Chapter 11- Settling in.

Thursday, July 6, 1995

After nearly a week at the Leaky Cauldron, the initial strangeness was wearing off, and Harry was beginning to get used to his odd new routine. Hopefully a better solution could be found soon, but for the time being, he was working nights, creeping cat-footed around the Leaky Cauldron after the patrons left, or retired to their rooms for the night. Currently, he was in the kitchen, putting on the kettle, preparing place settings, and doing all the little things necessary to get ready for the breakfast crowd.

A chime from the wall drew the boy's attention...the clock now read "Time to Set the Tables." The Leaky Cauldron would be opening for business soon. Another hour or so, and he'd be going back upstairs. With a dispirited little sigh, Harry grabbed some place settings, and donned his invisibility cloak, before entering the main dining area. Although he was more comfortable in the room above the kitchen than he had ever been in Dudley's second room, or the cupboard under the stairs, Harry still found himself chafing keenly under the need to sneak around and stay out of sight. Tom had cast silencing charms on his room and the back stairs and the kitchen so he didn't have to tiptoe around all the time, but it still smacked unpleasantly of the times on Privet Drive when he'd been up in his room, "making no noise, and pretending he wasn't there."

Not that he was complaining, mind. There were certainly worse things than skulking around the inn after dark, and he was grateful for the job and the room. It just got a little quiet and lonely at night, and sometimes Harry found he had a little too much time to think. He must have mulled over the events of the Third Task alone at least a thousand times.

The boy grimaced, as he quickly began laying place settings. At least there hadn't been a repeat of his behavior the first night he'd been on the job. Thank God for Tom's silencing charms. One minute he'd been busily scrubbing the kitchen floor, and the next...well, he still wasn't exactly sure what happened.

It hadn't been anything special, just an idle thought. A feeling of gratefulness that, for the moment anyway, he was safe. There were no dark wizards here. The biggest problem he had was the floor he was cleaning.

Then it had happened. Somehow his simple gratitude turned into a wave of almost hysterical relief.

If he hadn't already been on his hands and knees, Harry was pretty sure he would have fallen. His stomach clenched and his body began to shake as delayed reaction hit him hard.

At first, Harry had tried to ward off the unwelcome tide of emotion by seizing his brush, and scrubbing the floor even more vigorously than before. Physical activity had often proved useful when he needed an outlet. Flying and Quidditch were his favorites, of course, but all those stupid chores he did on Privet Drive accomplished the same thing. Harry had figuratively buried many a problem in Petunia Dursley's prized garden, but this time it didn't seem to be working. Furious with himself, he had balled his shaking hands into tight fists, clenched his teeth together, and screwed his eyes shut, determined to hold everything in. He was safe for Heaven's sake! There was no reason to be acting like this!

Years of living with the Dursleys, Dudley in particular, had conditioned Harry to internalize his feelings. A target that refused to react wasn't as much fun to torment, so he had learned to keep a neutral face, even when he was practically seething with bottled-up emotion. Only his eyes betrayed him, glinting dangerously whenever he became agitated.

Coping had been difficult at times, but Harry was optimistic and resilient by nature. He had proven himself patient and adaptable, and was usually able to roll with the punches he was dealt. Sometimes he gave in to anger or tears, but those were usually quick, quiet affairs, with no one the wiser. Occasionally, he would be aggravated enough to let his bad humor show. Harry didn't lose his temper often, usually preferring to give those who annoyed him the deep freeze treatment, but when he did it was impressive. Sirius, Ron, and his arch rival, Draco Malfoy, could all attest to that.

That night had been more than impressive. It had been a revelation. Recent events, past events, everything seemed to catch up with him all at once. It hadn't seemed to matter if it was a life-defining moment, or something childishly trivial. A seemingly endless parade of images flashed crazily through his brain: Voldemort, his loveless childhood, Dementors, Snape's favoritism, Cedric, his parents, the stupid fights he'd had with Ron and Hermione, Sirius, Pettigrew, losing all those house points in first year, his entire second year, Minister Fudge, his cupboard, his recent abandonment...

It had finally become too much. All his outrage, anger, hatred, frustration, fear, resentment and pain boiled over, and he had no chance of holding it in.

The howl of misery he'd barely managed to stifle as Molly Weasley held him back in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing finally broke free. Harry had suddenly found himself in the middle of a heretofore unprecedented, sobbing, wailing, ranting, raving, fist-pounding, teeth-gnashing, I'm-a-nice-guy-what-did-I-ever-do-to-deserve-this outburst, that made Dudley look like an amateur.

Wincing at the memory, Harry went to fetch more silverware. Up to now, he hadn't thought himself capable of such a noise. He'd blubbered, and bellowed, and carried on for quite a little while, unable to even consider stopping until everything was worked out of his system. If this was "having a good cry," his female housemates were welcome to it. Personally, Harry found the experience sharply reminiscent of the last time he'd thrown up. A body might feel better when it was all over, but the process, and the utter loss of control left something to be desired.

Speaking of control, Harry suddenly realized, he was extremely lucky he hadn't lost control of his magic. Actually he'd been pretty lucky since his arrival late Saturday night-or was it early Sunday morning? When he and Hedwig had come downstairs with Tom to eat and check in, the Leaky Cauldron had been oddly deserted. Tom had said later that Sundays were usually slow for the entire Alley. At any rate, no one had noticed him, and he hadn't drawn any attention when he'd cried out.

By the time he'd finished preparing the dining room, the clock read "Almost Time to Open." Harry took one last look around. The tables were set, condiment containers full, floor cleaned, chairs straight...it looked like everything was in order. There was just enough time for a quick bite and a cup of tea, then the teen gathered up his cloak, and headed back to his room.

Harry smiled ruefully, as he made his way up the stairs. Hedwig had ghosted into the kitchen about the time he'd finally begun to calm down. He'd been huddled in a little ball, still on his knees with his head pillowed on his arms, drifting in a haze of exhaustion, and still sniffling a little when she'd arrived.

The owl had landed next to him and hooted gently, concern showing clearly in her bright yellow eyes. Harry had lifted his head, and given her a wan smile, before lowering it again in shame. Hedwig continued to hoot and coo, making Harry feel bad. He knew she was worried, but how on earth could he ever explain? When he felt Hedwig nuzzling one of his hands, he automatically opened it and reached out to her, thinking she wanted to be petted. His messenger owl had other ideas, however. Harry raised an eyebrow when he felt her talon brush his palm, and... something drop into his hand.

Harry had frowned a little, as he tried to identify the object by touch alone. It was completely unfamiliar, so he had finally given up, and raised his head to look. With a thrill of horror, he realized he had a handful of dead mice. Ah. Hedwig had been out hunting.

At that particular moment, Harry had been grateful for his little crying jag, and the exhaustion it caused. It prevented him from jumping three feet in the air, and making some witty remark like, "Oh, GROSS!" which would have deeply insulted the well-meaning bird.

He had thanked her instead, and insisted she go ahead...he wasn't hungry. She had taken all of the mice back but one, nipped his finger affectionately, and left in a flutter of feathers. Harry had stared after her for a moment, not quite knowing what to do. Hedwig might like raw mice, but he'd never developed a taste for them. Nor did he plan to. Still, she was sharing her hard won meal with him, and it seemed almost churlish to toss it away.

Patches had shown up about that time, though, and Harry had been able to solve his dilemma, and cement their relationship by gifting her with the unfortunate rodent.

Speaking of whom...

Harry grinned at the cat, who was waiting outside his room. "Morning, Patches," he said, pausing to scratch her ears and chin before opening the door and walking in. Tom had owned cats even back when he had lived in the room over the kitchen, and there was a little flap in his door. Patches could, and did, come and go as she pleased, but in the mornings she had taken to waiting for Harry in the hall, lazily flicking her tail, and purring loudly.

Harry yawned and stretched, tired, but not ready to go to bed just yet. Instead, he looked contentedly around his new home. It was really hard to believe that this inviting space had been a stuffy, dusty, cobwebby mess just a few days ago.

Tom's old room had become a lot cheerier, and more welcoming once he'd removed the dulling layer of dust and grime. Cleaning the windows had been especially helpful in that regard. The room brightened noticeably when sunlight could pass uninhibited through the sparkling panes.

As rooms went, it was rather Spartan, with plain white walls, a wood floor, and a little fireplace that Tom said was for heating purposes only. It was larger than he had first thought too, easily as big as Dudley's main bedroom back on Privet Drive, maybe even as large as the master suite.

Harry surveyed his work with satisfaction. The first "official" job Tom had given him had been to make the room habitable. The innkeeper had shown him where things were kept, and left him to it. Seeing no reason to delay, Harry had quickly fetched some cleaning supplies and gotten right to work. To his delighted surprise, he had discovered an attractive set of oak furniture hiding under the dust. The bedroom suite was rather masculine in appearance, with simple, classic lines, and very little ornamentation. The bed, thankfully, had been draped with a sheet to keep the mattress clean, but the dresser, desk and chair, wardrobe, bedside table, and shelving had required a vigorous scrubbing, as had the walls, bath and floor.

Tom had come back to check his progress a few hours later. He had brought fresh linens, curtains, and some miscellaneous items, and had arrived just as Harry was finishing up. The boy noted with amusement that Tom had brought some cleaning supplies with him, obviously intending to help, and had seemed surprised to find the work already done. Harry had grinned in pleased embarrassment when Tom looked around the room in open-mouthed shock, and blushed when the innkeeper jovially clapped him on the shoulder, and told him that the old place hadn't looked that good in years.

The initial cleaning had been the hard part. After that, it hadn't taken much to finish getting things in order. The addition of a few homey touches had made a big difference in the room's appeal. That and the color scheme, of course. Thanks to Tom, the bed and windows were now dressed in bright Gryffindor colors. Scarlet and gold towels graced the shelves and towel rods in the half bath as well. Harry's new red toothbrush stood in a cup by the sink, and a small gold clock sat on the bedside table. It was starting to look like Gryffindor Tower in miniature. Harry chuckled softly, and continued his fascinated perusal of the place. Even after five days he was still shocked at the sight of his own things on display.

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