Chapitre 12: 10. A Dapper Harry: Albus's Dilemma and Future Plans
The taxi drove Harry to his maiden destination downtown, a barber shop. Harry hadn't been out into the downtown area before, so he looked around like he was a nascent tourist that was visiting a new and wonderful place.
"Geez, kid. You're rubbernecking pretty quickly there," the driver remarked, casting a glance at Harry through the rearview mirror. "Haven't you been around here before?"
"No," Harry said, his face pressed to the glass and his slightly sore eyes were trying to take in every detail of the bustling surroundings.
"Just be careful not to strain your neck with all that twisting," the driver cautioned and parked. "I didn't take you far for a whole tenner, so I can wait to take you to your next stop. After that, I will have to get home to eat."
Grateful for the ride, Harry nodded and opened the door, with his handy trunk in tow, and stepped out. He walked over to the barber shop that stood before him, its sign swinging gently in the breeze and went inside. It was practically deserted, since a lot of people were like the taxi driver and were heading home to eat.
"Hey there, young fella," a grizzled older man greeted with a warm and inviting smile and walked over to him while cleaning a pair of scissors with a cloth. "Are you lost? Looking for someone? A parent, maybe?"
"No. I am just here for a haircut," Harry responded.
The barber gave his head a glance and chuckled. "Son, you needed a haircut a long time ago. Well, you've come to the right place. Now? The bush on your head needs a good trimming." He waved to one of the chairs. "Hop on and I'll give you a lift."
"Huh?" Harry looked at the older man in confusion.
"Climb aboard and you'll see," the barber said and walked over to the chair in question. "You can put your trunk by the wall there." He waved and then put the scissors down and picked up an electric hair cutter.
Harry walked over to the wall and put the trunk down and went over to the chair. He climbed on and he could clearly see the trunk. He nodded slightly and the old man turned to him with a smile.
"Here we go," the older man said and started to push on a foot pedal beside the chair. The chair rose up from the floor quickly and he stopped it at the right height for him to work. "Quite a ride, isn't it?"
Harry just nodded, because he didn't have the heart to tell the man that he had flown through the air on a motorcycle less than ten minutes ago and still remembered the warnings of Hagrid and the presence of a Ministry in the magical world.
The buzzing sound of the electric clippers filled the air, causing Harry to eye them warily as the old man prepared to tame his unruly mane. "Don't worry, I'm just taking off the thick, matted parts."
With a hesitant nod, Harry braced himself and the man started to hum to the soft music playing in the background and started to take swipes at Harry's unruly hair. Swipe after swipe, the excess hair fell to the floor, forming a growing pile at Harry's feet. Finally, after what felt like ages, the barber stepped back, surveying his handiwork with a satisfied sigh.
"All right, now I am at a good starting base now. What kind of cut do you want?" the barber announced, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.
Harry opened his mouth to say, then realized that he had no clue what he wanted.
The older man chuckled warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he suggested, "I've got just the thing for you in this picture book. Care to take a peek?"
Harry nodded eagerly, his curiosity piqued as the man retrieved a small booklet from the counter. Flipping it open, Harry's eyes widened as he took in the array of haircut styles available, though the strain on his eyes persisted.
"Better not ask me for a Mohawk or anything wild like that," the man joked with a grin, anticipating Harry's reaction. "Do any of these catch your eye?"
"I'm not entirely sure," Harry said. "I need to dress up for a portrait and the lady only told me to get a haircut."
"Ah. I understand," the older man said while nodded knowingly, flipping through the pages until he found what he deemed the perfect style. "This one here is ideal for making a statement in a portrait," he explained, pointing to a short haircut that left a decent amount of hair on top, yet was buzzed halfway up the head. You can style it in various ways—slicked down, parted, or let it flow freely like you haven't a care in the world," he explained, noticing Harry's unkempt locks. "I reckon the last option suits you best, given the state of your hair." He chuckled. "I'm going to assume you'll do the last, since your hair doesn't look like it's ever been combed."
"I've never had a comb," Harry admitted, to the man's surprise. "Alright, I'll go with this haircut."
"Take off your glasses and I'll get to work," the old man instructed, swapping out the clippers for a shorter head attachment to make it as short as possible. "And a quick wash wouldn't hurt either, just to freshen up."
Harry took off his glasses and put them in his pocket. To his surprise, his eyes stopped hurting and he blinked them freely and rubbed them in disbelief. His mouth dropped open slightly as he looked at his reflection in the mirror that was almost ten feet away and Harry couldn't believe what he saw—his features were clear, not a blur in sight!
*I'm not wearing my glasses and I can still see!* Harry exclaimed in his head, utterly shocked.
The older man didn't notice Harry's reaction and hummed as he worked. After a quick shampoo, rinse, and dry, the man started cutting. With each snip, Harry's unruly locks fell to the ground, accumulating into a sizable pile. It only took ten minutes for the man to finish the stylish haircut and to give him another quick wash and dry. Harry almost didn't recognize himself in the reflection. Instead of the wavy mess that used to be on his head, he now had a half fade and a nice tuft of hair on the top.
"Yep, you look fantastic with your hair like that," the older man said. "I bet you're gonna be real handsome in any portrait you're in."
Harry remembered that Madam Malkin's words were almost identical to that and nodded appreciatively. "How much?"
"Just a ten pound note," the older man said. "I really shouldn't charge you that much, being it's your first time and all." He sighed and waved at the empty store. "I need to make a living."
Harry nodded and handed over the money. "How long will it last?"
"In three months, the sides and back will start getting too long to keep the right shape for the look."
"Okay," Harry said. "I'm going to... boarding school and I'll try to come back for a touch up by then."
"Or find someone to maintain it for you if you can't come back," the older man said and handed Harry his very first comb. "I won't mind losing a customer as long as you keep your hair done up right."
Harry nodded and put the comb in his back pocket, picked up his trunk, and left the barber shop. The taxi was waiting there and the driver gave Harry an approving nod.
"Looking good, kid," the driver said. "Where to next?"
"Is there a mall or something? I need better clothes than these," Harry said and plucked at the dirty and baggy t-shirt he wore.
"Do you even know what you want to buy?" The driver asked, his voice full of skepticism.
Harry thought he did, then doubted that he did. "I need... jeans and... shirts? No, t-shirts."
The driver shook his head. "My wife is going to kill me," he said and sighed. "Come on. Get in."
Harry climbed in the back and put the trunk down. The driver pulled away from the curb and drove to one of the large strip malls. There were lots of stores there that someone could buy clothes from.
"How much money do you have?" The driver asked.
Harry was pretty sure that he didn't want to tell him the full amount, so he pretended to look through his money bag. "Um... a hundred and... thirty pounds... and five pence."
The driver didn't quite gasp at the amount; but, he did make another car honk their horn at him for drifting across the center line. "Sorry!" He waved out the window. Damn, I can't be distracted like that. He thought. "All right. That's a bit more than I thought you would have." He said and glanced in the rear view mirror and saw Harry's frown. "It must be birthday money or something, right?"
Harry's face brightened at the excuse. "Yes! Today's my birthday!" He said. "I got a cake, too!"
"Well, happy birthday," the driver said. "When we stop, I just have to call home for a minute."
Grateful for the excuse, Harry nodded and went back to look out of the window, at all of the things he had never seen before. He really liked that he didn't need his glasses anymore. It was then that Madam Primpernelle's words came back to him. 'I wouldn't have any return business if my products made things permanent'.
Harry knew that he would have to somehow ask her about how often he would need to come back for another dose of her special potion.
At Hogwarts, Albus was beside himself. He had done so much meticulous planning and arranging things to have certain events play out, and now he had a nearly inconsolable grounds keeper telling him all about how Professor Quirrell had become nothing but a dust pile. And a ghost.
Albus didn't sigh out loud in disappointment and he didn't drop his head into his hands to lament the loss of having Voldemort escape from his clutches again. If Quirrell had stayed alive and assumed the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching position, Albus would have had a whole year to prep and plan for their future encounter, because he knew it was coming.
Unfortunately, he couldn't predict the circumstances with Voldemort's current vessel destroyed. Albus would have to adapt what he had planned to test Harry Potter's mettle. He didn't know what he was going to do as a replacement, however.
"Headmaster, are yeh gonna do anything about them Dursleys?" Hagrid demanded with tears and blew his nose into a handkerchief that was nearly the size of a tablecloth. "They've been doing harm to Harry! He didn't even know when is birthday was and they give him cleaning things as presents! Those damned pigs of muggles!!"
Albus sighed. "Hagrid, you know we can't interfere with a muggle family."
"But, Headmaster... he..." Hagrid dabbed at his eyes. "He's skinny as a rail and..."
"There, there, Hagrid," Albus said and patted the giant man's arm. "I will see what I can do."
Hagrid blew his nose again and nodded. "Thank yeh, Dumbledore. Thank yeh." He said and walked towards the door, opened it, then mumbled. "Great man, Dumbledore. He'll be doin' something good for little Harry."
Albus let out the sigh he was holding in and sat down behind his desk. He had a month before school started to find someone else to take the now-vacant teaching position. But, before that he needs to take a swig of that firewhiskey he's stored away...
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