A/N: Yes, this was updates sooner than expected wasn't it? Well, it's a Sunday and what better to do on a Sunday than grab a hot latte, lean back on your bedpost and let your barrage of ideas flow onto the Microsoft screen in front of you. PS keep those reviews coming, guys, that's what keeps me going most of the time.
The Knight Bus had undergone a tremendous change since the last time Harry had been in it and that was almost two years ago. The air of haphazardness and chaotic liberty that was so customary in the Knight Bus seemed to have been sucked up into complete nothingness by some rare, immutable force. Stan Shunpike was, as Harry had miserably recalled the moment he had laid eyes on the four burly Ministry doormen, still detained in Azkaban on the most ridiculous charges Harry had ever heard of. As he cautiously stepped into the interior of the Knight Bus, just like he had done on his first time on it four years back, he had to actually suppress a gasp upon seeing what had become of it now.
Totally gone were the jumbled arrays of creased, unmade beds, their sheets hanging loosely on their posts and the cluttered mess of crammed chairs and tables. The scene before Harry was instead, very neat and tidy and not a single object had been displaced. He then saw, with a mild shudder, what was keeping everything in their places. Large grey iron locks had been strongly attached to the legs of the tables and the chairs, forcing them almost brusquely into position. Towards the rear of the bus, black twisting iron shackles were pinning four beds to the ground by their posts. If that wasn't enough, the brass bedsteads had been recoloured to grey and the sheets were a mundane off-white. The curtains (which were now also a pale tinge of grey) had also been uncharacteristically drawn shut, casting a depressing gloom over the entire place. There was only one passenger on the first deck and he was sitting with his knees and palms together, staring out the window, which was shut. Like finishing touches to this view of dreariness, the doormen stood aside to let Harry by, their hands by their side and their faces expressionless. As Harry was wondering if he should break the silence by asking where he should go, the burliest and oldest-looking of the four doormen addressed him.
"You're Harry Potter aint'cha?" He was a man of great bulk, with night-black hair, although wisps of white were visible near his forehead and his ears. His eyes were a deep brown, almost black and a broad black beard sat proudly on his prominent, paunchy chin. The buttons on the black ministry uniform on him seemed on the verge of bursting. He looked vaguely familiar, but Harry did not care about that just then. Although his question came as a steely whisper, the thick Scottish accent was distinctive.
"Y-yes sir. Yes I am." Harry answered, not realizing why he had stammered, but this thought had been cut short as he realized for the first time in thirty seconds, that the bus was moving. It was totally unlike regular Knight Bus standards, there was no loud BANG as it zoomed suddenly to its next location. The bus isn't even speeding, Harry thought, because he was strangely able to keep both feet firmly planted on the ground.
"Why in the name of burtlap are ye' goin to a muggle town then?", the man inquired again with one bristling black eyebrow raised. The two men nearest to him, with startling vulture-like appearances, looked down at Harry questioningly, almost loathingly.
"Leave him alone Wally, he don't want any of your rubbish just now.", grumbled the fourth doorman as he put out an arm between Harry and his fat colleague and started picking up Harry's things. This man was the smallest of all four of them and undoubtedly the youngest. Harry could sense the other three, especially Wally, looking down at him with utmost contempt. From the look on Wally's face, Harry could tell that he wanted nothing more than to bash his little pipsqueak face in.
"C'mon now, Potter. Your quarter's that way." He muttered to Harry and casting a final look of disdain on his fellows he led Harry right to the very rear of the bus.
"Oh rubbish is it, Flooce, you wretched ingrate? Mind you, my daughter died last week. I'll never forget that you know. She never wanted any o' this. No one did!" roared Wally so violently, that he had to be restrained by the vultures.
"Well that was because no one asked her to go ahead and stupidly start that damned charity drive! She was asking for trouble right from the start you fool!". This was the last straw for the fuming Scot. He wrenched his massive arms free from the gaping vultures and charged towards Flooce with a great bellow. Flooce, looked oddly unperturbed and drew his wand, swiftly but discreetly from his trouser pocket. Before Harry could shout out a yell of warning to either of the men, the collision came. A jet of glaring red light struck Wally right in the chest. He opened his mouth sluggishly but his black eyes rolled backwards into his head and he keeled over backward. He fell on the floor with a great thud.
Harry was standing, open-mouthed at the revelation of the insanity that had just occurred before his eyes. One moment, they were all distinguished Ministry officials and the next they were reckless fiends. Even the quiet passenger seated by the window had leapt to his feet, his eyes open wide.
"What in the world was that about?" Harry asked Flooce urgently as the vulture doormen tried frantically to raise Wally to a sitting position. Flooce merely signed and beckoned Harry to the top decks of the bus with a jerk of his head.
The third storey was just as dreary-looking as the first. The iron locks and shackles had not spared even the beds and chairs here. Flooce brought Harry over to a corner and flew two plastic chairs over. His lips were pursed and Harry could see that he was mulling over his actions and what he was going to say next. He breathed heavily and looked straight at Harry.
"I'm sure you were pretty shocked when you first stepped inside this thing eh?. Yes I was too-" he added abruptly when Harry tried to speak.
"I really didn't want this crummy job, really didn't. But I had no choice, see, my wife was killed by one of them death eaters." He paused, bit his bottom lip and continued.
"She used to work in St.Mungo's until the whole dirty lot blasted the place up. Lots of enemies in there, see, recovering from attacks from that rotten side. Just wanted to get rid of anyone weak while they could I guess." Harry stared at him dumbfounded, not daring to believe what he had just heard. St.Mungo's was destroyed? How come he hadn't heard of it? How come Mr. Weasley hadn't informed anyone? As he thought of Mr. Weasley, he remembered when he had been admitted there two years ago. There he'd seen Gilderoy Lockhart and…..the Longbottoms, Harry remembered with a pang.
"I couldn't be keeping the kids that way so I had to get myself another job, see? Came straight here when I saw the ad in the Prophet. Well anyway-", Flooce made a great effort in composing himself before he continued.
" Wally needed cash to get by too. I did the interview with him. See, the reason he's so upset with you Potter, is because…Because his daughter died while trying to help you. Really, all sorts of odd things've been cropping up lately, we just dunno what to expect do we? She stared some idiot charity drive, so she could- fund you I guess. The whole world's been tossed into madness, it really has. Wally just hates you for being part of it. Thinks you killed his only child. Course, I tried knocking some sense into him before, I'm the only one who stands up to that crude pain in the-"
But Harry was no longer listening. A girl had died while trying to set up funding, for him? As absurd as that seemed Harry could not help but think that his disbelief at all this might have been a result of stretching his stay at the Weasleys', so caught up in Bill and Fleur's wedding, that he hadn't even bothered to check on how everyone else was. Had the situation really changed that much? St. Mungo's and the girl….
"Um, Flooce what did you say the girl's name was?"
"I didn't. The family name's Vane, if you're interested."
The journey to Privet Drive had taken longer than expected. When they finally, reached there, Flooce called Harry down from the first floor. Harry's mind was reeling, yet he could not grasp the insane impossibility of what Flooce had told him. He dragged his feet down the stairs, his forehead creased and his face, very white.
"Take care of yourself, Potter. We're all behind you in this, even Wally, although I know he don't act like it." Flooce assured Harry as he gently lowered his trunk and Hedwig's cage onto the deserted sidewalk. Harry could just catch a glimpse of Wally's wide form behind Flooce, taking up two entire beds for himself. With a firm, one-fingered salute, Flooce shut the door. The Knight Bus soon disappeared into the fading sunset.
Harry just drudged on the perfectly aligned sidewalk, passing the all too familiar square homes of Magnolia Crescent. His mind was hardly on where he was headed, although his feet had seen this area too many times to go in the wrong direction. His thoughts were churning wildly, tossing from fear to fear like a splintering raft over a tumultuous sea. His better judgement was desperately trying to acquire a reasonable answer to all of this, but it could not. Romilda Van couldn't have died. She just couldn't. There was no way…. The heaviness of his heart grew worse as he saw the familiar white sign "No.4". There was nothing he wanted less right now than scornful attitudes and a measly dinner. The black abyss he was so afraid of falling into had just inched nearer.
He arrived on the doorstep of the Dursley's and more grudgingly than he had even felt in his life, he knocked. He could hear the faint tinkling of glass and the dragging of a chair across the floor. It was probably going to be Uncle Vernon who answered the door, with a tender piece of beef hanging from his moustache and quivering with rage because Harry had chosen dinner time to pay them a nice three week visit. The greeting he really got was nothing like he's imagined.
Petunia cautiously opened the door a fraction and upon seeing Harry, she threw it wide open and beckoned him inside with a beam. Uncle Vernon and Dudley were calmly standing by the foot of the staircase and politely greeted Harry with a "How've you been boy" and "Had a nice summer, Harry?" Whether these greetings sounded forced or not, Harry did not care. The Dursleys were actually being nice to him, greeting him at the door and asking about his welfare, for the first time in seventeen years.
"Dinner's ready for you, Harry. You look starved." Petunia said with a tone of care in her voice that Harry had never heard her use on him before. She passed his trunk to Dudley and told him to bring it upstairs to his cousin's room. Dudley complied, with not so much as a grunt of protest. Had the death eaters gotten to them too?
"W-what's going on with all of you? You feeling alright?" Harry blurted out, unable to contain his incredulity at what was going on.
"We're fantastic Harry, now hurry up, your dinner will go cold.", said Petunia as she gently pushed Harry into the kitchen. From the corner of his eye, he saw her give Uncle Vernon a brief nod. He immediately picked up Hedwig's cage and followed Dudley into Harry's room. Harry could not make out the expression on his face.