking. The idea of that alone was making his head hurt worse than it already did. He also had realized she still hadn't explained why she looked like a Malfoy.

Finally curiosity got the better of him. "You're not staring at me. In fact, you haven't so much as looked."

Artemis looked up from her book, then blinked once and frowned. "Do you like people staring?"

Harry shook his head. Of course not. "No, but they do anyway."

She smiled slightly, apparently amused. "It's not polite to stare."

Harry blinked, then he blinked again, and then he frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. "No, no, it's not."

She set down the book and turned so she was facing him better. He was already facing her mostly, though the safety belt wasn't particularly comfortable in this position.

"I suppose I am curious, but I doubt you could, or would want to, answer my questions. You wouldn't remember one event and would probably like to forget the other," she said softly, shrugging her shoulders despite the bonds of the safety belt. "And, like I said, staring is rude. Especially at scars."

Harry nodded, reaching up to touch the scar on his forehead out of habit; it was more or less buried under his unruly black hair.

Suddenly, she smiled. "If you don't mind my asking, though, what happened to your glasses? It looks like someone snapped them in half."

He smiled darkly. "If you care to classify my cousin as a someone, then someone did snap them in half."

"The boy that answered the door?" She made a face. "I generally hex boys who leer at me, but he's Muggle and it's summer." She sighed. "Poor you, related to that."

Harry nodded in agreement, muttering, "Two more summers." If I'm still alive for two more summers. They lapsed into silence.

"Looking forward to Hogwarts, then?" Artemis finally asked, fiddling with the cloth book mark in her hands.

"Yes." The thoughts pushing at the back of his mind broke through again. "So, you said you'd explain your relation to the Malfoys?" He felt vaguely proud of himself for remembering something like that considering his brain felt like an endless loop of incoherent thought.

"I look like my grandmother. She was a Malfoy before she married, from France as most of them are. I suppose there's a Malfoy at Hogwarts, though? I didn't expect that. Not like I'd know though; we don't have a lot of contact with the English Malfoys, ever since one of them, Lucius I think, became a Death Eater."

Harry sat up a little, though a smile didn't quite reach his face. "Your family's against the Dark Arts, then?"

Artemis frowned, looking uncomfortable, but she answered, "No, not against the dark arts. Magic is magic, after all. Just a Malfoy being a Death Eater," she pronounced the phrase like a curse. "No better than a minion, a *servant* really, and you'd think he'd know--be--better than that. Such a power-hungry idiot, completely blinded; I rather be blinded by pride than by power. Most Moiraes, and Malfoys, are the same. No man's servant and all that. I hope my cousin's a real Malfoy, if it turns out we're in the same house." She was scowling at the book now.

"He's a Death Eater in training," Harry stated, suddenly, completely unconcerned by the lack of tact in the statement. "Little bastard, too." The new, low edge to his voice made the comment sound almost menacing.

"Lucius' son? He did have a son, right? My father told me once, but I didn't care at the time."

"Yes. Draco."

"The dragon. I remember now. My father said he looks like his. So, Draco's a prat. What house?"

Harry scowled. "Slytherin."

Artemis frowned. "Damn."

"Artemis. Language!" A chiding voice came from the front seat, though the woman didn't turn around.

"Yes. I use language. It's required in communicating," Artemis replied, smirking quietly.

"Don't use that language," the woman chided. Harry realized he had neither caught her name nor Artemis' surname.

"Oui, Maman. Alors, merde."

"Artemis!"

"Oui?"

"English. No words that can't be used in polite company. Got it?"

"Yes." She grinned, looking at Harry, and mouthed 'just too easy'.

Harry decided that asking her what she had said would most likely be bad for his health. Maybe he could ask later, if he remembered. He was fairly certain it was French, at least. It also explained, in part, why her accent sounded a little...off. He hadn't really noticed it before, but you could hear the faint traces of a French accent and something else underneath a general English accent.

"Artemis, you *do* have the lists of school supplies, yes?" The mother's voice broke through his thoughts again.

"Yes."

"Alright then. We should be at the Leaky Cauldron soon, assuming it's where it's supposed to be and I can follow directions."

Artemis stifled a giggle.

"I'll let you out there while I return the car. Don't wander off." The woman reached for something, pulling out a handful of sickles and held them out for Artemis to take, which she did. "Stay at the Leaky Cauldron, I shouldn't be long."

The car stopped suddenly, making Harry's stomach lurch again. If he was this bad riding in a car, what would flying again be like?

The woman-- Nadia? Nadine? Dumbledore's letter had said, hadn't it?-- spoke again. "Don't worry about your things, dear; I'll bring them along."

He nodded automatically, but reached for his wand out of habit as well, just making certain it was still on him. He hadn't been more than three metres from it since returning to the Dursleys. It was a small comfort to know that it was there even when he wasn't allowed to use it. Then he climbed out from the backseat of the car and walked towards the Leaky Cauldron. Walking didn't require thinking and Artemis seemed to be quiet for the moment. All was all right.

The second he entered the Leaky Cauldron he thought he might have very well thrown up if not for the fact his stomach was completely empty. The smell of food and people was overpowering. It made his stomach churn in all sorts of unpleasant ways and he managed to make it to an empty table before sitting down hard in a seat that faced away from the room, bending over so that his forehead touched his knees, trying to take deep, slow breaths.

Then there were small hands low down on his arms, wrapped around his wrists, and he winced at the pain the nails scraping against the still new scar caused, before noticing the pressure trying to pull him from the chair. He followed it, standing slowly, and allowed himself to be led to a dark, quiet corner of room. The hands moved from his wrists, one now slowly rubbing his back in smooth circles and another connecting itself with his own hand in a reassuring squeeze. She was whispering quiet things. He felt himself relaxing for just a moment, falling into the lull of warm skin and soft words, before he slammed back into full conscious and yanked away. He didn't want to be touched. Not at all.

She didn't seem perturbed. "You alright now?"

"I'll fine. Just fine," he replied sharply. "I didn't need...help."

She shrugged. "I know a building panic attack when I see one. "

Wonderful; a fucking psychiatrist-in-training, Harry snipped internally.

"Well, I'm all right now. Really." There was no pleading tone to his voice; he would not plead.

She nodded. "Alright." Then she slid down against the wall, gathering her legs against her chest, and looked up at it. "Well, are you going to sit or not?"

He nodded-- sitting wouldn't hurt-- and sat down. Right about now crawling into a hole and refusing to come out until school started again sounded like a pretty brilliant idea. Still, he had no idea what bad news Dumbledore had planned to bestow him--he was convinced it was entirely bad by now--and there weren't any Harry-sized holes readily available anyway, so that idea was relatively unusable. Maybe once he arrived at Hogwarts and talked to Dumbledore he could lock himself in Gryffindor tower for a couple of weeks with some of the Hogwarts library and pretend he was just very, very dedicated to studying for the OWLs.

Harry was started out of his thoughts by Artemis' quiet voice.

"So, public places not so fun?"

The tone was unassuming and light, but the question wasn't, and he thought that the air seemed heavy with it.

"Not so much, no," Harry replied, his voice low and still rough. His throat was beginning to hurt as well. At least he wasn't squeaking.

She didn't say anything else. Harry closed his eyes, noticing the faint glow of yellow light behind his eye lids, and took a deep breath. From over here the smell wasn't as strong and the sounds weren't as loud, and if he concentrated he could pretend he was back in the second bedroom at Number 4 Privet Drive, trying to block out the sounds of Dudley screaming at the television. He didn't know how long he sat like that, imagining darkness and ignoring the rest of the world, when Artemis nudged him softly in the side and his eyes opened again. By the time he stood she was already up and walking to her mother. He saw then that she'd led him over to the back door, which connected to the back way leading to Diagon Alley. He waited long enough so that they could see him and then slipped out the door, disappearing from sight. Artemis and Mrs. Moirae, if Artemis' surname was any indication, followed him out a few moments later. He waited for Mrs. Moirae to open the walled gateway to Diagon Alley before moving and once he did enter he waited for either of them to make a move.

"What do you need to buy, Harry?" Nadine asked, looking over at him as they started to walk towards Gringott's.

Harry paused, thinking, and finally said, "I already have everything on the list, but I need to refill some of the my potion ingredients and I'm running low on inks and parchments. Also, I ran out of owl treats for Hedwig," he paused again before continuing quietly. "And I need new glasses."

Mrs. Moirae smiled politely and nodded. "Artemis melted her last cauldron and she always takes forever in finding a new one, so I think you'll have time to get the glasses while we cauldron shop. Then we can meet at the apothecary-- what's it called, Slug and Jiggers?" After Harry nodded she continued. "You two can get your supplies there while I buy the books from Flourish and Blotts. You said you already had the books you needed?" Harry nodded again. "Alright. Then, we'll meet at the ice cream parlour, alright?"

Harry nodded once more while Artemis glared but nodded as well.

"I do not take forever," she commented.

Mrs. Moirae raised an eyebrow and smiled widely. "You're pickier with cauldrons than Apollo is with his pets, honestly."

"At least cauldrons don't bite."

"Neither would his cat if you didn't kick it."

Artemis pouted for a second. "I didn't kick it! It decided to lie down in my way to spite me and my foot connected with its stomach. There's a difference."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You kicked a cat?"

Artemis turned, glaring at him. "I told you, I didn't kick the thing. It just got in my way. It's part Kneazle; you'd think it'd know not to lie in walkways."

"Artemis hates animals," Mrs. Moirae commented.

The blond girl shook her head. "Not all of them. I'm alright with owls, aren't I? And ravens and snakes? Just things with fur and lots of little sharp teeth. The feeling's mutual anyway. You know Calypso hates me."

As they entered Gringotts, Artemis' mother added, "Didn't you try to drown her when she was a kitten?"

"I thought cats could swim, and given that Calypso's still alive, she could. So it all worked out." She shrugged. "Plus, Apollo never asked me to watch the damn thing again."

After retrieving their money they exited the bank and went their separated ways. It was then that Harry realized he had no idea where one went to get new eye glasses.

"Oh, hell."

He considered his options. There was the obvious wandering around until he found the appropriate store, and then there was asking for directions from someone. He sighed, thinking of Artemis and Mrs. Moirae waiting for him at the apothecary, and decided that asking where to go would be better than trying to find it on his own, if only to be done quicker. Glancing around the courtyard in front of Gringotts, he noticed a woman with glasses peering at a Daily Prophet newspaper and walked over to her.

"Er, excuse me, ma'am?" She looked up at him sharply and he backed away just a bit, but then she smiled.

"Yes?"

"Er, I was wondering if you knew where I could go to get new eye glasses. My old ones are broken and..." He trailed off vaguely, waiting for her to reply.

"Oh, dear, it's just up that way." She gestured. "Around that corner, four or five shops up, called 'Through the Looking Glass' after something by a crazy wizard who wrote for Muggles!" She tsked disapprovingly.

Harry smiled weakly and nodded. "Thank you."

"Not a problem. Not a problem, 't all."

The shop was exactly where the woman had said it'd be and he was glad he'd asked for directions because he probably never would have noticed it on his own. It had the same quaint, not-quite-modern feeling to it as most of the shops he'd found in the wizardry world, but it was somehow quieter, less assuming than the others. Maybe because it didn't have any flashy colours or display cases. Practical, that's what it looked like, and he found the insides to be the same, though it seemed larger than it had on the outside. Not that that was particularly surprising.

He stopped, barely inside the door, and looked around nervously, trying to find the shopkeeper or someone else who could help him with what he needed. No one was at the front desk and he sighed, glancing around the neatly kept shop with its rows and rows of glasses. He'd never be able to pick one pair on his own.

Suddenly a soft, light voice seemed to come from nowhere. "May I help you, young man?"

His eyes shot up to the location of the voice and standing next to the front counter was an old, wiry-looking man with a gentle smile on his face

"Erm, well, er, I sort of need new glasses. The ones I have now have been broken, eh, a lot. I play quidditch and... I'm looking for glasses that are less, well, breakable."

"Yes, yes. We have glasses with unbreakable charms, guaranteed to stay together. Even some for quidditch players in particular, if you'd like. First things first, though." The man walked excitedly over to him and held out his hand.

Harry looked at it blankly.

"Here, here, hand me your glasses and hold still a moment, please. Must check the prescription to make sure it's up to date. Look at the end of the wand."

He nodded numbly and handed the old man his glasses before focusing his unclear vision on the wand the man was holding. A flash of light came from the end of man's wand and Harry blinked a couple of times, trying successfully to clear away the bright spots in front of his eyes. Between that and the blurriness it was sort of disorienting, but the shopkeeper handed him his old glasses and directed him to the display cases.

"You want strong unbreakable charms on them?"

Harry nodded.

The man smiled. "Alright then. Just chose the frames you like, it'll only take a minute after that."

Harry looked at him in surprise.

He smiled. "Muggle family? Aye, making the glasses are easy, it's correcting the eye sight that's the problem. Still haven't figured out a way to do it properly, but there's some exciting new theories." As he browsed the shelves of frames Harry listened to the man talk happily about all the magical advances in the area of eye care and how it was too closely connected to the brain functions to be altered safely. He frowned, looking at all the choices, and scanned the ones closest to him once again. This time Harry saw small, black wire-rim glasses with a shape somewhere between an oval and a square, and he picked those up. They'd work. He handed them to the shopkeeper.

"Very good. Good to work with. These the ones you want then?"

Harry nodded.

"I'll be back in a few minutes with them all done, then. Just wait here." Then the man disappeared behind a curtain connected to what was probably a back room.

Harry didn't know how long he stood there, staring at the curtain, but he was surprised at how quickly the shopkeeper returned.

"Sorry that took so long. Another customer showed up in the fireplace to put in an order while I was back there and I had to deal with him."

Harry shook his head. "No problem." He took the glasses the man held out and removed his own. For a moment the world went blurry again, but as he put on the new ones it righted itself. They felt funny, like they were too light or something, and were oddly shaped but that was probably just because they were new. And he nodded. "Thanks. How much do I owe you?"

The man told him and he paid for the glasses. After that he left the shop in search of Artemis and her mother. In short time-- which required thankfully little interaction from him-- they had picked up the rest of the school supplies, plus a little extra from some potions both he and Artemis wanted to try, gotten owl treats for Hedwig, and had dinner at the Leaky Cauldron because dinner time at Hogwarts had already passed.

Listening to Artemis and Mrs. Moirae bicker and joke was similar, yet different, to the interaction between the Weasleys, and Harry spent most of the evening just listening to them, and picking at his food instead of eating it, occasionally nodding or shaking his head at some comment one of them directed towards him. After an attempt to engage him and a set of questions to which he reply with single words, Mrs. Moirae merely gave him a concerned look and let him sit there in his own little world. She was definitely different than Mrs. Weasley, but then again he didn't think he'd have survived a dinner with the Weasleys at the moment.

The floo trip to Hogsmeade was harrowing for the pure fact that what little he had eaten at the Leaky Cauldron wanted to come back up now. He was afraid for the few moments it took the world to right itself after climbing out of the fire that he might actually lose his dinner, but, luckily, he didn't , and the carriage ride to Hogwarts cured most of the left over nausea. If only it could have made the vague sense of foreboding disappear as well, but it couldn't and as soon as his adopted 'home' came into view he began to feel as if the food in his stomach was weighted with lead. It wasn't a pleasant feeling at all.