Chapter 4: Adrift in the City

Harry apparated into a small street just off Charing Cross road in the west end of London. With the time difference compared to Albania, it was still early evening in London, the sun high above the tall, dark houses he found himself facing. He removed his conspicuous cloak, and tried to fold it tight. Glancing around him he found this street to be deserted, except for a cat slinking amongst the rubbish bins, two doors down. He hurried around the corner and into the busy road.

Charing Cross road was heaving with traffic. Irate drivers were beating on their horns as scooters sped between the gaps that seemed to magically appear between the snarled up vehicles. The pavements thronged with shoppers and business people hurrying home, or to the restaurants that lined this part of the street. Everyone appeared to be dressed smartly, or so it seemed to Harry, as he glanced down at his sweaty t-shirt, ripped jeans and muddied trainers.

Harry kept up a brisk pace, passing between the people. A pocket in the crowd seemed to appear around him as he moved along. Whether it was his appearance or the determination he felt sure people could see in his eyes – the crowds was eager to let him through. He moved quickly down the road and was soon scanning the establishments he was passing on the left hand side. A bar - a newsagent - a big book store - then he turned into the next building, a shabby pub that, like him, everyone else on the street seemed determined to avoid.

Once through the heavy wood door he stood standing in the entrance hall of the Leaky Cauldron, the wizarding pub that marked the barrier between muggle London and Diagon Alley. It was very dingy inside this narrow hallway which was lit only by a couple of flickering candles. In their light he could make out flyers for a Weird Sisters gig held last March and a couple of yellowed parchments that appeared to be wanted posters. Taking advantage of the gloomy solitude, Harry briskly shook his cloak out and put it on, drawing the hood up so that it obscured his head and face. Harry was anxious to keep knowledge of his presence back in England a secret for as long as possible. The cloak, a conspicuous item in muggle London, would disguise him perfectly in the Leaky Cauldron, where goblins and Hags were regulars among the clientele.

Taking a deep breath he stepped through the door in front of him and crossed the almost deserted lounge of the pub. Trying to stop himself from running, he glanced neither to the left nor the right until he had reached the exit towards the back of the room. As he stepped through he thought he heard a muffled voice behind him, but he didn't stop to find out and hurried through, closing the door behind him. Breathing a sigh of relief he stepped forward to find himself in the familiar back alley, a brick wall rising up above him.

Now he took his wand out, tapped the appropriate brick, and stepped back, allowing the archway to appear in front of him. He walked through to find himself in a street, almost deserted except for a few figures darting between the shops. On his left, a small witch was taking back in display racks of pewter cauldrons. Further on, owls were flying out of the door of Eeylops Owl Emporium, evidently being let out for their night-time flight. Harry passed all these by, his eyes set on the large white facade of Gringotts Bank further down the street. A goblin, standing outside resting on what looked to be a short spear, showed it was still open. Harry dashed up the stairs, through the heavily gilded doors, and into the dazzling, marble atrium.

Once inside he located a goblin assistant and within a few minutes they were speeding along deep under London. When they arrived, Harry took a few moments to inspect the contents of his vault. Despite the fact that it was only two months since he had last been here, he had been very nervous whilst away. Looking around he found that his trunk was there, filled with all his spell books, cauldron and other instruments he had used whilst at school. His Firebolt stood leaning against one corner whilst another smaller trunk held all his clothes. There was also still a considerable amount of gold Galleons, silver Sickles and bronze Knuts lying stacked in piles around the vault. He collected a pair of jeans, and some t-shirts from the small trunk of clothes. These he stuffed into a pocket of his travelling cloak. He also took out his empty money bag and replenished it with some of the coins. This was all he really needed for now; once he was settled down he could come back and retrieve the rest of his possessions.

A few minutes later he had returned to the street, his pockets now considerably heavier, with the weight of Sickles and Galleons he had taken from his vault. He now turned right and headed further down the alley, soon coming to a large building on the left. A sign above the door said 'London and International Post Office'. Again drawing his cloak tight round him Harry went inside.

The sight that greeted him took him back completely. He had been impressed with the Post Office in Hogsmeade, but this was ten times as big. The main room was simply enormous, stretching upwards to rafters of thickset wood at least three stories above him. A long counter stood the length of the far wall, very similar to the one in Gringotts. A few positions were occupied by witches and wizards, shuffling pieces of parchment or weighing strange shaped packages. Behind the long wooden counter there were hundreds upon hundreds of cages. Many of them contained birds of some kind or another. The ones that didn't were being cleaned by uniformed wizards on high ladders. Harry could make out the effect of powerful scourgify spells being used as droppings and skeletons came flying out of the cages into large sacks arranged below. Each cage was colour coded and birds were constantly flying in and out

Along the right hand side of the room there were desks arranged and it was to one of these that Harry went to first. Here there were quills and ink wells, provided by the post office for its customers use. Harry pulled out a piece of parchment from his cloak and leant over to write a letter.

Dear Mr Weasley,

I have just this moment arrived back in England after a short trip to Albania. Although I would rather tell you the details in person, please believe me when I say that Voldemort will no longer cause any trouble to the magical community here or anywhere. I have the ashes of his final incarnation that I am sure your staff will be able to identify as those of T.M. Riddle.

Please could you tell me when it would be convenient to see you, preferably in London.

Yours sincerely,

Harry Potter

Harry read through it a couple of times to make sure he was happy with it, then folded it up carefully, before going over to the counter. He made sure his hood was drawn tight around his head before approaching a witch who was sitting bent over a small package which she was gingerly tapping with her wand

"Excuse me please", said Harry, leaning on the counter in front of the book.

The witch looked up and frowned, "Just a moment sir." She continued to tap at the package which had been tied up tightly with string. As her wand touched it the string coiled out and tried to wrap itself around the wand.

"Ah, confound this self-tying string", she exclaimed, pulling her wand free, "Even a little bit too much and it starts trying to tie up other things. We have had three owls almost strangled to death by this stuff in the last week." The witch pulled her wand away from the coiling string and muttered, "Expelliarmus". The string uncoiled itself and fell placidly on the counter. The witch briskly brushed it into a bin, took out some string from a drawer and quickly tied up the parcel before placing it to one side.

"Now, how can I help you, ah, sir?"

"This is a priority letter – Arthur Weasley, Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement please", said Harry handing over the letter.

"Certainly sir", the witch replied, placing the letter into a small metal box that appeared to look like a muggle microwave. She smiled as the machine lit up, and pinged. "Security", she explained, signalling to a small owl in a cage painted with brilliant yellow and black stripes. As it swooped down she continued, "These are our fastest carrier owls". She tied the parchment to its outstretched leg, "It should be there in five minutes". As soon as the letter was tied, the owl gave a quick hoot and zipped off and out of one of the open windows, set high in the wall facing Diagon Alley. "And that will be 3 sickles please sir", the witch said starting to make a note in a large ledger she had pulled out from a different drawer.

Harry paid the witch, thanked her and turned to leave the post office

"Oh, and Mr Potter!" Harry froze as the witch called surreptitiously to him. "There is a letter here for you!" she continued as he once more sought to draw his cloak around him and shuffled back to the counter.

"But, how-"

"Oh, never mind that. And don't you worry, discretion is our watchword", the witch said, handing him a letter sealed with a blob of red wax.

"Thanks, you're not going to…?"

The witch shook her head. "The young witch who gave it me made it very clear I would not enjoy the consequences if I were to tell anyone I had seen you".

"Oh, right, thanks", Harry repeated awkwardly, and without a backwards glance he hurried out of the post office.

Although Harry felt slightly calmer, now that he had set things in motion at the Ministry he was still slightly flustered by how easily that witch had recognised him. Unless… Hastily he ducked into the shadows between the Magical Menagerie and Gambol and Japes so that he could read the letter. He closely examined the seal, and smiled in relief as he recognised the pug-nosed cat's face that was pressed into the wax. He carefully slit the seal, and unfolded the letter. It was short, but he immediately recognised Hermione's neat, flowing handwriting. Of course, she would have probably told that witch to expect someone wrapped in a tattered cloak, sending letters to Mr Weasley. He read:

Dear Harry

If you are reading this letter it means that you are safely back in London. I am so glad that you have made it back alright. If you are looking for a place to stay whilst you get yourself sorted you would be most welcome at my new house. The address is

23 Eavesham Terrace

Bethnal Green

London

Love

Hermione

Harry smiled to himself. Although he could tell by the terseness of her writing, Hermione was angry with him, at least he knew that someone still cared what happened to him. He gently folded the letter up and tucked it into his innermost cloak pocket, setting off back up Diagon Alley.

He at least had somewhere to head for now, but Bethnal Green? How was he going to get there?

His brisk pace had already taken him back down to the arched exit that led to Leaky Cauldron. Once again trying to ensure he was completely concealed he made his way back into Muggle London.

***

Long apparition trips made Harry feel queasy so he decided to try his luck on the tube. Charing Cross road was definitely quieter as he stepped out of the shabby pub into the muggle world. A few cabs roared down the street, but the majority of activity was in the bars and restaurants where Harry could glimpse life going on merrily inside.

His stomach gave a rumble. Although it was actually still an hour or so before he had eaten that stew, Harry had done a lot of walking and was feeling ready for another meal.

As he walked down the road in the late evening sun he wondered whether Hermione would be up to feeding him, or whether he should stop for a quick bite at a restaurant. He then remembered that he was seriously low on muggle money, so he soldiered on, reaching the escalator at Leicester Square tube station where he descended into the stuffy twilight zone of the London Underground.

The journey was uneventful. He took the Piccadilly Line to Holborn, and then changed onto the Central Line, disembarking five stops later at Bethnal Green. It was just as he was stepping through the sliding doors of the tube train at Bethnal Green station that he heard a cry which made his heart drop several feet.


"Harry! Harry! Alright there, Harry!"

Since he was in muggle London Harry had again thought it best to remove his cloak and had it tucked under his arm as he had ridden the tube. Now, the last person in the world he had expected to see was calling to him. Colin Creevey was bouncing up and down trying to crane over the heads of astonished muggles who were looking from one of them to the other with glances that ranged from merely curious to frankly disapproving.

Harry tried to doge away from Colin, but the wave of people leaving the train pushed him inexorably towards the up escalators and the place where Colin was waiting. Then the thing which Harry had been dreading since he heard the voice happened. Colin reached up, a camera held in his outstretched hands, aiming straight at Harry.

"No Colin!" Harry shouted, reaching to unfurl his cloak. But it was too late; with a pop and a burst of light Colin had aimed the camera and taken a picture of Harry. Then, as Harry reached him, he grabbed Harry's wrist and pulled him up the escalator and onto the street. Around Bethnal Green the streets were much less busy, and Harry thought he might be able to get away with only a bit of magical assistance. However, to Harry's dismay Colin started shouting again, and this drove all thoughts of escape from Harry's mind.

"Rita! Rita! Look who I've found!"

Up until now Harry had been struggling against Colin, but at this he put down his arms and gave up fighting. He wished that he could be anywhere else, but found himself powerless to move. Coming down the street, Harry could see, was a bobbing head of precisely placed auburn curls. He knew it could only be one person – Rita Skeeter, trash journalist extraordinaire.

"Colin!" Harry moaned, as he found himself shaking Rita's ring festooned hand.

"Harry, darling! It's wonderful to see you! You look…" here Rita paused as she looked him up and down, taking in his torn cloak, muddied trainers and his pale stretched face, "…amazing! Come on, I'll buy you something to eat"

"But…" said Harry

"Wonderful", Rita interjected, "There is a simply fabulous Italian just round this corner. You'll love it"

And with that both Colin and Rita took him by the arm and led him round the corner and into 'Lavazza'.

***

Harry found himself sitting on a bench at a table in a corner of a small restaurant. The place was decorated in red, white and green and the smells emanating from the nearby kitchen were driving Harry mad. He was sandwiched between Colin and Rita, who was perusing a menu through her rimmed glasses. They sat in silence for a few minutes until a young waiter came over, notebook in hand.

"Ah, there you are", said Rita peering at him from behind the menu,"Harry will have the fiorelli pasta, I will have lasagne and Colin will have some garlic bread. Oh, and a bottle of white wine"

The waiter stalked off, seemingly non-plussed at Rita's attitude.

"Now dear, I am just going to freshen myself up in the bathroom. Colin, make sure he doesn't go anywhere!"

Colin nodded, his eyes seemingly glazed over with rapture, but his grip tightened on Harry's shoulder.

How could he go anywhere? If he did he could just imagine the headlines…Potter loses it….loose in London…You-know-who's vanquisher adrift in the city. He was going to have to stay and make the most of what was already looking to be an unmitigated disaster. If only long apparition trips didn't make me feel sick, he thought furiously to himself.

"Come off it Colin", Harry turned to shrug the hand off his shoulder, "You've got me, I'm not going to do a runner".

"Ok Harry!" Colin replied breezily, his hand remaining as tight as ever on Harry's shoulder.

"Ok, so how come you are working for that old roach? Don't you still have a year left at Hogwarts?"

Colin looked affronted, but seemed to skip over it when he answered, "Oh, well I saw an advertisement in the Daily Prophet looking for an apprentice photographer to do some work over the summer. I applied, and well, here I am. My dad was so pleased; he has even taken out a subscription just so he can see my pictures!"

"Well, congratulations Colin"

Harry cursed silently under his breath. It was worse than he imagined, that photo of him would be on the front page of tomorrow's edition, landing on the breakfast tables of the majority of wizarding Britain.

"So Rita's back in their good books is she?"

"Oh yeah, she did some huge expose on Fudge for the Evening Orb, got her loads of publicity. The Daily Prophet almost begged her to come back after that!"

"Expose?"

"Yeah", said Colin, squirming in his seat with excitement, "all about how he was trying to inveigle his way back into a top ministry position. Madam Bones was furious, she fired half her office staff - it was huge"

"Oh right", said Harry, stunned that the ministry was still in upheaval

"So, where've you been Harry?"

"Look Colin, I don't want to talk about it"

"What don't you want to talk about, my dear?" the voice of Rita Skeeter floated across to them, as she made her way across the room, doing up the buckle on her pink handbag.

"Nothing", Harry scowled furiously at Colin.

"Oh but come, come, you must have something to tell", she said, undoing her other bag and drawing out an acid green quill and a fresh piece of parchment "I mean, you don't get to be in that sort of state by sitting behind a desk at the ministry"

"What?" said Harry, completely baffled.

"Arthur Weasley informed me that you were working in the office of the Wizengamot Administration Service. Strange then that I could never make an appointment to see you. "

Harry wasn't sure what to say - why had Mr Weasley being covering for him? He hadn't ever asked him too.

Whilst Harry was thinking this, Rita had sucked the end of quill and had placed it on the parchment where it had started scribbling away. Harry was sure this was her Qwik-Quotes Quill, and remembering the nasty experience he had had with it last time, made to bat it away. Colin's other hand shot out and deflected Harry's hand.

"Colin!" Harry hissed

And before Harry had a chance to make another lunge the waiter had arrived with the food. He sat scowling at the food for a few minutes, but it wasn't long before the rumbling in his stomach became unbearable.

"Go on my dear, you look famished", said Rita, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

But Harry, despite what misgivings his stomach may be having, was determined not to accept anything from Rita Skeeter.

"Ok, my dear", said Rita, not noticing that Harry still wasn't eating, "so why don't you start by telling me what you have been doing over the summer?"

"I don't think it's any of your business", replied Harry, watching the quill with suspicion as it started to race across the page.

The wizarding world has been in uproar now for almost two months over the untimely disappearance of its saviour, Harry Potter. Said by Ministry officials to have taken a desk job with the Wizengamot Administration Service, it can now be revealed that Harry Potter has turned up in east London looking like he has lost a series of fights with a Manticore…

With each new pass of the quill Harry was getting increasingly more irate. Why did everyone have to start prying into his personal affairs?

"Look, I took a holiday, I needed to get away from all the…" but here he broke off, realising he couldn't say he wanted to get away from all the celebrations.

In an exclusive interview granted to your special correspondent, Rita Skeeter, Potter claimed that he had taken a holiday. With the recent defeat of You-know-who could it be that Potter is now looking for something to replace him, and is even now on quest to find something deeper and darker to test his extraordinary wizarding powers?

"I'm not looking for anything. I never was. Things always found me!"

"But Harry, why didn't you stay? You could have had all that attention."

"I didn't want any attention!"

Rita now seemed to change track, she moved closer to Harry on the seat, and rested a hand on his bare arm

"My dear, is it the pressure, the guilt you feel about the people who died?"

"No, I…."

Harry Potter, now 19, seemed without remorse as he declared feeling no guilt towards those that died during his struggle with You-know-who.

"You haven't been driven away by the thought of those people your actions affected?"

"Of course I…"

"You never visited a single parent?"

"How could I….of course I feel terrible, but what could I do?"

Harry was desperate now, fighting to stave off tears that had threatened to come every time he had thought of those that died on that terrible day.

Rita had evidently interpreted his face, contorted with rage, as one that held no compassion.

Desperately trying to find a way to make something good of this Harry found his gaze drawn to the window of the restaurant. Pressed up against it, disbelief on his face, was Harry's best friend Ron Weasley. Rita had evidently seem him too since she suddenly had become rather flustered.

"Mr Potter, I don't think I can carry on this interview", she said, putting away the quill and rolling up the parchment before placing that in her bag. "Cheque please!"

"See you later Harry", Colin called with a cheery wave as they quickly left the restaurant, Rita trying to avoid catching Ron's eye.

Harry sat watching Ron make his way towards him, as he sat quaking with suppressed rage.

How had that gone so wrong?

"Err, alright…mate?"

Ron had stopped a couple of steps away from Harry and was watching him with an uncomfortable look on his face.

Harry felt equally uncomfortable. The last time he had seen Ron was the day before he had left for Albania, Ron was in a trance brought on by the Healer's and lying in a bed in St Mungo's.

"Hi, Ron, how are you?" Harry asked, trying to force a smile onto his face.

"Oh, I'm ok," though his fingers seemed to be twitching nervously, "how about you? What were you doing with that Skeeter bitch?"

"She and Colin cornered me on the underground"

"That was Colin Creevey?" said Ron, looking amazed.

"Yeah, he is working for the Daily Prophet as a photographer over the summer"

"Oh right"

"Look, thanks for showing up, you seemed to give her quite a fright"

"Yeah, she tried to interview me shortly after I had been taken into hospital, before they put me into that trance. I didn't do anything, but my mum was there and well…"

Despite how he was feeling inside, Harry couldn't help laughing at the thought of protective Mrs Weasley catching Rita trying to get an interview with her grievously injured son.

"What are you doing wandering the streets at this time of night?"

"You know, I really couldn't tell you. I guess it is being cooped up with Hermione all day. I think she is starting to regret offering her place for me to stay in. I just needed to get out, you know, get some fresh air."

"Hermione sent me a letter giving her new address – that is where I was heading"

"Yeah, I guessed as much". Ron had relaxed somewhat, "She doesn't seem to always approve of me bringing people back to her house. But if she invited you, that's ok. Let's go."

Harry felt slightly more relaxed now he had spoken with Ron. It had helped that Ron hadn't burst out wanting to know where Harry had been or what he had been doing. As long as he could go over it slowly and discuss it thoroughly he might be able to come to terms with all that had happened to him over the last few weeks.

The two friends left the restaurant and stepped out into the cool night air. The suffused glow of street lamps was the only source of light as they left the busy commercial area of Bethnal Green and walked through the tangle of streets towards Hermione's house.

"Why are you staying at Hermione's?" Harry asked as turned down yet another quiet suburban road.

Ron gave Harry a sly glance but quickly returned to picking his way between parked cars and dustbins that jostled for space on the pavement.

"It is much more convenient for St Mungo's than The Burrow."

"You have to go back?"

"Yeah, since it is an unknown curse Vol…I mean You-know-who used on me, they are really interested in it. They keep trying different things to see the effect, making lots of notes. I have to go there once a week, sometimes twice. Without apparition to help me I have to take the tube. It would be a nightmare getting into London twice a week from Devon"

"Yeah" said Harry, absently.

Hearing Ron had put Harry back into his brooding thoughts about Voldemort and how he had affected the lives of his friends. They didn't talk, and nor did they meet anyone, as they made their way up yet another terraced street, lined with houses with neat little box gardens in front. The next street they turned into was even quieter, Harry noticed the sign saying Eavesham Terrace and it wasn't long before Ron indicated a gate, through which they walked.

Hermione's house was just like every other house along the terrace. It had four square windows facing the road, all were filled with curtains, but through the edges of the bottom left one could be seen the gentle glow of electric lights. There was a short flight of broad steps up to the green front door, which had, Harry noticed with a smile, a familiar lion shaped knocker. Ron didn't show signs of having a key so Harry reached up and gave the Gryffindor emblem a couple of sharp raps.

As they stood waiting on the darkened doorstep they were joined by a bandy-legged creature that had crept out of the bougainvillea which grew hunched under the left-hand window sill. It purred contentedly as it climbed the steps and wrapped its body around Harry's leg

"Hi Crookshanks!" said Harry reaching down to give the Kneazle a stroke behind its large ginger ears.

"Where is…" Ron started, but was interrupted as a light came in on the hall beyond the door. They heard the clinking of a chain and then the key turned sharply in the lock.

"Harry!"

Harry's view of a cosy looking hallway was cut off, almost as quickly as it had been revealed, by the shock of brown hair that had run through the door way. Hermione had thrown her arms around Harry and by the silent shudders he felt against his body she was sobbing gently.

"Hi Hermione", said Harry, gently patting Hermione on the back. For a minute they stood there in an awkward embrace, but then Harry started to catch a muttering behind him.

"Look, are you going to let us in?" Ron's voice sounded cross and impatient.

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione had let go of Harry and stood back, seemingly about to berate Ron for his rudeness. Then she caught sight of Harry's tattered clothes and pale face and bit her lip.

"Ok, come in"

And so the three friends stepped into the inviting house, followed by a ginger cat. The door was shut and the silence, which had enveloped the street before their arrival, returned.