I do not own Danny Phantom or Harry Potter. Actually, I don't think I own anything at all.

Chapter 1 – The Leaky Cauldron

There was rain pouring in London's night– a lot of rain, in fact. The sidewalks drowned, the tiny puddles transformed into large pools, and a thick layer of muddy water covered the roads. Dark, thunderous clouds conquered the night sky and overshadowed the moon and stars. Because of the weather, the streets were empty of the usual crowds rushing off to their errands and instead replaced with honking cars stuck in traffic, which were also starting to disperse. The only people outside in this horrendous weather were the unfortunate and the homeless.

Or they were the idiot who got lost in the worst rainstorms possible, Danny thought wryly, furious at himself. His grip tightened on his backpack straps, and he lowered his hood more as he dashed under the pelting rain. He was lucky that his dark red jacket was water-proof; otherwise he would've been drenched by now.

Danny Fenton had just arrived to London, England for his late summer vacation and should've been at the hotel. But now, though? He doesn't know where the heck he is.

Originally, he had planned to spend his summer by staying home at Amity Park and hanging out with his friends Sam and Tucker, along with checking to see if there were any annoying ghosts whose butts needed some kicking. You see, the Fentons specialized in ghost-hunting, with it being their job and obsession, and it just so happens that Danny is a ghost – a half-ghost, really, since he's technically half dead. He transformed into his new status two years ago when he accidentally turned on his parent's invention the Ghost Portal, an artificial gateway to the Ghost Zone, while still inside it and had gotten his DNA fused with ectoplasm, a ghost energy. Now he has an alternate ghostly ego called Danny Phantom with white hair, glowing green eyes, and dozens of cool ghost powers, whose main motive is to protect Amity Park from all the evil ghosts. The superhero gig was rather tiring, in Danny's opinion, but someone had to do it. Plus, there were advantages to the job, like being able to turn intangible and shoot out beams of ectoplasm.

So when his parents decided on a last-minute family trip to the UK, he protested of course.

"Come on, Danny," His dad Jack Fenton had said, grinning. He had a little dance to his steps. "You never know, we might catch some England ghosts!"

"I think the term is British ghosts, Jack," proposed his mom, Maddie Fenton. She was packing her suitcase then. "And you should start getting ready, Danny. Who knows? It'll be fun for you and Jazz."

"Oh! I hear that there's a ghost convention there for us, Maddie," his dad had exclaimed to his mom. "Which weapons should we bring to compare with the British people's technology? The Fenton Specter Deflector, the Fenton Ghost Peeler, the – ooh, how about the –"

And that pretty much ended their England vacation discussion. Danny had gone to the Nasty Burger right after with his friends and complained about the matter, but they agreed with his parents about how great it was for him too.

"When was the last time you took a vacation ?" demanded Sam, sitting across from Danny in the booth. She continued before he could answer. "You should take this chance, Danny. It's a break from all the ghost-hunting."

Danny rested his head on hand. "Still," he insisted, "if I'm gone, who's going to protect this town? All of the ghosts might realize that I'm not here and they could group together and do a massive ghost invasion or something!"

"It's just one trip, Danny," reassured Sam. "Amity Park won't go into chaos if you're gone for a week or two."

"Maybe."

Sam comforted Danny with a pat on the shoulder, which relaxed him, if only slightly. "Don't worry," she reassured. "I hear Valerie's not going anywhere for the summer."

That was how Danny jumped on a plane with his family and flew all the way to London.

He shivered a bit as the rain continued on. Splashes appearing at every move, he was sure his pants were soaked. His feet slowed down a bit when he finally decided to have a quick look-around. His hotel was somewhere around here, right? Or was it the next street? If memories served him right, Jazz mention something about how they were staying at a hotel called Premier – was that even right? – Inn, but that was it.

Exasperated, he shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling an unfamiliar bulge in his right one. He took out the thing and recognized it as his cellphone. God, he was dense sometimes. Why didn't he use his phone to call Jazz in the beginning? This thought took three seconds. It took him another three seconds to realize that the mobile was vibrating. Hastily, he took refuge under a store's canopy, an action which abated the water attacks only slightly, and flipped his cell open. His hood fell as he did so.

"Hello?" He slightly yelled to the phone, making sure whoever it was heard him. The surrounding rain was loud enough to overwhelm his dad's snoring, and that's something. Hopefully it was Jazz who called him.

He couldn't hear it, but there was a thump, a sharp squeal, and a loud "Jack, that's not a ghost!" on the other end of the line. "Danny!" exclaimed his sister, sounding relieved. Then, with an admonishing voice, "I've called you over twenty times! Where'd you go?"

Joy spread on his face when he heard her voice again. "Jazz!" he said. "Boy, am I glad to hear you. The rain is horrible in London."

"Wait, you're still outside?" She interrupted. The next part was yelled. "Why are you still in the rain? It's dark, and a monsoon will be out there! You need to get indoors."

He snorted at the thought of a gigantic monsoon suddenly dropping from the sky and overflowing the entire street. It'd be like a street aquarium. "Well, I can't exactly do that until I know where the hotel is," he said.

He heard the ruffling of a paper on Jazz' end. After a few seconds, she said, "It's on Devonshire Street."

"Uh…" he squinted at the street sign. "Is that, by any chance, near Charing Cross Road?"

There was a pause. Then, "Danny, that's on the other side of the town!"

"…oh." He chuckled nervously, "Oops?"

She sighed. "Look, there's no way you'll make it to the hotel in this weather –"

"– I can go ghost and fly –"

"– No!" she insisted panicky. "London has security cameras everywhere, and turning invisible or just flying will turn their attention on you. It'll be impossible without getting caught."

He quickly looked around. His sister was right. There was a security camera at every corner he saw, and one of them was bound to see him transform, no matter where he was.

Well. That's just great.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his head. "Well, what do can I do now, if I can't use my powers?" he asked Jazz. He started at the crackling sound of thunder roaring in the background. It was time to find a place to stay at.

"You still have the money I gave you, right?" she asked. Her voice was becoming more static with every word. That meant his phone was about to burst out, and they needed to finish talking soon. "The 100 pounds?"

His mind wondered to the stack of British currency lying at the bottom of his backpack. "I think so, why?" The thunder was getting louder, and if he'd peered at the sky, he'd have seen a bit of lightning.

"Just find a hotel nearby and stay there for the night," her voice was now three-quarters static. "We can pick you up first thing in the morning."

Eyes looking around, he couldn't see anything except blurs of buildings. He could make out a couple of apartments and a bookstore across the street, but he wasn't sure if there were any inns for him to stay at. The storm was thickening too much.

"Jazz, there's nothing out here," he said after moments of silence. When there was no response, he asked, "Jazz? You there?"

He put his phone closer to his ear and was rewarded with only static. His phone was dead. Closing it and slamming it back into his backpack, he got out from under the canopy, furious, and ran down the street to find a hotel.

It was starting to really get late. His backpack was dripping water, and he was freezing his butt out here. There was still no sign of a hotel.

Finally, at the corner of his eye, there lay a blackened, old shop front. It had an odd sign, portraying a witch stirring a cauldron and the name "The Leaky Cauldron." It seemed to be a pub of some sort, an ancient pub. Pubs were hotels, right? He walked closer to the place, ten feet away from it. Danny thought it looked too old to have people coming in and out, but there it was. Albeit, the customers didn't look exactly normal. They all dressed in bizarre colored clothing that certainly did not match for the rainy occasion: oddly colored tuxes, pinstriped cloaks, – and were those robes? It was an odd sight. But then he heard a conversation between a robed woman and a cloaked man who were entering the place. They were talking loudly enough for him to hear them through the rain.

"Did you hear about the Boy-who-Lived staying here a couple of years ago?" asked the British woman, walking in. Danny's interest spiked at the word 'staying.' "I heard it was because he had blown up a relative of his."

"The Potter boy?" said the man in distaste, as he held the door for her. "I cannot believe that the Leaky Cauldron accepted the loon. The fame's gotten to his head, ever since his Dark Lord rumor." They were inside the pub before Danny could hear the rest.

It didn't matter, anyway. All the conversation did was confirm his suspicions of the old place being an inn. What were they gossiping about? The boy-who-lived? Blowing up relatives?

He groaned. Great. The only place he can stay at happens to hoard a bunch of wackos in robes. Well, it's not like he has a choice.

Taking his chances, as well as a deep breath, he opened the door to the Leaky Cauldron.

Tom had seen all kinds of customers, being the innkeeper of the Leaky Cauldron. After all, you can't serve the gateway between the non-wizarding world and Diagon Alley without witnessing many strange cases. He'd seen wizards, witches, warlocks, werewolves, hags, dwarves, goblins, vampires (although they were rare in the pub), and dozens more. There'd also been times when a customer would turn out to a criminal or whatnot, so he's ready for anything, really. Nothing could surprise him now that he's experienced nearly every scenario. Heck, even Harry Potter had stayed here.

So when a teenage boy enters his inn at nightfall, soaking wet and with only a backpack, the first thought that smacked him in the face as he wiped the glasses was, "runaway wizard."

The short boy looked like any other teenage wizard kid, but he certainly had bad timing, running away in weather like this. Gazing around, the kid had damp, dark hair that covered much of his forehead, except you couldn't tell what color it was because of the red hood he wore. His attire was entirely muggle: the jeans, the rain-jacket, the backpack. All were muggle-made. With all the overwhelming evidence he'd seen, Tom safely concluded that the boy was at most a half-blood, if not a muggle-born.

The kid had barely closed the door for a second before abruptly staggering backwards to the entrance, slipping, falling to the ground, and making a loud, crashing noise that ended with an "Ow!" Food on the nearby table fell to the floor, marking the hardwood with colors of tea and brandy. Everyone looked up from their discussions and stared at him. The kid either ignored the eyes or didn't notice the stares the customers gave him. He was just lying there.

Well, when you make that loud of a ruckus, Tom mused. Deciding to do something, he put on the friendliest face he could muster and stepped out from the bar to help the boy.

Now closer to him, he deduced that the boy seemed rather young – a 5th year student, if he had to guess his age. His hood had also fallen down when he did, revealing raven hair that resembled a bird's nest, and his jeans were rather dirty from the mud outside. The kid was completely soaked. He would've passed as a typical muggle if one wasn't aware of his status.

Bending down to the kid's left side, Tom asked, "You all right there, boy?"

The kid sat up from his prone position and rubbed his head with his right hand, groaning. Blue eyes stared back at Tom, blinking owlishly. He offered the man a small grin, sheepishly saying, "I'm fine. Sorry about the mess, though."

His accent caught Tom slightly off-guard. So the kid was American? He hadn't expected that. Maybe not a runaway then. Just a... tourist? A really lost one? He finally registered the boy's words and turned his head to inspect the mess on the floor. Aside from a fallen chair, two cracked glasses, and a large puddle of spilled brandy and tea, nothing was seriously damaged.

He turned back to the kid, who was still looking sheepish. "It's no problem," he reassured. "The mess is easily fixed with a bit of magic. No harm, no foul, right?" He gave a smile.

"Magic. Right," the kid said, elongating the word. Was it something Tom said? The boy paused for a moment before asking, "Uh, do you have any rooms left?"

The question was expected. "I believe we have a couple to spare," he replied, not missing a beat. "I assume you would want one?"

"Yeah," he agreed, nodding eagerly. "I'll just stay for one night, if that's okay."

"One night then. I'll take you to your room after you check in." He helped the boy up from the floor and led him to the register. "Oh, I never quite caught your name."

The boy tilted his head at him. "Oh, I'm Danny," he said. "Danny Fenton."

I've written, checked, edited, re-checked, re-edited, and done a whole bunch of other things to this chapter. So if you've detected a mistake or something else wrong, kindly leave it in a review.

Thanks for reading!