Chapter 4
A plain motel room in Newcastle had become Remus' base of operations. Normally it would have been beyond his fiscal capability to stay there, one star though it was, but Dumbledore had been gracious enough to fund Remus out of the school's vast income. Normally Remus was adverse to charitable donations, but had reminded himself that it was all for Harry.
The room itself was not the worst he had ever stayed in. Watermarks on the ceiling, peeling tobacco-stained wallpaper, a bed with broken, squeaky springs and a single window that had one pane boarded up. The street outside was not a place sane people walked after dark, though Remus had done this after the long hours cooped up in the dingy little room, lit only by one bare light bulb, had begun to make his skin crawl.
Newspapers sent to him from all over the country, both local and national, were spread haphazardly over his lumpy mattress, each read front to back in search of any hint of a clue as to Muggle sightings of Harry. There had been no such luck that morning, nor the day before, or the day before that. Feeling the frustration writhe within him, Remus had abandoned his fruitless scanning in favour of staring morosely out of the grimy window at another glorious summer's day.
The younger children were playing on the street, bouncing a ball from one side of the road to the other in hopes of hitting the curb and getting another free shot. Others were playing 'chicken' with oncoming cars, and the rest were slowly demolishing a little brick bridge. The scene was familiar yet alien, a reminder of a long distant childhood spent hidden in his room, watching the world go by.
The latest owl from Dumbledore revealed that neither Snape nor Hagrid had had any luck either. If the centaurs hadn't sensed anything, and various patrons of the Dark Arts had heard no rumours, it meant basically that the pressure was on Remus, because the only place Harry could be now was in the Muggle world.
Remus rubbed his eyes fretfully. The problem was, the Muggle world was so huge! He had a little under three weeks before the full moon forced him into hiding, yet Harry had already been missing a whole month. There just wasn't enough time, and there were so few ways to make inroads in the Muggle world.
It was to this problem that Remus had turned his logical mind. There had to have been someone in all of Britain that had seen Harry since his disappearance, but finding and contacting them was the greatest obstacle. Remus knew the answer was right in front of his face, but was utterly frustrated that he couldn't seem to grasp it.
"Honestly, Lupin, you disgrace yourself," he muttered dourly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. At hip height beside him was a carton of orange resting dangerously on a wobbly pile of folded newspapers, backdated a month and each one thoroughly exhausted. Likewise, the telephone calls he had made to his few Muggle contacts had revealed nothing. As the circular problem whirled round and round in his head, Remus wanted to scream. Instead, he calmly took a sip from the carton and turned back to the mass of printed papers on the bed. The waning moon was making him lethargic, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep for a few hours.
It was while staring at the newspapers blankly, fighting away fatigue, that the answer sprung itself on Remus. He gasped, dropping his carton before diving onto the bed. The answer was so simple, he was ashamed he hadn't thought of it already. But that was really beside the point; all that mattered now was that he had found a way into the everyday Muggle world. Grabbing quill and parchment, he set about writing a draft letter.
Dear Editor,
I write on behalf of my close friend ...
"No, I can feel your hand!" Harry's wrist was gripped and pulled, and he found himself yanked into the wood panel. Splinters dug into his cheek, and the hole clamped around his arm. He winced, but didn't move until Cracker released him. It felt like his wrist had been bruised as he rubbed at the abused flesh. There was a sharp rapping on the wood above his head, and he glared up at it.
"Try again, boy!" Cracker snarled. Sighing quietly, Harry slid his hand through the hole in the panel, felt the brief resistance of the cloth covering in the front that hid said hole until he found a small slit. It was big enough for him to reach into someone's coat pocket or handbag and withdraw their wallet.
Harry didn't like the idea of stealing, but when he had expressed this concern to Cracker he had been slapped around the face. Still reeling from the shock, he had been tossed back into the box and given instructions from Cracker. Harry wasn't going to try anything like that again. At the Dursleys, he had always felt capable of talking back to Dudley, or even Uncle Vernon sometimes - he couldn't quite bring himself to do the same with Cracker.
Taking a deep breath, he focused all his attention on the hand he couldn't see, sliding it gently into the woollen pocket of Cracker's fleece, trying to be delicate as he pinched a leather wallet between thumb and forefinger and teased it out. Pins and needles began to spread through his foot, but he didn't dare move as he levered the wallet past the cloth and wood panelling. It took him a few seconds of simply staring before he realised the wallet was in his hand, and Cracker had yet to bang on the roof.
"You got it yet?" he snapped, accompanied by the familiar rapping above Harry's head. Harry, slightly shaky with the realisation that he had picked Cracker's pocket, knocked once in return, as he had been told to do. Distantly he heard a shuffling, but Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from the wallet in his hand. Sure, it was only Cracker's wallet, and it had only been a practice, but the implications behind it shocked him.
Light flooded in as Cracker threw open the door, reaching into the cramped box with a grubby arm. It stretched towards Harry, taking up more room than he was comfortable with.
"Give it to me, boy," he ordered. Trembling imperceptibly, Harry placed the wallet in Cracker's outstretched hand, which clutched it greedily. Harry was half-waiting for some comment of praise, before he realised how ridiculous the very thought was, and sighed.
"As 'e got it?" Ethan asked from the back of the stall. He had resumed his childish tap-tapping with his feet against the wood, a sound which was severely starting to get on Harry's nerves.
"What do you think?" Cracker snapped. Harry could hear Ethan muttering, his kicks rapping louder in Harry's ears. "Again, boy. Carnival's tomorrow, and you'd best be bloody perfect, or I'll knock you senseless, got it?" Sighing, Harry cleared his kneeling area of as many stones as he could. His knee had finally stopped bleeding from his first attempt, when he had knelt on broken glass, though it had stained his trousers.
While waiting for Cracker to set himself up by the hole, Harry reflected that the box wasn't all that bad. It wasn't dissimilar to his cupboard at the Dursley's, though a great deal smaller. It also kept him out of the sunlight, though he thought they must have gone hundreds of miles north of where Uncle Vernon had left him, because it was so much cooler.
Cracker's fist slapped once on the box, and Harry's hand snaked out of the hole. Now that he had done it once, he felt more confident that he could do it again. Carefully he felt for the familiar leather, clasping it gently between thumb and forefinger before easing it out of the pocket. He knocked once on the wood, and Ethan's incessant muttering ceased.
"I was quicker than that," he groused sullenly. Harry heard a smack as Cracker slapped his son around the head. The light that streamed through the side door was blinding to Harry, again, as he was now accustomed to the dark.
"Give it 'ere," Cracker said with one arm outstretched. Harry handed over the wallet, feeling a twisted sense of pride well in him. He was obviously doing well, for Ethan to be so annoyed, and as it had pleased Harry to irritate Dudley, so it pleased him now to irritate Ethan.
The door closed, and Harry heard Cracker and Ethan wander off. He wiped the sweat from his face, because the box was stuffy if not hot, and waited for his next orders. Maybe he would get a drink, or something to eat. Ethan had been snacking on crisps and biscuits all morning, and the smell was making Harry's stomach rumble.
Raised voices rolled over the grass to his ears, followed by the distinct silence of Cracker hitting Ethan, which Harry had quickly learned to recognise. Pressing closer to the wood to try to hear better, Harry detected the cough of an engine, growing fainter as it drove away. After a moment, Ethan's muttering started again, withdrawing to the campervan. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, too soon it seemed, because Ethan swiftly returned. He blinked in the sudden light, and was completely unprepared when Ethan reached in and dragged him out. Harry hissed as splinters dug into his skin, and he wrenched himself from Ethan's grasp as soon as he was out in the sunshine. He dodged when Ethan made another attempt to hold him, earning a hard punch to the head that left him dizzy and disorientated. Muttering under his breath, Ethan gripped Harry's arm and pulled him to the campervan, tossing him into a corner as he had the night before.
Feeling his scalp gingerly, Harry decided that he wasn't too hurt, and bravely returned Ethan's sneer with a glare of his own. Ethan began rummaging through the cupboards, one of which still had blood spattered over it, and pulled something out.
"'Ere. Dad says you gorra eat that, or else," he said, tossing Harry a packet of crisps. Greedily Harry tore it open, mouth watering at the mere smell wafting up. They seemed to melt on his tongue, and he thought they were the best things he'd ever tasted in his entire life.
"What're you looking at?" he asked, when he noticed Ethan staring at him.
"Gimme one," Ethan demanded, his eyes narrowed. Harry held his precious food closer. He was hungry, and he didn't know when he'd next be fed; he'd refused Dudley for lesser reasons.
"No. Get your own." He huddled closer to himself when Ethan leapt to his feet, but then Cracker's rusty van pulled up outside, and Ethan quickly sat himself back down. The door opened with a squeak, and the smaller man strode into the room, ignoring at the other two in there. In one hand he carried a woman's handbag, and in the other was a paper bag that Harry recognised from all the times Dudley had demanded a hamburger.
"MacDonald's?" Ethan said, evidently surprised. Cracker pulled out burger and fries for Ethan, a box for himself, and tossed the bag at Harry. He was delighted to find a small box of French fries inside for himself, and set to with as much gusto as Ethan showed.
"Hurry up and finish that. Afterwards, you're gonna learn to steal a purse from a woman's bag, gorit?" Cracker said. Harry nodded, his mouth full, but Cracker was already striding out of the campervan.
Ethan glared at Harry as they raced to finish their fries. Harry was first, and though the salt had made him thirsty, he dashed after Cracker before Ethan could stop him. Cracker was already waiting by the box, counting out money from the purse in his hand and storing it away in one of his many pockets. Harry wondered where all the money had come from, but was quickly shoved back into his box to await his lesson.