Chapter 41- 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, mate, 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, mate," 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?! No! 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.

l"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, mate. 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 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 cottoning 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.

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