Disclaimer: Standard stuff (I don't own anything, I won't be making profit, any resemblance to previously published content is purely coincidental, JK Rowling is the coolest, etc.). If I make any legal errors regarding copyrighted material, inform me and I will correct them immediately.

Harry Potter and the Lightning Scar

As soon as he finished calling out the portkey's activation phrase, Harry felt the signature "hook in the gut" jolting sensation, a wave of nausea, and then found himself sprawled out on a shiny tiled floor. An amused middle-aged couple helped him to his feet, and handed him Hedwig's cage.

"I know it's good to be here, but there's still no call for kissin' the tile," the man joked in a distinct Texan accent (even to Harry's relatively unpracticed ear, that drawl was unmistakable; not that it mattered, for the man's cowboy hat, bolo tie, and denim shirt would have been a dead giveaway in any case), chuckling genially. "At least wait until you can get at the actual ground outside."

"You all right there, son?" asked the woman kindly, after rolling her eyes at her husband. "That must have been your first international portkey. Go on up to that desk, and show them your passport. If you have any trouble, just ask me or my miscreant of a husband here."

The woman pointed to a large desk, above which hung a sign that stated:

Philadelphia International Airport

International Portkey Arrival Terminal

– CUSTOMS –

All travelers must present passports and baggage for inspection

"Thank you, ma'am," Harry said gratefully, blushing slightly. Despite his decidedly ungraceful entrance and Hedwig's annoyed glare, the trip was already looking up—less than ten seconds in America, and people were already helping him.

Harry walked over to the line in front of the desk, and waited a few moments before being waved over to the nearest available agent, a tall, shapely woman with dark skin and hair puffed out into a spherical afro. Remus and Sirius had made a stop before going to Number 4 to get Harry a passport using a cut-out of a photo he had taken of the "trio" at school—they had skipped the normal waiting period by simply confounding the bureaucrats and back-dating the application by several months. The baggage inspection took only a few seconds; the woman ran her wand over Harry's trunk and nodded, apparently satisfied. Harry only had to say how long he'd be in the country ("a couple of months, but in Philadelphia for just a few weeks"), and then briefly remove the glamour on Hedwig so that the agent could ensure that Hedwig was just a post owl, rather than something illegal or dangerous.

"Oh, thank God it's only an owl," she sighed upon seeing Hedwig's true form, clearly relieved. "You absolutely would not believe the creatures that people try to smuggle in. Last week some psycho tried to sneak in a cockatrice disguised as a poodle. Damn thing tried to bite my hand off. Anyway, is there anything else I can help with, kiddo?" the customs agent asked.

"Ah, yes actually," Harry replied. "Can you tell me the best way to get to City Hall? I'm looking to take the apparation license exam."

"Yeah, sure," she answered. "You can either go the non-magical way—that is, the regional rail, which departs from the airplane terminals every half hour, and costs about five or six bucks—or I can make you a portkey. It's free for destinations within the city, but some people don't feel up to another portkey so soon after an international one. Anyway, you might want to stop and check into a hotel first, to drop off your luggage. Most of them will give you an early check-in, if spare rooms are already prepared for arrivals. Since you'll only be in Philly for a few weeks, I'd recommend one of the inns, rather than one of the big, expensive hotels."

Harry considered it briefly. Stopping at an inn first was an excellent idea, and he would definitely do that; Remus and Sirius had already reserved a room for him at the decidedly non-magical Alexander Inn, which was located conveniently close to City Hall and the rest of Center City, while still being a little bit out of the way, to help him stay incognito. Transportation, however, was the real question. On the one hand, Hedwig wouldn't like it; on the other hand, even disguised as a parrot, she would draw attention. The Texan couple hadn't seemed to notice his scar, and the customs agent hadn't batted an eye when she read his name on his passport, but if he unnecessarily drew attention to himself, word might find its way back to Dumbledore. Caution won out; he simply wasn't willing to risk his whole trip by traveling in public more than he had to.

"I'll take the portkey, please," he said. "Can you set it for 12th and Market?"

This was a good option, he thought; he hadn't actually told the woman where he was staying, and that intersection was only three blocks from his destination, and, most importantly, was closer to several other hotels than the inn he had chosen. If she was questioned as to his whereabouts, someone would have to search several large hotels before getting to where he was staying, and hopefully he'd be gone by the time they fanned out that far.

She took out a short length of rope, tying one end to a bar on Hedwig's cage and the other to the handle of Harry's trunk.

"Make sure you've got a good grip on it," she instructed. "I make a lot of these, and it's a really short distance, so it should be pretty smooth. It'll put up a Notice-Me-Not charm for a few seconds when you land—enough so non-magicals won't wonder why you just popped into existence in Center City. Just say "Go Eagles!" when you're ready to go."

"Thanks, miss," Harry said, gripping the rope tightly and making sure it was securely attached to his trunk and Hedwig's cage. "Go Eagles!"

This time, the hooking sensation was much less intense, there was no nausea, and—most importantly—Harry didn't end up sprawled on the ground. He looked around briefly, impressed by the amount of hustle and bustle, then began his short walk south to the inn.

He arrived in short order, and was—since he had a reservation already—immediately shown to his room, where he divested himself of his luggage, opened up Hedwig's cage, and removed her glamour. She was still irritated at him about the portkeys and glamour, but not so irritated that she'd turn down a handful of owl treats, which quickly calmed her ire. Chuckling at her fickle but ultimately friendly nature, Harry left his room, hanging a "Do Not Disturb" sign and casting colloportus at the door to be certain that Hedwig and his trunk would not be tampered with.

Harry left the inn to go take his apparation test, but more importantly (or at least more urgently), his previous brief walk had exposed him to the delicious smells emanating from the numerous food trucks parked alongside the street, which had made him immediately and keenly aware that he had not eaten since his small breakfast. He had left London just after 12 PM, and it was now almost exactly 7 AM in Philadelphia—due to the time difference of five hours, he would probably need four meals if he was to attempt to stay awake late enough to shift his internal clock over to Eastern Standard Time, and it was high time for meal number two.

He went to the nearest food truck. Not knowing what was good, and not really taking the time to read the menu posted on the side, he simply parroted the order of the man who went before him, asking for a "cheesesteak, with provolone, fried onions, salt, pepper, and ketchup." He didn't really know what a cheesesteak was, but vaguely recalled it being one of Philadelphia's signature foods, along with soft pretzels.

A few minutes later—he was surprised and impressed with how quickly the sandwich had been prepared—he completed the transaction, peeling off a few bills for the cashier. He pocketed the change, making a mental note to review the American currency after his meal, and dug in. Seconds later, he was doing a credible Ron Weasley impression, sitting on a bench and shoving food into his face. He could see why the locals seemed to like cheesesteaks so much, and got the feeling that he'd be having them pretty often in the next couple of weeks.

Satisfied after the large meal—looking at the price, he had expected a sandwich about half the size; he'd have to keep in mind that what he'd heard about American portion sizes was apparently true—he walked the short distance to City Hall. It was a nice building, with a statue of...well, someone...at the top. He walked in, following a tall, older man who he had noticed cleaning off his shoes with a subtle flick of his wand. As he had hoped, the man led him to a door that many of the passersby seemed not to notice.

Following the man through the door and down a set of stairs (he briefly wondered how this area didn't get in the way of the City Hall subway station, before assuming that the answer was simply "magic"), he found himself in a bustling office lobby with several halls extending out of the main area. The people within were obviously magical; some were levitating boxes of papers, others were sending memos flying through the air to other offices, and still others were simply too peculiar to be non-magical. Tearing his attention away from the people (as he didn't wish to be caught staring), he noticed a directory conveniently located beside the stairs, and he followed the simple directions down the hall to "Apparation Examination and Licensing."

After taking a number and standing in line for about ten minutes, during which time he filled out his apparation license application, he was called up to hand in his paperwork. A rather young wizard (Matt, Mark, Max, or something like that) met him at the front desk, and upon noticing that he had listed "England, United Kingdom" as his place of birth, began chatting amiably about a trip he had taken to London the previous summer. Harry realized that the man probably engaged in light conversation with all of his examinees to calm their nerves and help them pass the test, and—though it was unnecessary in his case—he appreciated the gesture. The man led Harry to what was clearly the exam room, a large open area with several differently-colored circles painted on the floor. He followed the Matt/Mark/Max's instructions to the letter, apparating from circle to circle, and in short order, the man praised his technique and stamped "PASSED" on his application.

"Good job, dude," Ma-something said. "Have a nice day!"

Harry politely returned the sentiment and went to the desk to collect his apparation license, which, though issued by the state of Pennsylvania, looked the same as those issued in England. Harry was surprised before remembering that the ICW policy was to issue licenses in the same format as those issued in an applicant's home country. Finished with his business at City Hall, Harry decided to take a "test drive" by apparating to his room at the inn.

Pleased that he had arrived where had intended with all of his parts still attached, Harry put in a quick mirror call to Remus and Sirius, showing them his new license and reassuring them about his safe trip.

"What are you going to do now, Harry?" Remus asked. "You've got almost two weeks to use Philadelphia as your home base, and portkeys to major cities and attractions around the country are fairly inexpensive."

"I think I'm going to spend a few days exploring Philly," Harry said. "There's a lot of good history here, and a few really great museums. Nights are probably going to be for summer assignments—I want to get them all done before I go to Wisconsin."

"Sounds like a good plan, lad," Sirius said. "It's a good idea to get your homework done early, especially since the animagus transformation and the magic you'll be learning will be pretty time-consuming and tiring. That said, make sure you leave enough time for fun. All work and no play makes for a dull Harry."

Harry grinned, and after saying goodbye, apparated to the sidewalk outside the inn. He paused briefly to consider the moment—he had crossed the ocean, his immediate food and shelter requirements were taken care of, and he was standing at the beginning of a long, exciting road. He squared his shoulders and stood up straight, before turning on his heel and setting off at a determined pace. It was time to start his adventure.

Author's Note:

I've thrown in the Captain's Log entry from 5/20/2014 (the final Captain's Log entry, in fact; starting in Chapter 8, the Author's Notes were written directly into the chapter) below, and removed it from my profile page. This is to more accurately comply with, if not the letter, than the spirit of the rules and guidelines for posting stories.

So we're seven chapters in. Starting next chapter, I believe I will start adding my thoughts in as Author's Notes. Perhaps I'll retroactively shoehorn in the Captain's Log entries as well. Anyway, from here on out, I'm going to be slowing down a bit. The exposition is effectively over; the actual plot is starting up. Expect chapters of roughly 2000-3000 words. Writing has been interesting; I've got a general idea of the plot for the story, and honestly I've kind of been winging it for the details. I've been surprised at how quickly it is coming out (for example, Chapter 7 is about 2200 words, and it took almost exactly two hours from when I opened up a new document to when I uploaded it). I suppose that is a major factor in the relative ease of writing fan-fiction versus generating original content; it's much easier to put a spin on someone else's world than to build your own, especially when the world is as rich as the one J.K. Rowling created. Anyway, look out for the Author's Notes, coming soon to a chapter near you. END LOG.