Meet the parents! This is one of my longer chapters, but not by a considerable margin.

"My house isn't that far from here," said Bell, pointing to a cluster of towers that looked to be a few kilometers away. Scott was bent over, hands on his knees as he composed himself from the Portkey trip. The tugging in my guts finally subsided, and I gingerly took in my surroundings.

We were in an alleyway, a metallic container with a black bag to my right. Directly in front of us was a dead end, and the cracked, peeling grey paint of the three walls to my left, back and front indicated the area was in disuse. The paved road under my feet was soiled, and a foul stench rose from the metal container. An obscenity had been scrawled on one of the walls: this didn't seem like a good part to be around.

"Where are we, Bell? London?" I had been to the Muggle part of the city on a few occasions, but not like this.

She nodded assent. "I hope my mother's at home." I knew better than to offer her false hope: I doubted the Death Eaters would let a muggleborn off that easily, especially since Mrs. Bell was a high profile witch. How would Bell react if the worst case scenario occurred? There was an odd tension in my chest.

"Your mom seems tough, she'll probably make it home." Scott had finally recovered, and was now standing to my right. He seemed to be in better shape too.

On the walk back, Bell was subdued and quiet. It was a side of her I had never seen before: it seemed like fear and stress had beaten down the good spirits of the Gryffindor, and I hoped this phase would not last long. Many storefronts, muggle devices and people caught me and Scott's eye, but we kept to ourselves, instead of talking to Bell about it. There would be time to do so in the future. Most of the walk was spent in silence.

London was radically different from any other environment I had been in. Perhaps the fact it was about one o' clock in the morning influenced my judgment, but it was still nothing like the Wizarding World. Flashing lights were mounted on poles every so often, and metal hunks whizzed by on roads: it seemed the muggles no longer had much need for horses. Numerous advertisements plastered the streets, and many buildings had a smooth finish: none of the stone bricks that were so common elsewhere. The occasional person that walked on the streets were all dressed incredibly casually, sometimes casting us odd looks at our robes.

We stepped out of a moving metal box that had taken us from the first floor of Bell's tower to the eighth. The corridor was sparse but well-maintained. Bell led us to an oak door on the right, and stooped to pluck a key from a red mat in front of the door. Ingenious.

The door opened soundlessly, revealing darkness. Bell stepped in quickly, shedding her shoes. Do I do the same? Scott was removing his shoes too, and I bent over to take mine off. Bell gave us an impatient wave of her hand, and Scott and I hurried in.

The room suddenly lit up. It seemed clean, but not tidy: it was coloured a calming shade of gold, and some armchairs lay in the center of room. A black box stood on a set of tables, and various nonmoving paintings adorned the walls. A few passageways led to a few other rooms, but most of the doors were closed. How had she illuminated the place? Had she used nonverbal magic? Bell's wand wasn't in her hand, and I could not spot any fires, whether magically created or not. "Electric lights," whispered Scott in awe.

What lights? Before I could approach Bell, a door swung open. A middle-aged balding man walked out, his face clean shaven but sweater crumpled. "Katie? Why're you back home at this hour? Where's your mother?" It seemed he had expected her back, just not at this hour.

Bell's eyes widened and her hands trembled. "You haven't seen Mom yet?"

Her father pursed his lips, searching Bell's eyes. If he had noticed us, he did not show it. "No, she was here just twenty minutes ago. She went to search for you! There was some sort of riot at the campground!" He took a step forward, embracing Bell in a flutter of clothing She buried her face in his neck. "I was so worried, Katie," he breathed.

They held each other tightly for a few seconds, before he released her. Finally turning to us, he asked, "Who are these young men, Katie? Your friends?"

She nodded furiously. "We escaped the campsite together. Miles-" she pointed at me with her thumb, "got us away from some Death Eaters safely!"

I exchanged gazes with her father. "Is that true?" I nodded. "The Death Eaters are back, too?" I blinked quickly. How did this muggle know about them? Nonetheless, I confirmed his suspicions.

"This is bad news. I'm glad you all made it back safely, though. Your mother should be coming back soon, I'll get you all drinks in the meantime." As an adult, Mrs. Bell could Apparate: it was just a matter of when she decided to head back.

"Miles and I are fine with tea, if you have that." He gave us a distracted nod, disappearing into a doorless room filled with numerous intimidating appliances. It must have been the kitchen. Bell finally turned to us, motioning to a couch. We all sat down, and I let a sigh out.

"I'm so glad my mother's alright." I nodded: it would have been devastating had her mother perished at the hands of Death Eaters. It seemed everything would be alright, as soon as Scott and I went back to the Vaisey home later to resume the rest of the summer holidays.

Bell's father swooped in, placing our drinks on the table. Bell picked up a brown mug of tea, sipping it. It seemed she preferred her drinks hot but unsweetened. I reached for the sugar cubes, passing one to Scott and then dissolving one in my mug.

"My father will kill me if he finds we're not back at home in the morning!" Scott said. Mr. Vaisey was away overseas: Albania or Estonia, or some other Eastern country, and would probably throttle us both if Twinkle, Scott's house elf, informed us that we had not reached the manor in the morning.

I racked my brain for a solution. Scott's fireplace was probably closed to Floo connections now, and we could not Apparate. "How about we send a letter to your father? Tell him about the situation?"

Bell chewed on her lip, leaning back into the couch. "We don't have an owl. Mom doesn't like keeping them around."

"Any magical areas around here? If we could find a pub, like the Leaky Cauldron, we could use an owl or Floo there." I doubted there was one, and Bell's terse shake of the head confirmed it.

"You have to go to the Leaky Cauldron, but it's closed now. My father can fetch you two there tomorrow in his car."

Car? "What's a car?" A frown flashed over Bell's face, but disappeared. Probably a muggle thing.

Scott lit up. "I've learnt about them. Horseless carriages, right?" Realization dawned over me. A car must have been the metal boxes I saw propelling themselves on the roads.

"You can stay the night here," said Bell. "I can't imagine Dad saying no."

Sure enough, after a brief chat with her father, he allowed us to stay the night, and even ferry us to the Leaky Cauldron at nine the next day. All of our possessions had been left behind in our tents: my spare clothes and Quidditch souvenirs were probably ashes by now. All I had brought with me were a coin pouch filled with about fifteen galleons, my wand, and my clothes; a scarlet and black jumper, and long pants. My clothes were streaked with mud, and plastered to parts of my body by sweat.

We were in Bell's room now: a queen-sized bed, a large dresser, bookshelf and desk were fit comfortably inside, with a rug nestled between her bed and the door. Two mattresses had been set down on the floor: one on the rug, and one poking out into the corridor. As Bell rummaged through her dresser to find Scott and I some spare clothes for the night, I pulled a book out at random. Lord of the Rings. It seemed like an interesting, albeit thick book.

"Here you go." I set the book down on her desk, as Bell thrusted a pastel green shirt into my hands, along with some jeans. They seemed a tad too big. "They're my father's old clothes," she said apologetically. "I would resize them to fit you, but we can't use magic now." Times like these made me dread the laws regarding underage magic, but there was nothing much I could do about it.

Holding the door open,she gestured down the hall to the second door on the left. "You can shower there; I think Scott's already inside." I muttered my thanks, and she beamed at me: it seemed a tad forced, but I didn't bring it up. Once more, I looked down at the spare clothing she had provided me. Do muggles shower differently from us?

"It's eight o' clock, time to wake up!" sang an annoyingly loud voice to my ears. Groggily, I pawed at my pillow, pulling it over my ears. Peace returned for a brief twenty seconds, before I felt two pairs of hands grab at my body. I jolted up, and the room came into focus as I blinked, revealing the grinning faces of Scott and Bell.

"Son of a banshee!" I breathed. "Don't ever do that again."

Bell gave me a good-natured smack on the shoulder. "I'm taking you two out to breakfast at a Muggle restaurant, since Scott insisted I do so. He'd better be paying, though." Scott impishly smiled at the last sentence, nodding at my bulging coin purse.

I discovered Mrs. Bell had came back over the night, and Scott and I introduced ourselves to her. Bell's tearful reunion with her had probably already passed, for they greeted each other like nothing had occurred. Though the reason why she had come back so late was still unknown to me, it would be unwise to press for details.

After a few minutes of washing up, we left Bell's flat with a promise to Bell's parents to be back in forty minutes. While the idea visiting Muggle London was interesting, Scott found the notion thrilling: the wide grin he had worn since we woke up had not subsided. Bell assured me my attire was perfectly suitable for Muggle society, and I took her word for it. Travelling down through the moving metal box yet again, Bell led us down the street.

We took a right turn, and came to a small shop. The flickering sign indicated it was a 'cafe' and the aroma of coffee and bacon drew us in. Bell seemed familiar with the waiter, and took a seat near the table. We did likewise. The restaurant had a wide variety of patrons: all muggle, of course, but there were men dressed in formal attire, younger adults in casual clothing and the occasional worker. The place buzzed with chatter, but the noise did not reach an unbearable level. A menu was slid down to me and Scott, and I opened it.

Many of the foods had odd names to them, but the handwritten captions written under them helped clarify their exact nature: Muggle slang seemed difficult to get used to. Eventually, I decided on a sausage sandwich. Scott deflated a little, seeing the normalcy of muggle food, but settled on something to order too. Bell waved a waiter over.

"I'll have the fry-up, please." She winked at me. "No Quidditch for a while anyway, so I might as well indulge myself while summer lasts." I understood the sentiment.

I motioned to the menu. "The sausage sandwich." With a furious scribble, the waiter turned to Scott.

"The full English breakfast."

"You mean the fry-up?"

Scott turned a little red, but managed a nod.

"As for your drinks?"

"The usual, Kenny: an orange juice."

Scott had already thought of his drink too. "I'll have a coffee, but bring the cream separately."

Scowling, I flipped through the menu. Most terms were absolutely foreign to me: I recognized water, juice and cola: none of them were particularly appealing to me now. Finally, I spotted a term that resembled a drink I could stomach about now. If Butterbeer was as good as it was the Wizarding World...

"One beer please. Serve it hot."

The waiter set his pad down. "Kid, you don't look a day over fifteen."

I was two weeks past fifteen, but that was besides the point. "So?"

He gave me a bewildered look, but Bell quickly answered for me. "He's just joking around, don't mind him. Get him a hot chocolate." She finished the sentence with an innocent twinkle.

"Will that be all?" With that, the waiter skulked off.

I noticed the faint sound of music being played, but there was no indication a band was there. The lyrics and instruments were familiar, yet distant: probably another muggle thing.

"Looking forward to school next year?" I asked. In an odd way, I actually was: most of my holidays were spent studying, practicing charms, playing Quidditch or experimenting with writing and games. Hogwarts allowed me to do all of them, with access to more resources and the added benefit of being around friends. Scott and Bell considered my question for a moment.

"We've got our O. this year, and I think we'll do alright. Just don't stay up too late studying, Miles. Gets hard to sleep when you do that." I frowned. I didn't spend that much time revising, did I?

"I'm glad I get to be around my friends, but I wish I could see more of my parents." Bell's eyes were wistful for a moment, but the melancholy was quickly replaced by a somewhat forced cheerfulness. "Herbology is going to be fun this year: I think I'll do good in Charms too. I hope my free time and Quidditch don't get eaten up by exams too."

"I almost forgot to tell you something, Katie! I received my prefect letter last week! It'll feel weird to have so much seniority, but I'm looking forward to all the responsibilities and privileges it brings." Scott said.

Bell gave him a hug. "I'm genuinely happy for you! That's great!" The smile she wore reflected that sentiment. Scott gave a small squeak at the embrace, but quickly returned it, stupidly grinning from ear to ear. From across the table, I could only watch, bemused.

A plate was set down on the table, and the waiter coughed. "Ah, Ms. Bell... Food's here."

Scott quickly tore himself away, and looked down at his plate. "Looks great," he commented. It didn't seem exceptionally delicious, but the smell elicited a rumble from my stomach: a warm meal was a warm meal. Bell had already begun to cut into her tomato.

We ate quickly, exchanging little conversation. Bell then paid for the meal, being the only one to carry muggle money: Scott repeatedly offered to pay her back in school, but she shot down his requests each time. By the fifth offer, her crossed arms and cross look finally made Scott back down, the idea that she was getting annoyed crossing him.

Back at the flat, Bell's mother exchanged more pleasantries with Scott and I, and then we followed her father down to a cavernous chamber they called a garage: amongst the numerous metal boxes, he clambered into one, and we did likewise. I idly wondered if all of the vehicles displayed were his.

The interior of the vehicle; a car, it seemed, held five seats. With a slight scowl, Scott was permitted to sit up front, leaving Bell to ride at the back with me. Bell's father gripped a circular contraption, announcing for all of us to "fasten our seatbelts".

"What?"

Before Scott could turn around- no doubt to explain the term-, Bell was leaning across me. Tugging down at a black belt which unravelled across me, she fastened it to a little red device near my right pocket. She did likewise.

Assured that all of our seatbelts were secured, the car took off. It slowly lumbered through the garage, Bell's father weaving it through the rows and rows of other vehicles. It displayed none of the speed the vehicles had above ground, and part of the Quidditch player in me willed it to do so.

Sure enough, once we had exited the garage, the vehicle accelerated to higher speeds: it was like a more stable, faster carriage. Scott was glued to the window the whole journey, his answers to Bell's father's questions mostly monosyllabic grunts. I watched the passing storefronts only with a mild interest.

"Are you boys in the same year as Katie?"

"Yeah."

"Same house?"

"No."

"We're in Slytherin, and she's a Gryffindor. We share classes sometimes, but I've never been to her dorm-ah, her part of the school."

"Slytherin? Isn't that where all the turncoats and dark ones come from?"

"Dad, I may have exaggerated the details a bit- they aren't so bad."

"Each house has different values. B-Katie got sorted into her house because of her bravery and chivalrousness, and Scott and I are in Slytherin because of our resourcefulness, ingenuity and determination."

"Is this the first time you've called me Katie?"

"So, what do you plan on becoming when you grow up? I'm a little scared my little Katie will end up playing nothing but sports, just like her mother."

"I might make potions, or join the Ministry. There are lots of job openings available, and with hard work and practice, anyone can succeed."

"Hear that, Katie? You should get Mike to teach you something about potions, or magic or something else."

"Miles, dad."

"Anyway, Katie, I hope you can remain the best of friends while you're in school. These two boys will do you good to be around."

"We were already friends, dad."

"Mr. Bell, if you don't mind me asking, what do you work as?"

"I teach literature at a university."

"What's that?"

"Literature would be the study of texts and the fictional texts contain rich themes and meanings inside of them, and my job is to educate people, to get them to interpret these texts, to improve the human mind."

"No, a university."

"There aren't universities for you... wizards?

"No."

"It's an institute of higher education, something people go to study a subject in depth. Most people attend one after they graduate secondary school."

"I see."

There was a lull in the conversation, the vehicle cruising on the paved roads for a while. London passed by in a blur. In a few moments, we had arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. I stepped out of the car, and Scott reluctantly followed.

"You'll have enough on you to hire an owl or use the Floo, right?" Bell's voice called out. Nodding, I gave one last wave to the Bells and stepped into the Leaky Cauldron.

The pub had not changed since I had visited it two years ago: the floor was slightly damp, the scent of brewing tea and mould permeated my nose, and there was the chatter of witches and wizards, here for a morning drink or meal. I spotted the owner, Tom, and wandered over to the bar.

"What can I do for you, young man?"

Scott dumped a Sickle and a handful of Knuts on the wooden counter. "Some Floo powder, please."

Tom glanced at the coins laid out on the counter, then swept them up. Jerkily reaching under the counter, he fumbled around, out of sight for a few seconds. He then surfaced, tossing some of the emerald green dust into Scott's still-outstretched palm.

"Should be enough for a few calls, or to transport you and your friend," he huffed. "Fireplace's in the room behind the counter."

I followed in the direction Tom had gestured to, arriving in a small room. It was sparsely furnished, with a matted rug lying on the floor and a grimy window, but as Tom had promised, there was a crackling fire. Walking over to the fireplace, Scott handed me some of the Floo powder. "Remember, 12 Stonefield, Liverpool. The fireplace in the guest reception should be open, and recognize you as a visitor." He then tossed the powder in, the orange flames taking on a green hue. Shouting his address, he stepped in, and was whisked back home. I did the same.

See you next year, Bell.

I think I might have a small problem when it comes to handwaving problems away... Do tell me if there were scenes (both in this chapter and the entire story) you'd like to see elaborated upon.