AN: I know it's been forever, and I'm so sorry about that. I'm afraid it's only going to get worse from here, because May is one of my busiest months. But don't worry, I'm still here, still writing. Thanks to all of you readers, favoriters, and followers who have stuck with Harry and the gang this far. We're just about to hit 1,000 followers! Tons of thanks to those of you who dropped a review: Guest, Majerus, unit2337, Beloved Daughter, Lucky Guard, MusicAnimal, Jmw, Valentina Alexandrea Sparrow, 1sunfun, Kairan1979, Penny is wise, Firenze Fox, Lightningblade49, Narnia and Harry Potter 4 EVER, Igor De Souza Santos, Lady Sabine of Macayhill, magitech, Books are air, Spring Raine, serialkeller, Alaskan King, Wonderbee31, Tellur, MariusDarkwolf, and ElementKitsune.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise.
Harry had never felt such a powerful surge of white-hot anger as he did then. He couldn't stand to even think of Aunt Marge without snarling. Harry couldn't imagine feeling any worse than he did at that moment. But five minutes later, as he sat on a low wall on Magnolia Crescent, he felt much, much worse. There he was, stranded in Muggle Surrey, with no means of speaking to anyone from the Wizarding world. He shouldn't have sent Hedwig off. He should've told her to just stay in his room and keep quiet; she was a smart owl, and she would've done as he asked. Now he couldn't do anything.
He had no money, besides a few spare galleons at the bottom of his trunk. But so far as Harry knew, the only way to exchange would be at Gringotts, and he had no way of getting there. He was well and truly stranded. The only thing he could do now was use his wand and hope to make it to one of his friend's houses on foot. He could fly, but then his stuff would be stranded in Surrey, because Harry had no clue how to take it with him.
He had already broken the rules and used magic, in front of a muggle no less. He supposed the Ministry would wipe her memory, like Lockhart did with his many victims. Thinking of Lockhart made Harry think of Hogwarts, which made his heart begin to hurt. He forced those thoughts out of his mind.
He had gone against the law and used magic. What was a little more? He could charm his trunk feather-light and tie it to his broom before flying to London to exchange his money and make his way to a friend's house. He wasn't entirely sure how to get to most of them, and he was certain that things would look different from the sky. If all else failed, he could go to Lavender in London. She had mentioned the fashion agency she'd be working at in one of her letters. He would just have to ask someone for directions and figure it out.
A plan outlined in his head, he opened up the trunk and searched for his Invisibility Cloak. Just as he undid the latch, he began to feel a funny prickling sensation on the back of his neck, almost like he was being watched. He whipped his head around, but couldn't see anything.
He bent back over his trunk, still searching for it when the hair on his arms began to stand up. He rose, wand clutched tightly in his hand, watching the dark space across from him. He could see something now; a black shape. It was a strange lumpy thing, and he couldn't figure out what.
"Lumos!" He hissed. A light flared at the tip of his wand, and he stepped forward, squinting into the light. He still couldn't see the shape, but he could see two gleaming, wide eyes. He stumbled backward, shocked by…whatever it was. He didn't realize that his trunk was right behind him, and he tripped over it. He flung his arm out to break his fall, and his wand flew out of his hand and clattered to the ground.
A loud BANG was heard, and Harry turned to meet impossibly bright lights, and he rolled away quickly—
It was a lucky thing that he did, because he soon saw an eccentric, purple, triple-decker bus. Gold lettering over the windshield proclaimed The Knight Bus. Harry could only stare in surprise, wondering if he had hit his head without realizing it.
A conductor jumped out of the bus and stood, his back ram-rod straight, dressed in a purple uniform. He began to recite some kind of greeting.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this eve—"
The conductor stopped rather abruptly upon catching sight of Harry, who was still lying on the ground. Harry snatched up his wand and scrambled back up to look Stan Shunpike in the eye. Stan couldn't have been much older than Harry, perhaps eighteen or nineteen. He had large, protruding ears, a pimply complexion, and a vacant stare eerily reminiscent of Crabbe and Goyle.
He also didn't seem particularly impressed with Harry, and he dropped his professional shtick. "What were you doin' down there?" He asked, almost accusingly.
"I fell over." Harry shrugged, feeling as though this were all the explanation it required.
"'Choo fall over for?" Stan asked, sniggering behind his hand.
"I didn't do it on purpose," Harry replied, quite annoyed. Harry now realized he felt more than a bit sore, his hands and knees both badly injured from his fall. He suddenly remembered what had caused the fall, and he strained his neck around to look back at the spot where he had seen the thing. There was nothing there anymore.
"'Choo lookin' at?" Stan wanted to know.
"There was a big black thing," Harry told him, gesturing vaguely to the area. "Like a dog…but massive…" Harry trailed off as he realized how odd he must sound.
Stan was either a mouth breather, or he had a perpetually shocked expression on his face, for he stared at Harry with his jaw dropped. Harry squirmed uncomfortably and ran a hand through his hair, unknowingly revealing his scar to the boy.
"'Woss that on your head?" Stan said, immediately shifting his attention.
"Nothing." Harry quickly smoothed down his bangs to cover up his scar. He didn't want anyone knowing Harry Potter had taken the Knight Bus and looked like a lunatic.
"'Woss your name?" Stan persisted.
Harry cast about wildly for a moment. "Erm, Justin Finch-Fletchley," He blurted the first name to come to mind. "So…so does this bus go anywhere?" He hurriedly changed the subject.
"Yep," Stan said proudly. "Anywhere on land that is. Can't do nuffink underwater. We tried, course, but the Knight Boat didn't really work out." Stan paused for a moment, then shuddered. "'Ere, you did flag us down, dincha? Stuck out your wand 'and, dincha?"
"Yes," Harry lied quickly. "Listen, how much money would it take to get to London?"
"Eleven Sickles," Stan said, assuming his previous business-like manner. "But for firteen you get 'ot chocolate, and for fifteen you get an 'ot water bottle and an' a toofbrush in the color of your choice."
Harry rummaged in his trunk and shoved a fistful of coins at Stan, not really caring whether he got a hot chocolate or not. Harry received another shock as he boarded the bus and saw that instead of seats, they had brass beds.
"You get this one, right behind the driver," Stan said in a loud whisper, trying not to disturb the other passengers on the bus. "This is our driver, Ernie Prang. Ern, this is Justin Finch-Fletchley."
Ernie Prang didn't look as though he really cared who Harry was. Nonetheless, he nodded politely and blinked behind his large, thick framed glasses.
"Take 'er away, Ern," Stan directed from his comfy armchair next to Ernie.
With another loud BANG, and Harry felt himself fly backwards onto his back on the bed. The Knight Bus was faster, and probably a lot more dangerous than flying. Harry pulled himself up to gaze out of the window. Everything passed by in a blur, and Harry began to feel a little queasy. Stan seemed to find Harry's facial expressions highly amusing.
"This is where we was before you flagged us down," He said. "Where are we, Ern? Somewhere in Wales?"
Harry struggled to remember which of his friends lived in Wales. Mentally, he went through them all. Lavender was in London, Angelina was in Andover, Cormac was in Chesterfield…
Stan left to go wake up a woman named Madam Marsh, as Harry looked at the passing scenery with fear. So far, the Knight Bus seemed to easily avoid all of the obstacles in its course. In fact, Harry had a sneaking suspicion that the bus was enchanted so that all objects jumped out of its way.
"'Ere you go Madam Marsh," Stan said happily, returning with a witch who looked a little green.
Harry kept thinking. Dean was in Aldgate, central London, Alicia lived in Gainsborough…
Madam Marsh hurried off the Knight Bus, clutching a handkerchief to her mouth. The Knight Bus gave another BANG, and began to race away, just as Harry remembered that Lee lived in Wales, but his family generally didn't like visitors unless they could stand to gain something, and they really didn't like unannounced visitors.
The Knight Bus continued to swerve and squeeze into areas while Harry leaned back in the bed, feeling sick to his stomach. He wondered how the tiny wizard farther back could sleep so peacefully. Harry was certain that even if the Knight Bus drove like a normal bus, he wouldn't have been able to sleep. He could only think of Aunt Marge, the Dursleys, and what was going to happen to him now that he had broken the restriction on underage magic.
Stan flapped open the latest copy of the Daily Prophet and began to read. He was concentrating very hard, and he stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth as he did so. On the front page was a picture of a man with long, matted hair and a strange gleam in his eyes. He looked familiar.
"That man!" Harry blurted out, forgetting himself. "He was on the Muggle news!"
Stan turned to the front page and chuckled condescendingly. "Sirius Black," He nodded knowingly. "Of course he was on the Muggle news, Justin, where have you been?" Stan gave another chuckle at the confused look on Harry's face. He removed the front page of the newspaper and handed it to Harry.
Black Still at Large!
Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.
"We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, "and we beg the magical community to remain calm."
Fudge has been criticized by some member of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.
"Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an irritable Fudge. "Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it—who'd believe him if he did?"
While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.
Harry looked into the shadowed eyes of Sirius Black, the only part of the sunken face that seemed alive. Harry had never met a vampire, but he had seen pictures of them in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class, as Lockhart bragged about how he had slayed one, and Harry thought that Black, with his waxy white skin, looked just like one.
"Scary-lookin' fing, inee?" said Stan, who had been watching Harry read.
"He murdered thirteen people?" said Harry, handing the page back to Stan, "with one curse?"
"Black woz a big supporter of You-Know-'Oo," he said.
"What, Voldemort?" said Harry, without thinking.
Even Stan's pimples went white; Ern jerked the steering wheel so hard that a whole farmhouse had to jump aside to avoid the bus.
"You outta your tree?" yelped Stan. "'Choo say is name for?"
"Sorry," said Harry hastily. "Sorry, I—I forgot—"
And it was true. Harry had forgotten he wasn't supposed to say the name. Most of Harry's friends had followed Oliver's example and had said his name, though typically with flinching involved. There were still a few who flat out refused, but at least they didn't appear to have a reaction anymore when it was mentioned in their presence.
Stan slowly began to recover from his shock. "Very close to You-Know-'Oo, they say. Anyway, when little 'Arry Potter got the better of You-Know-'Oo—"
Harry nervously flattened his bangs down again.
"—all You-Know-'Oo's supporters was tracked down, wasn't they, Ern? Most of 'em knew it was all over, wiv You-Know-'Oo gone, and they came quiet. But not Sirius Black. I 'eard he thought 'e'd be second-in-command once You-Know-'Oo 'ad taken over.
"Anyway, they cornered Black in the middle of a street full of Muggles an' Black took out 'is wand and 'e blasted 'alf the street apart, an' a wizard got it, an' so did a dozen Muggles what got in the way. 'Orrible, eh? An' you know what Black did then?" Stan continued in a dramatic whisper.
"What?" said Harry, utterly captivated.
"Laughed," Stan said. "Jus' stood there an' laughed. An' when reinforcements from the Ministry of Magic got there, 'e went wiv 'em quiet as anyfink, still laughing 'is 'ead off. 'Cos 'e's mad, inee Ern? Inee mad?"
"If he weren't when he went to Azkaban, he will be now," said Ern in his slow voice. "I'd blow meself up before I set foot in that place. Serves him right, mind you…after what he did…"
"They 'ad a job coverin' it up, din' they Ern?" Stan said. "'Ole street blown up an' all them Muggles dead. What was it they said 'ad 'appened Ern?"
"Gas explosion," grunted Ernie.
"An' now 'e's out," said Stan, with a sort of morbid excitement. "Never been a breakout from Azkaban before, 'as there Ern? Beats me 'ow 'e did it. Frightenin' eh? Mind, I don't fancy 'is chances against them Azkaban guards, eh, Ern?"
Ernie quickly changed the subject.
Harry was glad to find that they reached the Leaky Cauldron only about ten minutes later. He couldn't stand sitting there any longer, wondering. He went over the plan one last time in his head: he would lie low in the Leaky Cauldron until Gringotts opened, take out of all of his money he could get his hands on, convert it to pounds, and go find Lavender in London. She was the only one of his friends that would be close by. If he couldn't find her…well, he didn't know what he'd do. Not being able to locate Lavender was not an option, he decided firmly. She was his only chance.
Ernie slammed on the brakes and the Knight Bus screeched to a halt in front of the Leaky Cauldron. Stan picked up Harry's luggage and descended the steps.
"Thanks," Harry told Ern. He took his trunk from Stan and set it gently on the ground. "Well, bye!" Harry said cheerily, glad to finally be rid of him.
Stan didn't move, fixated on a shadowy figure in the doorway of the pub.
"There you are, Harry!" A voice called. A hand reached out and grabbed Harry's shoulder. Harry felt his stomach drop and looked up to see Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic.
Stan bounced on the balls of his feet, a dumb, toothy grin on his face. "What didja call Justin, Minister?" He asked eagerly, dragging Ernie out of the bus.
Fudge adjusted his green bowler hat and stared at Stan, bewildered. "Justin? No, no, this is Harry Potter."
"I knew it!" Stan shouted gleefully. "I knew you wasn't named Justin. Ern, Ern, you know who Justin is? E' Harry Potter! Justin's Harry Potter!"
Fudge shifted impatiently. "Yes, that's all very well," He said testily. "I'm sure Harry is very glad that the Knight Bus was available to pick him up, but he and I need to step inside and have a little chat."
Fudge clutched Harry's shoulder tightly and steered him into the Leaky Cauldron. Another shadowy figure, tall and slim, appeared in the doorway, holding a glowing lantern. As it got closer, Harry could make out the toothless smile and wrinkled face of Tom, the bartender.
"You've got him Minister!" Tom said joyfully. "Will you be wanting anything? Beer? Brandy?"
"A pot of tea would be lovely, Tom." Fudge still hadn't let go of Harry. Harry got the impression that Fudge was worried he might attempt to run away.
Stan and Ernie followed behind, dragging Harry's belongings with them. There were only a few people in the bar at that hour, but they all turned to watch the group.
"'Ow come you di'n't tell us 'oo you are, eh, Justin?" said Stan. Harry felt like snapping back that he wasn't Justin, and that he wasn't the-boy-who-lived either. He was just Harry. He felt like that would be a little too much for Stan to handle though, so he kept silent.
"And a private parlor, Tom," Fudge added, becoming even more irritated.
"Bye," Harry called back to Ernie and Stan, his blood turning to ice in his veins.
"Bye Justin!" Stan shouted happily.
Once the two were settled in, Fudge looked up at Harry solemnly.
"I am Cornelius Fudge, Harry. The Minister of Magic."
Harry knew this already. He had seen Fudge once before, when the man had come to take Hagrid away. Ron, Hermione, and Harry had stayed huddled in the corner, underneath an Invisibility Cloak.
"Well, Harry, you've had us all in a right flap, I don't mind telling you. Running away from your aunt and uncle's house like that! I'd started to think…but you're safe, and that's what matters." Fudge buttered himself a crumpet and poured some tea, before offering it to Harry.
"Eat, Harry, you look dead on your feet. Now then…You will be pleased to hear that we have dealt with the unfortunate blowing-up of Miss Marjorie Dursley. Two members of the Accidental Magic Reversal Department were dispatched to Privet Drive a few hours ago. Miss Dursley has been punctured and her memory modified. She has no recollection of the incident at all. So that's that, and no harm done."
Harry almost wished they could have modified the other Dursleys' memories too. But he didn't say this to Fudge, who was smiling genially at Harry over the rim of his tea cup.
"I assume you're worried about the reaction of your aunt and uncle?" said Fudge. "Well, I won't deny that they are extremely angry, Harry, but they are prepared to take you back next summer as long as you stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays."
Harry found his voice again. "I always stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays," he said, "and I don't ever want to go back to Privet Drive."
"Now, now, I'm sure you'll feel differently once you've calmed down," said Fudge in a worried tone. "They are your family, after all, and I'm sure you are fond of each other—er—very deep down."
Harry didn't bother to correct Fudge. He just wanted to know what was going on next.
"So all that remains," said Fudge, now buttering himself a second crumpet, "is to decide where you're going to spend the last two weeks of your vacation. I suggest you take a room here at the Leaky Cauldron and—"
"Hang on" blurted Harry. "What about my punishment?"
Fudge blinked.
"Punishment?"
"I broke the law!" Harry said. "I have a friend that told me about it a couple of times. The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry!"
"Oh, my dear boy, we're not going to punish you for a little thing like that!" cried Fudge, waving his crumpet impatiently. "It was an accident! We don't send people to Azkaban just for blowing up their aunts!"
That didn't really make much sense to Harry. Percy had always adored the Ministry, and he talked about them for what seemed like hours on end. Harry had only ever paid attention to the lecture on the importance of not practicing magic at home. Harry had asked what would happen if you had an incident with accidental magic, and Percy had assured him that things like that didn't typically happen after you had gotten your wand. Did that mean that Harry was once again different from the others? Or did that mean that Percy was wrong?
"Besides, surely you don't want to be expelled?" Fudge added.
"Of course I don't," said Harry.
"Well then, what's all the fuss about?" laughed Fudge. "Now, have a crumpet, Harry, while I go and see if Tom's got a room for you."
Fudge strode out of the parlor and Harry stared after him. There was something extremely odd going on. Why had Fudge been waiting for him at the Leaky Cauldron, if not to punish him for what he'd done? And now Harry came to think of it, surely it wasn't usual for the Minister of Magic himself to get involved in matters of underage magic? And why had he insisted that Harry stay at the Leaky Cauldron?
"Room eleven's free, Harry," Fudge said, reappearing with Tom the innkeeper. "I think you'll be very comfortable. Just one thing, and I'm sure you'll understand…I don't want you wandering off into Muggle London, all right? Keep to Diagon Alley. And you're to be back here before dark each night. Sure you'll understand. Tom will be keeping an eye on you for me."
"Okay," said Harry slowly. Then he thought of Dean and Lavender, both out in the Muggle world. "But why—"
"Don't want to lose you again, do we?" said Fudge with a hearty laugh. "No, no…best we know where you are…I mean…"
Fudge cleared his throat loudly and picked up his pinstriped cloak.
"Well, I'll be off, plenty to do, you know…"
"Have you had any luck with Black yet?" Harry asked suddenly, hardly knowing why.
Fudge's finger slipped on the silver fastenings of his cloak.
"What's that? Oh, you've heard—well, no, not yet, but it's only a matter of time. The Azkaban guards have never yet failed…and they are angrier than I've ever seen them."
Fudge shuddered slightly.
"So, I'll say good-bye."
He held out his hand and Harry, shaking it, had a sudden idea.
"Er—Minister? Can I ask you something?"
"Certainly," said Fudge with a smile.
"Well, third years at Hogwarts are allowed to visit Hogsmeade, but my aunt and uncle didn't sign the permission form. D'you think you could-?"
Fudge was looking uncomfortable.
"Ah," He said. "No, no, I'm very sorry, Harry, but as I'm not your parent or guardian—"
"But you're the Minister of Magic," said Harry eagerly. "If you gave me permission—"
"No, I'm sorry, Harry, but rules are rules," said Fudge flatly. "Perhaps you'll be able to visit Hogsmeade next year. In fact, I think it's best if you don't…yes…well, I'll be off. Enjoy your stay, Harry."
Harry was led to his room by Tom, who seemed eager to please. Harry was prepared to just go straight to sleep and stay in his room for as long as possible when he caught sight of Hedwig, perched on top of the oak wardrobe.
"Hedwig!" Harry gasped.
"Very smart owl you've got there," chuckled Tom. "Arrived about five minutes after you did. If there's anything you need, Mr. Potter, don't hesitate to ask."
As soon as Tom left, Harry dove toward his desk and began hastily scrawling out letters to all of his friends. He packed them all inside a large, heavy envelope that he sent to Hermione, with explicit instructions to mail everyone their letters so that Hedwig wouldn't get tired. He told them exactly what had happened to him, leaving nothing, not even his suspicions of Fudge, out. He included a quick question about underage magic in Percy's letter.
Finally, he leaned back on the comfortable bed and massaged his hand, which had started to cramp up from all the writing. He gave a happy sigh at the thought of no Dursleys for two whole weeks.
The next morning, Harry set out to explore Diagon Alley. He had never been allowed to get up at eleven and eat a tall stack of pancakes. It was refreshing. Seeing Diagon Alley felt amazing as well. He had forgotten just how spectacular it all seemed. He could see things that most people didn't even know existed, and he could see it every day for the next two weeks.
Everyone around Harry didn't seem too impressed with all of the shocking sights and sounds, except for the occasional muggleborn that wandered into the alley for the first time. Harry, however, was still surprised by everything he saw. He was sorely tempted to buy every item on the shelf in Gambol and Japes, and the moving model of the galaxy in a large glass ball looked cool too. But the thing that made Harry's heart ache was in the front window of Quality Quidditch Supplies a week after he arrived.
A small crowd was huddled around the display, effectively blocking Harry's view. Harry could still hear them though.
"Just come out—prototype—"
"It's the fastest broom in the world, isn't it, Dad?"
"Irish International Side's just put in an order for seven of these beauties! And they're favorites for the World Cup!"
A large witch in front of Harry moved, and he sidled up closer to the most magnificent broom he'd ever seen.
The Firebolt
This state-of-the-art racing broom sports a stream-lined, superfine handle of ash, treated with a diamond-hard polish and hand-numbered with its own registration number. Each individually selected birch twig in the broomtail has been honed to aerodynamic perfection, giving the Firebolt unsurpassable balance and pinpoint precision. The Firebolt has an acceleration of 150 miles an hour in ten seconds and incorporates an unbreakable Braking Charm. Price on request.
Price on request…Harry didn't like to think how much gold the Firebolt would cost. He had never wanted anything as much in his whole life—but he had never lost a Quidditch match on his Nimbus Two Thousand, and what was the point in emptying his whole vault for something he didn't need? But in his mind, he could just hear Oliver Wood shouting at him to buy it.
Harry shrugged it off and pulled himself away from the display case. There was no point in just staring at it forever, and besides, he had to get his books for Hogwarts. But just before he went into Flourish and Blotts, he spotted a familiar face.
"Harry!" Neville Longbottom waved erratically from in front of the bookshop.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, grinning.
"Getting my books. Gran's inside, arguing with the seller. She does that a lot, haggles with people and claims that their service isn't worth the money they ask her to pay. But never mind me. Did you really blow up your aunt?" Neville gazed at him anxiously.
Harry stopped smiling, and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Er, yeah, I did. It was an accident though, I swear."
"I believe you," Neville assured him. "I knew you wouldn't do something like that on purpose. Sorry I couldn't reply to your letter, though. Gran's been saying that I need to focus on my schoolwork, since I still don't have it all done. I finished her essay in the first week, since she wouldn't stop hounding me about it, but I kind of slacked off on the rest of it. Hermione's probably gonna kill me once she finds out."
Harry stared in surprise. "I don't think I've ever heard you say this much before."
Neville flushed. "Yeah…"
"It's a good thing," Harry told him hurriedly. "Trust me, it is."
Neville still seemed a bit embarrassed, and he quickly changed the subject. "Ron should be coming back anytime now. We're all gonna meet up in the Leaky Cauldron in a couple days. You'll still be there, right?"
"Yeah, of course." Harry beamed at him.
"Neville!" Professor Longbottom hollered from inside Flourish and Blotts. "Come along, we're leaving now."
"They must not have given her what she wanted," Neville whispered. "I'll see you later Harry."
"See you Neville," Harry replied. His day had just gotten a whole lot better.