Chapter 2 : Mr Joseph Rattyear
Anxious to begin his training, Harry set off at dawn the following morning. As he stumbled out of the fire and into the kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, he found himself held at wand point by 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer.'
"What the …" asked Harry as Buffy's face turned bright red and her hair vivid purple, as Tonks resumed her usual form.
"Ssss … sorry," they stammered simultaneously before Tonks ducked off towards the kitchen.
"I didn't know Remus was obsessed with that particular Muggle television program, Buffy," called Harry slyly after her. "You wait 'til I tell Ron and Hermione."
Harry ducked the half fried egg that flew through the doorway. "You wouldn't dare," screamed Tonks, her hair cycling through the colours of the rainbow.
"Well, that depends… I might be persuaded to keep it to myself if you'll help with my training."
Tonks blinked in surprise. "So that's what you're here for," she stammered.
"Could you tell me about your Metamorphmagus abilities and how common they are? Also how would I go about recognising one, or somebody under the influence of polyjuice for that matter?"
Harry and Tonks sat down over breakfast, while she explained how her mother had discovered the unusual gift when Tonks had repeatedly changed the colour of her hair one summer's day.
"I had to teach myself, as there are no other known Metamorphmagi in the country; I found a few books on the Animagus transformation which helped me a bit. I can lend them to you if you're interested, but it's a skill you're born with Harry, not something you can learn."
"Does it weaken you to hold a transformation? I mean, can you cast other spells while you're in disguise?" Harry questioned.
"The actual transformation is the tricky part. You have to visualise what you want to change, and really force yourself to believe that it's going to happen. It's a bit like learning to Apparate: Determination, Deliberation … and I can never remember the last one," complained Tonks.
"Anyway the Morph is what takes the energy," continued Tonks. "I started with my hair, as this is the easiest part to change. Changing, for example, the bone structure of your face is quite a challenge. Once transformed, you don't need to use any effort or concentration to maintain the transformation, so you can do other things at the same time. So it's no problem for me to cast spells as normal while in my transformed state. Also it doesn't leave a magical signature, so the Ministry, or more importantly teachers, could never detect it. Why, once I morphed into Professor McGonagall and was flirting with Snape when …"
"How's my cute little werewolf slayer?" called Remus as he appeared in the kitchen, "Oh … er … Sorry, Harry, wasn't expecting you here so … early."
"Don't worry, Remus, your secret is safe with me," taunted Harry, in a tone which conveyed anything but reassurance.
Remus turned bright red, before he caught Tonks' eye. He turned back to Harry, replying in a menacing voice, "For that, I think it's time to start your duelling practice."
Harry gulped and backed away past the fireplace as Remus and Tonks advanced on him, wands drawn. "Expelliarmus," they yelled, perfectly separating Mad Eye's wooden leg from his body as he stepped out of the fireplace, ready for Harry's daily lessons.
"Ohh … ummm …. constant vigilance, Alastor," giggled Tonks as she ducked into the fire, flooing to the Ministry for work.
Moody, former Head Auror, had turned up with his old manuals and training material, and he proceeded to try and teach Harry three years of material in six weeks, 'the old-fashioned way.' However, much as he disliked Moody's methods, Harry couldn't help but acknowledge that his approach worked. Although the days were relentless, tiring and more often than not bruising, Harry noticed that he was becoming physically stronger, developing muscles he didn't even know he had. Several times he found himself ruefully wishing that Ginny could see the new, fitter Harry. But, each time he reminded himself that he had ended their relationship in order to protect her.
By the middle of July Harry could keep Remus at bay in a duel. Once Harry even managed to defeat both Remus and Moody at the same time, although Number 12 Grimmauld Place was looking a little worse for wear after they finished that duel.
Staggering back into his bedroom every night after Remus and Moody's assaults on his body, Harry looked like he was suffering worse physical abuse than anything the Dursleys had inflicted on him in earlier summers. It was after one particularly gruelling session that Harry found himself staring at the bathroom mirror in Privet Drive - and wondering how he was going to explain a black eye to Aunt Petunia when the bruising disappeared. He was on tenterhooks for a few hours, anticipating that his display of accidental magic at a Muggle residence would result in another of Malfalda Hopkirk's under-aged wizardry warning owls, but none came. The bruise still hurt like it existed, Harry just couldn't see it. He supposed the magic must have been too weak to detect. Perhaps the ministry had given up persecuting underage Muggle-borns and were at last concerning themselves with important things like Voldemort, thought Harry as he lay painfully on his bed reading Ron's latest letter.
'Those bloody brothers of mine charmed my toothbrush to turn into a spider. It scared the living daylights out of me when it scurried along in front of the mirror. I nearly cut my throat, as I was using the shaving charm at the time. Why on earth did you ever give them that money, Harry?'
Harry idly thought that the twins' creativity was the very reason he'd given them the money - that and the fact that Fred and George were now hopefully indebted enough not to prank him too severely. Harry was also quite thankful that he didn't seem to need to use a shaving charm yet. It seemed nothing but trouble. He remembered one of Seamus' attempts the morning after a particularly heavy Gryffindor post-Quidditch party. Seamus had needed two days in the hospital wing for Madam Pomfrey to reattach his left ear.
Harry woke with a start in the middle of the night. He'd fallen asleep reading Ron's letter, and as so often happens, had woken to a revelation. Harry realised that it had been over ten years since he had last had a haircut, and on the last occasion he did, it had been Aunt Petunia herself with her kitchen scissors and pudding basin. Harry remembered it so vividly because his hair had looked so bad and he had been expecting to be bullied mercilessly at school, but it had miraculously regrown by the following morning.
This meant that either he was going prematurely bald from the age of seven, or that he was managing to magically suppress the growth of hair. Harry thought back to what Tonks had told him last month, about how she had started out by changing just her hair. Was it possible he was a Metamorphmagus?
Harry spent the following morning in front of the bathroom mirror in Privet Drive, having finished his crash course in Auror training. Moody and Remus had said they were busy strengthening the wards around the Burrow in preparation for Bill and Fleur's wedding. Harry wondered if this was entirely true, and that maybe they were suffering as much as he was after the practice duels.
After a few hours, Harry had been able to turn his hair a sort of dirty-blond colour and lengthen it well past his shoulders including the fringe which now completely covered his scar. However, he still looked like a young, and now somewhat ridiculous, boy.
Harry tied his hair back in a ponytail, to give himself a full view of his face, but try as he might he couldn't alter the bone structure. So he tried more hair, and imagined himself with a beard and a moustache like a biker he had once seen in the park. After several misguided attempts (the green goatee was one he would rather forget), Harry finally managed to get sensible blond facial hair to match that on his head.
He was amazed to find that he could maintain the transformation with no effort at all, just like Tonks had explained. In fact he spent several more hours as a biker, perfecting the look, even adding Dudley's dark sunglasses to disguise his green eyes. Eventually after Petunia threatened to break the door down, Harry reluctantly closed his eyes and concentrated instead on his normal look. As he did, he felt his chin start to tingle, which caused him to involuntarily reach up and scratch the itch, only for him to find the beard had gone. Harry opened his eyes and sighed with relief as he saw the familiar black-haired, bruised face staring back at him. Quietly he left the bathroom, neatly side-stepping his furious aunt and began to set about his chores for the day.
He sighed as he started to vacuum Dudley's room. The great oaf had dumped dirty clothes all over the place, so Harry knew he'd have to do the laundry as well. He started to pick up the clothes, pausing only briefly to glance at an adult magazine, which was hidden under a giant T-shirt. Harry smirked, thinking that had Dudley seen the copy of Playwizard that Seamus had brought into school last year he may not have been so scornful of all things magical. He laughed to himself as he remembered how the moving pictures had shrieked at Seamus for being underage, and rushed out of the photos to cover up.
Harry attempted to cram three pairs of Dudley's gigantic jeans into the washing machine, taking care to empty the pockets first. Dudley had been known to leave things like mousetraps in them to catch him out. But all he found today was a driving licence ID card for nineteen-year-old, David Smith, complete with Dudley's photograph. Harry stared at it for a second before realising this was how Dudley got the alcohol and magazines. He was still examining the fake ID when Dudley appeared and grabbed it saying, "Not a word to anyone, alright, and I'll lend you a magazine or DVD."
"Where did you get it?" Harry asked, an idea forming in his brain.
The evening before Bill and Fleur's wedding saw Harry tentatively approach the Dursley's sitting room, where he found Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia watching Crimewatch. "I'd chop their flaming hands off like those Arabs do, the filthy thieving little … What do you want, boy?" Vernon demanded.
"I .. I will be going to a friend's wedding tomorrow and probably staying overnight." This was harder than facing Death Eaters, thought Harry before taking a deep breath and continuing. "I'll be back to collect my things, but will be leaving for good on my birthday."
Harry paused. The Dursleys were watching the TV again. He was a little surprised, he'd thought that Uncle Vernon would positively dance with joy when Harry mentioned he was leaving for good. "Once I've turned seventeen, I'm of age in the wizarding …" Vernon growled and looked up.
Harry tried again quickly, "Once I'm seventeen, the protection my mother bestowed on me will cease to exist. Voldemort will be able to find where I live and will come after me."
"You mean this Moldyvort person, the one who killed your no-good, lazy parents will come looking for you here? After all we've done for you, you've put us in danger. I'll, I'll …"
"Err, Aunt Petunia, you umm, may want to take a few weeks holiday, so you'll be safe. Maybe a business trip overseas?" suggested Harry.
"With what? How can we afford that? Wait a minute. That Bumblebore bloke last year said you were wealthy and had inherited a house from that mass murderer of a godfather."
Harry stared at Uncle Vernon, desperately trying to keep his temper under control. Fortunately, the act of thinking appeared to be taking up all of Vernon's attention and he didn't notice the TV reception fuzzing over or the windows vibrating.
"You can bloody well pay us rent for looking after you. Say a tenner per day over the last sixteen years, that'll be about … a round fifty grand should do it."
Harry took a deep breath to calm himself as an idea worthy of the twins started to form in his mind, "Okay then, will you take me to London in the morning to my bank?"
"Why London? Where do you bank?"
"Oh, its called Gringotts, it's near Charing Cross Rd, it's a wiz… er, private bank."
The words 'private bank' caused Vernon Dursley's eyes to open wide like saucers. "Yes, I'll take you in the morning. Now go to bed, boy."
Harry turned and left, pausing outside the living room door long enough to hear Vernon tell his wife. "Did you see, he didn't bat an eyelid when I asked for fifty grand. He must have millions stashed away in that private bank account. As his legal guardians, we should be able to get our hands on it. Think about it - a new car, conservatory and foreign holidays. Imagine the look on the Fortesque-Smythe's face when they see a BMW in the drive and us taking a safari holiday. We could even go Christmas shopping in New York."
Uncle Vernon pulled up outside the Leaky Cauldron in Charing Cross Road. "Where's this bank of yours, boy? I'll give you a ruddy good hiding if this is your idea of a joke."
"It's just well hidden, Uncle Vernon, The bank likes to be discreet for its … err, customers," replied Harry as he led the way through the pub and pulled his wand out to open up Diagon Alley.
"Put that thing away, boy. What is the meaning of …" Vernon stopped mid-sentence, mouth gaping wide open as Diagon Alley came into view. Harry noted that yet more shops had shut down since his last visit. The whole street had a more rundown feel to it. In fact, it looked more like Knockturn Alley with litter down the middle of the street and endless shifty looking market stalls outside the derelict shops.
Harry could see Uncle Vernon sizing up the wizard street with an air of complete disgust. "Your lot live here, in this squalor? It just proves what I'd always thought, that your kind are nothing more than filthy vermin."
Uncle Vernon's diatribe was halted when an elderly figure completely shrouded by a large cloak accosted him. "Essence of rat spleen, my own recipe, will cure your impotence in a jiffy, only five sickles a jar."
Vernon jumped and grabbed Harry. "Get away from me, you old hag."
"No need to be so rude. We hags are renowned as the best potions brewers in the land."
Suppressing a giggle, Harry tried to guide his uncle safely down the Alley towards Gringotts. There seemed to be fewer wizards and witches around, and those that were were hurrying about their business nervously. Vernon stopped to stare bemusedly at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which was offering special deals on Confunding Fireworks and Mutating Marbles, when an old wizard collided with them.
"Special offer, Muggle detecting rings," started the old wizard opening his robe to show an array of multicoloured rings stitched into the lining. "All you do is set it like so and if a Muggle comes too close you'll portkey to aaaa…" The wizard vanished and Uncle Vernon collapsed.
Harry looked around for help and spying who he was fairly sure was Fred, he beckoned the twin over. "Help me with him," he asked pointing to his Uncle.
"Sure," said Fred, aiming a kick at Vernon's stomach.
"No, I meant revive him. I'm still underage for casting magic."
Fred slapped Vernon round the face, waking him. "Glad to be of assistance. Any time you need that done, I'll be happy to oblige," he called, disappearing back into his shop.
Now it was Harry's turn to stand in shock. It took him a few seconds to notice that Uncle Vernon had staggered to his feet, and was now deliriously muttering about strange people with pointy hats. Taking advantage of his uncle's confusion, Harry led him up the steps of Gringotts.
Even in his confused state, Vernon Dursley was evidently impressed by the magnificent building that was Gringotts bank. However, when Harry guided him inside and they were met by Griphook the Goblin, things took a turn for the worse. Harry was mightily impressed that Vernon could manage to insult a goblin quite so comprehensively in just one sentence. "Disgusting, filthy, half-bred gnome," was not the cordial greeting that Gringott's goblins expect. Uncle Vernon found himself soaring out of the doorway of Gringotts and half-way up Diagon Alley where he landed in a cart of 'Finest Manticore Dung' that an elderly Witch was selling.
Harry was doubled-up in fits of laughter as Uncle Vernon staggered to his feet, trying to avoid the furious elderly witch and crashing headlong into another cloaked figure, "Spare a pint of blood for an unemployed vampire please, good sir?" asked the figure in the cloak.
With a scream, Vernon ran towards the Leaky Cauldron, crashing through the wall and knocking a small wizard flying as it opened in front of him. Harry steadied himself and turned back to the goblin. "Could I go to my vault, please?"
Harry withdrew a large sum of galleons from his vault and had them converted into Muggle pounds. As he prepared to leave the bank, Griphook informed him that one of the account managers, Axeblade, would like to speak with him. Harry gulped, hoping the incident with Vernon hadn't upset the goblins too much.
Axeblade was nothing like his name. He was an elderly, balding goblin with a huge hooked nose, the end of which was stained red with ink. Perched precariously on the bridge of the creature's nose was a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. Harry breathed a sigh of relief; Axeblade didn't look at all intimidating,
"Mister Potter, according to our records you will become of age next week, and on that date will gain control of all the assets of the Black Family Estate. This will include the contents of vault 711, the deeds to a property in London - the address of which I cannot speak."
Harry nodded, recognising this as number twelve Grimmauld Place. None of this inheritance was news to him; Dumbledore had explained it last year. This train of thought, as always, led Harry to recall the old Headmaster's murder at the hands of the traitorous, yellow-bellied Snape.
Harry breathed deeply as Axeblade droned on, "and finally, one enchanted Harley-Davidson motorcycle." Harry was suddenly alert again, Sirius's old motorbike, that would be awesome. He'd have to ask Remus later for riding lessons - or should that be flying lessons? Harry laughed as he imagined Ron's envy and Hermione's shock when he flew in for his Birthday Party on a flying motorbike.
He suddenly felt very ashamed, how could he be getting excited at receiving a gift from a will? He'd give up all his possessions to have Sirius back alive from beyond the veil. Harry forced himself to concentrate on Axeblade who appeared to be coming to the end of his speech.
"Furthermore, you will also receive the deeds to a derelict property known as Godric's Hollow, which we have been keeping in trust on behalf of the Potter Estate."
Harry waited for Axeblade to stop and thanked the goblin, arranging to return to the bank on his seventeenth birthday to complete the necessary paperwork.
As he stepped back into Diagon Alley, he checked his watch. Still only 9.30am, which meant that he had plenty of time to put his other plan in motion before he needed to get to the wedding. So he slipped quietly out of the Leaky Cauldron and into Charing Cross Road. Unsurprisingly, Uncle Vernon's car was nowhere to be seen, but this didn't bother Harry, as he hopped on a passing bus and headed for the East End.
Although Harry Potter boarded the Muggle bus, he never got off it; instead a rough looking bloke with a blond ponytail and matching beard and moustache stepped off. This figure paused only to adjust his thick sunglasses before striding purposefully down the street towards the shop Dudley had described. Harry scanned the adverts in the shop window, pausing finally to write down a phone number. Half an hour later he sat, distastefully in a greasy spoon café having breakfast with an Eastern European gentleman.
Harry picked over the chewy, fat-soaked lump of gristle which was congealing on his plate. It could hardly be called a breakfast. Oh well, he thought, as he watched his companion tuck in; if the whole wizarding world thing goes wrong he could always put his cooking skills to good use. Muggle London, it appeared, was short of good cooks.
"My associate provide service, to assist you in reapply for any documents, you may haffing mislaid," the stranger announced in his thick accent, while wiping egg yolk from his moustache. Or at least that was what Harry thought he was doing, as despite sitting opposite the man, he could barely see him through the thick smog which was emanating from the other diners.
In between choking on the smoke, Harry indicated that he had lost all his identity documents.
"Ve vill arrange for a replacement passport, driving licence, national insurance number, and getting a new bank account vor you. This save you hafing to vill in difficult papervork. Our charges are, fee ov ten thousand pounds - haff now, haff on delivery of documents."
Harry handed over £5,000 and some passport style photos, and reluctantly agreed to meet for breakfast again on 1 August. "My name is Mr Joseph Rattyear," he added as he stood to leaving abandoning his plat of bacon, which was now covered in a thin layer of ash..
Eyes watering, Harry paid for the breakfast and headed out of the café, not noticing that his pocketful of cash had attracted some unwelcome attention. As he rounded the corner of the busy road and headed up a quiet backstreet, he spied several hooded people following him. Instantly alert, Harry noticed there was another similarly dressed group heading towards him.
Wanting to avoid any confrontation, Harry turned left into a small alleyway hoping the group would pass. However, this wasn't to be Harry's day, and they turned into the alley after him. The leader drew a knife from his pocket and demanded, "Yer wallet or we'll carve yer up."
Harry backed further up the alley, tightening his grip on his wand as the group closed in on him. All the youngsters appeared to be wearing the same clothes: a hooded top, baggy trousers, and multicoloured trainers. Was this a uniform of some sort? Had he run into the Muggle equivalent of Death Eaters? Harry wasn't going to take any chances and thrust his wand from his pocket.
A loud bang followed and a giant triple-decker purple bus careered around the corner racing towards him, causing a wall to jump out of the way. The group of Muggles didn't appear to notice this at all. Together, they suddenly questioned what they were doing in an alleyway now that the pub was open. Harry let out an audible sigh of relief as the group turned and headed towards the 'Rat and Fiddle.'
He was about to put his wand away when a large club came crashing down merely inches from his face. Harry scrabbled backwards out of the way, looking up to see a large mountain troll standing on the steps of the Knight Bus.
While trying to decide which spell was going to be most effective against the troll's skin, Harry heard the bus driver say, "Hurry aboard mate. He gets a bit upset if you keep him waiting."
With a quick glance at the disappearing youths, Harry decided the troll was the lesser of the two evils and dodged under its arm, quickly making his way to the front of the bus. "What on earth is going on?" he asked Ernie Prang, the aging driver.
"New security measures. Public didn't feel safe on the bus until we hired this security troll. Now where you heading to?"
Didn't feel safe? Harry was gob smacked. How much worse could things get than a troll on the Knight Bus? Harry stood musing until he heard Ernie Prang ask again where he wanted to go. "Err… Ottery St Catchpole, please," he stammered.
"Hold on there, we've been called again," cried Ernie as the bus lurched forwards violently, shook for a few seconds, then screeched to a stop next to a stone circle on a deserted hillside. The troll clearly hadn't been expecting the movement as it came flying down the bus. Harry dodged out of the way just in time before it crashed into the screen which separated the driver's compartment from the rest of the bus..
Angered, the troll emitted a loud "Urrrrrrrrrrrrgh," and smashed its club down through the seat next to Harry.
"You'd better pay him," suggested Ernie. "Two galleons and nine knuts."
Shaking, Harry threw three galleons at the troll, which glowered back menacingly at him.
"Err… keep the change?" he suggested tentatively. The troll seemed satisfied by this and headed to the back of the bus to terrorise an elderly witch who had emerged from the stone circle, dressed in what looked like a bed sheet.
Soon they were off again, lurching violently. I'm really going to have to learn to ride that motorbike, thought Harry, dodging the troll and witch as they came crashing forwards to the front of the bus. "Ottery St Catchpole," announced Ernie happily.
With relief, Harry clambered over the troll and witch who were now lying in a compromising position in the gangway, and jumped off the bus onto the deserted village green. After getting his breath back, Harry looked around him. A cold, misty fog had descended since he had left London. Typical British summer, thought Harry, it was bound to rain and spoil the wedding.
The fog did have one advantage though; it allowed him to change his appearance back from 'Joseph' to normal Harry without being noticed. Once back to normal, Harry put away the sunglasses and dusted himself down hoping that Professor Lupin had remembered to bring his dress robes.
The fog meant it took Harry a few minutes to pick the correct way out of the village. Eventually he saw a small sign pointing towards Stoatshead Hill which he knew was further along the same road as the Burrow. Happy that he was now on the right track Harry started jogging, not wanting to get too wet in this depressing weather. Finally, after he was almost convinced he was going the wrong way, he saw the familiar rickety garden gate and impossibly shaped house looming up in front of him.
As Harry approached the house it appeared to fade in and out of focus, and with a sickening jolt he realised it wasn't fog at all, but hundreds of Dementors. "EXPECTO PATRONUM," Harry bellowed, breaking into a run. A large stag erupted from his wand and charged the nearest of the Dementors, effortlessly tossing it aside with its horns.
Time seemed to slow almost to a stop for Harry as he pelted across the garden towards the few wedding guests who had arrived early. The foul creatures were relentlessly swooping down on small groups of wizards and witches. Each group was frantically sheltering behind a Patronus. Harry could see a shaggy silver wolf driving Dementors back from Tonks and Remus, as he frantically scanned the scene for his friends.
He spotted Hermione's silver otter, gambolling around protecting her owner and what looked like Ron. But, on the other side of the garden, backed against the house wall was a sight that broke Harry's heart. Mrs Weasley was cowering on the floor, her hands over head in despair while a Dementor rose above her, lowering its hood. Next to her, barely standing but still defiantly waving her wand was Ginny.
With desperation, Harry realised that Ginny had never produced a Patronus in any of the Dumbledore's Army meetings they had held, so he urged Prongs forward with all his might. It was no use. There were still too many Dementors gliding between them and Prongs. He was going to be too late for Molly, but Harry had only one thought: He must save Ginny.
The feeble silver mist that came from Ginny's wand as she stammered the incantation served only to divert the Dementor's attention away from her mother and onto herself. As it lowered its hood, this time over the youngest Weasley, Harry screamed "Ginnnny," in sheer desperation, meeting her pleading eyes fleetingly with his, until her face was totally shrouded by the foul creature.