Harry and Tom left the little Inn of Upper Flagley after their promised two weeks of staying there. The owner of the pub wished them a halfhearted goodbye as Harry watched him struggle in thought to work out who exactly they were again. Harry had wondered aloud whether it was unwise of them to have left the names 'Voldemort and Tromedlov' still within the Inn owner's guestbook the day they moved into their new flat, but Tom assured him that it was all good fun, and that the barman wouldn't remember the event within a few months, at the most.
A further fortnight passed since moving into their new flat when Harry and Tom both secured jobs. It appeared to Harry as tough it didn't take much effort for Tom to make people give him the jobs he wanted for both Harry and himself, and it was with a lack of nerves or unease that Tom himself began working at Borgin and Burkes a few days before Harry was to join the Daily Prophet. Their flat had also been bought with a lack of struggle, but Harry couldn't say he was exactly worrying about this. He was only concerned with how Tom was managing to get everything so easily.
It was Monday, the 16th of July when Harry began his first day of work. He woke up early that morning with Tom, and they got ready after some conversing and breakfast. There were only around twenty minutes left before they would both have to leave the flat when Tom began to alter Harry's appearance, to give him a completely new identity.
They stood in the living room, which was decorated simply; a bookshelf lined almost an entire wall, with two armchairs and a couch resting in the center of the room facing it, a small table in between. The door leading into the flat stood opposite this, with two windows on the wall to its left, which supplied a decent amount of light from the street outside despite the fact that they had ended up living in Knockturn Alley. Two more doors were on the wall to the entrance's right. One led to the kitchen and the other to a bedroom, and by extent a bathroom. In short, their flat was small yet comfortable.
"It's not as though I'll see anyone I know there," Harry commented as he stood facing Tom, about to begin the transfiguration. "I'll probably only see the same people each day, as a subeditor."
"I merely believe it is wiser to be cautious," Tom replied as he examined Harry's face. "You never know who could visit an office of the Daily Prophet, and accidentally recognize you…"
"I'm guessing you don't mean 'you' in the sense of 'one'?" Harry asked, as Tom began a nonverbal spell.
Tom only smiled lightly, concentrating on Harry's transformation.
Only around ten seconds of silence passed following this, however, when Tom suddenly drew to a stop, staring at Harry's jaw, which he was changing. He appeared confused, and Harry asked, "What's wrong?"
"You've been Transfigured before," Tom said slowly.
Harry couldn't see how this was surprising to Tom, and he paused for a moment. "Well, that's a pretty usual side effect of going into hiding."
"But I've never seen you use Transfiguration on yourself. Not even in the mornings."
"So?"
"So, you have either been extremely secretive in refreshing your false appearance, or you have managed to find a way to keep your Transfigurations somewhat permanent," Tom stated, still in an apparent state of deep contemplation. "If the earlier, I must own I am impressed that you have escaped my notice of this activity for so long, especially when I am sure we've spent entire days wonderfully in each other's sight. If it is the latter… I am curious to know how you managed to surpass decades of research dedicated to the art of keeping Transfigurations for longer than a few hours."
Upon hearing Tom speak, Harry began to realise that the Transfiguration he had been taught and told about in his years at Hogwarts must have been partially more advanced than what Tom would have learnt or read about in this decade – especially for Human Transfiguration. Harry knew that, in his time, things like eye colour couldn't be changed for longer than a day or two, but he had no idea that they couldn't even secure the transformation of one's facial appearance in the nineteen forties.
He supposed that this all must have just been a pretty late breakthrough, as most Transfiguration Masters would be working in fields other than Human Transfiguration. With everything from objects to matter, to animals to insects for witches and wizards to study and experiment with, it wasn't all that surprising. There were also many, many minor aspects of the human form for Transfiguration Masters to busy themselves with, rather than the common puzzle of would make changes last for longer. Harry only wondered now what he would tell Tom…
"I've always known how to make a transfiguration stick," Harry admitted after a moment of contemplation. He then began his lies. "It was one of the first things they taught me, after I was adopted into that Wizarding Community. I wouldn't say we were all that advanced in other subjects, but Transfiguration seemed important to them."
Tom mused this for a minute, making no further changes to Harry's appearance. "Studying Transfiguration further would seem wise, for them," he commented. "Especially if they were put on certain operations to gather information… Yet I wonder only one thing. How did they manage it?"
Despite the fact that no one was supposed to know about this apparently advanced piece of magic in this time, Harry couldn't really see the harm in explaining to Tom how it worked. Tom wasn't exactly one to spill Harry's secrets to random others, anyway. "It's just about keeping an even balance between each transfiguration," he began. "If you can manage overlapping each change, forming the differences only a little bit at a time, nothing has the room to revert back to how it used to be. Then, all you have to do is cast this spell…"
Harry began explaining how it all worked in more detail, to Tom's great interest. It felt odd to him, to explain something that he felt was very basic to one of the smartest wizards he knew he would ever meet. Yet he supposed that Tom explained enough magic to him to last him a lifetime contemplating. The only reason why this magic was simple to Harry was because it was so vital, and popularly used. It only took him about five minutes to explain the entire theory to Tom, which wasn't surprising.
"Thought you can't tell anyone about this, obviously," Harry added once he was finished. "People would trace the knowledge back to me, or someone would realise that this information – which was basically a signature move of our group – is still spreading."
"No, I won't tell a soul," Tom assured him. "I promise."
Harry wasn't sure that much would go wrong even if Tom became known from this knowledge… Except maybe the fact that Voldemort could be deemed the creator of the most useful and popular discovery in Transfiguration since a hundred years, which might clash a little with his brilliant exploration of the Dark Arts. "Although," Harry said, "it might be worth the risk just to see the look on Dumbledore's face if you get famous on this one discovery. You could take his job as the Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts then."
Tom smiled at this, but after a moment, he said; "Yet even that wouldn't be worth risking your safety for, to me."
Harry didn't smile again at this, as he hid his curiosity as to whether Tom really meant these words. It could be the psychopathy speaking, he mused, or else Tom's wish to be only the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts, and nothing else. Harry pushed the thought away from his mind, hating himself for bringing that up again. Tom was suddenly speaking again.
"Can I see what you look like normally?" he asked quietly.
Harry was surprised with this question, and he hesitated. "Erm, I don't know…
If Tom saw him now, and remembered what he looked like for the next fifty years or so, he would see Harry as a teenager in the nineties and doubtlessly recognize him. Yet Harry didn't have any excuses to give Tom in relation to withholding his true appearance… In his silence, Tom watched him, likely trying to guess what he was thinking.
"I'm sure you don't look that different," Tom said in a way that suggested he was lacking the teasing smile most others might have had at this point. "I'm merely curious. You can trust me."
Harry didn't want Tom to think he was cowering away from showing his real appearance just because he was vain, and he certainly didn't want Tom to think that he wasn't going to trust him. Tom would think it was because he, Harry, didn't want his real appearance described or shown through memory to anyone – such as Grindelwald, or his followers. After a moment's thought, Harry decided to let Tom see what he looked like, knowing that there were more bad things that could happen in the present if he showed signs of doubt. "Fine," he said, "you can see what I look like…"
Tom appeared content now, and used Counter Transfiguration on Harry without delay. Harry could feel his own face slowly begin to reform as Tom worked nonverbally, and when Tom was done, he stood facing Harry, examining him with a light smile of amusement and, as far as Harry could tell, satisfaction.
"You're just as handsome normally as you were transfigured, you know," Tom remarked softly, as his eyes traveled to view all of Harry's real face, "and I say 'just as' because you are still quite the same, in some ways."
"I'm sure you'll probably do a better job of changing me," Harry commented honestly. Tom gave a light breath of laughter, and watched Harry for a moment more, before raising his wand to transfigure him again.
It only took around three minutes for Tom to give Harry a new face, even as he took Harry's advice to make the changes last longer. Tom then led Harry through their living room, past their bedroom and into their bathroom. Tom seemed quite pleased with the work he had done, and Harry soon found out why when he looked at himself in the mirror above the sink.
He still looked like himself very vaguely, as was the usual case with Human Transfiguration (for to change an appearance in absolutely every way takes both a lot of time and determination – not to mention how it goes too far against the body's natural order, which could end badly physically, and how it can change one's mental picture of oneself, which isn't healthy to do too often) but Harry's features were unmistakably far more handsome and even than they had ever been before.
Harry didn't know whether to be more impressed or embarrassed about this. He was extremely amazed, when he thought about it, that Tom had changed so much in so little time, and so efficiently. Countless witches and wizards spent years of their lives attempting to perfect the transformation of their own appearances, and it was rare that someone became more attractive with this magic alone – even if they had to refresh and retry the magic every day, when it wore off on them. But Harry disliked the idea of being changed to look more striking. To sum up his thoughts, he didn't feel it would suit his personality in the slightest.
"So, do you like it?" Tom asked him with a smile, watching him thought the mirror.
"This is ridiculous," Harry replied after struggling to find the right words. He was glad to note that he still wasn't as handsome as Tom, at least. "You were supposed to make me unnoticeable."
"I was supposed to make you look unlike yourself," Tom corrected him as he walked closer, still smirking. He stood behind Harry, and slid his hands around Harry's waist, his lips close to Harry's ear now. "Though I must admit I still see a lot of your previous appearances upon you."
Harry made no comment to this as Tom examined him happily.
"You dislike my work?" Tom asked him after a time.
"No, I just…" Harry didn't actually know how he felt about it, or why he hated it so much. "It's just embarrassing. Or different."
Tom gave a soft hum of laughter. "It's not that different," he said softly, holding Harry a little more tightly, "and I happen to like the way you look, no matter what."
Harry attempted to shrug, and ended up moving away from Tom, perhaps so he could merely distance himself from his own reflection. He decided that he didn't care about how he looked, especially since he would be sitting in an office for the next year or so. He took one of Tom's hands in his own as he moved away from the mirror, saying, "We're both going to be late for work, and I don't think that's a good idea on my first day, and your first week."
"Ah, indeed," Tom agreed, following as Harry led him towards the living room again. Harry was about to break away from Tom to grab his traveling cloak, before Tom pulled him closer, to kiss him softly. Harry smiled at this, feeling his resolve to leave the house weaken somewhat. Yet they pulled away from each other after only a moment.
"I don't want to anger Borgin with my absence," Tom said, as he picked up his traveling cloak, "But I shall miss you all day, nevertheless."
Harry smiled a little, fastening the clasp his own cloak more comfortably around his throat. "I'll be back the moment I get out of work."
Tom smiled very softly, and moved towards the door, opening it. They headed downstairs, only after a few more quiet words.
After a short goodbye due to the many lingering and mistrusting pedestrians of Knockturn Alley, Harry and Tom headed their separate ways. Harry passed many dark and eerie shops that lined the winding street as he made his way towards Diagon Alley, where many of the Daily Prophet's offices were stationed. Harry wasn't sure whether it was the fact that it was the nineteen forties, or the fact that he was now technically an adult that made Knockturn Alley seem less dangerous than it had been to him as a kid. Or, Harry thought, as he passed many cloaked figures who rarely showed their faces fully, perhaps he himself was just getting used to the more sinister and dark side of the Wizarding World…
Diagon Alley was bright and packed with people on this early Monday morning. Harry walked for about another five minutes, passing many cheery looking shops selling broomsticks or quills, before he found the Daily Prophet's headquarters. Many witches and wizards filed in and out of the finely carved building, which was at least four stories high, and probably quite a few more stories low. It was made sandy coloured bricks with handsome, swirling designs carved on every window ledge, a few steps made their way up from the main street towards the large front doors that welcomed visitors. Harry joined the crowd.
Past the tall doors that led on from the street outside stood a wide and tall entrance hall, decorated in gold and red tiling, with many doors leading off in different directions, as the room was circular. The structure of the whole building had blatantly been enchanted to be larger in the inside then it appeared outside, for there was an entire wall dedicated to lifts that reached tens of floors up and down, and the ceiling of the entrance hall itself war far higher up than one would have expected. There were tall desks made of dark wood lining the whole room between each door and past the lifts, and Harry headed towards one of them.
"Good morning sir," greeted a plainly dressed witch when Harry stood before her.
"Good morning," Harry replied, "I'm Richard Plunkett, here for my new job as a subeditor for the Crime section of the Daily Prophet."
"Oh, of course, Mr. Plunkett," the witch said, almost immediately after Harry had spoken. "Come right this way."
Harry watched as the witch stood up from her desk, and stepped onto the floor below it to lead him towards the right place. He followed her at an even pace, watching people as he passed, who were visiting this building in the hope of seeing someone about the letter they had sent in referring to a new article, or who worked here as a reporter, and who had just finished up the best report on cauldron safety that this newspaper might see all year. Harry was lead past many doors, down a few floors and along many corridors before the witch stopped walking, and he guessed that they were at the right place.
They were standing besides a small intersection where around eight corridors met. There stood a wizard at yet another desk who was reading through a stack of parchment wearily. He looked up as the witch approached him.
"I have Mr. Plunkett here for the Crime Department," the witch said.
"Ah, yes," the wizard said, sounding tired and bored as he pushed the glasses up his long nose. He turned towards his parchment again after a pause. "Quite an impressive resume, yes. Show him towards his office, then."
The witch did so, leading Harry down two more corridors. "Here we are," she commented, as they stood outside a door made of the same wood from the desks, it appeared. "There should be someone waiting for you within this department who will tell you everything you need to know about subediting. If you have any more questions, don't hesitate to ask any of the staff."
"Thanks," Harry said. The witch turned to walk away after smiling kindly, which left Harry to enter the room in front of him.
The office ahead of him was brightly lit, with pictures of famous historians and ancient newspaper articles lining the walls between the bewitched windows, which displayed a clear blue sky outside, despite the fact they were underground. There were five desks stationed around the room, four of which were occupied by workers; a wizard with dark hair at the back who looked around forty, completely submerged in his work, an older wizard still who appeared aged yet tough, who sat at the very front of the room, a witch who looked around twenty five, who didn't seem to struggle with the work she had, and a wizard just as young as her, who spoke to the witch as they worked.
Harry was glad to note that none of the workers seemed particularly strict, besides the oldest wizard, perhaps. When Harry closed the door behind him, and turned to face the room again, he saw that the eldest wizard was analyzing him from his desk. When Harry looked back at him, he felt as thought he recognized the wizard in some way…
"You must be Richard Plunkett," the wizard said in a growling voice.
"Yes," Harry replied, recognizing this wizard a little more from his tone.
"You're just in time," the wizard said. "Almost late, actually."
"Oh, sorry, I was just–"
"No need for an explanation," the Wizard assured him. He smiled a little, still watching Harry intently from his chair. "I would give you a tour of the place, but I'm sure you can see it all from where you stand, and I wouldn't want to waste the valuable energy anyway. I'm Abner, by the way. Abner Moody."
Harry watched as Abner put up a hand for him to shake, and he walked forwards to take it. "It's nice to meet you," he said.
Harry realised now who Abner reminded him of: Alastor Moody. They looked very, very similar, minus the war scars Alastor had had, and Harry had no doubt that they were related – they were probably even father and son. It only took Harry a second to work out that if Alastor Moody had been born around this time, or around ten years ago, he would be forty to fifty years old when Voldemort rose to full power, and around twenty years older than that when Harry had known him. Harry was only curious as to why Mad-Eye Moody's father would be working here.
"For introductions," Abner continued, not noticing Harry's stare "this here is Eileen Lawson," the witch behind him said a faint 'hello', "that's Emeric Rothwell," the young wizard next to Eileen nodded his head towards Harry, "and that's Aidan Stebbins." Aidan barely even looked up from his work to acknowledge Harry. "He isn't the most social of people," Moody added in an undertone.
Harry only nodded at this, and made no comment.
"You'll be working at that desk, of course," Moody said, looking at the table that rested near Eileen and Emeric, "and the work you'll have to do is already on your desk, for this evening and tomorrow morning's edition of the Daily Prophet."
"Right," Harry said.
"Now, you know how to read though a manuscript and edit it to the Prophet's expectations, yes?"
"Yes," Harry replied. Tom had already explained everything about subediting to him in more detail than he could have wished, and he was glad that Moody appeared unwilling to explain it to him again.
"In case that's a lie, the copy editor's job is summed up with the 'five Cs'," Abner said. "Make it clear, comprehensible, concise, correct, and consistent. It's all we're asked for. It has to say what it means, and mean what it says."
"Of course," Harry said, being reminded more of Mad-Eye with every word.
"As with all things," Abner continued, "there will be easy work to do, and hard work to do. Since you're new, we'll be giving you the easy work, and if you crack under that, we'll know you aren't ready for this job, and you'll be fired within a week. But if you do well, and get all the work done, adding in your own style with complete accuracy, you'll be moved up to sharing the bigger stories with us, which are more likely to make it into the papers, and more likely to get you better pay for every lousy collection of twisted facts and figures that make a good tale for the rest of the world to read. Sound good?"
"Yeah," Harry said, "sounds great."
Abner's smile didn't reach his eyes as he continued to study Harry, taking in every aspect of his appearance. Harry supposed that Moody didn't trust him fully, perhaps because of the fact that this office blatantly didn't need any more subeditors, or perhaps because Harry just didn't look like a normal, happy, or righteous wizard in Moody's eyes. Harry knew he could have read the reasons within Abner's head, but he didn't feel that was fair to do so early on. He'd wait a day, at least.
"Off to work, then," Abner ordered.
"Right," Harry said, heading for his desk. "Thanks."
Harry sat, and picked up the first collection of parchment from the pile waiting for him. The parchment was sectioned off by thin pieces of twine, to separate each report from the other ones in the pile. Harry saw that the story before him had been sent in from an old witch in Yorkshire, who had witnessed some youths attacking her neighbour's cat while they were way. Harry could tell the moment he began reading the report that it wasn't exactly going to make the front page of the Daily Prophet, but he began fixing the mistakes within it and so on anyway.
A few hours passed without anything particularly eventful happening, and it seemed like a long time later to Harry when it was finally lunch break within the office. Harry stopped working to see that Moody was still seated at his table, now eating instead of working, the middle-aged wizard, Aidan, had left the room, and Eileen and Emeric were talking. They seemed like good friends. Harry got up from his desk, and began making his way towards the exit of the room like Aidan evidently had, before he heard a voice from behind him.
"Richard, won't you join us?" the witch named Eileen asked. "We're just about to begin lunch."
Harry was rather surprised with this invitation, and he hesitated for a second when he turned to face the witch and wizard. He decided that it would be rude to not accept this invitation, so he paused for only a moment more before saying, "I'd be happy to join you."
Eileen smiled at this, and conjured a chair next to her and Emeric for Harry to sit on. When Harry was seated, he noticed that Emeric was avoiding eye contact with him. Harry wondered why, as he saw that, even more unusually, Emeric didn't appear annoyed with his presence. Harry supposed, after a moment's thought, that Emeric must have just been shy. Yet he didn't seem very timid when Harry had vaguely heard him talking earlier…
Eileen waved her wand, taking no keen notice of the two wizards next to her, and from a table across the room flew a silver dish holding food, accompanied by drinks. Harry knew that it was a usual wizard custom for businesses such as the Daily Prophet to supply its workers with lunches, and the bigger the company, the better the food normally was. Some places, such as the Ministry of Magic, went to great lengths to impress its workers and visitors, and to hold a high reputation, spending an unhealthy amount of money with the food they supplied, whilst giving the best food imaginable to its finest and highest ranked workers.
"I have to say, I was quite surprised when I heard there would be a new subeditor in this office," Eileen said as three plates zoomed towards her, laden with a whole assortment of food. "I know there has indeed been quite an increase of crime lately, but we've managed to keep up with most of the stories. I wonder only if the Prophet is anticipating worse occurrences."
"From some of the news I've read, I wouldn't be all that surprised," Harry said, picking up a knife and fork. "But I still think I was pretty lucky to get this job."
"Do you have family that works within the Daily Prophet?"
"No," Harry said, "I just applied, and they seemed willing enough to accept me."
Eileen nodded, paying attention to her plate for a moment, before continuing. "So why did you want to become a subeditor?"
"I'm just interested in the news, to be honest."
"Yes, as am I," Eileen said. "Unlike Emeric, who was forced into it by his family, mostly."
"To say the least," Emeric added, not looking up from his plate for long. Eileen smiled.
"But it's quite a fun job, being a subeditor," she remarked, her brown eyes wandering back to look at Harry. "I hope you'll be as comfortable here as the rest of us are."
"I hope so too," Harry said. He wondered how long he would end up staying in this job, as he contemplated how comfortable he might end up here. Perhaps he'd be here for no longer than a year… it would all merely depend upon what happened with Tom, and when.
Just then, Harry looked across the room to see Moody standing up from his chair. In contradiction to Abner's burly and strong appearance, he appeared slow on his feet, and somewhat weak when he walked. Harry watched him for a minute, and Eileen and Emeric seemed to notice, for they followed his gaze surreptitiously. Moody left the room without looking over his shoulder, and Harry turned to Eileen.
"What's wrong with him?"
"He used to be an Auror," she explained, "and he was an exceedingly brilliant one, before he was hit by a really dark piece of magic… I don't really know much about it, besides for what Moody told me about his severe internal injury. I think he's pretty lucky to be alive. Anyone weaker than him would have surely died."
Harry thought over what she said for a moment, and came to the long conclusion that this could, potentially, have been the same spell that Dolohov would one day use against Hermione in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. Hermione had only survived it because it was not at all a direct hit, but it could easily harm someone even like Abner greatly if it was more direct. What was more, Harry knew the potions that Madame Pomfrey had given Hermione for the injury had been a relatively new discovery, even if the spells she used to help manage some of the pain had been discovered long before it…
The spell moved in a zigzagging pattern, Harry knew, so it was indeed quite hard to use perfectly. Tom had explained to Harry during one of their lessons all about it, and Harry had even read about it himself. Moody could have been hit relatively accurately, nevertheless, yet probably not perfectly. "Why does Moody continue to work, though?" Harry wondered aloud. "Surely the Ministry is paying for all of his medical expenses and so on?"
"Oh, I'm sure the Ministry is giving him medical expenses as well as compensation – they would have to, especially for all the work he did – but I don't actually know why he wants to work here… I've never asked."
Harry wished she did know. Perhaps it was the fact that he had known Mad-Eye Moody for so long before his death, or perhaps it was the fact that he actually felt bad for Abner Moody that made Harry want to know more about Abner. It was interesting to him. He almost felt as though Moody might, by extent, link him back to his own past… he felt so very far away from that all now, he realised. As much as he thought about the memories he had of his friends and guardians, Harry had, in some way, broken away from them all…
Remembering where he was, Harry forced himself to stop thinking about this, even if neither Eileen not Emeric would see a change in his expression. He went back to conversing with them, asking a little more about Moody before moving on to sharing stories of his fictional past in exchange for their real life stories.
