Harry Potter and the Path to Power

Chapter XII

Morning dawned on The Burrow as Molly Weasley made her way to her kitchen.

It promised to be a warm summer day as the sun twinkled in the early morning sky.

In all honesty she could not have said that she was surprised to see Harry already there.

The boy looked miserable; this seemed to be his permanent state of being, something he wore like a cloak.

Had it been one of her sons, she would have scolded him and then told him that there was always sunshine behind the clouds.

But Harry was not her son, and Harry had problems that she hoped her sons would never have to bear.

"Good morning," Harry said, with a voice that was cheerier then she had expected.

He was mastering his façade.

This thought only served to make her feel even more sorry for this boy whom she thought more than anyone in the world deserved some happiness.

"Good morning dear, what would you like for breakfast?"

"I hope you don't mind, Mrs. Weasley, but I already had some. I've been up for a while and I was hungry."

Did she mind? She could almost cry because of that single question.

It had been asked in earnest, she could hear it in his voice, see it in his posture. He was apparently even feeling a little guilty for taking food.

What a monster Petunia Dursley must have been, that Harry was nervous about having taken a little food. Molly could not help but feel anger towards this woman she had never met, despite her present condition.

"Of course not, dear. If you're up earlier than me, feel free to eat breakfast; you are a guest in this house and anything in this kitchen is yours for the taking."

She would have never said those words to any of her younger sons; they would have eaten the larder empty. But Harry was too modest to do that; and even if he did, it would be worth it just to see the boy grow healthier.

He looked better now, than he had done when he had arrived at the Burrow.

He was always so thin and pale when he came from the Dursleys.

She had pleaded with Dumbledore on several occasions not to allow the boy to go back to Privet Drive, to let him come to the Burrow straight away.

She had suspected that Harry was not treated well by his relatives, even to the point of neglect.

She had made her case most vigorously when her son had requested food for his beleaguered friend.

She had never believed the worst of her youngest son's stories until not long ago; now she believed them all... and more.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like a little bite to eat," she asked.

As no answer came she turned to look at the boy while saying:

"There isn't a growing boy alive that would turn down food. What would you like?"

Harry's face was a war of emotion.

She could see the old and new pains surface, see where the scars ran: 'Don't trust nice; nice comes before pain.' 'Food? Food never comes without a price.' 'Eat quickly, before they take it away.'

But there were also the emotions he had not learnt from those that should have instilled them. Those he had learned only in the last few years from the people that had become close to him; that he actually had friends who cared about him.

'Maybe a piece of toast?" she heard him say in a shy tone.

"Very well, dear."

She would make him toast. And maybe some eggs... he probably wouldn't turn down some bacon either.

*****

Slowly the Weasley family gathered at the breakfast table while Harry was eating away at a pile of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages and toast on the side.

"Dad, you really have to check the charms in the bathroom," Fred said while wolfing down his breakfast. "The whole room was fogged up again. It took at least fifteen minutes to clear."

"I don't understand. I checked the charms two days ago and they're fine. Oh well, best check them again; maybe even ask Bill to look into it, he's good at that kind of thing."

Ginny was the last to join.

She was still a little annoyed with her mother for not being able to go to the trial, especially after she heard what Harry had done.

She had been most impressed.

Harry had just wanted to be left alone that evening but Ginny had kept bugging him for details.

He figured it was better this than back to the blushing, but he couldn't help wonder if this would lead to the second rising of the Harry Potter fan club.

Still, after he had told her the real story of what had happened she had left him alone, finally sensing his wish to be alone, even if she was not happy with it.

Little had Harry known that the strangest part of the evening had yet to come.

One by one all the Weasleys had gone to bed.

Ron, Hermione and Arthur were the last to remain, wanting to keep Harry company.

After midnight Hermione had been half asleep on the couch; Harry had sent her to bed.

Ron and he had played one more game of wizard's chess and then Arthur had sent Ron to bed telling him that Harry would be up in a while.

'They needed to talk.'

Without much further comment, Arthur had gotten a new bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey.

Glass by glass they had proceeded to drain half the bottle, after which Arthur had put Harry to bed, the boy unsteady on his feet.

Even so, Harry had been up early, awakened by a new set of nightmares.

Thank Merlin for Hangover Potions.

*****

"Diagon Ally today," Ron said.

"How are we going to do it?" Hermione asked. "If those reporters were any indication, Harry won't be able to walk the streets."

"Well, those reporters aren't exactly prime indicators," Arthur responded, "but I think Harry should be disguised a bit. It shouldn't be too much of a problem. I know a few spells that would have him looking so different that no one here would recognize him.

"Cor, Dad, where'd you learn those?" Ron said enthusiastically.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley, where did you learn those? They're not on the Hogwarts Standard Comprehensive Curriculum," Hermione chimed in.

"You actually know the entire curriculum?" Ron asked in disgust.

"Yes, I do. And you would know it too, Ron, if you were interested in your future."

"Well I'm sorry if I don't know what all our courses will be in 6^th and 7^th year. There are other things in life, you know."

As Ron and Hermione continued to bicker, Arthur gave Harry a sly wink.

Because of the distraction, Arthur wouldn't have to give an explanation -or make one up- as to why he knew those charms.

With the bickering still going on, in the background Arthur whispered to Harry: "Shall we give it a go now? Could be amusing to see their reaction when you're someone completely different all of the sudden."

"All right."

Arthur drew his wand, pointed it at Harry and chanted a long and repetitive incantation under his breath, moving his wand with each repetition.

Harry only felt a slight tingling and he wondered if it was working, but then he saw the stance of his hand change subtly, his skin tone becoming just a bit darker.

"Well, how does it look?" he asked Arthur.

However, Arthur was staring at Harry's forehead, his jaw dropping.

"What is it?"

"That was the strongest charm I know for this work and... and it should have changed you completely... but your scar... it's still there."

Gently Harry felt the front of his forehead; as usual he could find that slight relief that signified his scar.

"What now?" he asked Arthur.

By this time Hermione and Ron had noticed the change, they were both staring.

Distracted by this, Harry turned to them.

"How do I look?"

Ron could only move his mouth in silence; Hermione, on the other hand was, observing him with intensity.

"That is incredible. I mean, I can see it's you, but only because I know it's you. It's like every single detail of you has changed just a little bit to make up a whole new Harry," Hermione said incredulously, slowly extending a hand to touch his face.

While slowly tracing the outline of his jaw and cheek with a feather light touch, Hermione continued her observations.

"Your cheekbones are a little more pronounced although I can feel through the illusion, so is your nose. Your lips seem to be a bit thinner. The most remarkable thing is actually your hair and eyes. Your hair is lighter, more towards brunette and your eyes...," she said in awe, "they're blue."

Hermione's hand made its way towards the other side of Harry's face. She was in no way aware what her touch looked like to the others around the table, or even how it felt to Harry, she simply continued with her comment.

"Your skin is a bit darker, your body posture... it's different somehow. This is a very comprehensive spell; but the strange thing is, it didn't affect your scar. If it had, no one, not even Ron or me, would have recognized you."

Ron, finally coming out of his trance-like stare, loudly cleared his throat. This seemed to wake up Hermione in turn. She quickly pulled back her hand and was able to cover up most of her blush by turning to Arthur.

"This is incredible work, but it's useless with the scar still there. How are you going to solve it?"

Arthur was seemingly already pondering this problem.

"I'm not sure, I was thinking of maybe directing a specified Glamour on it... but I'm not certain of the effects of such a spell on a magical scar of this magnitude."

Hermione went into what Harry liked to call 'scholar mode' and began to discuss the pros and cons of various spells. A smile was exchanged between Ron and Harry as their friend was discussing spells with a certified wizard on an equal level and was obviously contributing.

"Well no, that wouldn't work. You see the strength of the spell would be disproportional, no normal wizard could do it..." Arthur trailed off, totally stumped.

Strangely enough it was Ginny that interrupted their discussion.

"If I might make a suggestion?" she said, still a bit airily because of her exclusion from the trial.

Both Arthur and Hermione stared at her with curiosity.

"Maybe we could use something a bit simpler: Muggle make-up."

Arthur looked like he was about to kiss his daughter.

"Yes, that would work. Muggle muck up," he said with that enthusiasm he reserved for all things Muggle, then his fervour dissipated. "But where would we get some?"

Ginny blushed. "Well, I have some."

"YOU WHAT?" her three present brothers yelled simultaneously.

"You're much too young for muck up," Ron continued, earning a scolding glare from Hermione. "Where did you get it anyway?"

"I went to the neighbours when you were in London, remember?

Marie showed me how to use it and lent me some to experiment with."

She turned to Harry and Hermione. "Marie and Stuart are our closest Muggle neighbours. They used to take care of me when Mum and Dad had to go out. They've been Obliviated so many times that I wonder if there aren't side effects." She giggled.

"Well, I think it would work perfectly," Hermione commented.

"It's in my room."

"Right, lead the way Gin. Come along, Harry," Hermione said, taking charge. She grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him along, following Ginny upstairs.

At the bottom of the stairs Ron was still protesting about his little sister and make up.

Harry had never been in Ginny's room. It was on the third floor.

It should have come as no surprise to him, but the eye-drawing centrepiece of the room was a giant poster of... him.

But still...

"...." Harry mouthed his surprise in silence.

Ginny once again showed her famous blush.

"It's a blow up from Witch Weekly," Hermione quickly interceded. "It's all over the girls' dormitories at Hogwarts."

"You mean there are more?" Harry squeaked.

"Well... yes," Hermione said, a bit uncertain.

"And you didn't tell me?" Harry continued incredulously.

"Well... you had other things on your mind," Hermione said with a slight blush.

"YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?" Harry bellowed.

"YOU DON'T NEED TO YELL, HARRY POTTER... I figured you wouldn't want to know."

Harry returned to gaping at the poster in silence, turned to the blushing Ginny who had forgotten that the poster hung on her wall before she stepped into her room -it was after all something she saw every day without really thinking about it, and back again to his own likeness.

"I wouldn't want to know?"

"You know how you are with the fame and all..." Hermione's voice trailed off.

"You've been sleeping here for more than a week."

"It's not my room, Harry, and besides, you had better come to terms with the fact that these posters are in the bedrooms of young witches all over the country."

From downstairs came Arthur's voice: "How is it coming along?"

Harry clenched his teeth "We'll talk about this later

Ginny went to take something out of her armoire; Hermione meanwhile guided Harry to the only chair in the room.

Being Muggleborn, Hermione was the one to apply the foundation that Ginny handed to her. Gently she stroked the brush across Harry's forehead, creating a not altogether unpleasant sensation for Harry; she was explaining what she was doing to Ginny, who was observing with interest.

When she was done, Harry looked up into the mirror perched above the armoire and didn't recognize himself.

The changes that the spell had wrought were exactly as Hermione had described, and the make-up had left only a slight discoloration on his forehead.

"Brilliant," was all Harry could say.

*****

Ron was the last to arrive at The Leaky Cauldron. Coughing, he stepped out of the fireplace.

"You'd think that with all that use there would be less soot," he commented.

Molly Weasley, meanwhile, was giving everybody a once over, checking for any grime.

Finally she came to Ron.

"Come here, dear. You have a little something on your nose," she said, but instead of waiting for his response, she just pulled him closer to her. After a quick lick on the fingers of her right hand, she proceeded to rub.

"Mum!"

"Come along, follow me," Arthur said.

Going through the back exit of The Leaky Cauldron, they passed the wall entrance and entered Diagon Alley.

"We're off," the twins immediately chorused and they were gone before either parent could stop them.

Still grumbling a bit, Mrs. Weasley took charge. "Gringotts first, and then books; followed by clothes. Oh, and not forgetting the little things such as potion supplies, maybe we should do those first, after Gringotts?"

Ron groaned at the mention of potions.

"Don't forget about Harry's gear, dear," Arthur interrupted. "I think I'll take him there and you can take the rest for robes and we'll meet you at Madam Malkin's."

"Can't I come to, Dad?" Ron asked, and Hermione nodded her agreement.

"I'm sorry Ron, but you'll have to help your mother carry all our purchases. Besides, the sooner you get to the clothes shop, the sooner you're done."

"Ah, Dad..."

"Gringotts," was all Mrs. Weasley said and she took point of the group muttering about her twin sons and the trouble they were in if they weren't back soon.

When the group entered and approached a Goblin they were told very thoroughly "Only two to a cart," after they had stated their intentions.

"All right, Harry and Hermione you take one and I'll take the other," Mrs. Weasley decided. "Arthur, you wait with Ron and Ginny."

Off she went at a brisk pace with a Goblin that had been summoned for the task, while Harry and Hermione followed another.

"I didn't know you had a Gringotts Vault; when did you get it?" Harry asked during the exiting rollercoaster like ride.

"Well, Dad decided it was a good idea to make some investments in the wizarding world, seeing as I'm here to stay.

He contacted Professor Dumbledore about it and apparently the Headmaster was all for it, even gave him some good tips.

Dad said he made 'a tidy profit' in some new company and that the dividend alone is enough to pay for my supplies already, so he said I should use it, said the exchange rates the goblins use were 'dismal'."

After visiting Hermione's vault (number 34067, filled with a nice pile of coins), they continued on to Harry's stop.

The cart stopped. "Vault 687, key please," the small goblin said after they had gotten out.

As the vault opened the sparkle of gold, silver and bronze came to meet them.

Harry stepped into the vault and saw the now familiar stacks of Galleons, heaps of Sickles and piles of Knuts. New, however, was a small filing cabinet on the left wall.

"What's that?" he asked the goblin.

"Storage space for stock certificates, bearer bonds and other valuable papers. Contents: 1000 shares of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," the goblin droned.

"Harry, you didn't... You did, didn't you?" Hermione said, pulled away from her stare by the goblin's words.

"Did what?" Harry responded, trying to look as innocent as possible, and not succeeding very well.

"You gave money to Fred and George! You are the 'lunatic investor' Ron was talking about. How could you Harry? You know Mrs. Weasley wants them to get proper jobs after Hogwarts."

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. "The money I gave them was the 1000 Galleons I won at the Triwizard tournament..."

"Oh, Harry..." Hermione said a bit despondently.

Harry resumed as if she had said nothing, his voice distant.

"I didn't want that money... I didn't deserve it. It should have been Cedric's.

His parents didn't want it, I didn't want it...

I gave it to Fred and George... figured we could use something to laugh about.

Voldemort..."

To Hermione's surprise, the goblin flinched at the name even if he was pretending not to listen for the rest. She herself only felt a bit weary of the name; she was, after all, Muggleborn and wasn't raised with the inherent fear that name created.

The little fear she did feel came from her extra studies, the descriptions of the hate Death Eaters felt for 'Mudbloods'.

She had once read that names could be powerful. From Harry's stories she knew that both he and Dumbledore said the Dark Lord's name openly.

Names did have power, but if one was not careful the power they had came from an unexpected angle.

"Voldemort is back, Hermione, and soon we'll have precious little to laugh at."

Silently Harry went to retrieve money. Remembering the need to buy everything anew he took care to bring extra.

Damn Vernon.

The ride back was silent and it had lost its exhilaration.

*****

Flourish & Blotts was as busy as ever, so close to the school season. Harry passed several people he knew who went to Hogwarts, but was not recognized.

One of the attendants had gotten him his school books after Harry had handed over his list, but was told that he would have to look up 'Duelling for Masters' himself.

While sifting through the many bookcases, he saw Seamus Finnigan talking to Ron by the Quidditch section.

As Seamus looked right at him, Harry froze; but Seamus showed no signs of recognition, so he relaxed a bit.

This could even be fun.

Slowly he made his way over to his two dorm mates, making sure he kept out of Ron's line of sight.

"...sent to Azkaban," he heard Seamus say.

Ron, who had not noticed Harry yet, continued his conversation, oblivious.

"If you ask me, he should have gotten a lot worse. He's just lucky Harry didn't kill him then and there. You could just see it in his eyes."

"I heard about that. They say he didn't even use his wand?"

"Absolutely, just pointed his hand at him, no wand, no spell. It was damned scary, you know. I was glad Hermione was able to get through to him.

I mean, it's Harry, but..."

Harry had heard enough and moved away.

He couldn't really blame Ron. It had been scary.

He had been disgusted with himself in retrospect.

Slowly he made his way along more bookcases, looking for his book, on occasion pulling out an interesting looking one.

"'Beauty by Wand' by Lindy Lockheart," Harry murmured to himself. Not really what he was looking for. Apparently there was an entire section devoted to these kinds of books.

It should have come as no surprise that Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were there.

Again Harry was not recognized and he decided to try to hear what the two girls were talking about.

These two were forever whispering to each other and when anyone in Gryffindor Tower came into hearing range they would giggle and stop whispering. Harry had been getting curious.

"...hurt real bad, the poor guy," Parvati said.

"Well, I'm sure you can make him feel better," Lavender answered in a suggestive tone.

"After the way he treated me at The Yule Ball last year? I don't think so.

Although... I have heard he might get a large compensation from the Ministry."

"And just think of the fame. Mrs. Harry Potter, now that's a name you can use. And the family, they don't come much better."

"I thought you were interested in Seamus?" Parvati said with mock outrage.

"Oh, I am. He's got such a cute accent," Lavender giggled.

"But that doesn't mean I can't look around.

Harry might be small, but he's supposed to be quite the wizard. And with all that money and fame..."

Inconspicuously Harry moved on.

He had not needed to hear that.

Finally he found 'Duelling for Masters'. It had a picture of Professor Flitwick on the front.

The little wizard was a lot younger in the picture than in reality.

The figure was going through what seemed like several duelling positions. The most amazing thing about the view was the cat like grace the Charms teacher had in his movements and the intense look he had in his eyes, so very different from the amicable professor he knew.

*****

After having paid for his books, Harry went to find Arthur.

Together they made their way to 'Ye Old Wizards Armoury', after they had left the books with Mrs. Weasley, who had offered to carry them so that Harry would have his hands free.

"We asked Charlie for the best address and this is what he came up with. The shop is almost as old as Ollivanders, although if you ask the owner he'll say that the shop is much older and only the building is younger," Arthur told Harry. "It's right next to Ollivanders, in fact."

As the two entered the shop, its purpose was clear immediately.

Body armour, helmets, leg protectors and a full assortment of other protective gear was hanging from the walls and standing in display cases.

A large, burly man came from the back. He had long blond hair and was wearing pieces of his own collection over his overall brown clothing. He had rugged skin, probably from over exposure to the elements, and his age was hard to judge. He could have been thirty and he could have been fifty.

"How may I help you, gentlemen?" he inquired politely.

Arthur stepped forward. "Good morning," he began courteously. "We were given this address by my son; he said you are the man to see about dragon gear."

"And he was absolutely right. There is no one better in the whole of England.

The name is Charles Woodfen," the shopkeeper said with an outstretched hand.

"Arthur Weasley," Arthur said, taking the man's hand.

"Charlie's' father, of course. I should have seen it. Fine young man, Charlie is. You must be very proud of him. Has a real heart for dragons, that one. Cries every time me and Ollivander come round to harvest a dead dragon."

Arthur broke out in a big smile.

"We're looking for dragon gear for this young man."

"Ah," Woodfen said, "let me guess, Hogwarts Proctor. You're a bit young, but you've got the right look in your eyes."

"Yes," Harry said. "I'm... Neville Longbottom."

"Sure you are, old son," Woodfen said with a huge grin. "You're not on my list, but seeing as Harry Potter hasn't shown up I don't think it'll be a problem." A big wink followed the statement.

"Follow me to my workshop then," the shopkeeper said, "dragon gear is a custom job."

As he led the way towards the back Woodfen bellowed: "HENRY! Get y'r lazy arse down here, you've got to mind the shop!"

As they were about to enter the workshop a young man with similar features to Woodfen stepped out and with a "Good morning," went to the counter in the shop.

"Must say, I was surprised when I got Dumbledore's letter. He said he had reinstated the Protectorate Council, had to look that up by the way, and said a few students would be by. Gave me a list, too. Said it would be most likely I'd see you... uhm Harry Potter here and to take good care of you."

"I think the game is up, Harry," Arthur said with a small smile, "he knows exactly who you are."

Harry gave Woodfen a suspicious look but his fears were quickly allayed when Arthur told him that he had owled Dumbledore about the shop and that there was nothing to worry about.

Harry decided that he may as well properly introduce himself.

Instead of the normal glance to his scar that he had come to expect, Woodfen only said "Honoured to meet you."

The large man then started to go through a cupboard.

From inside his muffled voice came. "The thing about dragon gear is that it's sensitive. If you don't have the right type it'll lose some of its protective value, or worse, it will interfere with your magic."

He stepped out of the cupboard carrying what looked like several slabs of very thick leather in various colours.

"What I want you to do, is hold these one by one and tell me what kind of feeling they give you - good or bad."

Harry was first handed a green piece of leather. At first he felt nothing, but slowly he started to feel a bit wary and told this to Woodfen.

"Good, now try this."

Next came a piece of grey.

"I don't like this one," Harry said before he had a chance to think.

Several pieces of leather passed Harry's hands; red, brown, blue and golden, all giving him different reactions, from wariness to comfort.

Then Woodfen handed Harry a piece of toxic green leather. As soon as he had it in his hand, Harry dropped it.

"That burnt," he said with a bit of irritation in his voice.

"It did?" Woodfen asked. "Are you a Sensitive by any chance?"

"A what?" Harry said, confused.

"Never mind. You're a bit of an enigma, old son. It's not that you rejected all of the dragons, but you weren't really satisfied with any of them either. I wonder...?"

Woodfen went into the cupboard again and came out with a bit of black leather.

"Haven't taken this one out since... well since never, actually. My great-great-grandfather harvested this leather.

It's from a Large English Black. They're extinct now, hunted down. They were feared by wizards of old; very powerful beasts. Try it." With what came close to reverence, Woodfen handed the leather to Harry.

A surge of magic went through Harry. The only thing he could compare it with was the day he had gotten his wand. Within him, the white light that Harry now correctly identified as his magic seemed to dance with joy.

To the two men it was clear what was happening. For a short moment Harry had been enveloped by a white haze and his hair had stood on end.

"This is the one," Harry whispered in awe.

"Yes, it is," Woodfen whispered back, a look of expectation in his eyes.

"Wait a moment," Arthur interrupted. "I'd hate to be the one to spoil all this, but how much is it going to cost? I mean, we are talking about some very rare leather aren't we?"

"Well, there is of course the fee for moulding the armour, that's standard. As to the leather... I'll be honest, it's going to be more expensive than any of the others, but not as expensive as you might think." Arthur wanted to interrupt at this point but Woodfen held up his hand to let him finish.

"It's going to be more expensive because of the rarity, but it'll be worth it. All dragon leather comes with its own protective qualities.

Chinese Fireball armour is renowned for it's resistance to fire, whereas leather from a Hungarian Horntail is nearly impenetrable by any sharp point.

They're all resistant to a good deal of magic, but this one... this one will be something special.

I can't even guess what this leather could do, it hasn't been used in over 350 years, but I can tell you it will be powerful," Woodfen said with a gleam in his eyes.

He then looked at Arthur and lost a little of the sparkle in his eyes. The large man sighed and continued in an patient tone: "I said I'd be honest and so I will. If I don't sell you this, I'll sell you something else; but the fact of the matter is that the chance that I will ever again have a customer for this is slim to none.

That's why I'll make you a fair deal."

"What's the bottom line?" Arthur asked.

"Thirty Galleons for the work, three hundred Galleons for the leather," the shopkeeper said without a hitch.

"How much for the others?" Arthur asked, clearly finding the black leather overpriced.

"It varies; the green is thirty, the red thirty-five, the grey..."

"I'll take it," Harry said, still a bit breathless.

"You mean the red?" Woodfen asked.

"No, the black, I'll take it."

"Harry, I think it's a bit expensive..." Arthur started but with one look at Harry's eyes gave up.

"Wonderful," Woodfen said with glee, "I'll get on it immediately."

Woodfen went to get his wand and what looked like a measuring tape, but it had strange symbols on it.

"Just extend your arms," he said, and with a flick of his wand the measuring tape started to zoom around Harry.

"I'm not sure I brought enough money..." Harry ventured, a bit overwhelmed by the speed at which things were going.

As Woodfen kept flicking his wand and taking notes he said: "No problem, most people don't bother to bring that amount of cash. If you have your key, you can just charge it to you Gringotts vault."

After he had finished his measurements, Woodfen went to a storage area at the back of the store. He came back with a fairly large amount of black leather.

"I can't wait to get started on this," he said.

"Do you know what he needs?" Arthur asked.

"Oh yes, it was all in the letter Professor Dumbledore sent me. I even looked up the requirements, and I've had two Proctors here already."

"Who were they?" Harry asked curiously.

"Oh, can't say," Woodfen answered. "Customer confidentiality, you understand.

I'll tell you though; one of them was a real pain in the arse. Demanded I mould the leather to personal specks, instead of the standard. I'll have to order new shapes at the blacksmith. But hell, daddy said he'd pay extra, so who am I to argue," he laughed.

The wizard armourer showed them back to the shop.

At the counter he clearly recognized Katie Bell, a Gryffindor 6^th year.

Would she be a Proctor to?

Unfortunately Harry could not go and ask, it would give away his disguise and he figured that he might want to use it in the future. Fortunately she was too busy talking to Henry to notice Arthur, who was clearly recognizable as a Weasley.

Standing only a few feet away from her, while presenting Woodfen with his key to settle the account, Harry felt a bit awkward, as if deceiving a friend.

As Woodfen opened the door to let them out he said: "As per request by the Headmaster, the gear will be sent straight to Hogwarts."

*****

Outside, the rain was pouring, which was a bit disappointing but not entirely unusual for a late August day; a natural consequence of the oppressive heat earlier in the day.

"We best hurry to Madam Malkin's, Harry, or we'll be soaked before we get there."

By the time they passed Gambols & Japes they were both wet to the bone and Harry had to clean off his glasses. Arthur quickly did an Impervius spell and Harry wiped his face before he put them back on.

By the time they got to Gringotts the rain had stopped.

"We should have waited a few minutes, just a few minutes," Arthur grumbled while doing a quick drying charm on his and Harry's clothes. Trying to get a bit drier himself, Harry ran a hand over his face and through his hair to wipe away water.

As if it had never rained at all, Diagon Alley started to be filled up with people again.

There were teenage witches and wizards, doing their start of term shopping; wild looking Warlocks, striding purposefully towards their destination; motherly witches, out for a day of shopping and tea with their friends; raucous dwarves, bickering amongst themselves; hags gossiping with each other, and wizards who tried to look as important as possible while they made their way towards the Ministry buildings.

They all had one thing in common.

They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw Harry.

"...blimey, it's really him."

"It's Harry Potter."

"You can see his scar."

"I thought he had black hair?"

"You think he'd give me an autograph?"

Quicker then seemed possible, more and more people gathered, forming a circular crowd around Harry and Arthur, in front of Madam Malkin's. Everyone was whispering to one another and pointing - pointing to Harry's forehead.

"Oh dear, the muck up smudged because of the rain," Arthur said, when he turned to Harry.

Then a small girl made her way forward and pulled on Harry's sleeve: "Can I have your autograph?"

And before Harry could answer her, or even so much as blush, it seemed like floodgates had been opened by that single question. Wizards and witches, children and adults, came forward in a human tidal wave.

Shouts came from all around Harry; he was pulled, pushed and prodded from all sides.

He had to get out of there. Where was Arthur? He needed help

But Harry and Arthur had been separated by the crowd.

"No, don't do that," Harry said in a desperate attempt to get away from a particularly ugly hag who was trying to get his attention by pinching him.

Having to fight to keep his balance, Harry was frightened at the intensity of the crowd.

"Leave me alone," he said, now pushing people away.

But the people took no heed.

As was a common occurrence with crowds, the energy it possessed had grown to more than the sum of its parts.

Although on an individual level most people there were decent, the crowd had a purpose that had become greater than that of any single person there, and all forms of individuality were swept away.

The crowd turned into a mob and it had but one purpose: Get to Harry Potter.

Harry was now starting to panic. What did these people want? They seemed to be on the point of ripping him apart just so they could get some of his attention.

Pain, panic, fear and then finally... anger.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" he screamed, but he was drowned out by the noise the crowd created, no one paid heed.

As Harry felt more and more threatened all these emotions built.

Then he felt it.

The storm of fear and anger in his soul was being mirrored by the white light in his core.

As Harry felt it build, he tried to desperately contain it. He fought it in every way possible, not even noticing the crowd anymore.

Images flashed before his eyes; images of the result of the prior unleashing of a similar storm, somewhere in the English countryside.

There he had destroyed some trees, a wall and a few bushes.

Here he would kill hundreds.

He felt someone dragging him away, into the shop; and with the fraction of concentration he could spare, he saw that it was Arthur.

Inside the shop he was quickly put in a chair, the onslaught of people who wanted to enter the store stopped by the employees and Mrs. Weasley.

A quick locking charm and several unbreakables were cast and the shop was safe.

"Are you all right, Harry?" asked Hermione in a very worried tone of voice.

Barely being able to spare the attention, Harry looked up to her and gasped: "Burrow... quickly,"

"Calm down, Harry, you're safe now," Arthur said, one hand patting Harry's shoulder.

He then made his way to his wife, to check on the cast charms.

Using all the willpower he could muster, one last time Harry gasped "Need Burrow...now... magic."

He was losing the fight in his inner being. The magic storm had taken on a life of its own, no longer under his control. He could feel it inching closer to the surface, bit by bit, while he was becoming less and less able to fight it, to contain it.

True to form, Hermione suddenly understood.

"Oh Lord, we have to get him to the Burrow, NOW!" she shouted.

"But Hermione...," Ron thought to placate her.

Ignoring Ron, Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him towards the fireplace, which was common to wizarding shops.

"HE NEEDS THE WARDS!" she screamed, frantically looking for Floo powder.

Ron looked at his friends a bit sheepishly, not understanding, but suddenly realisation seemed to hit Arthur.

"Merlin, help us..." he whispered, a desperate look flowing over his face, he had seen the site of destruction.

Quicker than any of his children had ever seen him move, he ran towards the fireplace.

Not breaking stride, he grabbed a delicate golden box sitting on top of a mahogany table, opened it and took some powder out of it. The box fell to the floor, discarded.

Still not interrupting what seemed like one fluent movement he grabbed Harry with one arm, holding him against his chest, threw the powder into the fire and yelled at the top of his lungs: "THE BURROW."

A green flame surged from the fireplace and Arthur dived into it headlong, still clutching Harry tightly to his chest.

Harry was only vaguely aware of the ride; most of his attention was focused inwards. He had always disliked Floo travel, but from what he did notice this was worse then anything he had ever experienced before.

He could constantly feel himself scraping against rough surfaces and being bumped against hard places like a billiard ball.

Head first, the two came out of the fireplace at the Burrow.