The Knight Bus, Harry decided, was his punishment for every wrongdoing he had ever committed. It was a triple decker monstrosity, carrying upwards of, from what Harry could tell, fifty people at a time, but that did not stop the driver—Ernie?—from gunning it like he was in a sports car. It was terrifying.

The bus tilted as its two left wheels came off the ground and Harry squeezed his eyes shut, clutching Bolt even tighter to his chest. Hagrid, pressed against his left side, tried very hard not to lean into Harry, but the bus must've tilted at least 20 degrees before Ernie finally spun the wheel enough that it jolted to the other side and teetered back onto all four wheels.

"Isn't there any other way?" Harry finally snapped.

After they'd finally gotten to Motorway 1—the main route of Okoku—and boarded the Knight Bus, which had (apparently) gotten their location from Dumbledore, Harry had clammed up. There were people of all ages, heights, weights, dispositions—and all of them were crowded into the Knight Bus, talking and shouting and arguing and…

It had been too much. As Hagrid had finished arguing over whether Bolt could be allowed out during the trip (he'd won), Harry had stared at the giant mass of Okoku residents. The difference between them and Little Whinging couldn't be more astounding.

One guy had all of his hair but a stripe going from the front of his head to the back shaved off. A teenage girl sitting beside him was putting on lipstick, but also wearing—were those sweatpants? And the boy behind her had bright blue hair! Harry had snapped his head away, stunned, only to stare straight at a shirt which had the word—the word—even Dudley wasn't allowed to say that word! Harry had begun to back away, only to be stopped by Hagrid's mass and pushed into a seat by a window—one of the few remaining which actually had another empty spot beside it.

Before Harry had even had time to process what he'd just seen Ernie had gunned the engine, and then he'd had more important things to think about—most importantly, keeping his lunch down.

But as the bus lurched again Harry couldn't bring himself to care about anything other than getting off.

"Nope." Hagrid laughed. "Only real transport we got between towns, if you don't count walking. I mean, there's trains too, but they only go a couple major places." A… boot?... suddenly flew through the air, smacking the massive man in the face. He grabbed it so casually that Harry gaped and shouted, "Anyone lost their boot?"

A guy with bright fuchsia hair and what most have been earrings for your nose stood up and waved. "Toss it back, yeah?"

Hagrid lobbed it at the teen, who caught it, before turning back to Harry. "Don't worry, Harry. No ones died on here in years!"

The bus tilted again and Harry's stomach rolled. Bolt, still pressed against his chest, didn't seem to be doing much better. He pressed his face into the Shinx's fur and took a deep breath.

"We can get through this, Bolt. It can't be that long, can it? Not at the speed we're going at, anyway." At the front of the bus Ernie laughed, and Harry had the sudden irrational fear that the man had heard him and was going to somehow force the bus to go faster. He kept his head down and hoped for the best.

Two Hours.

Two Hours.

Two hours of Harry constantly fearing for his life, of noise levels that he'd previously never imagined, of whipping through miles and miles of forest at speeds that should remain unknown for any bus, much less a triple-decker.

But he'd made it.

"And here we are!" Hagrid said, pulling the luggage that he'd stored under the bus. "Welcome to Public City!"

Harry had a feeling that by the end of the day he'd be numb to surprises, but that hadn't happened yet. He wasn't sure what he'd expected from the Capital of Okoku, but this wasn't it.

Little Whinging had been aligned in a perfectly even grid, pristine white sidewalks and designated residential and governmental and commercial and industrial districts. Little Whining had trees lining the middles of roads, weekly building inspections, and gardens in every backyard.

Public City? Not so much. From what he'd seen coming in the city just sort of… started. One minute there had been trees and grass and wilderness, and the next? The tallest building Harry had ever seen, immediately followed by who-knows-how-many others at least as tall. Hagrid called them skyscrapers. They were pressed together in irregular clusters, with no rhyme or reason to their height, their shape, their location, their anything! The sidewalks seemed to have been slapped haphazardly between buildings, and there weren't even any roads for trees to line the middle of except for the one the bus was driving on, and considering its condition Harry would be amazed if anything could live on it.

But despite all of that, despite how bizarre and unfamiliar Public City was, Harry loved it. Oddly shaped gray Pokémon carrying concrete beams worked on the construction of future buildings while flying types of all shapes and sizes flitted back and forth through the city, carrying packages on their talons. Rattata scampered in and out of storm drains, and he could see a visibly alive trash bag swallowing whole a visibly inanimate one.

And the best part? None of the people—the ones with hair dyed in every color imaginable, the ones who wore sports apparel but weren't running, the little kids who climbed onto fences and ledges and dumpsters as if unafraid of getting in trouble—not one of them batted an eye at any of the Pokémon.

Harry smiled. "Happy to be here."

Hagrid laughed and slapped a hand on Harry's shoulder, guiding him to a storefront on the bottom level of one of the skyscrapers—The Leaky Shuckle, a rather dilapidated sign proclaimed. "Glad to hear it. Let's get you settled in."

The Leaky Shuckle was, at it turns out, a place where you could eat and a place where you could sleep if you were far away from your house. Hagrid called it a pub and inn.

It reeked of alcohol, inside. The smell wasn't exactly unknown to Harry—both his aunt and uncle had partook on occasion, especially when Important Guests had come over, and occasionally, after Uncle Vernon had done particularly well or poorly, he and Aunt Petunia would go out without Dudley or Harry and come back smelling of it. But this was by far the most pungent amount of alcohol Harry had ever come across. The noise was similar to that of the Knight Bus, too, which didn't help Harry's impression of the place, but then Public City as a whole seemed to operate a few decibels higher than Harry was used to.

Hagrid and Harry were pressed between a couple of barstools at the bar as the larger man paid for two rooms for the night and asked for a menu, and unfortunately while that allowed Harry to keep a pretty good eye out on his surroundings—he knew better than to get backed into a corner—it also meant that nearly everybody could see him.

A man at the end of the bar glanced at him, then turned more fully and slurred, "You gotta put it in your pokéball."

Harry glanced back and forth, but the man was clearly talking to him and Hagrid was busy. "What?"

"You…" The man coughed, obviously drunk. "You gotta put your Pokémon in its pokéball. No Pokémon indoors."

The man's words had caught the attention of the other bar patrons, now, and they were beginning look at Harry and Bolt, too. Harry squirmed further into Hagrid, trying desperately to think of a way to catch the man's attention but paralyzed from the stares.

Then a woman spoke. "It can't be…"

Then another, hopefully: "No…"

Another, but this time a man: "It is! It is!"

The first woman to speak took a few steps towards him. "Harry Potter."

The floodgates opened and suddenly everybody in the bar was rushing towards him, shouting over one another—"Where were you?" "Why have you come back?" "Bless you! Bless you!" "Would you sign my napkin?" "It's an honor, an honor!"

By this point Hagrid finally realized what was happening and began physically forcing people away from Harry. "Move aside! Move aside! He's just a boy! You're overwhelming him!" With the help of Tom, who threatened anyone who refused to move, Hagrid managed to push Harry into the elevator. The doors closed behind the two as Tom kept anyone from lunging into the elevator at the last minute. Hagrid quickly pressed a button—2—and the elevator pitched upwards. They got off on a hallway with numbered doors lining either side and Hagrid pushed Harry and Bolt forward until they arrived at one of the doors—"24"—before locking the door behind them.

"Sorry, Harry. I shoulda warned you." Hagrid sighed, and sat on the bed closest to the door.

It was a small room, with a bathroom immediately to the right of the entrance and two queen beds taking up the majority of the space in the central part of the room. A television—turned off—sat opposite the beds on a set of drawers. It looked like an older model, one which Harry only saw in pictures and videos of Little Whining 10 or 20 years ago, but a remote sat next to it, so it was clearly still operable.

"Warned me about what?" Harry snapped. It was the first time he'd backtalked Hagrid since the first few days. Harry usually knew better than to do that—you never knew what punishment the adult would throw at you—but he was irritated, and confused, and tired, and a whole bunch of people had just treated him like he was the Mayor himself.

"Your famous, Harry."

Harry stared at Hagrid. "No, really? I mean, it's not like any of them were saying my name over and over or anything. Not like that at all." Hagrid growled, then, obviously unprepared for Harry's sudden attitude shift, and Harry couldn't help it—he flinched, eyes screwed shut for the blow. He'd messed up. He knew better than to be a smartass—he didn't deserve the benefit of the doubt like Dudley—and now Hagrid was going to realize that this was a mistake. That Harry wasn't worthy. And then… and then, after Hagrid felt him sufficiently punished, he would send Harry back to Little Whinging, and Bolt to become meat at the supermarket because what was the point of continuing to take care of useless boy who didn't even know not to backchat and his friend?

But the blow didn't come. Bolt growled from his place in front of Harry, but he didn't attack Hagrid either.

"Harry…" Hagrid's voice was soft, gentle, almost scared. "Harry. Oh Harry…" Harry cracked his eyes open enough to see a hand reaching towards him and he flinched back instinctively, only for Hagrid to yank the hand back as if burnt. "I'm not gonna…I'm not gonna hit you, Harry, ok? I promise I'm not."

Harry slowly uncurled his body, watching Hagrid carefully. But the man seemed to be telling the truth. He'd backed up a few feet, and was now staring cautiously at Harry, both arms held out, palms up.

And Harry suddenly felt ashamed. He had been awful for the first day or so with Hagrid, smartassing and running away and even trying to attack him once caught, but the man had never hit Harry. He'd never spanked him, or beat him, or even starved him. And besides that, he hadn't actually done anything to make Harry think that would change, either—he'd just backchatted and assumed the blow would come.

But it didn't.

Because Harry wasn't in Little Whinging anymore. And Hagrid was kind, and gentle, and had spent hours telling Harry stories even though he wasn't getting anything in return.

It took less than a second for Harry to throw himself onto Hagrid, not bothering to hold back the tears, and sob into the man's hug.

He finally felt like he could breath, like he could feel. For the first time in his memory Harry knew he was allowed to backchat, he was allowed to whine, he was allowed to cry. Hagrid wouldn't punish him, he wouldn't beat him, he wouldn't starve him or force him to work until his muscles gave our or lock him into a too-small closet for hours at a time.

Tomorrow he'd deal with his unexpected fame. Tomorrow he'd deal with the strangeness of the region. Tomorrow he'd deal with Spoinkperl, and Public City, and the Leaky Shuckle.

Tonight he'd be held for what was surely the first time since his parents and cry for the first time in almost as long. He'd eat new foods—fried asparagus and grilled cheese—and watch his first TV show with Pokémon—one geared towards kids, called Looney Toons, and ignore Hagrid's melancholy looks. He'd try hot cocoa for the first time, and have take a shower and a bath because Hagrid said he was allowed in the bathroom for as long as he'd like.

Tomorrow he'd go back to confronting the unknown, but tonight? Tonight he'd revel in it.