Harry Potter and the Years of Rebellion

Chapter Two

AGAINST BETTER JUDGMENT

It was cool and dark. The sandy ground was strewn with rocks and leaves and bits of branches. He noticed what looked to be a fern, off to one side. Some small lizards zipped past. The light was a bluish-white haze, reflected from ahead. The ground ahead of him abruptly changed from sand and rocks to concrete, and the light changed from soft haze to stark overhead glare. Harry didn't like where he was. It was confining somehow - familiar but confining. He moved toward the concrete, and struck his head on glass with a THUMP! that he could feel as much as hear. He reached out to feel the glass. It extended from ground to ceiling, and seemed to go on forever from side to side.

Dumbledore approached, at the head of a group of adults and children. Instead of robes, he was wearing khaki-coloured Muggle clothing - a short-sleeved shirt and shorts that fell to his knobbly knees. Harry pounded on the glass and yelled for Dumbledore's attention, but nothing came from his mouth.

Dumbledore held up a megaphone, and said to the assembling crowd, “This is a very significant specimen. It has been in our care for nearly fifteen years, and it is the only one of its kind. It has not responded to captivity in the manner we would have hoped. Nonetheless, we are very pleased to be able to preserve and protect this noble creature for your edification.”

Ginny stepped forward from the crowd, followed by Cho Chang. She moved close to the glass. “It's kind of cute,” she said, “if you're into that sort of thing.”

Cho disagreed. “It looks like a killer to me.”

Harry pounded on the glass again and both girls jumped back in fright.

Dumbledore said, “It is important that you avoid sudden motions. The specimen is prone to moodiness and fits of rage. It should not be unnecessarily provoked. It must conserve its strength.”

Ron crossed his arms sternly. “I don't understand the fuss - so it's the only one left. We've all got problems.”

Hermione glared at him. “Why should I be surprised that you can't see its importance, Ron?” she asked. She looked at Harry intently, and said at last, “I think that it's very beautiful, in its way.”

Harry tried to say “Thank you” but still nothing would come out.

Sirius approached. “It should be free. It shouldn't be caged against its will.”

Dumbledore said calmly, “It must be protected. We shall all need its strength.”

Eleven-year-old Dudley walked up and pressed his nose against the glass.

“Make it move,” he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped at the glass.

“This is boring,” Dudley moaned, “and this ruddy zoo doesn't have any organic food. I'm going home to work out and revise for my exams.”

Another eleven-year-old boy, thin-faced with unruly black hair and green eyes, moved in front of the glass and looked at him intently.

“Where do you come from, anyway?” the boy asked.

“Godric's Hollow,” Harry tried to say, “but I've never been there.”

“I'm sorry,” the boy said - apparently the boy could hear him. “I've never been there either. Maybe we should visit.”

Ron shouted, “Come quick! You won't believe what's happening!”

Dumbledore came running as fast as he could. “Out of the way, you,” he shouted at the boy with the green eyes. Dumbledore, Ron, Sirius, Hermione, Ginny and Cho leaned in toward the glass, which suddenly disappeared.

Harry slid out of the enclosure. Ron backed away as fast as he could. Dumbledore ran for a heavy rope that hung coiled on the wall. Sirius applauded. Ginny let out blood-curdling screams, and Cho threw things at him.

Hermione took the hand of the young boy with the unruly hair and they both smiled at him.

“Thankssssss,” hissed Harry.

 

July 29

Harry sat bolt upright in his bed, dizzy and disoriented. At least I wasn't Voldemort, he finally decided as his head cleared. He fumbled for his glasses. It was about half past six.

There was no going back to sleep. He dressed in workout clothing, crept down the stairs, and prepared the morning meal. It struck him that Uncle Vernon would either shout or laugh at him, depending upon how the disaster in the cellar had settled in overnight. He waited until Dudley came down to eat - like clockwork, he came fifteen minutes prior to his parents - and then slipped back into his room.

Harry leafed through stacks of books and papers. I know I have it, he thought. At last, he found the scrap of parchment that he was looking for. He tucked the scrap in his pocket, along with a Muggle biro and a handful of Muggle coins from the small cache of money tucked away in the bottom of his trunk.

He told Dudley, “I'm taking my run early,” and set out the door into a sixth day of drizzle just as his uncle lumbered down the stairs for breakfast.

He ran for his usual hour and a half, and then doubled back until he was standing before the telephone box across from the market. Should I or shouldn't I? he wondered. His desire to hear a familiar voice and his need for information overcame his reluctance to talk. He entered the box, fished out the coins and the scrap of parchment, and dialled the number written on the scrap.

After several rings, a woman answered, “Hello?”

“H-Hermione? Uh, Hermione Granger, please?” Harry stammered.

“May I ask who is calling, please?” The voice took on a suspicious tone.

“This is Harry Potter,” he said.

The voice was obviously surprised. “This is Mrs. Granger speaking. Hold on, while I find Hermione. I'm certain she'll be happy to hear from you.”

There was an interminable silence, and then…

“Harry? Is that really you?”

“Hello, Hermione.”

She sounded hesitant. “You sound… you sound different.”

“Different? What do you mean, exactly?”

“I mean that you sound different, that's all.”

“Uh - well, I've been running. Perhaps I'm just winded.” Why am I having so much trouble deciding what to say? This is Hermione I'm talking to, Harry thought. “How has your summer been?”

There was a long silence.

“Hermione?” he said. “Hello? Are you still there?”

Hermione erupted, “Harry Potter! I hear from you for the first time all summer long - on the telephone, no less - no letters, no owls, not a sign of you all summer long, and you have the NERVE to ask me that? `How has your summer been'? After telling Professor Dumbledore that you didn't want anyone to check up on you? Nothing, Harry! You could have been dead, for all we knew, and you call me to ask `How has your summer been?' You are a PRAT, Harry Potter - a great -bloody - PRAT, that's what you are!”

“Hermione, I…” Harry tried to interject.

“I'll tell you how my summer has been - rotten to the core! I'm a wreck! Everyone's a wreck, for goodness' sake, what with all the attacks and the…”

Harry tended to drift a bit whenever Hermione blustered on, as it was often the best thing to do. He perked up immediately upon hearing attacks. “Attacks? What attacks? Where? I haven't seen anything on the news that would have…”

“Harry, it's all over the Daily Prophet every single day. It's even in the Quibbler, for goodness' sake!” Hermione fumed.

Harry cleared his throat. “I meant the BBC news, Hermione. You know I don't read the Prophet and I don't have a subscription to the Quibbler, as if I'd take it seriously if I did.”

“You're not watching very closely, then!” snapped Hermione. “You mean to tell me that you don't know anything? I mean, I presumed that Professor Dumbledore would have kept…”

Something inside Harry flared. “What, that Dumbledore would have kept me informed? Like he's kept me informed for the last five years, you mean? No, Hermione, there's no risk of that. I don't know a thing about anything that's happened this summer - not one damned thing!”

There was silence again for a moment, before Hermione shouted, “For the first time in this conversation, Harry Potter, I completely agree with you! You don't know a thing!”

Harry took a few calming breaths. “I don't want to fight with you, right? I'll leave that to you and Ron. I just had a rather strange dream, and I thought you might be able to…”

Hermione cut in excitedly, “A dream? Tell me it wasn't Voldemort! Are you all right? Were you in pain? You should owl Professor Dumbledore right away!”

“It wasn't Voldemort, and I'm not about to owl Dumbledore,” Harry said bitterly. “It was just a dream, and… never mind. I suppose if it's not about Voldemort, then it doesn't matter.”

Hermione said, “That's not what I meant, Harry. It's not like you've ever talked about any of your dreams other than the ones with Voldemort, and getting you to do that is like extracting teeth. I was just making a natural assumption.”

“Fair enough,” Harry said, relenting. He hesitated, and then blurted out, “I received an unexpected owl yesterday.”

Hermione asked quietly, “Was it from Gringotts?”

“How did you…?”

“I received a letter yesterday evening. Harry, are you all right with this?” Hermione asked.

Harry said flatly, “He's dead. They have to do something with his things, I suppose.”

“Are you ready to, you know… talk about what happened? I mean, if you are, then you can talk to me,” Hermione told him. “You know that, don't you? You can always talk to me.”

The telephone receiver shook in Harry's trembling hand. He knew that she meant well, but he also knew that he wasn't ready. He doubted that she was prepared to hear what he might have to say. He wondered what she would think of him if he recounted his last meeting with Dumbledore.

“I need to get to Diagon Alley,” Harry said.

“I'm sure that if you owl Professor Lupin, then the Order can make arrangements for you,” Hermione said. “I'll bet that Professor Dumbledore might even have Gringotts call on you.”

“Oh, I'm sure Uncle Vernon would love that,” Harry laughed. “`Uncle Vernon, let me introduce you to my personal goblin banker.' Can you imagine it? I could sell tickets.”

Hermione said flatly, “I rather imagined they would send a human employee, Harry.”

“That was a joke, of course,” Harry told her. “I was actually hoping that you could give me driving directions to the Leaky Cauldron. I mean, I've ridden there, but I didn't pay any attention. I assume that your parents have directions?”

The line went silent for a few moments, and then Hermione thundered, “Driving directions… as in, directions for getting there in - a - car? Are you completely BENT? If you really must go there, then you owl Professor Dumbledore right - now and he'll arrange an escort! You don't even know who might be listening to this call!”

Harry snarled, “I can take care of myself! I imagine Dumbledore's precious Order has better things to do than baby-sit me, if things are so awful. I don't care to argue about this - just give me the directions, would you?”

“Fine! I don't need to get them from my parents, but this is a bad idea, Harry!” Hermione barked motorway numbers and carriageways and place names and turns at him, and Harry barely managed to put pen to parchment in time. When she was done, she said sarcastically, “Anything else I can do for you, milord?”

Harry snapped, “That's quite enough, thank you. I don't want to be a bother!”

There was another long pause on the other end of the line, and then a sniff before Hermione said in a trembling voice, “You're not a bother, Harry. I just… I just… well, I just worry about you - constantly. Can you blame me? It's not as though you don't attract trouble. I mean, if anything… anything at all…” She trailed off.

Harry didn't say anything at first. Why can't I force an apology out of my mouth? he thought. “I'm sorry,” he finally said, “please don't cry.”

“I'm not crying,” she sniffed.

Harry said, “I'm sorry, just the same. It - it's really nice to hear your voice, Hermione.” Why did I say that? he wondered. He felt a peculiar urge to comfort her and to show that he was sorry. It felt wrong but perfect, all at once. He had felt jumpy since the beginning of the call, and now he felt uncomfortably warm and sweaty all over, as though the run had suddenly caught up with him. The telephone box was positively stifling. He opened the door a crack, and an uncomfortably warm draft blew in.

There was an odd popping and grinding sound on the other end of the line, followed by what sounded like a squeal from Hermione and the thunk! of the telephone dropping. A female voice in the background said, “Good heavens - where did those come from?” Another voice shouted, “Don't touch anything! Out of the room, now!”

Hermione squeaked into the telephone, “Harry, we have to go!” and was followed shortly by a resonating whump! just before the line went dead.

Harry's mind raced. He dashed out of the telephone box, leaving the receiver dangling, and raced for Privet Drive. Hedwig was off somewhere, and hadn't returned for days. He hadn't been able to reach Mrs. Figg for two days, and he didn't know who else might be watching him or how to contact them without using an owl. He couldn't yet Apparate, and of course the Dursley house wasn't connected to the Floo Network. But Hermione was in trouble, and his chest was pounding, and… and he forced himself to think. That's what she would do if she were in my shoes, Harry thought. She would stop and think through what just happened.

There were other people in the room - one had sounded rather commanding to him. If it was a Death Eater, then he could never get to her in time, and the Dark Mark would alert the Order long before he could reach her home. If it had been an Order member, and she was being watched, then she was probably safe. The last sound he had heard left him very nervous, but he couldn't place it. Harry finally decided that his best option to connect with the wizarding world was to get to Diagon Alley as quickly as he could. It was time to arrange a lift.

 Fifteen minutes later, Harry ran into the house. He shouted, “Dudley! Let's move it!”

Dudley grumbled, “Move it where?” without looking away from the telly. He was clearly sulking over his weights and punching bags, but this was a vast improvement over the old Dudley, who surely would have assembled his friends by now for a few rounds of Harry Hunting - or worse.

Harry grabbed him by the arm, pulling without effect. “Remember, I said I would need a lift?”

Dudley still didn't look up, and still wasn't budging. “A lift for what?”

“You do want me to replace your things, right?” Harry snapped.

Dudley perked up. “My things… oh! So, you want to go get your money, then? Well, it'll take me a bit to arrange.”

Harry kept pulling at his arm. “Come on!”

Dudley stood up slowly, shaking his head. “Where's the fire, then?” Harry was sure he was moving slowly on purpose.

Dudley went upstairs, and then came back down with a small black book. He flipped the pages idly. “There's no hurry, you know. If I hadn't decided you were good for it” - he stopped flipping pages, looked up at Harry and snarled - “I would have taken payment from your hide.”

Dudley turned his attention back to the book. “Now, let's see… who can I talk into this?”

Harry tried not to fidget, but failed. “Dudley, why don't we just take the car? Uncle Vernon took the train today, so the car's at the station. He won't be back until at least five-thirty, and I know Aunt Petunia's out with her bridge club all day.”

Dudley turned pale. “Have you gone `round the twist? If Dad found out, he'd have me up on charges for nicking the car! Not to mention, I'm not licensed `til next year, and…”

Harry considered how much goading Dudley might take without exploding. Then, with his eyes squarely locked on his shoes, he said, “Didn't stop you last year.”

Dudley was no longer prone to imitating Uncle Vernon's shades of purple. Instead, he became quiet and predatory. Harry found this uncomfortably Slytherin-like. “And what do you think you saw last year?”

Harry didn't want to turn the conversation into a game of Exploding Snap, so he kept looking at his shoes and kept his voice low. “Well, you know, you and your gang - you and Piers and Gordon, at any rate - that is, to say - well, I saw you take the car a time or two.”

Dudley crossed his arms. “Spying, were you? Well, maybe I did go out a bit. But only twice, and that was just down to Shipley's for some games and a ride on the coaster. I mean, I wouldn't go very far. Where's the money, anyway - Abbey National, or Barclays?”

Harry was sure he didn't want to look up from his shoes, for fear of having to walk to Diagon Alley. “Dudley, you see, wiz… what is mean to say is, we have our own banks. Sirius - my godfather -” Harry stopped. It made his stomach burn just to say the name aloud. It was just as well that he stopped. Harry wasn't sure how to explain Gringotts to Dudley, or whether the whole business of wizarding would set him off like Uncle Vernon.

Harry looked up, and saw fear on Dudley's face. He pressed on, “You can't exactly use the normal places when you're on the run from the law. I mean, he was wanted for a dozen murders, after all. He made some private arrangements, then, with some of his associates in London, and…”

Dudley slammed his black book down. “London! You want me to nick my parents' car, and drive you into London? You've gone `round the twist, all right. You're a regular nutter, you are!”

Harry said defiantly, “It's not that far!”

“It's not about the distance,” Dudley sniffed, settling back down in front of the television. “The traffic is awful. People zipping around everywhere, cutting you off, nowhere to park. You don't know what it's like - you can be driving an hour and manage only five miles.”

Harry frowned. “You're right; I don't know what it's like. Look, you want the money, right? I have some other business I need to attend to, and -”

Dudley's head whipped around. “Business? What kind of business? I'm not getting myself mixed up in any more trouble with your lot, money or not!”

Harry balled his fists, and tried not to clench his teeth. “You've been mixed up with my sort your whole life. It's not much fun having no choice in the matter, but there you are.” He relaxed his hands, and tried to steady his breathing. “A friend of mine may be in danger. That's the business, okay? If you don't want to help me, fine. I shouldn't expect help from you.”

Dudley's eyes narrowed. “What kind of friend?”

“I'm not sure what you mean by that,” Harry answered.

“Oh, come off it. I said, `what kind of friend'? It isn't one of those red-heads with the awful candy, is it?” Dudley pouted.

“No, it's not one of the Weasleys. Look, I'll ask one more time. Are you going to help me, or not?” Harry tried to summon a neutral expression, and wondered why he couldn't hold still.

Dudley smiled and gave Harry a knowing look. “Ah, I get it. It's that kind of friend.”

“What do you mean, `that kind of friend'?” Harry said.

Dudley snickered, “There's only one reason for all this wiggling about and the red face, I figure. I don't believe it - Potter's got himself a girlfriend!”

Harry steamed, “I do not have a girlfriend. Hermione and I have known each other since our first day at Hogwarts, and I think she's in real trouble. I don't have time to waste on - what are you laughing at?”

Dudley's mouth was squeezed shut, but his body shook.

Harry's eyes bored in on his cousin. “I said, `what are you laughing at'?”

Dudley opened his mouth, and hooted, “Hermione? What kind of name is Hermione? Sounds like somebody's grandmother to me. Oh, your girlfriend must be a prize!”

Dudley proceeded apace with insults, and Harry seethed. He could feel Dudley's hot breath blowing on his face, and he was sure he could actually hear his self-control cracking and popping into useless bits. In an instant, his control was entirely gone.

Harry grabbed the front of Dudley's shirt, and shouted at him, “Just - shut - up! You - you stop saying those things! Why, you're not worth a tenth of her! You're not good enough to clean up after her!”

He shouted so hard that the room was swimming and his own ears were ringing, before he realised that Dudley was laughing at him. “Oh, definitely a girlfriend!” Dudley howled. “This is too good! I wish I hadn't broken my camera, because this would be a smashing - “

CRASH!

Dudley pulled away from Harry's grasp and spun around. Harry didn't have to move at all to see that Aunt Petunia's prized vase was no longer on the mantle.

Dudley gaped at the pile of porcelain bits on the carpet. “Oh, God! Mum loves that vase! It's the one Dad brought her from China, or - er - Canada, or someplace abroad.” He settled himself, stared at Harry, and added, “Point is, she's going to kill you!”

The room instantly stopped swimming before Harry's eyes. “Kill me? I didn't do anything! It must have been tipsy, or something!”

Dudley shook his head. “How dense are you, actually? It's broken. You're - well - you know - you. That's how Mum will see it.”

Harry fished around a bit, and produced his wand.

Dudley backed up quickly. “Look, I'm just telling it like it is. Don't point that thing at me!”

Harry sighed. “I'm not. Does it look like all the pieces are there?”

“I think so,” Dudley said tentatively. “Why?”

Harry replied, “Because I don't want any missing chips. I imagine that Aunt Petunia would take notice.”

Dudley's eyes grew wider. “Hold off a bit - you aren't going to fix it, are you?”

“That's my plan - lumos!” said Harry, frustrated with Dudley's inability to grasp the obvious. Dudley flinched when the spell was cast. Harry ran the lighted tip of his wand along the edges of the carpet and along the fireplace masonry, watching carefully to see any shiny bits.

“You should put that thing away. Won't you get in trouble doing that? What if those dementey things come looking for you?” Dudley whimpered.

“First of all, I don't think Dementors would be sent because a schoolboy casts a simple repair spell - aha, there's one. Second - good, another one - I don't think the Dementors are working for the Ministry anymore - glad that I took a look here - and third -” Harry blustered, as he deposited the bits of vase in the rest of the pile, “let the Ministry come. I don't care.”

Harry pointed his wand at the pile of porcelain, and said, “Reparo!” Two more stray bits jumped off the carpet to join the rest of the vase as it reassembled itself. “I guess that I didn't need to look around so closely.”

He picked up the vase, and tried to set it back exactly in its place on the mantle. Dudley goggled at him, with what appeared to Harry to be a mix of awe, fear and jealousy. Harry fetched a cloth and quickly dusted the entire mantle, rather than take the chance Aunt Petunia would notice that the vase had been shifted or moved.

He sat down, waiting for Dudley to say something, or for an owl with an official envelope to come bursting into the room. Instead, Dudley went from whimpering to scowling to silence, and there was no sign of an owl.

Finally, Dudley crossed his arms stiffly, affecting a regal posture. “Okay, Potter, I've got an offer for you. You fix my camera, and I'll drive you to London. But you'd best decide now, and there'll be no lingering. We've barely enough time to get there and back.”

Harry only thought about it for a moment. “Well, if one repair spell didn't earn a letter, what harm can there be?”

“Clean up first, Potter - you smell,” Dudley insisted. “If you dirty up the car, it'll give us away for certain.”

 

 

It was better keeping one's eyes fixed on the floor mats than to simply close them, Harry decided. Dudley showed a very heavy foot on the motorway considering that he was not licensed, nor did he shy from rapid lane changes. Harry discovered that the motorway experience was just a starter preceding the main course of driving in central London. Dudley possessed a tiny reserve of patience, which had been completely exhausted within a minute or two of shifting from motorway to carriageway. Horns and gestures seemed to be a matter of style here, but Harry suspected that Dudley was earning them.

There was a spot of rain, but the rain had little opportunity to strike the roadway without first striking a vehicle. Dudley was caught on a roundabout for five very long minutes, then fought his way off and battled across three lanes of solid traffic. They had gone around blocks three times owing to missed turns, but Harry hoped that there wouldn't be a fourth. As they came nearer to the Leaky Cauldron, the ancient streets lost their grid. It looked entirely possible that a lost driver might be pressed to navigate via alternate dimension.

“Where in the hell is it?” Dudley demanded. “I know we've been past this same spot twice!”

Harry looked at the directions, for at least the tenth time in as many minutes. “We should be within a few blocks now… wait, there it is. Park anywhere around here.”

“Very funny - an absolute riot, you are. Should I double park, or triple park?” Dudley was starting to take on the aspect of a caged animal as the minutes ticked away. “Another fifteen minutes, and I swear we're going to have to turn around and go back!”

Harry really didn't know how to help. Red lines. Bus lanes. Double yellows. Restricted parking. Resident parking. Disabled parking. Round and round they went.

Dudley was muttering quite a lot. “Nothing there… nothing there… no, that's disabled… residents only… has to be a bloody meter here somewhere…”

Harry sat up excitedly. “There's one!”

Dudley shook his head, “Uh-uh. Can't use that colour… I don't think that… THERE!” He tromped on the accelerator, and veered wildly across traffic to a symphony of horns. Harry wished for a braking charm and settled for silent prayer, as the car slid nearly sideways into a metered spot and bumped the curb.

Harry got out of the car as though it were cursed, barely hesitating to grab a battered knapsack. Dudley, on the other hand, cursed the meter. “A quid for twenty effing minutes! That's theft!”

Harry scraped his last Muggle coins from his pocket, dumping in enough for two hours. “Hopefully that'll cover it.”

“It'd better, or we'll never make it back in time,” Dudley whined, “not to mention what'll happen to us if the traffic warden comes and puts on wheel locks. So where is this place?”

“Right there,” said Harry, waving his hand toward a record store and a bookshop.

Dudley looked, and then squinted, then put his hands to his hips and leaned forward intently. He said impatiently, “So… does your kind keep their money in record stores, or do you just stuff it behind books?”

Harry said matter-of-factly, “You can't see it. Or at least, you're not seeing it. It's in between the stores.”

Dudley gave him a look usually reserved for auto sellers and solicitors. “Sounds like codswallop to me.” He hesitated a moment. “ 'Course, so does fixing shattered vases and exploding punching bags and dementles. Tell me, then - how do I go through a door that I can't see?”

Harry thought for a moment, and then said, “All right, put your hand on my shoulder and close your eyes. I'll lead you in like a blind person. That should be less disorienting.”

Dudley said eagerly, “I think I… wait, I know I smell food… and beer, I think.”

Harry said, “Open your eyes.”

If anything, the Leaky Cauldron looked a little more downtrodden than Harry remembered. The biggest difference between this visit and his last, however, was that he was now staring at two dozen wizards and witches with menacing expressions and pointed wands.

“Tom,” a warlock Harry didn't recognize shouted, “you need to see about your disillusionment charms!”

A bald old man hobbled from behind the bar. “What's all the kerfuffle… more Muggles! How're they finding the door? Right then, who has a really cracking memory charm?”

Harry was thankful Dudley was silent. A quick glance confirmed that Dudley was probably incapable of speech. Harry chose not to speak, and instead drew his wand. This one should be all right, at least - definitely self-defence, he thought. “Expelliarmus! Accio wands!” he shouted, and a pile of wands formed at his feet.

He smiled at Tom the innkeeper, and said, “I know my dress is a bit off, and I know you haven't seen me in quite a while, but I'm surprised that you don't know me.” Looking around at the group of shocked faces, he added, “I expect that someone here knows me.”

Tom looked at him apprehensively. “Well, er, you do have a familiar look about you… the hair, long features, a bit sallow… Merlin's ghost, you remind me of Sirius Black!” There were a few gasps from the wandless crowd.

Harry afforded himself a slight smile. True, his hair was somewhat longer, and his small growth spurt had left him lankier and a bit pale… Sirius would enjoy this, he thought.

“I knew Sirius Black well,” Harry said, enjoying the added shock he knew that would cause - whatever Sirius' status. “I've changed a little, over time.” Harry reached up and drew back his bangs a little.

Tom raised his hand to his mouth. “Bless my soul; it has been a long time!” He stepped forward with surprising speed, reaching out for Harry's hands. Harry let his bangs fall and shook Tom's hands vigorously.

Tom put a hand on Harry's shoulder and guided him toward a private parlour. “Please, allow me to arrange food and drink for you and your companion,” he said, gesturing for Dudley to follow. He looked around the room, and announced loudly, “Right, then - show's over. Be sure to collect your wands.”

Tom was silent until the three of them entered the parlour and the door was closed. He quickly cast a Silencing Charm, and then snarled, “What in the name of Godric Gryffindor and all that's holy are you doing here alone, Mr. Potter? And dragging along a Muggle! What are you thinking?”

Harry said calmly, “This is my cousin, Dudley Dursley” - Dudley managed a handshake and a squeak - “and the reason I have come is entirely my own. Is there anything else that you need to know?”

Tom covered his mouth in disbelief and stared at Harry, then told him, “It's possible to get yourself killed bringing a Muggle `round here these days. Things have - well, things have changed the last few weeks, and not for the better. Dark times, Mr. Potter - dark times. Will you be finishing your business quickly, then?”

“In less than an hour, I hope.”

Tom seemed to consider this for a moment. “You shouldn't take the Mu… er, your cousin. Trust me on this.” He turned his attention to Dudley, addressing him like a small child, “Mr. Dursley, you may stay in this room until Harry comes to collect you. I'll bring you something to drink and eat. Can I trust that you will stay out of trouble?”

Dudley was sufficiently cowed by everything that he responded more or less in kind. “Yes, sir. I'll be good.”

Tom stood, and Harry took it as a signal. “Hurry along, then, and do your business. We'll be waiting.”

“A moment with my cousin,” Harry said firmly. Tom scowled, but stepped out.

Harry set down his knapsack and drew out his Invisibility Cloak. He didn't want to leave it with Dudley, but it seemed the right thing to do. He waved his hand in front of Dudley's face. “Dudley?”

Dudley flinched, and looked about as though coming out of a dream. “This is all very dodgy,” he said quietly in a child's voice.

Harry shook him by the shoulders. “Dudley! Stay with me here. I need to give you something; this is very important. It belonged to… Dudley!”

Dudley looked at Harry with unfocused eyes, and then seemed to come back like a boxer shaking off an unexpected punch. “Sorry, Harry. It's just - I mean - this is how you live?”

“Not really. The Leaky Cauldron is just a gateway of sorts, to where I'm going. Now, I need to show you something.” Harry spread the Invisibility Cloak across the table before Dudley, which promptly vanished.

Dudley flinched, but kept his colour. Then he smiled a bit. “Blimey, the fun a guy could have with that!”

Harry couldn't help but grin, even though Dudley's idea of fun was probably not the same as his own. “This was my father's” - he hesitated, and quickly decided what to tell Dudley and what to keep to himself - “and it's possible that you might need it while I'm gone. If anything happens that's, well, too much - and I don't mean wands or owls or the like - you throw this over yourself, head straight out to the front door and get yourself to the car. Understand?”

Harry knew Dudley didn't like being ordered around, but he seemed nervous enough to comply. Dudley nodded, and responded, “Understood. If something really bent happens, go straight through the bar and out to the car.”

Harry instinctively patted Dudley on the shoulder, and made his way out of the parlour. Tom was waiting for him just outside, with a nondescript black cloak in his hands. “Take this,” he insisted. “You really don't want to go through without it.”

Harry nodded, and put on the cloak. He walked briskly through the bar and into the tiny courtyard, eager to tap the bricks and enter Diagon Alley. He stopped cold. Where there had been a trash bin and tufts of weeds, there was now a gatehouse with a barrier; it looked like a border crossing from a history programme on the telly, Harry thought. One security wizard was sitting in the gatehouse. A second wizard stood before the barrier. Both wore peacock-blue robes emblazoned with a crest - an eagle clutching a snake in its talons beneath the letters D F D L.

The wizard standing before the barrier immediately drew his wand, and Harry responded in kind. The wizard asked, “Would you please step over here?” directing Harry toward the gatehouse.

He was checked front and back with the same kind of golden rod used at the Ministry for Magic.

“Wand, please?” asked the wizard sitting in the gatehouse. Harry produced his wand. His wand lowered from view for a moment, and then the security wizard quickly moved to hand it back. He extended a hand in greeting. “Mr. Potter, what a surprise! Sorry about all this - the times we live in, and all that.”

The blue-robed wizard appraised Harry. “So you're Harry Potter. I expected you'd be bigger.”

The wizard in the gatehouse cut off his colleague curtly. “Thank you, Mr. Potter. Enjoy your time in Diagon Alley.” The barrier floated upward, and the brick wall reorganized itself to reveal the cobblestone street beyond.