Author's Note: Here's the second chapter! Please stick around for a few before you decide to stay or not…I PROMISE FREQUENT UPDATES. Really, I mean it. Unbreakable vow.

Chapter Two: The Knight Bus

The trunk scraped across the pavement dismally. It was several blocks before Harry calmed down enough to slump down on the pavement and evaluate his options. He sure was in for it now. He had no Muggle money on him, and most of his gold was in his account at Gringotts wizarding bank. He had nowhere to go, and had broken wizarding law by using magic outside of school while still underage. Ruffling up his hair from the back with an uneasy hand, Harry gazed into the bushes opposite him. What were his options? He gripped his wand, thinking…he'd done magic and was already sure to be expelled…surely doing a little more couldn't hurt? He could use his broomstick to fly to London, retrieve his money from Gringotts, and then…begin his life as a criminal, on the run from the law. Feeling fully downtrodden and unhappy, Harry stared at the bushes, wondering what to do. But something from the bushes was staring back at him. Something dark, with small, menacing eyes—Harry stuck his arm holding the wand out into the street, prepared to cast a spell to defend himself, when BANG!

Harry was thrown back onto the sidewalk with tremendous force as the squealing of a set of breaks split the quiet night air and blinding headlights illuminated the street. He thrust his hands behind him to break his fall as a gigantic, triple-decker, purple bus appeared in front of him, explaining the sound of the breaks and the bright headlights. Gazing up at the bus, he saw a young man in a purple uniform that matched it and quite a few pimples hop onto the steps leading to the pavement from the inside of the bus.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus," he read off of a card in his hand, "emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just tell us where you want to go, and we'll take you there. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I'll be your conductor for this even—'choo doin' down there?" he asked, dropping his professional manner.

"Fell over," said Harry, pulling out from under him one of his now bleeding hands for inspection.

"'Choo fell over for?" asked Stan, grinning amusedly.

"I didn't do it on purpose," said Harry, annoyed, and now searching for his wand.

"Wha's your name?" asked Stan.

"Uh…Arnold," answered Harry, saying the first name he thought of that wasn't his own. He didn't want to make it too easy for the Ministry of Magic. "This bus," he said, trying to steer the conversation away from himself, his wand now back in his hand, "it can take me anywhere? It could take me to London?"

"Sure, and tha's eleven sickles."

Harry sighed with relief. He had that much at least. He told Stan he'd like to go to the Diogenes Pub, which was the entrance to Diagon Alley. With his help, they loaded Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage onto the bus, and put it down by one of the many beds that were crammed inside the interior like seats. Uncertainly, Harry sat down on it and flattened his bangs over his scar with his hand.

"This is Ernie," said Stan, introducing him to the man who was driving the bus and was wearing a thick pair of glasses. Harry handed over his money to Stan, and Ernie started the bus again. BANG! and they were careening across a narrow country road whose frequent turns Harry didn't think the long bus should have been able to take, especially at the terrific speed Ernie had them going. Harry grabbed the metal posts of his bed and held on as they continued to speed along. Ernie didn't seem to have quite mastered the use of a steering wheel, but they didn't hit anything—the trees and occasional signs along the road jumped out of the way as they approached, and then back into place once they passed. Occasionally the bus would jump to somewhere else with a loud BANG! and they'd drive a little further before dropping off a passenger.

Stan had taken out a black and white newspaper, a copy of the Daily Prophet, and had it opened to somewhere in the middle. Harry looked up at the moving, inky photograph on the cover, a picture of a gaunt man with sunken features, harsh cheekbones, and matted, long hair—

"That man!" said Harry, pointing at the paper in bewilderment. "He was on the Muggle news!"

Stan flipped his paper back to the front to look. "Sherlock 'Omes? Of course he was on the Muggle news! Where ya been, Arnold?" he said, acting superior. Handing the paper to Harry so he could take a look, he added "You should read the papers more often, Arnold."

Harry took the newspaper from Stan and read the headline: "HOLMES STILL AT LARGE."

The rest of the article was as follows:

Sherlock Holmes, possibly the most infamous prisoner to ever be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.

"We are doing all we can to recapture Holmes," said the Minister of Magic, Mycroft Holmes, this morning, "and we beg the magical community to remain calm."

Mycroft Holmes has been criticized by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.

"Well I had too, really," said an impatient M. Holmes. "Sherlock Holmes is a danger to anyone who crosses him, magical or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of S. Holmes's true identity to anyone. And let's face it — who'd believe him if he did?"

While Muggles have been told that S. Holmes is carrying a gun (a sort of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a string of crimes like the kidnappings and murders S. Holmes committed twelve years ago as part of his plan to appear a genius as he revealed the solution to each of the cases.

"He murdered people," said Harry, aghast, "just to make it out that he was a genius by telling everyone how it had happened?"

"Yep," said Stan, taking back the newspaper. "Been in Azkaban ever since, 'til now, o' course. Enjoyed quite a bit o' fame beforehand, too. Remember that case with that driver before you, Ern? Mind you, I wasn't working here then, but I 'eard about it, alright."

"What happened?" asked Harry.

"Some sort o' mad driver, used to drive this thing 'fore Ern here, killed off a few o' the passengers."

Ernie shivered while jerking the steering wheel madly as they sped down a street somewhere in Edinburgh. "Sommat about a good bottle and a bad bottle, I think. Makin' them take a pill to kill 'em. Thought they were suicides at first, them police did. But that Holmes man, he cornered that one after a while, and then whiles they in the same room, that mad driver gets shot, shot right through the chest. Guess that Holmes did him in, now I look back on it, Stan."

"Yeah, well, 'ee got all o' the credit for catching that serial killer, and things like that happened for awhile. 'Came a sort of celebrity, 'ee did, 'for they found 'im out. Kidnapped couple o' kids once, too."

Harry stared into the eyes of Sherlock Holmes, the only part of the face that didn't seem dead in the picture. He had noticed how Sherlock Holmes and Mycroft Holmes had the same last name, and wondered if they could be related. But that just seemed too strange—clearly they had nothing in common, and no one had raised it in the article.

Eventually the Knight Bus was speeding through the night streets of London, and they stopped outside Diogenes Pub with a horrible screeching of breaks. Harry hopped down onto the pavement and received his trunk and cage from Stan. "Bye, then," he said once he had everything. But Stan was looking past Harry, a look of surprise on his face, and Harry felt a hand close down on his right shoulder.

"There you are, Harry!" said a voice that sounded slightly relieved, but mostly controlled and reserved. Harry turned around to see Mycroft Holmes, the Minister of Magic, standing behind him.

"'Arry?" asked Stan. "Why're 'oo calling Arnold 'Arry, Minister?"

"Arnold? This is Harry Potter," answered Mycroft Holmes.

Stan looked excited and called to Ernie "Ernie, guess 'oo Arnold is? 'Ee's 'Arry Potter! I can see 'is scar now, look, Ern!"

Feeling very, very glum, Harry looked back up at Mycroft Holmes, who was holding a lime green umbrella in the hand that wasn't on Harry's shoulder. "Come on inside, Harry, I want to talk to you," he said, not without a trace of sternness, although he didn't sound angry.

"Bye, Arnold!" called Stan, and Harry waved back hopelessly as he allowed himself to be steered inside by Mycroft Holmes, trunk and cage in tow behind him.

The Minister led him to a private room on the next floor, and gave instructions to the landlady to have his things put in an empty room for him. Holmes sat himself down behind a desk in a space almost like an office after closing the door behind him, twirling his green umbrella back and forth with the point on the floor. A witch with dark hair and eye shadow sat nearby, staring down at a piece of parchment across which she had enchanted a quill to write slowly without looking up.

"Please, sit, Harry," said the Minister of Magic, gesturing to a seat in front of the desk with some space between the two of them. Harry sat uncomfortably, but not because of the chair. He was puzzled by Holmes's firm air that still carried detached friendliness.

"Well, Harry, I am sure you will be pleased to hear that Miss Marjorie Dursley has been dealt with accordingly. Two members of the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad were sent to Privet Drive this evening to return her to her normal state and erase her memory. She will not remember tonight at all."

Harry nodded, not sure what to say. He was feeling slightly numb, ready for the bomb to drop.

"Are you thinking of how your uncle and aunt reacted? Well, I won't try to pretend that they are not angry, Harry. They are, but they have agreed to take you back next summer, provided that you stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays," said Mycroft Holmes.

Harry wetted his dry throat enough to respond. "I always spend the Christmas and Easter holidays at Hogwarts, and I never want to go back to Privet Drive again." Then something clicked with him. If the Dursleys had been told he could stay at Hogwarts over these breaks, then that must mean he hadn't been expelled.

"Now, now, Harry. Surely you don't mean that. I'm confident that once you've had a chance to calm down you'll feel differently. They are your family, after all, and I'm sure you are fond of each other —er— very deep down." Harry couldn't help but notice how Holmes's voice seemed to flatten a little as he said this about family, and his eyes seemed to take on a sad quality momentarily. The moment soon passed, however, and he went on to advise Harry to take a room at the Diogenes Pub.

"Hang on," said Harry. "What about my punishment?"

"Punishment?"

"I broke the law! Underage wizards aren't allowed to use magic outside of school."

If everything about him hadn't suggested otherwise, Harry might have thought the Minister looked uncomfortable. "Well, surely you don't want to be punished?"

"No, but I still don't under—"

"Then what's all the fuss about?" asked Mycroft Holmes. "Now, as I was saying, I will check for you with Mrs. Turner, the landlady, if that room we had your things put in will be available for the next three weeks until your return to Hogwarts. And Harry, while you are here, I would prefer that you stay in Diogenes Pub and Diagon Alley. It would be best if you didn't wander around Muggle London."

Harry nodded, and gulped slightly. Mycroft Holmes smiled at him benignly and stood up from the desk with his umbrella, as if getting ready to leave.

"Wait, Minister, I was wondering if I could ask you something," said Harry, standing also.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Um, third years at Hogwarts are allowed to visit the village sometimes, and I was wondering—"

The Minister had begun to shake his head slightly as he watched Harry.

"It's just that my uncle and aunt didn't sign my permission form, and…" Harry stopped after this last effort, knowing the answer.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I'm not your guardian, and—" he kept going, in case Harry tried to object, "I think it would be best if you didn't wander while at school, either. No further than Dumbledore…yes, well…," he muttered to himself. "I'll be off then. He smiled down at Harry kindly again. "Anthea," he said to the witch, who picked up her parchment and ink bottle, still intently watching the quill slide across the page as she followed the Minister out of the door.

Harry sighed, though still more puzzled by everything that had happened than anything else, and left the room also after a moment to find Mrs. Turner, and elderly witch dressed in emerald-colored robes, waiting for him.

"I'll show you upstairs to your room, young man," she said. "Here it is, first door there on your right." She saw him in, and stopped as Harry let out an exclamation of pleasure.

"Hedwig!" He said, going to the wardrobe so that she could fly down to rest on his shoulder.

"She's a smart one," said Mrs. Turner. "Arrived just after you did. Now, you take care of yourself, and if you need anything, you just come down and let me know."

She left, and Harry sat down on his bed with Hedwig. "It's been a weird night," he said to her. He stared out of his small window at the dark streets on Diagon Ally, feeling as if it had been only minutes ago he had been watching Aunt Marge swell at the dinner table. Now, he was miles away in a room above Diagon Ally, having just met with the Minister of Magic, who didn't seem upset with him at all, but protective, if anything. Here he was, away from the Dursleys, and back in the magical world for the weeks leading up to his return to Hogwarts.

Harry settled Hedwig on her perch, and then slumped back on the bed, asleep within minutes.