I turned around. It felt like I was walking on the moon, or like I was watching myself from the air. I didn't know what to think. Again. It was becoming rather annoying.
Should I be angry? Scared? Or should I be relieved that someone finally knows? Someone that I trust? Grateful that she won't tell and that she still wants to help me?
I choose D, 'All of the above'!
I palmed my hand over my face.
God I'm so confused...
So, stifling a yawn, I walked off down the street. I reached my hand in my pocket and fingered a key. The key to the tattoo parlour. All the employees had one. I had received mine a few days ago. It was only around eleven-thirty, so I knew there was a pub down the street that served good sandwiches and soup that closed at midnight.
I could get something to eat then head back to the parlour, cuz I really didn't feel like sleeping in the rain.
Not that anyone knew I slept there, but I was always there early, so Tom didn't have to worry if we got an early call. So who were they to complain?
I stepped through the door to the pub. There weren't many people, just a few every-nighters sitting up at the bar.
"Jeez, James! Don' you have any where else to go?" Yelled the barkeep, limping over to me. He was a thin man around sixty with white hair and a kindly smile. "Not tha' I mind." He muttered quietly. "More service for me."
"'Lo, Henry." I said as I picked my usual seat in the back of the room.
"Usual?"
"Yep."
"All righ' hang on a tick." And he bustled back towards the kitchens behind the bar.
I had found this place shortly after receiving my first paycheck. I had wandered around town until I found it (Sam had told me to try as it really was a nice pub) and since I found it, it's been where I got dinner every night I could afford it.
"Here ya go." Grinned Henry as he slid the sandwich and a drink onto my table.
"Thanks. How're you?" I asked, shaking my thoughts away from a rainy street.
"Ah, 'm fine. You know that. Y'ask me every night. How're ya doin' in tha' shop? Have'n fun?"
"Oh yeah. Loads." I replied quickly. After a second, I added, "My pay has already been raised. Looks like you'll be seein' me more often, old man."
He grinned mischeifly. " 'Old man'? What're you talkin' about? I could take you on any day, an' you know it! Comin', Bill." He sighed as a drunken man at the bar called out for another drink. "See you then." And he bustled off towards the bar. I picked up my sandwich and started to eat.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ron and Hermione stood outside the shop hiding under the invisibility cloak that Dumbledore had given them, watching Harry finish chatting with the old man and starting his sandwich.
After a few minutes of watching their friend eat, they knelt down together, hiding from the rain by sitting under the awning that was against the wall of the pub.
"Well, we found him," said Ron, who was still rather pale from the cold and shock of when he first saw Harry. "What now?"
"Dumbledore told us to watch him a while and not let him see us. We need to know what he's been doing and who he is seeing everyday. I think we'll know the right time to approach him." Hermione stated, not looking at Ron. She seemed to be thinking hard about something.
"Yeah," said Ron sarcastically "And when he finds out we've been trailing him when he didn't want to be found in the first place will be all right will it?"
Hermione sighed, then looked at Ron. "I don't know what to do. I don't know why he doesn't want to be found. But if we follow him and get to know what he's up to, it might make it easier for all of us."
Ron sighed, too. "But I still don't think it's right."
They sat in silence for a while.
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
Ron slumped down on the wall a little more. "Did you see those scars on his face and neck?"
They both shuddered.
"What happened to him?" But there was no answer that they could come up with, and in all honesty, they didn't want to think about it.
The door opened to the pub, and Harry stepped out into the wet night and started down the street. Ron and Hermione looked at each other, then, silent as two shadows, they got up and followed him, trying to stay under house ledges to keep out of the rain.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I stepped up to the back door of the parlour and pulled out my key. I fumbled a little with the lock, as my hands felt frozen from the rain, but then I got it open. I stepped onto the carpet of the locker/lounge room of the place, where we, Sam, Derrin, and I, always hang out after hours. I left the door open to the storm outside. Although freezing, I had always loved the rain.
I stepped up to my locker, opened it up, and reached inside. I pulled out a change of clothes that I had bought a few days back--more black. I was really beginning to like the color. setting the clothes on a bench, I stripped my jacket and shirt off to toss in the corner where I could dry them later. I walked over and shut the door, muffling the sounds of the rain pounding against the ground outside. Then, grabbing my clothes on the way, I walked over to the bathroom to get ready for the night.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When Harry had left the door open, Ron and Hermione had slipped into the room after him and tread quietly over to the far wall of he room.
They sat down by the corner and watched Harry as he prepared to change for the night.
But as Harry pulled off his jacket, then his shirt, Hermione gasped and Ron was forced to throw his hand over her mouth.
Harry's back, torso, and arms were criss-crossed with countless scars. They covered his skin so any untouched flesh was practically invisible.
But on the back of his right shoulder blade was another scar, this one more noticeable than all the rest. It started where his neck and shoulder met, and ran down in Celtic-looking patterns to the middle of his lower back, and seemed to disappear into his spine. It stood out so clearly because it was a deep, dark, green.
A few seconds ticked by, but Harry didn't seem to notice anything. Tossing his shirt carelessly behind him, he picked up his change of clothes and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
They heard the shower turn on, and Ron and Hermione looked at each other, but neither seemed to know what to say. Hermione had her hand over her mouth. "Oh my God..." she whispered. There were tears in her eyes.
Ron looked more angry than anything. He was staring at the opposite wall, seemingly deep in thought. Finally he broke. A tear or two trickled down his cheek as he whispered harshly. "What the hell did Voldemort do to him?" Hermione gasped again. It was the first time Ron had ever said 'Voldemort'. " It's absolutely disgusting that a man can do that to anyone! Even if he isn't completely a 'man', it's still sick." He then looked at Hermione. "What do you reckon was with that one scar on his back? Why was it green?"
Hermione looked up at Ron. "Well, I was just thinking about that. It's definitely the result of a curse, but I have no idea what kind of curse." She sat a minute while the sounds of the shower drifted through the bathroom door. Then a look of dawning comprehension and fear dawned on her face. Ron glanced at her.
"What is it?"
"I remember reading about a curse once that prevented a man from doing what he loved... I can't remember the details, but bad things would happen if he did that which he was forced to abstain from. What if Voldemort decided to torture Harry one last time by keeping him away from us?"
"Yeah," Ron mumbled. His face was iscrutable. "Dumbledore said that Harry was running away from something. I think we just found out what. He must be running away from us to protect us."
"Exactly." said Hermione. "We need to find a way to counter the curse so that he can come home."
They sat in silence for a while, before Ron burst out angrily "That slimy bastard!" and then he sat quietly.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"That slimy bastard!" I froze as I reached down to turn off the water to the shower.
What the hell was that?
I decided to keep the water on. If someone was in the building, they would think that I was still in the shower. As quickly and quietly as I could, I dried off and put on the pants that I had brought in with me. I left my shirt off. If there was someone in the building, well, let's just say I knew how to scare the shit out of people without even trying. I stepped over to the bathroom door, gripped the handle, took a few calming breaths, then threw the door open.
Nothing.
I crept across the room to the door into the tattoo parlour, then thought of something. I crept across the room and reached into my open locker and pulled out one of my new boots. I reached inside to the hidden pocket I had made on the inside of it, and pulled out the knife that I had 'found' shortly after escaping Voldemort. Then I crept back to the door, opened it quietly, and peered around it.
Still nothing.
I walked through the room, looking under every bed.
I started getting frustrated as my search continued to turn up fruitless results.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ron and Hermione sat in the corner in the locker room. They were both pale as a sheet of paper. Neither dared to move or speak--they hardly even dared breathe.
Hermione had opened her mouth about to say something when Harry had thrown open the bathroom door, looking for something. Had he heard? If he had, how much had he heard?
After a few tense minutes of Harry staring around the room and listening for anything out of the ordinary, he seemed to come to the conclusion that no one was in the locker room.
Harry walked over to a door, then turned and headed back to his locker. They watched as he rummaged around in something hidden from view. The scars on his bare skin stood out clearly in the pale electric light eminating from the wall lamp. At thength he stood up and turned around. There was a knife about the length of Hermione's hand, clutched in his clenched fingers. Hermione went even paler. She closed her eyes and focused on breathing as slowly and as quietly as possible. Ron's eyes, however, were wide and his mouth slightly adjar as he stared at the weapon in his friend's hand. It was obvious that at that moment he had quite forgotten how to breathe.
Harry then headed back to the door and went through it.
They sat in total silence as they heard the silent padding of footsteps traversing the parlour.
After what seemed like hours, Harry came back into the locker room.
He seemed frustrated at the lack of a person spying on him or sneaking around the place. He went to the locker, but instead of putting the knife away, he pulled out a soft leather scabbard for it, put the knife in that, and tucked it into the back of his jeans.
He then walked into the bathroom again, and Ron and Hermione heard the water turn off. When he emerged, He had a dry shirt on. He sat down on a chair at the side of the room and rubbed his hand over his face, muttering to himself.
"Damn, Harry, your turning into Moody." At this, Hermione couldn't help but smile slightly. "It was probably just some bastard kid walkin' 'round with his mates. Get a grip."
He reclined the chair, and settled down for the night.
After a while, Harry's heavy, deep breathing penetrated Ron's and Hermione's ears. They breathed again. Looking silently at each other, they prepared for a long and uncomfortable night.