It was with a frantic haste that Harry dug through the selection he had dug up at Flourish and Blotts. The owner – or who he guessed to be, was eyeing him with a rather venomous stare without saying much, which let Harry know he wasn't really breaking the rules.

Tracking charms, Harry pleaded silently in his head. Something about tracking charms, please.

Thankfully, the man who was staring at him still hadn't approached, but Harry guessed it wouldn't be for long he'd stay so lenient.

Harry let the desperation show on his face. "Something," he murmured to himself. "Anything."

It was cheap, but it appeared to work on the owner, who grunted and surveyed his shop elsewhere. Great, now he had to keep this act up the entire time he was here.

"Not an act," Harry said to himself, traitorously. "Pull yourself together."

He flipped through the pages as though it depended on his life, all the while silently continuing to chastise himself. His breathing was erratic and unstable, drawing the attention of more than a few shoppers.

You shouldn't have done that. The one time in your life you have the chance to get the drop on Voldemort, and you waste it.

"Here we go," Harry breathed.

Sequor: A potent and relatively unheard-of tracking charm that requires an exceptional amount of willpower to maintain. Used in Law Enforcement.

"But nothing on the counter," grunted Harry. He shut the book and did his best to make a show of being apologetic when putting them back on their shelves. He strode out of there as soon as he could.

There she was. The girl was looking in his direction still, waiting in line, tapping her wand on her left knee as though it were the worst kind of boredom. Harry looked on nervously, unable to force his usual unnerving stare, settling for a blank, lifeless look.

Harry would have to wait the tracking charm off – all wore off eventually, but with a supposedly potent one like Sequor, Harry did not anticipate finding out.

He pushed on through the forming crowds, making his way closer to the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, and thus, back closer to the line at Ollivanders' shop.

The entire time, he felt the girl's stare bore into him, curious and penetrating. Harry scrunched up his face, keeping it dead and lifeless; doing his best to make it seem as if there was no panic, no frustration, no anger.

"Damn you, Ollivander."

With the entrance in sight, Harry made a point of seeming as natural as possible when opening the door to the now-familiar group of regulars who frequented the pub. His only stroke of luck so far that day was to not have Mr Orson or his supposed lackey anywhere in sight – and Harry moved to grab his copies of the Daily Prophet and Transfiguration Today.

It was a bold move, but perhaps out of his adrenaline rush, Harry took one of the stools to himself and sat down at the pub table. The bartender gave him a strange look, but the tired-looking man appeared too done to kick him out or anything of the like.

"Butterbeer isn't illegal for teenagers, you know," he whispered to Harry as he walked by. "The old lady won't be happy, but you won't be breaking any rules."

That was new. It certainly wasn't allowed in Harry's time, but it was a development he would welcome.

"I'd like that," Harry murmured. "Sorry if I'm intruding." He was, after all, still only a teenager. At a pub. Full with adults.

It'd look even more ridiculous in the Muggle world.

Harry tapped his fingers on the firm, wooden surface while he waited. The rush of adrenaline was finally waning within him, replaced by an unshakable fear.

Ollivander had placed a charm on him that essentially allowed him to be aware of Harry's exact location at all times. Right until it faded off, who knew when.

And that girl… it was Riddle. It had to be Riddle. Part of Harry regretted not beginning an open confrontation, but that likely would have led nowhere.

"Here we are," came the bartender's tired yet friendly voice. He leaned into Harry's ear. "Try not to have too much, lad."

Harry would be lying to himself if he said didn't enjoy the slight tingling sensation that ran down his throat as he gulped down half the glass he'd been given. It failed, however, to take his focus off of the Prophet's leading headline.

DURMSTRANG CLOSES! STUDENTS STRANDED! GRINDELWALD ADVANCES!

The most worrying part of it all was that Harry never recalled in his own time reports of such things happening. Durmstrang went under fire, but was at least able to remain open…

Students being stranded wasn't good either – and Grindelwald advancing as the Muggles were supposed to be pushing back didn't add up. Harry took at least one more drink of his Butterbeer before trying to continue reading, not before he froze.

The door to the Leaky Cauldron opened and slammed shut.

Murmurs had broken out among the regulars, some pointing at the tall, dark-haired girl that had made her way into the place. She paid it no mind; for her eyes had locked onto Harry the moment she had stepped in.

Harry struggled to mask the surprise on his face. Even more so when she had the audacity to sit on a stool right next to Harry's, casually, as if he were an old friend.

"Figures," he heard a man chuckle. Both Harry and the girl seemed to ignore it.

"Who," Harry hissed, part of him happy to steal the first word – "are you?"

"So personal," she crooned softly. "Perhaps I should ask you the same."

"Feel free to ask," he returned with a haunting lilt, after pausing briefly. She blinked, the hint of a smile gracing her face.

"I see no need for hostilities," she said, softly, and it was then Harry acknowledged to himself that she sounded nothing like he expected. Her voice was gentle, warm, inviting. "Curiosity can drive many of us to far, far worse."

Harry hated just how genuine the sentiment sounded, how natural the response seemed to come to her. Nonetheless, he merely raised an eyebrow.

"How forgiving," he drawled.

Another unsettling, perhaps crazed smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Oh no," she said, dropping her voice to a whisper. "I may understand, but attempt to invade my privacy once more, and you will endure severe consequences."

Harry fought down a shiver. There was a threat in those words, one that Harry did not doubt.

He knew, of course, that he was in the wrong. At least on the surface. But this was Riddle, and he was entirely confident in his assumption that she had something to do with the disappearance of the Holly wand.

"I don't plan on it," Harry forced his words to be light, without threat. She paused at his nonchalance, but he pressed on, casting a Muffliato around the area they were conversing.

"We appear to value similar things, Miss Riddle," he said, while she tried to identify the privacy charm he had cast. Her attention had then reeled back unto Harry once more as soon as her name had been spoken.

It was his turn to fight a smile.

"It appears you have me at multiple disadvantages," she spoke, without care and while standing up. Harry hoped she'd be leaving, but no, it was a power move. She forced an uncomfortable staring contest, looking him down and watching the wand in his hand.

Whatever advantages Harry had, it certainly didn't feel like it. He figured that Riddle would know his name soon enough when he went to Hogwarts; he preferred she find out on his terms.

"Harry Evans, going on my fifth year," he said, with a poisoned smile. "Now we know each other."

"Emily Riddle, going on my fifth year" she returned his poison. "I'm afraid I'm not acquainted."

"I'm transferring," he said simply, nodding his head towards the bombastic headline on the Prophet in front of him.

Unlike Jules Lockhart or Slughorn, there was no doubt displayed on Riddle's face. She seemed to accept the fact; as though it were normal, almost as though she had seen it coming.

She lazily sat back down on the stool, never leaving Harry's gaze. It was in the blink of an eye she had withdrawn her wand, casting a series of concealing and privacy charms that outclassed Muffliato in nearly every area that mattered.

Harry was quick to react when she threw a faux-disarming spell his way, but depriving him of his wand hadn't been her goal. She grabbed his right arm and pushed it up against him.

Her breath was hot against his ear when Riddle began to whisper, He knew she felt him shiver.

"I like to surround myself with reasonable people," she said, exaggerating an exhale into his ear, and Harry shook uncomfortably at the sensation. "Are you a reasonable person, Mr Evans?"

Don't give in.

"I guess," he began, shivering when another controlled breath hit his ear, "you'll have to find out, Miss Riddle."

She let out another dreaded breath, shivering along with him, and Harry couldn't tell if Riddle was mocking him or if it was genuine.

"Then we will know each other very, very well."

Harry's birthday had gone on rather uneventful, bar his frantic search for a counter to the tracking charm that had been placed on him.

But the truth was the thing he'd been avoiding.

A month – a full month of trying to gather as much information he could about the Magical Britain of 1942, and if he was being honest, he had a rather shoddy job. He'd let Ollivander and Riddle get the drop on him, and made a possible temporary ally in the name of Orson. More reading on the Sequor charm had turned up nothing on the counter: only how to cast it.

"Isolation isn't the way to integrate into a world," he murmured to himself – a bad habit he'd been developing. But throwing himself in would make himself look out-of-touch; he would feel the culture shock Dumbledore took all of two seconds to warn him about.

Only the sound of crickets populated the night, now.

He recast the fading disillusionment charm on himself, all too aware of his situation. His best bet was to start renting a room at the Cauldron – now that he had a few Galleons to his name. But was it wise? To throw money for a room to stay, when he already had the Hotel he'd been sneaking around?

Don't lose sight of what you want.

"The first step is getting rid of Dippet," Harry reassured himself. Then Riddle could be handled.

Speaking of Riddle…

Harry had always been told he had a bad habit of shrugging things off – important ones. Meeting Riddle felt unreal. In a sense, he was speaking directly to Voldemort. Though he couldn't gauge just how far Emily Riddle had walked that path, just yet.

The terrifying ease in which he'd been disarmed – through what was basically a Muggle move, made him think twice. Harry was slightly out of practice, not having dueled or challenged magically in a month, but he knew he couldn't blame it all on that.

Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it…

But he had to.

Harry continued his walk down the sleeping, poorly lit streets of London – other wizards had to be out there somewhere, but he doubted many could see through his rather powerful disillusionment.

There it is.

The Ministry had constructed something of a public owlrey recently – why it didn't exist in Harry's time, he didn't know. There were two other people at this odd hour of the night, but Harry didn't expect there to be no one.

It would've been nice if I had known about this when I first got here.

Granted, constructing a purely magical place was always risky, and hence why the Ministry usually confined its business to as few places as possible.

That mattered little when there was a war raging across the continent.

Anyone was free to use the Ministry-provided owls, as long as the mail was scanned and checked, and you returned promptly when you received mail back. Harry didn't plan to go through the officially sanctioned route.

Buying an owl or any other form of communication would've immediately attached his name to that animal, and whoever received his mail would be able to find out it was a 15 – no, 16 – that would take some getting used to – year old teenage boy named Harry Evans sending it. That is if they bothered to check their mail at all. And if the Ministry knew Harry even existed, yet. This didn't apply when the people Harry wanted to send mail were most certainly people who'd get their mail identified, likely by their own selves.

Harry didn't want to botch this and ruin Orson and Slughorn's goodwill in keeping his identity as far away from Ministry eyes as possible – it was risky after all, especially in a time of war.

It was all too great a risk. Then again, as was this.

Two Aurors – no slouches either it seemed, stood guard at the entrance. Both were scanning the areas around them with fast-moving, darting eyes that Harry was confident would at least sense his disillusionment.

He withdraw his wand, suppressing the tempting urge it had immediately tried to place over him. Harry pointed his wand at his other hand, breathing deeply.

"Avis."

Harry did his best not to instantly squish the tiny bird to death in his hand, instead hitting it with a Silencio before it could make any noise.

The light transfiguration he proceeded to perform was enough to make the bird appear as though it was entirely natural, not a conjuration, and its feathers were now a mix between brown and gray. A closer examination would instantly reveal its true nature, however.

"Alright, pal," Harry whispered placatingly to the bird. "Have at it."

A tickling charm and reverse of the silencing spell later, the bird began to let out a strange yet light noise, in other words, the sound he exactly expected when he tried to make a bird laugh. It was obnoxious as he'd hoped.

The spell was only meant for humans, that was for sure.

"Sonorus. Coreno Celare." Harry pushed as much power as he was able to into the charm, hoping that it'd last him long enough to be in and out.

"Watch out!" he heard one of the Aurors yell out to his partner. "Something's up ahead!"

Harry guessed that one had already been sent on their way in the direction of the mysterious noise, which was exactly what he wanted.

Harry got a closer look at the Auror that had been left at the entrance to the Owlery. He was more focused on the direction of the noise; the direction his partner was cautioning towards.

He was already exhausted from what wasn't the amount of magic he'd cast, but the strength he'd put into his spells, and Harry was utterly terrified at the prospect of getting these next few, albeit simple spells botched.

"Accio bird." He couldn't see it directly, though he felt it in his hand. He let it down on the ground. "Depulso."

The bird shot across to the left of the auror at the door, its obnoxious noise flying along with it. It helped that the Auror clearly sensed that something was disillusioned, following the flying figure. It was by pure luck that the man didn't look for Harry's own concealment.

"Come out!" he shouted, aggressively.

Not much time now. The other will be back any moment.

Harry made his way into the Owlery, relieved to see no one else at the place. Maybe it didn't operate at these hours? And they were severely understaffed, that was for sure.

"Come on, come on," he egged himself. He raced around the compact space of the Owlrey – it looked a lot like the one at Hogwarts.

Here!

A number of owls were perched up, some of who had begun hooting loudly at his arrival. "Figures," Harry grouched. Still, he didn't think they could see him.

"Hey, girl," he said to one of the owls most center in the room. She seemed amicable to him with the quiet way she responded, nodding her head in his direction. "This is urgent. Can you send these letters to Albus Dumbledore, Garrick Ollivander, and Horace Slughorn?" The owl, surprisingly, nodded.

It felt wrong not to use Hedwig – not as though he could, but Harry had no other choice.

"Return these to the Brown's Hotel, and I'll set you free," he promised.

The owl nodded in a way that seemed to go, 'Say no more!'

Harry colored the bird's wings and did his best to make it look different, not like the owls the Ministry had gotten. And then – "Sequor."

"Go, now!" Harry chanted, the aurors' shouting getting too close for comfort.

"In here!" he heard a shout, as the two Aurors entered the room. It was too late for them to see the owl flying away, at the very least. With Muffliato, Harry made the rather telling noises of him leaping out of the window turn into buzzes in the Aurors' ears.

"Someone's disillusioned!"

Harry collapsed onto the ground the moment he fell out of the window, breathing heavily. That'd gone not as smoothly as he had hoped, but the job was done.

"They're gone! Through the window!" Thankfully for Harry, they hadn't left one of their own to guard the perimeter when they had returned.

Don't splinch yourself, don't splinch yourself, don't splinch yourself…

Harry ran. As far and as fast as he could, the remnants of Muffliato helped divert at least some of the noise he'd been making.

I think I've already lost them.

No longer caring about the noise, Harry apparated away.

A/N: This was the most difficult, but also the most fun chapter to write so far. Also, I'm a review monster. Thanks for reading, all!

Stevem1: Harry – a noname half-blood who the Ministry is unaware of, can't really attack a grown wandmaker with a famous business in broad daylight, or even go around making accusations. He knows this, and so does Ollivander. His reasons are his own.

As for Orson and Riddle, I'm afraid you'll have to wait and find out. :)

In the beginning, Harry wasn't paying to stay at the Cauldron. He was just a regular visitor. So yes, for those five days, Harry was effectively homeless. I'm not sure of the drinking laws for WW2 Britain, though I can't imagine they'd be anything above what you've suggested. Especially considering the general uptake in alcohol consumption during that time. This is one of those things that just makes the story easier to write, without drawing away from the setting or plot.