Chapter 39- did you ever have one of those days?

Friday, July 21, 1995

"Whatta ya mean 'I don't think so?'" a highly indignant voice demanded, breaking the drowsy after-lunch-rush lull in the Leaky Cauldron's main dining room.

Tom sighed as he regarded the angry blonde witch in front of him. "Cassandra, do be reasonable," he began, but she cut him off, her smokey gray eyes glittering angrily.

"What's the matter? My Galleons not gold enough for you?" she demanded, whipping out her money pouch and throwing it on the bar in disgust. "Want to look at one? Make sure it isn't gilded lead?"

"Of course not, but-"

"What's the kid's going rate? I'm sure Marty will beat it. Hell, he might even double it!"

Tom shook his head, and made little pacifying gestures with his hands. "It isn't about money, Cassie. You and Martin and Silas have been good customers for years!" he soothed, trying to calm her.

Cassandra Wallis was usually rather easy to get along with, as long as you stayed away from certain sore subjects. Money was first in the queue. Hogwarts was a close second. She had not returned to the castle after her fifth year, when her father's unexpected death had wreaked havoc with the family finances. Things appeared to be better for her now, but for reasons Tom was not privy to, she had not made any attempt to complete her magical training.

It was a shame, really. She'd evidently made a good showing on her OWLs. Tom didn't know exactly how these things worked, but he reckoned all she would really need to do was study up and pass her NEWTs. It was beyond him why, three summers later, she still hadn't pursued this course of action.

"Well what is it, then?" Cassandra demanded, snatching up her money pouch and re-fastening it to her belt. "Dammit, Tom, we need the help! I don't think we've ever been this shorthanded! Sean has the flu and Bryce and Tammy quit unexpectedly. Didn't even have the manners to give a few days notice," she fumed, planting her hands on her hips and scowling at him. "Word on the street is the kid's willing, and a hard worker. Why can't we schedule some of his time?"

Tom fought the urge to sigh again. Lancaster's, the store where she worked, was actually very nice. They sold a wide variety of magical gadgets, and carried a specialized line of enchanted clothing. Tom was quite sure Harry would have no trouble selecting something or other that he would like to earn, even if it wasn't exactly school related, or, as Cassandra pointed out, they could simply pay him.

No, it wasn't the store that was the problem, it was the location.

Lancaster's was on Knockturn Alley.

Contrary to popular belief, a shop on Knockturn Alley wasn't automatically a den of iniquity. Lancaster's was okay. The potion shop that carried the Mark Remover was all right. There was even a cluster of stores farther down that formed an "industrial" section of sorts. They specialized in professional strength products that required careful handling, and were a little too potent for casual use.

Tom directed magical folk to shops on Knockturn Alley more often than one might think. As a matter of fact, he had referred the Hogwarts Groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, to a potion manufacturer in the industrial area a few summers ago. The half-giant had been battling a flesh-eating slug infestation in the school cabbages, and the household-strength repellants he'd tried just hadn't been doing the job.

No, it was some of the other stores, Borgin and Burkes for example, and the crowd they attracted that gave Knockturn Alley its rather unsavory reputation. Tom got the collywobbles just thinking about some of those places and the things they sold. Unfortunately, since some of them were located near the intersection where Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley met, they discouraged casual foot traffic, and made the more "respectable" businesses rather dependent on adverts and referrals.

The soft tapping of a booted foot brought Tom back to the present. Guiltily, he realized he'd been silent just a tad too long. When he looked up at Cassandra, her eyes were narrowed suspiciously.

"Is this because he'd be on Knockturn Alley?" she challenged.

Well, there's no point in lying, Tom thought with a heavy sigh. "Yes," he admitted, sadly.

"Tom!" Cass looked hurt now, and the betrayed disbelief in her voice made his name sound like an accusation. "Martin Lancaster runs a perfectly respectable business and you know it!" she flared, fiercely protective of the man who'd given her a job and another chance when she'd had to abandon her magical training. "We don't cater to the nutters who want poisoned daggers and cursed jewels, and all that other rubbish! The kid would be perfectly safe!"

"I know that Cassandra. Truly I do," Tom said regretfully. "But the fact remains, that Knockturn Alley can be a dangerous place. I have concerns for the boy's safety outside your shop, and I simply do not have the time to escort him!"

"So send him by Floo!" she countered in exasperation. "That's how most of our customers arrive, anyway." She rolled her eyes at older wizard's surprised look. "Honestly, Tom! Marty doesn't keep six separate fireplaces connected to the network just to enhance the decor, you know."

Brought up short, Tom found there wasn't much he could say to that. It was a good solution, after all. Thankfully he was spared having to think up an excuse when the door leading to Diagon Alley was wrenched open and slammed forcefully shut, making the bells jangle and thump noisily against the wood.

He and Cassandra just had time to turn toward the interruption before the smell hit them. Merlin! Tom gasped, covering his nose and mouth with one hand, and blinking his watering eyes, while Cassie choked and waved her hand in front of her face beside him. It wasn't a bad smell exactly, just...overpowering.

Stomping footsteps and dark muttering could now be heard, coming closer all the time. What in the name of goodness had just entered the pub? "Blimey! I think you overdid it just a bit with the cologne there mate," Tom managed to croak.

"Why thank you, Tom, for that kind assessment."

Tom's eyes flew open in surprise, in spite of his discomfort. "Sparky?!" he said incredulously, before clapping a hand over his mouth to trap his laughter.

Oh, yes. In spite of the unaccustomed note of sarcasm in his voice, it was Harry all right. He was standing in front of the other two now, looking highly offended with his arms crossed defensively on his chest. He was absolutely soaked in some viscous fluid, he reeked to high heaven, and to add insult to injury, his skin, clothes, and shoes were tinted a delicate pink.

"Do I even want to know what happened?" Tom asked, swallowing his laughter, but unable to keep a broad smile off his face.

Harry twisted his mouth and wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Probably not," he mumbled.

"I didn't think so," Tom said jovially, then remembered the witch beside him. "Cassandra Wallis, this is Jim Patterson, better known as Sparky," he said, indicating Harry with a flourish.

"Pleasure," Cassie said, smiling devilishly at Harry's confusion as he glanced from her outstretched hand, to his rather sticky one. "You really get into your work I see," she commented archly, earning herself a harassed look from Potter, as he wiped his hand on the leg of his jeans, trying to clean the worst of the mess off of it before carefully taking her hand. She was amused when he gave it a light shake, and released it almost immediately.

"Actually, this was sort of a special occasion," the boy replied, with an embarrassed half grin. When she raised an inquiring eyebrow, he elaborated a bit. "A couple of blokes were trying to deliver some ultra-concentrated scent solutions to Mrs. Fillmore but they had the wrong address," he said with a little shrug, referring to the manager of the Diagon Alley potion shop. "They were looking for a shop on Knockturn Alley."

Ah, yes, Cassandra thought, idly recalling one of the Knockturn Alley potion manufacturers mentioning that he needed to replace some stock. Bleagh! No wonder the smell was so strong! He had been talking about making the sort of heavy-duty deodorizers used in public loos and things of that nature.

Tom, meanwhile, saw an opportunity. He wanted to talk to Harry about the location of Lancaster's before Cassie asked to be added to his queue. "Erm, not to be rude, Sparky," Tom cut in before the boy could continue, "but if this is going to be a long story, I'd really be grateful if you'd nip up to your room and shower first." There. She probably wouldn't want to wait. He'd talk to Harry, and they could send his regrets by owl or Floo later.

Harry, of course, had to pick now of all times to be difficult. He paused, initially, looking a little taken aback, then his eyes began to sparkle mischievously. "And waste all this freshener?" he asked, seemingly horrified at the very notion. "I reckoned I'd take a little walk 'round first. The Leaky Cauldron can get dreadfully musty, don't you think?"

"Sparky," Tom said in a mock-warning tone.

Harry ignored him and continued to speculate. "And didn't you say we were serving fish and chips this evening?" he asked brightly. "Could come in handy, you know," he grinned, shaking a knowing finger at Tom.

"Sparky," Tom almost groaned, knowing for certain that things were about to get out of hand. She would ask and he would accept without thinking to question her, especially if she brought up how much they needed the help. Then he'd be committed. He was considering dragging the boy bodily into the kitchen, when Cassie unexpectedly came to his rescue.

"Oh let him freshen the place if he likes, Tom," she said airily. "Once you get used to the smell it isn't so bad. Tea rose, isn't it?" she said, sniffing delicately, and directing the last bit at Potter.

Harry looked mortified, and Tom gaped at her in disbelief.

"Besides," she purred with a throaty chuckle, reaching out and giving Harry's shirt sleeve a little tweak, "I haven't met many boys his age who are so comfortable wearing pink."

Tom grinned widely as Harry's mortification turned into stark horror, and broke into hearty guffaws when the boy muttered something like, "I think I'll go take that shower now," and fled into the kitchen. "That wasn't a very nice thing to do," he lightly admonished his companion when he got his laughter under control.

The blonde witch shrugged unrepentantly. "Worked, didn't it?" she said, grinning cheekily. "Now, how about a butterbeer while I wait?"

When Harry dove into his room a few minutes later, Patches stirred awake and hissed indignantly, and Hedwig glanced up and glared meaningfully at him before tucking her head even further under her wing.

"Okay, okay, I get the point," Harry said, raising his hands in defeat as he started toward the bathroom. "Am I at least allowed to wait until the water gets warm before I shower?" he asked, only half-jokingly.

"Blimey, Spark! What happened to you?" Crystal asked from the dresser mirror, momentarily halting his progress.

"Little accident, Crys. Nothing to get in a flap over," Harry said, shrugging dismissively before giving her a wry smile. "Don't want to be rude, but I really do need to get cleaned up."

Now there was an understatement. The rose-essence had been rather thick and sticky to begin with. Now that it had set a bit, it had the stiff, slightly tacky feel of half-dried maple syrup. Yes, a good scrub was definitely in order.

"Of course, Love. Sorry for keeping you. I'll pop in later, and I'll be sure to tell the others that you're, ah, indisposed at the moment," she called with a silvery laugh.

"Thanks, Crystal. You're all heart," Harry muttered, watching as she winked out before resuming his trek to the bathroom and turning on the shower tap.

As he waited for the water to warm, Harry peered into the mirror on the medicine cabinet, and poked experimentally at the goop on his face. It wasn't completely dry, but at least he didn't seem to be dripping anymore. That was quite good, actually. Hopefully he hadn't tracked anything in. It wasn't that Harry minded the work so much, but he didn't fancy having to mop the dining room...and the kitchen...and the back stairs...and his room...again.

Eurgh! Harry blinked his watering eyes and pinched his nose shut. The small bathroom didn't have any appreciable ventilation, and it was getting pretty cloying in there, especially since he had the door shut. Impatiently, he checked the water temperature again. The delivery wizards and Mrs. Fillmore had assured him that the concoction was water soluble, and a good, hot shower would put him to rights in no time. They'd also been fairly certain that the soft pink color of the mixture was caused by ground rose petals, not some sort of dye, so the discoloration of his skin and clothes shouldn't be permanent.

I hope they're right! Harry thought worriedly as he glanced down at himself. Besides the fact that he didn't fancy having a pink face and arms (although he reckoned that could be explained as a sunburn) he'd been afraid the mishap had ruined the clothes he'd been wearing and his new trainers. The shopping trip with Dr, Granger had been fun and all, but he hadn't planned on having to go out and purchase replacements just yet.

Smiling ruefully, he recalled all the people who had been pointing and exclaiming as he'd hurried back to the Leaky Cauldron. It had been a little off-putting at first, bringing to mind unpleasant memories of how he'd been teased and isolated in muggle primary school.

Of course, he'd be lying if he said that the patrons of Diagon Alley hadn't had a valid reason for being shocked and amused. It probably wasn't every day they had a rose-dipped wizard in their midst. It had been all right, really. Not exactly pleasant, but then no one had been deliberately cruel, either. Most had tried to stifle their laughter, and a few had even commiserated with his plight.

At least it had been better than being recognized as the Boy Who Lived, Harry mused with a derisive snort as he toed off his sneakers and shucked his shirt and jeans. Fame had its good points, he supposed, but it also had a definite downside, despite what his friend Ron might think.

The pointing and whispering that followed him everywhere he went was annoying, but the worst thing, the thing he absolutely detested, was when people stared at him. It was more than a little unnerving to be gazed upon with awe, fear, curiosity, disgust or pity. Worst of all, it always made him wonder if Aunt Petunia had the right of it after all. He didn't seem to be exactly "normal" even in the Wizarding World.

The steadily fogging mirror, and the increased heat and humidity announced louder than words that the water was ready. Grateful for something to distract him from the decidedly gloomy path his thoughts were wandering down, Harry quickly finished undressing. He regarded the pile of pink and rather fragrant clothing for a second, then shrugged and tossed the lot in the shower stall before climbing in himself.

As promised, almost as soon as the hot water hit it, the starchy mess began to dissolve. After washing his face, Harry watched, amused, as it ran down his arms and dripped from his hair, before reaching for the soap, and scrubbing hard. He found himself absently recalling the scene in The Wizard of Oz, in which Dorothy splashed water on the Wicked Witch of the West. I'm melting! Melllllllting!

Harry had never seen the film, of course. Aunt Petunia would never allow such things in her house, but it was a favorite of Hermione's and she had let him read her book a while back. Actually, he'd started it just to please her, but soon found he had no trouble finishing it. She'd made Ron and himself laugh quite hard with her description of the film, and promised they could view the video when they came to visit her over the summer holidays. Unfortunately, plans hadn't worked out, and he had yet to see the film, or visit Hermione. Oh, well. Maybe this year...

When he'd finished scrubbing and rinsing, Harry picked up the shirt he'd been wearing, and held it in front of the spray. To his immense relief, the water melted the rose essence, and soon it was looking decidedly less...pink. Brill! Harry thought happily. Once it had a proper washing, it should be as good as new.

The shirt wasn't very fancy, nor had it been particularly expensive. It was, in fact, just a plain white tee with black lettering, but Harry was fond of it just the same. He'd found it in a little novelty shop, that sold shirts with witty sayings among other things. Still hopeful that a visit could be arranged, Harry had splurged a bit, and bought one for Hermione that read So Many Books, So Little Time, one for Ron that advised, Don't Let Your Mind Wander...It's Too Small To Be Out On Its Own, and this one, which read, I'm Up And Dressed. What More Do You Want?

A visit was looking less and less likely, though, so Harry had sent the shirts to his friends with his latest letters. Hopefully they'd like them.

Soon he was able to shut off the water and hang his garments out to drip-dry. It was also about that time he'd noticed something was missing.

Clothes, idiot. Dry clothes would be nice. He'd been in such a hurry to bathe, he'd forgotten to bring a clean set with him.

Oh, well. It was probably for the best, Harry thought reasonably, as he wrapped his towel around his middle. He rather doubted he would have been able to touch anything without getting it dirty or smelly anyway. Hopefully Crystal and her crowd wouldn't pop in while he was changing. That would be right embarrassing, Harry thought, glancing warily at the dresser mirror to make sure he was indeed alone. He was, but something else made him lean forward, intrigued by what he saw.

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