Disguise

Leaky Cauldron, 8am, July 17, 1997

Harry stood under the shower, scrubbing til he was almost raw. He wanted to clean the stench and filth of Azkaban from his body. It's a pity, he reflected, that it can't be cleaned as easily out of my mind.

Once his shower was finished Harry transfigured the worn and tattered clothes, he'd been wearing in Azkaban, to a pair of faded jeans and a non-descript t-shirt. Once his business at Gringotts was concluded, he intended to disappear into the non-magical world forever. He wasn't going to call it muggle any more, partly because he didn't want to attract attention by using that word and partly because it was a wizarding word. If he was lucky he would be able to finish his business with Gringotts today, but given his usual luck, he wasn't counting on it.

As soon as he was dressed, Harry recast the glamour he'd been wearing when he's come into the Leaky Cauldron last night. The face looking back at him from the mirror was a solemn one with grey eyes and it was surrounded by shoulder length, golden-brown hair. Best of all, at least in Harry's opinion, that damn scar couldn't bee seen.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs that led into the taproom of the Leaky Cauldron, Harry found the place was almost overflowing with people who were laughing and drinking.

News of Voldemort's death must have reached them. Harry thought dryly as he did his best to avoid the grasps of several people who seemed intent in trying to drag him into their group and shove a drink in his hand.

Fighting his way through the crowd of people, Harry wound up near the bar, and wanting to get his suspicions confirmed, he shouted over the noise. "What's going on?"

"Haven't you heard?" Tom asked not looking up.

"No," Harry told him. "I've been in my room since I arrived last night."

Tom looked up to see which guest it was. "Oh, sorry, Mr. Cristo. They announced it last night. You-Know-Who is dead! "

"Who finally killed the bastard?" Harry inquired.

"Harry Potter!"

"You mean the boy who killed Neville Longbottom after he joined the Dark Lord, killed his master?" Harry sounded openly sceptical. "I thought he was in Azkaban. How could he kill the Dark Lord from there?"

"He was framed by a Deatheater," Tom told him, then handed over a copy of the Daily Prophet. "Here, read it for yourself."

The headline read: You-Know-Who Dead. FINALLY!!!!! Harry Potter Revealed To Be Innocent Of Murder!

Harry just skimmed the article, wanting to make sure that Fudge had kept his side of the bargain. He noticed that Percy's name hadn't been mentioned. Instead the traitorous Weasley had been listed as simply the Deatheater responsible for framing Harry.

While he was annoyed at Fudge for not owning up to the fact that it was his assistant who framed him for murder, Harry was fairly certain it was at Arthur Weasley's request and not out of any desire to make himself look innocent. He was reasonably certain the foolish man didn't want his wife finding out her son was a Deatheater from the pages of the Daily Prophet. Personally he couldn't see why she shouldn't find out that way since she, like the rest of her traitorous family, had been so willing to believe him capable of murder and not even being willing to listen to his side of the story. Mrs. Weasley should feel the same pain she gave him, by not even listening to what he had to say. He had thought of the Weasleys as the family he had never had, until they all turned on him. How could they think him capable of murder? How could they think he would kill one of his friends?

Harry shook his head, trying to rid it of these thoughts. Dwelling on the past did him no good, especially now . He was here to start on the path to his future. Folding up the paper, Harry pushed his way through the crowd to the empty courtyard in back. He stared at the bricks in the wall, mentally tapping the right bricks.

A moment later the archway into Diagon Alley appeared.

Harry stared at the crowded Alley in amazement. There had to be as many people here as had been at the World Cup in the summer before his fourth year. Sighing resignedly, Harry stepped through the archway and began pushing his way through the huge mass of people.

When he finally made it through the huge crowd, Harry was relieved to find the area around the steps and front door of Gringotts clear of any revellers. Grateful for that Harry nodded to the goblin that held the door open for him.

Inside it was fairly quiet but surprisingly enough there were several wizards in the bank conducting business. Not wanting to alert the wizards to his identity, Harry walked up to one of the goblins seated behind a desk and said, "I would like to speak with an account manager regarding my account."

"And which account might that be?" The goblin asked sounding disinterested.

Handing over a folded slip of paper, Harry said, "I would like this matter to remain confidential."

After taking a look at what was written on the paper the goblin gaped at him like a stunned shark. He quickly recovered and requested, "Give me a moment to fetch a manager."

He returned a few minutes later, accompanied by an elegantly dressed older goblin.

"If you'll follow me, sir." Harry was surprised by the slight hint of respect he could hear in the new goblin's voice.

The goblin led him to an impressive looking office.

Once the door was closed, the goblin gestured to the comfortable chair on the other side of the desk and requested, "Would please drop the glamour, Mr. Potter? I need to be certain of who I am speaking to."

Seeing no reason not to, Harry dropped the disguise.