Standard disclaimer applies.
IN UNLIKELIEST PLACES
CHAPTER THREE - FIRST IMPRESSIONS
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Note: (Concerning the time frame.) This chapter occurs sometime from late May to early July of 1996.
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The cold touch of the tea cup between her hands jolted Molly out of whatever reverie she had been absorbed in, and she regarded the weak, morning light with some degree of surprise. Had she really been sitting here that long? A glance at the kitchen clock (the one that really showed the time) told her it was currently around five o'clock in the morning, a good hour and a half past when she had come down for some tea to calm her nerves. Not thinking, she brought the tea cup to her lips and grimaced as the lukewarm beverage laced her tongue.
Arthur had Flooed late last night to inform her he'd be working on another difficult case, and that she shouldn't expect him by morning. This wasn't the first time he had to work overtime on his job. In fact, the first had been, perhaps, five years ago when a group of pranksters thought it would be fun to vandalize the walls of a nearby Muggle subdivision with magical paint. Like most magical paintings, the crude stick men they drew moved and made rude hand gestures (as well as they could with only four fingers). The paint came off after a few hours and without the Muggles ever noticing a thing, but the difficult part, Arthur said, was when the boys led them on a wild goose chase all over London before they had finally apprehended them at Knockturn Alley.
Still, Molly couldn't help but worry. Arthur had been working overtime with a frequency Molly was uncomfortable with. More and more now, some wizards with anti-Muggle sentiments, though not directly affiliated with Voldemort, had been hexing ordinary Muggle objects, lacing medicine tablets with poison, and generally raising hell. Some were foolhardy delinquents who thought it would be fun to prank the unsuspecting Muggles and get away with it, since all blame now was solely focused on Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
She looked at the other clock, hoping to see the hand labeled 'Arthur Weasley' over 'Traveling Home' but it remained firmly on 'Mortal Peril.' All hands were.
Sighing, she stood up and walked over to the sink, carrying the cup with her. She let her hands go over the practiced motions of washing dishes, pausing for a moment to Summon the teapot and Vanish the remaining tea, and let the feeling of doing something utterly mundane fill her. She closed her eyes, only to open them again when the sunlight began to warm her skin, chasing away the cold. Soon, people would be waking up. Breakfast would have to be cooked, gardening to be done, cleaning up...
"Molly-san?"
She was so surprised she almost dropped the teapot. Turning around, she saw Naruto dressed in a loose white shirt and black jogging pants, holding a bundle of laundry. Seeing him out of uniform was something of a shock to her. The last two days (or one day and one night, she amended), all she saw him in was his green-and-blue uniform with his bandana over his forehead and a perpetually impassive face. Now, however, he had clearly just gotten out of bed. His bright blond hair was mussed from sleep, his clothes rumpled but his cerulean gaze was as alert as ever. However, the soft golden sunlight leant him a touch of emotion she wished he'd display more often. It's unhealthy keeping emotions bottled up. Her thoughts immediately went to another boy with unruly black hair and green eyes.
"Yes, Naruto?" she asked.
"I was going to do my laundry but I don't know where I can," he explained. Molly noticed that his thick accent was rapidly disappearing and he had less trouble forming the words now. Whatever Dumbledore had done to help Naruto learn English, it was working exceptionally well.
She huffed. "Well, that's because you're not supposed to do the laundry while you're a guest here, Mr. Uzumaki," she declared, marching over to the surprised blond man, and snatching the bundle away before he could retaliate.
"But..." he started. "But I have important documents there!"
She raised her eyebrows. "Then you'd best take them out before they get wet, shouldn't you?" she said, raising the vest for him to take, but he shook his head, clearly defeated. She almost laughed at the mutinous expression on his face.
"Now, now, there should be something else you can do besides fight an aging woman over laundry. Ah, you asked me for old newspapers, I remember! There should be some in"—Percy's room, she realized with a pang. "—the third room on the left. Don't bother knocking; my third son has gotten himself his own flat so it's pretty much abandoned."
"Okay. Thank you." He gave her a small nod and made his way out of the kitchen.
She looked at his retreating back with fondness. He didn't seem so bad, really. Anyone who insisted on doing their own laundry couldn't be, in Molly's opinion. She didn't know why Ron was making such a large fuss about their new guest. He was probably just sore about being unceremoniously kicked out of his room so that Naruto could have a place to sleep in. She didn't dare bunk him in Fred and George's room—who knows what those twins of hers could have been experimenting with this time? She Banished the clothes to the hamper before getting started on breakfast.
She had just gotten around to frying the eggs when someone else entered the kitchen. She knew by the way the hairs on her neck stood up that that person was Fleur, her hopefully not-daughter-in-law.
"Good morning, Molly," she greeted, managing to stretch the 'ly' so her name sounded like Mollee. It grated on Molly's nerves. Honestly, what had Bill seen in such a tart? Tonks would have been a better choice. The girl was clumsy but she had her heart in the right place.
"Good morning, Fleur," she returned briskly. "I'm afraid breakfast isn't finished yet."
"Then I shall 'elp!" she exclaimed in what Molly thought was a too-cheerful tone. "Eet 'as been a long time since I 'ave cooked—I would like to cook dishes from my 'ome country. I miss Paris so. You would love it there, Mollee!"
'I would love to see you stay there,' Molly thought, trying hard not to physically drive Fleur away from the kitchen. She piled the eggs, now a bit overcooked since Fleur had disturbed her, up on the plate and turned to face her son's girlfriend. "Now, Fleur, you're a guest here..."
"Nonsense!" the girl cried. "Look at you, you look 'orrible!" Molly winced. Really. "You 'ave not slept well. You must rest. I shall cook breakfast."
And without waiting for a reply, she snatched the frying pan from the Weasley matriarch's grasp and gracefully maneuvered through the kitchen, managing to find the bacon without Molly's help. Not that she would give any, Molly thought, glaring at the lithe French girl whose long blonde hair swayed with every movement, glowing in the sunlight. She felt thoroughly relieved when she glanced up at the clock again and found Arthur's hand on Traveling. Moments later, the same hand went back to Mortal Peril, but Molly was smiling as she moved to open the door.
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'Pretty much abandoned' was right, Naruto thought when he opened the door of the third room on the left.
There were no personal belongings to speak of in the Third Son's room. The walls were mercifully void of posters that showed people dressed in bright orange robes, riding broomsticks, zooming in and out of the picture like crazy. Everything was placed in same-sized boxes, stacked in a corner beside a small desk, on which Naruto could make out the crudely engraved letters "PC" and "PW" inside an equally crude heart beneath a thin film of dust. On the other side of the room, the bed lay starch white and bare. Naruto was reminded of ANBU Headquarters and its harshly utilitarian atmosphere. Totally unlike the Youngest Son's room, where everything was haphazardly placed and virtually everything moved, even the bed covers which showed a small, winged ball zipping around. He would have to ask Molly-san whether he could transfer here.
He reached for the uppermost box, fairly certain that the Third Son was the type to label everything. He was right. Through the dust, he could make out cramped handwriting that spelled words he really shouldn't be able to understand, but instead he did. It said, "Newspapers (1988 - 1995)."
Jackpot.
He carried the box over to the bed and ripped the tape off with a kunai. Immediately, the smell of old books filled the air. Naruto wrinkled his nose in disgust, and sat on the bed and waited for the smell to subside.
When he accepted the mission, the thought of actually learning another language never crossed his mind. It was overshadowed by relief and the thought that he wouldn't be seeing Konoha for a long time again. It was only when he and Dumbledore landed on the carpeted floor, with his head spinning and stomach turning and his hand gripping the pen so hard it was beginning to break, that he realized that he probably rushed into the entire thing and he had absolutely no idea what he had gotten himself into.
There were people arguing in the building; the echoes of their raised voices reverberated throughout the corridor. Naruto strained his ears to hear whatever it was they were arguing about—he could usually make out the words even through walls but the words remained muffled and unintelligible. He dismissed it as the building having bad acoustics.
Dumbledore's hand on his wrist brought him back from his thoughts. "My boy, maybe you can let go of the pen?"
"I'm sorry." The old man smiled in amusement as he slackened his grip and offered the slightly-bent pen to his employer.
"It's all right, Naruto. Though perhaps it was unwise of you to grasp something you were not totally sure of."
He winced—the gentle reprimand hit close to home—and the throbbing in his head intensified. Story of my life, so far.
Dumbledore tilted his head in the direction where the voices were originating. "It seems as if they have started the meeting without us. No matter. I have some things to give you before we proceed."
He paused, fishing out of his voluminous robes a picture, which Naruto accepted. It was the image of a young boy with a unruly mass of black hair sticking up in all directions. He was surprised when the boy in the picture moved, raising his head so Naruto could see thin, high cheekbones and deep green eyes behind thick round glasses. Unbidden, he thought of Sakura's light jade eyes and his stupid duckbutt hair.
"This is my charge?" he asked.
"Yes, that is Harry Potter. Classes will not start for another three months yet, so in the meantime, I have already made arrangements for you to stay at his friend's, Ronald Weasley's, house. Harry will join you in two weeks' time."
"Understood. What kind of dangers do you expect for the boy?"
Dumbledore started stroking his beard. "It is hard to say. Harry has the tendency to get himself into all sorts of trouble."
Another way of saying, "Prepare for every eventuality." This was beginning to look like a troublesome mission.
"Are there any magical techniques I have to watch out for?"
"The first thing a young Auror learns in Auror Academy is that while not all spells can be countered, nearly all of them can be avoided. I trust you can do the latter quite well."
Naruto found that he was gradually getting irked by his employer's vague way of answering. Somehow, the man reminded him of Kakashi. On the other hand, the wisdom implicit in his statements reminded him of the Sandaime.
"If that is all," Dumbledore continued, drawing an eleven-inch stick from his robes. "There is something else I have to give you."
He tapped what Naruto assumed was the wand Kakashi had told him about to his temple and after a long pause, pulled several very silver, nearly white, threads from his forehead. The threads gave off a faint glow that bounced off his employer's half-moon glasses, and illuminated the space between them. Naruto realized what an interesting image they must have made: a wizened old man and a shinobi standing there in the barely lit room, and an eerie light shining between them. The moon was rising in the window to their front, the sky turning a dark violet.
"What is that?" he asked, a little apprehensive but his tone betrayed none of it. Surely his employer wouldn't give him anything harmful? However, what his employer considered harmful or not harmful probably would not agree with his ideas, as evidenced by how Dumbledore had casually invaded his mindscape earlier that day.
"This is a memory, several memories in fact. Consider them as an aide for you to learn our language."
As if to make the old man's point, the murmured arguments were seemingly amplified, and now Naruto could clearly see, or hear, that it wasn't the acoustics--it was him. How blind had he gotten? This was the Outside; it was a given that they spoke another language. It was no wonder he couldn't make heads or tails of whatever the argument was.
Dumbledore raised his wand higher, bringing the memories up to Naruto's temple. Naruto squashed the urge to leap away from him. "Wait!" he said hastily.
His employer looked at him levelly. "This will not hurt a bit, Naruto," he said, and touched Naruto's forehead.
The silvery-white threads clung to his skin and slithered inwards, like worms burrowing into an apple, except he did not feel any intrusion, no gnawing sensation at his forehead or at the back of his mind. It was the first time he had ever tried to trace the movement of a memory. In the past, he had been content to assimilate his bunshins' memories without thinking. They were still his memories after all. He didn't know what he was trying to accomplish now. Perhaps catch the memories and destroy them? But as he raked his mind, he could find nothing different, nothing to suggest that there were foreign memories floating around his brain, memories that weren't his, memories that could possibly influence the way he thought.
His blood ran cold. The beginnings of a white-hot anger settled comfortably inside his mind, as Dumbledore bade him to follow him deeper into the house.
There were things worse than pain.
Naruto picked up the newspaper dated June 25, 1995, skimming the headlines and pausing to watch the picture of the short man with a bowl-shaped hat ("Cornelius Fudge assures the wizarding world that Voldemort is as dead as ever," the caption read) bow and smile imperiously in black and white. Naruto had concluded some time ago that wizards were a simple-minded lot. Make anything dance or anything that's not supposed to move move and they'd take to it like a fish takes to water. Theirs was a child-like society in some respects. Personally, Naruto thought moving pictures were as distracting as hell, and equally irksome.
If he ignored, for a moment, his anger at Dumbledore, he would be impressed with the spell's success. After the initial period where he was left wondering whether the spell had worked or not, his mind started to supply him with meanings to miscellaneous words he had overheard in Dumbledore's meeting two nights ago. First a word, then several, then phrases--all of a language he wasn't supposed to understand. Piece by piece, the knowledge flooded him as if from some forgotten corner of his mind: how to pronounce words, how to write in their strange alphabet, how to piece words together to form sentences. There was even a smattering of colloquial expressions thrown in.
However, who knew what Dumbledore could have also thrown in? When he tried to say anything out loud, he would struggle to form the words; his mouth would shape the sound one way while his brain insisted there was a correct way to do it, and that would only mangle the word. It was as if he had learned English long, long ago and was only rediscovering the language now. The memories were buried deep. It scared him to think what would happen if Dumbledore had thrown in any subtle influences to affect his subconscious. Actually, who was to say he did not? The man seemed to play games with everyone, almost never taking anyone seriously, and always had that damned twinkle in his eyes saying he was highly amused with something.
His train of thought was broken when he heard the sound of footsteps of someone making his way to the room. It was probably the Daughter, given the relatively light and unsure footfalls. The other girl, the blonde one, struck him as someone with a more confident, loud-and-proud walk.
The door creaked open and he was rewarded with the sight of the Daughter poking her head in.
"Um, breakfast is ready, Mr. Uzumaki," she said nervously.
He nodded, folding the newspaper and putting it back on top of the box. They silently made their way to the kitchen, which was bursting with noise. He could hear the Twins sniggering over something yet again and Molly-san scolding them for another one of their antics. He used to laugh like that too, he thought absentmindedly as the Twins' chorused laughter reached his ears. A lifetime ago. Had he ever been that young?
When they entered the kitchen, the Youngest Son—Ron, was it? Harry Potter's best friend—glared at him from across the table as the Twins oh-so-subtly steered the girl away from him, whispering theatrically, "Does Gin-Gin have a crush on Mr. Uzumaki? She's blushing! She does! Oh Gin-Gin, you'll break ickle Harrikin's heart." Peripherally, he saw the Daughter slap both twins on the head and whisper threats involving bats and 'boogeys', with a personality at odds with the one she displayed earlier. He raised his eyebrows. Interesting.
"Ah, I believe we haven't been properly introduced yet," the thin, balding Weasley rose from his seat where he had been conversing with Ron. "I apologize; my work kept me busy. I'm Arthur Weasley. You're Naruto Uzumaki, right?" Arthur, asked, extending his right hand. When Naruto made no move to take it (What was he supposed to do with the hand?), Arthur retracted it sheepishly. "Or is it Uzumaki Naruto?"
"Naruto is fine, Arthur-san," he answered.
"Naruto, then!" The man clapped a hand to his shoulders, the action making Naruto flinch slightly. "So, Molly tells me you're Japanese. I think it's an absolutely fantastic thing that you're here. Aren't Japanese really good with whatchamacallits—technology? What's it like where you live? Do you have elecriticy? How about fellytones? And those portable fellytones, cellphones I believe?"
Naruto's mind flatlined for a moment. In his mind's eye, he could envision Gai shouting about the Springtime of Youth, and Geniuses of Hard Work. Fellytones, cellphones? What was the man going on about?
Thankfully, Molly nipped the impending 'Muggles are wonderful' rant in the bud, though Naruto wasn't yet aware of that.
"Arthur," she chided, setting the plate brimming with bacon on the table. "That's enough. Stop harrassing the poor dear."
"But Molly!" her husband protested, even as he took his seat again.
Naruto sat in the empty seat beside Ron and the blonde woman, whose name he couldn't pronounce properly. It sounded like 'flour', but he wasn't too sure about that. He was thankfully spared from further conversation, given that his two seatmates were pointedly ignoring him, or in Blondie's case, staring at his abysmal eating habits as he sliced his egg crosswise with a fork, scooped them individually, and deposited the egg piece into his mouth. He took some toast and bit into it absentmindedly, wondering when he could have a decent meal (with rice!) again.
With chopsticks too, he thought, looking at the array of gleaming utensils in front of him. Each one supposedly had a use, and you were expected to use two of them when eating, except perhaps when drinking soup. Frankly, he thought it was absurd. He had managed to do fine with chopsticks; he couldn't see the use in making his life any harder. So far, the fork was the only utensil he could live with. It was simple: stab or scoop, and eat.
"More dear?" Molly-san asked him from over Blondie's shoulder, effectively cutting off Blondie's excited chatter, not waiting for a reply and piling more bacon onto his plate.
"Thank you, Molly-san," he said politely, picking at the bacon.
Blondie looked affronted and glared at him as if he had caused the interruption of their conversation.
"Yes?" he asked her pointedly when she had not resumed the conversation with Molly-san, and Molly-san had turned to pester her daughter in relief. He took that opportunity to stab a slice of bacon (without bothering to cut it up) and eat it whole in front of her. The bacon, he noticed, was less salty compared to yesterday's. He would eat it a lot more if it always tasted like this.
"Nothing," she replied quickly, muttering some choice phrases in her mother tongue under her breath.
"So, Naruto, how old are you?" Arthur-san asked, apparently finished with the talk about some wizarding game with his son.
All conversations careened to an abrupt halt, and Naruto found himself the object of everyone's attention at the table. "Twenty-three, sir," he answered.
"My, you're as old as Charlie!" Molly-san exclaimed. "How long have you been doing your job? Charlie got his job right out of Hogwarts, bless him. This must be his fifth year at Dragon-keeping now."
"I graduated from the Academy when I was twelve, Ma'am."
"No, that's not what I meant, dear. I meant, how long have you been... well, come to think about it, what do you do?"
Naruto stared at her blankly. "Didn't Dumbledore-san tell you?"
"Well, I didn't ask, seeing as you were so tired when you came through the Floo. I wanted to get you to a bed immediately."
Beside him, Ron snorted.
Arthur spoke up. "I believe Dumbledore mentioned you being a shee-no-bee whom he hired to protect Harry. I was leaving just as Dumbledore introduced you. I was already running late for a meeting with Perkins, you see. The last thing I heard was Moody kicking up a storm about your trustworthiness, but he does that with everyone," he shrugged. "Personally, if Dumbledore trusts you, then there's no reason for us to doubt you."
"What!" the youngest red-head exploded. "Harry doesn't need a guard!"
Huh. So that explained the relatively warm welcome he received here, considering the general outcry against his presence in Grim Old Place. He could opt not to tell them, seeing what little knowledge they had about shinobi. But the truth would out anyway, and it was better to get things over with early. He opened his mouth to speak when he was interrupted.
"Blimey," one twin spoke up in the sudden silence.
"Did you say shinobi as in—"
"—those secret military Japanese feudal lords used to hire?"
"Those blokes who specialize in warfare, assassination—"
"—espionage, and martial arts?"
"Fred, George!" Their mother scolded, highly scandalized. "Does Mr. Uzumaki really strike you as—"
But he beat her to it. "They are correct, Molly-san."
As Molly turned to face him, jaw hanging slightly open, he stood up and deposited his plate on the sink.
"Thank you for the meal," he said, sketching a shallow bow to his hosts, and fled to the abandoned sanctuary of the Third Son's room. As he left, the uncomfortable quiet was punctured only by the Twins' exclamation of, "Cooool!"
In the silence following the shout, not even Molly mustered enough voice to chide her sons.
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NOTE:
I know Chapter 3's status on my profile said it was at 6.6k words, and this is woefully short of that estimation by around 2.6k words (this note is not included). My excuse? This actually a fourth of the actual Chapter 3. It started out as one-half of the total, then by the time February rolled around, it turned into a third, until it became a fourth of the original chapter (in my head anyway—I haven't written down all the scenes yet)… My brain just likes to add more and more boring scenes to this story. God. That said, I apologize for the length of time it took me to update. I can only plead difficulties regarding subjects like electromagnetism, integral calculus, and Fourier analysis. D:
To TwinTrouble, I was going to write a section in Chapter 3 illustrating Kyuubi and Naruto's relationship, but well, it didn't happen. So. It's the angry captive demon and struggling jailkeeper relationship. For some reason, grudging team doesn't work well with me (probably because I've never seen it being attempted properly before). Also, thank you for the information concerning the shichi/nana thing. :D
To InARealPickle, you're good. :P And I will read "People Lie" when I have the time. XD And concerning how Naruto will heal in Hogwarts, well, I'm still thinking that bit a little more thoroughly, actually. You know how things seem so simple in your head but when you start to write it down, it gets all messy? D:
To hard-bitten-confinement, I'm guilty of all charges. X) And honestly, I don't think I'm better than that. I was honestly surprised when I opened my mail and found some fifty-odd messages from (story alerts, reviews, favorite stories, etc.) FFnet just a day after I posted chapter 2. I am taking more care with the things I put in IUP from now on, though I can't assure everyone it will be totally cliché-free, or something. Still, thank you for pushing me to write better. I hope I'll do better in the future. :)
To everyone who reviewed/faved/alerted this story, thanks very much. :D I daydreamed of getting a lot of feedback for IUP, but getting all this feedback is at the same time both exhilarating and extremely scary.
Also, to fans more obsessed with Harry Potter and/or Naruto than I am, I apologize for any deviations from canon and/or errors in the dates and miscellaneous details. If you can spot any, please tell me so I can correct it. :) I confess I've taken liberties with how the Fidelius Charm works (Naruto was able to enter Grimmauld Place because he was accompanying the Secret-Keeper even though he didn't read the note) because I don't know how it works, exactly. Fred and George are also supposed to be in their rented flat in Diagon Alley, but I wanted them in the chapter so let's suppose they visit the Burrow for days at a time. :)
And, regarding pairings for Naruto, I bow to the majority in this case. Naruto isn't going to be paired up with anyone.
Next chapter? I hope to have it out by March, but March is going to be hectic for me (fourth, fifth and final exams for my major subjects! ._.)