Instead of his usual anonymous walk through Diagon Alley, Harry found his trip to buy himself at present buffeted on all sides by whispers. He heard "Harry Potter," and "poor boy" passing from one hushed mouth to the next, and it took all of his nerve to keep walking. He ducked into the ice cream parlor instead of continuing on to the shops, just to see what on Earth was going on.

"Neville," Mr. Fortescue waved him to his usual seat, surrounded by customers, so at least there were five or so people not talking about him.

Harry sat heavily. He looked around at the chatting customers, speaking low over bowls of fire ice and levitating lemon sorbet balls. Without a purpose, Harry picked at a bit of loose skin around his fingernail, hissing sharply when he pulled too hard and pulled it completely off. He tried to still his hands, but found them creeping over to pick at a loose thread in the sleeve of his robe.

He strained his ears to try to overhear a conversation or two, but no one nearby was conveniently explaining the situation in chronological order for him to eavesdrop on.

After a small eternity, Mr. Fortescue came by to drop off a small chocolate ice cream with treacle swirl. "Alright lad?" He asked, steady.

"Yeah," Harry said to his hands, then "Thank you." With an effort.

Mr. Fortescue paused, like maybe he knew Harry wasn't just thanking him for yet another free ice cream. He looked at Harry, somehow more piercing than his usual firm eye contact. Harry shifted in his seat.

"Neville, my family is having a dinner to celebrate my daughter's acceptance to Wycombe Abbey, and I'd like you to come."

Harry couldn't answer for a second, his shoulders hunched up in automatic suspicion. When he finally managed to spit something out, it was just a rather rude "Why?"

"I had an idea, and I rather thought it would be better to present it out of the public sphere." Mr. Fortescue said, rather vaguely. "And I thought it would be nice for you to meet my daughter. She's about your age, you might get along." He smiled crookedly, and Harry considered it.

"What kind of idea," Harry pressed, not quite ready to follow him home, regardless of how helpful his conversation had been as Harry frantically researched with the spirit of Hermione to figure out what to do.

Mr. Fortescue looked casually around at his happy patrons, then flicked his wand low over the table, the happy chatter dampening to an indistinct murmur.

"I know that you're Harry Potter." Mr Fortescue said, and just like that, Harry was standing, hand on his wand and ready to leave.

"How- when? How long-" Harry spluttered.

"Calm down," Mr. Fortescue hissed, "The charm won't work if they're actually interested what we're saying."

Harry lowered himself into the seat, arms crossed, "How long have you known?"

"Not as long as you'd think, your disguise is very effective. Might I ask? No, there is time for that later. I heard whispers that Harry Potter had disappeared, and well, there aren't /that/ many unaccompanied minors allowed to spend every day alone in Diagon Alley. I put it together."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Harry said.

"Why didn't you?"

"Fair enough." Harry conceded.

"Regardless, I don't know why you've decided you need to disappear, but you need an education, so I've decided to help you."

"Because you knew I was Harry Potter?"

"Because you're a child, and if you've managed to evade your guardians this well, you have reason to. I would be remiss to leave any child alone to figure things out."

Harry wasn't quite sure he believed him. Not yet. But Harry had lied first. So he couldn't hold that against him, even if he really wanted to.

"Tell me, what your plan is, and I'll come with you." Harry demanded.

"I've told you before, Fortescues are put on the list at birth, have I not?" He waited for Harry's nod, then continued. "We received a Hogwarts letter. For my daughter, Fabergé."

"Ok," Harry drawled but didn't press.

"As I've mentioned, Fabergé has recently accepted a place at Wycombe , so she won't be needing her place at Hogwarts."

Harry felt like there was probably some subtext he was missing here, but he wasn't quite sure. "Why wouldn't she want to go to Hogwarts?" Hogwarts was wonderful, Hogwarts was his home.

"She's a squib." Mr. Fortescue said, soft. "She was born without magic. We finally got her tested last year after she hadn't displayed any accidental magic at all. So then she began preparing to go to muggle school and we made sure she would be at the best muggle school possible so she can still be successful."

"Oh." The only squib Harry had ever encountered was Filch. "That's good, I, that sounds like a good school."

"And, depending on how you built that fantastic disguise, I wondered if you might not wish to return to Hogwarts in her place."

"..." Harry did not say anything.

Neither did Mr. Fortescue.

"You want me to pretend to be an eleven year old girl!"

"It depends on how badly you want to go back to Hogwarts. I would also, of course, be willing to sponsor you as a ward if you wished to make a late application to one of the hedge schools instead. My friend, the Arithmancer, is on the school board. You could apply as muggle born, and have a perfectly excellent, if less prestigious education."

Harry got the sense that he had really thought this through. But before Harry could protest again, Fortescue simply said, "Think about it." And broke the charm that surrounded him. Harry hadn't even remembered to ask him how everyone suddenly knew he was missing. He took a bite of his melting ice cream. He could deal with that later.

[line break]

Later, after Harry had cautiously ventured out to look at the Quidditch shop, and held himself back from purchasing a set of solid gold quill nibs, he returned to Mr. Fortescue's. He had decided that he must trust someone. And Mr. Fortescue's had never betrayed his trust so far. He wanted to at least hear him out. And. If this was the only way to get back to Hogwarts, well, Harry had done crazier things.

Mr. Fortescue's was just locking up, charming the door with a circle of his wand. It was the first time Harry had ever seen him without his cheerily striped apron and paper hat.

He looked around, and smiled when he saw Harry waiting. He walked over with a brisk stride, asking, "Are you coming then?" To which Harry nodded and fell into step with him. To Harry's surprise, they didn't stop at the Leaky Cauldron to use the floor, and instead wandered on through to Muggle London. Mr. Fortescue kept up a constant stream of silly stories of what had happened during the day at the parlor, and Harry listened quietly with a sick twist in his gut. He didn't have a lot of experience with families. He knew the Dursleys and the Weasleys and one had liked him and one had not. And as much as Mr. Fortescue seemed to like him, he didn't know if his family would feel the same. What would Fabregé think of some strange boy wearing her face? What would Mrs. Fortescue's think of a scruffy boy dirtying up her house.

With all the talk of family legacy, Harry had half expected a manor home, but he was instead led to a very nice town house within twenty minutes walking distance of the Alley. He began to wonder how much being an ice cream shop owner made, as they entered, and Harry looked around at the warm but comforting antique furnishings in the entry way.

The house smells strongly of spices, and Harry follows quietly after Mr. Fortescue as he leads the way deeper into the house, suddenly shy now that he's actually in the house. The rug must be magic, because as he looks down at his feet, he notices his shoes becoming noticeably cleaner and in better repair. He wishes he had thought to purchase something new instead of just wearing Dudley's old trainers, but it was too late now.

The room he was lead to was a very posh drawing room. A tall, sharp looking woman was sitting with a young girl, and both looked up from delicate painted teacups to greet the intruders. The woman smiled, and stood, the girl rocketing up to greet her father.

"Papa!" She exclaimed as she leapt forward, her tea cup just barely slamming down on the coffee table with an ominous rattle on its saucer. And then, as she reached his arms for a genuinely enthusiastic hug that Harry wasn't sure he'd ever seen anyone give to their parents, she stopped short. Encircled, but not quite embracing, she tilted her head to look past her father at his scruffy shadow. "Who's this?"

"This," Mr. Fortescue cleared his throat, looking at his wife, rather than his daughter, is Mr. Neville Smith. He'll be joining us for supper." At "Neville Smith" the woman nodded her head slightly, so Harry assumed she also knew his true identity. Interesting that they wouldn't share such a thing with their own daughter, but then, who knew her secret-keeping capabilities.

"Oh," The girl said, looking a bit put out, gaze flicking over Harry's general appearance, "Charity." She concluded and apparently dismissed him. Mrs. Fortescue bestowed her daughter with a sharp look, but Harry was used to being dismissed when people didn't know he was The Harry Potter, so it didn't phase him much.

"Neville," Mr. Fortescue said with emphasis, "This is Fabergé, my beloved daughter," He bopped her on the nose with a finger, "And this is Mrs. Fortescue, the light of my life." Mrs. Fortescue nodded gravely at that, as though being the light of someone's life was a very serious notion indeed. No one said anything for a second, and Harry didn't know what he was supposed to say, so he just looked back at them all awkwardly.

"Nice to meet you?" Harry tried.

More silence.

"Why don't we go wash up? I'll show you the lavatory."

"Of course," Harry said, stupidly grateful not to be required to make conversation.