The Longest Flight Ever Taken
As the jet engines roared up and the Boeing took off into the sky, Harry stared out the window, watching the airport shrink into an industrial space surrounded by patches of green. Had he been more familiar with the latest technology, he would have thought it looked like an island of computer boards.
Harry was just thankful to be sitting by the window without Dudley there to jab his elbows into him. He took his eyes away from the window once they were above the rippled glass-like oceans. He knew oceans were wide even though prior to Hogwarts, he'd failed primary school geography.
Hermione didn't dare ask how he was feeling; she knew how much he loved flying on his broomstick. But Harry did notice she was clutching his hand, actually looking quite nervous. A little bit more than he did when they went through security.
"Hermione, are you okay?" Harry asked.
All Hermione could do was keep her mouth closed and shake her head.
"Hermione, what's wrong?" Harry repeated.
"I don't like flying," Hermione replied, hesitantly. "I didn't like flying lessons at school and I don't like flying in aeroplanes."
"Is that why you let me sit by the window?" Harry puzzled.
"Hermione nodded.
"I knew how much you'd enjoy the views from the window," she replied. "What do you see?"
"Just the ocean," Harry replied.
"Well, you'll be looking at it for quite awhile," she added. "Unless you like watching for boats, dolphins, or whales. We've got to cross the Atlantic to get to New York, then we'll have only three hours before we get to Texas. That's what the map says."
"What map?" Harry requested.
Hermione pointed to a large, black screen at the end of the cabin ahead of them, which showed the route they were traveling on. It switched back and forth between closer shots of the route and the statistics of the trip in green; the distance travelled, the distance to the destination, the times of the two points, and their estimated time of arrival.
"So that's where Dallas is," Harry mused. "And the Atlantic."
"Of course it is," Hermione insisted. "Didn't you know? You'd have learned geography in primary school."
"I didn't do very well in geography," Harry admitted sheepishly.
Hermione nodded understandingly, recalling Harry's struggles in Hogwarts' potions class.
"The Dursleys wouldn't have allowed me to," he muttered under his breath.
"What was that?" Hermione queried.
"Nothing!" Harry insisted. "I'm just going to go back to sleep now."
Harry sank back into his seat and turned his head back to the window. Hermione faintly saw his reflection and couldn't tell whether or not his eyes were really open. But both of them had forgotten who else was sitting with them;
While their backs were turned, Phipps removed a Sony Pressman from his pocket, pressed a red 'RECORD' button, and put his mouth to the speaker holes.
"Note for Fobbs," he whispered. "Mr. Potter is short on geographic skills."
Harry eventually did fall asleep until he felt someone shaking his shoulder.
"Harry," Hermione called. "Wake up, we're crossing into America now."
Harry slid up as he looked out the window and found an even sunnier sky than when they left.
"I thought we've been flying for ten hours," he commented.
"Seven," Hermione corrected. "We still have three before we get to Dallas, remember?"
"How is it still this sunny?" Harry asked.
"We're in New York now, which is only a few hours behind London." Hermione explained. "Four or five, probably."
Harry shrugged, turning back to the window, not noticing Phipps still clutching his Pressman.
"Note 2," Phipps whispered into the speaker, "Mr. Potter struggles with the basic concept of time."
Harry peeked out the window at the bird's eye view of New York Harbor. The Statue of Liberty was his indicator of where he was; Even if he'd seen the Empire State Building, The Chrysler Building, or even the Twin Towers, New York would have just been another city.
Over the next three hours, the cities across New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania turned into the rolling Southern green pastures of Virginia, Kentucky, and Tennessee, flowing into the amber waves of grain in Oklahoma and Arkansas.
Harry turned his head back towards the screen so he could follow the route himself. Hermione looked over her shoulder and noticed Harry's satisfaction, which Phipps noticed in turn.
Yet Hermione thought maybe it was because for once in his life, he had the answers to his questions at his disposal.
Once they touched the ground and the "FASTEN SEATBELT" sign was off, Harry heard Vernon grumbling again, most likely over the lack of leg, or rather waist space.
There was too much chatter from the other passengers to tell. Either that or Harry's ears had popped from being in the air too long.
But when they disembarked, Harry heard Vernon clear as crystal; As per law, they had to pass through Customs, which there was another line for. As everyone lined up, it was no surprise to hear from Vernon,
"Again, Bloody Americans! Can't even keep traffic under control, can they?"
What happened at Customs was a repeat of what happened at security. If that wasn't enough, Vernon sure wouldn't be pleased to pick up their luggage and check it in again. At the baggage claim, Dudley punched his way through the crowd of tourists waiting to pick up their bags, aiming at whoever wasn't moving.
"Move!" he whined. "Move it!"
"Bloody Airlines!" Vernon bristled. "Making you handle the luggage yourself. Total lack of customer service."
Petunia let her husband and son carry on, while Fobbs pulled his notepad out, and Phipps pulled out his Pressman. Harry glanced at the drivers, which caught wind of Hermione and her parents, who pulled the two children away from the scene.
Fortunately for the Dursleys, the first pieces of luggage were two mustard yellow suitcases with rusty tattersall stripes and a mauve and green floral case. The other passengers had given them plenty of room to retrieve them.
It didn't take long for the Grangers to retrieve their three, more sensible, faux brown leather suitcases either. Unlike the Dursleys, they seemed to pay mind as Harry waited with his puny, beaten up duffel.
"Haven't you brought anything else, Harry?" Jane asked.
"No ma'am," Harry replied, shrugging. "Just this."
Unfortunately for the Dursleys, they couldn't make Harry drag all their luggage for them. But since they were changing terminals, there was something they could repeat;
At the American Airlines terminal, Dudley turned around and tripped the Dursleys' luggage over with his foot, taking the Grangers' luggage with it.
When the Grangers turned around, they saw Dudley standing idly, leaving Harry to pick it all up again.
"Harry did it!" Dudley bluffed, pointing his finger.
The Granger parents shook their heads as they and Hermione picked the luggage up.
"Don't mind it, Harry," Hermione insisted. "And don't worry about your cousin."
Jane placed her hand on her daughter's right shoulder while Paul patted the other as Dudley pouted over his amusement being spoiled.
"Good girl," Jane complimented.
"And leave the rest to us, Mr. Potter" Phipps offered, picking up the Dursleys' luggage with Fobbs.
"Now see here!" Vernon sputtered.
"Mr. Dursley," Phipps insisted. "We were hired on Mr. Potter's behalf."
"We advise you not to complain," Fobbs added.
After explaining that they were all together, Phipps and Fobbs presented the tickets to the clerk. Once tags were placed on the luggage, the group continued to Gate 17's waiting area, where Hermione pulled Harry aside to sit with her again.
In the corner, Harry saw Phipps pull out that brick device with the antenna he'd spoken into at Heathrow, while Fobbs handed him the notepad.
"What has Phipps got there?" Harry whispered to Hermione. "What's that he's talking into?"
"It's a mobile phone," Hermione replied. "You've seen one before, haven't you, Harry?"
Harry shook his head, but Hermione still didn't look convinced.
"Wouldn't your uncle use one?" she suggested. "What does he do?"
"He runs a company that sells drills," Harry replied. "I wouldn't know what he uses. He doesn't even let me near the television."
"I hardly watch television myself," Hermione assured him. "That's why I followed our route on the map. Also because I wouldn't be able to do my summer homework on the plane. I assume you've completed yours by now, Harry?"
"Hermione," Jane scolded. "Harry will have plenty of time to complete his when we return to Britain. For now, just relax and try to enjoy yourself."
"Sorry Mum," Hermione apologized, sheepishly "Sorry Harry."
Harry presented her with a look of forgiveness, but still Hermione looked like she was hiding something. She turned back to her parents, abruptly shaking off their shoulder pats.
"Still though," she whispered. "I hear that strange things go on in Harry's house."
"Hermione Jane!" Jane scolded again.
"At least... strange for a muggle house," Hermione rephrased, slowly. "For instance; our friend, Ron Weasley, told me that Harry told him that all through last summer Harry's aunt and uncle locked all his school things in a cupboard under their stairs."
"Flight 197, Nonstop to San Jose, Now Boarding at Gate 17," interrupted the voice over the airport intercom.
"Well, we'd better get in line," Paul suggested.
"Come on, Harry," Hermione called, taking him by the hand.
Everyone lined up at the gate, boarding another Boeing 777, where they all sat with the same seating arrangements.
"How long is it to Costa Rica?" Harry asked.
"This map says only three hours and forty five minutes," Hermione pointed out.
"So, not enough time for another extended nap," Harry concluded.
"Unfortunately no," Hermione giggled. "Even though Ron takes extended naps all the time."
"Just what I needed to catch up on my sleep." Harry muttered.
"What?" Hermione queried.
"Nothing," Harry denied. "I'm just trying to get comfortable. You should too, since you don't like flying."
"We'll by flying over the Gulf of Mexico for awhile," Hermione reminded him. "But at least you'll get to see Texas."
"You missed a great view from the last plane," Harry insisted.
"I'm staying right here, where I don't have to look down," Hermione finalized.
"Okay," Harry shrugged.
He turned back to the window, but again, he'd forgotten who was sitting at the end of their row.
"Note Number 3," he whispered into the Pressman. "Mr. Potter seems quiet about sleep habits, also... at the very least, questionable."
As the Boeing roared into takeoff again, Harry stared out the window, watching the Dallas-Ft. Worth Airport shrink, switching into sandy white plains with patches of green here and there. For Harry, it was like seeing a quilt sewn together from rags, if Mrs. Weasley specialized in it.
Had they been traveling west, Harry would have seen the flat tops of the lone red mountains where the Texas coyotes wailed.
There were more hints of green to fly over before they crossed the shoreline hit by more ripples of crystal-clear, blue-green ocean. Looking down at it, Harry was picturing rippled glass showers, possibly in the bathrooms, wherever they'd be staying.
After crossing another shoreline, the white sand shifted into lush, tropical greenery, growing up, surrounding man's creations;
Towering above the green were the flat tops of Southeast Mexican pyramids; Harry thought they must have been home to Mexico's school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with their incredibly long stairways. Yet, towering even higher were the volcanic mountains of Honduras and Nicaragua, looming over the brightly painted, terra-cotta shingled houses on the harbors.
"If only the Dursleys could see this," Harry whispered.
He glanced over his shoulder to get the Dursleys' reactions to his smile, but he caught their heads slumping over their bodies, their eyes closed, and their mouths open, snoring through their sinuses.
Harry chuckled as he planted his face back in the window, too quick to notice Phipps clutching the Pressman.
"Note Four," he whispered into the speaker. "Mr. Potter waits for his relatives to fall asleep."
As the plane began to descend closer to the green, Harry looked to the green matrixes ahead of him, which indicated Costa Rica and San Jose.
Out the window, the sunshine wasn't any different than it was three and a quarter hours earlier. Yet the mountains looked more flocked than the Honduran and Nicaraguan ones. Over the mountains, there were more of man's creations planted in the middle of the green;
The city of San Jose and its various sections were arranged in circles; its red, tan, and white rooftops of varying sized scattered about like tiles in a mosaic, its roads connecting them like green concrete.
Hermione's face was still glued to the big screen when Harry shook her shoulder.
"Hermione, wake up!" He whispered. "We're there. Look out the window."
"No chance!" Hermione refused.
"Come on!" Harry insisted, dragging her to the window. "You missed plenty of great views on the way here."
Hermione's eyes lit up as she looked out, though it was probably because of all the green she saw below.
"Harry, it's beautiful!" she cried.
"Yes," Harry agreed. "Yes it is."
When the plane touched back down, it jerked the Dursleys' heads back up, springing their eyes open, allowing air into their sinuses again. As they came to a stop, all three of them looked rather crabby. Petunia's arms were crossed, Dudley was wriggling around in his tight seat, and Vernon glared up expectantly at the 'FASTEN SEATBELT' sign.
When the sign turned off and everyone stood up, Vernon was grunting yet again, though Harry could tell it wasn't over seating space.
"Airplanes!" he protested. "Always hindering people's chances of a decent sleep!"
While Dudley was also looking quite irritable, Petunia seemed to be rubbing their arms.
"Not to worry dears," she soothed as syrupy as she could. "You'll have plenty of sleep to catch up on when we get to the hotel."
The three people at their right were watching them, shaking their heads. Phipps was now holding the Pressman towards the center section of the plane, the 'RECORD' button still pressed.
With Harry's duffel in hand, the group disembarked and made their way towards the next Customs line, where Harry half expected the Dursleys to be falling asleep on their feet.
Even the puffy haired, mustached Costa Rican agent lifted an eyebrow at Harry's passport photo.
When it was time to pick up their luggage, the Dursleys were shoved to the back of the line. It seemed like the other passengers thought they were large enough to see over their shoulders. This time, the Grangers' faux leather bags were the first to be let down.
"Let me help you with those..." Harry offered.
"No Harry," Paul insisted. "You're just another guest with us on a weekend excursion. Besides, we don't have much to carry and your relatives don't seem to either."
"Their luggage hasn't even come down yet," Harry pointed out.
"They'll survive," Hermione insisted, stepping in to help. "They have when you first left for Hogwarts, haven't they?"
Harry couldn't deny that, so he kept his duffel on his shoulder and waited for the Dursleys' luggage. But it never did; even as the other passengers had come to claim their bags, there was no sign of the Dursleys' garish gear anywhere.
Even as the baggage claim was emptied and the next plane was ready to be unloaded, they still waited, looking even more irritable. Phipps and Fobbs stepped up to the Dursleys, looking as neutral as possible.
"Mr. and Mrs. Dursley," Phipps offered. "Allow us to talk to the airport clerks."
"They'll locate your luggage and we'll send it to the hotel," Fobbs added.
Vernon grunted as the drivers led him, Petunia, and Dudley to the baggage reclaim desk. Harry just assumed that was troll language for "whatever" as Jane put a hand on his shoulder.
"Come with us, Harry," she suggested. "We'll wait for your relatives."
"Thanks," Harry replied.
They stepped outside, through another pair of automatic sliding doors, waiting on the curb. The Grangers seemed content, but Harry was tapping his foot, his hands in his pockets, thinking about Vernon unleashing his wrath at the reclaim clerks.
After awhile, a couple of polished, Rolls-Royce Silver Spurs rolled up to the curb, Phipps and Fobbs stepping out of them. Harry and the Grangers looked quite surprised to see the familiar limousines again.
"Are these the same ones you drove us in?" Hermione asked.
"Oh no," Phipps replied. "We took a one day rent on those when we arrived in the UK."
"These are the property of InGen," Fobbs added. "We have these on hand whenever we're called in on government matters; it's how we got the island in the first place."
Harry and Hermione glanced at each other bemusedly, as did her parents before Fobbs held the door open for them. Harry started for Phipps' limousine, but Phipps, of course, stood in his way.
"On second thought, Mr. Potter, I recommend going with Fobbs, instead," he suggested.
"Right," Harry murmured.
Harry slipped into shotgun in Fobbs' limousine, where the Grangers looked quite pleased to see him.
"Phipps' suggested that I come with you," he pointed out.
Fobbs climbed into the driver's seat, lowering his shades, nodding at Harry before starting up the car. Phipps got the car behind them going and they were on their way again.
"So this is Costa Rica," Harry mused.
"This is San Jose," Fobbs corrected. "We'll only be here for the night, since Mr. Hammond reckoned you'd be tired from the trip."
They drove up to a two-story hotel, painted in white with a teal base and windows that looked like they had cages on them. Memories of the previous summer trickled in Harry's mind, while Hermione realized there was something she hadn't told her parents.
Everyone stepped out of the two limos and into the hotel, where a sign atop read, Hotel Doña Inés. Inside, the drivers brought Harry to the check-in desk.
"A Mr. Hammond made a reservation," Fobbs began.
"In the name of Potter," Phipps finished.
They picked up three envelopes and a luggage cart, before gathering the rest of the group.
"These are the keys to your rooms," Fobbs explained, handing an envelope to the Dursleys.
"Both of you lots will have connecting rooms," Phipps added, handing another to the Grangers.
"As for you, Mr. Potter," Fobbs continued.
"You will have a room for yourself," Phipps concluded, handing Harry the last one. "Ours is next door, should you need anything."
Phipps and Fobbs loaded the luggage cart and ushered the group through a hallway of yellow walls, mahogany furniture, and Persian rugs, with tropical plants pitted under skylights.
A pair of keys was removed from each envelope to unlock a pair of mahogany doors.
"Dinner is at 7:00," Phipps announced.
"Casado, beans, rice, and plantains for afters," Fobbs concluded.
Everyone slipped into their respective rooms to unwind, but Hermione went to join Harry in his.
"Are you alright, Harry?" she asked.
"After a long flight like that, I'm just wondering how Hedwig is doing." Harry replied.
