Disclaimer: If you really wanna know, it's in first chapter. If you're still confused, ask google who HP belongs to.

A.N.: This is another short chapter, but the next one is already half way done ;) (Preview, because I'm in the mood for it. Upcoming chapter title: Why It Is Never A Good Idea To Ask A Cat For Directions)

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The Getting-Lost Game

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Harry had continued chasing after the cyclist until he had caught up to him about half a mile later. He recognised the sportsman who was looking incredulously at the little boy who managed to overtake him as the Scottish Robert Millar, only British winner of the Tour de France King of Mountains title, who had apparently just returned from France to his summer home.

Harry winked at him conspiratorially and continued speeding away laughingly, leaving the professional cyclist behind.

What to do, what to do?

If Harry were anyone else, he would have gotten lost already, because they had moved here only a few weeks before, when the school year had started, and he hadn't have time before to explore. However, Harry remembered exactly which way to go home, because he was just cool like that. He literally could not get lost, but – a mischievous smile overtaking his young features – there was no reason not to try…

He had slowed down to a jog and examined his surroundings. He could probably just continue running and turning left or right sometimes, but, seeing a bus stop down the road, why not up the stakes?

There was even a bus standing there, so the Boy Who Lived hurried to catch it, firmly fixing his eyes on the door of the bus so that he wouldn't see the description of the bus' destination.

As he got closer, he absently created a bus pass in his inner pocket wandlessly. He had done this countless times before, because he continued to forget the bus pass schoolchildren were kindly provided with. Thus, he could do it already without the help of a wand.

He managed to reach the bus, which was pretty empty in time, showed his pass to the bus driver and chose a seat in the middle of the bus, just across the door. As soon as he had sat down, he closed his eyes, and occupied himself with solving the first of this year's problems of the International Mathematical Olympiad, which had been released some time ago. The Boy Who Lived planned to participate perhaps next year or the year after, and he could always use the practise.

The bus continued onwards, stopping every few minutes to let people get on and off the bus. Harry's eyes remained closed. More than two hours had passed by the time he was on the last problem, an improvement from last year, when he noticed a change.

He opened his eyes cautiously, not knowing what expected him.

Everything seemed normal, though there were a lot more people in the bus now. Some mothers with their children, an old Lady in the seat right in front of him, and in the back…

He turned around.

In the back half of the bus was just one man, which was strange by itself, because the front half of the bus was pretty full. The man wore a hood, which obscured his face, and there was only a very thin patch of uncommonly white pale skin visible between his sleeves and his black leather gloves. He was dressed very warm for such a hot day. Everyone else, even the old lady who should have felt colder than anyone in this bus, wore short sleeves and no jacket.

'Just who is that man?', the young hero wondered.

'And what's with the tense atmosphere around him?'

The man seemed to feel the Boy Who Lived's eyes upon him, for he turned his head, flashed his own eyes, and met the young hero's stare head on. For Harry, time seemed to have stopped. He couldn't think, couldn't free himself from the unrelenting stare of the stranger.

Harry didn't even notice when the bus stopped again.

He only came to his senses when the stranger, after breaking the eye lock, passed by his seat on his way outside. He remained sitting, blinking mechanically, for a few seconds.

Then he jumped out of his seat abruptly, he had to follow that guy!

But it was too late, the bus had already closed its dors and was back on the road. Harry swore inwardly, and immediately chastised himself. Swearing didn't solve anything.

He contemplated activating the emergency break, but dismissed that idea immediately. Harry sat back down. He would just have to get off at the next stop and hope to find the guy again. He remembered that there had been a tower, taller than any other buildings in the immediate vicinity on the square behind the bus stop where the stranger had gotten off.

His thoughts returned to the strange man. He had worn a coat with a hood, black in colour, black leather gloves, no bag of any kind, but a dark-coloured umbrella that he used as a walking stick.

And his eyes ... his eyes had been red.

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A.N.: I once tried the getting-lost-game when I was in Venice. I had just read 'The Thief Lord' by Cornelia Funke, and I was so fascinated by her description of the city, that I just had to try. Well, I nearly managed it and I had lots of fun on the way. So people, if you go to Venice, pack your maps and mobile phones away and just go where your feet will take you for a few hours! It's worth it, trust me ;)

A.N2: I know that you need two-and-a-half days for the IMO problems, but my Harry's just cool like that. (The Challenge included GarySue, and I decided to honour it … extremely ^^ Just for the fun of it.)

R & R Please!