Disclaimer: My house belongs to the bank, my work belongs to my boss and my money is always confiscated by my wife. And Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling... Damn...
To choose the lesser evil
By DerLaCroix
Chapter 4 - Busy bodies…
When finally walking out of the office, with Harry nurturing a cramping hand from all the documents he signed, they were approached by a nondescript man in the lobby.
"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," the man spoke, softly. Harry realised that this could mean only one thing and quickly whispered "Disguised Weasley twin" at Marietta. When he acknowledged the man with a nod, two flat caps were pushed into their hands.
"No-peeky blinders," the man explained, and Harry found himself shocked to suddenly stand next to an unfamiliar, nondescript woman. It wasn't that she was looking out of place in any way, but for the life of him, he could not describe her features, only that she was staring at him in a similar state of surprise.
"That's some impressive charms work," the women noted, and Harry cottoned on that this was in fact still Marietta, and these caps were some Weasley product related to the headless hats, but much more useful.
"Thank you. They are also incredibly short-lived, only like fifteen minutes, so please follow me with haste," the man replied, and fell into a brisk walk out of Gringotts, leading them into a side alley and into an alcove next to a staircase of a back door. After producing a wand and casting a series of notice-me-not and other assorted concealment charms, he pulled his cap off, revealing - Harry reasoned by the potion stains on the vest - George Wesley.
"Take them off for now, you will need them later," he urged them, waiting for them to follow suit.
"Good, it's easier to talk without that charm messing with your head. Sorry to ambush you like that, but I really needed to head you off - the bird watcher club has figured out you took flight from Durskaban, and are doing their best to imitate an anthill. In fact, an anthill would be a sanatorium in comparison - they are running up and down every place they figure you could show up - your uncle's neighbourhood, the Alley, Hosgsmeade, Hogwarts, the Ministry, the Burrow, St. Mungos, even Knockturn. Heck, I wouldn't be surprised if one of them were to pop out of my pocket, right now - they are everywhere. They are even staking out the bird watcher clubhouse, in case you show up there, even though Dumbledore has told us all, just a week ago, to not approach or enter that house under any circumstances. Thankfully, we already had your trunk stowed away when Diggory showed up in the shop looking for you and relating the orders by our esteemed Head bird watcher to go looking for you. Fred argued that you might show up at the shop, and I volunteered to stand guard here at Gringotts, since you might show up there, sometime, to fetch some money."
"Why should you avoid the 'Clubhouse'?" Harry asked, the topic registering as immediately needing his attention.
"Because we have no idea who owns it, now. Dumbledore is trying to figure it out, somehow, but the Goblins aren't forthcoming with information. Best bets are either Bellatrix Lestrange, or one of the Malfoys, but no one knows until they show up there. Either way, whomever it belongs to now, if you were to show up there while they are there, you'd be royally screwed, Harry, so don't," George explained while fishing through his pockets, producing and re-stowing various pieces of Weasley Wheezes in search for something, and thus missing the sharp glance and shake of head Harry aimed at Marietta, urging her to keep quiet.
"There you are," George exclaimed, presenting a miniature trunk to Harry. "Got everything still inside, and we threw in some provisions and an assortment of useful things. You know we love you, but don't you dare to show your mug at our shop right now. It's such a hassle getting rid of bodies, now that the hags are on their pre-solstice fast," he quipped.
"Just put them in the garden or in a bathtub and transfigure them into water - a body is mostly water, already, so it's the easiest way to just let the water drain naturally. Way more efficient than trying to vanish it," Marietta responded, dead-pan.
"What? We do play a lot of 'What would you do if...' at Ravenclaw," Marietta defended herself when George stared at her, mouth agape.
"I'll keep that in mind, then. Anyways - you guys done with your business?" George recovered.
"Not quite. They need till noon to prepare stuff, and then we'll conclude. I guess we'll hide in the Muggle world till then," Harry proposed.
"Good idea, but make sure you take a few steps away from the Leaky Cauldron," George quipped. "They are desperate enough they might start looking out of the door, there, too. Make sure to take the caps off once you are out of sight. Left alone, they will recharge in an hour or two for another use. They will work a few times, but they will work less long each time they are recharged. Keep that in mind, ok?"
A few moments later, they were on their way, disguised by their caps. A few steps later, Marietta reached out and attached herself to his arm as she fell in line, causing Harry to give her an odd look. "Just in case the caps fail without us noticing. They are looking for you. Single boy, on the run. Not a couple strolling around, holding hands," she explained. Harry found himself agreeing. If he were to search for a person in a crowd, he'd also scan for lone figures, only. Chances they'd simply miss them in plain sight were not insignificant, he reckoned. The fact that having a girl attached to your arm was not as unpleasant as he'd thought was a welcome bonus.
True to form, they passed a muttering Tonks, stomping angrily through the crowd, and Harry was certain he'd seen one of the witches surveying the crowd near the Cauldron before, by face, but couldn't put a name on her. They just kept on walking, along the road, into the Leaky Cauldron, and out into London, with nobody being the wiser.
"Let's go that way," he prompted, once they had entered Muggle World, and were a few steps away from the Cauldron entrance, their caps safely stored away in Marietta's purse for later. Dragging Marietta after him, her head on a constant swivel as she was staring at everything at once, again completely overwhelmed by the sights of a Muggle city.
"That one looks like a shopping centre to me," he said after a while, pointing out a mirrored facade, about four stories tall, a few blocks in the distance, taking up about half the visible block on its side of the crossroad. "They should be open, already."
"A shopping-centre? What's that? A market place? Looks more like some kind of palace to me," Marietta voiced her doubts about the building's function.
"Just think of a huge building, like Hogwarts, but with shops instead of classrooms along the hallways," Harry tried to come up.
"Wait. What? You mean this whole building is like Diagon Alley, but indoors?" she gasped, appraising the building with a new, keen eye. "So it is a palace," she giggled. "I have to see this. If you wanted to make me concede that muggles are better, you should have led with this," she chatted, almost bubbly, as Harry found himself to be the one being pulled along, shaking his head in mirth, and laughing along with her.
ooOOoo
"So, is it what you thought it would be?" he chuckled, watching Marietta crane her neck this and that way, turning on the spot, trying to take in all the shops visible in the upper stories of the main atrium. It was obvious that these were only the most prominent ones, as there were hallways leading off the atrium to the left and right, littered with other shops, on each floor.
"Muggles are insane!" she gasped. "This is more merchandise than the Alley, Knockturn and Hogsmeade, rolled into one! And this is just one building!"
"Let's go in there," Harry proposed, pointing out the biggest one, a H&M store that spanned two stories at least, and was a place that looked like it catered to younger people. He knew for sure that most of his classmates had been wearing H&M stuff to school, and some of his hand-me-downs were of this brand, too.
A few steps inside the shop, Harry had to admit that he was almost as badly at his wit's end as Marietta was, overwhelmed by the flood of items. Browsing a few sweaters nearby, Marietta asked for the price, unable to decipher the numbers at the tag into a monetary value. It took Harry a few moments to recall the exchange rate he had been told a few minutes ago, when he had received his cash wallet from Pikeshaft.
"About three to four Galleons," he calculated. Marietta's reaction was quite severe.
"Morgana! That's a fortune! But then, I've never seen anything knit so fine," she stated, letting her hands run over the thick fabric, fascinated by the feel. "This weave is almost as tight as linnen, yet so soft. What is it made of?"
Harry briefly searched for the label to check - he immediately recognized the care instructions, out of habit - and told her it was a 60-40 cotton and polyester blend. Of course, that led to him having to explain that there was no polyester animal.
"And it's not considered expensive. This store caters to teenagers and families, my aunt used to buy stuff from here for Dudley multiple times a month, and many other things. Twenty pounds are not a significant amount of spending for a sweater. It's kind of a pocket money range, I guess. Muggles just seem to have more money, even if it is worth less than Galleons in the wizarding world," Harry reasoned.
"You know, that explains why Hermione was constantly buying books by the handful. At less than 10 pounds each, they must have seemed a bargain to her. Then again, her parents are dentists, so they'd be rather well off, too," he added, realising it himself, for the first time.
This did little to soothe Marietta's feelings, though. "That's fine, but I feel really uncomfortable with you spending so much money on me - first the modification to the bond, and now you're spoiling me with clothes. I mean, I.. It's... You know.. I don't know! I feel like a whore!"
"Really? Me being nice makes you feel bad? You are going to be my responsibility, permanently, in a few hours, according to your plan. Of course I will be spending money on you. But if you really don't want to, you can still leave - I don't mind the money," Harry snapped back.
"No, of course not, but it feels like I am going to sleep with you in exchange for a few pretty dresses," Marietta huffed.
"You're not, your deal was to do that in exchange for protection. And it seems you are lucking out in regards to the deal, as I am not exactly as penniless as we assumed I would be. Would you rather have me keep you in rags, or naked and chained? Would that make you feel better about our deal?" Harry huffed back, a bit harsher than intended, feeling kind of insulted by her statement.
"No, of course not, I'm just... I know.. Maybe I'm just being silly..." Marietta admitted.
Their musings were interrupted when they got approached by a woman.
ooOOoo
Angie had been making her tour of the store when a couple had caught her eye. She couldn't quite pinpoint it, but something was definitely off with them. Their behaviour was kind of weird, as if they were not quite knowing what to do. On top, the girl wore a spring coat over some ill-fitting white blouse, buttoned all the way up, and a skirt that looked like a schoolgirl uniform, but too short to be a proper one. She wore far too much makeup, and a purse that definitely belonged to an older woman. The way she seemed mesmerised by the store had been awkward, and she then had a brief, but firm exchange with the boy next to her over a sweater. The boy's equally out of place, quite plain school-uniform looking clothes made her curious, and cemented her decision to approach them.
"Hello, I am Angie. You seem lost - may I help you? What are you looking for, today?" she greeted them, putting on her most professional smile.
Her suspicion grew when they both jumped at her appearance. For a moment, she felt like they would bolt out of the store, their plans forgotten, but to her surprise, they stayed put.
"Sorry, we didn't notice you," Harry responded, taking a breather. He was just about to decline when he realised that they could indeed use some help. "Actually, yes, we are a bit in a bind," he stalled, trying to come up with an excuse. "You see, we're here for a couple of days, but our luggage was lost, so we're in need of a bit of everything," he lied brazenly, using the first thing that came to mind.
"Money is not an issue, we have plenty of money," he quickly tried to reassure the women when she gave him a sceptical look, and Marietta a brief glance, as well. "Well, good for you," the woman responded, smiling pleasantly, giving him and Marietta an even more pronounced once-over, each, but spending a lot more time on Marietta. "What exactly do you mean when you say 'a bit of everything', Sir?"
"I don't know, casual wear, everything from socks to shirts, pants, un..." - he explained, stumbling over the word as he blushed, before continuing. "Underwear, maybe sneakers, sleepwear," he counted off. "Maybe some dresses or things that catch your fancy," he noted towards Marietta, who had been quiet so far, and gave him a small smile in thanks in response.
Angie was wearing a never-fading smile as he stumbled through his list. "We can surely help you with that - just how much of this 'everything' would you need?"
Scratching his hair, Harry took a look around, stalling for time as he thought about it. "I think about a week's worth or so?" he voiced his estimation. That's when he noticed a section of luggage trolleys in the corner of the shop, where there were some backpacks and bags. "Let's take one of those, and fill them, each," he said, pointing out a smallish, just about knee height trolley. Looking back at Marietta, he paused for a moment. "Maybe you should take the bigger one," she spoke up, pointing at a slightly bigger variant of the trolley next in the display. "You need a lot more stuff than I do."
Once more, Marietta tried to protest. "Harry, I really do not want you to spend..."
She didn't get any further. "I'm not having this discussion again, Marietta," Harry cut her off, sharply. Marietta was a bit taken aback, and relented, falling silent as she ceded the argument.
Angie was looking to and fro between the two teenagers in front of her for a moment, and then came to a conclusion. "Liz? Liz? Could you join us for a moment?" she called out into the store. Another woman in store uniform stopped puttering about at a stack of shirts, and quickly flitted over to their group. "Yes, Mrs. Harris?"
"Liz, these two have lost their luggage, and are in need of a full wardrobe, like five to ten sets of everything, for their stay here. Please be an angel and get this young gentleman up to the men's department and just lock him into a changing room and keep him busy trying on things. Mostly casual, but maybe throw in something smart in case they want to go to a play or something during their stay," Angie instructed the other woman, talking a mile a minute. "Maybe kidnap Sam to hand the stuff into the booth, so it doesn't get too awkward between the two of you. He can also make sure he doesn't run out on you before he has this suitcase filled, you know how it is with men and shopping," she said with a grin. "Meanwhile, I'll take care of this poor damsel in distress and try to help her with her problem. I'll call you up on the intercom once I have this situation under control, alright?"
The woman called Liz, a somewhat stocky built brunette with a no-nonsense took a moment to process, took a look at Angie, who Harry now assumed was a manager of some kind, then at Harry, sizing him up with a crisp once-over. "Of course, Mrs. Harris," she responded, taking hold of the trolley case and turned towards Harry. "Would you please follow me, Sir? The escalator is over there," she spoke in that sweet, professional sales floor voice.
"Now, Sir, it would be quite helpful if you could tell me about your preferred colours and styles before I set up on my hunting expedition," she chatted as they rode up the stairs. While Harry tentatively committed to dark green, black and maybe dark red tones, and mostly t-shirts and jeans, Liz was fetching an initial armful of merchandise as they passed by the various shelves and hangers. Soon, they arrived at an area full of small cubicles, divided by curtains. Harry assumed that this must be the changing area to try on clothes. Another place his aunt has never taken him to before. Liz was meanwhile flagging down a blonde man in his thirties, who was sorting a hodgepodge of clothes onto various wheeled clothes rails.
"Sam, special mission from Angie - be an angel and help me keep an eye on this young man here while I hunt down things for him to try on," she told the surprised man glancing between them two. "I guess it would be less awkward for you if a man were to hand you stuff to try on, instead of me peeking in every now and then, right, Sir?" she quipped into Harry's direction who couldn't help but blush at the mental image of unspeakable embarrassment happening in that scenario, snickering softly when she noticed him do so.
"That's what I thought. Here's a basic batch to start with, I figured we'll try these to get a sense for his size,fits, and colours with these, while I get more options."
With this, she unloaded her armful onto Sam, who ushered Harry into a booth to get started on the torture.
ooOOoo
Meanwhile, Marietta found herself ushered through the store in a similar manner. "What's your size?" Angie asked as she briefly stopped next to a spread of shirts.
"Ahem? I am 5 foot 5?" Marietta answered, vaguely, not quite aware what she was being asked.
"Dress size, honey," Angie chuckled, but quickly became quite confused as she could read on the girl's face that she had in fact no idea what she was talking about.
"No idea, I grew so much since I was last shopping," Marietta tried to hide her blunder, and Angie tried to take a peek into Mariettas collar, but found no label on the shirt.
"Interesting. Well, we'll figure that out, then," she remarked after eyeing the girl up and picking the shirts in 34 and 36, each.
When Marietta later wasn't able to answer the question for her bra size, either, Angie said nothing, and just picked up some sizes she felt were right.
Soon they were loaded with stuff, and Marietta changed into her first new outfit inside the changing booths, her ears still tinged from the reminder that trying the bra was fine, but the new panties are to be tried with her old ones still on.
"Not too bad," Angie started some conversation, as she stepped out wearing some jeans and a green top with a generic Tokio print. Angie was prompting her to do a spin to better rate the fit.
"This is the 34 or 36 outfit?" she queried.
"34 for the shirt," Marietta replied. "36 for the pants, I couldn't quite get inside the 34 one. Too tight."
"They are supposed to be that tight, Honey. These are far to lose on you. Better try the smaller one once more - I know it's hard to get in at first, but once you're past a certain point, you kind of pop into them. It's a bit snug at first, but you'll get used to it quickly, and you got the legs for it. We gotta work with what is given to us, don't we?" she grinned.
"Harry thinks the same, eh?" she chuckled when Marietta blushed at the comment.
"Young love," Angie sighed after a moment. "But remember, just because he has money doesn't give him the right to treat you like that. You're a pretty girl, and you're not stupid. Just remember you have rights, have opinions, and most important, options. No matter what you are running away from, it's not worth ending up being somebody's doormat."
"I'm not... He's not, I mean, we're not running from anything," Marietta stammered, prompting Angie to set her straight as she fussed over the outfit.
"Honey, your boy isn't too bad a liar, but your story is thin, at least. If you'd indeed had lost your luggage, it means you'd have worn this outfit on the plane. Hard to believe. Just as well, these clothes are not yours. Your buttons are not quite centred, and your lapels are slightly uneven. They are obviously hand-made, but not for you. They kinda fit you, but some things are just not right, suggesting they were altered to fit you. The coat might be yours, but the bag is probably your mother's. And the way you're acting, I think this is the first time you have set foot into a store, which means you grew up very isolated and sheltered. While you cake on the makeup like one, you don't sound or look like an irish traveller, so you must be from some commune or something, which means you have run away. Now, let's get your bra fixed - you have the straps waaaay to short, classic mistake."
While Marietta fought the impulse to tear up at the mention of her parents, Angie was stepping behind her and started pulling the shirt up to fix the issue at hand. Which reminded her of something her grandmother used to tell her in such a situation. "However bad you think it might be, I'm sure it can be fixed," she stated to the girl in front of her, but promptly froze mid-motion, when she saw Marietta's lower back. She hadn't noticed before when she peeked into the shirt for the label, but from about the bra clasp down, the girl was covered in multicoloured marks - mostly from when Dudley smacked her through Harry's furniture.
"Good grief! Honey, who did that to you?" she gasped, seeing the bruises all over Marietta's back, telling a tale of the fights she'd been in the last few hours.
"Did what?" Marietta asked, hastily turning around.
"Your back -you're beaten up all black and blue, darling," Angie explained, exasperated. "Who. Did. That? Was it this Harry guy you are with?" she demanded to know.
"No, it wasn't - I mean, I fell!" Marietta tried to play things down, which angered Angie quite a bit.
"You fell," she huffed. "Right - heard that before. I knew something was weird between the two of you when I saw you. Honey, he's holed up with Liz, they'll keep him busy. We can call the police and get you out of this, he'll never know what hit him, and you 'll be safe. He'll never hurt you again."
"No, you don't understand. He's not hurting me, he's keeping me safe," Marietta babbled, which seemed to annoy Angie even more.
"Safe? Safe you call that? Beaten up like a dog? And what are you hiding under that makeup? More love-taps?" she snapped, swiping at Marietta's cheek, taking a big smear of the makeup off, trying to get a peek at the black eye and bruise she was expecting. "Did you fall on your... Lord almighty!" she gasped, and froze, not resisting when Marietta jerked away from her hand and hid her face behind her hand. When Marietta tried to leave the changing boot, Angie held her back by the arm.
"Girl, we need to call the police," she stated, just staring at the girl in front of her, shocked beyond the ability to feel angry.
"No, please," Marietta pleaded, trying to wrestle out of the grip, only for Angie to grab her with both hands on both arms.
"This is no game, girl - this is serious!" she hissed.
"No, please, no. They'll give me to them, no, please," Marietta begged, starting to tear up and sob. "Please, I need Harry - where's Harry? I need... He will.. He.." she started babbling, falling apart into a sobbing mess, slumping in the woman's grip. Angie was forced to place her on the stool in the corner, as she was barely able to hold her up like that. For a moment, she looked down at the sobbing girl, and gave a long sigh.
"Alright. Just wait here," she demanded, and left the stall because of a commotion building outside. Seeing some customers having surrounded the booth, she immediately rounded on them, venting her frustrations. "Nothing to see here - move along," she snapped at the mostly teenaged audience. Seeing them hurry back into their respective booths, she stepped back into Marietta's booth, and told Marietta in an 'absolutely no backchat' tone to grab her things and follow her.
Marietta found herself ushered through the store, again, and before she knew what was happening, she found herself sitting in an office, still clutching her armful of clothes, feeling numb and scared, and still just about ready to cry at a moment's notice. Angie was handing her a box of paper hankies, telling her to clean up.
Angie was beyond horrified when she saw more letters appear once the girl was starting to wipe at her eyes and face, removing even more makeup in the process.
"Sorry for my tone. I am not angry with you, but about what was done to you. Please let me restate that you are with friends and safe. We are going to help you. No one can harm you anymore," Angie stated, confusing Marietta even more.
"You have no idea how wrong you are," Marietta responded in a defeated tone, letting her head fall. "They can, and they will."
"Honey, that's even more reason to call the police," Angie replied, squatting down next to the girl. "Now, what role is your friend playing here - is he one of these people you're afraid of?"
"What? No!" Marietta protested through her tears. "He's the one trying to help me! He's the only one who can protect me from them."
"Sweety, he's just a boy, what could he do the police can't?" Angie tried to console her, trying to make her see the truth.
"I made some very powerful people angry. Old families, with lots of connections. And they have decided to make an example of me," Marietta tried to explain, stumbling from one statement to the next.
Angie was visibly taken aback when she heard that. "Old families? Are you implying that some noble houses..." She did not continue, letting the words linger.
Marietta nodded. "Ancient and noble," she agreed.
"And they did that to you?" Angie stammered.
"No, I got that for betraying Harry," Marietta responded before she had thought her words through. "Wait! Not from him. His friends did that. I got a lot of people in trouble, and they... Please, can we get Harry over here? Please! He can explain, I just can't," she begged.
Angie took a deep breath and then picked up the phone, making an intercom call.
ooOOoo
"I'm sorry, Sir - we just had a call via intercom," Liz interrupted Harry through the curtain. "You are needed downstairs, immediately. No idea why, but it sounded urgent. Just make yourself decent, and take your belongings, Sam will take care of any of your old clothes and purchases you leave behind," Liz interrupted Harry's session. "Sam, just pack everything into this suitcase and put it in the back, we'll be back to fetch it later."
Harry quickly slipped the blue polo he was currently in the process of changing out of back on and slipped into his shoes. Grabbing his wallet, he briefly hesitated, pondering the options, and then slipped his shrunken trunk into his pocket, and tucked his wand into the front of his jeans, across his belly, hiding the handle under his shirt. Briefly checking it in the mirror, he deemed it good enough and rushed out and after Liz.
ooOOoo
"They are on their way. Can I offer you tea? Coffee? Coke? Do you want to call someone?"
"Call?" Marietta echoed, bewildered.
"Yes. Call. Do you want to speak with your parents, or maybe friends? " Angie tried to get Marietta out of her stupor, but only managed to make her break down in tears, once more.
As she was squatting next to the chair, trying to console the poor girl, the door opened, admitting Harry and Liz.
Seeing Marietta in a chair in what was obviously an office room, and crying, with Angie staring daggers at him, he could only sigh in frustration. "Crap. What happened?"
"Jesus Christ! What happened to that girl," Liz exploded as she saw the angry letters across the girl's cheek when Marietta turned to look at them. Marietta quickly looked away and down, hiding her face in her hands, before pulling up her shirt to above her nose, and started sobbing.
Harry immediately felt like a flashback to the situation in Dumbledore's office.
"This is what I am trying to figure out," Angie spoke up. "Would you mind telling your version of the story? Not the made up one, if you mind."
Harry smacked his lips in frustration, taking a deep sigh as he ground his teeth, and pursed his lips a couple of times, biting down on his tongue, his eyes firmly shut. "How much did you tell them?" He frustratedly asked into the room, not bothering to open his eyes, yet.
"Quite a lot," Angie interrupted before Marietta could speak. She was not going to let them compare notes or she was never going to get anything out of them. "For example, that it were your friends who did this to her face. Is that the truth?"
"Truth," Harry mused, letting the word linger for a moment, taking a good look around the room, and the inhabitants. The frightened Marietta on the chair, the angry Angie woman next to her, a desk with a computer behind them, some shelves, a second door. Storage, perhaps bathroom, didn't look like an exit. Liz behind him, trying to not look as if the was blocking the exit.
"A fickle and dangerous thing, this truth," he finally stated with a hint of a smirk, his cold stare challenging Angie's furious one.
"Stop stalling. "
"Are there cameras in this room?" he asked, looking around, examining the ceiling corners. "I don't see any obvious ones, but that doesn't mean there aren't."
"Why would that matter?"
"Because if there are, you should turn them off and delete all tapes. Because if any of this leaves this room, you will be dead in a week. Heck, just the fact that we are in here with you might get you in more trouble than you can imagine," Harry stated, slowly making his way over to Marietta, squatting down next to her.
"You ok?" he asked, softly, getting a shy nod from her. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice faint after having cried herself out.
"Don't be," Harry responded. "Was bound to happen. We need to take better care among people."
"I'm this close to calling the police," Angie spoke up, angrily.
"Well, do so. Before the sun has set, I'll be dead, and she'll be raped and tortured five ways to sunday, if not worse, and getting patched up for the next round. As far as I am informed they intend to set some kind of new endurance record on her. Depending on whom the police hands us over to, you will either find yourself with no memory of today, or lying next to her on the floor, sobbing. It's really fifty-fifty on that," Harry quipped calmly, while his hand was slowly rubbing Marietta's back, giving her the reassurement that he'd never let that happen.
Angie was just about to yell at him when she stopped herself. "You are not making this up, you really believe this," she commented on her observation.
"That's a bit too tall of a tale, don't you think?" Liz huffed, chuckling at the absurdity. "Murder, rape? The police helping? Really?"
"The very same people murdered my parents, fifteen years ago, tried to kill me about four or five times, since, killed my adoptive father less than two weeks ago on their latest attempt, and killed her parents last night while trying to get her, and burned her house down," Harry calmly stated the facts.
"Wait? Is that true?" Angie asked Marietta, who nodded numbly. "Ohmygod, I'm so sorry, I didn't know," Angie stammered when she finally realised why the girl had been crying so hard.
"They came for me. If I hadn't hidden… Maybe…" Marietta moped, with Harry interrupting her, strikt, but with no malice in his voice.
"They would have died just the same. Trust me. I know them. There's nothing you could have done," Harry stated, kneading her shoulder supportively with his hand.
There was a long silence in the room as everybody tried to come to terms with what the girl must have been through.
"I think I'm going to be sick," Liz proclaimed.
"Yeah, happened to me, too, the first two or three times," Harry quipped, sardonically. "They have a habit of hunting and torturing your kind of people for sport, and occasionally sending me footage of their entertainment, just to mess with me," he clarified calmly, watching emotionless as Liz stormed through the other door at the side of the room. You could clearly hear her retching behind it as it fell shut. He briefly noticed that it seemed to be a bathroom, which the flushing noise confirmed solidly. Angie obviously had some perks her employees didn't.
Angie was a bit sturdier in that regard, but she also had to take a breather when she had to fight the images her brain had conjured from Harry's blasé statement of horrible, horrible fact.
"Disgusting. But it was your friends who did this to her face, didn't they?" The very same woman accused him, just as Liz stumbled back out, looking definitely green around her gills, still.
"I deserved it," Marietta spoke up, in a tiny voice, surprising everyone in the room. "These people are trying to take control of our government, and the Ministry is trying to hide that. Harry tried to raise awareness, so they tried to shut him up, discrediting him in the papers, the full program. A friend dragged me with her into a secret club where Harry tried to help people protect themselves, and I exposed them. The Ministry tried to arrest them all and lock them away, but they managed to evade, and somehow this led to exposing the people trying to take over, spoiling all plans. The club did this to me for ousting them, Harry had nothing to do with it," she summarised the events.
"There was nothing about any of this in the papers," Liz spoke up, behind them, desperately trying to poke holes in the story.
"Our papers," Harry corrected. "Yours don't know about us. She, for example, didn't even exist, according to your government, before I had bought her some fake paperwork, just this morning.
"So you are a secret society, living among us, but nobody knows? Great story, pal, but how about some proof?"
On a whim, Harry pulled out his wallet and showed Liz his bank card.
"Great, Platinum," she huffed. "So you're loaded. Great! What exactly does this prove?"
"Check the bank name," Harry chuckled, and started to laugh when the woman gasped and ripped it out of his hands.
"Bloody hell!" Liz cursed, staring at the piece of plastic in his hands. "These wankers exist? I thought this was an urban legend!"
At an insistent wave of her hand, she handed it over to Angie.
"Rothschild? Really? You bank at Rothschild?" Angie asked, incredulously, before becoming even more confused. "Do they even have private banking?"
"All our people bank with them, though, we usually keep to ourselves, commercially, with our own currency, so we usually do not have bank cards," Harry added, ever so helpful, reaching out for his card. "May I?"
"Sorry, of course," Angie responded, hurrying to hand it back.
"Ok, just going along with the story and assuming you tell the truth - how are you going to protect her, somehow? How?" Angie voiced her doubts.
"To be frank - I can't tell you," Harry outright refused. "I already told you more than you should know. To be precise, much more than we are allowed to tell you, according to our laws. And that's it. We'll be on our way now."
"You think that we are just going to let you walk out of here like that?" Liz challenged and felt very annoyed when Harry just chuckled in reply.
"You are quite mistaken, Liz," Harry replied, chuckling about a joke he hadn't yet explained, his hands on his stomach as he bent over a bit in his mirth, before straightening his posture, again, somewhat. "This whole conversation was always more about whether I was going to let you walk out of here, or not," he finished.
"Now see here, bo...,"Liz blustered, but wasn't able to finish her sentence when she suddenly stumbled back into the wall, slid down, and came to a stop in a sitting position at the bottom as Harry simply said softly, "Somnus!", hitting her with a drowsy charm. The way he had been crouching next to Marietta, nobody had noticed how he had quietly pulled his wand out of his waistband, and even managed to conceal the swishes under his arm.
Angie cried out in fright when Liz collapsed and jumped to check on her, confused when she found her snoring, but not waking up even as she shook her, quite fiercely.
Turning around she found Harry standing, and having retreated a few steps back. She initially had no idea what the stick in his hand meant, but his posture was definitely a fighting stance, and she wasn't sure what he intended to do if she did any sudden movement, so she fell back on the training for robberies, and simply raised her hand in the typical 'I surrender' pose and stayed put. "What have you done to her?" she asked.
"She's just asleep," Harry explained.
"She will wake up in a few minutes, no harm done. I could have lopped off her head just as easily, or made you strangle her and then confess to the cops. The men after us would do even worse, in an instance, and enjoy every minute of it. I, on the other hand, do not want to harm you. I like you. Well, ok, I don't - but you were at least somewhat trying to help Marietta, and not just poking your nose into people's business for whatever reason you think gives you the right to. That's why I was trying to talk to you rather than letting it come to this. Sadly, you could not be reasoned with. At least not well enough. There are a few options on the table. First, you are clever, and agree that forgetting all about this is in our common best interest. Second, I will try to make you forget about it. Never tried to do this before, so who knows how badly I'll scramble your brain. The third option... would be permanent..."
"Do you agree that solution number one would be the best way to go?" he asked, getting a panicked nod of approval in return, ignoring the same expression on Marietta's face.
"Great, just as I was hoping. Now, I assume there are no more objections to us leaving, anymore, right?"
Angie was too scared to do anything but shake her head.
"Well, since my old clothes are still up there in the changing room, I am left with no choice but to keep these," Harry commented, before remarking that Marietta seemed to be in the same situation.
Angie was rooted to the spot she knelt at while watching the boy tap the stick to the price and the ink tags on his clothes, mumbling something, which made them just evaporate into nothing, and then repeating it with the clothes Marietta was wearing. While Angie was still imitating a carp, he pulled out a wallet.
"Would a hundred pounds cover the clothes we are wearing?" he asked, and Angie only nodded, mutely, her hands still up in the air. She was pretty sure it wouldn't, but right now, she only wanted them out of the office, the shop, and the country, if she were to be asked.
Harry shrugged and deposited 100 pounds in crisp notes on her desk.
"Thank you. But remember - you need to let this go. You have stumbled into something that might get you killed. Or worse. Do yourself, and Liz, a favour and just forget we were here and what you were told. I recommend you stay here until she wakes, and try to make her come to the same conclusion. Goodbye, or rather, farewell," he reiterated his prior warning, before extending a hand to Marietta. "Come, we have an appointment to keep. We'll have more time to shop later, somewhere else."
Marietta stood, and briefly mumbled something in Angie's direction she didn't get, fetched her coat and followed Harry out of the office.
Angie kept sitting there until Liz started stirring, a few minutes later, as predicted. By that time she already had resolved that the six shots of tequila memory removal therapy was the best way to go. Or better make it twelve. She was sure she could talk Liz into taking the rest of the day off to join her.
ooOOoo
"Are you alright?" Harry asked after they had walked out of the building in a brisk walk, and into some side alley, away from the crowd. Marietta had made Harry briefly stop at a smaller boutique to pick up a mostly orange batik scarf, which she hastily draped around her face to cover up. She got some weird looks from people passing them by for wearing a scarf in summer, but it was better than the alternative, she guessed.
"I am," Marietta replied, her voice small. "Sorry I messed this up. I was panicking, I had no wand, and even if I did, I would not have known what to do," she started rationalising how things went downhill so fast.
"Not your fault. Running into a busybody was always a risk. Guess we are too used to only having Wizards around us," Harry mused.
"When a wizard sees your face, he just thinks, 'ah, she got jinxed, someone will dispel it'. They might briefly ponder what you did to earn it, and move on with their life. Muggles will freak out over such a thing, as it looks very permanent to them," he explained when Marietta only gave him a bemused look.
"Right, I never thought of it that way," Marietta. "Makes sense when they can't just dispel anything."
"It's more of an 'she got attacked' thing - we Muggles do not condone casual violence like Wizards do. Hexing someone would see you in prison for some years according to Muggle law."
"Seems harsh, but I think I can get around to their way of thinking," Marietta mused. "There should at least be a line drawn. Some spells being thrown around casually should definitely not be used. This whole 'it's your fault if you don't know how to counter it' mindset we have is really not how a civilised society should work."
"Indeed. But for now, we both just need to be more careful about showing our faces," Harry responded. "Me in the wizarding world, and you around here. Maybe I should try a turban, I know for a fact you can hide an entire Dark Lord under one of these," he chuckled, sardonically.
Marietta took a moment to piece things together. "Merlin help us! That's what happened to Professor Quirrel?' she gasped. "The whole school was asking themselves what went on that Helloween! We only knew that he was gone, something bad had happened, and then Dumbledore gave you all points for... for..."
"Does that mean you... you..." she stuttered, realising what had happened.
"Not something I like thinking about. It was a messy way to go," Harry tried to dissuade her from pursuing the topic.
They walked in silence for a few metres, before Marietta spoke up, again.
"Would you really have killed them?" she asked, recoiling and shrinking away when Harry's disapproving gaze found her. That in turn jarred Harry more than he thought it would.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked, half expecting a hasty rebuttal, accepting it as the lie it would be. Instead, he got the truth.
"This was the second time in the span of a few hours that I saw you threatening people," Marietta spoke up, her voice faltering as she carried on. "I mean, I understand the thing with your family, and this thing in here was a really close call getting caught, but..." she stumbled along her train of thought, and ended in barely a whisper, her gaze firmly planted on the ground ahead of her. "You are really good at it..."
It took Harry a few moments to make sense of this, and to figure out how to respond.
"No matter what the Prophet says, I'm not deranged, a lunatic, or..." he grumpily started to justify himself, stopping as he came to the third accusation. "Well - I have to admit that I am, technically, a killer, but not by choice. While I am surprisingly good at violence, I do not like it. Sadly, I am usually not given a choice about having to take part in it. And no, worst thing, I'd have put her to sleep, as well, and then would have put a massive confundus spell on them, hoping it turns out right. I think it worked out, though. Nobody would believe them, anyway."
Marietta did not respond, and they kept walking in silence.
"You don't have to go through this if you don't want to," Harry spoke up. "Especially if you are afraid of me. I will not hold it against you. We could still try and put you on a plane to anywhere."
"Which would mean you'd have to first explain to me what a 'plaine' is, and how to ride it. And even then, I would most likely starve wherever 'anywhere' is, having no idea how to do anything in the Muggle world,"she responded. "If I don't get picked up and arrested once they see the letters. No, it's alright. I'm fine, and I'm still committed. It's kind of reassuring that you can put up a harsh facade against others, in a way. But all this, this day, it's just getting too much, you know. It's just been less than twelve hours since everything went crazy, and hasn't stopped, since."
"I know. That's what usually happens to me every Halloween, or at the end of a school year. Best to just ride it and take it as it comes," Harry rewarded her with his wisdom.
"Bad pun, Potter," she snapped back. Harry had surprised himself with it, and it took a moment for him to get what he just said. Marietta gave him a scowl that turned into a smirk, before she ended up winking at him. "But yes, I'd presume there'll be a lot of that in my future. How long do we have till our meeting?"
Harry tried to look at his watch, before realising it was broken and in his trunk. Instead, he took a quick peek into a parked car, checking the clock in there. "Almost three hours to go."
"Well, let's take a stroll through these dark alleys, then," Marietta mocked, ignoring the fact that even these relatively small streets were brightly lit, still bigger than Diagon Alley, and just as filled with shops.
Trying to navigate the smaller roads back towards the Cauldron, Harry had to give Marietta a running commentary on various items displayed in the windows, and sometimes on the windows themselves when there were more extravagant lights or other features visible. They very abruptly came to a stop when they rounded a corner, and Harry spied something that made him stop and hold Marieta back by the arm.
"Marietta, please do not freak out, but I think we should go in there."
When she looked ahead, she noticed that he probably was right. Hell, he was more than right. There were a few pictures labelled before-after showing really bad cases of acne, and the lack thereof, as well as tattoos removed, and scars treated in the opaque windows.
"Dermatology - that means knowledge about skin, doesn't it?" Marietta asked, weakly, applying her latin knowledge. "And 'Clinic' is the muggle word for a healer's place, I presume?"
Harry nodded, and scanned the plaque next to the door, proclaiming the opening hours. "Call it fate or doom, but they are open."
"You think they can do something? I mean, Pomfrey tried, and could do nothing. They might be healers, but they are Muggles."
"Which might be your chance," Harry proposed. "I'm not even sure Pomfrey tried that hard, given the circumstances. Did she get help from St. Mungo's? Or asked Dumbledore if he could do something? I think the whole situation with him disappearing worked against you. They might even not have bothered giving all they can, because of what happened," Harry made a compelling argument that Marietta could not dismiss out of hand. Realising that she had certainly not been on the nice list at that time made her cringe and avert her gaze, studying a crack in the pavement.
"They might not be able to do something, or they might be able to help - but we won't find out until we try. I don't think they could make it any worse, don't you think?" Harry tried pushing his point.
"Thanks," Marietta snapped back, self-consciously. "Good to know how you feel. Can't have the bed warmer be ugly, can't we?"
"That's not what I meant," Harry defended himself. "I just thought you would want to try. Keep it, then, if you like. But I am seriously tempted to give them a try, myself. Trust me, I have quite some experience of people staring at the scar on my face and calling me a freak for it. I don't know about you, but I'd be happy to be rid of it," he scolded her, hitting right where it hurt. Marietta sported a deep frown, and for a moment, Harry was afraid she'd start to cry, but she swallowed her self-pity and frowned fiercely as she responded.
"Damn it! Fine! You're right. I'm sorry. I just - to me, it's still new. And I hate it! I've been dealing with this for a few months at Hogwarts, and I'm already sooo done with it," she ranted. "You're right - let them try! I honestly don't care what they are going to do - if they think it helps, they can smear troll poop over my face. At this point, I'm willing to try everything."
Stepping in through the door Harry held open for her, she entered a very stylish waiting room. Everything was crisp white, except for the dark hardwood floor, and some upsettingly bland and violently calming artwork arranged in the way only a medical practice could manage, along with the standard high-counter receptionist table, with an insultingly pretty receptionist waiting behind it. There was a corridor with half a dozen doors leading further in.
"Good morning," the blonde woman in - at Harry's best guess - her late twenties, early thirties, tweeted melodically, but condescendingly professional in completely ignoring Marietta's headscarf. "What can I do for you two? Do you have an appointment?"
Marietta gave Harry a helpless glance, not sure how to proceed. Harry was not quite sure of it, either, but he had a firm grasp of the common knowledge that money was supposed to open all doors, and since he now had some, he was going to test that proverb.
"I'm Harry Potter, this is Marietta Edgecombe. I know this might be a bit unusual, but we do have an issue that we were hoping would go away with time, but sadly, we need to attend some event, and were hoping you could help us deal with this issue," Harry started, and motioned for Marietta to remove the scarf. "Money is absolutely no issue, but we need to deal with this, urgently."
"I'm terribly sorry, Mister Potter, but without an appointment," the receptionist started the usual response, only to abruptly end with a sharp intake of air as she saw what exactly the issue was. Wide-eyed, she stared at Marietta for a few seconds that felt like an eternity, before shaking her head to snap out of her stupor.
"Take a seat, I'll see what I can do," she said in a much softer voice, and quickly left for a door, knocking, and entering briefly after getting called in.
"I didn't think I was able to feel so much worse about myself," Marietta commented, after having wrapped herself up again and sitting down on a white couch under a lakeview painting. "That look she gave me. I mean - if this clinic is what I think it is, she must have seen so many bad things. And she was shocked."
"I think it's because this is man-made. It's quite obvious that someone did this to you. I think that's the thing that hit her so hard," Harry admitted. " I mean, I am getting it. Maybe Hermione went a bit too far. On the other hand - if you had gotten away with it, a dozen students might have been expelled, and had their wands snapped, maybe even ended in Azkaban. With Umbridge, nobody knew what she was going to do - I mean - look at my hand!" he told her, lifting it for her to see the letters scratched into his flesh.
"Holy crap! How did I not see this before," Marietta gasped.
"It's hard to notice if I don't hold it up to show," Harry allowed. "It's her idea of 'writing lines'," he explained.
"Crap. Every time I learn more about what that harpy did, I get more worried you are going to take it out on me," Marietta blurted out, and quickly covered her mouth when she became aware that she spoke those words out loud. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean..."
"You did," Harry stated, calmly. "And I don't blame you. I'd have the same thoughts about everyone else, if I were in your shoes. But no, I won't hold her actions against you. You'll have to answer for the mess you caused, but she, and only she will answer for what she did."
"Sounds fair," Marietta replied, feeling a bit better about her future. Her musings about just how much of a mess she did cause were cut short when she noticed the receptionist prancing back into the room on her heels. Marietta briefly pondered if she would have to wear shoes like those, any time soon, and how she was not going to break her ankles trying.
She vaguely overheard the woman announcing that the doctor would see them, now, and obediently followed in Harry's footsteps when he stood and made his way over to the indicated room.
Harry had only been to a Muggle eye doctor, just once in his life, but he figured that doctors' offices probably pretty much all looked like this. A desk, two uncomfortable chairs in front, and the back wall fully covered by a huge cupboard with glass doors on top, displaying various weird medical models, some medicine and utils, and a bunch of drawers making up the lower half. Posters of the human body and an examination bench to the side you could lie down on, with a paper roll mounted on the wall so you can easily cover it, and in this case, there was also a swivelling and adjustable seat with attached lights and trays and whatnot, similar to a dentistry chair, in the other corner, for whatever examination it would play a role in.
Over the desk cluttered in paperwork and some more models of what Harry identified as the layers of skin from the little biology he remembered, a forty-ish looking black-haired woman in a bob cut was giving them an rather harsh look over her glasses resting low on her nose.
"Please sit down. I'm Doctor Solovyova. I don't have a lot of time, but I am willing to make an exception, if this is really as bad as Ivanka has told me. Miss Edcomp, right?" She started the conversation, pointing at the chairs, addressing mostly Marietta. Harry could not pin-point the slight accent she had, but given her name, he figured she must be Russian or somewhere eastern european, but living in Britain for long enough to lose most of it.
Not quite aware what to do, Marietta sat, mumbling a correction to her name. Harry chose to do the same, carefully making sure to come to rest in a position where he could reach for his wand, easily.
"Sorry, Edgecombe, then," the doctor spoke up. "Now, would you please let me have a look at the issue?"
Her face became even more stony when Marietta unwrapped her face. Evaluating the sight for a moment, the doctor frowned, and stood, indicating Marietta to follow.
"Sit down on the edge, Miss," she commanded, indicating the bench, while starting to put on some rubber gloves, and reaching for some gaze and a bottle. "I need to clean the paint off your face before I can have a better look," she warned, and started to use the wipes and the liquid to do so. Marietta briefly flinched at the touch of the wet sponges that stung a bit, but tried to keep a stiff upper lip, which in turn resulted in the doctor to be a bit less forceful in her ministrations.
The following minutes, she was silently, but thoroughly examined with the help of a magnifying headset, and a stingingly bright lamp, moved this and that way, and poked and prodded for all she was worth, before the doctor removed the gear, her gloves, and went back to her own seat, telling Marietta she could sit back down, too.
"First things first. You are aware that I am obligated to report cases of child abuse to the authorities, unless it is not in the best interest of the child. This in mind - who did this, and how did this happen."
"Bad case of bullying in school," Harry spoke up, and Marietta had to quickly school her face to hide her surprise at his statement, somewhat. "Marietta did cause some people severe problems by ousting certain activities, and this was the response," he explained a rough outline of events. "The student responsible for this is no longer attending this school, due to this and other incidents, and is now seeking to continue her education in France," he added, preempting the next question. Marietta was pretty much clinging to her seat when she heard him twist the truth in such a violent manner.
Doctor Solovyova was wrinkling her perfectly plucked eyebrow as she evaluated the veracity of the statement. "Interesting. And what school, exactly, are you attending?"
"Very private, and really exclusive. I'd rather not get sued," Harry tried to evade the question.
"And how do you factor into this story? You two do not strike me as a couple, nor do you seem related. Yet I am told that you are financing this treatment, out of pocket," the doctor retorted, a sweet smile playing around her lips.
"Let me simply state that I am honour-bound to fix this situation. I was one of the affected people, and that person did this to her on my behalf. Unbeknown to me, but in my name," Harry admitted. "And we have become a couple, since," he clarified.
When Doctor Solovyova glanced towards Marietta for confirmation, the healthy blush on the girl's face was at least confirming the last part.
"Well," the doctor finally responded. "I'm still not quite sure this is the whole truth, but this is all I am going to get from you, isn't it? But fine - with the perpetrator out of the country, and this being a single event, reporting this is definitely not going to make things any better. Let's deal with the problem, instead," she allowed, watching the two teens in front of her visibly relax..
"I need more information. How long has this been going on? How was it treated?"
"Several weeks. The school nurse was treating it, several times, with various salves. I have no idea what she was using, though," Marietta responded. While she did have a rough idea of the potions and salves used, she figured none of those would produce any positive reaction from the muggle doctor in front of her.
"Peculiar," the doctor mused. "If this were a simple induced irritation, any conventional treatment should at least have had some effect, if only to make the obvious lettering disappear. Especially after that much time. Whatever was used on you must have introduced the irritant directly into your skin, and be keeping them there. Maybe some resorptive agent that is slowly releasing them. That might explain why it is so extremely localised to the letters. How was this done?"
"I have no idea," Marietta responded. "It just appeared."
"Is it possible that you were sedated when this was done?" the doctor inquired, receiving a confused look in return.
"I am asking this because the lettering and the deep tissue introduction of the agent causing this is reminding me of a tattoo, just being used in a deliberately harmful way. Is it possible that you could have been sedated and a tattoo machine being used on you for some time without you being conscious?"
"The student in question is quite adept at chemistry, so it could be a possibility. She never admitted how she did it, and it could not be proven it was her, but she was removed from school over it," Harry diplomatically tried to explain things away.
"So it can't be ruled out, you say," the doctor concluded.
Marietta was - in a rare exceptional moment for a Ravenclaw - not interested in figuring out the why, at the moment. "Can this be treated?" She interrupted.
The doctor only briefly hesitated with her response, weighing the options she had at her disposal.
"Yes. Since money is no issue, we can do quite a lot. We are going to first disinfect the area, getting the inflammation under control. There definitely is some bacterial acne going on, as well, but how much of that is your natural acne and how much is piggybacking on the induced infection, I can't say. Still, this whole infection has to be dealt with, first. I will lance and drain where necessary, and then we will then disinfect those areas again. Then we're going to put you under the red laser. This will help clearing things up and also help with the scarring you probably already have acquired."
"That's going to be the most expensive part, but I do think it will be necessary to get a result. If it really was introduced into the subdermis, then the laser could destroy the actual cause of the infection hiding that deep. Mere medication would not penetrate that deeply. We are pretty much doing a tattoo removal, but in this case, the ink we are trying to destroy is the irritant."
"Money is no issue," Harry reiterated, earning himself a stern gaze for interrupting.
"Once we're done, the worst of the infection should be removed, but you'll probably look like you have a severe sunburn. I will give you hydrocolloid patches to cover the area. These are pretty much big band-aids, but instead of gauze, they will hold a healing gel against the skin. We usually use it for laser therapy to prevent infection, but it will help nicely with the acne, as well."
"And this will get rid of it?" Marietta asked, hopefully.
"Short term, it will reduce the symptoms. You'll need two or three days to let the patches deal with what the cleaning and what the laser did. After that, long term care, we will be using benzoyl peroxide. It is a well-tested compound, but I have to warn you, it's not going to be a nice experience. I don't want to go for the big guns, given your skin type, but we'll need a five percent cream at first. With a case like yours, there will be rather pronounced irritation, especially at the start. It will itch, you'll be reddened, your skin will peel - frankly, it's going to get worse before it's going to get better. Allergic reactions are rare, but if you have severe symptoms or keep having them after, say, the first two days, stop using it and come back here, we'll figure something else out," the doctor explained, pausing a moment, and then correcting herself.
"Come to think of it, I'll give you a 2.5 percent variant, as well. After the first week, or if the 5 percent is too rough on you, switch to this one."
"Now, it comes as a cream. Use it in the morning and evening. First, wash thoroughly. Use some regular cleanser, Clearasil or whatever, they all work the same. Gently dry your face. Dab, don't rub. Apply the cream liberally at the affected areas, a fingertip full for each side, and do not - I repeat - DO NOT get any in your eyes. This product will bleach fabric and hair, so be careful, and make sure you thoroughly wash your hands, immediately after," she instructed a suddenly very intimidated Marietta on the use.
"Keep in mind that this is no magic miracle cure. Usually, the medication would take up to 4 weeks to show effect, but since this is an induced acne, and not a natural one, I honestly can't tell. The treatment we'll do here will give it a headstart, and for all I know, you might look fine in a few days. But even if it turns out so well, do keep the treatment up for at least two weeks, and then switch to just using it in the evening, and then slowly to every other day after another two weeks. If it gets worse, you'll need to up the regimen, if it stays fine, you can stop."
Marietta could not help but feel a bit disheartened at this information. She sincerely had hoped that this might be the big breakthrough, but muggle medicine simply was not magic. While getting rid of it in the end would be amazing, she did not look forward to having even more days like today, much less weeks of random Muggles freaking out over her face. Was she going to have to hole up in the hotel room, hiding under a scarf whenever the maid came in to clean?
Looking at the girl, pondering further actions, the doctor sighed. "I will provide you with a large batch of the hydrocolloid patches, but with a very low dosage. You'll need to avoid strong sunlight while you are using the cream, but I don't want you to use sunscreen directly on the skin for now. Use them to cover the area when you leave the house, use sunscreen on the rest. The patch will help with the skin irritation and further reduce scarring, but it will also function to cover the area up so people can't see the letters. Just tell people you had a bad fall with a bike or something, ok?"
Marietta had some unshed tears in her eyes when she mumbled her thanks.
"It's fine," she waved her off with a slight smile. "Just make sure to wait an hour or so after applying the cream and to wash up before applying them. It should be fine, but it's always better to not mix things."
"Oh, and ABSOLUTELY no makeup," she suddenly scolded Marietta, falling back into the strict professional doctor bedside manner. "You will all but guarantee scars if you cake this crap on an already infected area. And to be honest, a girl your age should not use any, anyway. Just remember - the longer you don't use it, the longer you will look good without it. I'm not your mother, so do what you want once this is dealt with, but for now, please heed this medical advice."
When Marietta nodded, sheepishly, she gave her a small smile, and stood. "Unless you have any further questions, let us start with the cleaning," she spoke, and motioned for Marietta to take a seat in the swivelling medical chair. Relenting to her pleading look, Harry accompanied her and stood next to her, while the doctor was exchanging a few words with her receptionist about appointments.
"If you intend to stay, do me and yourself a favour and please look the other way during the procedure," the doctor sighed when she saw him taking up his vigil. "This is going to take long enough without having to deal with you fainting on me," she stated while she was starting to collect a variety of very pointy looking utensils, boxes of swabs, and bottles on the chair's tray. With Harry having no mind to disobey her on this, Marietta's hand was already seeking out Harry's.
ooOOoo
"That's it. Brave girl. All done," the doctor spoke up as she was done disinfecting Marietta's face after a seemingliny endless torture session. "The next step will be over in the laser lab," she explained, discarding her gloves and pressing a button on her desk.
Harry took heart to look down at Marietta for the first time since the start, and was surprised. "It actually looks better, already," he noted, causing Marietta's pained face to lighten up. "I mean, it's still there, but it's so much less angry," he tried to describe it, while the doctor simply handed Marietta a mirror to see for herself. Her face was red, blotchy, and pretty much looked like scrubbed with a hard brush, and her eyes told a tale about how uncomfortable this whole lancing and disinfecting had been. Still, the spots were a lot less pronounced, and the lettering much less discernible.
By that time, the door opened and the receptionist was entering.
"Ivanka will get you to the laser lab and do the initial preparations, Miss Edgecombe. Sorry, but Mister Potter will have to wait outside for this, I'm afraid," the doctor stated. While Marietta was led into another room, the doctor briefly held Harry back.
"The laser would also be able to do something for you, Mister Potter," she stated. "It probably won't be able to get completely rid of the scars, it would reduce them, by thirty, maybe even 50 percent."
"Both the head, and the letters on your hand," she added, looking at him, challenging.
"Don't bother, Mister 'Potter'," she said, condescendingly, when Harry gasped and started fumbling for an explanation. "If that's your actual name. I have seen things like that, and I know what they mean. Just tell me, if I were to bother running your names through the NHS, would I find meticulous records, or none? And would the people visiting me afterwards be wearing cheap, or very expensive suits?"
Harry's silence was enough of an answer. "Thought so," she sighed. "Double, then, alright?"
Harry nodded.
"Good. Sit, read a magazine, it will take only a few minutes."
ooOOoo
About 20 minutes later, Marietta emerged from the room, a bit wobbly, and her eyes quite red and blotchy, and two large skin-coloured patches covering each cheek.
"The burning will fade over the next few minutes, the patches do help a lot. Leave them on for about 8 hours, then change them, wash between," the doctor reminded her. "Ivanka will print you a page with instructions for the patches, and the cream therapy. She's currently fetching the salve and patches I am going to provide you with," she stated, which heralded the arrival of the younger woman, who handed over a plastic bag filled with some boxes.
"I'll be seeing you in 4 weeks, Ivanka will make an appointment with you," the doctor stated, which sent her assistant hurrying to her seat and typing on her keyboard. The doctor was about to say something, when the door opened, and a woman entered, finding herself a seat. Pausing a moment, the doctor walked around the desk and whispered something at the receptionist in a language Harry did not understand. It made the younger woman perk up with a shocked expression, staring at Harry, before asking something in the same language. The doctor nodded and responded, which made the woman shrug and continue her work, while the doctor called out the other patient to follow her.
A few moments later, Harry understood the confusion when he was handed a stack of papers, among them a bill. He dutifully handed over his card, which was quickly and professionally processed by the annoyingly pretty woman across the counter, robbing him blind with a cordial smile.
As they left and made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron, Marietta already started feeling much better as the pain subsided, as predicted by the doctor. "These pads are really helping", she noted. "My face felt like fire after whatever this leazer thing was."
"It's a superstrong special light, like being sunlight under a magnifying lens," Harry grumpily replied. "You do look like the one time my relatives went to Brighton beach, though. They said they'd be gone for a week, but were back after a day, with Dudley looking like a red beach ball and crying all the time. He refused sunscreen, and did not want to leave the beach, either. He spent the rest of the week in his room, or the bathtub, alternating."
"Sounds about right. We are British - we don't tan, we fry. My face certainly looked as if I fell asleep in the sun," she commented. "But I could hardly see the letters anymore. Which might be because everything else was just as red, but then again, I won't complain. These patches are soooo good, though, like a cold wet cloth on a burn."
"At least it's working," Harry huffed,which made Marietta slightly wary of his mood.
"What happened? Did I say something wrong?" she asked, slightly cowed by his comment.
"Doctor made a remark about my hand. She noticed it, and thought we were some kind of protected witnesses or victims of organised crime, and asked me some questions," Harry replied, which made Marietta frown and cringe in expectation of the worst. "And then she demanded double pay because of the risk that people would show up," he continued.
"I'm sorry," she immediately spoke up. "We're not even bonded yet, and I am already draining your vault. I... I shouldn't... You..."
"Oh shut up," Harry snapped, grumpily. "That's my money, I'll spend it how I see fit. If it bothers you, then figure out how to pay me back - but I don't care about it."
Marietta chose to keep silent, but she was starting to get antsy about how much of a bill she was racking up and what kind of payment she would need to resort to.
"What bothers me more is that she is actually right. There are actually several criminal organisations hunting us down. Death Eaters, Dumbleledore's club, the Ministry," Harry spoke up, again, after a little while.
"The Ministry?" Marietta inquired, rather shocked at his remark.
"They are the worst - corrupt, not caring for the letter of the law, and outright illegal - we are British citizens - we should be living under the same rules as any other. The way the Ministry, and frankly all wizard society deals with Muggles is barely a step ahead of what the Death Eaters do."
"Aren't you exaggerating a bit? Barely better? Really?" Marietta countered.
"What rights do Muggles have in your eyes? Most Wizards treat them barely above a pet. Completely patronised, completely irrelevant, can be treated how you like. Jinx them, charm them, who cares, as long as the secret is kept. At the World Cup, they memory charmed the people owning the camping ground so often that they were barely functioning anymore. And I bet they did not even get any money for all the people camping there," Harry ranted.
"When Muggles get hurt by Death Eaters, are they getting shipped to Saint Mungo's and fixed up? Are they getting any compensation for their stuff being burnt down? They are not even aware that they are randomly hunted down for fun, because we actively hide it from them," Harry continued, getting angrier the longer he continued.
"And the worst, the longer we Muggleborn live with you, the more we become like you. Drunk with the power we suddenly have. I hate it - my first reaction when they challenged me was to think how I could put them down, neutralise them. What the hell am I becoming? What gives me the right to hex them, or change their memories?"
"But you have to - we need to protect us from them," Marietta tried to calm him down. "It's ok, they're just M..." she started, stopping herself when she realised what she was about to say.
"Yeah, this," Harry snapped. "They're just Muggles, they're just Goblins, Centaurs, House Elves..." he started counting off examples, briefly pausing and then deliberately seeking out her gaze before continuing. "Just a bonded mistress," he stated, smirking at her when her face fell. For the first time, she realised that in the eyes of the wizarding world, she was going to be something even lower than a Muggle, soon.
"Yeah," Harry quipped. "Feels good, doesn't it? This is how people like me and Hermione constantly feel around purebloods. For you, even Half-bloods and Muggle born wizards are something beneath you, just by birth. Most of you don't flaunt it like Malfoy, but it's always there. Take a look around, look at the city, do we look like we barely survive, helpless without being able to do magic? Then think about a pureblood household - do you think anyone here is living at a lower standard than any of them? Still, we Muggles are some poor savages, or barely a nuisance to you, and as long as the secret is kept and you are not using any unforgivable, the Ministry would not bat an eye if you were to murder any of them."
"Or me," Marietta muttered.
"The threat of vault forfeiture might keep someone from openly doing anything to you, but that doesn't mean it stops them from doing anything to you if they think they won't get caught," Harry agreed.
"Which means they are going to murder me once they are done," Marietta deduced with a sigh. "At least it means they might take less time on me, so the risk of getting found out is lower. Maybe."
"True. I just want you to know that this bond stuff is not going to make your primary problem go away - you will not suddenly be magically untouchable. I will do what I can to keep you safe, but you would be better off if we just run and never return to the wizarding world and their barbarism."
"Leave Magic behind?"
"We don't need to. We both have our OWLS, so we're legal to use it once we're of age. We could just not return to Hogwarts, and go travel for a while. See the world, make the most of the time we have left, you know?"
"Time left?"
"Voldemort is after me," Harry explained, ignoring her squeak when he said the name. "There is a prophecy. One day, we'll have a fight to the death, and one of us is going to bite it. I can try to put it off, but some day, it will happen."
"That's horrible," Marietta gasped, looking perplexed when Harry just started chuckling.
"Just an ordinary day to me. You get used to it. It makes sense. Somehow, I knew it even before I knew about the prophecy. He was always coming after me, every year at Hogwarts. It's half the reason I took you up on the offer, to be honest. I figured I don't want to die a virgin, but any girl I would fall in love with would immediately be on his kill list, too. Doing that to someone you fell in love with just feels wrong. You are already on that list, and were applying for the job, sparing me the hassle of needing to find and chat someone up, first, too," he ended with a sardonic chuckle.
"You really know how to make a girl feel wanted," Marietta hissed back. "You were available, and had the proper holes. Thanks! Puts the whole 'fix her face' thing into perspective. Need to pretty the ugly cow up so she is at least fuckable."
"Now you're stepping out of line," Harry growled back. "YOU offered this deal. You knew how I felt about you, and that there would only be one reason for me to accept this. Nowhere in this whole deal and this whole day did I force you, or lied to you. We simply made a deal. And the face, yeah, part of it is that I don't particularly want to have to hide you from people for however long this takes to go away. But the other part is that I am, as you did put it, 'not a complete bastard'. You know, apart from your attitude, you're not exactly an ugly cow. I'd even call you a looker if I were someone who just went for looks. Frankly, I could do you perfectly fine even with the letters on. Might make you wear a mask or bag if it becomes a problem. Leave you locked up in the house, permanently, in case I feel horny," he ranted at the now moderately pissed, but at the same time severely cowed girl, who was definitely not used to being spoken to so blatantly.
"But I don't particularly get off on humiliating people, except maybe Malfoy. Him, I hate. And all he stands for. The fact that he's somebody who'd most likely jizz on these letters every chance he gets, just to be cruel, is one of the major reasons I want them gone," he spat with a frown.
"I am not in love with you. I don't even like you a lot, especially when you get pissy like this. You really know how to get on my nerves. Always did. But I am really trying to not be intentionally cruel to you, and on top of that, I would like to be able to kind of include you in the things I - or better - we are going to do in the future. Travel, eating out, cinema, all that stuff. Simply being able to spend time with you other than shagging you silly. I realise the bond will prevent you from killing me in my sleep, either way, but I figure at least trying to have a relationship that doesn't make you want to do so will be mutually beneficial, you reckon?"
While still being moderately pissed off, Marietta realised that he had a point. He'd been crude and insulting, but at least not maliciously so. He was keeping with their agreement, and to be fair, he'd been going out of his way to keep his part, while her record so far was kind of sketchy, especially concerning their history. She managed to look appropriately contrite as she mumbled an apology. She didn't think Harry bought it, but he did shut up and didn't bring anything up till they arrived at the Cauldron.