On the Other Side

~VI~

That was just what he needed, Harry silently fumed. Just when he thought that his life couldn't get any more bizare than it already was, the Fate, or what have you, decided to play with him again, it seemed. Only about an hour ago he'd gone out to have dinner in a cafe somewhere on the outskirts of unnamed Muggle village in Albania in the company of his mortal enemy turned a reluctant ally due to their magic being in a tangled knot. And at first all had been pretty uneventful: they'd made an order and been waiting for food and for a person the Dark Lord should have been meeting there.

Of course, they, or rather, Harry needed a disguise, as his face, and, more importantly, the lightning bolt scar were too recognisable. No one remembered how Voldemort had looked like before he lost all traces of humanity to his appearance, so the Dark Lord simply changed into more Muggle-like clothes he kept at his secret hideout precisely for these purposes.

As for Harry – well, they decided that they couldn't afford to spend magic for such trivialities as glamours, especially – complicated enough to hide the curse scars, as the Dark Lord put it – so the Boy Who Lived was going to do with Muggle disguise methods.

Hence Harry Potter was now wearing a long blonde curly wig with a nice fringe and bangs, which they borrowed from a mannequin in the shop on the other end of a village, along with the skirt, blouse and stockings from the other shop far enough from the first one to not raise a rucus over the repeated theft. The stilletto sandals completed the outfit, and Harry could not be more glad for the fact, that the heels of the only big enough sized pair were not too high. These they needed to actually buy, because looking for the right size had proven to be a nightmare without shop-assistant. Even then, the shoes were not Harry's exact size, although a bit more bearable, than their first try (wich Voldemort "borrowed", but in the end was forced to return back to the shop).

The issue of lightning bolt scar was dealt with, too, resulting in Harry's face painted with the use of some poor girl's makeup kit, which the Dark Lord shamelessly snatched in the yet another place they visited on their way to the cafe. All in all, the image was not bad, quite the contrary, but Harry was still shooting angry glares to his 'companion', though they were undermined by his everlasting furious blush and cute pouty lips, which, too, were painted in a nice shade of pink to match the blouse and nail polish, which the Dark Lord insisted that Harry needed in order to avert supposed qurious gazes from his not very feminine hands.

When the person Voldemort had been waiting for has arrived at last, Harry was glad to finally be somewhat hidden by their back from the rest of the cafe's visitors, with the oily and sticky gazes of males and annoyed glances of females directed his way. His joy lasted maybe a minute or so, and then all of it went to the drain: their guest took out the gun and, pointing it right into Harry's face made a threat "to shoot this pretty doll right between her beautiful eyes if the necromancer won't cooperate". After which they both were calmly led out, the gun now poking Harry between shoulder blades, and Voldemort angrilly hissing insults in Parseltongue under his breath, but not doing anything against their captor, which frankly surprised Harry a bit, before he remembered the situation with their magic.

The bald guy with a gun was at first muttering something along the lines of "Devil worshipers" and "should have burnt them on the spot", harshly shoving Harry and Voldemort in the backs, ushering them forward, but then suddenly grabbed the Dark Lord by the shoulder, turning him and intensely looking into his eyes with a pleading look and asking with urgency: "Are you really the necromancer?! You can raise them, dead, can you not? My daughter! – "

The situation could probably have still ended in their favour, Harry had mused, but then they were brought to their captor's hideout, where his comrades were waiting. And among of them Harry spotted three familiar faces, whom neither he, nor the Dark Lord were glad to meet, and neither was anticipating to face in such a company: the darkest corner of the poorly lit room was occupied by none other than Lucius Malfoy, and amidst the crowd of people, who were looking suspiciously akin to criminals of some sort, Harry spotted two identical freckled faces under identical red haircuts.