With his pockets full of gold and the assurance that he had plenty more where that came from, Harry felt more prepared for his future. Unfortunately, more prepared didn't mean he had an actual plan. Perhaps he might send Hedwig to Dumbledore and beg to be allowed to remain at Hogwarts. The headmaster definitely seemed more lenient than the Ministry of Magic were likely to be.

Unfortunately, he had no guarantee that Dumbledore could do anything about it if he broke the law. Just last year, Hagrid had been taken to prison, and Dumbledore hadn't been able to do a thing about it until Harry had faced a basilisk in single combat. Not to mention that without Hedwig he would be unable to communicate with anyone if an emergency occurred, not to mention completely alone.

Harry didn't know what to do with himself if he couldn't go back to Hogwarts. He hadn't been to muggle school in two years, and he'd never been particularly brilliant at it in the first place. He didn't want to go back, and he was not sure that what would happen if he tried. Surely if he tried to make it on his own in the muggle world, the police would catch up to him and put him in children's jail like Petunia always threatened.

There were other Wizarding Schools, he knew, but he didn't know where they were or what languages he'd have to speak to go there. Maybe he should take a leaf out of Hermione's book and find a book. Harry smirked to himself, heading towards The Leaky Cauldron. He knew they rented rooms, something he would need if he were going to survive on his own without his arm falling off from dragging his school trunk around with him everywhere.

He didn't know if there were wizard apartments around somewhere that he could rent more long term, but he supposed that if he were to be doing the research thing, he'd eventually have that figured out as well.

Harry was just grateful that he was up early enough to avoid most of the Diagon Alley traffic. Sure, he got a few odd looks, it was a bit early to be school shopping, but he wasn't fighting against a river of people with all his worldly possessions in hand. Harry kept a look-out for anyone too official looking anyway, and avoided eye contact with the people just opening their shops for the day.

At The Leaky Cauldron, Tom the barman was wiping down the bar absently, occasionally flicking his wand so an industrial looking tea kettle would bob over to one of the beings quietly reading their morning Prophet.

"Excuse me," Harry waited until there was no danger of hot tea ruining someone's morning before interrupting.

"Ello lad, what'll it be?" Tom asked, smiling his toothless grin.

"I'd like to rent a room for the week." Harry said with as much confidence as he could muster.

Tom looked at him with concern, but a good barman knows when not to ask so he just pulled out his customer log. Harry signed his name, Neville Smith, where indicated, and clunked a bit of gold on the counter. Tom lead him upstairs, passing several closed doors until they reached number seven. Tom opened it with a stiff bow, and deposited the key into Harry's outstretched hand.

"Thank you," Harry repeated, compulsively, trying to meet Tom's eyes, but mostly making significant contact his eyebrows.

"Breakfast is included in your room fee, and today's special is bangers and mash. Serves till ten o'clock."

Harry tried not to yawn in his face. "Thank you."

Tom bobbed his head and disappeared down the stairs, leaving Harry alone to collapse on the musty smelling bed provided, barely pausing to turn the latch on the door before he greeted the tatty blankets with his face.

Hysterical tears prickled at his eyes along with great bubbles of inappropriate laughter. He wanted to collapse into a mini-coma to make up for the exhaustion of his journey, but the adrenaline from his escape was just catching up to him. He'd done it. He'd escaped the Dursleys, faked his identity, and managed to avoid any run in with the law.

He didn't know what to do next. Harry wasn't sure he'd really believed that he could escape punishment. He certainly wouldn't be able to fool Dumbledore into allowing him to come back to Hogwarts. But for now he was free. And that was at least something.

Harry rolled over onto his back, grinning at the ceiling, before leaping back up to free Hedwig from her cage. She fairly blasted out of her prison, perching on the window sill and looking at him expectantly. Harry reached past her to open it, giving her an affectionate rub before she swooped out into the alley below.

Harry flopped back onto the bed, crushing his face into the pillow. "Sleep, sleep, sleep." He whispered to himself, convinced that if he could just be unconscious for a little while, things would sort themselves out.

Harry woke to Hedwig's rude talons as she landed on his head. He slurped a bit of drool back in his mouth before it could reach the pillow and sat up slowly, holding out his arm for her to perch on.

"What am I going to do, Hedwig?" He asked her, not sure how to put it off anymore. Hedwig blinked at him, nipping at his fingers, but was otherwise unhelpful. His stomach, also unhelpful, chose that moment to grumble loudly, drawing attention to the lack of food in his immediate history. "You want to stay in or out while I go find us some food?"

Hedwig sat for a moment, before reluctantly perching on the bedpost. Harry got up, closed the window part way, and patted his newly smooth hair into place. Straightening his robes, and hiding his trunk from the view of the window and the door, Harry made sure both were locked before he made his way down to the dining room.

Candles lit, it was apparent that Harry had made it until dinner time, which meant that it had been an entire day since he'd had more than a half cup of hot chocolate and some borrowed toothpaste in his mouth. Harry made his way to the bar, sidestepping several large groups of diners.

"Could I have the special?" Harry asked when Tom finally acknowledged him. Tom nodded, rummaging under the counter for a bowl, then ladeling up some stew from the cauldron in the back. Harry traded it for some small change, and looked around the room to see if there was a better place to retreat to.

Harry watched the thoroughfare carefully, his back to a corner, as he picked out bits of unidentifiable meat from his stew for Hedwig. Unlike his first year here, the overall tone of the group was subdued. Voices we're lowered and people hung in clumps, wary eyes staring down anyone who dared move too close. Harry wasn't really close enough to reliably eavesdrop, but he could pick out a word here and there, and it sounded like most everyone was speaking about the criminal, Sirius Black.

Harry wasn't about to draw their attention his way, so he tried to be very interested in the slow picking apart of his napkin. Perhaps with a murderer at large, the ministry hadn't had time to investigate a little case of accidental magic yet. No one was looking at him, and no one was whispering about "that Harry Potter."

Harry decided he liked it.

After dinner, Harry was working himself up to going to Flourish and Blotts, unsure of his own reluctance. He had been so excited to get his books before his first year. He'd even read them before school started! But somewhere along the way his enthusiasm had flagged. But now he would probably never go to school again, so books may be his only access to magic.

He felt a sudden sad kinship with Hermione. Perhaps she'd always know that it could all be taken away in an instant unless she stored it all in her head. Though, given the Gilderoy Lockhart's of the world, even knowledge in his own head might not be completely safe.

With that grim thought, Harry pushed himself past his reluctance and out onto the street.

The bookshop was quiet. Dusty. The floorboards squeaked, but in a muffled tone as though the weight of many books together had stolen all the sound. A bell had tinkled when he walked in, but no one came to greet him. This was fine. He slipped between the stacks. Searching for something, anything useful.

Though he was tempted to pick up a new book of jinxes, or even "Quiche, Quinces, and Quidditch: a Culinary Account of the Stars," Harry forced himself to search for boring, practical books. A copy of "Travel Guide to Wizarding Britain" made its way into his arms, as well as the aptly named "So You've Been Expelled" which Harry wasn't sure he was brave enough to purchase and attempt to explain, so he tucked into a dusty corner to page through it and get advice.

Attempting to sit down proved hazardous, as the seemingly empty corner was actually filled with stacks and stacks of invisible books, which chose that moment to topple on to Harry's head. To be fair to the books, Harry had quite invaded their chosen hiding place. But Harry wasn't feeling very generous. Mostly he felt bruised.

Surprisingly, the noise of twenty or so books attempting a murder was not enough to tempt the shopkeep out of the back, so Harry let out a breath and sat down in the now empty-handed corner, sweeping aside a few more books that tried to stab him from below.

One of the books fell open in front of him, and words appeared (though no pages, interestingly enough) introducing itself as the "Invisible Book of Invisibility" which startled a laugh out of Harry. Typical. He flipped idly to the index, to see what sorts of invisibility and invisible book might be able to teach him, who already had an invisibility cloak. His wry amusement faded when he saw the very practical list. Along with obvious, like chapter two, Common Spells for Disillusionment, there was a chapter on removing tracking charms and magical detection devices.

Harry clutched the book closer too him, afraid to close it and lose it forever. This was exactly what he needed.