July 3rd, 2003.
Number 4 Privet Drive, Surrey, England
Harry Potter was right pissed off. It had been eighteen days since he'd last heard from his so-called friends. Eighteen long days since he'd any any human contact. He wrinkled his nose at this last thought. The Dursley's never really counted as human contact. More like animal contact. Grinning wryly, he slid out of his bed and pulled on his best pair of jeans and a somewhat decent t-shirt. A short chunk of rope borrowed from Hagrid made a usable belt, and his beat up trainers still held his feet, just barely. He slammed the door open and strolled down the hallway, down the stairs and into the kitchen. Sitting on the table was a small stack of letters from the morning post. His eyebrows shot up into his hairline as he caught the name on the top envelope.
Harry Potter
Number 4, Privet Drive Surrey, England
Shrugging, he picked it up and was about to tuck it in his back pocket when he saw another one beneath it, bearing his name. His eyebrows knitted together as he flipped through the entire stack, seeing every one has his name on it. Glancing back at the first one he'd picked up, he noted the return address.
Canadian High Commission
38 Grosvenor Street
London, England
He grabbed the entire stack and raced back to 'his' room, sliding the small desk behind the door for a makeshit lock. Fingers trembling, he carefully opened the first parchment envelope. The paper stated that the letter was from the desk of Jean Chretien, High Commisioner to Great Britian.
Dear Mr. H. Potter,
On behalf of the Canadian government, I would like to personally extend political asylum to you. The application submitted by Sirius Black on your behalf has been approved by our Ministry of Immagration for refugee status. We await your confirmation visit no later than August 31st, 2003. If you are unable to get to our offices, we will arrange transportation.
Sincerely,
Jean Chretien, High Comssinioner to Great Britian
Looking through all of the letters, seven different countries had accepted an application that Sirius had apparently sent out by the owl load. Australia, The United States of America, Russia, South Africa, Norway, and Switzerland had all offered either refugee status or full citizenship in their country. With these letters however, he recieved rejection letters from Belarus and Japan, the latter citing an over-inflated population, the former an increased terrorist threat. Harry shrugged and threw the letters in the burn pile of trash mail and Daily Prophets, a few bearing a manual name change to "The Daily Profit" (doubtless by Harry himself). Looking over the names of the countries that had accepted him, he sighed. The only places he knew anything about were Switzerland and Norway, and even that amount was thinner than his knowledge of Arithmacy (he had figured it had something to do with math, but that's about it). A quick glance at Dudley's rarely used but jam packed bookshelf revealed a full set of like-new encyclopedias. 'Alright then. Let's learn.' He thought, grimacing at the thought of more work. He would write Sirius about it after he crossed at least three countries off the list.
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Two hours and a massive stack of books later, Harry had decided to cross out countires from the list. Switzerland, Russia, and Norway got the axe based strictly on the facts that he only spoke english, and they were entirely too close to the Voldemort threat. Belarus was also crossed off, because he found very little information on it. Australia sounded interesting, as did Canada. Pulling a fresh sheet of paper towards him, he dipped his quill into the inkwell and started a letter to Sirius.
Sirius,
I got some letters today. I reject the ex-commies, the cheese people and the ancient Death Eaters. The surfers and the lumberjacks sound nice though.
Harry
He rolled it up and set it aside for Hedwig to deliver when she awoke. While he waited, he decided to go for a short run. Shucking his pants in favour of a pair of shorts, he glanced at the window. A slow smirk formed on his face, and he wedged up the window just enough to crawl out, wriggling his way through and dropping to the first storey roof lightly. He hopped off onto the front lawn, and started jogging down the road, dodging the moving truck parked outside number 8. A pair bright blue eyes followed his progress as he rounded the corner and out of sight.
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July 3rd, 2003, evening.
Number 4 Privet Drive, Surrey, England
Vernon Dursley knocked heavily on his nephew's door, mustache bristling. A moment's hesitation sounded from the other side of the door, then it opened to reveal Harry, who looked quite disgruntled at being disturbed. He took a deep breate and focused on the boy. "We are having the new neighbors over for dinner tonight, and since they've already seen you, you're coming too. YOU are going to be on your best behavoir, and none of this bullshit like last time. Understood?"
Harry blinked and nodded. "I assume I'll be going by the St. Brutus' story again, and wear some of Dudley's old clothes?" Vernon scowled at him, squinty eyes narrowed further. "I take that as a yes. What time should I start dinner?" he asked, fully assuming that he would be cooking again, his uncle's grunted answer confirming that. "What's on the menu then?"
"Roast beef, potatoes, and corn. Our guests are American, and they own a highly profitable company, which I'm hoping to sell a very large order of bits to. I'm putting some Yankee beer in the freezer, so be sure you take them out before dinner is served!" With that, the abnormally large man stormed out of the room, more than likely to go help his whale of a son with his boxing. Harry shrugged and turned around, intent on hopping out the window and going for a venting run. Engrossed in his thoughts, he didn't see the rolled up magazine catapult through the open window and crack him inbetween the eyes. A string of curses followed that would make even the hardest sailor cringe. He could dodge bludgers all day and avoid them seemingly effortlessly, but one foreign object flies through his window and he gets hit. Ron's gonna have a feild day with this one, he thought. I've never been so glad that Oliver graduated, he'd make me run drills until I passsed out. Again. He picked it up, rubbing the sore spot on his nose, then he instantly became confused. Modified Mag? The black car on the cover (A Datsun 240Z, the cover read) looked meaner than anything he'd ever seen in Surrey, although the sports car next door looked close. Interested, he looked closer, only to become confused again. For on the front bumper was a small phoenix, looking remarkably like Fawkes, right above a small bit of script that struck him as familiar. Flipping through the pages, run forgetten, he found the article. The front bumper was shown large enough that he could read the script. S. B.? Na, it couldn't be. Flopping down on his rock hard mattress, he read the piece from the top.
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Three hours later Harry sat at the kitchen, still reading the magazine with one eye on the roast. He'd never realized that cars, and in particular fast cars, were so interesting. His Firebolt may top 140 miles an hour in a dive, but according the the magazine, an average tuned performance car could top that with few to no problems. The Datsun on the cover easily topped 180 miles an hour, with room to spare. The owner was a partner in a company called Phoenix Performance that was based in Vancouver, Canada. The other two owners, the article claimed, ran the gaunlet of racing from motocross to time attack, with at least one partner having a professional lisence in each. The timer dinged just as the guests knocked on the front door, making Harry grin. Perfect timing, he thought as he pulled the roast out and began to cut slices off onto a plate. Scooping the gravy out into a gravy boat, he flipped the potatoes into a ceramic dish and popped the corn onto a hot plate. He poked his head out the door and called to his aunt that dinner was ready.
Balancing the ornate plate on his left arm, he hoisted the roasted potatoes under his arm and flicked the corn pot on top of the potato dish. One step out the door into the dining room, he walked smack into a slightly larger person. The roast beef started to slip out of his hand, and the corn dish slid off the lid of the ceramic dish and headed for the floor. The other person snagged the corn dish and appropriated the roast beef from him as he stumbled, allowing him to grab the remaining dish with both hands. Regaining his balance, he straightened up and looked at the person who was balancing the roast beef and corn on her arm, grin plastered across her face. Pushing her dark pink hair aside, she stuck her right hand out at Harry with a wink.
"Wotcher. Name's Emily, and you must be Harry." She said, raspy voice tinged with a Canadian accent. Harry numbly shook her hand, wondering exactly how she knew his name. "Now let's get this to the table. I'm starved." Noddng her head towards the door at the other end of the hall, Emily handed the roast back to Harry and walked towards the dining room. Having no other choice, he followed her to the dining room, failing to see her "innocent" grin.
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Sitting in the dining room twenty long minutes later, Harry stared wide eyed at his plate. Across from him were Emily and her boyfriend Travis, his electric blue mohawk setting off her bright blue eyes, and her pink hair reflecting in his intense green eyes. Beside him was a shell shocked Dudley, only on his third helping, and on either end of the table sat Petunia and Vernon, both clearly offended by their guests' appearances. Winking at Harry, Travis turned his attention to Dudley with a grin.
"So, Mr. Dursley," He began, only to have Vernon interupt abrubtly with a "Please, call me Vernon."
Travis blinked. "Right, so Vernon. Your son and nephew look to be around 15, correct me if I'm wrong." Petunia gasped happily.
"Dudley just turned fifteen! He's going to be starting with his father's friend at his sports shop next week!" She gushed. Emily discreetly rolled her eyes at Travis. "Why do you ask?"
"We're opening up a new shop just outside of Surrey, and we've only managed to hire three people to run it. The front desk position hasn't been filled, and we were hopin' to get a younger person to fill it. Building a long lasting relationship with our people was key to our success state-side, back from our grandfathers' days of building Ford Cortinas for Trans-Am racing. Does Harry have a job"
"No, I don't," Harry spoke up for the first time. All eyes turned to him as he continued. "I haven't had a chance to look since I've been back from my school, and, y'know, not many places hire criminals." Travis raised his eyebrow and gave him a look.
"We'll hire you on a trial basis. It'll be unpaid for a week, just to see how you work out. If you work out past that, we'll pay you well until you go back to school. Next summer, on any breaks you come home for, you've got a job. Sound good"
"He'll do it!" Vernon nodded, answering for Harry without even a glance towards him. "When does he start"
Emily and Travis shared a look, his eyebrows shooting up towards the lower tip of his mowhawk.
"How about tomorrow? I'm sure the rest of our staff will be glad to have some help setting things up. We'll start him at seven in the morning and have him home for eight in the evening."
Again speaking for his nephew, Vernon nodded his agreement. "It'll do the boy good to have a decent days work." Travis nodded back at the obese man before a voice chirped from his pants pocket distracted him. Glancing back at Emily, he excused himself from the table and stepped outside. Emily smiled helplessly at their hosts.
"Sorry, he had to take that call. Our shop manager's the only one that has that number, and if he called, it's a serious problem." She figeted for a few seconds as both Petunia and Vernon fixed her with near identical piercing looks before she turned to Harry. "So do you know much about cars"
He squinted one eye nearly shut as he thought. "Not a whole lot. I learned a bit from a magazine that I got today, but I don't know much." She nodded back at him pensively and glanced at Travis slipping back into the room. He gave her almost an imperceptible nod with a lopsided grin. She stood aswell, offering another helpless smile to their hosts.
"I'm terribly sorry, but an issue came up with our parts storage. Thank you for dinner, that was the best pork roast I've had in many years. Harry, please be ready at seven tomorrow morning," Travis stated. He leaned over to shake hands with the Dursleys, before turning to Harry. "Thanks for comin' on." Vernon stood and ushered them out the door, trying his damnedest to smile charmingly. Emily thanked him one more time, then Harry heard the door close. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, he started to clear the dishes from the table. 'So much for a nice, boring summer'
Again, Gomen. This is all that I could find of my files. A combo of a new job, racing most of the year and damn near zero creativity zapped my will to continue until recently. I am launching a website with all the relevent details to each O/C and everything else as it becomes involved with the story. The address is freewebs dot com slash PotterAU