Realizations

Chapter 20 - Knock, Knock

Saturday, July 22, 1995

"Albus!"

"Albus!"

"Albus Dumbledore!"

"What?" the Hogwarts Headmaster blinked in surprise, startled out of the bleary doze he'd fallen into. He hadn't slept well the past few nights, and it was beginning to catch up with him. The first thing he noticed as he glanced around his office was Fawkes had returned from where ever he'd gone. The second was that Nathaniel Baker's head was floating in his fireplace. He smiled at the firebird, and gave him a little pat of welcome as he rose from his chair and started across the room.

"Albus!" Nate's head called again, before he spotted Dumbledore hurrying toward the fireplace. "About bloody time," he scolded in an uncharacteristically harsh voice. "We've got trouble. Big trouble!"

"What sort of trouble, Nathaniel?" Dumbledore asked warily, his smile of welcome fading rapidly in the face of the other wizard's curt demeanor.

"I've tracked down the Potter boy's muggle rellies--" Nate began, before the professor cut him off.

"Harry's all right, isn't he?" Albus interrupted anxiously, the conversation he'd had a few days ago with Sirius, Remus, Arthur, and Arabella coming instantly to mind. "They didn't harm him, did they?"

"I don't know what the kid's condition is," Baker said regretfully.

Dumbledore frowned in confusion. "But you said you'd located his muggle relatives!"

The Australian wizard's eyes hardened. "Oh, I found them all right," he snarled contemptuously. "Buncha useless bastards, the lot of 'em!"

Dumbledore felt his stomach drop as the implications sank in. Had Harry run away again? What was the boy thinking? Why hadn't he written to someone? "Are you saying Harry isn't with the Dursleys?" he croaked with a mouth suddenly gone dry. Please, oh please say I misunderstood you... he thought wildly. I cannot believe this is happening!

Nate nodded, however, dashing the old man's hopes. He watched sympathetically as Albus moved to an armchair by the fireplace and stiffly sat in it. "That's about the size of it," he elaborated when the headmaster was settled. "And as near as I can tell, he isn't in Australia, either," he announced after a brief pause.

What??! Dumbledore sat gobsmacked for a full fifteen seconds before recovering his senses. "WHAT??!" he finally roared aloud, making Nate's head flinch back from him. "When did he leave? How did he get out of the country? Do you have any idea where he went?"

"Albus, we don't have any indication that he was ever down here to begin with."

The old headmaster rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. NO!! This couldn't be right! He had it all worked out, and this wasn't part of the plan at all! Harry was supposed to be retrieved from the Dursleys, reprimanded for witholding such important information, then duly forgiven and trundled off to the Burrow for the rest of the holiday. It had all seemed so cut and dried, Dumbledore had moved on to the next step, and had been working through the knotty legal problems that would surely come up next summer. Because of the protective magic involved, assigning Harry a new legal guardian, and removing him from the Dursley's care would not be easy.

Realizing the younger wizard was studying him with concern, he took a deep breath and nodded reassuringly. "Please begin at the beginning, Nathaniel," he requested, willing himself to be calm and clear-headed.

So Nate relayed his activities over the last few days. He touched on his search for the Dursleys, and his initial contact with Petunia and Vernon. He told of the elder Dursley's conflicting stories, and what their wuss of a son had unwittingly revealed. By the time he'd gotten to his second visit with Petunia Dursley, the sandy-haired wizard was almost choking with indignation.

"That aunt of his is an absolute loonie. Has a few kangaroos loose in the top paddock, if you know what I mean. Gave me an earbashing like you wouldn't believe about Potter and how horrible he is, and how he had intentionally put her family in danger..." Baker broke off and shook his head, then met Dumbledore's gaze again. "Like she can talk about horrible kids--have you met that worthless brat of hers?"

Albus nodded grimly, and listened as Nate got back on track, and described his growing suspicions, and how he'd followed a locator charm from the Dursley's neighborhood to the ocean with no success. "Have you been back to the Dursley's home?"

"Nah, not yet," Baker said, shaking his head. "I apparated straight home from the beach, and reckoned I'd give you firecall first."

"Good. Can you arrange to have the Dursleys put under surveillance?"

"I can bloody well do better than that! I was thinking of taking some of me mates over and giving them some wall-to-wall counseling."

Dumbledore chuckled in spite of himself. "Just make sure they don't try to run. We'll need to find young Mr. Potter before any charges can be made."

"Maybe not, mate. I can't prove anything just yet, but I reckon the uncle's hiding something. He got awfully nervous when Potter's name came up, yabbering on about how they were planning to send for the boy as soon as they'd found themselves a proper little prison." Nathaniel made a face of patent disgust. "I don't know how that kid isn't loonie himself if he'd had to live with them all his life. If he got away, and can manage without, I say good on him!"

Dumbledore sighed. It wasn't quite that simple. Legalities aside, the protection Harry's blood relations gave him was powerful magic, and not to be dismissed lightly, especially now that Voldemort had returned. On the other hand, Harry was no longer the helpless toddler he had been when Lily and James had been murdered, and given the recent information that had come to light...

"Just watch them for now, Nate. I want them where I can find them once we locate Harry. That might prove difficult if they're fleeing in terror."

"No worries. I'll let you know if anything interesting happens," Baker grinned as he waved and winked out.

For several long seconds after the firecall ended, Dumbledore sat stunned in his chair by the hearth trying to process what he'd just learned and corral his whirling thoughts. Harry wasn't with the Dursleys! He couldn't believe it! Harry wasn't with the Dursleys? It was incomprehensible. If he wasn't with the Dursleys...

And he wasn't with the Weasleys...

Or Sirius...

Then where in the bloody blue blazes was he??! Why hadn't he contacted anyone?

With an unaccustomed and very unwelcome feeling of panic, the old headmaster realized he had no idea where Harry was, or who he was staying with (if anyone), or how he was getting by... The only thing he knew for a fact was Harry must managing somehow. He sounded perfectly fine in his letters, and--

His letters!

With a burst of speed that surprised even himself, Dumbledore leapt out of the chair, and almost ran back to his desk, startling Fawkes as he did so. The red and gold bird ruffled his feathers in defense, and trilled unhappily, drawing the headmaster's attention.

"You delivered the package to Harry!" Albus said, this fact suddenly occurring to him. "Where is he?" the headmaster almost demanded, whirling around to face the phoenix. "And for that matter where the devil have you been?"

The firebird seemed to shrug, and adopt an alarmingly human "oh, here and there" attitude. He trilled an amused-sounding note, almost seeming to laugh at the old wizard's agitation.

Knowing from experience that he wouldn't get anything out of Fawkes just yet, Dumbledore threw him a reproving look, then riffled through the correspondence on his desk until he located the file containing Harry's letters. Carefully arranging them in chronological order, he glanced over the parchment again, trying to read between the lines, and look for any subconscious clues Harry might have given.

There was precious little to work with. Harry spent most of his time dutifully passing along what he'd managed to learn from his link with Voldemort. He mentioned himself very little, and his muggle family even less. There was a reference in his first letter, dated July 6:

....Sorry to disturb you, but a couple of things have happened that I thought you might like to know. The first thing is, I have a summer job. I know you wanted me to keep close to Privet Drive, but my relatives didn't exactly give me a choice...

And a brief mention in the letter dated July 15th:

I guess that's all I have to report sir, I hope you find the information useful. Oh, and one other thing...my aunt and uncle have sold their property on Privet Drive. The house is currently vacant. If Voldemort is planning to attack me there, I'm afraid he'll be disappointed.

Dumbledore scowled at the letter dated the 6th. When he'd received it, he'd been too distracted by Harry's news about his scar to properly notice that first bit. Even later, he'd taken it to mean Vernon and Petunia Dursley had insisted that Harry get a part time job. He'd even theorized that Vernon might have arranged for one at Grunnings.

My relatives didn't exactly give me a choice...

There was something about that wording that Albus didn't like. Normally, a teenaged boy would say "they made me" or something to that effect if a parent or guardian sat them down and said, "Now we've decided you'll be getting a job this summer, no arguements!" He could be wrong, but there seemed to be a subtle difference in what Harry wrote. It implied he had been forced to make the best of a situation based on his relatives' actions. Did Harry learn the Dursleys were relocating and refuse to accompany them? Did they perhaps inform him that he would not be coming along, thereby forcing Harry to find the means to support himself?

And if the latter case was true, why hadn't Harry told anyone? For that matter, why had he mentioned these specific facts, and these alone? If he knew one thing about Harry Potter, it was he usually had a reason for his actions. When he'd questioned him about the Sorcerer's Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, Sirius Black, and most recently the TriWizard Tournament, he'd been struck by the boy's ability to think on his feet, and the way he could almost instinctively determine his next course of action.

Of course there had been a certain amount of luck and assistance in his successes as well. Harry probably would not have been able to defeat all the spells and enchantments guarding the Sorcerer's Stone without his friends. He probably would not have done as well against the Basilisk if Fawkes had not blinded it first, and the unexpected Priori Incantatem effect had played a large part in his escape from Lord Voldemort just last month. One could argue that the boy was simply exceptionally lucky--as Severus often did--but there was more to it.

One of Harry's greatest strengths was his ability to improvise and keep his wits about him in times of stress. He could immediately take advantage of unexpected assistance or distraction, and act while his opposition was still trying to work out what to do next. It was a powerful gift--one that would probably serve him well later in life. Provided he lived past his fifteenth birthday, of course. Dumbledore examined the facts he knew from every angle he could think of, but still couldn't find a reasonable explanation for Harry's behavior. What is that boy thinking?!

Clamping down on his annoyance, Dumbledore reached for his enchanted parchment. This wasn't business he had to share with the entire Order, but it was obvious the search needed to be redirected. If the Fates were kind, Harry was still in Britain. He didn't even want to consider the nightmare scenario of trying to find young Potter as he made his way back from Australia by broomstick.

The team he had to trust with this was obvious. Sirius, Remus, Arthur, Arabella, and Severus already knew Harry wasn't where he was supposed to be, so there was no additional risk. Well, perhaps a little risk, Albus thought, with a grimace, as he imagined Sirius' reaction to the news. He didn't need Sybil Trelawney, the Hogwarts Divination professor, to tell him that Harry's godfather would not be pleased with this new turn of events, and Albus could not blame him. He hadn't blundered this badly in years.

With a heavy sign, he took his quill, and scratched out a brief note, asking the group to please come to his office about the time Arthur was due to finish work for the day. As an afterthought, he asked them to bring any correspondence Harry might have sent them, then sent the message. Leaning back in his chair, he settled back to await their responses, then his eyes fell on his stack of parchment again.

Of course!

Wondering how on earth he could have been so blind, Dumbledore picked up his quill again, and sent another short note:

Harry,

I need to speak with you. Please respond on this parchment.

Professor Dumbledore

Lancasters, Harry decided, as he put out a shipment of kitchen products, wasn't all that different from the other stores he helped out in. It was larger--more of a department store, really--with a more varied inventory, but the jobs he'd been tasked with were the same as those he did on Diagon Alley. Cleaning, unpacking, and stocking were not activities that differed a great deal based on one's location.

The store itself had been something of a shock, Harry mused as he paused a moment to direct a witch and her two young sons to the public restrooms. He'd reckoned any shop on Knockturn Alley would be dank and gloomy, full of unspeakably horrid things, and equally questionable people, but Lancasters was actually quite nice. It was located a bit off the beaten path, had a pleasant atmosphere, and was absolutely nothing like the shops that catered solely to practitioners of the Dark Arts.

This turn of events had been a huge relief for Harry. He'd been a bit surprised to find Cassandra waiting for him when he'd returned to the dining room after his shower the day before. She'd been sitting nonchalantly at the bar, sipping a butterbeer, and had waved him over as soon as he'd come out of the kitchen. Tom had been assisting another customer, and by the time he'd hurried over to them, Cassie had already asked Harry if he would help out, making sure to emphasize how terribly shorthanded they were. Not seeing any reason to refuse, Harry had agreed to help out when he could, completely missing Tom's frantic attempt to catch his attention.

Twisting his mouth a little to one side, Harry frowned lightly when he recalled the innkeeper's reaction to this turn of events. Tom had not been happy. It was obvious he hadn't wanted Harry anywhere near Knockturn Alley, and that he thought Cassandra had tricked him into promising to help without presenting all the facts up front.

This was a nuance of wizarding society that Harry still fumbled with. Evidently some words and/or actions constituted a binding "contract" as it were, while others didn't. Just last year Harry had been forced to participate in the TriWizard Tournament when his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire. Harry had reckoned he would be dismissed as a competitor when Dumbledore learned a mistake had been made, and he, Harry hadn't put his name in the cup. Unfortunately, that hadn't been the way things had worked out. It didn't matter who had "volunteered" him. His name had come out of the Goblet, so he had to participate. Period. Although his current situation was nowhere near as serious, Harry got the distinct impression that backing out or changing his mind now that he'd promised, would be seen by some as dishonorable.

Although he hated to admit it, Harry had experienced a little twinge of unease himself when Cassie had disclosed the location of the shop. He still recalled accidentally arriving at Borgin and Burkes the first time he'd attempted Floo travel. Yeah, his first experience with Knockturn Alley had been impressive all right, just not exactly in a favorable way.

Harry grimaced as he recalled the mistake. Borgin and Burkes had been (and probably still was) a right cheery place, with its bloodstained cards, human bones, cursed objects, and evil-looking masks. Harry, of course, had wasted no time getting out of there, but he hadn't liked it any better on Knockturn Alley itself. The street had somehow managed to be dark and creepy even in broad daylight, and the shops and passers by hadn't been any better. In fact, the first person he'd run across when he'd hurried out of the store had been an old witch selling what appeared to be whole human fingernails.

Bleagh! Harry shuddered a little, and unconsciously ran his index fingers over his thumbnails. If that was indeed what they were, he had absolutely no desire to know how or from where she had obtained them.

Fortunately for Harry, Rubeus Hagrid had come along about that time. The Hogwarts Gamekeeper had taken Harry in hand and directed him back to Diagon Alley where the Weasleys were frantically searching for him.

The boy snickered quietly to himself as he reached up to hang the last self-stirring spoon on a hook, then knelt down and started unpacking and shelving some bottles of Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover. It was actually sort of funny that he had a bunch of garden pests to thank for his friend's timely arrival. Being a half-giant, Hagrid was big enough to look after himself of course, but Harry rather doubted that Hagrid strolled down Knockturn Alley on a regular basis. No, the "sheer dumb luck" that Professor MacGonagall claimed he possessed in abundance had come to his rescue once again.

Grinning fondly at the thought of his friends, Harry let his gaze roam over Mr. Lancaster's wares while he continued to re-stock the shelves. He had already identified several potential Christmas presents for Mrs. Weasley, and was itching to get to the Burrow so he could casually poke around her kitchen and see if she already owned them. Dr. Granger and Janet might like some of these things too, come to think of it, but Harry wasn't sure if he was allowed to introduce magical merchandise into muggle households. The Grangers would probably be all right, but Harry didn't know what the rules were when dealing with magical children who were as yet unknown to their parents. He wondered if he could inform the Wrights, or if the common practice was to wait until the muggleborn child was invited to attend magical school. Perhaps he could ask Tom later.

Tom.

Sighing a bit, Harry continued to recall the "discussion" between Cassandra, Tom, and himself the day before at the Leaky Cauldron.

Since his first visit had been so appalling, Harry hadn't been too keen on going to Knockturn Alley again. Tom had noticed his hesitation, and backed him up at once, saying he shouldn't be obligated to go anywhere he felt uncomfortable. Harry, however, felt bad about going back on his word. He had agreed to help, after all, and from the sound of things, they were really shorthanded.

He'd floundered a bit, not exactly knowing how to proceed until Cassandra had taken pity on him and compromised. Since he'd come back to the Leaky Cauldron early because of the Tea Rose mishap, he had some time to kill before supper. She'd offered to take him to the store, introduce him to Mr. Lancaster, and show him around, promising if he felt even the tiniest bit unsure, he could Floo straight back to the Leaky Cauldron, no questions asked.

Therein lay the root of his problem with Tom. It had been an easy out. Tom had obviously expected Harry to make his duty trip to Lancasters, then take full advantage of it. When Harry and Cassie had returned, and he'd learned Harry had essentially wasted an opportunity to gracefully back out, Tom had gotten very red in the face, looking disturbingly like Uncle Vernon in point of fact. Harry had defended his decision, though. He truthfully hadn't been unsure or uncomfortable in Lancasters--quite the opposite in fact--and despite what the Ministry of Magic and his muggle relatives claimed, Harry wasn't a habitual liar. He'd told a few falsehoods in the past when he'd sensed it would be prudent to do so, but that sort of caution just hadn't seemed to be necessary in this case.

Martin Lancaster had welcomed Harry to his shop, then had begun showing him around and working very hard at putting him at ease. He was a stout, middle aged wizard with grizzled brown hair, but his most arresting feature was his mismatched eyes. Harry had experienced a little jolt of shock when he'd realized Mr. Lancaster had one brown eye, and one blue. By the time they'd finished a brief tour of the store, during which time the shopkeeper had explained to Harry what would be expected of him, the young wizard had relaxed significantly, and hadn't had any qualms about helping out from time to time.

Unfortunately, Tom did. Harry could have kicked himself for not cottening on to this fact sooner, but it was too late now. He suspected the elder wizard had wanted to shout any number of uncomplimentary things when Harry had returned with Cass, and he'd been informed of this new state of affairs, but amazingly Tom hadn't said a word. Instead, he'd closed his mouth so hard his teeth clicked, motioned for Harry to watch the pub and main dining area, then disappeared into his own rooms for a few minutes.

Harry shook his head and smiled softly as he recalled the scene. Cassandra, also taken aback by Tom's rather violent reaction, had been good enough to stay a bit. The pair of them, both fearing they'd lost the older wizard's good opinion forever, had waited with identical hangdog expressions for Tom to return.

While he didn't altogether approve of Cassie's tactics, Harry found he couldn't immediately condemn them as unnecessary either. She'd been touchingly contrite and apologized after Tom left. She'd been afraid that Harry would dismiss her out of hand if she couldn't show him Lancasters first, and Harry couldn't say with absolute certainty that her fears were unjustified. Yes, she'd connived a bit to get an extra pair of hands for the shop, but she truly hadn't intended to get him into trouble.

Tom still hadn't been quite himself when he returned, but the scene that followed had been much milder than Harry expected. Calmer now, the innkeeper had stiffly stated his disapproval of Cassandra and Harry's actions, then immediately started working on damage control. He'd insisted on "getting permission from the parent or guardian," which Harry found a bit rich, but he'd managed to keep a straight face. Next, Tom had set about making a few rules that he thought might "smooth the way" and "help reassure the family if they were reluctant." Harry, for example, was to Floo directly to and from Lancasters with no stops along the way, and if he absolutely had to travel on foot, he would be escorted by at least one competent witch or wizard. Since Harry would be in a more questionable part of town, Cassandra had not suspected subterfuge, and agreed readily. She'd even promised to escort Sparky herself.

This had been an altogether new experience for Harry. He'd frowned and grumbled a bit at the restrictions, claiming he was perfectly capable of looking after himself, thanks, but deep down, he'd been secretly relieved. Tom's limits were common sense, really, and not unreasonable, times being what they were. It had been an interesting contrast to the Dursleys. They had always been rather excessive with their punishments, and the rules they imposed were designed to keep him isolated and downtrodden. They'd never been overly concerned about his safety.

Harry finished emptying the first box of Mrs. Skower's, and reached for another. He had understood, and was truly touched by Tom's concern, he couldn't help but think that the old innkeeper was being a bit overcautious. He'd managed to successfully navigate the Floo System this time, and the only problem that had come up wasn't completely unexpected. Almost as soon as he'd arrived, an aged wizard in shocking purple robes had glimpsed his untidy black hair and blurted, "It can't be!" making Harry cringe reflexively as heads turned his way. Looking back, he'd almost felt sorry for the little wizard who thought he'd spotted Harry Potter. The poor old chap had rushed excitedly over to greet him, but when he'd caught sight of Harry's glasses-less face and brown contact lenses he'd practically wilted with disappointment.

As a general rule Harry thought being spotted in public was a ruddy nuisance, even when he wasn't going incognito, but it was really hard to be impatient with the witches and wizards who were so genuinely delighted to see him. They were far easier to tolerate than opportunists like Gilderoy Lockhart and Rita Skeeter, and the members of the wizarding public who acted as though they expected him to sprout a halo or horns at any given second.

He'd forgiven the purple-robed wizard's "mistake," of course, brushing it off like it happened all the time. Actually, when he'd started working days on Diagon Alley, it had. He'd nearly panicked the first time he'd been spotted, but mercifully, the witch who'd seen him had lost interest quickly when she'd noted his eyecolor and the rather menial work he was engaged in.

He'd gradually grown more used to it as the days passed. There was a certain rhythm to the encounters. Most of the time he was spotted from the back, or else he had his head down while working on something. Either way, he typically had time to school his features into a look of puzzled curiosity before facing whoever had spoken. Normally, it didn't take long for them to conclude that they'd been mistaken, apologize for troubling him, and go on about their business. Most of the time, he wasn't required to speak at all.

It was happening a little less frequently now, at least on Diagon Alley. Messy black hair was slowly beginning to imply Jim Patterson, rather than Harry Potter. Customers who came to the Alley only occasionally were still taken by surprise when they saw him, but more often than not, they were being intercepted and set straight by those "in the know" before they could approach him and embarrass themselves. Besides, any witch or wizard worth their salt knew it was rather early in the summer for the Boy Who Lived to be about. He typically visited Diagon Alley but once a year in order to purchase his school supplies. The rest of the year he was either at Hogwarts, or safely hidden away in the Muggle World.

No, the only thing Harry had to deal with on a regular basis was conversations. Customers, he noticed, tended to dismiss clerks and stockboys as part of the furniture, and not many of them bothered to lower their voices or try to keep their words private. Since everyone had an opinion on the Boy Who Lived, Harry had gotten quite an earful over the last few weeks.

If he was lucky, the shoppers would chatter about something innocuous, such as how Sparky/Jim Patterson reminded them of Harry Potter, or something nice like how the Daily Prophet was nothing but a filthy tabloid, and all its articles were rubbish. He'd once had reason to wonder if one's face could explode from too much blood rushing to it when two teenaged witches had noticed him (as Jim), and begun to speculate in giggly whispers about whether or not he qualified as the "sexiest beast alive."

If he wasn't so lucky, the conversations would take a darker tone. Harry found he didn't actually have to read the Daily Prophet in order to know what was being written about him. Shoppers who believed whatever was published would sigh about "that Potter boy's mental state" like he'd already been admitted to St. Mungo's for life, or else they would accuse Harry Potter of being a disappointment, a liar, a joke, or an attention-seeking glory hound.

It was annoying and discouraging, and made Harry yearn to stomp over to the gossiping busybodies, rip off his headband, and yell at them to shut up about things they knew nothing about. He couldn't, of course, but oh, how he wanted to! Thankfully, it never lasted long. The speakers would typically switch topics after a few minutes, or else they would continue on their way, taking their conversation out of earshot.

Funniest by far, were the self-proclaimed "Potter Spotters" who made it their hobby to catch a glimpse of the Boy Who Lived on Diagon Alley, and Hogsmeade Weekends. Since they usually kept their distance, and didn't call attention to Harry or try to interact with him, they didn't seem to care if the object of their fixation was "disturbed and dangerous" or perfectly normal. Harry had listened with mixed amusement and alarm as the witches and wizards engaging in this activity compared notes about his movements and habits like he was some kind of rare migratory bird. Some of them missed the mark completely, but others were dangerously accurate. He wondered if that was something he should call to Professor Dumbledore's attention, but wasn't sure how to do so without revealing his location.

His rambling musings were suddenly cut short when he heard brisk footsteps and an exaggerated gasp behind him. The identity of the newcomers was soon apparent when a familiar female voice gushed, "Cor Blimey! That's Harry Potter that is! How long's Harry Potter been working for you Marty?" Harry put the last bottle in its place, then sat back on his heels and twisted around to look at Cassandra and Mr. Lancaster over his shoulder.

Harry rolled his eyes at Cassie as she gave him a teasing wink. "I hate that," he muttered, lightly reproving the blonde witch.

"I know," she replied, gray eyes sparkling with mirth. "Sorry, I shouldn't tease, but you really do favor that Potter kid from the back."

"So I've been told," Harry replied dryly, accepting her outstretched hand and allowing her to haul him to his feet.

"It's that hair of yours, Sparky," Martin said with a grin. "Perhaps you should use some of your summer earnings to buy some hats. We have a lovely selection on aisle three you know."

Cassandra snorted beside him. "It really is a bit rich when you think on it," she remarked. "Do you know how many customers were thick enough to believe Harry Potter was doing something as common as stocking the shelves in this very store?"

Harry looked down and shrugged noncommentally.

Martin, in the meantime, was admiring the mostly-stocked aisle. "Well, I don't know about Harry Potter, laddie, but your work is certainly top notch!" he commented in his gravelly voice. "I was a little skeptical of the rumors--sounded a bit too good to be true--but this is well done! Very well done indeed!" He paused, then studied the boy with an appraising eye. "Do you think Tom might let you stay a little later if I promise to feed you?"

"I'm afraid I can't this evening, Mr. Lancaster. I'm expected at a friend's house, and really should be getting back. Maybe another time?"

Lancaster nodded, "Of course, lad. I should have guessed you'd have plans. Can't blame me for trying, though, and I suppose it would be better for me to speak to Tom and your family beforehand, anyway." Rubbing his hands briskly together, he glanced up and down the aisle Harry was currently working with a professional eye. "It looks like you're at a good stopping place."

"Yes sir, all I need to do is clean up the empty boxes."

"Feh," Martin said, waving one hand dismissively, and reaching for his wand with the other. "Allow me," he grinned, as he shrunk the lot, then summoned and pocketed them. "I'm just delighted to have the products on the shelves to sell." He turned to face Harry. "How did you want to settle up?"

"Store credit, please sir." Harry grinned as he considered the huge store. "I want to come back on my own time for a proper look 'round."

"Right-o," said Martin, summoning a ledger and making an entry in it. "I'd say you earned a good eight Galleons this afternoon. Well done! Come back as soon as you can."

"Thank you Mr. Lancaster, I will," Harry said, waving as the shopkeeper said his goodbyes and headed back to the front of the store.

"Ready to go then?" Cassie asked gesturing toward the fireplaces.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, then thought of something as they headed in that general direction. "Hey Cassie, have you ever done any child minding?"

The blonde witch shrugged. "A bit. I haven't in a while, though, unless you count me escorting you to and from the Leaky Cauldron," she teased, laughing at the exasperated look Harry threw her. "Why do you ask?"

"A friend of mine in muggle London asked me to watch her girls for a while this evening. She wants to pay me--won't take no for an answer--but I really don't know how much to ask. Do you mind telling me how much you charged?"

"It depended," Cassandra said thoughtfully, finally giving the question her full attention. "There were several factors: were they friends, how many kids there were, how much trouble they were, how much the family could afford..." Cassie trailed off with a suspicious look on her face. "I take it you've never done anything like this before?"

"Not really. I distracted them so their mother could do some chores a few nights ago, but I've never been alone with them."

"Well don't be surprised if they give you a rougher time of it tonight. They'll probably push you, to see how much you'll let them get away with since Mum won't be there to step in. Will you have to feed or bathe them?"

"No, their mum said she would take care of that. I'm just there to entertain them until bedtime, then sort of stand watch until the parents get back."

The witch shrugged again then began ticking points off on her fingers. "They're friends of yours, you like the kids, money isn't that much of an issue, and you shouldn't have to do loads extra work, correct?" She waited for Harry's nod, then asked, "How many are there?"

Harry held up two fingers. "One's ten, one's two."

"Is the little one still in nappies?" she asked, trying not to laugh out loud at the look of dawning horror that crossed Harry's face. At length he nodded, recalling how Janet mentioned she was planning to begin Becky's Toilet Training soon. Since Becky was physically ready, Jan had considered attempting it before they moved but decided in the end to put it off until the family was settled again. "Well that's a bit of extra work, but it isn't all that bad," Cassie downplayed kindly. "It's just something you need to be aware of, and check every hour or so."

Harry grimaced. Suddenly the evening was looking a little less fun and a lot more complicated. "I'll manage, I suppose. Besides, its too late to back out now."

"I'd say one Galleon per hour for the two of them. That isn't too dear," Cassandra said after a minute, then looked at him as though sizing him up. "Look," she offered, taking note of his worried face, "I'm sure you'll be fine, but if you'll wait just a moment, I'll see if I can get you a little insurance."

"Okay," Harry said with a shrug, wondering what she had in mind. He watched curiously as she went over to where her boyfriend Silas Bowman was working. He was a striking young wizard in his early twenties with dark hair and dark eyes. Harry hadn't had a chance to speak to him, other than being introduced, but he seemed nice enough. He observed as the two of them conversed briefly, then Cass hurried back. "Here," she said, handing him a small, flat, rectangular something in a black leather sleeve. "We'll get it back from you tomorrow."

Harry raised a questioning eyebrow, as he eased the object out. It was just a plain mirror, about the size of his palm.

"It's charmed," Cassie explained, seeing his confusion. "Say my name, and watch the mirror."

Harry still didn't understand, but did as he was told. "Cassandra."

A second later Cassie's pocket twitched. Smiling, she reached in, and drew out a round compact. It was hinged in the middle, and flipped open to reveal two mirrors. When she looked into the top one, her face appeared in the rectangular mirror Harry held. "Hi!" she said, waggling her fingers at him.

"Excellent!" Harry exclaimed in delight, beaming at her. "But why did I have to use Silas' mirror?" he asked, obviously a little ill-at-ease about borrowing the other wizard's things.

"Well, I could lend you mind instead I suppose, but his mirror contacts mine and vice versa." Cassandra nodded in her boyfriend's direction as she draped a companionable arm around Harry's shoulders. "Silas is a good enough chap, but I'm afraid he's not very knowledgeable about nappies and night terrors," she whispered conspiratorially in his ear, making Harry snicker into his hand.

"That's better," she said approvingly, reaching for the Floo Powder. "Can't have you going back looking all scared like that. Tom would think we've been mistreating you or something."

"Thanks, Cassie," Harry grinned, suddenly feeling much more confident as he threw the Floo Powder into the fireplace. She was right. He might not want to deal with nappies, but they certainly weren't anything he couldn't handle. Heck, he'd done pretty well for himself most of the summer, Harry realized with a start as he fell out of the hearth at the Leaky Cauldron, waved to Tom, and headed to his room. He was grateful to Tom and the other merchants for giving him a chance, but he had been the one who'd had to prove himself. They hadn't been obligated to ask him to return.

It was actually beyond ironic that he had his dear Aunt Petunia and her ruddy insistence that things be perfect to thank for his success. He was used to working fast and hard, and he'd picked up any number of timesaving shortcuts while living on Privet Drive.

He was still feeling pleasantly chuffed as he entered his room, and greeted Hedwig. He wasn't due at Janet's for a while yet, so he headed to the desk, intending to start his weekly letter to Sirius and Remus while he had a little time. In retrospect, he should have known it was too good to last. All his warm, happy feelings turned to ice when his eyes fell on his enchanted parchment, and he recognized his headmaster's loopy handwriting on the top sheet.

Oh, bugger...

"WHAT??!" Sirius Black roared, practically launching himself across Dumbledore's desk. "You knew Harry wasn't in Australia hours ago, and you just see fit to tell us now??!"

"I sent Harry a message on the enchanted parchment, Sirius," Albus tried to explain, while Snape and Lupin grabbed Black by the arms and hauled him back. "I would have notified you had he responded earlier. As it is, he is out or hasn't noticed he has a message."

"Settle down, Sirius, before Snape casts Impedimenta on you," Remus hissed urgently in his friend's ear. "We suspected Harry wasn't in Australia days ago. We have facts and leads--we'll find him. Harry sounded fine in his last letter. Wherever he is, he's managing."

Sirius closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths before nodding and pulling his arms free. "What have you found out?" he growled in a barely civil tone, addressing Dumbledore.

Albus had just opened his mouth to answer when one of the stacks of parchment on his desk emitted the familiar ping that signaled an incoming message. The room couldn't have been silenced more effectively if the noise had been a gunshot. Almost as one, the group moved behind the Headmaster's desk so they could see the parchment.

Professor Dumbledore?

Sirius and Remus grinned manically when they recognized Harry's writing, and Dumbledore's eyes began to twinkle behind his half-moon glasses. "I believe we shall have our answers soon, Sirius," he remarked. Picking up his wand, he spelled the parchment to accept multiple messages, then picked up his quill and wrote: Harry! Where have you been? then tapped the new lightning bolt totem that adorned the top of his parchment along with all the others.

There was a pause, then Harry's rather uncertain reply swam up with another ping! At work. Is something wrong, sir?

Dumbledore sighed. There was no easy way to say this, so he chose the direct approach. Harry, we know you aren't in Australia with the Dursleys. Tell me where you are, and I'll have you brought to Hogwarts until all this can be sorted out.

Harry seemed to hesitate a long time before replying. When he did, his message wasn't satisfactory at all. Don't trouble yourself, sir. I'm all right where I am.

The assembled adults did a collective blink. Did he just refuse?

Perhaps you misunderstood, Harry. I am afraid this is not a request. Dumbledore's words, though kind, held an unmistakable hint of steel.

There was a little longer pause this time, but eventually Harry's message appeared. His words were still proper and polite, but the state of his writing spoke volumes about his current state of agitation. I appreciate your concern, sir, but unless something has changed since you spoke to me at Hogsmeade Station, I think it would be safer for everyone if I just stay where I am.

"Gimme that," Sirius snarled, snatching the quill out of Dumbledore's hand. Harry, this is Sirius! Stop messing around and tell us where you are at once!

Arthur Weasley grimaced, visualizing Harry's bright green eyes widening in shock, then narrowing in annoyance. Besides his work at the Ministry of Magic, Arthur had a rather large family. He'd learned over the years that threats and ultimatums were generally counterproductive with people in general, and adolescent boys in particular. Sirius and Albus were going at this all wrong. He glanced back to the parchment when it rang again.

Sirius? What are you doing there? Who else is there? Harry's quill strokes were quick and jerky now. Was he angry? Panicked? Excited? Relieved? It was impossible to tell for sure.

Sirius looked questioningly at the Headmaster, then begain to list the room's occupants and receiving his nod of approval: Professor Dumbledore, me, Remus, Snape, Arthur Weasley, and Arabella Figg are all here, he informed his godson, before resuming his fussing. Really Harry, how did you get into such a mess? I thought you were smarter than this! You should have contacted someone immediately!

Surprisingly, this time Harry's reply was calmer. Even a bit pacifying. I was going to Sirius, but I was lucky enough to get this job right away. It worked out, so I reckoned I shouldn't bother you. I know you're busy and all.

Oh, no, Arabella thought with dawning horror while Remus and Arthur looked on in shock and Sirius sputtered incoherently, He doesn't even realize he's the main thing we're protecting! That his safety is our paramount goal!

Sirius, meanwhile, was not so quiet about his feelings. Seizing the quill again, he began to fill the page with furious strokes. YOU SHOULDN'T BOTHER ME??? EXACTLY WHO IS THE GUARDIAN HERE??! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO ASK IF YOU NEED HELP!! DON'T YOU KNOW YOUR SAFETY COMES FIRST?!

Professor Dumbledore said not to contact anyone unless it was an emergency! Harry retorted, as if that should explain everything.

Snape made an impatient noise in the back of his throat, and tried to take the quill from Sirius' shocked fingers, but Dumbledore beat him to it. Considering his words carefully, he wrote, And you do not believe your circumstances qualify, Harry?

No. Harry must have realized his answer was a trifle blunt, because after a few seconds he added Sir.

And what pray tell would you consider an emergency? Sirius had reclaimed the quill and his words were fairly dripping with sarcasm. Does Big bloody Ben have to fall on that thick head of yours?

There's no need to be so shirty. You were busy, and contrary to popular belief I'm not completely useless! Would it kill you to say "Well done, Harry?" It's like you're angry that I managed to look after myself instead of falling on my face or panicking like some stupid baby!

"Here, Sirius, let me try," Arthur said holding out a hand for the quill when it became obvious that Sirius was preparing to write something he'd probably live to regret. "Relax. He'll not say no to this," he grinned, certain that he held the trump card. When Black reluctantly surrendered the quill, and moved out of the way, Arthur stepped forward and wrote: Harry, this is Arthur Weasley. We don't have all the wards constructed around the Burrow, but the house is done. If you agree to stay in the house, you can come to the Burrow straightaway! You can even come tonight, if you'd like.

Harry paused for a long time. When he finally replied, his words were faintly regretful. Thanks Mr. Weasley. I'd like to make plans for a visit, but I really can't come tonight.

The look of shock on Arthur's face would have been comical if the situation hadn't been so serious. Harry was refusing to come to the Burrow? Hell must have frozen over. There was no other explanation.

Sirius took the quill back, but before he could think of something to say, Harry went on.

Sirius, everyone, I hate to be rude, but I need to go now. I have another job I need to take care of, and besides, I'm using all my parchment. I'm not going to have any left to tell you about Voldemort if we don't stop.

But you said you just returned from work, Sirius scribbled hastily. What the hell are you doing at this time of night?!

I'm moonlighting as a cat burglar, didn't I tell you?

Remus and Arabella glanced at each other, then looked warily at Sirius who seemed to be in danger of popping a blood vessel. Fortunately Harry didn't wait long before letting the other shoe drop. Seriously, I said I'd help a friend of mine out tonight. It's no big deal.

No one seeme to know what to say, so Harry continued. Look, I'm sorry I got short with you, but if I'd really needed help, I would have asked for it. I'm all right, okay? Besides, if you haven't been able to find me, what chance does Lord Moldywarts have?

That's entirely beside the point, Harry! Sirius argued. This is a dangerous time for you! You need to be protected, not doing who knows what and living God knows where! Now for the last time, WHERE ARE YOU???

What will you do if I tell you? Harry flared again. Lock me in a cage? Send me back to the Dursleys? Put me in a bag and bury me? I...AM...FINE! Now, if you'll excuse me, the lady who requested my services this evening should be by any moment now, and I really need get going. Mr. Weasley, please tell everyone at the Burrow 'hi' for me. Professors, Mrs. Figg, Sirius, Remus, have a good evening.

"No! Wait!" Sirius yelped when he shook off his shock. Harry? HARRY!!!

"I think he left," Remus said unnecessarily a few minutes later when Harry didn't respond. "What now?"

Dumbledore had a odd look on his face when he answered, equal parts exasperation, embarrassment and oddly enough, pride. "Now, Mr. Lupin, we find him with all possible speed. Harry is safe enough for now, but that will change once Voldemort attacks his former residence, and discovers it is uninhabited."