Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of it's characters, so don't sue me!
Pairings: H/D and N/? so far…
Plot: Harry, a.k.a.; Guy, is coming back home. After the war and Voldemort was defeated, Harry walked away from his life and the after-effects of the battle, seeking refuge from the world in his persona - Guy. Now, it's time for him to face the music, and that which manages to scare him, when Voldemort always managed to fail.
Chapter Six
Running a hand through his shaggy mop of hair, Harry heaved a sigh as he crossed out yet another mistake made by a promising third year pupil.
He just didn't understand it. Five weeks he'd been here already, working as the Professor of Muggle Studies, and over that time he'd gotten to know the pupils more than the staff. Yet for some reason, Daniel Uptone, the best pupil in his class despite his Hufflepuff status, had recently begun going steadily downhill in his work. Normally the student who put his hand up for every question, he'd been conspicuously silent over the past week, and his dwindling concentration was showing in all of his classwork and homework.
To begin with Harry had figured it would pass, but the sheer number of simple mistakes made on this latest piece of work suggested it had gotten so bad that the problem needed to be addressed - before the boy fell any more behind in his work.
Setting aside the red-ink quill, Harry tossed the last piece of marking on top of the pile with the others before stretching in his seat.
As always he'd forgone eating in the hall with the rest of the faculty and the pupils, preferring to plow through any marking or preparation that needed doing, and then sneaking down to the kitchens for a snack of some kind later on.
When he'd failed to show up for the first couple of meals after starting his job, Dumbledore had tracked him down in his classroom and questioned him on it. Other than expressing his disapproval over Harry's plan of avoidance, Dumbledore hadn't bothered him again, and nobody else knew him well enough to care if he didn't attend.
One ritual he couldn't bear to part with though, was his habit of overdosing on creamy coffee first thing in the morning. Unfortunately the kitchens weren't open first thing in the morning, as the house elves were swamped making breakfast - just as they were closed around lunch and dinner, so that food could be prepared for everyone unhindered. Harry could always conjure up a cup, but for some reason he never managed to get it just the way he wanted it.
So the staff room served as a necessary evil in the morning, as without the coffee Harry would be unable to function. Other than blundering into Flitwick and Snape the first couple of days at Hogwarts, Harry had perfected the art of getting up early enough that the other members of the faculty were still abed, and yet late enough for the house elves to have set up the drinks and snacks that were replenished throughout the day.
Downing the remainder of his current coffee, Harry contemplated getting a refill before hiding out in his quarters for the rest of the evening, as he did every night. His stomach decided for him, letting out a hungry grumble, and Harry figured he could get the top up whilst scavenging for food.
Absently reminding himself to contact Ben at the club tonight, to discuss extending his leave or whatever, Harry neatly tidied up his desk. A flick of the wand set the classroom back to the same orderliness it was every morning, and Harry set off for the kitchens - satisfied he'd left no evidence of himself being there. A habit from the war that he had yet to break.
Four flights of stairs, five corridors later, and Harry found himself in front of the pear portrait. Juggling his pile of papers under the arm holding his cup, Harry finally managed to secure all the pieces of parchment and free his right hand enough to tickle the pear. Stepping over the slight step, Harry entered the kitchen.
Mildly surprised when Dobby - the official kitchen elf 'visitor liaison' - didn't come hurrying over offering food, Harry immediately went on alert. Finally spotting the familiar elf through the turmoil that always encompassed the kitchens, Harry got an unpleasant jolt when he recognised who Dobby was currently seeing to.
Dumbledore had rescinded his orders for Draco to follow Harry, as he'd promised. Despite doing so, the blonde's suspicious nature had been roused, and he'd kept a close eye on Harry anyway. Draco's attempts to corner and question Harry had been hindered by the new Professor's recluse-like tendencies, and any chance for subtle interrogations over supper had also been nipped in the bud due to the fact that Harry was never present. Unfortunately, Harry had just presented himself on a platter for the suspicious man.
Before Harry could turn on his heel and make his escape, Dobby looked up and spotted him. Deciding to stick it out, Harry continued forward, making his way to the small table Dobby had conjured for Draco.
"Hello, Professor Jamieson! Can Dobby fetch you some food, sir?"
Flicking the briefest of glances at the Professor of Arithmancy, Harry could tell by the mildly uncomfortable sensation on his eyes that the blue glamour was holding up.
Not designed for use over long periods of time, it was nevertheless the most convincing spell to hide trademark looks, and the least detectable. Having used it to turn his memorable green eyes blue upon his arrival at Hogwarts, Harry had since been using it to conceal his scar as well. Although the spell needed to be removed and replaced pretty often throughout the day, it still changed his appearance enough that it abolished any lingering resemblance to his younger self.
Satisfied he'd be able to pass a close inspection, Harry asked Dobby for his usual evening meal of whatever cold cuts were lying around, with some freshly baked bread.
"And some more coffee if you have any, please?"
Taking the proffered mug, Dobby disappeared to another part of the kitchen with a pop, and was back by the time Harry had taken a seat opposite Draco at the table, which had stretched to accommodate the newcomer.
Thanking the friendly house elf for the food, Harry ignored the suspiciously bland look directed at him by Draco, in favour of diving into the delicious food. He'd yet again forgotten to eat lunch, and the array of turkey, chicken and ham, stuffed into bread still warm enough that the butter had melted - was extremely welcome to Harry's stomach.
Letting the obviously ravenous man eat his fill, Draco leaned back in his chair - sipping his own mug of tea, and marvelling over the fact that his patience had finally paid off.
Three days he'd been trying to track this man down. Three days and they lived in the same bloody castle! Shame he hadn't thought of staking out the kitchens until today, and even then that was only because he himself had missed dinner due to helping Severus clean up the result of one of his potion experiments. Unlike Severus, Draco had been unable to ignore the hunger pangs, and he'd come seeking sustenance, only to have the 'elusive' Professor he'd been looking for stumble in as he was washing down his meal. Now that is called lucky - and Draco had no intention of passing up the opportunity he'd been handed.
Examining the man over the rim of his mug, Draco had to admit the man had broody attractiveness down to a fine art. He was currently wearing muggle clothes, as befitted the Professor of Muggle Studies - but Draco doubted the man had worn them because of the subject. There was something about the way he lounged in the black jeans and grey dress shirt, that suggested Alexander Jamieson was a lot more at home in them then he would be in the traditional wizards robe.
Noticing the other man finally begin to slow down and eat at a more leisurely pace, Draco figured he could begin 'getting to know' the other Professor now.
"How are you finding the job so far?" An innocuous first question to Draco's mind, but the shrewd look Jamieson gifted him with suggested the other man saw right through him. Not something Draco was used to happening.
"It's all right. I need to chat with one of my students soon though as they're falling rather behind on the work."
"Who's falling behind?" Berating himself for getting sidetracked, Draco nontheless noticed that his query caught Jamieson's attention, as a pair of piercing blue eyes snapped up to meet his gaze.
"Daniel Uptone. Do you have him for Arithmancy?"
Making note of the fact the other teacher knew what subject he taught, even though they'd only met, very briefly, the first day Alexander had arrived, Draco rifled through his brain, trying to remember why the name Daniel Uptone sounded familiar.
"No, I don't have him for Arithmancy. I do, however, remember a few other Professors talking about him yesterday. Apparently his work is slipping in his other subjects as well as yours. I wonder why?"
"I don't know. Yet." Noting the determined gaze on the other's face, Draco suddenly got the feeling Alexander Jamieson would find out where the other Professor's had failed.
"It was nice chatting with you, but I'm afraid I've got to get going. I have some errands to run before I turn in. 'Night."
Looking up at the abrupt exit, Draco was left with his mouth hanging open - next question on the tip of his tongue, and frustration paramount in his mind.
Harry, however, had already moved on to the next job of the evening - contacting Ben. Sure, it was handy, knowing the problems Daniel was having weren't restricted to his class, but aside from the brief slip-up with Draco, Harry had no intention of socialising with any of the staff whilst teaching here, preferring to judge how they were faring from a distance.
Ben, on the other hand, Harry had no such problems with. And seeing how much he owed the other man - for giving him a job when he so desperately needed one, not to mention somewhere to hole up when he wasn't ready to face the world yet - he couldn't permanently quit over the phone. Not to mention, in truth, he missed the friends he'd made over the past three years. That thought uppermost in his mind, Harry decided to drop over there personally, and tell Ben his plans. Luckily it was Friday, so he could stay and help/hang out at the club for as long as he wanted.
Reaching his rooms in the staff corridors', Harry whispered his password, "Hoobastank" to the portrait of a raven, and quickly slipped inside.
Dropping his pile of graded work onto the chair next to the portrait hole, Harry idly sipped from his hot coffee as he stepped further inside. The Daily Prophet had been pushed through the magical letterbox on his portrait, which only allowed harmless objects through - the paper which Professors could arrange to have delivered to their rooms daily, and then paid for at the end of each week.
Scooping it up off the floor as he passed, Harry set his mug down on the living room coffee table, and started scanning the wizard newspaper for anything of interest as he headed for the bedroom.
The only window in the place was above the sink in the mini kitchenette, yet the rooms' all held a cheerful light during the day, and enough magic-powered lamps to be cheerful at night as well. Despite this, Harry had chosen to decorate with rather dreary colours, although he stuck to shades of coffee and creams for the kitchen and bathroom.
Harry's bedroom was done in shades of violet-grey, the watered-down shade keeping it from looking like some kind of morgue, and the black bedspread keeping it goth enough to not fall into the hospital style category either.
The living room was filled with different shades of red, which the cream coloured couches and chairs highlighted.
Harry's quarters couldn't be described as depressing, and yet they were strikingly dramatic, with a subtle gothic theme. Judging by Harry's monochrome wardrobe, people would no doubt expect something similar for his home, and it was - yet it managed to be homely at the same time.
About to enter the bathroom and take a shower before getting changed, Harry paused mid-step. Heart re-starting, he let out a growl of annoyance, dropping the paper to the floor before continuing into the large bathroom.
As the shower started up, and clothes were carelessly shed, on the floor of the bedroom, the glaring title stared up at the ceiling.
'Harry Potter, Wizarding Hero - sighted once more…in Cornwall this time!'
An excruciatingly hot shower later, Harry stepped out of the bathroom, roughly drying his hair with one towel, the other slung around his waist. Pointedly ignoring the newspaper on the floor as he stepped over it, Harry went straight to his wardrobe and got out his usual clubbing outfit - which was actually pretty similar to his normal clothes.
Baggy black jeans concealed the corded muscle on his legs, and a tight black vest emphasised his leanness - the same outfit he'd been wearing five weeks ago when he first arrived at Hogwarts. Anybody looking at him would say he looked dangerous, and yet the outfit was deliberately chosen for the fact that it distracted from his powerful build, and as such made him look more decorative than weapon-like. Plus, at least with monochrome he didn't have to expend much effort on colour co-ordination.
Ruffling his still damp hair with his fingers, Harry released the glamour on his scar, glad to be relieved of the vague itchiness it caused him, but decided to leave the glamour on his eyes - just in case anybody saw him before he left.
Ignoring the black dress shoes he wore for classes, Harry dug around in the back of his wardrobe until he finally pulled out a pair of dragonhide boots. He'd secretly wanted a pair ever since he saw Charlie's, and they'd ended up coming in very handy during the war as they were suitable for any situation. Slipping them on and buckling them up over the top of his jeans, Harry quickly swilled out his empty coffee mug in the kitchen, and grabbed his keys before heading out.
It was fully dark by the time Harry exited the gates of Hogwarts, and he did away with the blue eyes before apparating into London.
Harry had rented the flat in London mere days before the end of the war, and it was to there that he had absconded when he needed somewhere safe to heal and hide out. Afterwards he'd looked for a job he could blend in with, and had found Ben and the 'Dark Rose' club. Despite immediately falling in love with the style of the club, and getting on brilliantly with the people who worked there, Harry had maintained the lease on the flat - and it was to there that he returned night after night.
Manually climbing the three flights of stairs reminded him of his journey to the kitchens earlier, and as with them he suffered no shortness of breath or flushed cheeks - the legacy of the training he'd undergone for the battle, and still stuck to, to some degree.
Slotting the key in the lock, Harry opened the door with his eyes on the floor. A vague feeling hung in the air - different from the one of suspended stillness that usually greeted him. Pushing the door open farther, Harry stepped in alertly, eyes cautiously checking for intruders and hands tingling as he charged them with magic.
The rooms were empty, but the sense that someone had been there kept tugging at Harry's senses. He'd taken up the habit of spending his weekends there in order to avoid anybody at Hogwarts, and to check in with his answering machine - the phone number for which he'd only given to Ben and Dumbledore.
And whilst he normally kept his living space meticulously clean and spartan, a habit which extended to his classroom, last weekend he'd left things a bit late, and as such he hadn't had time to go through every room and erase any signs of occupation.
Due to the large periods of time Harry had spent there immediately after the war, and the way he always returned to the flat at some point, he'd fallen into the habit of leaving all of his personal things there. Including a large portion of clothes that he felt he didn't need at the moment. Being somewhat sentimental about things, there was also a large selection of knick knacks, such as; beer mats, empty sweet boxes, newspaper clippings and a myriad of notes from friends - all of which identified the occupant of the flat as Harry James Potter, and at the moment were easily accessible in the draw on his bedside table.
Dropping his keys next to the answering machine, Harry lightly kicked the door shut behind him, before making his way through the flat.
It was the small oddities that supported Harry's instincts; a book tilting the wrong way, a smudge on the draining board, and an indent in his covers that hadn't been there before. And throughout the flat there lingered the faintest scent - of stale cigarettes and some kind of alcohol, which sparked a vague familiarity in Harry for some reason.
Leaving everything as it was for the moment - ignoring the impulse to scrub the frying pan that had ended up soaking for an entire week, or tidy the bed that had been unmade the same amount of time - Harry turned his focus to the answering machine. No lights were blinking, but a suspicion made him rewind the tape and then play it.
His suspicion paid off as two messages ran. One from Ben - wishing 'Guy' good luck with whatever he was doing, and reassuring him that there would always be a job available for him at the 'Dark Rose', then going on to check he was still visiting that weekend. The machine was pleased to inform him the message had been recorded Thursday lunchtime.
The second message was slightly more worrying - not because of what it said, but because of what information it will have given the intruder. It was from Dumbledore, making sure Harry was doing okay - seeing how he'd made it abundantly clear that he wanted to limit his contact with the Headmaster whilst at Hogwarts, Albus had obviously decided to ring and leave a message for him instead of accosting him at school.
Normally Harry would say that was a wise decision, but the intruder had obviously listened to both messages - a fact made clear as the light was out - and whoever the intruder was now knew Harry used the alias 'Guy', worked at a place called the Dark Rose, and was planning on visiting there again at the weekend. Not to mention that the Headmaster of Hogwarts was fully aware of how to contact Harry, is not his exact location.
Anybody else would change their plans in accordance with this revelation, but Harry simply grabbed his keys and locked up behind him, before apparating just down the road from the Dark Rose.
The club was in full swing by the time Harry arrived, with the live performers, 'Kilba', fully warmed up and playing their latest single. People spilled into the club, well on the road to being drunk already. Bouncers checked people's ID at the door, but let Harry in on sight.
The club was even darker at night than during the day, with the only proper lighting coming from the lounge area and the bar. Steps had discrete lights to guide people safely up them, and the fog of cigarettes mingled with dry ice from the stage. A couple of quiet groups occupied the lounge area, and the dance floor and clubber's tables were heaving with bodies. The bar was three people deep, and all five of the bartenders were working non-stop.
Ben was behind the bar as usual, which meant that Sannah was likely in the kitchen dishing up the bar-style food. Just as Harry was thinking that, the door to the kitchen area swung open, and Lucy entered the bar area, tray stacked high with dips and nachos. Manoeuvring around Patrick who was pouring what looked like a 'screaming orgasm', Lucy had almost made it onto the clubber's floor when she caught sight of Harry.
Pausing long enough to inform Ben of his presence, Lucy continued on to the table whose food she was carrying, throwing a smile of welcome in Harry's direction as she went.
Looking up from the drink he was mixing, Ben's light green eyes sparkled with delight at seeing Harry, and he quickly waved him over.
Threading his way through the crowd, Harry's gaze swept the throngs of people restlessly, checking to see if his intruder had shown up. Reaching Ben's side without incident, Harry automatically helped his friend with his current order, hands handling bottles with the ease of practise.
"So…how've things been? You never say much when you ring, but I take it you're doing all right?"
Handing the pretty blond at the front of the queue her drink, with a flirtatious smile, Ben flicked his own blonde hair out of his face as he started on the next drink, clever green eyes darting up to Harry's face as he waited for a reply.
"Yeah, things are going good, I guess."
Pausing slightly before moving onto his next concoction, Harry acknowledged the fact that it was too loud to have a proper conversation, and asked Ben is they could talk in private.
"Sure." Arching an eyebrow slightly in surprise, Ben half-turned and yelled at Patrick to watch his side of the bar.
Ignoring the man's protests, he finished the order he was doing, then ushered Harry out back. Shutting the door to the office behind them, the noise that had managed to seep into the corridor was completely blocked out, making conversation possible for once.
"So, what did you want to talk about?"
"This is going to sound really weird, but has anybody come in here asking for me tonight?"
Giving his friend an odd look, Ben glanced back at the door they'd just entered through. "Yeah actually. This weird, older guy came asking. I told him you used to work for me but you'd quit, yet he was strangely insistent that you might have turned up for tonight."
"Kind of freaked me out the way he seemed to know you'd be visiting this evening. Why, were you expecting someone?"
"Sort of. However, this isn't someone I want to see. I think he might be a private investigator of sorts."
"What?!" Ben raked an agitated hand through his hair. "I thought you were fixing things in your life…now you've got somebody investigating you?"
Sighing heavily, Harry decided it was time to tell Ben some of the truth about his past.
"I split rather suddenly from my old life, and some of my friends and people I knew are still hung up on finding me. No - I didn't do anything bad. I just…left."
"I've gone back, but they don't recognise me, and I'd rather check up on how they're doing without getting bogged down with past actions. Unfortunately they found my flat the other day, and they listened to my messages, which is how they knew to come here."
"Jeez." Wishing Guy had turned to Sannah to confide in as opposed to him, Ben raked his hand through his hair again, and tried to think what his wife would say.
"I trust you when you say you didn't do anything bad. I don't know why, but something tells me you're a good guy - no pun intended! So, if you're sure this is the way you want to go about 'catching up' with your friends, then I guess it's not in your best interests to be found by this investigator person…"
One look at the normally-neutral Guy's hopeful expression, and Ben was a goner.
"Okay, look - I might as well point out this guy to you, so you at least know who's looking for you. Then you can sneak out the back if you want. But…!"
Ben raised a hand to interrupt his friend's "thanks", determined to lay down some conditions.
"I want you to keep me updated on how things are going with you, and I expect these reports to be considerably more informative than they have been recently. You and I are going to have to have a proper conversation about your past as well sometime - but even I can tell now's not a good time."
Dipping his head cautiously, Harry accepted his friend's rules and wondered exactly how he was meant to tell his friend wizards existed, and he himself was their 'saviour' - not something Ben was likely expecting to hear. Following Ben back to the club, Harry felt like he was a young kid again as they peered out from round the door, his friend whispering the location of his intruder out of the side of his mouth.
"Right..." "Left slightly..." "Up the stairs…" "Next to the woman dressed like a red whale…" "No, not him…the one next to him…"
Finally, Harry's green eyes locked on to a familiar figure, and he jumped back into the corridor as though he'd just been electrocuted.
Mad-eye Moody. No wonder the smell in his flat has seemed so familiar! After being paired up with the man the majority of the time during the way, he shouldn't be surprised he could still recognise the trademark scent of marlboros and whatever alcohol the man was presently favouring - more often than not, bourbon.
Still, Moody wouldn't be trying to track Harry down unless he'd been asked to, and the only ones who could get Moody to do it would be people he respected. Quite a small list. With a bit of detective work, Harry would know just who still held out hope that he would be found, and after that it would be small work to make them think he was dead.
Slipping out the back door of the club, Harry decided he might as well keep the flat, even if they now knew it was his - he'd just have to be more careful with his comings and goings at the weekend.
One thing he could be thankful for though, was the fact that his glamour charm worked even against Moody's magical eye, and even though the man had been one of the last people to see Harry before he'd disappeared, that very same man would be expecting the boy-wonder to be horribly disfigured - if his last glimpses of Harry were anything to go by.
Really crappy ending - I just couldn't work out how I wanted to end it, so I just did! shrug
Hopefully, the fact that this is a really long chapter will make up for what it lacks in action, and good plot.
R&R, please?