Realizations

Chapter 6 - Settling In

Thursday, July 6, 1995

After nearly a week at the Leaky Cauldron, the initial strangeness was wearing off, and Harry was beginning to get used to his odd new routine. Hopefully a better solution could be found soon, but for the time being, he was working nights, creeping cat-footed around the Leaky Cauldron after the patrons left, or retired to their rooms for the night. Currently, he was in the kitchen, putting on the kettle, preparing place settings, and doing all the little things necessary to get ready for the breakfast crowd.

A chime from the wall drew the boy's attention...the clock now read "Time to Set the Tables." The Leaky Cauldron would be opening for business soon. Another hour or so, and he'd be going back upstairs. With a dispirited little sigh, Harry grabbed some place settings, and donned his invisibility cloak, before entering the main dining area. Although he was more comfortable in the room above the kitchen than he had ever been in Dudley's second room, or the cupboard under the stairs, Harry still found himself chafing keenly under the need to sneak around and stay out of sight. Tom had cast silencing charms on his room and the back stairs and the kitchen so he didn't have to tiptoe around all the time, but it still smacked unpleasantly of the times on Privet Drive when he'd been up in his room, "making no noise, and pretending he wasn't there."

Not that he was complaining, mind. There were certainly worse things than skulking around the inn after dark, and he was grateful for the job and the room. It just got a little quiet and lonely at night, and sometimes Harry found he had a little too much time to think. He must have mulled over the events of the Third Task alone at least a thousand times.

The boy grimaced, as he quickly began laying place settings. At least there hadn't been a repeat of his behavior the first night he'd been on the job. Thank God for Tom's silencing charms. One minute he'd been busily scrubbing the kitchen floor, and the next...well, he still wasn't exactly sure what happened.

It hadn't been anything special, just an idle thought. A feeling of gratefulness that, for the moment anyway, he was safe. There were no dark wizards here. The biggest problem he had was the floor he was cleaning.

Then it had happened. Somehow his simple gratitude turned into a wave of almost hysterical relief.

If he hadn't already been on his hands and knees, Harry was pretty sure he would have fallen. His stomach clenched and his body began to shake as delayed reaction hit him hard.

At first, Harry had tried to ward off the unwelcome tide of emotion by seizing his brush, and scrubbing the floor even more vigorously than before. Physical activity had often proved useful when he needed an outlet. Flying and Quidditch were his favorites, of course, but all those stupid chores he did on Privet Drive accomplished the same thing. Harry had figuratively buried many a problem in Petunia Dursley's prized garden, but this time it didn't seem to be working. Furious with himself, he had balled his shaking hands into tight fists, clenched his teeth together, and screwed his eyes shut, determined to hold everything in. He was safe for Heaven's sake! There was no reason to be acting like this!

Years of living with the Dursleys, Dudley in particular, had conditioned Harry to internalize his feelings. A target that refused to react wasn't as much fun to torment, so he had learned to keep a neutral face, even when he was practically seething with bottled-up emotion. Only his eyes betrayed him, glinting dangerously whenever he became agitated.

Coping had been difficult at times, but Harry was optimistic and resilient by nature. He had proven himself patient and adaptable, and was usually able to roll with the punches he was dealt. Sometimes he gave in to anger or tears, but those were usually quick, quiet affairs, with no one the wiser. Occasionally, he would be aggravated enough to let his bad humor show. Harry didn't lose his temper often, usually preferring to give those who annoyed him the deep freeze treatment, but when he did it was impressive. Sirius, Ron, and his arch rival, Draco Malfoy, could all attest to that.

That night had been more than impressive. It had been a revelation. Recent events, past events, everything seemed to catch up with him all at once. It hadn't seemed to matter if it was a life-defining moment, or something childishly trivial. A seemingly endless parade of images flashed crazily through his brain: Voldemort, his loveless childhood, Dementors, Snape's favoritism, Cedric, his parents, the stupid fights he'd had with Ron and Hermione, Sirius, Pettigrew, losing all those house points in first year, his entire second year, Minister Fudge, his cupboard, his recent abandonment...

It had finally become too much. All his outrage, anger, hatred, frustration, fear, resentment and pain boiled over, and he had no chance of holding it in.

The howl of misery he'd barely managed to stifle as Molly Weasley held him back in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing finally broke free. Harry had suddenly found himself in the middle of a heretofore unprecedented, sobbing, wailing, ranting, raving, fist-pounding, teeth-gnashing, I'm-a-nice-guy-what-did-I-ever-do-to-deserve-this outburst, that made Dudley look like an amateur.

Wincing at the memory, Harry went to fetch more silverware. Up to now, he hadn't thought himself capable of such a noise. He'd blubbered, and bellowed, and carried on for quite a little while, unable to even consider stopping until everything was worked out of his system. If this was "having a good cry," his female housemates were welcome to it. Personally, Harry found the experience sharply reminiscent of the last time he'd thrown up. A body might feel better when it was all over, but the process, and the utter loss of control left something to be desired.

Speaking of control, Harry suddenly realized, he was extremely lucky he hadn't lost control of his magic. Actually he'd been pretty lucky since his arrival late Saturday night--or was it early Sunday morning? When he and Hedwig had come downstairs with Tom to eat and check in, the Leaky Cauldron had been oddly deserted. Tom had said later that Sundays were usually slow for the entire Alley. At any rate, no one had noticed him, and he hadn't drawn any attention when he'd cried out.

By the time he'd finished preparing the dining room, the clock read "Almost Time to Open." Harry took one last look around. The tables were set, condiment containers full, floor cleaned, chairs straight...it looked like everything was in order. There was just enough time for a quick bite and a cup of tea, then the teen gathered up his cloak, and headed back to his room.

Harry smiled ruefully, as he made his way up the stairs. Hedwig had ghosted into the kitchen about the time he'd finally begun to calm down. He'd been huddled in a little ball, still on his knees with his head pillowed on his arms, drifting in a haze of exhaustion, and still sniffling a little when she'd arrived.

The owl had landed next to him and hooted gently, concern showing clearly in her bright yellow eyes. Harry had lifted his head, and given her a wan smile, before lowering it again in shame. Hedwig continued to hoot and coo, making Harry feel bad. He knew she was worried, but how on earth could he ever explain? When he felt Hedwig nuzzling one of his hands, he automatically opened it and reached out to her, thinking she wanted to be petted. His messenger owl had other ideas, however. Harry raised an eyebrow when he felt her talon brush his palm, and... something drop into his hand.

Harry had frowned a little, as he tried to identify the object by touch alone. It was completely unfamiliar, so he had finally given up, and raised his head to look. With a thrill of horror, he realized he had a handful of dead mice. Ah. Hedwig had been out hunting.

At that particular moment, Harry had been grateful for his little crying jag, and the exhaustion it caused. It prevented him from jumping three feet in the air, and making some witty remark like, "Oh, GROSS!!" which would have deeply insulted the well-meaning bird.

He had thanked her instead, and insisted she go ahead...he wasn't hungry. She had taken all of the mice back but one, nipped his finger affectionately, and left in a flutter of feathers. Harry had stared after her for a moment, not quite knowing what to do. Hedwig might like raw mice, but he'd never developed a taste for them. Nor did he plan to. Still, she was sharing her hard won meal with him, and it seemed almost churlish to toss it away.

Patches had shown up about that time, though, and Harry had been able to solve his dilemma, and cement their relationship by gifting her with the unfortunate rodent.

Speaking of whom...

Harry grinned at the cat, who was waiting outside his room. "Morning, Patches," he said, pausing to scratch her ears and chin before opening the door and walking in. Tom had owned cats even back when he had lived in the room over the kitchen, and there was a little flap in his door. Patches could, and did, come and go as she pleased, but in the mornings she had taken to waiting for Harry in the hall, lazily flicking her tail, and purring loudly.

Harry yawned and stretched, tired, but not ready to go to bed just yet. Instead, he looked contentedly around his new home. It was really hard to believe that this inviting space had been a stuffy, dusty, cobwebby mess just a few days ago.

Tom's old room had become a lot cheerier, and more welcoming once he'd removed the dulling layer of dust and grime. Cleaning the windows had been especially helpful in that regard. The room brightened noticeably when sunlight could pass uninhibited through the sparkling panes.

As rooms went, it was rather Spartan, with plain white walls, a wood floor, and a little fireplace that Tom said was for heating purposes only. It was larger than he had first thought too, easily as big as Dudley's main bedroom back on Privet Drive, maybe even as large as the master suite.

Harry surveyed his work with satisfaction. The first "official" job Tom had given him had been to make the room habitable. The innkeeper had shown him where things were kept, and left him to it. Seeing no reason to delay, Harry had quickly fetched some cleaning supplies and gotten right to work. To his delighted surprise, he had discovered an attractive set of oak furniture hiding under the dust. The bedroom suite was rather masculine in appearance, with simple, classic lines, and very little ornamentation. The bed, thankfully, had been draped with a sheet to keep the mattress clean, but the dresser, desk and chair, wardrobe, bedside table, and shelving had required a vigorous scrubbing, as had the walls, bath and floor.

Tom had come back to check his progress a few hours later. He had brought fresh linens, curtains, and some miscellaneous items, and had arrived just as Harry was finishing up. The boy noted with amusement that Tom had brought some cleaning supplies with him, obviously intending to help, and had seemed surprised to find the work already done. Harry had grinned in pleased embarrassment when Tom looked around the room in open-mouthed shock, and blushed when the innkeeper jovially clapped him on the shoulder, and told him that the old place hadn't looked that good in years.

The initial cleaning had been the hard part. After that, it hadn't taken much to finish getting things in order. The addition of a few homey touches had made a big difference in the room's appeal. That and the color scheme, of course. Thanks to Tom, the bed and windows were now dressed in bright Gryffindor colors. Scarlet and gold towels graced the shelves and towel rods in the half bath as well. Harry's new red toothbrush stood in a cup by the sink, and a small gold clock sat on the bedside table. It was starting to look like Gryffindor Tower in miniature. Harry chuckled softly, and continued his fascinated perusal of the place. Even after five days he was still shocked at the sight of his own things on display.

For the first time since he'd started attending Hogwarts, Harry had completely unpacked his trunk. Even now, he questioned the wisdom of the act--if he had to leave in a hurry, there was a very real chance he might forget something--but he hadn't been able to resist having a normal room for once.

So he had compromised.

Items that could be easily replaced if things got sticky now decorated the area. His school books sat proudly on a shelf by the desk. Some of the magical objects he'd acquired over the last few years were scattered around as well. The Pocket Sneakoscope that Ron sent him from Egypt, and the broom servicing kit from Hermione, for example, were in full view. Hedwig's cage was on the wardrobe, and homework assignments, in various stages of completeness, lay haphazardly on the desk. Harry rolled his eyes when he imagined the Dursley's reaction to all this <> set out for the world to see. The homework assignments alone would have probably cost him some time in the cupboard.

He hadn't left everything out, though. Practical items he'd need in an emergency (money, food, a few changes of clothes), school supplies he didn't use much in the summer (his cauldron, for instance), and a few items he couldn't bear to lose (like the precious photo album Hagrid had given him, the Invisibility Cloak that had been his father's, and his Firebolt ) had been carefully re-packed. Just in case. Harry thought, as he folded his cloak, and put it away.

By the time Harry finished showering, brushing his teeth, and pulling on his pajamas, the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. He'd discovered that falling asleep was easier before the sun rose too high, so he quickly dealt with Hedwig's cage, and set out fresh water and owl treats before climbing wearily into bed. That was another good thing about the new living arrangements, the boy thought, settling comfortably under the covers. Hedwig was much happier. She enjoyed being able to come and go as she pleased enormously. Harry smiled softly as his eyes drifted shut. This wasn't so bad, really. Even if having your days and nights flipped was extremely weird...

Tom shook his head in bemusement when he entered the kitchen. He still couldn't believe how well things had worked out.

The offer of work, and his old room had been a spur-of-the-moment inspiration. An attempt to keep the boy safely accounted for, without injuring his pride. He wasn't losing money on the room, by letting Harry stay there, after all. The boy could have stayed there for free as far as Tom was concerned, and the Leaky Cauldron could easily absorb the cost of meals for one, but something had told him that Harry wouldn't accept that.

Still, Potter was very young. Tom hadn't thought he could have much in the way of skills for that reason alone. He knew from past dealings with the boy that Harry was quiet and well mannered, but like most of the wizarding community, he'd assumed that Harry's home life was relatively easy. Harry had been immediately hidden in the muggle world after his parents' deaths. Until his re-introduction to the wizarding world almost four years ago, almost nothing had been known about where he was, and how he fared. On very rare occasions, there would be a "Boy-Who-Lived Sighting" in the Daily Prophet. Sometimes these reports would be accompanied by a distant, indistinct photograph, but on the whole, Harry Potter was an intriguing mystery.

Tom wondered if Harry knew what he meant to the wizarding world. Probably not. The innkeeper smiled fondly as he remembered Hagrid bringing Harry to the Leaky Cauldron, and the boy's bewildered surprise at his reception. He had thought at the time that Harry must have been sheltered by his muggle relations. Or perhaps they didn't know themselves. How could muggles articulate those horrible years when You-Know-Who had been at full power? It was hard, even for those who lived through it to describe the turmoil, confusion and utter fear that the Death Eaters' terror-campaign had wrought. When Harry had somehow survived the Killing Curse, and destroyed You-Know-Who's power in the bargain, it had been exhilarating...like the first rays of sunshine after a particularly wild and brutal storm.

Tom did a cursory check of the dining area, before walking into the kitchen. This must be what having a house elf is like, he thought dazedly. Everything was ready for the breakfast rush. Tom chuckled at the irony. No skills indeed! Harry's stay was turning into a vacation for him. He'd thought he was doing a favor--extending a little harmless charity. He'd expected to have to teach the teen what he needed to know. When he'd gone to check Harry's progress the first day, he'd imagined the boy struggling ineptly with the mess, and had been prepared to breeze in and take over. Instead he had gained an efficient, conscientious, employee.

He checked his ingredient canisters, and found them full. All he had to do was make sure the charms that kept the food fresh didn't need replacing. Tom looked around bemusedly. It was ridiculous. Impossible. The boy wasn't even fifteen yet, and he had the domestic skills of a seasoned housewife. At this rate, Harry Potter was going to earn the right to stay at the Caldron free of charge for the rest of his life. Especially after that list fiasco...

Tom sighed, as he remembered the mistake. He'd written a list of tasks that needed doing, and given it to Harry as a guide. He'd meant for the jobs to be completed over the next few days, but he'd evidently forgotten to tell Harry that. He'd been amazed the next morning when he'd come down and found everything done!

At first he'd assumed that Harry had misunderstood, and used his wand. He was composing a "you know you're not supposed to do magic out of school" speech to deliver later, when he'd entered the kitchen and found Harry asleep at the table. He'd evidently nodded off while waiting for his tea to steep. One look at the exhausted boy, and Tom had known he hadn't used magic. The red, irritated skin of his hands was mute testimony to that. He still couldn't believe it. There had been twenty-five jobs on that list. Harry must have zipped around like a scalded cat to get it all done in one night.

The boy had seemed embarrassed, but had just shrugged a little when Tom had asked why thought he had to do the whole list at once. He did that a lot, Tom noted. Especially when his muggle family came up in conversation.

Tom stood in the door between the kitchen and the dining area and looked around, honestly impressed. Harry was obviously putting in some serious hours. He thought he had cleared up the misunderstanding, but perhaps he should lay out a work schedule as well. There was no need for the boy to earn the entire summer's worth of room and board in one week, after all. To be fair, he hadn't told the boy in so many words what he expected in return for the room and food, nor had they discussed precise wages. Harry was such an appreciative little thing, it was possible, even highly likely, that he thought the ridiculous amount of effort he was expending was an even trade. Tom rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He'd go talk to Harry later, and sort things out. Perhaps he could convince the boy to write to Dumbledore as well.

A chime from the wall caught his attention. The wall clock now read, "You're Late." Tom muttered a mild oath and hurried over to unlock the doors. Harry Potter was a puzzle that would have to wait for now.

A small group of his fellow Diagon Alley proprietors were outside the door, waiting for him to open up. Tom apologized for the delay, and ushered them in.

"Blimey, Tom," Florean Fortescue commented, looking around appreciatively. "The old place is looking great! Have you given up eating and sleeping?"

Tom smiled his toothless grin, pleased they'd noticed. It had been subtle at first, but after several nights of work, Harry's efforts were beginning to show. Tom kept the Leaky Cauldron respectively clean, of course, but couldn't always find the time to give the old place the attention it deserved. "No, indeed, Florean," he replied jovially. "I've hired myself a hand for the summer. Hogwarts student. He's a very hard worker, I must say."

"Indeed? I may have to try and steal him," the manager of Flourish and Blotts joked. "He can organize my back room. How much are you paying him, Tom?"

"Yes, Tom," Madam Malkin joined in, smiling coyly, "you know how hard it is to find good help."

Tom frowned thoughtfully. He'd been trying to figure out a way to get Harry out of the Leaky Cauldron. The night schedule had actually started by accident, because Harry's sleep pattern had been disrupted. Having the boy work nights was a good idea, and it almost ensured that the boy remained unseen, but Tom felt bad about it. Harry hadn't complained, but the solitary lifestyle he'd been leading couldn't be good for him. He looked better than he had that first night, but still seemed a bit down. Getting out might cheer him up.

"I can see if the lad would be interested in doing some extra work for you if you'd like," he finally said. "He might like the chance to earn his school supplies, but he's been working nights. Even if he agrees, he'll need some time to sort himself out, mind."

"Tom, we were just having you on," Florean began, but Tom shook his head firmly.

"No, really. I wasn't expecting him to be so quick." Tom made a sweeping gesture that included the dining area and bar. "I'm going to run out of extra things for him to do." Tom grimaced a little, before continuing, "He's already working on his summer assignments, and I daresay he's finished one or two." He paused a moment wondering how much to say. "He had a nasty shock a few days ago, and seems happier when he keeps busy."

"Well, we'd need to meet him first," the manager of Flourish and Blotts pointed out practically. "Assuming the boy says yes of course. What's his name, anyway?"

This wasn't a question Tom was prepared to answer, so he stalled for time by refilling teacups, and asking after everyone. Telling them the boy in question was the Boy Who Lived probably wasn't wise just yet, but he couldn't delay forever. Admitting the boy's name was Harry wasn't a good idea either. Harry was a common enough name, but it might be too obvious. What's his middle name again? Tom thought frantically. James. Not bad, that. Rather formal, though, and it still might tip people off, as much as the lad favors his father. What's short for James? Jamesey? Jamie? Jim? They were waiting for an answer. What the hell... Tom faced his colleagues and smiled apologetically. "Sorry. My mind wandered a moment. The boy's called Jim."

About four that afternoon, Harry woke to the sensation of needles sticking in his chin. Blearily he opened his eyes, and scowled at Patches. The cat was sitting on his chest, and had a forepaw resting delicately on his face. Every so often, she would extend her claws slightly, just enough to irritate, but not enough to break his skin. "I'm going to plug up that hole in my door," he grumbled. He'd been woken several times by nightmares--daymares?--and still felt groggy and irritable.

The cat ignored his bad humor, and began to casually wash her face. Gradually, the Gryffindor felt his spirits lighten as he listened to her rumbling purr, and gently scratched behind her ears. She really is a brilliant alarm clock, Harry thought, and never the same way two days in a row! Sometimes she did the claw thing, other days she would purr in his ear or lick his face. His personal favorite was the way she had sent him scurrying to the loo after deliberately treading on his lower stomach.

After a while Patches walked away, swishing her tail regally. Harry sat up, reached for his glasses, and wondered absently if Hermione had to put up with this sort of thing from her ginger cat, Crookshanks. Shrugging, the boy walked to the wardrobe, and took out some fresh clothes. When all this sneaking around is over, I'll have to ask.

The boy smiled fondly as he caught his reflection in the mirror on the dresser while walking to the bathroom. Before now, he hadn't really given a lot of thought to the mechanics behind enchanted mirrors. He had reckoned there was one personality per mirror, and that the personality was essentially trapped in one place.

This wasn't the case at the Leaky Cauldron, however. The mirror personalities could share frames if they so desired, and often went "visiting" much like the portraits at Hogwarts. Harry hadn't noticed this before, because he hadn't been alone in his room a lot on previous visits. Plus, he was still relatively new to the wizarding world, and it hadn't occurred to him to talk to the mirror.

Harry had become aware of this phenomenon when he had dusted and polished the mirror on the dresser. Almost as soon as he'd started wiping, curious presences had crowded in, wondering what was going on, and asking if Harry was going to be staying here now. Evidently, no one regularly inhabited Tom's old room. Up to now, the frame was used as a place to be alone when one of the personalities wanted to think...or sulk.

Tom also used the mirrors as an informal communication system of sorts. Crystal, who had initially greeted Harry his first morning at the Leaky Cauldron, had left almost immediately in search of Tom. Harry found out later that was how Tom knew he was up and dressed. She had sought the boy out that evening, and apologized contritely for leaving so abruptly. Tom had begun to worry when Harry had shown no sign of waking after sleeping nearly fourteen hours straight. He'd asked the mirrors to keep watch, and notify him immediately when the boy stirred.

All in all, Harry liked the mirror, and the personalities it housed. His new status as "employee" rather than "guest" made them more open with him, and the steady stream of visitors kept him from feeling completely isolated--especially when Hedwig was out flying or hunting. They were all extremely courteous, always asking permission before "popping in," so to speak, and seeming to understand when Harry wasn't up to company at the moment. By mutual agreement, the mirror on the medicine cabinet in the bathroom was off limits except for emergencies, so Harry tended to change clothes in there.

"Good Morning, Lovey! Are you decent?"

Speak of the devil... Harry finished pulling his shirt over his head, grinned again, and walked to the dresser. "Hi, Crystal, and yes."

"Good," the mirror said. A very transparent outline of the entity called Crystal appeared, so faint it was hardly noticeable. She seemed to settle in and make herself comfortable. "You and I are going to have a discussion about your appearance."

Harry rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms. This was threatening to become a daily ritual. "Jeez, Crystal, not this again!"

Before the mirror could answer, there was a sharp rap on the door. "Harry, lad, are you awake?" Tom's voice called from the hall.

Harry quickly opened the door, and grinned sheepishly at his boss. "Hi, Tom. Afraid I just got up," he said, running his fingers through his hair.

"Tom!" Crystal squealed delightedly from the dresser. "Get in here and help me! Maybe he'll listen to you."

Tom grinned, and Harry rolled his eyes. Other outlines began appearing in Harry's mirror to see what the row was about. "I seem to be interrupting something," Tom said, highly amused.

"Not really," Harry nodded casually at the mirror. "Crystal here doesn't approve of my look," he told Tom with a sweeping gesture that took in his clothing, glasses, and hair. He shrugged then continued lightly, "She reckons I'd look better blind, bald, and starkers."

This dry comment was delivered so matter-of-factly, it took Tom and all the mirror entities a few seconds to process what Harry said. When they did, the room was filled with hearty guffaws, and Crystal's outraged sputtering.

"Come over here, Harry," she commanded. Harry arched an eyebrow, and moved to stand in front of the mirror. "Hold still," Crystal said. Harry watched in fascination as his reflection doubled. The second reflection was curiously static, like a muggle photograph. Wow. This was new.

"Now look here," Crystal continued, pointing to Harry's static image. "If we get rid of these..."

Harry's glasses disappeared.

"And replace them with these..."

Smaller, wireframe glasses appeared.

"And make these fit properly..."

Harry's clothes shrank.

"No, no," another mirror personality named Amethyst interrupted. "He needs to wear this."

Photo Harry was now sporting emerald green dress robes.

And so it went. As Harry and Tom watched, about a dozen personalities with about a dozen different opinions and tastes manipulated the image. They played with different hairstyles, glasses frames, and clothing. Harry was dressed in everything from velvet dress robes to punk leather.

Tom found himself nodding enthusiastically. Why didn't he see it? He'd almost convinced himself not to trouble Harry with the proposition from the other merchants of Diagon Alley, not seeing how the boy could go out without being recognized, but this could work!

As ashamed as he was to admit it, Tom had never looked at Harry before. After you saw the shock of dark hair, and verified the identity with the green eyes and lightning scar, the rest didn't seem to matter. He'd never noticed before, but Harry's muggle clothing was very worn, and overlarge. Why on earth was he given such ill-fitting garments? Tom gave himself a mental shake, unwanted suspicions beginning to form in his mind. He'd sort that out later. The fact remained that for whatever reason, everything Harry owned was ill-fitting, unflattering, or both--designed to detract from rather than enhance his looks. Plus the fact that before the TriWizard Tournament there hadn't been very many pictures of Harry available. A good many witches and wizards probably only knew his physical description. "Yes," he murmured thoughtfully, "it just might work."

"Sorry Tom, but no. It just isn't me."

"What?" Tom looked up and laughed out loud. Saber, one of the more, erm, adventurous personalities had photo Harry dressed in tight black leather, with a green spiked Mohawk, a black butch collar, and multiple piercings.

"See anything you fancy, Harry?" Crystal sang merrily. "How do you want to look?"

What the heck... Harry decided to play a little. It was his face, after all, and they'd certainly been having a fine time with it. "Put up the other one," Harry said, speculatively. "The one with plain jeans, and the collared t-shirt. Okay. Now I don't fancy letting someone poke holes in me, so get rid of those. Thanks. A more normal hairstyle, please and no glasses."

The image shifted obediently, following his directions. Intrigued in spite of himself, Harry inspected his reflection in the mirror. The Dursleys had always told him he was hopelessly ugly, and his hair always seemed to do as it pleased. He knew he was skinny and short, and nothing to write home about, really, but Harry was getting to the age where looks and the opposite sex were becoming more important. Perhaps it was possible to improve. After all, no one wants to be unattractive. He examined the image critically, then turned to look questioningly at Tom. "What do you think?"

"Impressive, Harry," Tom said, not quite believing the difference. "That reminds me, I had a conversation this morning you might find interesting, and I wanted to discuss your work schedule as well."

Harry listened while Tom explained, then looked at the reflection again. It might work...except for one tiny detail. "Sounds good, Tom, but what about this?" he asked, tapping his scar.

"Let me think on that, lad," Tom said, frowning. "There are different ways to go, you know. Glamours, Concealing Charms, Potions..." Tom trailed off, still thinking hard. "They all have advantages and disadvantages. We'll figure something out. In the meantime, you'll probably be safer doing your shopping in muggle London. Less risk of you being recognized." Tom turned to leave, then paused at the door. "Oh, and Harry, since you don't have to work as many hours as you thought, try to get back to a night time sleeping schedule, and you might want to write that letter to Professor Dumbledore, as well."

Harry nodded as Tom left, then watched as the shadowy presences bade him goodbye, and popped out. Once again alone in his room, he sat down at the desk and began to plan.

He supposed he could go to Gringott's first thing in the morning, before lots of shoppers arrived at Diagon Alley. While he was there, he could make the inquiries about his vault, and exchange some of his wizard gold to muggle money. Trouble was, he wasn't sure what to do or where to go after that. Harry had lived most of his life in Surrey, but his visits to the city had been rare. In fact, the first time he'd set foot in London was when Hagrid took him to Diagon Alley summer before First Year.

Harry absently picked up a quill and twirled it between his thumb and index finger as he considered this, then decided things would probably go better if he had a little help. But who to ask? Harry bit his lip again, then smiled when his eyes fell on the smudged and wrinkled business card he'd rescued from his shirt pocket when he'd unpacked his trunk. Well, she did say to call if I needed anything, Harry mused, picking up Dr. Granger's business card, and looking at it speculatively. If nothing else, maybe they can recommend a store.