You've probably noticed by now that I took down chapters 21-27. From a quick re-read of the story, I gathered that those chapters were where the story started to go wrong. So I'm going to backtrack a bit and continue telling the story the way I should've told it from the beginning. (And yes, that means I won't be introducing a new character every few chapters ;).) So, without further ado, allow me to return to the story.

'As soon as possible' turned out to be later than everyone thought. Choosing what to take and what to leave behind was harder than it looked, especially for Jacob and Liesel.

"Are you taking that or not?" Jacob asked when he saw Liesel take a top out of her suitcase for the third time.

"I don't know," she said. "It's so hard."

"Well, we're probably going to need all new clothes once we get there."

"I know, but what if I need to pawn something?"

"Where would you pawn it?" Jacob laughed.

Liesel grinned. "Pawn shop. Duh."

He laughed again, standing and ruffling her hair. "Stop being so paranoid. We'll do just fine."

She smiled and looked at the suitcase again. A few things had a permanent place there--a stuffed hippo she'd had since her fourth Christmas, a locket that had belonged to her mother, a picture of both parents. She took the picture out of the suitcase and studied it. Vera Marsden sat on a wooden stool, smiling at the camera. Rudy Marsden stood behind his wife, his arms wrapped around her shoulders. Liesel smiled sadly. What would they say now, seeing their two children return to Europe? Nothing pleasant, to be sure.

She put the picture back in the suitcase and stood, glancing around her room for the hundredth time. Once they had everything in order, she would leave for Europe with her best friend and her brother to help Harry Potter defeat Voldemort. The more she thought about it, the more ridiculous it sounded--and the more real it seemed.

Liesel went to her closet and grabbed four more tops and folded them carefully before putting them in her suitcase.

By the time Jacob and Liesel finished packing, it was nearly seven-thirty. Jacob made hamburgers for dinner, proclaiming it their "last truly American meal for a while." They ate in front of the TV, like always. Liesel couldn't have said what the show they watched was about.

Jacob spent the next morning making arrangements for his dojo and their apartment. Danielle, his girlfriend and a third-degree black belt, would take over the dojo until they returned. None of them thought it would take more than a few weeks to get Voldemort out of the picture. After all, they knew where each horcrux was and the most effective ways to destroy them. No one had told Harry the truth about his scar yet, but Liesel was sure they could get rid of it safely before it became a problem. And if Liesel was sure, Jacob was sure too. They had discussed a dozen different ways to eliminate the horcrux after reading the last book, and one of them was bound to work.

The next morning, Jacob turned off the lights and locked up the apartment. They dragged their suitcases down the stairs, got in Jacob's car, and drove to the O'Mally's house. Once everyone was there, they clustered together. Katie opened her laptop, dashed off a few sentences, and hit the Enter key. A second later, they were back in Britain, standing in the middle of some random field.

"Well," Katie said. "That was easy."

Tom didn't ask for all the weirdos. He liked them well enough--when they paid--but when a guy with beetle eyes or a bearded lady asked for a room in the Leaky Cauldron, Tom wondered what he'd done to deserve this gig.

Today was one of those days. A slow day for the first hour or so (there weren't too many witches or wizards who wanted to leave home, what with You-Know-Who on the loose) but around nine-thirty a group of twenty or so people walked in. Most were dressed in Muggle clothes, but Tom recognized Dumbledore, Harry and--could it be?--Sirius Black. He was laughing at something Harry had said.

"It's all right, Tom," Dumbledore laughed when he scrambled to his feet. "They're all with me."

"All of them?"

"Yes. And they all need rooms."

He looked the group over again. Mostly Muggles, a few wizards, and one of Azkaban's most notorious criminals. Against his resolve, a grin tugged at his toothless mouth.

"All righty, then."

"You'll do it?"

"Yeah. Sounds like a party to me."

Diagon Alley was just as Alex had always pictured it: cobblestone streets, brick buildings and strange little storefronts that all seemed to invite him in with the promise of magical secrets. He longed to break free from Arthur's hand on his shoulder and run into the first shop he saw, which happened to be a cafe. What did wizard food taste like, anyway? Probably like Muggle food, only better because it was made by wizards.

"It's just up here," Arthur said, interrupting his thoughts. Alex immediately felt bad for wanting to ditch. This was his son they were talking about, after all. Besides, if Arthur hadn't gone with him today, then he probably would've run back and forth between all the shops, shouting like a maniac and asking a million stupid questions. He would get even more strange looks than he was getting now--thanks to his Muggle clothes, he guessed.

Finally, they reached a shop that seemed to explode with color. His friend Evan's joke about why casinos were covered in flashing lights--"Flashing lights! More inside!"--came to mind. He grinned. That was probably Fred and George's strategy. They were so cool.

Arthur pushed through the crowd toward the front desk, and Alex stayed close. He tried not to look at the shelves, knowing that if he so much as glanced at a box of U-No-Poo, he'd never leave the shop.

A few minutes later, they were at the front desk. One of the twins--his nametag said Fred--was manning the cash register. His eyes lit up when he saw Arthur. "Dad! What're you doing here? I thought you and Mum weren't coming back until Ron and Ginny got their supply lists?"

"We weren't planning on it," Arthur said, glancing at Alex. "But, ah, something's come up."

"By 'something' you wouldn't happen to mean that little booby trap we set up for Ickle Ronnykins, would you?"

"No, I--wha?"

"Never mind." He leaned forward, resting on his elbows. "So what is it?"

Arthur hesitated. "Could we head up to your apartment? I'd rather discuss this in private."