Apparently, having the body of a ten year old wizard that happened to be Harry Potter put something of a damper on Tom's current plans – which he still refused to divulge – and while he promised Harry he wasn't planning anything big in particular, certain arrangements needed to be made, and for that, he needed to look the part of an anonymous, responsible adult.
"Do they...taste good, Miss Jenkins?"
The young woman smiled weakly. "Yes, Harry...I'm just...just...not...feeling...quite...quite..."
And that was it.
As soon as the woman lost consciousness, a terrible pain erupted from Harry's forehead and he dropped to his knees. Thankfully, it only lasted a moment.
"Well, that was...interesting."
Harry stumbled to his feet. "Speak for yourself."
The Dark Lord, now in the body of his very pretty primary school teacher, promptly ignored him. "My wand, Harry."
Harry reached into his backpack and retrieved the yew wand, handing it to Tom who shivered with pleasure at its touch. Immediately, he pointed it at the pencils lying on Miss Jenkins's desk, and they transformed into a pile of silver coins.
"Sickles," he said by way of explanation.
Harry nodded, awed – so this was transfiguration! He'd never seen Tom transfigure anything before, and he couldn't wait to learn how to do it himself. All the things he could do...imagine, being able to influence matter itself! Was it on the molecular level? Atomic? Quantum? Which particles were changing, and how? So much to learn, and when he did...
"Look at me," Tom commanded, stirring Harry out of his daydreams of becoming a world renowned transfigurer (was that a word?).
Harry did so, and Tom pointed his wand at him, muttering some words under his breath.
"Glamour?" Harry guessed.
Tom nodded. "You're a blonde as well now."
"Marvelous."
"Now, come along. We have much to do."
Tom stood up, but stumbled a bit, glaring at his feet.
"They're called heels," Harry put in.
Tom's red eyes narrowed. Apparently, while he was, essentially, inhabiting Miss Jenkins's body, he still couldn't get rid of those eerie red eyes of his.
"I am aware." He sat down, elegant as ever, and proceeded to de-shoe himself. "There," he said, standing up again.
"You're...not going to wear any shoes?"
"I have no need of them."
"We're going to London. Don't you think you might get Miss Jenkins's feet all cut up and bruised?"
Tom raised an eyebrow. "Irrelevant. Now, come along."
Obediently, Harry followed him out of the school and to the side of the street. Once they reached the sidewalk, Tom stuck his wand out toward the street.
"Umm...what are you doing?"
"Hailing our transportation."
Harry loved the Knight Bus. He'd always wanted to go to an amusement park, but the Dursleys never let him come along. Everything about them seemed so...spectacular, like any kid's dreams come true.
The popcorn, the candy, Ferris wheels, roller coasters – for years, he'd dreamed about riding a roller coaster one day. He figured it was likely that he'd never get the chance, but the Knight Bus was almost as good a ride, he thought.
Tom, however, was less than impressed, and assured Harry that the only reason they were 'hailing public transportation' was that apparation was too taxing.
It was a short affair, the journey from Surrey to London, and before Harry knew it, they were dropped off in front of a pub that went by the name "The Leaky Cauldron."
Harry frowned. "That's a bit conspicuous, isn't it?"
Tom smirked, Miss Jenkins's lip gloss shimmering as he did, but said nothing. Instead, he took Harry by the hand and led him toward the heavy wooden door to the pub. He paused, and looked at Harry with a strangely soft smile on his face.
"Welcome, Harry, to the Wizarding World."
Upon opening the door, they found themselves in a dingy old pub, dimly lit by several lanterns in the corners and hanging from iron frames chained to the ceiling.
The furniture was of worn wood, polish and paint fading, and the walls covered with paintings and odd images of all sorts. Only a few patrons sat at the tables, off in a far corner, some enjoying what appeared to be average pub fair and others sipping from mugs of some unknown liquid. It was not obtrusively loud, nor was it quiet - it was, in fact, a kind of cheery, albeit subdued.
....
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