She noticed his brief hesitation. "Are there wanted posters of you posted somewhere?" she asked him suspiciously.
His lack of response caused her to narrow her eyes at him. "Harry?" she asked, a little more harshly than before.
"Oh," he said, doing his best to act startled, wondering for a brief moment if he should tell her to scare her off his trail. He decided against it, in the end, it would likely cause more trouble than it would be worth. "No, I'm not wanted anywhere for anything."
"I see," she said, not quite believing him. And he could tell. He could almost see the doubt in her eyes, and realized that most of her other clients probably were the sort that were wanted somewhere, or maybe even everywhere. She glanced up at him. He didn't strike her as the evil sort, though there was something about him that told her not to cross him. "Why are you on the run, then?" she asked.
"Who said I'm on the run?" Harry replied with a smile. "All I needed was an identity."
"What happened to the real one?"
"I lost it." There was no humor in his tone. The words struck a chord with him, because they were the truth, as far as he could tell. It would be a long time, if ever, before he would be able to reclaim his real name. He might never be able to go back to being Harry Potter, son of James Potter and Lily Evans-Potter, godson of Sirius Black, and adoptive godson of Remus Lupin-the bane of Severus Snape's life and classes. Even if he managed to survive his encounter with Voldemort and somehow succeeded in killing the dark wizard, and then returned to his time, would his life still exist? He didn't know. And it was a long shot, anyway. He wasn't entirely sure that he would survive Voldemort.
The awkward silence grew, until Harry decided that he'd had enough. "I think I had better go." He stood up and started for the front door. Once he reached the door, he paused, his hand on the knob. "I don't know if I'll run into you again, but… thank you for everything."
"Come back if you ever need more help," she called half-heartedly, not sure herself if she wanted to see him again. Though she did have to admit, Harry Ashworth struck her as being the good sort.
.....
The next morning began just the same as every other morning he had spent in the past with the exception of the horrid experience resultant of being woken by Bellatrix Black. He rolled out of bed at the extremely early hour of nine and trudged to the bathroom. This day, though, he realized with a start that his personal habits had gone down the drain ever since his capture and subsequent travel to the past. Whether it had been brought on by the musings on the last few years of his life the day before, or something else, he didn't know, but he couldn't help but realize that taking up residence in a time of relative peace was causing him to pick up habits that would have gotten him killed in his own time. Waking up late was no good. Then worse, sleeping heavily-which led to being disoriented for a few critical seconds after waking up. Moody would have had his head, if he knew of Harry's negligence.
Resolving to do better in the future, Harry completed his morning routine and wandered downstairs to pick up breakfast, though he quickly realized that today wouldn't be quite the same as usual, for sitting at his table and flipping through a copy of the Daily Prophet was the object of his nightmares - Bellatrix Black. He hadn't seen her since the gathering at No. 12 Grimmauld Place, and he had really hoped not to see her again for at least several weeks.
As he crept closer to his usual table, he could see empty plates stacked up in front of her, as if she'd helped herself to breakfast while waiting for him. He ducked his head down and started to turn around, but she glanced up from the paper and spotted him before he could move away. "I bet your mother enjoyed having to haul you out of bed every morning in order for you to ever get anything done," she drawled acerbically.
"I wouldn't know," Harry muttered angrily before he could stop himself.
Bellatrix arched her eyebrows and was formulating a question just as Harry was trying to come up with an excuse to disappear from the Leaky Cauldron until she was gone. He briefly entertained the thought of just apparating away - it was frightfully rude, but he didn't feel too much compunction against it. The pub, though, wasn't particularly empty at this time, and it would probably draw unwanted attention. Neither of them got the chance to finish their thoughts because they were interrpupted by Tom's arrival, bearing Harry's usual breakfast plates.
Not wanting to waste the food he had already paid for with his rapidly dwindling supply of galleons, Harry opted to sit down and eat, doing his best to ignore the young woman at the table. After a few moments of poorly disguised attempts at prodding him for information, which he roundaboutly ignored in favor of shovelling the food into his mouth, the young Black witch realized that prodding him for information at this point would likely prove fruitless. She resolved to settle back and file the slip-up for later use and questioning - right now, there were things to discuss, things that she'd come to the pub for.
"So," she finally began after watching him stuff his face for a while. "Do you eat like a pig on purpose in the hopes of scaring me off with your despicable display of table manners, or are you just in that much of a hurry?"
Harry merely grunted an unintelligible reply, causing Bellatrix to smirk. "Because I know you aren't that uncultured. You did just fine at the feast the other night. So you can cut the act, Ashworth. You're not fooling anyone."
Harry finally pulled his face from his food. "Don't you ever shut up? Do you enjoy nagging just for the sake of it? Why in Merlin's name are you even here in the first place?" He couldn't help it, despite his best efforts to keep things to himself, he kept slipping up, and he was starting to get irritated at himself for it. He knew that the more he let slip, by accident or on purpose, the more she would be intrigued, and the more she would be after him for further information. It could be a useful tool… but it could also be his undoing. He didn't know how much knowledge of the future would change the future, and, much like with Sabine, he didn't want to chance changing too much. The irritation that crept into his voice must have been obvious, because Bellatrix narrowed her eyes dangerously.
"Watch it, Ashworth. I promised my help, but only if it benefits me. Keep snapping at me like that, and I'll take my chances with the other side."
Harry snorted. Right, he thought sarcastically, because that got you so far the last time around . He carefully kept that comment silent, however. Having his mouth full of food also helped the fact that he couldn't say anything in reply.
Bellatrix seemed content without interruption, because the angry look in her eyes faded after a brief moment. "For your information, I've been keeping an eye on the classifieds in the Prophet for potential job openings."
"I can do that, myself, you know. That's not exactly much help," he told her curtly. If that was why she'd come seeking him out today, she was wasting her time. He didn't want to spend longer with her than he absolutely had to, and that included his job hunt. So far, it didn't seem like she had anything important for him to go off on, which meant that rude or not, he would be taking his leave after he finished eating.
The young witch seemed a bit irritated with his nonchalant brush-off of her offer, but she pressed on. "They don't seem to have anything respectable. An all-mighty time traveler such as you probably shouldn't pick up a career as a dishwasher at a pub."
"They've got magic for that," Harry grunted in reply between two mouthfuls, idly recalling the times he had visited the Burrow and watched Ron's mother work her magic in the kitchen - literally. He glared at her as he fully digested what she'd said. "And would you mind saying that a little louder? I don't think the rest of Diagon Alley heard you yet."
She glared right back, not backing down from his stare, though he caught a brief flicker of uncertainty in her eyes that vanished so quickly he wasn't sure if he'd imagined it. "Ashworth," she said very slowly, almost dangerously, "I could stand on the table and loudly declare all day to anyone who'd listen that you're a time traveler, and no one would believe me."
"Don't be so sure about that," Harry growled, thinking of Dumbledore, and Moody, and Voldemort, and all the attention that he really did not need to attract right now.
Bellatrix ignored his comment, tucked a strand of her long black hair behind her ear, and flipped open the copy of the Prophet she had been reading. "Nothing in here, but you can have a look if you want." She watched as Harry picked up the paper and made a grand show of hiding himself behind it, deliberately shutting her out. Her irritation carried over into her tone. "I've been asking around, though, and there are a few places that might at least take a look at you. I was thinking," she hissed, finally annoyed enough to yank the paper out of his hands, "I was thinking that we might be able to visit some of them today. If you keep acting like this, however…"
Harry sighed, grabbed her hand, and un-twisted the pages from between her fingers. He folded the page over with exaggerated care, and then presented her his find. "The Knight Bus needs a conductor," he told her. It wasn't anything grand, but it was the first offer he felt comfortable with accepting. Maybe he would even get to meet Ernie again. He remembered the driver fondly, from his first - and thus far, only - trip with the Knight Bus. He supposed that Stan Shunpike would be too young, or perhaps not even born yet, for having a job.
"Are you kidding me?" Bellatrix disagreed with a sneer. "That job is for slugs. Aspiring young morons like yourself ought to aim higher."
....
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