Disclaimer: see Ch.1
A/N: Thanks once again to I of my wonderful reviewers, you guys rule. Be sure to tell me what you want in the way of a relationship, or lack thereof, for Harry. A special thanks to my betas, Goddess Fanta and bookworm914, they take my unintelligible scribbles and shape it into "complete sentences in the Queen's English."
4: The Pub
I let myself smirk as I wondered down the street. I had earned this trip. Not only had my distraction gone off without a hitch, but the Bushman girl now trusted me. Most people trust those who feed their paranoia and insecurities. I could now get away from Petunia whenever I wanted. All I had to do was take one hormonal and emotionally charged teen, Sara, agitate, sit back and wait for the show.
After my brilliant distraction, I caught a bus to London. There was no one else from Privet Drive on the bus. Of course the residents of Privet Drive would never lower themselves to the point of using public transit. The bus had given me opportunity to liberate plenty of money from the inattentive passengers to pay for my little vacation.
The trip took less than two hours. Due to the job schedules of both of the Bushmans the fight accrued ridiculously early, I arrived in London before most of the shops had not yet opened. I had dropped a hint that Sara was acting angry during dinner last night to insure that Petunia was glued to the window when it happened.
I wandered into a novelty shop near the station to kill time. While browsing through the childish gags, I came across a display of temporary hair dyes; they washed out in water apparently. The dyes came in everything from bright neon to your standard hair colors. How could I pass up something so wonderfully useful? I quickly bought 12 tubes, four each, of blond, brunette, and ginger.
After I had paid, I took a quick look into her mind and saw that she loved kids butt she was completely barren. I asked the clerk if I could use their bathroom to apply it, the, sign clearly stated it was for employees only, as a joke on my mother who was across the street. As I asked, I schooled my face into a look that screamed innocent hope and excitement. If I could have seen myself, I probably would have puke. The clerk, completely fooled by my cute little kid routine, agreed instantly, even offering to show me how to apply it.
I walked out of the shop, now a blond, and wandered through a nondescript shopping district. I stopped at a stand being setup outside a sporting goods store. It held ropes, camping gear, and a wide selection of knives. I saw a knife I wanted, but floating it in plain sight in the middle of a street (i.e. no cover), with an attendant right there seemed too risky. So I walked over and helped the clerk lift a large camp stove on to the table. As he was thanking me, looking at my face, I quickly palmed a medium sized folding knife. As I continued on my way I pulled out my new acquisition to examine it more closely. It had a three inch, stainless steel, blade that folded into the black hard plastic and rubber handle. I peeled off the sticker and slipped the knife into my back pocket.
As I continued down the street, I started to feel a small tingling at the tips of my fingers, like the feeling you get when your legs go to sleep. The further down it I went, the more the feelings increased. I stopped and examined the street I was on: There was nothing unusual about it, but the feeling was still there. I closed my eyes and reached out with IT.
After the initial head rush, I always felt when I used IT, I sent out tendrils of IT, feeling my way to the source of the tingling. It was coming from a rundown pub two stores down across the street. I opened my eyes to look incredulously: This dirty little pub that had IT hanging all over it. It was incredible; unlike anything I had ever encountered or thought possible. The pub was covered with a multilayered, grid like, web of IT.
For the first time in a long time, I was hesitant and unsure of what to do. How was it possible for a building to be covered in IT? Should I go in? Was the building generating it all on its own, or was someone else doing it? If it was someone else, why and how would they do it?
I stopped myself right there, disgusted with myself; I would go in. I didn't survive the Dursleys just to be scared off by some pub that felt weird. I would watch the pub for awhile before diving in though. Nobody entered or exited it nor did anyone else really pay it much attention. In fact, no one even looked at it, not even for a second. They would walk right by the pub without glancing at it. Suddenly the web's purpose became clear; it was there to prevent those who had no control over their IT from seeing the pub. That meant that the pub had to be some sort of gathering place for those with IT.
That settled it: I was going in. The only question is how I could get in without displaying my ignorance. I refused to show such weakness in my first real encounter with others like me. After considering my options, I decided that I would just have to brazen it out. I would simply walk in as if I owned the place and project an air of purpose. Besides if worse came to worse, I was confident that I could take care of myself if it came to violence.
It was still early, so the pub would be nearly empty, so I wouldn't need to worry about overwhelming odds. That under population would also mitigate the damage should I have to slip into a "lost little child" facade. I figured that if I just went in, order a glass of water and find a table, I could eavesdrop to my heart's content.
Why was I dithering around out here, making plans about how to enter an inherently unknown situation? Too Hell with my pride! If anyone was inside, I would play the lost little boy because it had the greatest chance of success. Now, giving myself a little shake, I am going to stop procrastinating and go forward to face my future. This was my time and I will grasp it. I will become great, I will become powerful, and I will change the world. Give me a few years and I will have the world dancing to my tune.
A/N: So tell me what you think. VOTE OR DIE, I will accept no bitching about the eventual pairings if you don't vote on one now.
