Realizations

Chapter 27 - Be Careful What You Ask For...(Part 2 of 2)

"I can't believe this Ron!" Hermione fumed, stirring her tea with perhaps a bit more force than was strictly necessary. The pair was seated at a table in the Leaky Cauldron with a handful of other diners while Mr. Weasley spoke quietly with Tom, the bartender. "How has he kept up with his homework if he's been hiding out all summer?"

Torn between amusement and exasperation, Ron shook his head ruefully. "Hermione, I don't think you're thinking clearly," he said, scarcely able to believe the words were coming out of his mouth.

Hermione wasn't listening, though. She'd had all evening and most of the morning to get over the worst of her fear and worry, and had moved on to focusing on inconsistencies and details. "He's even finished with his Potions essay, or so he says," she continued, before narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "Do you think he's having us on?"

"I...I really don't know," Ron admitted at length, sighing, and raking his fingers through his hair. He felt as though he didn't know anything, really. It was beyond him why Harry hadn't written when his relatives hadn't shown up, and to top things off, his father had come home from the Ministry with his knickers in a twist about something.

"I wonder if your dad would mind a quick stop by Flourish & Blotts since we're so close," Hermione said consideringly. "There must be something there on tracking magic. I wish we could go to the library, but this will have to do. Harry may have managed until now because no one suspected, but Professor Dumbledore should have been able to find him in an instant--" Hermione broke off as Ron's demeanor finally registered on her, and stopped fussing long enough to ask, "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" he echoed incredulously. "Harry's supposed to be our best friend and he doesn't trust us!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed impatiently. "Ron, we've been over this a dozen times! Professor Dumbledore told Harry it would be safer if he didn't contact us. He made him promise."

"So?" he demanded pugnaciously. "Not like we haven't all broken a few rules."

Hermione responded with her patented Don't-Be-So-Thick look. "This is different, Ron. Professor Dumbledore knew exactly what he was doing. Harry doesn't break promises if he can help it, and if he thought he'd be endangering us..." she trailed off, shrugging helplessly.

"Oh, so he's our bloody mother now?" Ron exploded, flinging his hands in the air and making several heads turn their way.

Giggling nervously, Hermione made little "shushing" gestures, then lowered her voice. "No, you great git, but surely you've noticed how stubborn Harry can be when he gets a notion in his head! He's not deliberately slighting us! What happened to poor Cedric has him running scared!"

Brought up short, Ron considered that. Using the words "him", and "scared" in the same sentence where the "him" referred to "Harry Potter" seemed odd, but Hermione was probably right.

As usual.

Sighing, Ron started to concede the point, but was interrupted when Arthur came back. Tom was with him, carrying their order.

"Here we are," the innkeeper said jovially, passing out portions of fish and chips. "Enjoying your holiday, I hope?" he asked, addressing the teens as he worked.

"Yes, thank you," Ron and Hermione replied politely.

"Good, good," Tom smiled, turning toward the bar when a rather irritated voice called, "Tom!" Excusing himself from Arthur's table, Tom acknowledged the man's call and bustled away.

Ron spared a casual glance at the bar and snorted into his butterbeer. "Don't look now, but it's that prat photographer from the Daily Prophet," he said, when Hermione and his father looked at him curiously. "The one who took pictures at Gilderoy Lockhart's book signing summer before Second Year."

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked, squinting towards the bar. "It's been a while."

"I'm sure," Ron confirmed. "He stepped on my foot pushing his way through to Lockhart. I thought he'd broken the blo--uh, the ruddy thing!" He glanced up at his father to see if he was going to be reprimanded, but Arthur wasn't listening. His attention was on the photographer and the wizard reporter sitting next to him.

Oh, smashing, Arthur thought sourly when he identified the journalist. It was Thaddeus Princeton, or "Old Prints Tons" as he was (un)affectionately known in the Ministry. Princeton's work was a little more factual and trustworthy than, say, Rita Skeeter's, but the man had the sensitivity of a brick, and a reputation for aggression and not knowing when to back off. He had reportedly been on assignment since before the summer holidays started, and not many in the Ministry had missed him.

"All right, Mr. Weasley?" Hermione asked curiously, wondering at his sudden change in attitude.

"What? Oh, yes. Fine, just fine," Arthur responded, smiling and pulling himself back to the present. "I was just thinking of a few encounters I've had with the press is all."

"So, did Tom say anything, Dad?" Ron prompted anxiously, pausing momentarily in the act of seasoning his fish to look up at his father. Hermione kept her attention on Mr. Weasley as well.

Arthur sighed as he looked at their expectant faces, then shook his head sadly. "Nothing we didn't know already," he admitted, dashing their hopes. Tom had confirmed that Harry had indeed spent the night of July first as a guest of the Leaky Cauldron, but hadn't volunteered any additional information. Arthur wasn't sure if the innkeeper was reluctant to speak, or simply didn't have anything else to share. Unfortunately, he couldn't ask too many questions without raising suspicion, and Dumbledore wanted this kept quiet as long as possible.

Great Merlin, what a mess! Arthur groaned inwardly. It was beyond him how things had gotten so muddled. Unfortunately there wasn't a lot he could do at the moment, so he refocused on Ron and Hermione.

"We'll get this sorted out, you'll see," he softly reassured the dejected looking teens. "I know you're concerned, but the less said in public the better." He waited for their glum nods, then continued in his normal tone of voice. "Well, the fish certainly looks good today! Tuck in before we have to use a warming charm," he invited, gesturing to their plates.

"Will we be going to Diagon Alley, Mr. Weasley?" Hermione asked a little hesitantly, after they had eaten a few minutes in silence.

Arthur frowned consideringly. He hadn't planned on making a trip to the Alley until after payday. Besides, all the children needed their Hogwarts supplies, not just Ron. It was on the tip of his tongue to say 'no,' but he reconsidered at the last moment when the conversation he'd had earlier with Amos Diggory came to mind:

There's a boy working in Flourish & Blotts who bears a striking resemblance to him. Black hair, slim build...

Rubbing his chin, Arthur considered further. Amos had sworn that the boy he saw wasn't Harry Potter, but the Weasley patriarch was dying to verify his claim...just in case. It wasn't that he didn't trust Amos, but Diggory didn't know Harry all that well, and here was the perfect excuse! He probably had enough for ice cream at Florean Fortescue's, and if he brought a big tub home, that would go a long way toward soothing any ruffled feathers.

"Hmm. Fancy a trip to Flourish & Blotts, do you?" he theorized, slanting a shrewd look at Hermione who nodded sheepishly. "Well, I suppose we could spare a little time," he granted, pulling out a pocket watch, and checking it. "Not too long, mind," he cautioned. "I'll have to Floo Molly and let her know we'll be a little later than originally planned," he mused. Hermione was supposed to spend the afternoon at the Burrow, then return home after supper.

"Can we stop in Quality Quidditch Supplies too, Dad?" Ron asked a little hesitantly. "The Keeper position's open...I'd like to take a look at the brooms," he said with a slight flush and a shrug.

"That can probably be arranged," Mr. Weasley allowed, smiling fondly at his youngest son. "A stop by Fortescue's might be in order as well if we get started quickly," he grinned, indicating their plates again.

Nodding eagerly, Ron and Hermione set to the business of finishing lunch with far more animation than before, barely noticing when the bells on the door leading into Muggle London rang, and Tom's voice greeted, "Janet, how lovely to see you, dear! Everything went well I presume?"

Casually curious, Arthur glanced over at the bar, observing absently as Tom came out from behind it, and spoke with a rather Muggle-looking family. The woman Tom had addressed as 'Janet' was balancing a toddler on her hip, and appeared to be introducing the brown-haired man at her side to the old bartender.

Good Lord but they spread their children out, he thought in amusement, studying the family. There were only three children, but they looked to have an age range that equaled or exceeded his entire brood. The oldest was clearly in his teens, the youngest was just a toddler.

"Look at that cute baby," Hermione grinned, following Mr. Weasley's gaze, and pointing discreetly. "She has hair just like Harry's."

"Don't be daft. Harry doesn't have curls," Ron scoffed around a mouthful of fish, insulted on his friend's behalf. "It just sticks up in the back, rather like that bloke's," he stated, indicating the dark-haired boy with a nod, then blinking in surprise when he realized what he'd just said.

"Do you think..?" Hermione asked, considering the family--especially the boy--more closely.

"I can't tell for certain," Ron admitted bemusedly. The family was standing in front of the bar with their backs to the main dining area. "Maybe we should go see," he suggested. Hermione nodded her agreement. As one they pushed their chairs back, preparing to rise, but Arthur stopped them.

"Wait," he cautioned in a firm but quiet voice. "I ran into Amos Diggory this morning, and he mentioned seeing a boy who looked a lot like Harry," he elaborated when they gave him confused looks. "That could be him. Besides, he seems to belong to that family," he went on, tilting his head to listen, "and they sound like they're from the States."

They didn't look happy, Author noted, but thankfully they decided to humor him for the moment. Nodding his thanks, Mr. Weasley returned to his observation of the newcomers, smiling nostalgically when the mother offered the littlest girl to her son so she could search through the bag she carried unencumbered. Nodding, the boy set his own bag beside the bar, and reached out for the rather solemn-faced baby, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh. Arthur watched this interplay thoughtfully. Was the son going to stay overnight at the Leaky Cauldron? No one else had luggage.

Well, even if he was it wasn't as uncommon as all that. Children often met up at the Leaky Cauldron then went shopping on Diagon Alley. Perhaps that was it, or maybe he was meeting another family for a weekend stay. An alarming number of Wizarding families were behaving as though the specter of Voldemort did not exist.

Heaving a mental sigh, Arthur pushed those thoughts aside, smiling as the toddler draped a companionable arm over her brother's shoulders and leaned her head against his. There was a larger age gap between the dark-haired children, but the two of them together were almost painfully reminiscent of Bill and Ginny not so terribly long ago. Time flies, he thought with faint astonishment. It just didn't seem possible that his baby girl was going to be fourteen this year--

"HARRY POTTER!"

"What?" Arthur gasped, as he was rudely ejected from his sentimental musings. He, Ron and Hermione jerked their heads in the direction of the shout just in time to see Thaddeus Princeton and his photographer rushing over to confront the family, heedless of Tom and the other Alley regulars who were trying to get their attention.

Arthur frowned a bit, and motioned again for Ron and Hermione to stay where they were. He'd expected the normal excited whispers of "Harry Potter? Where? Did you see him?" Admittedly there were a few, but the majority of the voices were addressing the two journalists, and were more along the lines of: "Wait, Thaddeus!" and "That's just Sparky!"

If this is the boy Amos saw, then old Thaddy is about to make a first class fool of himself, Arthur thought, wondering if it was unforgivable to find oneself relishing the notion. Of course, it wouldn't be the first time, nor was it likely to have any effect. The old adage "Look Before You Leap" was utterly lost on Princeton.

As was being evidenced now.

Tutting disapprovingly, Arthur watched as the pair reached the family, then froze in shock when Thaddeus reached out and grabbed the boy by the shoulder, spinning him around so the photographer could get a shot.

Everything happened in an instant, but to Arthur time seemed to stretch. When he looked back later it was like watching the events in slow motion.

The sudden movement combined with the blinding flash pulled the boy off balance. "Mama!" the toddler called fearfully, as he teetered helplessly, trying without success to regain his footing without the use of his arms. To complicate things further, the other sister rushed over, trying to help out, but all she was doing was increasing the possibility of him toppling over on her.

The mother looked up in surprise when she heard her name, realized what was happening, and quickly took action. "Steve! Tom!" she hollered, when it became obvious that the boy wasn't going to be able to recover his balance. The brother seemed to sense this too, even in the midst of his floundering. Clutching the baby tightly to his chest, he screwed his eyes shut, ducked his head, and threw all his weight backwards, trying to change the angle of his fall so he wouldn't crush either of his sisters.

Spurred into action, Arthur fumbled for his wand with vague plans of casting a cushioning charm, but by the time he could get his hands on it, the scene was over. Luckily, Tom and the parents had been closer and in a better position to act. The mother grabbed her older daughter by the shoulders and yanked her out of harm's way while Tom and the father rushed forward and caught the boy before he and the baby could hit the floor.

Dead silence reigned for the space of several heartbeats, broken only when the mother and older daughter rushed over to where Tom and the father were standing to make sure everyone was all right.

Even Princeton had the good grace to look sheepish, Arthur noted, observing in mild surprise as the reporter actually paused a second or two, then marveling at the man's temerity when he doggedly pressed forward, throwing questions as he went when it became obvious no one was hurt.

"Mr. Potter, is there any truth to the rumor that you've spent your summer vacation in St. Mungo's Insane War--?" he began, moving toward the boy again, then breaking off and taking an unconscious step back when the boy looked up in shock and mother rounded on him with blood in her eye.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" she demanded furiously. "How dare you just grab him like that! Someone could have been hurt!"

Hiding a satisfied smirk, Arthur watched, amused, as she snatched up the bag she'd dropped in the excitement and stalked over, leaving the children in their father's care. Unless he was sadly mistaken, old Thaddy was about to be the recipient of an object lesson...

...and it couldn't have happened to a nicer, more deserving chap.

Princeton, Arthur noted, was looking a little nervous, and with good reason. He'd definitely twisted the tiger's tail this time! Besides being incensed, the mother appeared ready, willing, and able to bludgeon him to death with the bag in her hand. Watching, he almost felt sorry for the journalism team.

Almost.

"I'm terribly sorry, Madam," the reporter backpedaled, "I'm afraid it was a simple case of mistaken identity," he explained while the photographer nodded earnestly. "We thought he was Harry Potter," he added unnecessarily, as though that excused everything.

"Well he isn't," the mother informed them icily, obviously unimpressed with his explanation, "and even if he was, what difference does it make? Where do you get off treating people like that? Didn't they teach you any manners in journalism school?"

"I assure you I am well versed in all the proper techniques, madam, but this is a special case. Public appearances by the Boy Who Lived are very rare, and interviews are even more dear," the reporter tried again, still trying to excuse himself.

"Can't say I blame him if this is how he can expect to be treated," the father observed mildly, crossing his arms and moving to stand slightly in front of his children. He didn't say anything explicit, but there was a definite "back off" message in his body language.

Arthur cringed inwardly, recalling the Gilderoy Lockhart fiasco. They were right. Harry had been grabbed and photographed without so much as a by-your-leave, and no one had done a thing about it. He and Molly had stood there like ninnies, along with everyone else, acting like this was acceptable behavior and the press had carte blanche to do as they liked because of who Harry was.

"The public has a right to know," the photographer began stiffly, but Tom cut him off.

"I'll not stand by and allow you to harass my customers, gentlemen," he said sternly. "If you aren't capable of finding a newsworthy story without assaulting innocent bystanders, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"No need, Tom," Princeton said, finally relenting. "My apologies to you, and to you and your family, madam," he went on, including Janet in his apology. She nodded stiffly, looking a little irritated at being robbed of her target, but didn't say anything more as the two wizards returned to their seats and her husband came up behind her.

"Ease up, champ," he soothed, gently rubbing her shoulders. "Everyone's okay, see?" he said, turning her in the children's direction. "There's no need to make a Federal case out of it. Besides, it would be a shame if we were deported my first day in country," he teased, finally coaxing a half-smile.

"Whoa," Ron breathed when it was obvious the confrontation was over. "That lady's almost as scary as Mum is."

"She is, isn't she?" Arthur chortled, "I expect they'd get along famously," he grinned, watching as the parents went back over to where their children were waiting. The brother was still holding the toddler in the crook of one arm, but now he had his other arm around his other sister's shoulders. She, in turn, was hugging him around the waist.

"All right, sweets?" the mother asked, giving the boy a quick once-over, and smiling when he said something in reply that Arthur could not hear. "Okay, if you're sure, I guess we'll be going," she decided, reclaiming the baby and shouldering her bag while the father took the older girl's hand.

"What? Oh, drat! I thought they were staying for lunch!" Arthur said, half-rising then dropping back into his seat as Tom moved to stand beside the boy, and the two of them raised their hands in farewell.

"See you later," Janet called as the rest of the family said their goodbyes and started for the door, "and holler if you need anything," she added, addressing this last part to the boy.

Curious, Arthur, Ron, and Hermione all leaned a little closer, hoping that the boy would speak, but he merely smiled and flashed her the "thumbs-up" sign, then turned his attention to Tom when the old wizard laid a hand on his shoulder and spoke quietly in his ear. Nodding, he retrieved his bag and hurried out the door leading to Diagon Alley while the rest of the family disappeared into Muggle London.

"I'll have to see Tom about an introduction," Arthur speculated. "It should be fairly simple. From the sound of things they stop in often," he mused, then addressed Ron and Hermione directly. "Finish up and we'll be off. I'll wager we'll catch up to that boy on Diagon Alley."

Harry paced around his room, watching the door with trepidation. As soon as the Wrights were headed out, Tom had caught him by the shoulder and given him some terse instructions. He was to go out the public Diagon Alley exit, nip back in through the kitchen delivery door, then go up to his room and stay there until called. Tom wanted to discuss something with him.

Shuddering slightly, Harry paused, not liking the implications at all. The slight negative vibe he'd felt at the Wrights this morning had been ambiguous and open to interpretation.

The emotions Tom was giving off were not.

Raking a hand through his hair in frustration, Harry finally settled on the bed, feeling miserable and out of sorts. He didn't need his special sense to determine that the old innkeeper was highly agitated at the moment. Wincing a bit, Harry rubbed a hand across his stomach. It had settled somewhat overnight, and hadn't bothered him at breakfast, but now it was tied in painful knots again.

A glance at the clock told him a mere five minutes had passed since he'd trudged up the stairs and closed the door behind him. It was amazing, really. Just last Sunday he had been perfectly content to spend the afternoon in this room, reading, doing homework, and catching up on correspondence. Now that it wasn't his idea to be here he felt edgy, stifled and trapped.

Making a frustrated little noise, Harry grabbed his bag and dumped it out on the bed. For the next few minutes he busied himself by throwing the clothes he'd worn yesterday in the laundry pile, shelving the two texts he'd brought along (but hadn't looked at), and returning his toiletries and miscellaneous items like his wand and the little flute Hagrid had carved for him to their rightful places. Eventually, Silas' mirror was the only item left to be dealt with.

Well, so much for being able to return this immediately... Harry thought glumly, picking up the glass and frowning consideringly. I suppose I should call Cassie and let her know, he thought, working the mirror out of its leather sleeve. "Cassandra?"

There was a slight pause, then Cass appeared. "Well, well. Survived I see," she observed, smiling.

"It wasn't too bad," he allowed with an answering grin. "Kitty rescued me from having to play dolls with Becky. I think I may owe her a Wizard Debt."

Cassie's silvery laughter issued over their connection for a few seconds, then she smirked at him again. "So are you back at the Leaky Cauldron, then?"

"Yes, but I can't bring the mirror to you just now. Tom has something to discuss with me, and wants me to stay at the Cauldron for a while until he gets caught up."

"Uh-oh, sounds ominous. What did you do?" she teased, widening her eyes at him.

"I'm not sure, he didn't say exactly. A reporter from the Daily Prophet thought he'd spotted Harry Potter and made a scene, though. He realized he'd made a mistake when he saw my face, but..." Harry broke off and shrugged. "Maybe Tom just wants to make sure everything's sorted out," he guessed.

Cassie rolled her eyes, clearly recalling the afternoon he'd spent at Lancaster's. "Yes, that's the way it usually goes, isn't it?" she chuckled. "Poor you. Must get annoying--all that lovely enthusiasm, followed by all those looks of crushed disappointment."

"I manage," he said with another shrug. "So, should I leave the mirror in the kitchen with Tom, or would you rather I send it by owl?"

"There's no great rush. Just hold on to it for now. Silas and I are going out this afternoon, anyway. I have no idea how long we'll be, so we'll fetch it this evening, or tomorrow morning if we're running late."

"Okay. See you then," Harry agreed, nodding as she waved and faded from sight. Once she was gone, he returned the mirror to its sleeve, then put it on the dresser and wondered what to do. He didn't especially want to work on assignments at the moment, and letters were completely out of the question as well. He needed some task to keep himself occupied that didn't require a lot of thought.

With that in mind Harry scanned the perimeter of the room, and spotted the box from Mrs. Figg's house in the process. That'll do, he decided, shoving it to the side of the bed, then laying carefully on his still complaining stomach so he could peer over the side of the mattress and into the container's interior.

The box still held a hopeless tangle of papers, but Harry had made good progress in sorting through the mess. Recently he'd been able to feel tantalizing touches of something else when he stuck his arm in far enough--like there was something other than paper in there. The trick was to slide his arm carefully between the side and the contents without triggering the automatic enlarging charms. The dark-haired boy raised an inquiring eyebrow, and wondered if that meant he was getting closer to the bottom.

Deciding to be adventurous, Harry gripped the side of the box tightly with his left hand to keep from sliding off the bed, and sunk his right arm in past the shoulder. He nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise when his fingers brushed something soft and furry. Reflexively, he jerked his arm out, then stopped and frowned consideringly. Surely that wasn't real.

Trying to remember the exact location, he carefully reached in again, feeling around hopefully. His fingers brushed a few objects deep in the box, but they were still just beyond his reach. He found the furry thing again, and managed to catch a few strands of "hair" between his index and middle fingers, but they wouldn't support the object's weight, and all he managed to do was pull a little tuft of fuzz free when he tried to lift it out.

Harry studied the golden brown strands curiously, then shrugged and reached in again, this time retrieving a large handful of papers from somewhere in the middle. He might be getting closer to the mysterious items, but there was still a stack of paper longer than his arm on top of them. Clearly, he was going to have to do some more excavation before he got there.

Flipping through the stack in his hand, he found nothing of real import--old school assignments and unsigned permission slips mostly. Harry rolled his eyes in annoyance. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had hardly ever allowed him to go on school outings.

On the other hand, he'd unearthed quite a few letters and grade/progress reports from his Muggle school to his aunt and uncle. Nothing much had happened as a result, but the correspondence had been telling. Several teachers, especially early on, had nominated him for special programs and activities. Others noticed how he held back in class and pointed this out as a concern. The biggest shock had been a fair number of notes regarding Dudley's behavior towards him.

All pleas on his behalf had obviously fallen on deaf ears, but Harry was struck by how many he'd run across. In addition, he could almost track subtle changes in Dudley's behavior by the dates on the correspondence. The bullying hadn't stopped--Dudley had just gotten sneakier about it--but someone had noticed, which was more than he'd thought at the time.

The dreaded knock at the door came when Harry was sorting through his third handful of paper. He managed not to cry out in surprise, but started violently nonetheless. Hmm. So much for calming down, the Gryffindor thought wryly, dropping the stack of papers back into the box, then walking over to answer the door.

As expected, it was Tom. He had come up more quickly than Harry had expected, but on balance, he supposed it really wasn't all that surprising. Sunday was typically a slow day at the Cauldron, so once the small crowd of lunch customers cleared out, there wouldn't be anything to delay him.

Hesitantly, Harry ushered Tom in, then stood nervously to one side, wondering what would happen next.

"I had a very interesting conversation with Mr. Arthur Weasley earlier," Tom said without preamble, sitting down on the desk chair, and motioning for Harry to have a seat on the bed.

"Mr. Weasley?" Harry croaked as his heart sank to somewhere near the vicinity of his kneecaps, then snapped back in place and began to pound.

"Yes. I was quite surprised when he asked me if I'd seen Harry Potter this summer," Tom said, in a rather no-nonsense tone. "I found myself in a rather awkward position, as you can imagine," he went on, making Harry glad they were both seated. "I finally verified that you had spent the night of July first as a guest of the Leaky Cauldron because he already seemed to know that much. Beyond that I had no idea how much was safe to say. Exactly what is going on, Harry?"

"What--what do you mean?"

"Well, you claim to have written your headmaster and your friends several days ago," Tom pointed out.

"And I did!" Harry asserted defensively.

"Yes," Tom allowed, holding up a hand to silence Harry when he would have continued. "You showed me the addressed envelopes before you sent Hedwig out, and I received a letter from Dumbledore myself, remember?"

Harry nodded, watching as Tom crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. Fidgeting nervously, he waited for the other wizard to continue.

"I must admit I find myself wondering what you did or didn't say in your correspondence," Tom said at length. "Are you quite certain you told them everything?"

Harry's stomach gave another sickly lurch. Tom wasn't accusing him of lying--yet--but it was obvious that the old wizard knew something was afoot, and was determined to have some answers. "I told them the important things," he hedged, willing the other wizard to understand. "I told everyone about getting a job, and I've reported everything I've seen through my scar to Professor Dumbledore. I even told him that my aunt and uncle moved!"

Tom mulled this over for a minute, then shook his head. "Sorry, Harry, but that doesn't tally. If you've been so forthcoming, then why was Arthur Weasley in here today half out of his mind with worry?" he asked, pinning the boy with a censuring stare. "He tried not to let on, but I could tell he was upset about something. Too many years in the business."

"Mr. Weasley was here? " Harry gasped, feeling the rest of the color drain from his face.

"Yes, just now. He had young Ronald and your little Muggleborn friend--Hermione--with him as well," Tom said, stopping and frowning in concern. "All right there, Harry? You look a little green."

Truthfully, Harry felt about as far from "all right" as a person could be at the moment, but he responded to the question with an automatic nod and an "I'm fine" that sounded unconvincing even to his own ears. Tom looked skeptical, but didn't push the issue.

"I sent you upstairs because I wasn't sure what was going on, and I presumed they would have the best chance of seeing through your disguise," he explained instead, continuing with his previous thought. "So I say again, what is going on? Why are people looking for you?"

Flustered, Harry shook his head in growing agitation. "I don't know! I told them I was all right, I don't know why they won't believe me!"

"Harry, does Professor Dumbledore know you're here?" Tom asked quietly.

Desperate to escape the quiet disappointment in the old man's face, Harry squeezed his eyes shut then bowed his head and crossed his arms defensively over his stomach. "What does it matter? I'm all right, and I'm out of their way. Safely tucked away for the summer," he responded tightly, saying the last in a sarcastic little singsong.

"For your information, young man, it matters a great deal," Tom retorted, showing a flash of true annoyance.

"I stayed on Diagon Alley before!" Harry argued stubbornly, trying to make the old man see. "Summer before my third year!"

"That was different, Harry, the whole Alley was looking out for you," Tom retorted before visibly reining himself in. "All right," he said, obviously trying a different approach. "Who does know you're here?"

Harry looked up warily. "Besides you?"

"Yes."

"Hedwig."

Tom frowned unappreciatively. "That isn't funny."

"I wasn't trying to be funny. I haven't told anyone!" Harry said earnestly before plunging into a garbled explanation. "I was planning to write someone when I first got here, but then you gave me the job and let me stay in the room, and it was okay. They're all busy, and Dumbledore was carrying on about the danger, and I didn't want to bother anyone, and honestly, I didn't want anyone to know, and I really didn't know what else to do..." Harry trailed off when he realized he was babbling, then swallowed and looked at Tom miserably.

"Did it ever occur to you that Dumbledore and the others might be worried?" Tom asked, clearly exasperated.

Worried? Harry thought a moment, then slowly shook his head. Professor Dumbledore and the others were concerned about his safety from magical attack, hence the blood protection on Privet Drive, and his aunt and uncle looked after him just enough to stay on the straight side of the law. Well, until this summer, anyway. Beyond that, he'd always been left to fend for himself.

"No," he admitted, with an attitude of honest confusion, watching as the annoyance in Tom's expression changed to shocked bewilderment.

"Your family must be concerned. Have you at least written to them?" Tom asked, spreading his hands in an oddly pleading gesture.

"I don't have any family. They abandoned me, remember?" Harry grumbled, annoyed that Tom couldn't seem to grasp this fact.

"But have you tried to contact them?" the innkeeper persisted. "There must have been some misunderstanding."

That was it. Harry's patience was at an end. He was tired of trying to explain himself, and even more tired of others assuming they knew what he was about and what he should do. The fact that he felt like seven kinds of hell because of his queasily jumping stomach wasn't helping things either.

"There was no point in contacting them, and there wasn't any misunderstanding, Tom!" he flared, his eyes snapping angrily. "What you and Dumbledore and the whole bloody Wizarding World refuse to see is my muggle relatives hate me! It isn't in my head, it's not going to get better, and we aren't 'really fond of each other deep down!' They packed up and moved to bloody Australia and made sure they were gone before I returned from Hogwarts! Does that sound like a mistake to you?"

Tom said nothing for several seconds, making Harry wonder if he'd pushed too far. Tensing a bit, he studied the older man warily. Uncle Vernon would have probably given him the back of his hand before Harry finished his first sentence.

Or tried to.

Among other things, life with the Dursleys had taught Harry all about the fine art of dodging.

Tom didn't seem inclined to strike, though. In fact he looked almost comically gobsmacked. "Australia?" he finally echoed, after swallowing and blinking a few times.

"Yes," Harry confirmed, calming fractionally in the face of the other wizard's shock. "Frankly, I reckoned they'd move closer to Majorca if they went anywhere besides Britain, but..." he said, trailing off with a shrug.

Tom nodded absently, looking like he still trying to process what he'd been told. "When did you find this out?" he finally managed.

"Just last night. Professor Dumbledore told me before I left for Janet's."

"But why? " Tom demanded angrily. "Why would they leave you?"

"I'm not sure," Harry admitted. "They've never been gracious about me staying with them, but they always allowed it before. Something changed, I think. Professor Dumbledore sent them a letter explaining about the Third Task and...everything," he recalled, moving to the dresser and sifting through a stack of papers, finally producing an envelope addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley. "Maybe they panicked when they read about Volde--err, You-Know-Who coming back," he theorized, flipping the letter over absently while he thought.

When he glanced at Tom again, it was apparent that his friend was at a loss. Sighing, Tom rubbed his temples, looking like he had a headache coming on. Harry could sympathize. Today had been a little too close--several times already. Guiltily he realized he had unwittingly put the old wizard on the horns of a very awkward dilemma.

Unfortunately, in light of what Tom had admitted to Mr. Weasley, the old bartender was now the last person who'd "seen" Harry Potter. If others were looking there would be other questions. "Sparky" would probably be scrutinized rather carefully as well since he conveniently appeared so soon after "Harry" vanished. Admittedly, Tom had shown an uncommon willingness to help him since the beginning of summer, but Harry wasn't stupid enough to believe Tom would lie to protect him, or openly defy Albus Dumbledore.

On top if that, Tom had the safety of the Leaky Cauldron and its patrons to consider, Harry mused with a guilty little squirm. He'd gotten so caught up in his wonderful new freedom and anonymity, he'd forgotten or chosen to ignore the possible consequences of being out in the open like this. Befriending the Wrights probably wasn't too bright either. What had he been thinking? They'd be helpless if attacked!

What a mess, Harry groaned inwardly, massaging his forehead with his fingertips. He just couldn't seem to win this summer. He'd tried to do the right thing, tried to follow instructions and stay out of the way, but no matter how hard he tried, everything turned out wrong! Probably the only reason no one had tracked him down yet was he was thought to be safely behind his wards and protective magic.

"I think we need to invite Professor Dumbledore to come here so we can sort this out face to face," Tom finally suggested, turning to face Harry with a very serious expression.

"No!" Harry blurted before he could stop himself. "Please, don't. I'll--I'll just go!" he offered desperately.

Tom blinked like he'd been slapped. "What are you on about? Don't be daft," he chided gently, walking over to Harry and laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You're welcome here, lad, now and always. Why won't you believe me? What are you so afraid of?"

"He'll send me back! I don't want to go back, I want to stay here!" Harry said, shaking his head unhappily and coming closer than he ever had to admitting something was amiss.

"I want you to stay as well!" Tom coaxed reassuringly, giving the boy's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Dumbledore isn't a heartless monster, Harry. Do be reasonable!"

"He knows already," Harry replied softly, meeting Tom's gaze in the mirror. "He found out the Dursleys went to Australia. He said he was going to bring me to Hogwarts until everything could be sorted."

"No, I mean once he knows everything about your aunt and uncle," Tom clarified, giving the boy a pointed look. "I'll admit I have no idea how such a daft mistake could have been made, but once he knows about--"

"What?" Harry asked tensely, glancing around to see what had caught Tom's attention. Following the other wizard's shocked gaze, he cringed in embarrassment. His search for the letter Professor Dumbledore had sent the Dursleys had unearthed another one, leaving it out in full view.

His very first Hogwarts letter.

"Mr. H. Potter, Cupboard Under the Stairs?" Tom read, looking incredulously at Harry. "Why was this addressed to a cupboard?"

Harry shrugged, employing the defense he'd used all summer when he didn't wish to discuss something.

Tom frowned but, again, didn't push, making Harry feel a warm rush of gratitude. "What happened to it?" he asked instead, indicating the charred edges. Harry almost shrugged again, then reconsidered, surprising himself almost as much as Tom.

"My uncle burned it," he said tiredly, looking down again. "He didn't want me to attend Hogwarts, I reckon. I thought it was gone until I opened that box," he declared, pointing to the container by the bed with an attitude of frank confusion. "It's the weirdest thing, Tom! Loads of things that I know my aunt and uncle binned somehow ended up in that box looking like they'd never been touched!"

"What?" Tom sputtered incredulously. "But... I... He... How..."

"I don't know," Harry replied absently, not put off in the least by Tom's incoherency, and somehow understanding what he was trying to ask. "The box seemed to be waiting for me at Mrs. Figg's house. As for the letter, well, I reckon Professor Dumbledore has a reason. At least that's what I keep telling myself," he admitted, giving the other wizard an ironic half-smile.

Tom nodded, ostensibly accepting the explanation, but Harry thought he looked rather like a man who was being drawn in two different directions at once.

"I...I need to think about this, Harry," Tom finally admitted with a heavy sigh, "but I promise I won't contact Professor Dumbledore without telling you first."

Harry nodded reluctantly. It wasn't the vow of secrecy he'd been hoping for, but he trusted Tom to keep his word. "Thank you," he said gratefully. "I don't know if you can understand or not, but I needed to be away from them this summer, what with Cedric and all. I was upset when I found out they'd gone, but now I really think it was for the best. Working, getting out, it's been good for me." Harry stopped and flushed slightly. "Does that make any sense?"

"Yes, actually, it makes a great deal of sense," Tom said in a way that made Harry wonder what he knew or suspected. They stood in silence for several awkward seconds, then Tom spoke again.

"So, how did everything go last night?" he asked, making Harry blink at the sudden change of topic.

"Okay," Harry replied, once he'd gathered himself and recognized that the elegant advance and retreat methods Tom favored were in action. The toothless innkeeper, Harry had found, had an exquisite sense of timing. He knew exactly how far to push, and when it was time to back off. Because of this, Harry had probably admitted more to Tom than any other adult, and felt the least pressured in doing so.

This was not one of Tom's more subtle segues, but Harry was grateful for the break nonetheless. The return to more mundane subject matter was Tom's way of signaling that the inquisition was over.

For now.

"Kitty and Becky are magical," Harry grinned, picking up the thread of conversation.

"Ah, well, we suspected that," Tom said, looking pleased. "Did you tell Janet and Steve?" he asked, after pausing a beat.

"Erm, no. Kitty seemed reluctant to, and besides, I didn't know what the rules were for telling Muggles about the Wizarding World. I've been meaning to ask you for ages, I just kept putting it off."

"Well, don't think you've completely fooled Janet. She's been working up to it for a few days now, but she finally asked if she could come by later for a little chat."

"What does Janet want to talk about?" Harry asked, frowning uneasily.

"She didn't say precisely. I reckon she's noticed something that's made her curious. As I said, not much gets by that one," Tom speculated. "And you probably ought to know, Arthur Weasley requested an introduction to the Wrights, and their three children before he left."

"Three?" Harry squeaked. "You mean he thinks I'm..." he trailed off, unable to finish.

Tom laughed. "Yes, along with everyone else who was in the pub, I'd wager. It's probably a good thing Janet is coming by. We should do her the courtesy of explaining the misconception before she's approached and complimented on her son, wouldn't you agree?"

Harry closed his eyes with a little moan and hid behind his hands. Could this get any worse? No! Wait! Forget I asked!

"Stiff upper lip, Harry. We'll sort it out," Tom said bracingly, doing his best not to laugh. "Now, I do believe I'm ready for a spot of lunch. Would you care to join me?"

"No, thanks. We slept in and had a late breakfast," Harry declined, choosing not to mention that he didn't think he could swallow a bite at the moment anyway. The way his stomach currently felt, anything he tried to put in it would likely be rejected in short order. "I'll get a snack later, or just wait until dinner."

"Suit yourself lad. The dining room seems quiet now, and I'm available if you want to come down. I also believe your friends are still on Diagon Alley if you'd care to catch up with them," Tom hinted, exiting, and leaving Harry to his troubled thoughts.