Chapter 18

Arrival

Harry and Ginny quietly watched the passengers moving to and fro along the dock. There were scads of people, and all of their luggage and children, and it was frankly rather overwhelming. It didn't help that they were both very nervous about this next phase of their adventure.

The cruise had been absolutely wonderful, and Harry hoped they could do it again someday, and next time without the potential dire consequences of screwing up hanging over their heads.

After a while they trailed hand-in-hand after the crowd. Harry presumed that most of these people were going through customs, but he saw no signs yet indicating the proper location. They really needed to provide better directions.

In the distance were the tall towers of New York, and honestly it was quite intimidating. While London had its skyscrapers, it was nothing like what he was seeing. He was suddenly very nervous to be all alone in a completely unknown country.

Ginny gently squeezed his hand right then, reminding him that that wasn't quite the case, and causing a faint smile to appear briefly on his lips.

A few minutes later they approached the customs facility, and Harry caught sight of the symbol he was looking for on a doorway inside the building — which he hadn't expected. He had assumed that magical customs would be in a different place. Not that it mattered; now they knew where they were going.

Taking their time, they flowed with the crowd until they reached the right spot, and then slipped out and through the door unnoticed. He figured it was probably something like the platform at King's Cross. Only magicals could likely see it, and nobody would notice what happened in the vicinity.

The inside was very… muggle. There was a single reception counter with a woman standing behind it, and a number of offices toward the back. Nothing else of note stood out; the space was starkly utilitarian.

"Can I help you?" asked the smiling attendant. She was surprisingly young — just out of school, probably — and fairly tall with long blonde hair flowing down her back. Her face was open and friendly, just the type you'd want dealing with people.

Harry blinked and shook himself out of his daze, even as Ginny gave his hand another squeeze. She could undoubtedly feel his nerves, though he hoped they weren't showing outwardly. Much like her, he hated showing weakness of any kind; it only got him into trouble.

"I hope so," he said quietly. "We've just arrived, but we're rather new to travel. We're not sure what to do."

"Is this a temporary stop for you?" she asked curiously.

"Er, no," he said. "We're intending to stay permanently."

"Okay," the girl nodded, "then you're in the right place. May I see your passports please?"

Harry handed over the documents, and the girl flipped one open and looked at it, and then flipped the other one open — upon which she did a double-take. Then she looked up and scrutinized Harry very closely before looking down at the passport again. Something had clearly caught her attention.

"If you'll wait here please, I'll be back in a moment," she told them.

"Okay."

Something isn't right, Ginny told him silently, her mental voice blowing gently through him like a soft breeze.

She must have recognized my name, he sent back with a mental shrug.

Maybe, she replied. But it was like she didn't believe what she was seeing or something.

Better than I usually get, he grumbled.

Ginny audibly chuckled, even as she let go of his hand to put her arm around him. It was still so very strange to him being so comfortable with her proximity. He really, really did not like being touched by anyone else. She was just the exception to the rule apparently.

It was only a minute or two before the young woman came back and beckoned for them to follow her, which of course they did. Neither one of them knew how this was supposed to work, which Harry didn't like at all; it put them at a distinct disadvantage. It was too late to worry about it now, though.

She led them into an office where an older gentleman was sitting behind a desk, scrutinizing their passports. Harry frowned a little. He was fairly certain that this wasn't normal, but had no idea what was going on.

"Have a seat," the man offered, gesturing absently at the chairs in front of his desk without even looking up. The attendant took up a spot at the wall behind him.

With identical shrugs, Harry and Ginny settled in.

They watched as he carefully examined Harry's passport, before flicking his wand at it several times, casting various spells. It was a legitimate magical passport, so Harry didn't know what the big deal was. He might have been worried had they been using the other ones, but he'd had the elves pack those away to avoid exactly this sort of problem.

Finally, the man looked up at him, his expression severe. He examined them both critically, as though the silence and scrutiny would make them more nervous. Harry had dealt with Dumbledore trying to guilt him into talking, though, so this didn't even rate.

Not that he had anything to hide, but that was beside the point.

"This happens a few times a month," the man suddenly said. "Someone comes in claiming to be somebody famous, and even looking a lot like them. Harry Potter is a popular choice; we get that one six or seven times a year."

Harry grimaced. "I was really hoping I wasn't as famous here," he sighed.

The man blinked oddly at him, even as Ginny reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, easily sensing his disquiet. He really had hoped that he was a nonentity in America. That way he could simply be another random wizard, with nobody chasing after him for photos or autographs, or to fight the next Dark Lord that happened to pop up.

"How do people think they can get away with claiming to be Harry Potter," wondered Ginny, "without people noticing that they're, you know, not Harry Potter?"

Harry couldn't quite help his snort of amusement.

"Well that is the question, now isn't it?" asked the man. "Nobody has ever managed to succeed, thankfully." And then he fixed his gaze on Harry again. "Of course, that begs the question of how you can expect to do so. I am not amused that you convinced this young lady, either."

Harry blinked hard at that.

Ginny stared openly for a long moment, and then she turned slowly to Harry. "Only you, Harry," she said slowly, "can so desperately hope to go to a country and find they don't know you there, and when you actually get what you want, have it bite you firmly in the arse at the very first available opportunity."

Harry just shook his head. "You should be used to my luck by now, Gin," he sighed quietly. "This is mild compared to what usually happens in my neck of the woods."

Ginny gently whacked him on the shoulder. "Don't tempt fate," she warned. And then she turned back to the man behind the desk, who was watching their exchange with a raised eyebrow. "He didn't convince me of anything. I know for a fact that he is Harry Potter."

"That's quite impossible, Miss, I assure you," the man said with a shake of his head.

Ginny blinked, and Harry felt her have a quick internal debate with herself over protesting the form of address, but apparently she decided to ignore it. "Oh?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "How do you figure?"

It was at that moment that the attendant decided to speak up. Her frown had been getting deeper and deeper, and was now an outright scowl. It was unfortunate, Harry thought; she was much prettier when she smiled. Not that he had any interest, but that was beside the point.

"The fact that Harry Potter died last month might have something to do with it," she snarked.

Harry's mind blanked in shock at that, but Ginny didn't have quite the same reaction. "Wait, they reported him dead in the papers?" she asked incredulously.

"That's what I just said," scowled the attendant.

Ginny snorted and turned to him, and he was surprised to see her eyes dancing with mirth. "Oh, this is just too precious!" she giggled. "Ten to one odds it was Skeeter!"

"No bet," he said quietly with a shake of his head. "That's just her kind of sensationalist, overly-inflammatory, totally fact-free writing. It pretty much had to be her."

"Yup," she nodded. "Kinda did you a favor this time though, yeah?"

Harry just rolled his eyes. "Not helping much right now, is it?" he countered quietly. "But maybe, yeah, once we get past this little snag." Then he turned back to the man at the desk. "I'm obviously not dead, seeing as I'm sitting here right in front of you," he said softly. "That's why you can't find anything wrong with our passports, which are Gringotts issued."

"Nice act, kids, I'll give you that," countered the man. "You must've really practiced hard to make it so convincing, but I'm much more likely to trust reputable papers than a couple of teenagers."

Harry's eyes narrowed as he watched the man's hand snake toward the phone, and he knew he didn't want to him to complete that action. It wouldn't end well, he figured. Rather than wait, he popped his wand out its holster. The man reacted instantly unholstering his own wand, which caused Ginny to instantly cover him.

But Harry wasn't going to cast; his wand was pointing straight up.

"I do hereby swear on my magic and my life that I am Harry James Potter, son of James, son of Lily, otherwise known by the extremely obnoxious sobriquet 'The Boy Who Lived'. So I say, so do I swear."

A silver glow sparked instantly, signaling magic's acceptance of the oath, and Harry flicked his wand back into its holster.

The man stared blankly back at him, even as Harry reached over to rub Ginny's neck. Her humorous mood had vanished instantly at the sight of a wand pointed at him, and she was now seriously on edge. The last thing they needed was an unfortunate incident, and the man was dangerously close to provoking one.

Thankfully, the young attendant was too busy gaping to do anything.

Go ahead and holster it, Gin, he sent gently. He's just shocked, he's not going to cast.

Ginny glanced warily at him, but then nodded and holstered her own wand, though her eyes stayed locked on the threat. Harry hadn't quite expected that reaction from her, and was quite flattered by it. He also made a mental note that they both needed serious defense training (and far more than what Hogwarts had even claimed to offer).

Suddenly the man shook himself and holstered his wand. "If you're really Harry Potter," he said slowly, "then why does everyone think you're dead?"

"Skeeter," said Ginny flatly, "is a muckraking gossipmonger who somehow gets mistaken as a reporter by the Daily Prophet. That's hardly the most outlandish thing she's ever written."

"Your government didn't correct it," frowned the man.

"Welcome to the idiocy of Magical Britain," sighed Harry heavily. "Someone there probably said 'he must be dead!' and Skeeter picked it up and ran with it, and I can pretty much guarantee that almost everyone believes it. And since nobody can produce me to prove otherwise, they'll never change their minds. That's just how it works there."

"Hell, even if they paraded you down Diagon Alley, half of them would still believe Skeeter," snorted Ginny. "Because she couldn't possibly be lying or just plain wrong."

"Sad, but true," nodded Harry.

Ginny leaned up against him, and Harry put his arm around her and allowed the silence to continue while the man thought. He still didn't even know the guy's name, not that it mattered that much at the moment. At least now they knew he really was who he said he was.

"Ok," the man finally sighed. "Seems I owe you an apology, Mr. Potter. I really am sorry, but we've had some very impressive attempts, including near-perfect passports. I really did think you were trying to pull something."

"It's not a problem, sir," he shrugged. "Now that it's sorted anyway."

The man chuckled. "So what brings you to America?" he asked.

And Harry could tell that this was an official question, not random conversation. "We're seeking asylum, sir," he said quietly.

The attendant — whose expression had turned dangerously thoughtful on his oath — suddenly went wide-eyed. The man's reaction was not that much different, but he was slightly better at hiding it. They were both shocked, though.

"Okay," he said slowly. "That's a bit above my pay grade. Let me make a call, and we'll see if we can get the right person to talk to you."

===[~]===

A/N: Our wayward wanderers arrive. Welcome to America!

The austral poltergeist: Sirius will turn up eventually, but that's all I'll say on that. As of the documentation, it could potentially show up, but someone would have to be looking for it.

Urgazhi: The funny thing is that I coined that off the top of my head, never having heard of it or known that it was a real thing. But if you read the definition, yes, canon Ron could possibly have a very mild version of it (if you squint enough) if I understood the symptoms correctly.

Next update possibly later today, or maybe tomorrow. See you then, folks, and thanks again for your support! =)