"I'm Going Home"
On the day I went away
Goodbye was all I had to say
Now I want to some again and stay
Oh my my, smile and that will mean I may
'Cause I've seen blue skies
Through the tears in my eyes
And I realize
I'm going home
Everywhere it's been the same
Feeling like I'm outside in the rain
Reeling free to try and find the game
Dealing cards for sorrow, cards for pain
'Cause I've seen blue skies
Through the tears in my eyes
And I realize
I'm going home.
-from the soundtrack to Rocky Horror Picture Show
Harry woke to a dull pounding on his door…no, it was a dull pounding in his head this time, and it was a Friday, and he was leaving, and he had nearly forgotten. Or repressed. From the level of light in the room, Harry could tell it was just after sunrise. He couldn't remember ever waking up for a Massachusetts sunrise. He'd stayed awake for plenty of them, but that's never quite the same.
Just across the room, Andy was snoring in tune to the hum of the university-issue mini-fridge. Harry's clock was flashing eights, the red blending in with the morning palette, but the ambiguous time still prompted him to get up. Throwing on the closest pair of jeans and slipping into sandals, he grabbed a shirt and faded out of the room. Pulling on his Superman shirt, he pounded the button of the Hell-evator, some part of him hoping that it would get stuck somewhere between the floors so he could have just one more minute at Bulfinch. But he made it to the lobby in seconds, and from there he rushed to the University Center, speed walking at the college pace, even though he had no where to rush to.
The University Center was an inconspicuous building, as if they campus architects were deliberately trying to hide the fact that this one building was the nervous system of the college. Harry waved to all of the receptionists, smiling away the questioning looks, the good-natured jokes about the frequency of his visits. The one drawback of Emma's publicity arrangement with Manic was that Harry tended to be called to one dean's office or another's nearly once a week. Of course, he was never really in trouble. His empire was organized in such a way that made accountability nonexistent. But it was an inconvenience that he could do without. Except today. Today, Harry would give anything to be reamed out by an irate faculty member. Instead, he was here to hang up his guns.
"You do understand, Mr. Potter, that you are only two months from graduation?" Dean Koeler asked.
"I know, but it can't be helped. It's a family emergency," Harry lied. He had a terrible feeling that the emergency was more widespread than that.
"We do have a policy concerning such things, a certain amount of forgiveness for these situations, provided you supply proof," Koeler continued.
"I'm not anticipating my returning to the States any time in the near future," Harry answered.
"Is it really that bad?" Koeler asked, sounding almost eager to hear how bad it really was. It was rare to be fed by human misery that early in the morning. Sob stories generally rolled in around lunchtime.
"It really is," Harry answered solemnly, giving in to his Dean's hopes.
"Well, it's too early in the semester for you to get credit in your current courses, but all of your hours up until now will still be valid in the future, should you find yourself able to continue your education," Koeler smiled, shaking Harry's hand with a renewed vigor, his appetite for abstract death whetted for the time being.
Harry slowly walked back to his dorm, feeling a little lost without the need to hurry. He was running through the lists in his mind: things to pack, names of Hogwarts teachers that Minerva had mentioned in her letters, directions to the school, spells and potions that he needed help with, supplies he'd buy in Diagon Alley before going. He was trying not to list all of the friends he had to say goodbye to, so naturally the names were racing through his mind. Manic. He'd need to give them one last glory before he passed on the torch to someone else. The fact that he would have been graduating in two months anyway was no comfort to him, and he doubted they'd forgive him for leaving them so soon. Maybe some of them can come visit, he thought. It would be easy for most of them, who were riding on their fathers' bankbooks, not a scholarship like Harry.
Harry's musings were cut short when he came up to Landis Hall, faced with the Stoop Rats, their smoke rings wavering in the late winter wheeze. Harry hurried inside, bought a Mars bar from the overpriced vending machine, and returned to his room, making a quick phone call before he quietly began packing his things, concentrating on what he'd do once he got off the plane in an effort to keep from crying.
"How can you be leaving?" Andy had just woken up to see most of Harry's things strewn about on the floor, mixed in with the garbage and essay notes and unused textbooks. "I mean, the semester isn't even over yet!"
"It's ok, I can make it up later if I need to. I'm only a few hours short of graduating, so it would be easy to get them in, if I ever decide to," Harry answered, shoving his magical texts back under the bed and turning his attention towards the pile of laundry at the foot of his bed, wondering if he should wash it before he left or wait until he got to London. He was aware that he was acting like his leaving was nothing and that Andy would most likely get pissed off by his casualness, but Harry couldn't help it. He'd made an effort not to show hurt, something that had saved his skin thousands of times when he was with the Dursleys.
"Graduating? But you're a junior! And why are you talking like you won't be back next year? Whatever the problem is, you're coming back, right? You're not leaving forever," Andy asked, feeling foolish for feeling so desperate, and feeling stupid for justifying his utter terror by assigning it to a lack of a ride if Harry left. Yeah, I'm just going to miss his car. He can go drink tea with the bloody Queen all he wants, I don't care.
"I might be. It's up in the air. Is this your Pumpkins CD or mine?"
"But we had plans!" Andy went on, ignoring Harry's question. "We were all going to take the road trip to New Orleans in March. And we were talking about sabotaging the Renaissance Festival this year!"
"Don't worry. I'll miss it but I have complete confidence in you."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm bequeathing my crown, my empire, to you. Treat it well, my son. Or I'll come back and kick your arse into orbit," Harry smiled, adopting the Monty Python accent he knew Andy would understand.
"What's wrong?" Andy asked, genuinely concerned at this point. "Why are you going? You always said you'd never go back. Did the dean kick you out for Wednesday?"
"No, but that would be ironic, wouldn't it? No, my people need me," Harry smiled.
"I thought you had no family."
"I don't. But I might. Look, I can't explain it to you," Harry sighed, tossing his clothes in his suitcases, deciding on trying a washing charm that he had read about once he was alone.
"So, when?" Andy asked, sounding more defeated than Harry'd ever heard him.
"Monday," Harry lied. His plane was actually leaving that night, the first flight to London he could get. But he didn't have the heart to tell Andy that. Besides, it would be easier on everyone if he slipped away quietly. Well, it would be easier on him, and if the others were pissed off by it, he'd have the entire Atlantic Ocean as a buffer against their wrath.
"So soon? We'll need a going-away party at least."
"Don't worry about all that," Harry answered quickly, shuddering as he remembered his last birthday party. He hadn't seen so many police officers in one place since the riot at Homecoming. "I've got something in the works for tonight. I've gotta clear it with Flik, but plan to meet at his place at nine. I'll leave it to you to gather the troops."
"What are you going to do in the meantime?"
"I've got some things left to pack."
"You still don't look happy about this."
"It's the sudden realization that past significance is actually trivial." Andy just shook his head and pretended to understand, which is all a best friend has to do.
"You look like you're running away, to be honest."
"Yeah, everyone is after me. Can you blame them?" Harry smirked.
"You sure you're ok, Flash?" Andy asked again, making Harry feel even worse by using that name.
"It's fine, Andy. With luck, this won't be forever. And I promise to write, give you some good ideas for the fall. Not that you'll need any. Just leave the kids in rehab alone, alright?"
Andy was still doing his evil genius laugh when he left Harry alone with his packing. Harry took out his books once more, rifling through the pages and pulling out every letter he had received from Minerva over the years. He had debated writing her, letting her know that he was on his way, but he decided against it. For one, he wouldn't know how to reach her. Well, that was a lie and he knew it, but he used it in his argument anyway. Another point was that the Death Eaters that were watching him could intercept the letter, and they'd know his plans. Of course, if they were really watching him, they'd figure things out soon enough once he went to the airport. Harry supposed his real reason was a fear to commit to the choice he had made. What if he got to England and couldn't make himself follow through? He knew that once he joined the world he belonged in, he'd be locked into a war that he'd rather avoid fighting. But then, if he stayed here, Voldemort would drag him into the fray anyway, and Harry would rather die than fight for that bastard.
As Harry debated the issue in his mind, his bags were packed and the sun had fallen. It was only six, but Harry left for Flik's anyway, confident that the rest of Manic would be there, setting up beer kegs, ordering every food available in Logan, and wondering if they'd be able to eat it, since most were unaware of what Harry had in mind for that night. Flik knew of course. Harry needed someone to set things rolling, and Flik was the least likely to miss the element of surprise. In fact, he had most of the campus wired with mics and cameras just so he would never be surprised by anything. Harry smiled as he imagined Flik's reaction should he ever learn about Hogwarts or Diagon Alley.
"Flash!" everyone greeted, a throwback to a show called "Cheers!", which Harry had never actually seen but he appreciated the gesture just the same. Minerva had explained that everyone in her world would probably know his name as well, but Harry doubted that they'd shout at him with such affection and intimacy, or if they'd have the slightest idea who "Flash" was. Maybe there would be less for him to live up to. Maybe there would be a whole lot more. Harry was ambivalent about which set of expectations he'd prefer.
A swarm of voices and faces enveloped him, warm and vibrating and making the tumbler of Jack that he had downed earlier sway in his stomach, a comfortable rhythm threatening to put him to sleep if the noise of Manic wasn't so high-pitched.
"Are you really leaving?" asked Emma, the lack of camera and tape recorder oddly touching in Harry's opinion.
"I'm afraid so," Harry answered in mock tragedy, well aware that they knew it wasn't so mock and, deep down, that it wasn't too tragic. Ever since Harry came to town, their GPA's had plummeted.
"Off to seduce the unsuspecting birds in that part of the world?" Dee asked, playful smirk in hand to show there were no hard feelings. There were never hard feelings in university life; everything fit neatly into "experimentation". "Do you think you'll remember their names the morning after?"
"Probably. I have learned some things in my classes you know," Harry answered, swimming his way over to the couch.
"Classes? What are those?" Andy asked, sitting down next to Harry, shot gun, like always, before always had a definitive end.
It was a relatively quiet party, people floating around Harry, saying quiet goodbyes, voicing regrets, a few of the freshman Manics saying that they wished they'd gotten to know him better. Harry made them smile by remembering their names. Outsiders came in, got drunk, and left, vaguely aware that something was changing but too scared to ask what. The seventeen members of Manic hovered over the keg, the buffet, the stereo, the balcony. They mingled from focal point to focal point, taking in all of the elements, some wondering if parties could exist without Harry, some wondering if Bulfinch could exist without parties, most wondering if others would wonder the same things, when they were gone. There was a fatality in the room and everyone felt it, mourned for it, and were ready to get on with their lives by the time nine rolled around, Flik tossed the TV remote to Harry, and Harry stood.
"Ok, everyone take a seat. I see a few Stoop Rats here. You don't have to leave, just sit in the back because you smell like shit." The laughs came easily, like most things with these people did. Harry suspected that was the thing he'd miss the most. Being loved without effort. "Ok, I know this has been somewhat of a morbid party, not at all up to standard. But you have been brought here for a purpose. To shower me with gifts and affection. Of course, none of you brought gifts, so I'd watch where you step for a few days. Wouldn't want any misfortune to befall you." Faithful finger from Andy. "Right. Anyway, most of you are aware of our little home movies that can be found, edited of course, in the library. Well, tonight my friends, is an entirely different show. So just sit back, relax, and it's been nice knowing you. When I find out where I'm going, you're welcome to come visit."
With that, Harry turned on the television, turned out the lights and, once everyone was too involved with the screen to notice, he slipped out of the apartment, went back to his dorm, left a note asking Andy to pick up his car from short-term parking and watch it for a few years, packed his things in the back seat, and began the drive to the international airport.
That night, due to all of the spots on the campus radio station, nearly half of the city's population tuned in to the public access channel and were entertained by a Greatest Hits montage, film footage of nearly all of Manic's doings, faces blurred to protect the innocent, except the segment where people on campus and in staff rooms made asses of themselves. It was glorious to behold.
Somewhere else that night, Harry Potter boarded a plane to England. Leaving the tarmac, he had a flashback to a midnight screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show on Halloween, transvestite sitting on his lap, spider web stockings scratching his hands and neck red under the amused stares of his friends. Virgins engaged in good natured and willful humiliation on the stage, rice and balloons and inflated condoms threatening to block the screen, screamed alternative lines drowning out the track, and a stirring rendition of "I'm Going Home". Harry wished it wasn't so damn dark out. He wished he could see those blue skies. But he knew, no matter how much he'd miss his friends, he really was going home.