Chapter Seven
The news had broken out in various incarnations and Harry's face was plastered on every paper in the Wizarding World. Headmaster Snape had sent word to Harry. "Keep your whereabouts a secret. I have tried my best, but since the board was involved, it is out of my hands. Do not take unnecessary risks. But continue your research."
Harry was expecting a flurry of owls to descend on their doorstep. After all, his fame was flagging a bit, but this bit of news would surely bring it all back. And indeed the newspapers all had his stock pictures from the tournament, with trophy and sack of prize money in hand. In one paper, however, someone had tinted his green eyes red, and exaggerated the canines on his smile: the work of some bloody "artist" over at the Prophet.
But other than the papers, no other owl post arrived. Apparently, the twins had a box over at Diagon Alley for their mail. It was carefully screened: howlers disposed of, and each package or envelope checked carefully for hexes.
"I'm sorry for the bother," Harry told them, but the twins waved it aside.
"It's because of Daniel, mate. Do you know how many fan letters our dear boy receives every fortnight?" George asked, shaking his head. "I'm talking stalker types who send in their knickers bathed in perfume. Bloody nutters, I tell you."
The image made Harry laugh. He did receive one letter from Neville, who had sent a scroll to Tom, who, in turn, passed it on, along with his reassurances that Harry was still welcome at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry thanked the older man, but he saw the relief on Tom's face when he said he was fine where he was.
Neville had a lot of things to say.
There are so many differing versions of the tale that no one knows who to believe. Ron has been a git about the whole thing, and he and Hermione had a row about it. Ginny took your side as well, but the rest of the school is in an uproar, either about the gay thing, or the teacher thing, or the vampire thing. I understand why you didn't want to tell. What a mess, eh?
One surprise, though, is Malfoy, who actually defended you in a roundabout way after some Gryffindors made one joke too many. He shredded them! And the headmaster heard and gave him two points for 'exceeding his low expectations.' His father sent him a letter afterwards, you remember that haughty owl of his? It looked like Malfoy Sr. gave him a scolding, but Draco looked like he didn't care. It has made the other Slytherins uneasy since they don't know what to do about the change.
Hermione has been reading about vampires like mad, in the middle of diatribes against Quirrell, whom you know she never liked. She said that what he did would be called statutory rape in the muggle world, but that you weren't exempt from blame, too. I told her to shut it, and she looked so surprised that I wish I had Creevey's camera to take her photo.
The headmaster told us you will still take your NEWTS, though probably not at Hogwarts. How are your studies going? They got in a pretty good substitute for Quirrell, a French Auror on vacation. He makes us call him Michel, which annoys Snape. Anyway, he said if I wanted to go for Aurorship, he'd give a recommendation, because my duelling impressed him. I still don't know if that's what I'm going to do. I don't think I want to enter while my parents are still there. It'd be weird working for dad or mum. But some people are going to be open for apprenticeships after the exams, so I'll see. Maybe I'll go for private security instead.
I hope this things with Quirrell doesn't derail your plans, whatever they are. You're still the best in defence, so I'm sure you'd be able to look for a good mentor or job. If ever you need help, don't hesitate to owl me.
Yours,
Neville
It felt good knowing he still had someone at Hogwarts who believed in him. Neville was a pretty solid Gryffindor, brave without being foolhardy, and with good instincts. He was a friend in the same way that Draco had been one.
Reading about Draco made Harry long to write the other boy. But he had promised himself that he would let the Slytherin make the first move on resuming their friendship. Defending him was one thing, and being actively seen as his friend quite another.
---
Since the "clandestine affair between vampire professor and underage Triwizard champion" came out in the news, Harry became leery of leaving the house for fear of being recognized. He didn't fancy people running away from him shouting, "Vampire!" while shopping in the middle of Diagon Alley.
It afforded him the time to finish a lot of his readings. But within a couple of weeks he had started to become restless.
---
A hand pinned him to the wall, while another slid into his hair and tugged, baring his neck. He felt his pulse pound so hard, it was as if it would jump free of his throat. He was afraid, his body trembling, but when he tried to move his arms, they became like stone. A shadow stole over him. He felt hot breath on his cheek, then go lower, beneath his ear.
"Don't," he found himself whispering. "Don't stop."
And that was when the fangs sank into his skin, painful and hot and terrifying. And Harry wrapped his suddenly arms around the man's shoulders, whimpering a single name.
"Severus."
---
As soon as he woke up, heart still pounding, Harry begged Fred and George to find a way to change his appearance. He needed to leave the house, to find a distraction, to think of anything but Quirrell or vampires.
He did his best to ignore the presence of Snape in his dream, although at odd moments, the image would steal into his mind, and he would pace around the house, almost fevered with energy. Daniel watched him then, looking amused, but aside from offering to teach Harry to play the guitar, he refrained from speaking.
Harry turned it down, but he found a sort of release in the music that the older boy produced. They had been making "mix discs" of the band, and Harry let the tempo wash away all his thoughts, like a wave erodes the shore.
The twins went after the challenge with relish. After weeks of product testing and "tweaking," they presented Harry with a kit. It took only minutes to use, and when Harry gazed back at the mirror on the mantle, he nodded in approval.
He looked like a stranger. His hair was tied back and he wore a dark red wig on top of it, in the same shade as the famous Weasley clan's. It wasn't exactly for blending in, but it made his presence alongside the twins unremarkable. His glasses removed and a subtly shaded pair of contact lenses toned down his green eyes. That, and some candy to change his coloring and a lollipop to change his bone structure, all with two-hour limits, and Harry barely recognized himself.
The twins had also added fake birthmarks, moles, warts and even scars to the kit. There was one in the ridiculous shape of a lightning bolt that Harry wanted to plop onto his forehead, but he decided the more unremarkable he looked, the better. He settled for a smattering of fake pimples on his cheeks, in various stages of erupting.
And he was off.
He decided to go on a book hunting trip first of all. Headmaster Snape had given him homework after all. The other man might give him a quiz next time. Daniel lent him a rucksack of plenty, with a lightweight charm, so he need not shrink things or have anything delivered.
Flourish and Blotts had already proved useless, but Harry stopped by anyway, for a couple of books on Advanced Transfigurations and Charms. He also picked up a book of Wizarding maps that, while only giving the general location of certain unplottable places, had detailed directions and diagrams of different Wizarding villages all over Europe.
He distinctly remembered Quirrell telling him about his trips through Bulgaria and Romania. He had a hunch his former lover could be found somewhere there. He wasn't planning on hunting his ex-lover down--not that Snape would let him--but the idea satisfied Harry's still simmering anger.
From Flourish and Blotts, Harry went down Pwyll Alley. Like Knockturn, it was small and dirty and shaded by ancient elms, but there was indeed a large bookstore with the sign Silver Quill hanging from the doorway.
Harry hurried inside, and looked up, and up, and up.
Unlike Flourish and Blotts, the place was huge, with tower-like proportions. Around him, magic ladders whizzed past shelves, carrying shoppers clinging to the rungs. A ladder slid towards Harry, so he climbed a single rung. It seemed to wait so Harry whispered uncertainly, "Vampires." With a whoosh, it carried him towards a shelf near the back and then lengthened until Harry was about fifty feet up in the air.
It was nothing like brooms. Harry waited for his stomach to catch up, before looking through the shelves.
He found one, then another, then another, then even more. Harry blinked. Snape was right. This place was amazing. He had to scan through each one to know which to get. A lot of it seemed to be saying the same things, so he weeded through his selections mid-air, with one arm wrapped around the edge of the ladder.
After going up and down several shelves mixing fiction and non-fiction books on the topic, he ended up with three volumes: a fat red one containing things about hierarchies and feeding patterns, a blue one lined with gold that talked about the properties of vampire blood, and a dark brown one that talked about famous vampires--and how they were killed.
Then Harry's eye was caught by a small black volume to his right. As if reading his mind, the ladder inched him towards the book, and he slid it out of the shelf. He found himself staring open-mouthed at the cover. "Darkness Within: A Treatise on Vampirism" by Quentin Quirrell. He was about to return it to the shelf in disgust, when it opened. And bit him.
Harry yelped, and was about to throw the book fifty feet down, when a man in a silver ladder appeared out of nowhere. "We have a store policy, sir, that once you blood it, you buy it."
Harry looked down at the red smudges on the pages. "Alright," he said in defeat, sighing. He gave the rest of the books for the man to total.
He didn't have much time left, so passed through Arawn Alley and picked up random books on potions and defense against the dark arts, as well as several blank books all tied together in the bargain bin there. In Mantou, however, he found himself gravitating once more to Arugba's stall.
"Hello again sir. Has the cat given you great dreams?" The small man beamed up at him.
"Um, I guess," Harry said, remembering his recent, disturbing dream. It wasn't exactly a nightmare, however, and aside from that, he never saw Quirrell's face in his sleep. Was that the stone cat's doing? "And the snake protects me as well," he said, thinking of Headmaster Snape as one large snake rearing to strike. He blushed as he recollected his own reactions to the older man.
He busied himself by looking at the stones. His hands caressed the jade frog, and he examined with care a particularly detailed phoenix in deep red stone, with open beak that looked ready to sing, and wings unfurled in mid-flight.
After finally putting it aside for purchase, however, two stones similar in design caught his eye. They were puppies, one biting his tail, the other crouched as if to pounce. They were made of milky opals, with veins of red running through them.
"Ah, master finds good gifts for good friends." Arugba's eyes twinkled.
Harry smiled. Yes, it seemed that the stones were perfect for Daniel and the twins. "How do you know what to make?"
"If stones interest master, he could go to Arugba's workshop. Learn more there." And the tiny man wrote down his address on the receipt, before tucking it into the bag with the stones.
Harry was halfway across the road towards Diagon Alley, when he realized that Arugba had seen through his disguise.
He thought about returning to quiz the artisan, but decided against it. Already he could feel his cheekbones slowly sagging. The candy was wearing off.
Perhaps it was the goblin blood that Arugba obviously had. Perhaps he had smelled him, or had magic different enough to see past his face. It was a puzzle he would have to solve another time.
A/N: When I said "eventually SS/HP", I meant not for quite a while. You'll have to do with the occasional dream. I'm more interested in the relationship anyway, and I believe in PBP, Plot Before Porn. And no, Harry doesn't have a scar. In this universe, Tom Riddle never became Voldemort.