Ch. 2 PG 6

A/N

Sorry for the totally insane note at the beginning of chapter1. Like I said. I was in a really weird mood and technically I haven't totally recovered. lol

Anyway, here's chapter 2. In a timely fashion even. Told you I had the first 3 chapters written already.

The Day Harry Potter Disappeared

Chapter Two:

Those Gits!

Harry could not stand it anymore! Reporters banging on his door twenty-four hours a day seven days a week! People exclaiming over him as he walked down the street! He half-wished he could wear his invisibility cloak forever, but Hermione kept reminding him he needed to face everyone now. Hiding from his fame only made it worse in the long run.

"It's better to get it over with sooner than later, Harry," she continually said. But Harry could not help being exasperated with Hermione. He thought she could be a little more understanding. She did not have a crowd of women following her everywhere she went. She did not have fifty owls at her door bringing fan mail and gifts. She did not have the whole bloody worldtrying to thank him for his great deed. The only reason Hermione did not have a gaggle of admirers was simple: Mundungus said Harry defeated the dark lord by himself.

Not even a month after Harry and Ron had settled into their new flat, Dung had spilled the beans. The morning after Harry had woken up to one hundred owls at his door and a crowd of reporters pressing in on his windows and it was all Dung's fault.

According to Lupin, Dung had been at a bar that night and he had one too many drinks. After that last drink he met a pretty girl and he wanted to impress her. He decided to tell her what everyone wanted to know: Who killed he-who-must-not-be-named-even-though-he's-dead?

The pretty girl happened to work for the Daily Prophet and she went straight to her office that night to alert her superiors. The next morning Harry saw his face plastered all over the front cover of the Morning Prophet. Dumbledore was furious with Dung and he was said to almost kick Dung out of his office.

Because of him, Harry's life went instantly down the tube. He could barely get to Auror training without being late to every single class. Reporters and obsessive witches and wizards followed him around like lost puppies. People offered to buy his meals so often that he began to go to muggle restaurants and eat at home. He would not have been surprised if he had an official fan club, but he did not want to find out if he did have one. The thought frightened him beyond belief. Dumbledore did all he could to shield Harry from the press but there was little Dumbledore could do now that the cat was out of the bag.

Harry found himself coming home each day wishing he were somebody else. Ron and Hermione were always there for him when he needed to rant, but even that was not enough anymore. He had practically bit Ron's head off when he had suggested to Harry that he should move to a more remote location, and forgo being an Auror for the time being. Harry wanted to be an Auror more than anything and he enjoying training, but as the weeks went by the frustration and stress started to show in his work.

One day after class, Professor Mort pulled him aside. The professor always told them that running away from their problems or fears only made life worse. He always said that determination and perseverance made anything possible. Harry liked Professor Mort. He taught an interesting class on defensive theory and practical use. Professor Mort always seemed to be in a good mood but that day he looked uncharacteristically somber.

"Potter, I've spoken with your other teachers and," he paused, "and we think you need a break." Harry gaped open mouthed at him. This was the last thing he expected his "tough it out" professor to say.

"What?" stammered Harry.

"We think you need a break, Harry," he reiterated more gently, "You've been under a lot of pressure since the world found out you killed Voldemort. It's still showing in your work. Your spellwork is erratic and you seem to be tired all the time."

"I'll be okay," Harry retorted, "It will pass. It always does."

Professor Mort shook his head, "Potter, it's been two months and your condition has not improved significantly."

"I will not give up the chance to become an Auror just because of some idiotic reporters-"

"Potter at this rate you won't-"

"I need to become an Auror so I can help people!"

"You won't be any help to anyone if you're distracted and emotional," Professor Mort sighed, "Hasn't Mistress Beallet taught you anything? When you're an Auror you have to be able to separate your personal problems and emotions from your job. Otherwise you make thoughtless mistakes."

"But-"

"No 'buts.' What if you were out investigating a site and criminals surprised you and your partner? If you had your mind on your worries and woes you could cast a spell incorrectly or too late and risk your partner's life," said Professor Mort, "Anyway, you've been excused from all your classes for awhile."

"What am I supposed to do now?" Harry almost yelled, "Go about my life while every person on the planet follows me around?"

"No, we're keeping you busy," Professor Mort said with a half smile, "You're going to America as a sort of international intern. You know enough practical magic so you'll be alright and you'll get good job experience."

Harry opened his mouth to protest but Mort cut him off, "Look, Harry, you already have a ticket on the Transatlantic Knight Bus so all you need to do is pack your things and leave." And with that he left Harry to his very confused and angry thoughts.

Harry glared out his window at the marshmallow fluff clouds. As soon as he had arrived home after Professor Mort gave him the tickets, he fully had expected Ron and Hermione to cry in outrage and exasperation like he did. But it seems that he did not know his two best friends as well as he had thought he did. They had been expectantly waiting for him as he had arrived home at the flat.

Before he could tell them anything, Hermione cut him off, "So did he give you the tickets?" They had proceeded to pile his bags (which they had packed earlier) on top of him. Then they had pushed him out the door without further ado. They even had sent Fred and George ahead to make sure he got on the bus.

George had pushed him up the stairs of the bus and said, "Always knew there was something wrong with you, mate. You must be stark raving mad to refuse to go on a mandatory extended vacation."

So there he was, sitting on an overstuffed, cushy, first class chair on the Transatlantic Knight Bus, brooding about how all his friends and teachers conspired against him. They did not care about his opinion. They did not stop to think to ask him what he wanted. He wanted life as normal and familiar as possible. Uprooting him to the unfamiliar, faraway United States was anything but keeping life normal.

And so he sat there unable to appreciate the beauty around him as the Transatlantic Knight Bus flew on the rolling clouds. The towns below bustled about their business. Soon the towns disappeared and the only thing to be seen for miles around was the vast blue ocean. Harry had never seen the ocean before in his life and when the driver announced that they were now over that big blue wet thing Harry tore himself from his thoughts and gaped at it. He had never seen anything like it. The blue waves seemed to go on forever in every direction and he could not see how they would ever find land again. But, he was not sure he wanted to find land, ever again.

Even though Harry had moaned and groaned about going on this trip, he soon found that he was enjoying himself immensely. No one seemed to notice who he was; granted that half the passengers were asleep, but the remaining passengers kept to themselves. Stan and Ernie did not work on the transatlantic bus, so he did not receive special treatment from the driver or attendants.

He was amazed. He had not thought their plan would have worked so well.

In an effort to decrease the amount of attention Harry received, Dumbledore had helped him get an order to ban anyone from photographing him or using any old pictures of him. Immediately after, Harry had grown out his hair and he had gotten contacts. When his hair had grown long enough, Harry parted his hair on the side to hide his famous scar. He had noticed that his hair behaved most days as long as he showered in the morning. Harry had wondered why he had not grown his hair out long before now. True, his change in appearance had not stopped a gaggle of people from following him all over London, but if he traveled outside the city, people noticed him less and less.

People around the world had begun to wonder if the famous Harry Potter had disappeared because there were hardly any new photos of him. Rumors that he was in hiding from Voldemort's old supporters began to circulate and Dumbledore encouraged the rumors. Harry had begun to fade from the world's radar. So, Harry should not have been surprised that no one noticed him, but after all, the lack of attention was a new experience for him.

He began to think his luck was turning around until he glanced at his tickets for the first time. They did not read "Harry James Potter." They read "James Henry Harrison." Those sneaks had given him a fake name or maybe even the wrong tickets!

But then another thought popped in his head, But this won't match my passport! I'm going to have big trouble when I get to America! He frantically searched for his passport to quail his racing heart. His passport read "James Henry Harrison." Relief began to seep through him, but then a new worried entered his brain. He hoped that they had not bewitched his passport. A bewitched passport could be detected and land him in a load of trouble. He pulled out his wand and glanced around before tapping it as he mumbled the revealing spell. Nothing happened.

He sighed with relief and settled into his over-stuffed chair. He understood. The staff had not badgered him about being Harry Potter because according to his ticket, he was not Harry Potter. He wasn't Harry Potter anymore. He had been longing to be someone else for so long and his wish had finally come true. He wasn't Harry Potter; he was James Harrison, an average young man sitting in first class seat on his way to America. He sighed again and rolled over to dose off.

Those gits thought of everything, he thought lazily, I'll have to thank them later.

He slept for the remaining duration of the flight. With his mind at ease for the first time in months, sleep came to him quite easily. When the bus landed in the States an attendant gently shook him awake.

He jumped and muttered still half asleep, "Where are we?"

The attendant giggled, "We're on the eastern coast of Florida, Mr. Harrison," she strolled away to assist the other passengers.

Florida, he thought bewilderedly, Last I heard, Florida had the least dark activity reported. Those gits better not have given me a desk job…

Harry sighed and gathered up his luggage. But, his happiness did not evaporate at the prospect of a desk job because he was someone else now. Just thinking about it filled him with a happiness he had not felt since before Sirius died.

At that thought Harry wilted a little, If only he were here to see me now…no. He would want me to be happy. So, now I'm a completely normal, not famous guy on a paid, mandatory vacation in the sunny beaches of Florida.

As he walked off the bus and out into the bright sunshine, a massive smile spread across on his face and the light in his eyes would have outshined the stars. Harry walked a few yards but he stopped deciding to let his Yankee contact to find him.

And not long after someone tapped him on his left shoulder and said, "You must be my assignment from merry old England because you've had this big goofy grin on your face since you got off." He turned to the left but no one was there. Then someone laughed and stepped in front of him from his right side.

"I had a feeling you'd fall for that," it was a young woman. She had very short, spunky hair that curled at the ends in all the right places. She had lightly tanned skin that did not quite hide the freckles across the bridge of her nose. She wore a plain blue tank top, which matched her eyes, and a pair of shorts and flip-flops.

She held out her hand, "Catherine Blanc and you must be James Harrison." For a split second he wanted to correct her and say, "No. I'm Harry Potter," but he stopped himself.

I'm not Harry Potter, he reminded himself.

As he shook her hand he laughed more at himself than at her, "But how'd you know?"

She shrugged innocently, "Well, from what I've heard about Merry Old England, it's gloomy and raining all the year long. So, I figured a Brit would be ecstatic to come to the sunshine state where it's sunny everyday, and it only goes below fifty degrees three days out of the year," then she frowned and laughed, "That's fifty degrees Fahrenheit, mind you."

Harry laughed too, "I hadn't heard that but I look forward to this miracle weather. But following your logic, wouldn't all the passengers have this 'goofy grin?'"

She smiled and looked at the ground, "Yeah, well, every agent researches his or her case, so I might have studied your picture once or twice," she looked up, "Why don't we get going? We could apperate to the condo but I figured this would be a splendid time to show you around muggle style." And without further ado, she grabbed his bags and marched out toward the exit.

He was taken aback at her abruptness and recovered in time to shout at her, "Why don't you just levitate those?"

She yelled back at him, "No magic allowed until you get through customs!"

"Oh," he said feeling rather stupid and he ran after her toward the door. If he had not been looking around at the palm trees and nice cars, he would have noticed Catherine gripping her wand tightly in her hand as she carried his luggage. He would have noticed how she scanned the area with a trained eye and how she breathed a sigh of relief when they entered the building.

First thing he noticed about Florida was that is was bloody hot and humid. He barely took in a word Catherine said as they drove through town with the windows rolled down. Even with the wind blowing his hair back he was still dying from the heat. At first, he had been worried that Catherine would notice his scar and she would start throwing questions at him, but she kept her eyes on the road. She did not even seem to mind the hellish heat. She just jabbered on about the best local shops and restaurants, and how she hated the "snowbirds" that came down in the winter.

"Err…you don't like white birds that migrate here in the winter?"

"No! Snowbirds are what we call the people who come down from the northern states for about three months out of the year while their stupid condos remain empty for nine months. I hate the condos on the beach! They obstruct everyone's view and they keep building more and more.

"But don't you live in a condo?"

"Yeah, but mine isn't on the beach. It's across the street from the beach and I live in there year round. That's the difference." As they neared the beach Harry smelled the salt in the air. The breeze lulled and gently played about his face. He took a deep breath of the sea air and he felt a wave of calm wash over him.

Catherine glanced over at him and smirked, "The ocean has a calming effect on people. I've lived by the sea for a very long time and I don't know if I'll ever be able to leave it. It's hard to leave once that salt's gotten into your blood." Harry looked ruefully back at her as she drove.

Salt's gotten into your blood? But doesn't your blood already have salt in it. I wonder what she means… Harry thought. He pondered his new contact and her strange ideas as the car sped by the beachside. The long grass swayed in the breeze and the bushes rustled about as if an animal had just run through it. The waves were small and Harry was amazed he could see it from the road. Soon, however, they reached a patch of condos that obstructed the gorgeous view, and he began to see what she hated the condos on the beach so much.

When they pulled onto the driveway, Catherine faced him. Harry quickly made sure his hair was securely over his scar.

She laughed, "Are you fussy about your hair? It has to look exactly right? Well, you'll get over that after a few days on the beach." She rose and walked toward the side door.

A/N

Whee and that was chapter 2. Hope you like it. Remember to review after you read. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Yes, there will be those horrible cliches (like let the cat out of the bag because, I mean, come on, what was I thinking?) throughout the entire thing because, heck, they're true, aren't they? That's how they became cliches.