Toeing the Line: (by timydamonkey)
Author's Note: I originally planned on calling this fic Hot Coals, but decided against it (read: I forgot). Think I should switch it? I'm unsure. Also, an obligatory self-plug: consider reading Paradoxical, if you like this, because that's my main project. :) Updates may be sparse in November as I am planning on doing NaNoWriMo.
Thank you for the reviews for the prologue (they're much appreciated), and Happy Halloween, everybody.
Part One: Beforehand
Chapter One:
2 weeks earlier…
For a moment, Harry felt very relieved to be at the Dursley household. Normally this would be an absurd thought, but at least he could get some space now. He'd just returned from King's Cross Station with his uncle, and the trip had been silent practically the whole way.
In a way, that relieved him, too, but it also made him uneasy. It'd just been too uncomfortable stuck with Uncle Vernon, so Harry started upstairs, dragging his trunk after him. It would soon be relegated to the cupboard under the stairs like always, but first he had some things he needed to unpack. He intended to take advantage of it not being locked up yet, to save the need for a break-in over getting references for his homework.
He supposed it would amuse Ron that he'd go to such lengths to do homework – perhaps being in the Dursley household was just good motivation. It didn't mean that he had to like being stuck there.
"What are you planning on doing with that, boy?" Uncle Vernon asked him. He was referring to the trunk. Much as Harry wanted to say 'duh, what do you think?' he knew it wouldn't be a good idea. It was a shame that he wasn't on good terms with any Slytherins, as he had a sudden urge to let them know that the notion of Gryffindors being without a sense of self-preservation was ridiculous.
"I'm going to unpack."
"Don't bother," his uncle informed him stiffly. "We are going to take a holiday."
Harry stared. "Wh- what? When?"
"Next week," Vernon informed him curtly, just making Harry blink even more. It… didn't really make sense. He'd never known the Dursley's to go abroad before, and not to mention, they hesitated before bringing him on trips to the zoo. Why would he be going away with them? Had the Order forced them? Had Mrs. Figg got injured again? It didn't make sense.
"Where are we going to?" he asked cautiously. Maybe it would only be somewhere like Butlins. It wasn't necessarily abroad – it was just a hunch that he had.
A hunch that was confirmed when Uncle Vernon said, "America. A town called Amity Park."
"Where?" he asked again, blankly. It wasn't a place that he'd heard of – and, America? Had he heard right?
"I'm sure you heard the first time." It was Aunt Petunia who answered this time. Harry started; he hadn't seen her come in, but he supposed that she'd heard them. She seemed to have foreseen Harry being difficult as she carelessly tossed a brochure at him. He only just managed to catch it, still being in a daze. It was too irregular to be happening…
He glanced down at the brochure. On it was a picture of a quite large hotel. It didn't exactly look elegant, but certainly not shabby, either. The text on the front of the poster proclaimed that Amity Park was 'the only place to be', somewhere where you'd 'see things you'd never seen before' and provided 'endless adventure'. It even said, 'guaranteed that it will change your life'. A list of features showed things like a swimming pool, where he certainly didn't intend to go, and tennis courts.
It was almost too much. Was it trying too hard to impress, or was it just that Harry had never really looked at holiday brochures before?
And Harry thought it incredibly peculiar that it seemed to stress safety protocol so much. He knew that hotels must have it, and that good safety protocol was of course beneficial… but it was almost like it was saying it would be needed. Was Amity Park one of those places that suffered from a lot of earthquakes or tornadoes, or something?
He had a very bad feeling about the idea of this holiday. Where his aunt and uncle lying? Did they want him to say he wanted to go so that they could tell him he never could?
No, Harry scolded himself; that was just ridiculous. He'd turn into Moody if he weren't careful. He really wanted to ask whether or not it was safe, but figured that it wouldn't be a good idea, so opted for another pressing question.
"Why was I never told about this?" he asked, honestly confused. Most people seemed to know months in advance when they were going on holiday. At least they had a chance to be prepared, but not Harry.
"We have no way of contacting you, how do you expect us to tell you?" Aunt Petunia was practically sneering. She'd obviously got tired of his questions, and it wasn't as if he would get anything else interesting out of them.
Nonetheless, Harry opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He'd been going to say that they could send an owl, but then he'd realized how absurd it was. The Dursley's didn't own an owl, wouldn't know where to get one, and he certainly wouldn't send one. Besides, he knew just how distasteful of getting an owl to deliver mail they'd be. It wasn't normal.
Still… he'd have liked to have known. What if the he had other plans? What if the Order –
And there, Harry froze. The Order. The whole reason he had to stay in Privet Drive was the fact that there was protection around the house, apparently. He somehow doubted that protection was portable. But him staying there alone wouldn't make much sense either; he wasn't entirely sure, but he didn't think it would work if the Dursley's weren't there with him.
He bit his lip. He needed to sort this out. Without another word to his aunt or uncle, Harry finished dragging the trunk upstairs and shut his bedroom door, the brochure still clutched in his hand. He had a letter to write.
"This is so not how I envisioned my vacation," a white haired boy grumbled, floating upwards so as to avoid an ectoblast in the chest. He had bright green eyes and was wearing a ridiculous-looking jumpsuit. He threw back his own blasts at the creature in front of him.
He was tired. He'd been ghost fighting for far too long now, and it was a miracle he didn't have any ghost hunters on his tail. He suspected that it was because they were being held up elsewhere. Maybe it was just that he didn't have much else to do with his day – and he never thought he'd have been thinking of school as a good thing – but it seemed that the ghost count in Amity Park was at an all-time high.
He hated it. Dodging another shot, he blasted the creature again. It wasn't a particularly difficult ghost, and not one he knew either (for the boy had acquaintances with plenty of ghosts after fighting with them so often), and he breathed heavily as he watched the snake ghost writhe and spit at him, It hit the ground, and the ground actually fizzed.
The boy groaned and pulled out what looked like a soup thermos, then pulled off the lid and activated it. Still snarling in rage, the creature was sucked in; unintelligible hisses the only sound for that moment. Threats, he assumed, and it wasn't as if he hadn't heard them all before…
"Danny?" a voice seemed to say from his ear, and he reached his hand to touch the Fenton Phones slightly.
"What's up, Tuck?" Danny asked, watching the street below him almost wistfully. Sure, it was a bit damaged, but nothing that couldn't be fixed. He wondered how much of it he alone had destroyed, and thanked the fact that he, the famous ghost boy, Danny Phantom, would never have to pay pocket money towards repairing this sort of thing. Although, he'd sooner be down there on that street now than up in the air and fighting ridiculous amounts of ghosts. But if he didn't fight them, then who would?
Besides, it wasn't like he ever meant to cause damage when he fought. It just… happened.
Tucker replied, saying, "Hey, it looks like that might be the last one."
"Really?" He couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice.
All of a sudden he heard a scream through the Fenton Phones, muffled but there. Background noise. "...Or not," said Tucker cheerfully.
Danny groaned. "Alright, alright, where are you?" He sighed, bracing himself for another battle.
Why were there so many ghosts around? He didn't make it his business to find out how things were in the Ghost Zone, but maybe he ought to. As big as a mess as Danny liked to call the Ghost Zone, he didn't want his town to become that. He'd figure out why they were there and then find some means to get them back off to the Ghost Zone.
It was the sort of thing he always did, after all. It was the life of Danny Fenton.