A/N: I'm sorry guys, you'll have to excuse the shortness of this chapter. I pretty much wrote all of it since coming home from school this afternoon since I've had a lot of shit going on this last week (school projects, not emotional stuff, so don't worry) and I normally write these chapters in bits and pieces (I have a short concentration span) but I haven't had the chance. But it's something, and I'll have to try extra hard on the next chapter to make it up to you.

Chapter 11 – The Harvelles:

May 1999

Nebraska was a big place.

Harry stayed out his week in Gunnison, despite the mysterious older hunter moving on straight away. It had given him a chance to absorb what he had witnessed and heard. Of course, when it all sunk in, he couldn't resist delving into his books again, and making a long list in his journal about the differences between muggle and magical vampires. He'd have a lot of explaining to do to any hunter that came across his journal, but Harry was innately curious about the differences between similar creatures.

He already had a rather extensive section on ghosts and ghostly apparitions.

When his week in Gunnison ended Harry reluctantly packed away all of his research and headed off for Nebraska.

Harry wasn't afraid to say it again. Nebraska was massive. Looking for a single bar in a whole state with no other information save for the name was a lengthy task. Every single piece of civilisation he came across Harry would stop and hesitantly ask after the Roadhouse. It couldn't be completely off the grid, since Harry didn't imagine the come and go lifestyle of hunters to be all that good for business. Even so, it obviously wasn't very popular either.

'Under the radar'. It seemed like a good policy. Be average, don't stand out. Don't draw attention.

There were times, in Harry's cross-state journey, where he thought he might have stumbled across an in-progress hunt, but he never stuck around long enough to find out. As he was, Harry knew he wouldn't be of much use to them anyway, so it was better that he let them be.

It was quite by accident, really, when the frazzled teen finally stumbled across the Roadhouse.

Stumbled was the most accurate way to describe it.

All alone in a still fairly new place, with no-one watching over him, Harry had reverted to some of his more childish tendencies, ones ingrained in him by his time with the Dursleys – and boy, wouldn't they be celebrating his disappearance? Not eating for days on end was something his body was used to, but that by no means meant it was good for him.

Eventually, Harry had had no other choice than to pull over at the side of the road. There was a building not too far off, and Harry got out of his car, absently remembering to lock it behind him, and walked unsteadily towards it. Being weak and shaky from days without food, he collapsed in the dirt near the edge of the building and passed out.

When he woke he was sore everywhere. Phantom pains from the cruciatus raced up and down his legs. He had a massive headache, a combination of dehydration and a result of having hit his head on the ground.

The light burned at his eyes when he opened them, but he ignored the glare and instead simply glanced away from it, examining his surroundings.

Since he could no longer see the sky he deduced he was no longer outside, which he was glad for. He wasn't sure what might have happened to him if he'd been left out there for who-knows-how-long.

Then again...

Harry shot up, wincing as he had spun from the sudden movement. He wasn't outside any more. Who was to say he hadn't been kidnapped? He couldn't think of any plausible reason why someone would kidnap a teenager from the side of the road, but it was still possible.

His mind was starting to panic, running through all the possible conclusions in his head. That was, until he heard the giggling.

Turning slowly, Harry swung his legs off of the couch he'd been lying on and really looked at the room. Seated on a desk chair in one corner was a teenage girl, the source of the laughter. She seemed to find Harry's freak out rather amusing. Harry didn't. But he doubted he would have been kidnapped by a young teenager, so he let himself relax some.

"Ah," she started, taking a deep breath to stave off her giggles, "If I were a madman you would be dead already. You don't have very good survival instincts." The pause just before she said madman made Harry think she had been going to say something else, but he dismissed it. It wasn't important.

"Where am I?" Harry only barely avoided tacking 'kid' onto the end of his question, realising it would probably antagonise her. He himself had never been like that, but people around him at Hogwarts had been pretty uppity during fourth year, and that's about how old she looked.

Her dark eyes scrutinised him carefully for a moment, the silence an intimidating reminder that wherever they were, regardless of her age, he was essentially at her mercy.

"You're at the Roadhouse," she said finally, unfolding her arms and using her left hand to brush some of her blonde hair away from her face.

Harry blinked at her, uncomprehending.

"Where?"

"The Roadhouse," she sighed, slumping down in her chair and stretching her legs out in front of her, "The building you collapsed in front of?"

The Roadhouse...

"Like, the Hunter Roadhouse?"

The question slipped over Harry's tongue before he really had a chance to think it over, and he immediately clapped a hand over his mouth, watching her carefully to see what she would make of his exclamation.

"How do you know about that?" she asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You're no hunter."

On a better day Harry might have at least feigned annoyance at the assumption, however correct it may be, but his head was killing him and he wasn't in the mood for a game of twenty questions.

"Rufus mentioned it." And before she had a chance to say anything else he asked "Do you think I could have some water? Only, I think I'm going to pass out again."

Still frowning at him, she climbed to her feet and left the room. Harry heard the distinct sound of a lock clicking in to place behind her, so he figured she didn't trust him to be alone now that he was awake.

When the blonde teen came back she was accompanied by an older woman, who thankfully had the glass of water Harry had requested. He took it from her wordlessly, nodding his thanks, and quickly drank it. It was blessedly cold, but had a slightly odd taste to it.

Harry rolled his eyes.

Of course they would give him holy water.

It wasn't a Hunter bar for nothing.

"Not a demon," he mumbled irritably, shoulders slumping in relief as the pounding in his head lessened to a more bearable level.

"I can see that," the woman commented drily, leaning against the wall and watching him closely. Harry just blinked blearily up at her, glass held loosely between his fingers, and she rolled her eyes.

"Jo, can you look after the bar for me for a while?"

The teen – Jo – scowled, glaring alternately at Harry and the woman, presumably her mother.

"Why? It's not like anyone's out there anyway."

"You know Gordon likes to pop in when you least expect him. Go out front."

Jo crossed her arms across her chest.

"No. I'm the one who found him outside. Even if he's not some demon, he's not a hunter, and he knew about this place. I want to know what's happening!"

"Joanna Beth you go out to the bar right this instant." The woman gestured pointedly at the door, her voice low and steady. It was the sort of voice Mrs Weasley would adopt when telling off the twins. Harry would have obeyed automatically, that sort of conditioning was hard to break out of.

Jo looked for a moment as though she would protest further, but then she spun on her heel and stomped out of the room.

"I'm sorry about her. She gets quite nosy sometimes. But I do need answers."

Harry nodded, leaning back against the couch.

"I suppose introductions wouldn't hurt then. My name's Ellen, and this here is my bar, the Roadhouse, which, as you already know, caters to hunters."

"Harry. And no, I'm really not a hunter." As he leaned forward to place the empty glass on the ground he finally noticed the absence of his things. They had been left in his car... "Is my car still out there?" he asked, trying not to freak out. His entire life was in that car, as sad as that might sound.

"Yeah, don't worry about it kid, it's still where you left it. You don't really get any car thieves out this way – they'd have to have walked all the way out here to bother, and no-one does that."

"That's a relief..." Taking a deep breath Harry launched into a censored retelling of his last few months in America. This was where he wanted to be, and he needed them to trust him if he was going to gain anything from being here. Someone needed to know his story, even if it was far from all of it.

To Brynchilla:

I have to admit that I desperately want to put that sort of magical world/Crowley interaction in there, because it would be really funny, but it wouldn't be for a little while. It's still too soon. With the magical signature thing, it might be a bit of a mixture, depending on how I end up having Crowley adapt it for his own use.

As for Harry's driving, he was on his learners and taking lessons and stuff back in England, but he really just didn't have the time to finish it before he left, so he had the Goblins fake him up a license.

I'm glad you like it, and I hope you stick around :)