A/N: Thanks for the reviews! They're very encouraging
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Harry had often wished, when he was younger, that his parents were somehow miraculously still alive and that they would come and rescue him from the Dursleys. He had spent many hours picturing exactly what his new life would be like with his parents in it.
It is no exaggeration to say that his dearest wish for many years had been that his parents were still alive.
But that was when he had been younger.
Instead of jumping for joy at the sight of his dad, or running out to introduce himself as James Potter's long lost son, Harry did just the opposite. He swore colorfully, and, with the accompaniment of many strange glances, hid under a table covered in pickled newt's legs.
The existence of James Potter caused a lot of problems for him. The biggest of these problems was that they looked almost exactly alike, sans the eyes, and Harry had foolishly forgotten to disguise himself yesterday. He had been so caught up in the euphoria of having a fresh start at life that he had forgotten the ramifications of the fact that his parents were still alive. Now there were probably multiple reports of a James Potter look-a-like running around Diagon Alley.
Another problem that Harry had not thought about in depth yet was the invisibility cloak. He had had vague intentions of tracking it down in this world because it had been so useful to him in his last world. He had left his old invisibility cloak and Marauder's Map buried in the ground in a safe place until he could go back and retrieve them, and now that he was in an alternate dimension, well, it was safe to say they were gone forever. James Potter no doubt owned the invisibility cloak in this dimension, and Harry thought it was too risky to try and get close enough to the Potter family to steal it.
The thing he must avoid at all costs was getting anywhere close to James Potter. Anyone who saw them stand side by side would start asking questions, and that wasn't what Harry needed.
Sure, Harry was currently 'disguised,' but they were simple charms. No hardened Auror would be fooled by them for more than a few minutes. He could come up with a more permanent disguise later. For now... He was staying underneath the newt legs.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"It's a promotional thing," Harry explained for the fourth time. He pointed to a green sign and attempted his best 'salesmen voice.' "Look, newt's legs are half off if you get them with curried goat spleen!"
An elderly witch looked at him suspiciously, but then moved off down the aisle to look at something else.
He sighed and checked his watch. Enough time had probably passed that it was safe for him to continue on to Knockturn Alley.
Extricating himself from underneath the table, Harry walked out of the apothecary and looked up and down the street in both directions. It was packed with scurrying shoppers, but his father and the man he had punched yesterday were nowhere to be seen.
He continued at what he thought was a casual pace down the street, although he was so on edge he almost cursed the man handing out free samples of Florean Fortescue's ice cream into next Sunday.
It was almost a relief when he reached the cool shadows of Knockturn Alley. He smiled charmingly at a one-eyed witch with rotten teeth and positively beamed at a shifty looking man with what looked like dried blood on his shirt. These were people who understood about keeping their noses in their own business. These were people who could be trusted not to be trustworthy, and in this way they were predictable. Fortunately or unfortunately, Harry understood them.
Like a connoisseur with extremely discriminating taste, Harry walked down the alley until he found a store that was the perfect amount of decrepit and dubious. The front was covered in peeling paint and there was something that may or may not have been human teeth decorating the edges of a stained glass window. Through the window it looked dank and moldy, but Harry saw several items that might have been legitimately powerful.
He ascended the steps confidently and entered the store. "Hello," he said.
A fat, balding man behind the counter didn't even bother with formalities, and instead grunted, "Buying or selling?"
Harry gave a nostalgic sigh at the rudeness of the question. "Selling, actually."
The man grunted again. "Eh? What'a ya got, then?"
"I happened across a rather mysterious orb the other day, and I was wondering if you might be interested. My sources tell me it's quite powerful."
"A powerful orb, huh? Let's hav'a look."
Harry took the orb out of his pocket and held it up so the shopkeeper could see. The man's face went slack with surprise, and a grimy monocle that had been screwed into his face looked practically in danger of falling out.
"Where'd… Where'd ya get that?" he asked.
Harry narrowed his eyes. "So it's valuable, then?" Valuable, or distinctive, he thought. Or both.
"Yeah… I guess ya could say…" Then the man paused. "Well, not too val'uble, mind. Don't expect a lotta galleons for this ol' thing."
Harry smiled. "Of course not."
The man swallowed nervously. "It's… powerful is all. Maybe too much to be worth it, d'ya see?" He was looking at Harry closely. "You from outta town?"
Harry's eyes narrowed again. "I didn't say where I was from. Does it matter?"
"'Course not, 'course not," he said hastily. He laughed nervously. "Prob'ly inherit it from an aunt, didn't ya?"
"Something like that."
"I'll tell ya what. Make ya a deal. Two hun'red galleons for th' thing." He looked at Harry sternly. "Tha's my absolute final offer."
Harry was honestly blown away. He had expected fifty galleons, at most. He didn't let his surprise show on his face, however, and instead sighed and said, "Well, I suppose that'll do."
The shopkeeper took the orb from Harry carefully, almost reverently, and Harry wondered at his strange behavior. There was clearly something he was missing.
But, Harry thought as he was handed a jingling pouch full of two hundred galleons, he was happy to stay out of the loop if this is what he got in return.
Harry left the store shortly after he collected his money, stopping only to admire a floral arrangement near one window that looked like it was made mostly of small, dead, furry mammals.
Unbeknownst to Harry, the shopkeeper hurried to the fireplace soon after he had left and threw a dash of green powder into the grate. A roar of flames came up, and an irritated man's face appeared in the middle of them.
"What'd'ya want, Hector?"
"Ya won't believe what I jus' bought. An elemental sphere! An' I don't even think tha lad knew what he was selling."
The man in the fireplace looked at him sharply. "Those are personally made by the Dark Lord. There are only a few in circulation at any even time, and they're closely regulated. Was the seller a Death Eater?"
"Never seen 'im before in me life!" said Hector gleefully.
"What did he look like?" said the other man intently.
"Well, I dunno," said Hector. "How much is it worth to ya…?"
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Harry was happy. He often found that his happiness was closely correlated the amount of money in his pockets, and his pockets were exceptionally full at this precise moment.
Before leaving the small, dank shop where he had sold the orb, he cast a silencing charm on his pockets. There was no faster way to get killed than having pockets that jingled with every step while walking down Knockturn Alley.
He knew precisely where he was going next, if her store still existed in this world. Madame Withly's was the absolute last word on fraudulent papers.
He saw to his delight that her store was in the same place in this world as it was in his. It was a great hulking shop near the end of the row, cleaner than most but making up for this fact by being entirely made out of intimidating black marble. It looked like a mausoleum, and Harry figured that the frigid-looking marble was about as warm as Madame Withly's personality.
He entered the shop and found himself in a white-and-gold foyer that was illuminated by chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Craning his neck upwards, he saw that even Madame Withly couldn't resist the decorative inclinations of Knockturn Alley, as shown by the skull attached to the middle of the chandelier.
He had only been standing a few minutes when a witch entered the foyer from a back doorway. She looked about fifty or sixty, but her eyes were alert, and her cruel smile indicated that she probably had multiple knives on her at any given time.
"Hello, how are you today?" she asked.
"Fine, thank you. I seem to have… lost my official identification papers. I don't suppose you have any that would suit me?"
"I might just, I might just," she mused. "What did you say your name was?"
"Ethan Meadowes," he replied.
She said in a business-like tone, "Alright Mr. Meadowes, come to my office with me and we can straighten out the details. I'll need certain information like your birth date, height, weight, and so on and so forth to make your new documents. And if you happen to forget certain pieces of information, feel free to… get creative."
"Gladly," Harry replied.
They entered her office, and she continued, "It's usually fifty galleons for birth certificates and ten for apparition licenses. A document certifying that you graduated from a magical institution can cost anywhere from ten to thirty galleons. And some of the more, ah, custom documents can be quite pricey."
Harry considered for a second, and then said, "Alright. For now, I want a birth certificate, apparition license, and a document saying that I got a magical education. I don't care where—wherever's cheapest." He slid about one hundred and fifty galleons onto her desk. "And make them the best papers you've made in a while."
Her eyes widened at the amount of money. "This is more than enough money, Mr., ah, Meadowes."
"Yes, I know. I was also hoping you could leave a trail of smaller documents… Fairly insignificant ones that happen to suddenly appear in Ministry files. For example, the name Ethan Meadowes could appear on a list of children who went to St. Mungo's in 1985. Just normal documents that would appear throughout one's life."
She nodded slowly. "I think that is… doable." She swept the pile of galleons into a drawer in her desk. "Let's get started, shall we?"
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
A couple of hours later Harry had several excellently-forged papers of identification and still had fifty galleons left over. He was feeling rather cheerful, cheerful enough, in fact, to risk Flourish and Blott's. He still didn't know much about this world, and all the information he could get would be useful.
He was perusing the aisle on Defense Against the Dark Arts, just in case he didn't know any of the jinxes discussed in these books (doubtful), when he saw a tall witch about his age at the other end of the aisle. Something about her was familiar…
She was extremely beautiful, with long, dark hair pulled back from her face and the most fantastic pair of dark blue eyes. She was also scowling at a book, which made her look quite terrifying, and there was a small scar running from the top of one cheekbone to her ear.
He squinted at her and tried to place her. He tilted his head a bit to the right, and suddenly he remembered. She was the witch he had been talking to last night at the inn! Talk about a small world.
Just as he recognized her, she turned around and caught him looking at her. He swiveled around hurriedly and pretended to be engrossed in A History of the Jellylegs Curse.
He could feel her staring at him intently, and no doubt something about him was familiar as well. Hopefully she wouldn't see through his hasty disguise, as that would lead to awkward questions, mostly about why he was disguised and happened to be in the same bookshop as her.
She walked past him to the register, and he watched as she pulled out her money pouch to pay for her books. Or rather, she took out his money pouch to pay for her books. She was the one who had stolen his money last night!
He must have let out a huff of indignation, because she whirled around and said, "I knew it!"
"Knew what?" said Harry.
"You're that man from the inn last night! Ethan Meadowes!"
He considered denying it, but then decided he was too angry. "And you're the girl who stole my money!"
She gave a derisive laugh. "Nobody is that lucky at cards. I caught on to your little trick soon enough. You say I stole your money, but all I did was steal my money back."
Harry glared at her and mumbled, "I stole that money fair and square. It took me months to work out that charm that only affected aces."
She was smirking, and she looked like someone who had discovered an unexpected treat. "Now the real question is why you're wearing these cheap glamours. Did you think they'd fool me? I'm insulted."
"They're not for you," muttered Harry. "And—hey!" With a wave of her wand, she had dispelled his disguise. "What're you doing?"
(Let it be said that the man behind the register was looking more and more confused as the conversation continued.)
"No, that's my line. What are you doing wearing a disguise? Only criminals need them. Or perhaps you're something worse…. Got a penchant for following Dark Lords, do we?"
"What?! No!"
Luckily Harry was saved by the unexpected arrival of Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Ada," said Shacklebolt, striding into the shop, "We have to go. The Auror department has sent out an alert near Kent."
"I was just investigating this suspicious looking individual," sniffed Ada. She gestured towards Harry and Kingsley noticed him for the first time.
Harry rolled his eyes. "I am not a Death Eater. See?" He rolled up his left sleeve. "I take it you're an Auror, then?"
"Well, an Auror-in-training," she said, clearly proud. "This is Shacklebolt, is my mentor. And Shacklebolt, this is Ethan Meadowes. He told me the longest yarn last night about being a prince of Westphalia."
"I—well, yes… but…" started Harry, but Kingsley cut in, clearly pressed for time.
"Nice to meet you, Meadowes," he said in his deep voice, and then steered Ada towards the door. However, near the exit he glanced back at Harry and said, "You know, you look like the spitting image of… Well, never mind." He shook his head.
Then, looking at his watch, he exclaimed, "Cripes! We've got to go. Hurry up Ada, Auror Potter'll have my head…."
Harry watched them leave with a sinking heart. Now two Aurors knew what he looked like and his name, and it sounded like at least one of them knew his father.
He needed to get out of London as soon as possible and find that nice, deserted area where he could buy a house. Maybe in France somewhere? Or maybe Italy. It didn't matter, as long as it was far away from Aurors, and Death Eaters, and Voldemort, and Dumbledore, and away from everyone who wanted to kill him or who had expectations of him.
He wanted a house and enough Unplottable charms to obscure the whole of Russia, if necessary, but to do that he needed money. And money was simple enough to get.