Chapter 57- Be careful of what you ask for( part 4).

"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.

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