Realizations

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Chapter 19 - Did You Ever Have One of Those Days?

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Friday, July 21, 1995

"Whatta ya mean 'I don't think so?'" a highly indignant voice demanded, breaking the drowsy after-lunch-rush lull in the Leaky Cauldron's main dining room.

Tom sighed as he regarded the angry blonde witch in front of him. "Cassandra, do be reasonable," he began, but she cut him off, her smokey gray eyes glittering angrily.

"What's the matter? My Galleons not gold enough for you?" she demanded, whipping out her money pouch and throwing it on the bar in disgust. "Want to look at one? Make sure it isn't gilded lead?"

"Of course not, but--"

"What's the kid's going rate? I'm sure Marty will beat it. Hell, he might even double it!"

Tom shook his head, and made little pacifying gestures with his hands. "It isn't about money, Cassie. You and Martin and Silas have been good customers for years!" he soothed, trying to calm her.

Cassandra Wallis was usually rather easy to get along with, as long as you stayed away from certain sore subjects. Money was first in the queue. Hogwarts was a close second. She had not returned to the castle after her fifth year, when her father's unexpected death had wreaked havoc with the family finances. Things appeared to be better for her now, but for reasons Tom was not privy to, she had not made any attempt to complete her magical training.

It was a shame, really. She'd evidently made a good showing on her OWLs. Tom didn't know exactly how these things worked, but he reckoned all she would really need to do was study up and pass her NEWTs. It was beyond him why, three summers later, she still hadn't pursued this course of action.

"Well what is it, then?" Cassandra demanded, snatching up her money pouch and re-fastening it to her belt. "Dammit, Tom, we need the help! I don't think we've ever been this shorthanded! Sean has the flu and Bryce and Tammy quit unexpectedly. Didn't even have the manners to give a few days notice," she fumed, planting her hands on her hips and scowling at him. "Word on the street is the kid's willing, and a hard worker. Why can't we schedule some of his time?"

Tom fought the urge to sigh again. Lancaster's, the store where she worked, was actually very nice. They sold a wide variety of magical gadgets, and carried a specialized line of enchanted clothing. Tom was quite sure Harry would have no trouble selecting something or other that he would like to earn, even if it wasn't exactly school related, or, as Cassandra pointed out, they could simply pay him.

No, it wasn't the store that was the problem, it was the location.

Lancaster's was on Knockturn Alley.

Contrary to popular belief, a shop on Knockturn Alley wasn't automatically a den of iniquity. Lancaster’s was okay. The potion shop that carried the Mark Remover was all right. There was even a cluster of stores farther down that formed an "industrial" section of sorts. They specialized in professional strength products that required careful handling, and were a little too potent for casual use.

Tom directed magical folk to shops on Knockturn Alley more often than one might think. As a matter of fact, he had referred the Hogwarts Groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, to a potion manufacturer in the industrial area a few summers ago. The half-giant had been battling a flesh-eating slug infestation in the school cabbages, and the household-strength repellants he'd tried just hadn't been doing the job.

No, it was some of the other stores, Borgin and Burkes for example, and the crowd they attracted that gave Knockturn Alley its rather unsavory reputation. Tom got the collywobbles just thinking about some of those places and the things they sold. Unfortunately, since some of them were located near the intersection where Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley met, they discouraged casual foot traffic, and made the more "respectable" businesses rather dependent on adverts and referrals.

The soft tapping of a booted foot brought Tom back to the present. Guiltily, he realized he'd been silent just a tad too long. When he looked up at Cassandra, her eyes were narrowed suspiciously.

"Is this because he'd be on Knockturn Alley?" she challenged.

Well, there's no point in lying, Tom thought with a heavy sigh. "Yes," he admitted, sadly.

"Tom!" Cass looked hurt now, and the betrayed disbelief in her voice made his name sound like an accusation. "Martin Lancaster runs a perfectly respectable business and you know it!" she flared, fiercely protective of the man who'd given her a job and another chance when she'd had to abandon her magical training. "We don't cater to the nutters who want poisoned daggers and cursed jewels, and all that other rubbish! The kid would be perfectly safe!"

"I know that Cassandra. Truly I do," Tom said regretfully. "But the fact remains, that Knockturn Alley can be a dangerous place. I have concerns for the boy's safety outside your shop, and I simply do not have the time to escort him!"

"So send him by Floo!" she countered in exasperation. "That's how most of our customers arrive, anyway." She rolled her eyes at older wizard's surprised look. "Honestly, Tom! Marty doesn't keep six separate fireplaces connected to the network just to enhance the decor, you know."

Brought up short, Tom found there wasn't much he could say to that. It was a good solution, after all. Thankfully he was spared having to think up an excuse when the door leading to Diagon Alley was wrenched open and slammed forcefully shut, making the bells jangle and thump noisily against the wood.

He and Cassandra just had time to turn toward the interruption before the smell hit them. Merlin! Tom gasped, covering his nose and mouth with one hand, and blinking his watering eyes, while Cassie choked and waved her hand in front of her face beside him. It wasn't a bad smell exactly, just...overpowering.

Stomping footsteps and dark muttering could now be heard, coming closer all the time. What in the name of goodness had just entered the pub? "Blimey! I think you overdid it just a bit with the cologne there mate," Tom managed to croak.

"Why thank you, Tom, for that kind assessment."

Tom's eyes flew open in surprise, in spite of his discomfort. "Sparky??!" he said incredulously, before clapping a hand over his mouth to trap his laughter.

Oh, yes. In spite of the unaccustomed note of sarcasm in his voice, it was Harry all right. He was standing in front of the other two now, looking highly offended with his arms crossed defensively on his chest. He was absolutely soaked in some viscous fluid, he reeked to high heaven, and to add insult to injury, his skin, clothes, and shoes were tinted a delicate pink.

"Do I even want to know what happened?" Tom asked, swallowing his laughter, but unable to keep a broad smile off his face.

Harry twisted his mouth and wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Probably not," he mumbled.

"I didn't think so," Tom said jovially, then remembered the witch beside him. "Cassandra Wallis, this is Jim Patterson, better known as Sparky," he said, indicating Harry with a flourish.

"Pleasure," Cassie said, smiling devilishly at Harry's confusion as he glanced from her outstretched hand, to his rather sticky one. "You really get into your work I see," she commented archly, earning herself a harassed look from Potter, as he wiped his hand on the leg of his jeans, trying to clean the worst of the mess off of it before carefully taking her hand. She was amused when he gave it a light shake, and released it almost immediately.

"Actually, this was sort of a special occasion," the boy replied, with an embarrassed half grin. When she raised an inquiring eyebrow, he elaborated a bit. "A couple of blokes were trying to deliver some ultra-concentrated scent solutions to Mrs. Fillmore but they had the wrong address," he said with a little shrug, referring to the manager of the Diagon Alley potion shop. "They were looking for a shop on Knockturn Alley."

Ah, yes, Cassandra thought, idly recalling one of the Knockturn Alley potion manufacturers mentioning that he needed to replace some stock. Bleagh! No wonder the smell was so strong! He had been talking about making the sort of heavy-duty deodorizers used in public loos and things of that nature.

Tom, meanwhile, saw an opportunity. He wanted to talk to Harry about the location of Lancaster's before Cassie asked to be added to his queue. "Erm, not to be rude, Sparky," Tom cut in before the boy could continue, "but if this is going to be a long story, I'd really be grateful if you'd nip up to your room and shower first." There. She probably wouldn't want to wait. He'd talk to Harry, and they could send his regrets by owl or Floo later.

Harry, of course, had to pick now of all times to be difficult. He paused, initially, looking a little taken aback, then his eyes began to sparkle mischievously. "And waste all this freshener?" he asked, seemingly horrified at the very notion. "I reckoned I'd take a little walk 'round first. The Leaky Cauldron can get dreadfully musty, don't you think?"

"Sparky," Tom said in a mock-warning tone.

Harry ignored him and continued to speculate. "And didn't you say we were serving fish and chips this evening?" he asked brightly. "Could come in handy, you know," he grinned, shaking a knowing finger at Tom.

"Sparky," Tom almost groaned, knowing for certain that things were about to get out of hand. She would ask and he would accept without thinking to question her, especially if she brought up how much they needed the help. Then he'd be committed. He was considering dragging the boy bodily into the kitchen, when Cassie unexpectedly came to his rescue.

"Oh let him freshen the place if he likes, Tom," she said airily. "Once you get used to the smell it isn't so bad. Tea rose, isn't it?" she said, sniffing delicately, and directing the last bit at Potter.

Harry looked mortified, and Tom gaped at her in disbelief.

"Besides," she purred with a throaty chuckle, reaching out and giving Harry's shirt sleeve a little tweak, "I haven't met many boys his age who are so comfortable wearing pink."

Tom grinned widely as Harry's mortification turned into stark horror, and broke into hearty guffaws when the boy muttered something like, "I think I'll go take that shower now," and fled into the kitchen. "That wasn't a very nice thing to do," he lightly admonished his companion when he got his laughter under control.

The blonde witch shrugged unrepentantly. "Worked, didn't it?" she said, grinning cheekily. "Now, how about a butterbeer while I wait?"

---

When Harry dove into his room a few minutes later, Patches stirred awake and hissed indignantly, and Hedwig glanced up and glared meaningfully at him before tucking her head even further under her wing.

"Okay, okay, I get the point," Harry said, raising his hands in defeat as he started toward the bathroom. "Am I at least allowed to wait until the water gets warm before I shower?" he asked, only half-jokingly.

"Blimey, Spark! What happened to you?" Crystal asked from the dresser mirror, momentarily halting his progress.

"Little accident, Crys. Nothing to get in a flap over," Harry said, shrugging dismissively before giving her a wry smile. "Don't want to be rude, but I really do need to get cleaned up."

Now there was an understatement. The rose-essence had been rather thick and sticky to begin with. Now that it had set a bit, it had the stiff, slightly tacky feel of half-dried maple syrup. Yes, a good scrub was definitely in order.

"Of course, Love. Sorry for keeping you. I'll pop in later, and I'll be sure to tell the others that you're, ah, indisposed at the moment," she called with a silvery laugh.

"Thanks, Crystal. You're all heart," Harry muttered, watching as she winked out before resuming his trek to the bathroom and turning on the shower tap.

As he waited for the water to warm, Harry peered into the mirror on the medicine cabinet, and poked experimentally at the goop on his face. It wasn't completely dry, but at least he didn't seem to be dripping anymore. That was quite good, actually. Hopefully he hadn't tracked anything in. It wasn't that Harry minded the work so much, but he didn't fancy having to mop the dining room...and the kitchen...and the back stairs...and his room...again.

Eurgh! Harry blinked his watering eyes and pinched his nose shut. The small bathroom didn't have any appreciable ventilation, and it was getting pretty cloying in there, especially since he had the door shut. Impatiently, he checked the water temperature again. The delivery wizards and Mrs. Fillmore had assured him that the concoction was water soluble, and a good, hot shower would put him to rights in no time. They'd also been fairly certain that the soft pink color of the mixture was caused by ground rose petals, not some sort of dye, so the discoloration of his skin and clothes shouldn't be permanent.

I hope they're right! Harry thought worriedly as he glanced down at himself. Besides the fact that he didn't fancy having a pink face and arms (although he reckoned that could be explained as a sunburn) he'd been afraid the mishap had ruined the clothes he'd been wearing and his new trainers. The shopping trip with Dr, Granger had been fun and all, but he hadn't planned on having to go out and purchase replacements just yet.

Smiling ruefully, he recalled all the people who had been pointing and exclaiming as he'd hurried back to the Leaky Cauldron. It had been a little off-putting at first, bringing to mind unpleasant memories of how he'd been teased and isolated in muggle primary school.

Of course, he'd be lying if he said that the patrons of Diagon Alley hadn't had a valid reason for being shocked and amused. It probably wasn't every day they had a rose-dipped wizard in their midst. It had been all right, really. Not exactly pleasant, but then no one had been deliberately cruel, either. Most had tried to stifle their laughter, and a few had even commiserated with his plight.

At least it had been better than being recognized as the Boy Who Lived, Harry mused with a derisive snort as he toed off his sneakers and shucked his shirt and jeans. Fame had its good points, he supposed, but it also had a definite downside, despite what his friend Ron might think.

The pointing and whispering that followed him everywhere he went was annoying, but the worst thing, the thing he absolutely detested, was when people stared at him. It was more than a little unnerving to be gazed upon with awe, fear, curiosity, disgust or pity. Worst of all, it always made him wonder if Aunt Petunia had the right of it after all. He didn't seem to be exactly "normal" even in the Wizarding World.

The steadily fogging mirror, and the increased heat and humidity announced louder than words that the water was ready. Grateful for something to distract him from the decidedly gloomy path his thoughts were wandering down, Harry quickly finished undressing. He regarded the pile of pink and rather fragrant clothing for a second, then shrugged and tossed the lot in the shower stall before climbing in himself.

As promised, almost as soon as the hot water hit it, the starchy mess began to dissolve. After washing his face, Harry watched, amused, as it ran down his arms and dripped from his hair, before reaching for the soap, and scrubbing hard. He found himself absently recalling the scene in The Wizard of Oz, in which Dorothy splashed water on the Wicked Witch of the West. I'm melting! Melllllllting!

Harry had never seen the film, of course. Aunt Petunia would never allow such things in her house, but it was a favorite of Hermione's and she had let him read her book a while back. Actually, he'd started it just to please her, but soon found he had no trouble finishing it. She'd made Ron and himself laugh quite hard with her description of the film, and promised they could view the video when they came to visit her over the summer holidays. Unfortunately, plans hadn't worked out, and he had yet to see the film, or visit Hermione. Oh, well. Maybe this year...

When he'd finished scrubbing and rinsing, Harry picked up the shirt he'd been wearing, and held it in front of the spray. To his immense relief, the water melted the rose essence, and soon it was looking decidedly less...pink. Brill! Harry thought happily. Once it had a proper washing, it should be as good as new.

The shirt wasn't very fancy, nor had it been particularly expensive. It was, in fact, just a plain white tee with black lettering, but Harry was fond of it just the same. He'd found it in a little novelty shop, that sold shirts with witty sayings among other things. Still hopeful that a visit could be arranged, Harry had splurged a bit, and bought one for Hermione that read So Many Books, So Little Time, one for Ron that advised, Don't Let Your Mind Wander...It's Too Small To Be Out On Its Own, and this one, which read, I'm Up And Dressed. What More Do You Want?

A visit was looking less and less likely, though, so Harry had sent the shirts to his friends with his latest letters. Hopefully they'd like them.

Soon he was able to shut off the water and hang his garments out to drip-dry. It was also about that time he'd noticed something was missing.

Clothes, idiot. Dry clothes would be nice. He'd been in such a hurry to bathe, he'd forgotten to bring a clean set with him.

Oh, well. It was probably for the best, Harry thought reasonably, as he wrapped his towel around his middle. He rather doubted he would have been able to touch anything without getting it dirty or smelly anyway. Hopefully Crystal and her crowd wouldn't pop in while he was changing. That would be right embarrassing, Harry thought, glancing warily at the dresser mirror to make sure he was indeed alone. He was, but something else made him lean forward, intrigued by what he saw.

Because he'd made it his habit to change clothes in the bathroom since the beginning of the holiday, Harry hadn't really seen himself in about three weeks. Oh, he'd peered into the mirror on the medicine cabinet when he put on his contacts, brushed his teeth, and checked his face for signs of spots, but that only showed his face and neck.

The mirror in the main bedroom was larger, and showed much more, but Harry hadn't paid it a lot of mind. He used it to make sure his shirts were tucked in properly, and he caught casual glimpses of himself when he passed by, or spoke with Crystal and the others, but that was about it. He knew what he looked like, and didn't feel the need to spend vast amounts of time gazing in the mirror. He was the same as he'd always been...or so he'd thought. It was different somehow now that he was standing there practically au natural.

Straightening, Harry raised an eyebrow, and regarded his reflection with a critical eye. His first thought when he really looked at himself, was Crystal and the others must be having him on again, but no, it really was him in there.

Wow.

Evidently the regular meals, combined with all the hours he'd spent lifting and hauling and shelving and scrubbing were paying off in ways other than Galleons and store credit. He was still slim, but no longer so painfully skinny, the adjective tall would be pushing it, but he seemed to be approaching at least "average" height, and as an added bonus, he had developed a thin layer of wiry muscle.

Thinking back to the accident, things made a bit more sense. Mrs. Fillmore had been outdoors, explaining the mistake to the delivery wizards, and giving them directions. Harry, who had been tending the Apothecary garden, caught snatches of their conversation but hadn't really paid much attention until the voices became louder and frightened.

Watch out!

It's slipping!

Catch it!

I can't hold it!

The delivery wizards had about six vats with them, with some kind of hovering charms on them. Harry didn't see what caused it, but by the time he poked his head around the building to see what the row was about, the vats were teetering precariously, and the whole lot was trying to spill in the street.

Mrs. Fillmore and the two delivery wizards managed to get five of the six under control, but the last one was still threatening to topple over. Realizing they'd never manage to catch it in time, he'd rushed over to help, catching the lip of the massive vat, and yanking back with all his might. The container had been quite large, and he'd reckoned he'd need his full body weight just to check its forward progress, never mind right it.

Unfortunately, he'd been doing all these mental calculations based on what his size had been this time last year. He wasn't a behemoth by any stretch of the imagination, and probably wouldn't be challenging Draco Malfoy's hefty friend Gregory Goyle to a wrestling match anytime soon, but, he had experienced some rather pronounced changes in height, strength, and body mass recently. Changes that had taken him by surprise.

Instead of just barely being able to budge it, he'd been pulled off balance when the thing hadn't been as heavy as he'd thought it should be. He'd landed hard on his rump and about half of the solution had spilled on him before one of the delivery wizards could rush over and heave it upright.

Harry blew out a disgusted breath and rolled his eyes. Some of the other scents wouldn't have been so bad. Wintergreen. Pine Forest. Heck, even Citrus would have been okay, but noooo. He had to get Tea Rose!

Life stinks sometimes, Harry thought a little ironically, noting with distaste that he still smelled faintly of flowers. Perfect. All he needed now was for some halfwit to hang another nickname on him. "Sparky" he could live with. Something like "Rosy" or "Pinky" was completely out of the question. Too bad he couldn't hide in his room for the rest of the day.

This other, though...this was a bit of all right. Grinning like a kid with a new toy, Harry turned this way and that, studying the new sleekness in his form with frank amazement. An amused hoot drew his eye over to Patches and Hedwig for a minute. If either of them could speak, he suspected both of them would be laughing themselves silly, right about now, but he didn't care!

It had always seemed so horribly hopeless. So dismally unfair. He'd reckoned he was doomed to be ugly, skinny, undergrown, and physically deficient in general for the rest of his life--however long it might be. It hadn't been so bad first year, but the developmental differences between Harry and his year-mates (to Harry, anyway) seemed to become more and more pronounced as time went on. Now, though...

Hmmm. Maybe there was hope after all. He'd probably never have Ron's height, but he might catch Fred and George...or Ginny...or Pigwidgeon. At least he was taller than Peter Pettigrew now--not that that was saying a whole lot, mind.

Thinking of the Weasley's reminded Harry of the Burrow. He'd thought he might die of terminal embarrassment last summer when Mrs. Weasley had somehow noticed or guessed that he was dissatisfied with his appearance. Perhaps she hadn't just been being kind when she'd given him a little hug and discretely assured him he was merely a "late bloomer." Giving in to silliness, he made sure his towel was secure, and tried a couple of muscleman poses before realizing what he was doing, and slapping himself on the forehead.

Let's not get carried away, there, Potter! he chided himself, as he fetched some fresh clothes and hastily scrambled into them. It's a definite improvement, but you still have a way to go. Besides, if you don't watch yourself, you'll wind up like that conceited prat Lockhart! he thought with a little shudder, as he hid his scar under a fresh headband, and prepared to go back downstairs.

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Saturday, July 22, 1995

This...

makes...

no...

bloody...

sense!

Nathaniel Baker shook his head in exasperation, and glared at his wand which was pointing inexorably out to sea. Canceling the spell, he walked a few paces, then tried again.

"Point me, Harry Potter!" he commanded, only to growl in frustration a few seconds later when his wand jerked around, then resumed its previous position.

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" the sandy-haired wizard demanded of no one in particular, as he watched the restless waves of Cottesloe Beach.

"All right, mate. Let's take it from the top," Nate muttered, pacing and tapping his wand against his other hand as he did when he was thinking, angry or nervous. Or all three, come to think of it. "You must have missed something somewhere."

Dumbledore had contacted him a few days ago, and requested his assistance in locating and retrieving one Harry Potter. He'd agreed readily to help in any way he could, even when he'd been warned him about the Dursleys' aversion to magic. Albus had given him the name of Vernon Dursley's place of work, and requested he refrain from using magic as much as possible. That had seemed a bit silly to Nate, but again he had agreed.

It had taken a bit of doing to find Potter's muggle rellies, since they'd just relocated, and were still getting settled in, but he'd managed without too much drama. The name of Vernon Dursley's place of work had been a good start. From there it had just been a matter of talking to the right people and asking the right questions. When he'd strolled up the walk and knocked on the door of the Dursley's new home, he'd reckoned he'd have young Mr. Potter's wayward bum back at Hogwarts before supper.

Served him right for thinking. Naturally it couldn't be that easy.

Petunia Dursley had been polite enough at first, but when he'd identified himself as a wizard, and mentioned the lad by name, she'd gotten awfully pale and nervous. She'd recovered quickly, though, and told him that Potter, and her own son Dudley, hadn't returned home from school yet, and she wasn't exactly sure when to expect them.

When he'd asked if he could wait, she'd refused, becoming evasive and panicky again, before refusing a bit ungraciously, and claiming she and the boys really had too much to do, when they returned. About half convinced that the woman was in serious need of professional help, Nate had left, planning to try again later. In the meantime, he decided to try his luck with the uncle.

Mindful of Petunia Dursley's reaction when she'd found out he was a wizard, Nate had decided to try another approach when confronting Vernon. He'd obtained some official-looking documents, and visited Vernon in his office, pretending there was some small problem with the Potter's immigration paperwork. His aim had been to draw Dursley into a friendly conversation, then casually bring up the fact that Potter was wanted at Hogwarts.

He'd never gotten the chance.

Vernon Dursley, like his wife, had grown extremely nervous and evasive when Potter had been brought up, but his story hadn't even begun to match hers. According to Vernon, Harry was a juvenile delinquent who used to attend St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. Dursley claimed the boy was still incarcerated there, and now that he and his wife were settled, they had been working on finding a local institution for Potter to be shipped off to. They had narrowed it down to two or three, and would be sending for the boy any time now.

Concerned, now, Nathaniel had said his goodbyes, and apparated back to the neat little house in the suburbs. It didn't take a genius to figure out something was rotten here. The uncle's story couldn't possibly be correct. Harry Potter attended Hogwarts, not some institution for incorrigible reprobates. Besides, Petunia Dursley had said he was enrolled in one of the local schools with her son.

Were they trying to hide Potter? Protect him from dark wizards? Or could it be something else?

Scowling, he had stalked up the walk, determined to get the whole truth out of Potter's aunt even if he had to hex her into next week. He'd just raised his fist to pound on the door when voices inside made him pause.

"But mum, I hate it here!" whined a boy's voice. "I'm supposed to be on holiday, and the kids are mean! Harry was always the one they teased back home!"

"There, there, popkin," Petunia Dursley's voice soothed. "They just need to get to know you, that's all. Here. Why don't you watch the telly for a bit before Dad get's home. I'll make you a nice snack."

"They don't show any of my favorite programs here," the boy grumbled sulkily, but Nate soon heard the telly come on just the same. Frowning, he listened for other voices in the house, but there didn't appear to be any. Shrugging, he knocked on the door.

"Dudley dearest, could you get that for Mummy?" Petunia's voice sounded a little farther away. Nate reckoned she must still be in the kitchen.

"I'm busy. Make Harry do it," the boy snapped testily. Nate raised an eyebrow. This lad was in need of a serious attitude adjustment. Petunia said something he couldn't make out, but evidently she convinced the boy, because a few second later he heard, "All right, all right," and the sound of approaching footsteps. A few seconds later, the door opened, and he found himself facing a rather large blonde boy.

"G'day," he'd greeted, striving to keep a civil face on the meeting. "I'm here to collect Harry Potter for Albus Dumbledore. Could you please fetch him for me?"

The boy had gaped unbecomingly, then turned a nasty shade of green. "Mum!" he squalled, turning toward the kitchen. "Muuuuuuum!"

Petunia had peeked around the corner to see what the matter was. When she'd spotted Nate, she'd come flying out of the kitchen, chopping knife in hand, and positioned herself between the wizard and her son.

"I see the boys are home from school now," he'd commented mildly, trying to salvage the situation.

"But Harry's not here!" Dudley had exclaimed in confusion, looking rather ridiculous as he cowered behind his bony mother.

Shocked, Nathaniel started to question the boy further, but Petunia had swiftly silenced her son by whacking him in the shin with her heel.

After glaring at Nate for a few seconds, Petunia lost her composure completely. "That's right! He isn't here! He...he...ran away! Took his magical rubbish and left! Always was a disgusting little troublemaker! Disappears without so much as a by your leave, and turns up again like a bad penny, expecting us to forgive everything and open our home to him again!"

She'd carried on a while longer, shrieking about how Potter was shamelessly endangering her family before ordering him away, and slamming the door in his face. Shaken by the encounter, Baker had immediately jumped into action. He called in some favors from some of his colleagues, and between them they'd tracked down some interesting facts. It didn't feel like he was any closer to discovering where Harry Potter was, but he did have an alarmingly long list of places where he wasn't:

He wasn't enrolled in any of the Australian magical or muggle schools.

He wasn't enrolled at St. Brutus's.

He hadn't been admitted to any of the area hospitals.

The local police had never heard of him.

He wasn't in any of the runaway shelters, foster care facilities, or juvenile detention centers.

And no one they questioned seemed to be able to recall seeing anyone fitting his description, either with the Dursleys or alone.

Afraid Petunia Dursley might have been telling the truth, and Harry was somehow surviving on the streets, Nathaniel had cast a tracking charm. The boy couldn't have gotten very far, weighted down with his belongings, and on foot. He'd apparated back to the Dursley's neighborhood, and let the charm lead him from the suburbs to Perth proper, and finally here to Cottesloe Beach.

At any time during his citywide trek, he'd expected to find a frightened, cold, and hungry young wizard, who'd had ample time to regret his foolishness.

Provided he'd run off of his own accord, of course.

Baker couldn't say he'd blame the boy, even if he had, but another possibility that was completely believable, was that Potter's aunt and uncle had simply tossed him out. Their unconcerned attitude with regard to their nephew's welfare, and their lying to cover up was nothing short of appalling.

As he'd walked, he'd worked through what he'd say. He reckoned Potter would have to be approached carefully. The last thing Nate wanted to do was frighten him off. He had time to compose several good opening lines and scenarios, but the kid hadn't turned up.

The kid hadn't turned up, and he'd reached land's end.

If he walked another few meters he'd be ankle deep in seawater, and yet his wand continued to pull steadily Northwest.

Nate stopped pacing and looked out to the horizon with dawning horror. Harry Potter wasn't in Australia.

But his relatives were. And he was willing to lay odds that they were lying about his whereabouts, and what they knew.

It's time to call in reinforcements, Nate thought darkly as he raised his wand and apparated home.

---