Five Minutes – Ch. 4

Three Saturdays later, Draco dragged Harry out of bed at six AM. "Move your lazy bum, Harry!" Draco exclaimed excitedly, as he shook Harry's shoulder. "We're going shopping today!"

"It's time for you to get your buttocks out of bed! We need to get ready, and it's going to take some work to get you presentable for my mother!"

Having just been insulted, Harry opened one eye blearily to glare at his excited friend. "Oh, that's lovely. Just the way to encourage people to do what you want – insult them," Harry said sarcastically.

Draco ignored him. "You're still not moving," he pointed out, as he gathered their shower supplies.

"You still haven't told me what time it is, either," Harry replied, rolling over in preparation of going back to sleep; an endeavour he knew was likely to be hopeless.

"It's after six!" Draco finally admitted, trying to sound outraged, although he knew Harry would probably become more stubborn with that fact.

"You have got to be bloody putting me on," Harry complained with a groan. "Who gets up at ruddy six o 'clock in the morning to go shopping?" He sat up to glare at his too-cheerful friend. "No. Never mind. You do. Are you mental?" Harry wound up almost yelling.

"Just do what he says, Potter," came the tired, but exasperated voice of Gregory Goyle. "Some of us are trying to sleep, here." With Draco's mother accompanying the two, he and Vince weren't needed, and they could sleep in for once.

Harry threw himself back onto his bed, but knew it was a lost cause. With yet another groan, he rolled over and got out of bed. "You're a blooming sadist, Draco. You know that, don't you?"

After sleeping together so often due to Harry's nightmares, and changing in front of each other, Harry and Draco had recently, albeit gradually, discarded any notions of modesty between them, and had even taken to sharing a shower cubicle so that they could wash each other's back.

It was embarrassing, especially at first, but they always seemed to get erections. They tried not to look, but couldn't quite keep from taking a peek from time to time. Natural adolescent curiosity. But they never teased each other, and they never spoke of it. Besides which, it was nice to have someone to wash your back for you.

After their shower, after they were dried and dressed, a chore in itself since Draco never seemed to be satisfied with what Harry picked for himself out of Draco's wardrobe, the blond spent five minutes trying to tame Harry's hair. Finally he stopped and just looked at the messy black mass in consternation. "You know, Harry," Draco finally said thoughtfully, "I don't think it's your hair at all; I think it's the way it's cut. And it's too short!"

Harry's cheeks turned pink. He didn't want to admit that he had cut his hair with pinking shears on threat from his uncle of his supper being withheld if it wasn't cut. Not that it did much good: he only ever got leftovers anyway, if that. He thought he'd got much better at cutting his own hair over the years, but he knew it still wasn't all that good. He'd had to start cutting his own hair ever since the incident when Aunt Petunia had cut it so short he was almost bald (so she wouldn't have to cut it so often), and he'd somehow re-grown it overnight.

"That's ok, Harry," Draco reassured him. "I was going to make sure you got your hair cut today, anyway."

Draco was as good as his word. After collecting the boys and checking them out with the headmaster, Mrs Malfoy took them to Diagon Alley, where Draco insisted that Harry's hair be the first order of business.

The stylist didn't instill any confidence in Harry at all. She was a middle-aged witch whose robes were made of a material in an extremely bright, multi-hued pattern. Her hair was coloured and styled to match. However, Mrs Malfoy and Draco both assured him that she was very good at her job, and convinced him to sit in the high, cushioned chair.

After making much of 'the poor little orphan who saved us all', embarrassing and annoying Harry greatly, and amusing Draco in the process, she finally set to work. She began by circling him several times, looking closely at his hair and feeling of it, then set to work with scissors and wand. Twenty minutes later she was done. In order to correct the mess his hair had been in, the stylist had wound up having to cut it very short. "Well, that's the basics," she said. "Now! How long would you like it?"

That was a question that Harry had not been expecting. With almost a look of panic on his face, Harry looked at Draco, then at Draco's mother, seeking help.

Both blondes looked at him critically, Mrs Malfoy going so far as to mimic Draco and cock her head at him as she circled him in the chair. She came to a decision long before Draco did. "Shoulder length, I should think," she said decidedly. "Or perhaps an inch or two longer. I think a ponytail would set his face off very nicely; don't you, Draco?"

Draco glanced up at his mother, then looked intenty at Harry, trying to imagine a ponytail on his friend. He nodded. "Yes, I think so – but not with those glasses."

The witch performed the spell with a short wave of her wand, and just as when he was younger, his hair grew. But this time he was awake to see it. A few last touch-ups to the cut of his hair, plus a silver band charmed to stay where it was put to hold it back, and it was done.

Looking in a mirror, Harry liked what he saw, but . . . "My scar shows," he complained.

"Be proud of it, Harry," Mrs Malfoy told him. "It is a sign of your power. You survived, where others did not."

Draco looked on his friend proudly. He had been right; Harry did look much better with a proper haircut. He'd have liked his own hair longer, but he was both too young and only the heir: not the head of his family as Harry was his, he being the only member of it left. When he was older and in training to learn the duties of a head, he could grow it longer.

Harry was doubtful of Narcissa's advice, but with some urging from Draco, reluctantly decided to follow it. Even if he didn't feel proud of the scar, he could see where having a sign of power out where others could see it could be of use. Still, he had been teased and mocked so often because of it while he was growing up that it was hard to have it out in the open. However, he resolved that he would do it. It was stupid to be ashamed or embarrassed of something that he had no control over.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise and apprehension, visions of African headhunters in his mind's eye.

That didn't allay Harry's fears at all, but he followed after her anyway, holding tightly to Draco's hand: a fact that didn't escape the blonde woman's attention. Neither did the fact that her son not only allowed it, but seemed used to it. She wondered if it was mutual, or if Harry was just insecure and her son willing to offer comfort to his friend. Then again, it was true that young friends would sometimes hold hands, and would grow out of it as they grew older.

The inside of the witch doctor's office was quite a surprise to Harry. It was clean, bright, and well furnished. The witch doctor herself wore robes in brick red and burnt orange.

After introductions, during which the doctor resisted the urge to exclaim over who her patient was, she turned to Harry and said, "May I see your spectacles, Mister Potter?"

The doctor, by the name of Doctor Spicer, muttered a few spells over his glasses, then turned to him. "I need to do a few tests on your eyes, and then we shall see what I can do."

Harry nodded his acquiescense. She gently grasped his chin to hold his head steady, and cast what sounded like the same spells as she had cast on his glasses on first one eye, and then the other. She straightened from her half crouch and turned to Mrs Malfoy. "I don't know who last prescribed lenses for this boy, or when, but that prescription is totally wrong for him. Much too weak. However, I do believe that we can completely correct his eyesight." She didn't mention that it would be expensive, knowing that the Malfoys were one of the richest families in the wizarding world, and that they wouldn't notice the cost at all.

Dr. Spicer looked at him, and then back to Mrs Malfoy with a question in her eyes.

"Thank you, but I do have money," Harry replied. "You really shouldn't be spending yours on me," he added. One could tell by his demeanour that he didn't really think himself worthy.

Narcissa frowned prettily. The boy's attitude bothered her. "I spend more than this on a gown, Harry," she told him. "I would appreciate you letting me do this for you."

Harry looked at the floor, undecided. On the one hand he didn't want to be obliged; but on the other, Mrs Malfoy had just put him in the position that, to refuse, would make him look very rude and ungrateful, indeed. In the fullness of time Harry would learn graceful ways to get around such situations, but that time was not now. Draco squeezed his hand, encouraging him to accept the offer. With Draco's silent urging, Harry made up his mind. He raised his head and looked into Narcissa's eyes. "Thank you, Mrs Malfoy," Harry said. He didn't feel good about it, but he didn't know what else to do.

Narcissa smiled at both boys. "All right, and now that's settled...." She looked to the doctor for further instruction.

Doctor Spicer smiled. "I'll be right back, then," she told them, and then headed into a back room. In less than a minute she had returned.

"Now, Mister Potter, I need you to drink this potion, and then I'll cast a spell on your eyes. You'll need to keep your eyes closed for the next five minutes, and then I'll do a few more tests to see if we got the results we wanted. Your eyes might burn and sting a little bit, but don't open them, no matter what."

Harry drank the potion, making a face at the terrible taste, sat through the bespelling of his eyes, and waited through the five minutes impatiently, squirming from time to time. And yes, there was some burning and stinging, but it was nowhere near as bad as some of the headaches he had, so he could bear it. And Draco sat close to him and held his hand, so it wasn't too awfully bad.

"All right, Mister Potter," the witch doctor said when the time was up, "when you open your eyes I'm going to put in some eye drops to ease the sting, and then I'll do the tests."

The eye drops did reduce the pain and stinging – enough to allow his eyes to stop watering, anyway. And when the tests were done, Dr. Spicer had a wide smile on her face. "Better results than I had expected," she said. "There might be some fluctuation in the next few days, but I expect when your eyes stabilise you'll have at least slightly better than normal vision."

Harry was looking at everything and everyone around him with a huge grin on his face, seeing clearly without his glasses for the first time in many years: and more clearly than he had with them, truth be told. Draco's grin rivaled his own, and if Mrs Malfoy hadn't been there the blond would possibly have been excitedly asking inane questions and dancing around Harry at the same time.

When they left, Harry left his glasses behind. The witch doctor could have earned quite a tidy sum by selling them, but they wound up in a glass case on her wall with a little brass plaque beneath them saying, 'Harry Potter's Spectacles'.

After that it was time for lunch. They ate in one of Diagon Alley's more exclusive eateries: a small, out of the way bistro where his meal was ordered for him. Harry ate some things that he had never even heard of before: most of which, he was surprised to discover, he actually liked! Although Harry was a bit embarrassed over his naiveté, he and Draco had a lot of fun discussing the food and everything that had happened so far that morning, with Narcissa looking on in amused tolerance.

The next stop was Madam Malkin's, where Harry was subjected to some of the most embarrassing measurements he had ever had done to him. It was even worse than the measuring he had received at Ollivanders where he'd been measured for his wand, or the measurements he'd been subjected to the first time he'd been at the clothiers, although that time he was only getting school robes. After being humiliated by the measuring, he had to try on over a dozen robes and what seemed like dozens of shirts, pairs of trousers, outerwear, shoes, boots, hats, and more. Harry didn't understand why, since Mrs Malfoy set almost everything aside to be bought anyway. What's more, she still wouldn't allow him to pay for any of it. He was torn between feeling extremely guilty, and almost ecstatic that he finally had things of his own: no more hand-me-downs. But....

"Mrs Malfoy, please," Harry said, desperation in his voice, "I have money. I can't—"

"Pish-tosh, dear," the lady said dismissively, since the boy had said similar things several times during the day already – and then she caught sight of his face. She stopped what she was doing and turned to him, concerned. Harry looked miserable.

"I really appreciate that you're doing this for me, Mrs Malfoy," Harry said, "but it's really too much! First the haircut, then fixing my eyes – which I truly appreciate, by the way – lunch, and now this? Please, would you at least let me pay for my own clothing?"

Draco looked as though he was incensed. "Harry, we're quite wealthy and can afford it! Let us do this for you!"

When it seemed that Draco would again remonstrate with Harry, Mrs Malfoy raised a hand slightly, silencing him

Nodding her head, she came to a decision. Calling their attendant over, she gave orders to set aside the items they had picked out to await their return, then took Harry's hand.

Draco, who had been watching and listening to all of this with growing irritation and concern, now smiled at Harry, hoping his friend would cheer up. He was rewarded with a small, abashed smile in return.

An hour later, Harry was wishing he had let Mrs Malfoy buy his clothing for him. The goblins had first asked Harry for his key. Hagrid had pocketed Harry's key after their last visit to the establishment, saying he would give it back into Dumbledore's possession for safekeeping. Upon learning this the goblins had, at first, told him that he would have to retrieve the key in order to access his vault.

Mrs Malfoy had first given her opinion of 'that meddling old fool', which had shocked Harry in itself, since it seemed so out of character with what he'd seen of the woman so far (although he tended to agree with her opinion), and then shown another side of herself which shocked him even more. She had become cold, businesslike, and demanding. Quite unnerving, to Harry. Although the Dursleys were far more demeaning and verbally abusive in manner, Mrs Malfoy's attitude came too close to theirs for his comfort. However it was effective, and a few minutes later Harry found himself in a separate room being tested by means and methods and spells that also had him quite bewildered and nervous.

"Look, I apologise for that out there," Harry said to the goblins who were testing him. "I don't think anyone should be treated that way."

The goblin who seemed to be in charge of the testing looked at him appraisingly, a cold look of disdain on its face. "A Muggle-born, are you?"

"No. Muggle raised, though," Harry replied, confused. To him, the question had come out of nowhere, and was appropriate to nothing that had been said before.

The smirk disappeared as a look of surprise took its place. No more was said until the tests were done.

"Mister Potter's identity checks out," the goblin in charge, a Mister Hedblatz, said as they rejoined Draco and his mother.

"Then I expect Mister Potter's vault contents to be transferred to a new vault, and a new key issued him," Mrs Malfoy ordered imperiously.

"I beg your forgiveness, Mrs Malfoy," Mister Hedblatz said, "but are you Mister Potter's guardian?"

The question had never occurred to Harry. "The Dursleys I suppose," he said doubtfully. "They are my relatives."

"We shall find out," she said grimly, making a mental note to have Draco intensify the boy's training. Shrugging! This was not a matter to dismiss so lightly. "In the meantime, you need to ask who has control of your vault. They can't refuse you that information, at least."

Harry did as she requested, and was not surprised to find that Professor Dumbledore had control of his vault. It only followed, considering Hagrid's words. Again following Narcissa's suggestion, Harry asked if his family had any other vaults. He was very surprised to hear that there were two others, quite large. And Dumbledore had control of those, as well. When prompted to ask what deposits or withdrawals had been made from them, Harry was relieved to hear that other than the proceeds of investments being deposited, only small amounts were being withdrawn each month, marked as 'maintenance funds'. Harry assumed that meant him.

Although Narcissa didn't ask, she did wonder why the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would have control of Harry Potter's funds if he wasn't Harry's guardian; and if he was, why had the boy been parcelled out to Muggle relatives?

Harry was beginning to wonder what Mrs Malfoy's interest in his vaults might be, so he was relieved when she did not ask how much was in any of them. Later, Draco told him that multiple vaults were only needed or used if the largest were too small to hold a person's or family's wealth and/or valued belongings.

Those weren't his words, of course. He said, ". . .if they're so wealthy that everything can't fit into one vault." Draco also added that the Malfoys had four large vaults.

Harry knew that the one he'd seen was fairly small, and it had so much gold in it! So if there were two large ones.... It was a shock to find out that he might actually be quite wealthy, after living in conditions of such abject poverty. Not the Dursleys – just him.

The goblins told Harry that a key would be owled to him in about three days' time. In the meantime, to tide him over until the key arrived, he was allowed to withdraw whatever he felt he needed. He would only be allowed to do so this one time until he received his key, unless he again underwent a thorough testing of his identity. He was also told not to lose this key, or there would be a substantial payment needed for a replacement. He was given a small leather bag in which to put any monies he wished to withdraw.

Knowing what to expect from his ride with Hagrid earlier in the year, Harry rather enjoyed the hair raising ride down to his vault this time. He presented the master key to the goblin who had accompanied them, made sure to get it back and put safely into his pocket, and then started putting galleons into the small bag. He had put several hundred galleons into the small bag that seemed as though it should only hold ten or twenty, and still it seemed only about half full.

"That's enough, dear," Mrs Malfoy told him. "One of those bags will hold well over a thousand galleons. Far more than you'll need."

Having not quite got the understanding of the wizard money system yet, let alone how things were valued here, Harry took her word for it, drew the drawstrings, and put the bag in his pocket. Back in the main building, he returned the master key to Mister Hedblatz.

Once back at Madame Malkin's, Harry paid a little over four hundred galleons for the clothing that had been picked out, including three suits in wizard styles and half a dozen dress robes, all of which were to be custom tailored and sent on later, along with under things, coats, jumpers, cloaks, and all the other accoutrements needed for sartorial completeness. Narcissa shrank the bags, they made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron, and they Floo'd back to Hogwarts, winding up where they had started, in the headmaster's office.

They arrived to find the room abuzz with activity. No fewer than three wands were pointed at them as they stepped out of the fireplace. It was only when their identities had been confirmed that the three Aurors relaxed and put away their wands.

It turned out that Professor Quirrell, the DADA professor, had been caught by Professors Snape and McGonagall attempting to steal something from a heavily guarded part of the castle: something very precious, and potentially dangerous in the wrong hands. The turbaned man had been stunned and trussed before being taken to Professor Dumbledore's office and questioned under Veritaserum, but had been taken to Azkaban several hours before they arrived. What Draco, Harry, and Mrs Malfoy had interrupted was an interrogation of the headmaster about what had been stored there, and why he felt that a building full of schoolchildren was a fit place to keep it.

Harry and the Malfoys were quickly ushered out of the room when it was found that they had only used the headmaster's office to Floo in from a day of shopping, and to check Harry and Draco back in with Professor Dumbledore.

Narcissa escorted them back to the Slytherin dorms and restored Harry's bags to their proper size. She kissed Draco goodbye on the forehead, shook Harry's hand, and said, "It has been a pleasure to truly get to know you, Harry. I hope that we shall have another opportunity to meet."

"About that, Mother . . . I was thinking that perhaps I could invite Harry to the manor over solstice hols. He has only Muggle relatives who have their own plans. He was going to stay here over the holidays."

Mrs Malfoy's face was solemn, but there was amusement in her eyes as she said, "Well, we do have that matter of Harry's guardian to look into. If he has an official guardian we can ask his or her permission for Harry to stay. If he doesn't.... Well, we shall cross that stream when we get to it."

Draco had written her weekly, and most of the contents of those letters had been about Harry, so she was well aware of his heritage. Harry was technically a half-blood, although in a bit of a gray area. Lucius, Draco's father, would normally not have seen Harry to be a fit companion for her son. However, as magically strong as the boy was, and that he was deemed a savior by most of the rest of the wizarding world, Narcissa was sure her husband would overlook that. If not, she could bring pressure to bear.

Showing great restraint, Draco stepped up to his mother and gave her a short hug. "Thank you, Mother," he said quite solemnly. As far as he was concerned, the matter was settled.

Harry rolled his eyes at his friend for acting like such a stuck-up prig. But turning to the blonde woman he said, "And my thanks as well, madam," aiming a shallow bow in her direction. "I had a wonderful time, today. I'm sorry that I was such a bother."

"Nonsense, my dear. You were a delight to be with, today," was her reply. "And these clothes show you off so much better than your old ones."

Draco closed his eyes briefly at her words. His mother never made social blunders like that without something being behind them. Unfortunately, Draco thought that she was trying to remind Harry of his place in the social order: which is to say, below them. The only reason he could think for that was the discovery that Harry wasn't the poor little orphan boy they had thought he was. An orphan, yes, but not poor. Likely she thought that the discovery that he had money would give Harry ideas above his station. That, or she wished to remind his raven-haired friend that he was in their debt. Either way, Draco was quite upset with his mother, but there wasn't a lot he could do about it, especially after all she had done for them that day. And then there was the holiday visit to think about, and what she might still be able to do for Harry.

The headlines of the Daily Prophet the next morning screamed of scandal and a mystery at Azkaban.

PRISONER ATTACKED BY DEMENTORS

'Professor Quirinus Quirrell, late an instructor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and presumed to have attempted the theft of the Philosopher's Stone created by Nicolas Flamel, was spontaneously attacked and Kissed by Dementors after being left in their care at Azkaban. Upon investigation, Aurors were shocked to find a second face on the back of the former Hogwarts DADA professor's head, which face also appeared to have been Kissed.'