Hazy Magic

Getting Away

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter -.-

As Hestia once again found herself flying through the night she wondered what do next. During her brief meeting with Dunstan's ghost she had noticed that his house, although full of odd, ancient and valuable artifacts, was cold, just like him. He had died alone; it is likely that no one would even notice that he had died for a while. His house did not hold any fond memories or even any family pictures; even the Dursley's had pictures of their family around the house.

Old and alone, she pitied him, but that did not take away her hatred of him and what he had done to her. He had taken away from her all that she had known, her family, her security, her century even!

But she liked it here; she wasn't Mummy's little jewel to decorate the room with, she wasn't treated like glass, like at any moment she would fall and break into one thousand pieces. Dunstan never treated her that way, far from it.

She was shocked out of her reverie when a flock of birds flew past her. I must think of these things at other times, they are too confusing to deal with. I must concentrate on where I'm going! …I would have never met Harry if it were not for Dunstan, Harry is a sweet boy. What will he do without me? What Hestia refused to think about was what she would do without him.

She soared through the sky on her way back to Little Whinging reveling at the way the wind whipped her fea-hair, I am not a bird anymore! She told herself with joy, she grinned but it soon became a wistful little smile, flying was such a nice experience. Riding a broom was just not the same, especially because her bum was becoming sore.

Back in Harry's room Hestia was surprised and partly relieved to find that Harry was not in his bed. He was probably out for a late night walk as he had taken to doing this summer. At least she would not walk him up, that would be a hard situation to explain.

She quickly returned his broom and wand back to their rightful places praying that Harry had never noticed they were missing and awkwardly climbed down his window.

Harry Potter was walking languidly from the park towards his summer residence, Number Four, Private Drive when he saw a figure walking from that direction. Harry squinted, nobody from his neighborhood would be out for a stroll this late. She, Harry now realized, suddenly stopped walking and Harry watched in amazement as she pulled out a stick, could it be a wand? His eyes widened in astonishment as sparks flew out of her wand, but before he could anything he had to duck out of the way of a purple double-decker bus.

Right before the bus started up again he could've sworn he heard a feminine voice call out, "I'm sorry!" But it was probably his imagination, it was almost impossible to hear something over the loud BANG of the Knight Bus. He stared at the spot the bus had been for a few seconds but quickly walked away when he saw the numerous amounts of people sticking their heads out the window, scared by the loud sound.

Stan Shunpike stared incredulously at Hestia, really noticing her for the first time since she interrupted his welcome speech.

"'Choo yellin' at?"

"Uh…" Hestia looked flustered and was trying to figure out a possible explanation as to why she had yelled at the top of her lungs, "well…didn't I…didn't I step on your foot? I'm ever so sorry about that." Stan blinked.

"Where to miss?"

Hestia had gained her composure and took out one of the few Galleons she took from Dunstan's house, she had been feeling guilty about it but she needed the money, he was a ghost, he wouldn't need it, besides, he was the one who turned me into an owl! It was some compensation.

"To London."

"Eleven Sickles, firteen if you want 'ot chocolate, for fifteen you get an 'ot water bottle an' a toofbrush in any color."

"Just the ride, thank you," She said politely.

"Take that bed, I'll be back wif your change."

Hestia snuggled into bed with a sigh, she should contact Dumbledore, he would help her and he seemed to know everything. She vaguely wondered if he would remember her, it had been such a long time.

"'Ere's you're change." Stan Shunpike handed over six Sickles, "Woss you're name?"

"Hestia," she paused, unwilling to give her last name. "Would you please wake me up in London?" Hestia was not in the mood to be polite. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.