Chapter 13-Settling in(part 3).

About four that afternoon, Harry woke to the sensation of needles sticking in his chin. Blearily he opened his eyes, and scowled at Patches. The cat was sitting on his chest, and had a forepaw resting delicately on his face. Every so often, she would extend her claws slightly, just enough to irritate, but not enough to break his skin. "I'm going to plug up that hole in my door," he grumbled. He'd been woken several times by nightmares-daymares?-and still felt groggy and irritable.

The cat ignored his bad humor, and began to casually wash her face. Gradually, the Gryffindor felt his spirits lighten as he listened to her rumbling purr, and gently scratched behind her ears. She really is a brilliant alarm clock, Harry thought, and never the same way two days in a row! Sometimes she did the claw thing, other days she would purr in his ear or lick his face. His personal favorite was the way she had sent him scurrying to the loo after deliberately treading on his lower stomach.

After a while Patches walked away, swishing her tail regally. Harry sat up, reached for his glasses, and wondered absently if Hermione had to put up with this sort of thing from her ginger cat, Crookshanks. Shrugging, the boy walked to the wardrobe, and took out some fresh clothes. When all this sneaking around is over, I'll have to ask.

The boy smiled fondly as he caught his reflection in the mirror on the dresser while walking to the bathroom. Before now, he hadn't really given a lot of thought to the mechanics behind enchanted mirrors. He had reckoned there was one personality per mirror, and that the personality was essentially trapped in one place.

This wasn't the case at the Leaky Cauldron, however. The mirror personalities could share frames if they so desired, and often went "visiting" much like the portraits at Hogwarts. Harry hadn't noticed this before, because he hadn't been alone in his room a lot on previous visits. Plus, he was still relatively new to the wizarding world, and it hadn't occurred to him to talk to the mirror.

Harry had become aware of this phenomenon when he had dusted and polished the mirror on the dresser. Almost as soon as he'd started wiping, curious presences had crowded in, wondering what was going on, and asking if Harry was going to be staying here now. Evidently, no one regularly inhabited Tom's old room. Up to now, the frame was used as a place to be alone when one of the personalities wanted to think...or sulk.

Tom also used the mirrors as an informal communication system of sorts. Crystal, who had initially greeted Harry his first morning at the Leaky Cauldron, had left almost immediately in search of Tom. Harry found out later that was how Tom knew he was up and dressed. She had sought the boy out that evening, and apologized contritely for leaving so abruptly. Tom had begun to worry when Harry had shown no sign of waking after sleeping nearly fourteen hours straight. He'd asked the mirrors to keep watch, and notify him immediately when the boy stirred.

All in all, Harry liked the mirror, and the personalities it housed. His new status as "employee" rather than "guest" made them more open with him, and the steady stream of visitors kept him from feeling completely isolated-especially when Hedwig was out flying or hunting. They were all extremely courteous, always asking permission before "popping in," so to speak, and seeming to understand when Harry wasn't up to company at the moment. By mutual agreement, the mirror on the medicine cabinet in the bathroom was off limits except for emergencies, so Harry tended to change clothes in there.

"Good Morning, Lovey! Are you decent?"

Speak of the devil... Harry finished pulling his shirt over his head, grinned again, and walked to the dresser. "Hi, Crystal, and yes."

"Good," the mirror said. A very transparent outline of the entity called Crystal appeared, so faint it was hardly noticeable. She seemed to settle in and make herself comfortable. "You and I are going to have a discussion about your appearance."

Harry rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms. This was threatening to become a daily ritual. "Jeez, Crystal, not this again!"

Before the mirror could answer, there was a sharp rap on the door. "Harry, lad, are you awake?" Tom's voice called from the hall.

Harry quickly opened the door, and grinned sheepishly at his boss. "Hi, Tom. Afraid I just got up," he said, running his fingers through his hair.

"Tom!" Crystal squealed delightedly from the dresser. "Get in here and help me! Maybe he'll listen to you."

Tom grinned, and Harry rolled his eyes. Other outlines began appearing in Harry's mirror to see what the row was about. "I seem to be interrupting something," Tom said, highly amused.

"Not really," Harry nodded casually at the mirror. "Crystal here doesn't approve of my look," he told Tom with a sweeping gesture that took in his clothing, glasses, and hair. He shrugged then continued lightly, "She reckons I'd look better blind, bald, and starkers."

This dry comment was delivered so matter-of-factly, it took Tom and all the mirror entities a few seconds to process what Harry said. When they did, the room was filled with hearty guffaws, and Crystal's outraged sputtering.

"Come over here, Harry," she commanded. Harry arched an eyebrow, and moved to stand in front of the mirror. "Hold still," Crystal said. Harry watched in fascination as his reflection doubled. The second reflection was curiously static, like a muggle photograph. Wow. This was new.

"Now look here," Crystal continued, pointing to Harry's static image. "If we get rid of these..."

Harry's glasses disappeared.

Smaller, wireframe glasses appeared.

"And make these fit properly..."

Harry's clothes shrank.

"No, no," another mirror personality named Amethyst interrupted. "He needs to wear this."

Photo Harry was now sporting emerald green dress robes.

And so it went. As Harry and Tom watched, about a dozen personalities with about a dozen different opinions and tastes manipulated the image. They played with different hairstyles, glasses frames, and clothing. Harry was dressed in everything from velvet dress robes to punk leather.

Tom found himself nodding enthusiastically. Why didn't he see it? He'd almost convinced himself not to trouble Harry with the proposition from the other merchants of Diagon Alley, not seeing how the boy could go out without being recognized, but this could work!

As ashamed as he was to admit it, Tom had never looked at Harry before. After you saw the shock of dark hair, and verified the identity with the green eyes and lightning scar, the rest didn't seem to matter. He'd never noticed before, but Harry's muggle clothing was very worn, and overlarge. Why on earth was he given such ill-fitting garments? Tom gave himself a mental shake, unwanted suspicions beginning to form in his mind. He'd sort that out later. The fact remained that for whatever reason, everything Harry owned was ill-fitting, unflattering, or both-designed to detract from rather than enhance his looks. Plus the fact that before the TriWizard Tournament there hadn't been very many pictures of Harry available. A good many witches and wizards probably only knew his physical description. "Yes," he murmured thoughtfully, "it just might work."

"Sorry Tom, but no. It just isn't me."

"What?" Tom looked up and laughed out loud. Saber, one of the more, erm, adventurous personalities had photo Harry dressed in tight black leather, with a green spiked Mohawk, a black butch collar, and multiple piercings.

"See anything you fancy, Harry?" Crystal sang merrily. "How do you want to look?"

What the heck... Harry decided to play a little. It was his face, after all, and they'd certainly been having a fine time with it. "Put up the other one," Harry said, speculatively. "The one with plain jeans, and the collared t-shirt. Okay. Now I don't fancy letting someone poke holes in me, so get rid of those. Thanks. A more normal hairstyle, please and no glasses."

The image shifted obediently, following his directions. Intrigued in spite of himself, Harry inspected his reflection in the mirror. The Dursleys had always told him he was hopelessly ugly, and his hair always seemed to do as it pleased. He knew he was skinny and short, and nothing to write home about, really, but Harry was getting to the age where looks and the opposite sex were becoming more important. Perhaps it was possible to improve. After all, no one wants to be unattractive. He examined the image critically, then turned to look questioningly at Tom. "What do you think?"

"Impressive, Harry," Tom said, not quite believing the difference. "That reminds me, I had a conversation this morning you might find interesting, and I wanted to discuss your work schedule as well."

Harry listened while Tom explained, then looked at the reflection again. It might work...except for one tiny detail. "Sounds good, Tom, but what about this?" he asked, tapping his scar.

"Let me think on that, lad," Tom said, frowning. "There are different ways to go, you know. Glamours, Concealing Charms, Potions..." Tom trailed off, still thinking hard. "They all have advantages and disadvantages. We'll figure something out. In the meantime, you'll probably be safer doing your shopping in muggle London. Less risk of you being recognized." Tom turned to leave, then paused at the door. "Oh, and Harry, since you don't have to work as many hours as you thought, try to get back to a night time sleeping schedule, and you might want to write that letter to Professor Dumbledore, as well."

Harry nodded as Tom left, then watched as the shadowy presences bade him goodbye, and popped out. Once again alone in his room, he sat down at the desk and began to plan.

He supposed he could go to Gringott's first thing in the morning, before lots of shoppers arrived at Diagon Alley. While he was there, he could make the inquiries about his vault, and exchange some of his wizard gold to muggle money. Trouble was, he wasn't sure what to do or where to go after that. Harry had lived most of his life in Surrey, but his visits to the city had been rare. In fact, the first time he'd set foot in London was when Hagrid took him to Diagon Alley summer before First Year.

Harry absently picked up a quill and twirled it between his thumb and index finger as he considered this, then decided things would probably go better if he had a little help. But who to ask? Harry bit his lip again, then smiled when his eyes fell on the smudged and wrinkled business card he'd rescued from his shirt pocket when he'd unpacked his trunk. Well, she did say to call if I needed anything, Harry mused, picking up Dr. Granger's business card, and looking at it speculatively. If nothing else, maybe they can recommend a store.

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