Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, don't own Terry Boot, don't own anything in Rome...

AN: Wow…year three already! So, sorry this took so long to come; I was editing the last 15 Chapters, and it took longer than I originally thought it would...
Anyway, this chapter is, for the lack of a better word, a 'filler episode' with some fascinating results. I'm on vacation, Harry's on vacation...so yeah, I'm a bit lazy right now :)

Chapter 31: Of Trips and Trouble

Harry loved Italy; it was filled to the brim with all the good things in life – food, sweet food, beautiful music, lovely weather, and undisguised artistic opulence. It would be perfectly wonderful, he thought, if the whole world was like Italy.

Harry quite liked the Boots as well – Mr. and Mrs. Boot seemed to be very polite and decent people, like the Grangers, who he had met several times last summer; but unlike the Grangers, the Boots were more reserved and were far less intrusive in their conversations over dinner. They asked Harry about his education, his grades, his hobbies, and his relationship with Terry - no awkward questions about what happened to his parents, about who he lived with, or about his relatives. Harry could not help but consider that their cautious intuition came as a result of their delicate occupations as an ambassador and a lawyer.

Spaghetti the first night, and pizza the next – after that, Mr. and Mrs. Boot spent their afternoons and evenings at business dinners and fundraisers, leaving Harry and Terry in their posh hotel suite with a couple of house elves and a lot of money.

The hotel was a magically hidden extension of a muggle one – the first six floors made up the muggle hotel, an lavish, luxurious mansion; the next six were under powerful muggle-repelling wards, reserved entirely for wizards. The hotel, being located in the Piazza della Minerva and the Boots' suite being on the twelfth floor, had a clear view of the Pantheon, along with several pizza parlours and gelato shops, which the boys regularly sent the house elves down to fetch snacks from. For the first week, Harry and Terry managed to keep themselves busy with the small selection of books and games they had brought along, under the steady observation of Gelly and Twish the house elves. However, as the second week wore on, boredom began to set in; it was then that Harry coaxed Gelly into procuring a muggle television and several videos.

As Harry predicted, Terry cried at the end of E.T., screamed several times during The Exorcist, met Star Wars with pure awe and full-blown fanboy-ism, and greatly enjoyed the Monty Python films. At first, the house elves had been quite terrified by the electron-spitting contraption, and Mrs. Boot had been bewildered and disapproving – but at Harry's insistence, the muggle device was quickly accepted, and served as a splendid means for keeping Harry and Terry out of trouble and poor Gelly and Twish from becoming test subjects for one of the odd experiments that were bound to evolve in Harry's bored brain. But good things never last.

At first, Harry just tried to blatantly escape from the suite – his first move was to pick the lock of the front door…but he ended up getting his hand burnt (apparently, Terry had tried and failed the same thing years ago) – and after getting a long tag-team lecture from Gelly and Twish, he promised not to do it again. That, of course, was a lie – it was only after getting egged while trying to climb out the window, being tarred and feathered while trying to sneak out the vents, and eventually being sedated did he finally give up, resigned to watching reruns.

It was nearly July, and Harry and Terry were splayed out on the suite floor, a half-eaten pizza keeping them company as they watched the twenty-fifth Doctor Who season for the second time in a row.

"You know," Harry drawled suddenly, "When you start watching the same things over, and over, and over again, it means that you should really be doing something else."

Terry glanced away from television briefly. "Like what? There's nothing to do."

"The -"

"Sh! I like this part!"

Harry groaned, glaring at the television and tapping his fingers impatiently until Terry's favourite scene was over.

Terry paid no mind, though; eyes still fixed on the television.

Harry cleared his throat. "I said, I'm bored."

Terry sighed. "And I said, there's nothing to do."

"There's always something to do."

Terry rolled his eyes, which were still fixed on the television. "We're stuck in this room, Harry."

"See, that's what I don't understand – this is a vacation…aren't we supposed to, you know, go out, see new things, have fun…?"

"This is how it always is," Terry sighed, "They're busy for a few weeks, and then we go out and do something – maybe go see the museums in Florence, go swimming at a beach in Sicily – and then at the end, they drag me along to one of their parties, before we spend the rest of August in England."

Harry frowned musingly. "How long until the 'do something' part?"

Terry shrugged. "I dunno – a week, maybe two…"

Harry pursed his lips. "That's too long..." Harry groaned.

"What do you mean, too long? We're stuck in here! Nothing to do about it!"

"Terry, Terry, Terry," Harry said, shaking his head. "We're Ravenclaws, the smartest sort of people on the planet – if we can't figure a way out of this, we don't deserve to call ourselves Ravenclaws, let alone teenage boys."

Terry finally tore his eyes away from the television to frown confusedly at Harry. "Sorry…I'm not following here…"

Harry smirked. "Watch and learn, my friend. Twish!"

The bug-eyed house elf popped into the room with a cheery smile on her face. "Yes, master Harry!"

"Thanks for showing up so promptly," Harry said pleasantly, "You see, I'm hungry."

Twish's eyes travelled to the half-pizza sitting on the floor.

"Really hungry," Harry amended. "For something new…something…special."

Twish nodded eagerly. "What is master Harry wantin'?"

Harry tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Well…some pizza quattro formaggi from…Florence, how about; three boxes of gelato, orange, bubblegum, and banana flavoured; a Panini, exactly five point two four six six devilled eggs, and some ravioli – hold the marinara, use nutella instead…" He glanced at Terry. "And some crème brulèe, preferably from Paris. Ooh! And some apfel strudel from Berlin. Or Munich."

Twish's eyes were wide, along with Terry's. "Oh my, master Harry! Yous a wantin' many, many things!"

Harry nodded. "And it has to be absolutely perfect, Twish, so take your time."

Twish bobbed her head up and down enthusiastically. "Oh yes! Yes master Harry! Twish will do that!"

And with that, she snapped her fingers and disappeared.

Terry turned to Harry with a glare. "Nutella ravioli? And Paris!"

Harry nodded. "Yeah – killing two birds with one stone; get one elf out of here, and make sure we've got snacks when we get back."

"Back from where?" Terry asked warily.

Harry shrugged. "I dunno yet."

Terry shook his head. "We can't go anywhere, Harry – Gelly's still here. He won't let us go anywhere."

"He can't stop us if he's not here."

"He'd never leave," Terry objected, "Not when he knows Twish is gone."

Harry smirked. "Unless he has to leave."

Terry looked at him exasperatedly. "And how will you manage that?"

"You're good at panicking, aren't you, Terry?"

He blinked. "What?"

"You're going to have to be very convincing."

"Uh…"

Harry nodded. "Well, at least you've got the dumb puzzled look down." And with that, he collapsed down onto the floor, making sure to swing his arm out and knock the end table over as he began to make loud choking and wheezing sounds.

Wide eyed, Terry froze for a moment, before he caught sight of Harry's glare, and shouted, "Gelly!"

Instantly, the house elf popped into the room, tennis-ball-like eyes bulging when they perceived Harry's struggling form.

"Help!" Harry rasped out.

Gelly frantically turned to Terry, sputtering as he tried to form words. "What?" and "How?" were among the intelligible sounds.

Meanwhile, Terry was holding his head as a suspiciously ill-timed headache began to tear at his skull, trying to come up with something clever, and wishing he had a (temporary) psychic connection with Harry. "He…uh…measles! The measles!"

"What's a measle!" Gelly cried, tugging on his ears as Harry continued to struggle at his feet.

"It...it's a muggle disease! It's...very, very dangerous – Harry...Harry could die if he doesn't get help soon!"

Gelly looked between Terry and Harry with tearful eyes. "But…but, but Gelly must take care of master Harry! Master Harry musn't die! Not under Gelly's care!"

Terry nodded rapidly. "So, so we've got to make him better!"

"But how?"

Terry grimaced. "A...ah...uh...oh! A, uh, guru, from the Himalayas can cure it...I think..."

"A guru…from the Himalayas…" Gelly repeated unsurely between panicked pants.

"Yeah…yeah!" Terry said, gaining confidence, "If we don't want Harry to die, you have to go to the Himalayas and fetch a guru…"

"Yes! Yes! Gelly will do that! Gelly will save master Harry!"

The house elf popped off, and instantly, Harry burst into hysterical laughter.

"Brilliant, Terry, brilliant!"

Terry grimaced. "Harry…"

"Bloody hell, you should be an actor, Terry!"

Terry's eyebrows rose. "Uh-huh. What now?"

"Well, now," Harry said, grinning, "We're free – we can do whatever we want."

Terry frowned, but all of a sudden, as though blessed with enlightenment, his eyes went wide. "…whatever…?"

"No teachers, no house elves, no parents – no grown ups at all; just you, me, and an entire city full of food, music, art, and really hot girls."

"You're right..." Terry's eyes lit up. "We can do whatever we want!"

Harry smirked and leapt to his feet, grabbing his B3 and kicking the vent in the wall open. "The path to freedom, my friend."

Terry grinned and ran over to the opening in the wall, beginning to climb in before Harry stopped him.

"What?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow, "No panicking? No arguments or chickening out?"

Terry looked at him with wide, cheery eyes. "I think," he said, "The adrenaline is affecting my judgement."

Harry blinked. "Fair enough."

It took some navigating, but eventually, the boys managed to fall down a lengthy shaft, all the way into the muggle laundry room – luckily, their fall was broken by a pile of folded bedsheets (folded no longer by the time the boys left). Once out of the laundry room, it wasn't hard to find the back door – and bursting through with the sort of energy that comes with the thrill of escaping captivity, Harry and Terry found themselves stumbling down a cobblestone walkway in a slender alleyway, brick and stone looming up on both sides, yet not quite managing to swallow the heat of the new summer sun. The alleyway deviated to a sharp left for only a few more feet, before opening up to the bustling piazza, where they were met with a flurry of noise and smells and light.

Harry grinned over at Terry. "Let's start with some ice cream."

Terry grinned back and nodded, glancing over at the gelato shop a ways down the cobbled street. "I'll race you!"

And with that, he took off, dodging pedestrians as Harry let out an annoyed stream of curse words behind him, shouting about the head-start being unfair even as he flew past Terry with a smirk.

By the time they both reached the gelato shop, Terry arriving a few seconds after Harry, they were both desperately gasping for air, red faced, sweaty, drawing the disdainful attention of more than one scowling patron.

Once he'd regained his composure, Harry stood upright and looked at Terry smugly. "You lose, you buy."

Terry did, grudgingly, buy two double-scoop cones, nearly dropping his own serving in outrage when Harry reminded him afterward that never did they make an agreement prior to their race that the loser would have to buy the winner's ice cream. Surprisingly, neither boy found themselves especially inclined to argue or mock each other about it, and with their double fudge and marmalade-strawberry cones, were mostly silent as they lapped at their gelato with content smiles on their faces, trudging down the crowded streets, weaving through the crowds.

They had not yet finished their snack when they came upon the bustle surrounding the Trevi Fountain, and spotting an unoccupied place on the steps, ran over and sat down beside each other, their two sets of eyes, one emerald and one caramel, trained on the dancing droplets pouring into the the fountain water and the wet marble stone-work shimmering in the afternoon sun.

"I wonder, if we stole all the euros at the bottom of the fountain, how rich we'd be," Harry commented after some time, licking his fingers as he finished off the last of his cone.

Terry glanced at him, evidently surprised that Harry was the one who had broken the easy, comfortable silence, and then shrugged. "I dunno. Really rich, I guess. We don't exactly need the money though…"

Harry snorted. "I know that. Just speculating, is all."

"Speculating?" Terry idly queried.

"Yeah, you know, imagining things – I'm really good at that."

Terry's eyebrows rose. "Oh, I know – you had us convinced for a whole year that Star Wars was really history. In fact, I think Stephen, Lisa, and Mandy still believe it..." He shook his head. "I still can't believe I fell for that…"

Harry smirked at him, mischief, along with the bright sunlight reflected in the fountain, dancing in his green eyes. "You'd be surprised, Terry, what you fall for."

Terry grimaced. "Now, that's not fair! You're an exceptionally good liar – you can fool anyone…"

Harry smiled smugly. "That I can."

Terry sent him an annoyed look, offset only slightly with a faint visage of concern. "But you know Harry, just because you can fool anyone about anything, doesn't mean you can fool everyone about everything."

Harry looked up at him, meeting his eyes with amusement belying his sharp curiosity. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Terry pursed his lips. "I suppose you wouldn't believe me if I said I know what happened in the Chamber of Secrets?"

Harry snorted. "As if."

"And you really won't tell me what happened?"

"Nope." He popped the 'p' with a satisfied smirk.

Terry paused, looking immensely pleased for a moment, before his face sobered entirely, and he put forth cautiously, "And…if I said I knew about the nightmares?"

Harry froze, but for only a second. "What nightmares?"

Terry bit his lip, staring at his hands, fidgeting in his lap. "You do know, Harry, that the Dreamless Sleep potion, and every variation known to wizards, is highly addictive, right? Taking it every second day for an extended period…" He looked back up at Harry's now cold, impassive face. "Don't even try to deny it – the last four weeks, every other night like clockwork, you down a potion once you think I'm asleep. From the colour and the smell it leaves, and the way you just drop right after...it's obviously a sleeping draft."

Harry glared, perhaps with more harshness than he intended. "You haven't told anyone." It wasn't a question.

Terry shook his head urgently. "And I won't. But Harry, whether you need it or not, it can't be healthy..."

Harry turned away from him to glare at the gurgling fountain.

"You know, Harry..." Terry sighed exasperatedly, scratching the back of his head, "Damn it, I'm not like Hermione – I can't lecture you, and if I did, I know you wouldn't listen. It's just...it's just...it helps to talk about it, you know? Sometimes the nightmares go away when you talk about them –"

"There's nothing to talk about," Harry cut in sharply.

Terry looked extremely put off by that answer. "I may not be a bloody genius like you, but I'm not stupid! Since you came to Hogwarts, you've tossed and turned in your sleep, and this year, it got worse – every time you slept, Harry, it looked like you were in pain, until you started going to the infirmary. And then, after the whole Chamber of Secrets, it stopped, and I was really happy for you…"

"Good for you," Harry bit out.

"But now...at first, for the first week, you only took the potion every third day...and on the last night, you would start to toss and turn in your sleep – and you'd say things."

Harry's eyes widened, and his whole body tensed.

"You talk…about your mother. And about someone named Tom."

At that, Harry instantly whitened, and Terry looked at him concernedly. He swallowed his nervousness and continued to press.

"There's no one named Tom at Hogwarts..."

"Not anymore," Harry whispered.

Terry frowned. "What did you say?"

Harry, lost in a torrent of nervousness, indignance, fear, and nauseating unease, didn't even hear himself mutter, "Tom Marvolo Riddle..."

Terry blinked. "That name..."

But any train of thought he was started on was instantly broken with the eruption of a startled cry from Harry, who leapt to his feet, glaring at the hot coffee on his leg and then at the culprit responsible for spilling it on him.

It was a man standing halfway down the steps, tall and dark haired, in an expensive suit, who glared right back at Harry. "Attenzione, ragazzio!"

"What the hell?" Harry cried angrily. "Attenzione my arse! A little young to be going blind, isn't it, you bastard?"

Terry couldn't decide whether or not he was relieved or annoyed that Harry's attention and therefore temper was directed elsewhere. Nevertheless, he reached up and grabbed Harry's wrist, pulling him down into his seat, and shouting to the man, "Scusi, signore!"

The man only sniffed and turned away.

Terry sighed in relief, before turning to Harry. "Come on, mate, it was an accident."

But Harry, disgruntled and in a perfectly terrible mood, simply ignored him and continued to glare at the man, who was then standing with his back towards them, chatting up a young blonde woman sitting at the ledge of the fountain. And that was when it happened.

It turned out that Harry's glare had some real venom behind it – because suddenly, the man's pants flew down to his ankles just as he was about to step forward, causing him to trip, sending him face first into the Trevi fountain. Harry could not help but smirk when, as the man scrambled out of the fountain (minus his pants), he sported a bright red hair colour identical to the hue of the boxers he was wearing.

Terry looked between a triumphant Harry and the growing frenzy about the fountain in horror. "Harry…" He was becoming far too accustomed to the resigned despair he heard in his own voice.

But any fearful, disappointed, or partially amused lecture that was about to spew from his lips was erased, as he froze when he saw number of uniformed men rushing into the piazza, though seemingly unnoticed by the horde of tourists snapping pictures and panicked locals. A couple of the uniformed men pulled out wands, but paused, when one of the others shouted something in Italian and pointed toward a wide eyed Terry and Harry. Instantly, both boys scrambled to their feet.

"The Italian Aurors!" Terry exclaimed with a frantic look in his eyes. "What should we do!"

Seeing the uniformed men making their way toward them, Harry didn't hesitate to grab Terry's wrist. "Run!"

And with that, the two boys took off, ducking and dodging with at the hastiest pace they could physically manage. As they burst out of the crowd and dove down a length alleyway, Harry glanced behind him, and seeing no one following them, allowed himself to smirk. As it turned out, he jinxed it.

Not a moment later, three loud cracks reverberated through the alleyway, and in an instant, Terry and Harry found themselves hopelessly trapped.

Harry sighed nonchalantly. "Well shit…"

"I can't believe I'm in jail."

Harry glanced over at Terry, who was staring at the bars in front of them in utter despair. "They can't hold us," he said lightly, "We're minors, and British citizens. And it was only accidental magic."

"Some accidental magic," Terry groused, "You pulled his pants down! And changed his hair colour! Maybe, maybe if it was just one, they'd believe you - but two highly concentrated events occurring between the same loci? It just doesn't happen."

"I never drew my wand. They can't prove anything."

Terry sighed. "But they're not stupid, Harry..."

"Most people are pretty stupid," Harry argued, "You'd be surprised. We'll be out any minute now, I can feel it."

"Right."

"They can't hold us!" Harry insisted.

"They didn't seem to care."

Harry shrugged.

"I can't believe I'm in jail."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You already said that."

Terry reached out to touch the steel bars, wincing as the charm on them zapped him, leaving an angry red mark on his finger. "Mum and dad are gonna kill me."

"Nah – they love you too much. I'm the one who's screwed. They'll think I corrupted you, or something…"

"You have," Terry said sourly.

Harry smirked. "Oh, come on, it was fun, admit it. And now you've got a story to tell that will have Anthony spinning."

Terry smiled fondly. "Yeah, I guess so." He grimaced. "But there's still my parents to deal with…" He moaned. "What am I going to tell them?"

"The truth, and an explanation or two would be nice. Followed by an explicit apology."

Both boys spun around to find Mrs. Boot entering the small hallway, stopping in front of their cell and whispering a passcode. The bars slowly disintegrate.

Terry had tears in his eyes as he leapt off the bench he was sitting on and threw himself at his mother. "Thank you so much for not letting us rot in here mum!"

Harry smiled. "Yeah, that's very cool of you, Mrs. Boot. Thanks."

The woman quirked an unamused eyebrow, pushing Terry away and straightening out her robes. "Don't thank me yet – believe me, I might have left you in here for the night, if it weren't for the meeting with the Russian ambassador I have in the morning. And lest you forget; if, if I decide to keep this from your father, Merlin knows he doesn't need anything else on his mind right now, I can still make your lives miserable without him knowing. And if I tell him…well, then we can make your lives miserable together."

Both boys grimaced, suddenly pale and fearful of what punishment awaited them.

Mrs. Boot came from a wealthy pureblood family – but clearly, integrity was far more important to her than image and station (she had been a Hufflepuff, apparently), and did not think her son was above a bit of menial labour. Needless to say, the hotel chef was pleased by the knowledge that he would have two unpaid labourers for the next two weeks, Mrs. Boot was pleased that her son and his 'hooligan best friend' would be memorably punished without putting extra stress on her husband, and Terry and Harry were horrified at the prospect of spending their days waiting tables, washing china, and cleaning grime out of corners.

The night after the altercation, after they had been dealt out their punishment, both boys were exhausted, depressed, defeated, and therefore very, very quiet. Terry didn't bother to say anything when Harry downed his bottle of sleeping potion - though he did send an upset glare his friend's way; a glare so piercing that Harry was compelled to answer with a defensive 'it's diluted' - and Harry was so tired that combined with the effects of his potion, as soon as his head hit the pillow, he drifted into a dreamless slumber. He certainly didn't notice Terry get out of bed and grab a notepad out of his bag, idly scribbling on it the subject that was niggling with strange familiarity at the back of his brain: like a puzzle with a hidden but obvious solution, or a brain-teaser that he just couldn't put down, or a code he was sure he knew how to break:

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

T OOO MM A RR V LL I DD E

A DD E I LL MM OOO RR T V

(A E I OOO) (DD LL MM RR T V)

(I AM)? (E OOO)(DD LL M R T V)

A pause.

"Oh Merlin…"

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

So...yeah, Terry's still a Ravenclaw; even though I present him as a bit slow sometimes, he's brilliant with puzzles.

Anyway, third year begins - any thoughts, hopes, dreams, or comments you'd care to share?