Quills and ink, Harry wrote carefully at the end of the list.
"I think that's it," said Lupin conclusively. "I can't think of anything else."
Just then, the fireplace blazed, and Harry turned to see an iron-silver head emerging from it, belonging to an imposing bespectacled old lady Harry didn't remember.
"Hello, Harry," said the old lady briskly. "My name is Minerva McGonagall. You may call me Professor McGonagall." Her tone softened. "I am your Transfiguration teacher."
"Hello, Professor," said Harry, trying to be polite. He'd been about to say "Nice to meet you," but that probably wasn't quite right. Was there wizard etiquette for meetings between a person who'd lost their memories and an old acquaintance? "Thank you for coming to help."
"You're welcome, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall with a hint of surprise. She reached into her pocket and drew out a long, rather gaudy (to Harry's mind) gold chain. "Here you are." She held it out.
Harry took it, feeling it was expected of him, but didn't really understand. Hadn't she come to Transfigure his face?
McGonagall took pity on him. "All you need to do is put it on. Rather than Transfigure you, I decided to enchant the chain so that your appearance is altered whenever you wear it. That way, if you'd like to remove the disguise while you're back here during the full moon, I don't have to re-transfigure you all over again." Just as Harry was about to put the chain on, McGonagall added, "You, however, are the only person who can remove the chain."
Harry slipped the chain over his head; his whole face, and to a certain extent his skin all over, felt slightly numb for a moment.
Sirius whistled. "He really looks like he could be related to you, Moony!"
"I used some of my memories of you when you were around his age," McGonagall said to Lupin.
"It's very good," Lupin complimented her, sounding a little awe-struck himself.
The chain felt heavy on his bare neck, where he'd tucked it, underneath his shirt. His face felt strange, too, especially his eyes.
"Can I see?" Harry asked Sirius, steeling himself. Sirius nodded and quickly Transfigured an old copper pot hanging from the ceiling into a large square mirror, then handed it to Harry.
"Rather deft of you, Mr. Black," McGonagall commented. She arched an eyebrow. "Although you were always skillful at Transfiguration--even more so than I knew at the time, of course."
"Uh," said Sirius, and cleared his throat. Suddenly, his open collar looked silly, rather than debonair. Harry made a mental note never to get on the wrong side of this old lady who apparently had the ability to turn thirty-five-year-old ex-convicts into fifteen-year-old schoolboys--or perhaps your teacher was just always your teacher, no matter how old you got.
"Aren't you going to look?" McGonagall asked Harry.
"Oh. Right," said Harry, and held the large mirror up to look at himself in it.
The first thing he noticed was his hair, of course. It was very nearly Lupin's shade of light brown, rather than Harry's own black, and far less messy. Instead, it was now parting itself on the side, more or less. Perhaps this was because McGonagall had been using twenty-year-old pictures of Lupin, but it looked a tiny bit Seventies to Harry's eye. It was quite funny, actually.
His eyebrows, too, were light brown rather than black, and that alone made his face look much less--noticeable, perhaps. Harry's face was less thin, too--closer to Lupin's oval shape. And Harry's eyes, in addition to not being green any more, had also lost a little of their distinctive shape. Now they had that fold along the lower eyelid that always made Lupin look kindly.
Harry's nose and mouth were more or less the same, or at least had no huge differences. And, last of all, Harry noticed that his skin was a slightly darker color. Not that Lupin was tanned by any stretch of the imagination, but he was a little less pale than Harry, and the tone of the skin was slightly more tawny than Harry's, which tended to pink.
Harry thought that, if he met himself, he'd not only not recognize himself, but he'd probably think he was a nice person, an approachable sort of person, if not a memorable one. And he'd probably ask himself if he was related to Lupin.
"Cool," said Harry in summary, looking up at Sirius and Lupin.
"It's going to take me a while to get used to that," said Sirius, staring at Harry.
"That reminds me: here's yours, Mr. Black. One use only," said McGonagall, handing him another chain. "On that one I used a combination of yours, Remus, and some other features I chose at random. In case anyone spots you, you'll be good evidence for another branch of the Lupin family."
"Thank you," said Sirius formally, taking the chain and dropping it over his head. Lupin scratched his nose to disguise his smile; McGonagall had given Sirius almost militarily short hair--certainly the last thing Sirius would ever have chosen for himself.
"Ah," said McGonagall, catching Harry's chin and turning it up to face her. "We can't Transfigure your scar, unfortunately, so you'll need to apply this every morning." She drew a small pot out of her pocket and began matter-of-factly dabbing it into Harry's scar.
"Is that makeup?" Harry asked dubiously.
"It's witch's makeup," said McGonagall shortly. "Waterproof and rub-proof until you use tincture of witch hazel to remove it. Please don't forget to put it on freshly every morning."
"I won't," said Harry, feeling slightly cowed.
"Good luck, then, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall almost gently. "I was your Head of House before, you know. I hope I will be again. And be careful in Diagon Alley, please."
"I will," said Harry seriously.
"I'll see you in a week," said McGonagall, leaving the jar on the table, and with that she Flooed back to Hogwarts.
Sirius clapped his hands together. "Well, let's go, then!" he said energetically. "Floo, or Apparate to the Cauldron?"
"Apparate, I think," said Lupin. "It's all right going to Hogwarts or the Burrow, but we don't want to flag ourselves with Floo passages to Diagon Alley."
"All right," said Sirius. "Harry, you can't Apparate into or out of a wizarding house, so we'll have to walk just slightly onto the front step and Apparate from there. The Fidelius Charm will hide us there."
Harry watched Lupin step just over Grimmauld Place's threshold and then turn on the spot and vanish with a pop. "Hold on tight," said Sirius, and Harry grabbed his arm. "Luckily, I got rather good at Apparating while I was on the run . . ." He closed the front door behind them. The noise of London was suddenly bustling all around Harry, and he realized how long it had been since he'd left the house.
Then he felt as though he were being squeezed, very tightly. He felt nearly about to choke, but then the constriction loosened and Sirius was standing with him outside a small and shabby pub on a street in central London. "Here we are!" Sirius announced with a touch of pride. "The Leaky Cauldron."
Just as they had been outside Grimmauld Place, the passers-by here were completely ignoring Harry and Sirius. "Hidden to Muggle eyes," Sirius explained. "Come on, let's go in."
Lupin was already there, talking casually with the barman. The place was actually not that full, and Harry wondered whether it was always like that or whether this was a result of Voldemort's return, mostly secret though it was. "There you are!" Sirius called to Lupin as they walked in.
"This is my cousin, Geoffrey, and his son, John," Lupin introduced them. Sirius managed to hide his disgust at the names quite well this time, and gave the barman a neutral wave. "Well, we'd better be going."
"Good luck to you, and safe travelling," the wizened barman wished them, cleaning out a beer mug with a worried expression.
They walked through the back door of the pub to face a brick wall; Lupin took out his wand and tapped it, and the wall widened to show a street even busier than the one at the front of the pub, and far, far more obviously magical.
Harry had never seen so many witches and wizards all together at once before. He already knew that, alone, magical people tended to rejoice in eccentricity, but as a group they were quite dazzling: there went a witch in fuchsia robes and a foot-tall pointed hat with an enormous lizard slung over her shoulders (its tongue slipped out and snapped sparks into the air); there was a wizard with his young son, holding a string to which was attached, in order, a floating trunk, a floating cauldron, and a floating owl cage with a rather distressed-looking owl. There was a little canopied stall trumpeting DEFEND YOURSELF FROM THE DARK, bristling with whirring things and large-brimmed hats of unknown use. And then there were the actual shops, all with determinedly wizardly names and all proudly hawking their magical wares as loudly as possible. If the vague sense of threat Harry perceived in the DEFEND YOURSELF stall and the occasional person walking too quickly and nervously hadn't been there, the street would have had a carnival atmosphere, and Harry felt a twinge of sadness that the brightness of the street had been dimmed even a little by Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
"What do you think, Harry? Broom first?" said Sirius, surveying the panorama. Harry could only nod.
Walking into Quality Quidditch Supplies, he had no idea how good any of the brooms he was seeing were, but desperately wanted them all. The shop smelt wonderfully of polish and varnish and other arcane sporty things, and he couldn't stop looking from broom to broom (stopping to admire gadgets like speedometers you could fix onto the front of your broom).
"We could get you a Firebolt," Sirius offered, ushering Harry over to look at what was obviously the most expensive broom in the shop.
It was definitely nice, but--"What about this one?" Harry suggested. "Nimbus Two Thousand Three Hundred and a Half." The label on this one seemed to indicate it was a good mid-level brand.
"Are you sure?" said Sirius, lifting an eyebrow. "You can have the Firebolt if you want it."
Harry gave a shy shrug. "I don't really need it," he said. "It's not like I'll probably be on the house team."
"Well, the Nimbus is a good choice," said Lupin, lifting it out of the rack into Harry's hands. "What do you think?"
Harry weighed it. "Yeah, I like this one," he said, pleased.
"Just that one, then," said Sirius to the shopkeeper, and before Harry could say anything he drew a large bag of money from somewhere on his person and began pouring out large Galleons (even more than it seemed should have been in the bag).
Harry clutched the broom. "Thanks," he said, feeling his cheeks redden--although what they looked like now, in his disguise, he had no idea.
Sirius' money bag was back somewhere in his pockets. "Couldn't think of a better use for it," he said to Harry with a grin.
"Books next," said Lupin, pulling out a neatly folded list. "Since your original book list didn't, er, quite make it to you, we kept it."
Flourish & Blotts was a little further down the street; one or two family groups glanced at Lupin with interest, but nobody said hello. Harry thought again of Lupin's reticence in telling him that he was a werewolf, and wondered exactly how much being a werewolf mattered to wizarding people. Perhaps it explained a lot about Lupin's purposefully polite manner.
Then they went into the bookshop, and Harry's attention was diverted again. "Wow," he gasped, awed by the stacks and stacks of books, all explaining different aspects of magic. You could spend your life in there, reading, and still not know it all.
While Lupin and Sirius were showing the shop assistant the list, Harry kept being drawn further and further into the shop by tantalizing displays. The Animagus Transformation: Theory and Advice from the Experts, said one. Harry picked it up and saw a disclaimer in much smaller type underneath the title, saying, "Do not attempt the Animagus Transformation without the assistance of experienced witches and wizards. The authors are not responsible for any accidents due to unsuccessful transformations. Remember to register yourself with the Ministry as soon as you are successful." Harry reminded himself to ask Sirius sometime about becoming an Animagus. Honestly, of all the things he'd heard of to do with magic, it sounded like the most fun of all. Harry wondered, not for the first time, what animal he might be.
Then he spotted another title. Duelling at the Professional Level. He turned the book over. "Learn the tricks that will get you that edge over your opponent!" said the blurb. This one sounded handy for helping the Order. Perhaps another day.
Then Harry saw a thicker tome with big, friendly letters stating that it contained One Thousand Handy Spells For Everyday Use. He'd really have liked them all, but this would be helpful right away; Harry might be able to catch up on spells they taught in lessons, but he still felt he was behind on the in-between bits of magic that everyone else knew. "Can I get this, too?" he asked Lupin at the till, biting his fingernail.
With a glance at the title, Lupin said, "Of course." He opened it up and flicked through a few pages with interest.
Sirius pulled at the corner of the book to get a better look. "The Instant Wakefulness Charm! I've used that one once or twice." Sirius gave one of his quick barking laughs. "We'll take this book, too," he told the shop assistant.
And when he was holding his heavy package of books to his chest, walking out of the shop between Lupin and Sirius, Harry felt as though the books, and his broom, were the most precious things he'd ever owned.
They went on to get Harry a cauldron and supplies from the Apothecary, leading Harry to wish he'd gotten a book on the basics of potion-making as well as spells. Next were the Eyelops Owl Emporium and, nearby, the Magical Menagerie. Harry looked over the rows of owls, the tanks of toads and the roaming magical cats, but in the end decided nothing appealed to him.
Then Harry found himself in Madam Malkin's, which was by far the least enjoyable shop. Not only had he never been measured for clothes before, but the robes frankly felt like he was either wearing a dress or dressing up as a judge. Of course, they looked perfectly normal on Lupin and Sirius, but what with the big gaudy golden chain underneath his T-shirt, Harry felt a little ostentatious, and was relieved to walk out in his normal ancient Dudley-worn jeans and T-shirt.
According to Sirius, it was traditional at this point to stop for an ice cream at Florean Fortescue's, a proposition to which all parties cheerfully agreed. The weather was more typically British now than it had been in those unusual weeks earlier in the summer, but after carrying all his new things all day the icy air in the shop felt like heaven to Harry.
Once they were each carrying an ice-cream--pistachio for Lupin, a surprising vanilla for Sirius (though with lots of fudge and nuts), and chocolate with caramel for Harry--they sat (at Sirius' suggestion) around a table outside.
They ate their sundaes mostly in comfortable silence, since they were all worn out and there wasn't much they could discuss in public like this, anyway. The breeze was gentle, just enough for the day, and the hubbub of the crowds was almost lulling. A few pigeons that must have found their way here from Muggle London pecked at nothing on the cobblestones. Idly scraping the nuts and fudge from the surface of his ice-cream, Sirius was still taking in the street, its passers-by and its stretch of blue sky overhead with an almost hungry enjoyment.
This must be the first time Sirius had been able to sit like this here for . . . fourteen years.
And Harry had originally wanted Sirius to come for his own sake, not for Sirius'. Never having seen Sirius outside Grimmauld Place, he'd never really understood how much his godfather was the kind of person who needed space: room in which to expend his seemingly endless energies, both physical and mental; big public places in which to meet and talk to and charm people; fresh air and new ground to be discovered and duly charted and made his own. Of course, it made sense: wasn't Sirius' Animagus form a pack animal, a big dog you'd never keep shut up in a house without any stimulus or exercise?
Privately, and with a bitter pang of regret, Harry swore he'd convince Dumbledore to let Sirius go out again as soon as possible.
Still, at this moment Sirius looked almost contented. Even Lupin seemed less worn and lined than usual. For the first time in . . . well, in a long time, Harry felt that things were right. This was where they ought to be, here with one another.
When they at last got back to Grimmauld Place and dropped all of Harry's purchases on the floor under the hole in the wall where the curtained portrait used to be, they heard Hermione, Ron, and the other Harry talking in the kitchen. Whisking off his necklace and turning back into his normal self, Sirius glanced at Lupin and Harry.
Harry nodded once, firmly, and they headed on down to the kitchen.
"Didn't hear you upstairs, was feeding Buckbeak," Sirius said, striding in to greet Hermione, Ron and the other Harry.
Lupin went in next, and Harry tailed him. It seemed impossible that Hermione and Ron--not to mention his other self--would see through the subterfuge immediately.
But they didn't.
"So you're Professor Lupin's--what was it--cousin?" Hermione asked, standing up politely to meet him.
"Sort of distant relative, really," said Harry. "Um--nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too," said Hermione, with a friendly smile at him and then at Lupin. "I'm Hermione, I suppose Professor Lupin told you about us?" Any relative of Lupin's was automatically all right in her opinion, he surmised. Well, he would have felt the same way.
Harry nodded, not wanting to lie. He realized he ought to introduce himself properly, but it felt ridiculous. "I'm, er, John Lupin."
"Ron Weasley. Nice to meet you, mate," said Ron with characteristic awkwardness. "So--you'll be in our year, then."
"Yeah, hope I'm in Gryffindor," said Harry truthfully. Quite apart from everything else, he already knew people in Gryffindor.
"Ah, it's the best," said Ron proudly.
He turned to his other self--the interaction he'd felt most nervous about. "So you're Harry?"
"Hi," said the other Harry, with a small wave. Harry supposed the other him was either waiting for him to make some comment about his famous past, unhappy that Lupin had never mentioned him up to this moment, distracted by the revelations he'd heard last night, or all three.
Harry tried to think of something to say that didn't relate to the other him being famous. "We were just in Diagon Alley," he ended up saying lamely. "I got a new broomstick."
"Really? What is it?" asked Ron at once. "Harry's got a Firebolt, but actually I just got a new Cleansweep for getting to be Prefect."
"Oh, you're a prefect?" said Harry with what he thought was the appropriate appreciation. He knew Ron didn't usually get much attention.
"Well, yeah--Hermione is too," said Ron off-handedly.
"Oh, well done," said Lupin warmly. "I hadn't heard. I was a prefect when I was at Hogwarts, you know. I think Dumbledore thought it might convince me to restrain my friends a little. Of course, he was quite wrong."
Harry had to admit, he was surprised: he'd've thought Dumbledore would have named the other him as a prefect--and from the looks of it, his other self secretly thought that too, although he was trying to be good-sported about it. Now Harry felt crucifyingly awkward.
"So what make of broom did you get, then?" Ron persisted.
"It's a Nimbus," said Harry miserably, knowing that it was better than Ron's. "But I haven't really flown much, you know."
"Oh, with your illness," said Hermione with immediate sympathy. "Well, don't worry, I'm terrible at flying anyway. It's not like it really matters."
Harry wished he could Apparate away right on the spot, hopefully to some sort of deep hole.
"Oh, and--I was actually going to ask whether I could borrow one of you lot's first and second year Potions books, because--well, I haven't done that much magic, but I haven't done any Potions, and I don't really have any idea how to begin, so I thought I'd look at the earlier stuff before I went and, you know, try to catch up," he said, mentally cursing his sudden inability to get the words out.
"Mine's upstairs, you can borrow that," offered his other self at once. "Actually, you can keep it. It's not like I'm ever going to look at it again," he said darkly.
"The teacher is a git," Ron informed Harry.
"Remus said to watch out for him," said Harry, looking to Lupin for a moment.
"It's true: he hates Gryffindors," said Hermione. "You'd better catch up on Potions as much as you can."
"Of course, he'll be a git to you anyway," commiserated the other Harry.
"Technically, I shouldn't really let you say that about him," said Lupin with a half-smile. "But you should probably be going. Your mother will be wondering where you are."
"Oh, right!" said Ron. "Well, bye, Harry. Bye, John."
The other Harry nodded. "Bye. See you in a few days."
They left through the Floo, and Harry was alone with his other self.
"You know, I'm starving," said the other Harry suddenly. "What time is it?"
"Just around five o'clock," said Lupin, looking at his battered pocket-watch.
"I wouldn't mind some toast or something," volunteered Harry.
"Yeah, cheese on toast," agreed the other him. "Can we?" he asked Lupin.
"I'll do it," said Lupin, with what might just have been a very slight affectionate eyeroll. He stood up to slice the bread.
"Oh. I should put my things away," remembered Harry, and he headed back to the corridor where his new school supplies were still in a heap.
The other Harry followed him, picking up his new broomstick and a few books to carry upstairs. "This is nice," he said, admiring the Nimbus. "My first broomstick was a Nimbus."
"Ah," said Harry, struggling under the weight of his cauldron loaded with books and clothes. "Er--but I suppose the Firebolt is better?"
"Yeah, with certain things," said the other him. It was odd how different their voices sounded. Harry supposed everyone's voice sounded different to the person it belonged to than to everyone else, though. "Like just when you're braking, or a really quick turn."
They both deposited Harry's new school things on the bed in his room and then stood there for an uncertain moment.
"Remus told you about what happened to me this summer, right?" asked the other Harry.
"Yeah," said Harry. "I'm--that must have been really tough." Suddenly, he understood what had been bothering the other him. He had wanted to be certain that this stranger didn't believe the Prophet's stories (of which Harry had seen a lot, since he'd been allowed to see the paper) about the Boy Who Lived being a dangerous, mad liar desperate for attention.
"Yeah," said the other Harry.
"Look, I--I know you were right about Voldemort being back, of course," Harry said quickly, in one breath. "And the Ministry's lying, and the Prophet's just making stuff up, and all."
The other him looked up with genuine gratitude. "Thanks," he said.
Harry felt a surge of pity for his other self. He reminded him of being a little kid back at the Dursleys': being told you were a freak and a bad egg by everyone around you, just longing for someone to say that wasn't true. No wonder he looked so despondent. "It's okay," he said.
"YOU TWO!" shouted Sirius from downstairs. "FOOD'S READY!"
And the other Harry bounded down the stairs toward the kitchen again.
Author's note:
1. In response to Fibinaci: I totally do think the Animagus transformation is both cool and potentially very useful in facing Voldemort, and I'm baffled that more people in canon don't want to do it, especially Harry.
2. As I added in the notes for the previous chapter: unfortunately, the facts about what really happened to give us two Harrys are supposed to be a mystery. Guess away! Clues will be forthcoming.
3. Reviews are lovely. As you can tell, I like to respond to them. : )