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
The next day, July 1st, was a Friday. Many of Philadelphia's residents had taken the day off to start their weekend by going "down the shore" (Philly-speak for driving eastward to the beaches in New Jersey). Harry was going to visit one last museum in the morning, before embarking on his first side trip. He had picked up some camping equipment at a military surplus store the previous day, and planned to go on a one- or two-day trip to the highly-magical Pine Barrens of New Jersey. The large (covering over a fifth of New Jersey's land area), densely-forested reserve was actually quite close to Philadelphia and Camden; however, it was largely unpopulated by humans. Based on a conversation Harry had partially overheard between two wizards in one of the bookstores he had plundered, it seemed to be a fairly tame, albeit exponentially larger, version of the Forbidden Forest, though by some quirk of the area's ambient magic, it was apparently not possible to apparate or portkey within the forest; that was little more than a minor inconvenience, though; he'd simply apparate nearby, and go in on foot (flying his Firebolt wouldn't work, because the canopy would be so dense that he would have difficulty landing anywhere). His goal was to see the famous "Blue Hole," a supposedly-bottomless lake which was said to be a favored site for some magical creature; Harry hadn't heard what creature it was, as a large family—very like the Weasleys, in fact, except their hair was uniformly brown—bustled in between Harry and the two men on whom he had been eavesdropping.
As he ate breakfast—a scrapple sandwich, which was delicious, so he didn't want to risk asking anyone precisely what scrapple actually was—while walking (as he felt he had been apparating too much, and was risking getting out of shape) to his destination, Harry's exotic (for him) meal turned his thoughts toward Ron, who would certainly enjoy trying all the different cuisines easily available; as good a cook as Molly Weasley was, she generally cooked a small range of typical English fare. Thinking about Ron quickly led to thinking about Hermione, who would be insanely jealous of his opportunity to visit so many museums and bookstores (and practice magic out of school). Of course, thinking of his two closest companions inevitably led his thoughts to Hogwarts.
Based on the booklists for the various American magical schools Harry had found posted at several large bookstores, Harry was beginning to remember the differences between muggle schooling (as American magical education closely mirrored that of their non-magical counterparts, even including some non-magical subjects to meet state and federal requirements) and the almost obsolete model used in magical Britain, and the former seemed to be coming out on top at almost every turn. And to think that Hogwarts billed itself as the "best magical education in the world!" Snape could certainly not turn out any great number of qualified potions students, Binns could never hope to turn out any graduates qualified to speak on magical history, and Defense Against the Dark Arts was practically a joke—so far, Harry had had only one reasonably qualified DADA professor, and he was forced to resign once news of his lycanthropy had spread, thanks to Snape's pettiness. In an American classroom, Snape would have been fired mere seconds into his first class (for that was how long it usually took for him to begin abusing the children under his care), Binns would never even pass an interview (since he pretty much ran on autopilot), and Remus's employment would have been protected—not persecuted—by equal opportunity and disability protection laws.
Harry knew that he couldn't base his entire view of an entire nation on his experience of a few days in one city, but he was quickly becoming impressed with America, and equally disillusioned with the British magical community in general, and Albus Dumbledore in particular. This feeling was fueled greatly by the mentions of Dumbledore in various exhibits at the Philadelphia Museum of International Magical History (he was, after all, a very prominent figure in European magical communities and the ICW), almost none of which painted him in a flattering light. The man was positioned perfectly to drag the British magical community into the new millennium: he was Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, the British representative to the ICW, and—perhaps most importantly—had been headmaster of the largest school of magic in western Europe for several decades, which he could have used to mold the minds of his young charges toward embracing change and improving their world.
If Dumbledore was truly as progressive as he encouraged people to believe, Harry thought, then British magical society would not still be stuck in the Victorian era. Instead, his moves—on the rare occasion that he made any—in the Wizengamot and as headmaster of Hogwarts had always been calculated to maintain the status quo, while every once in a while using some of his influence to help one of his minions out of a tight spot. Even his duel against Grindelwald in 1945 (for which he was venerated in Britain) had only come once the war had already been won on the muggle side, and was effectively over on the magical front, after ignoring a steady stream of ambassadors and heads of state literally begging for his help for the better part of a decade.
In short, Dumbledore was basically a wizard version of Hamlet—his default response was always to wait and consider the different paths, paralyzed by uncertainty, and by the time he made any decision, it was almost always too late to do any real good. Harry realized that this must be so that he would be able to do just enough to claim the moral high ground for taking action, but would never make any decision where he could be held responsible if the situation didn't turn out as planned. This extended even to what was arguably the boldest thing Dumbledore ever did—if he had lost the duel to his old friend Gellert (as only in Britain was Dumbledore able to keep his boyhood association and affair with Grindelwald censored from the public eye), he almost certainly would have survived (Gellert still probably would have been captured, as his war was lost and he was far outnumbered), while the fact of his loss would have been justification for waiting so long, and he still would have been viewed as brave just for trying. Either way, he would have come out on top (or at least with his reputation intact), so really, it hadn't been bold at all, since there was virtually no risk.
As he thought about some of what he had read about Dumbledore's standing policy of inaction, a thought struck him. Dumbledore had stepped up during the Death Eater trials after the war exactly once, and it had been to save Severus Snape's hide. Despite Snape being a marked Death Eater, Dumbledore had ensured that he was acquitted—apparently, the political cost was to make no push for veritaserum against any captured Death Eaters, allowing many to go free (those who could afford to buy off their fellow Wizengamot members, that is). Somehow, Sirius hadn't quite made the cut for Dumbledore's intervention, even though he was known as a member of the not-so-secret vigilante organization led by Dumbledore himself. Probably since public opinion had already been against Sirius, Harry thought bitterly, so it would have been too risky to stick his neck out for Sirius—no matter that it had literally been Dumbledore's sworn duty as Chief Warlock to ensure that everyone (even, or perhaps especially suspected traitors and mass murderers) was given a fair trial. Knowing these details, Harry was certain that he would never forgive Dumbledore for failing Sirius—and, by extension, Harry himself—so completely. The more details he found out about Dumbledore, the more Harry began to feel that, if it hadn't been for the obviously evil (and, in many cases, Death-Eating) nature of many members of the so-called "dark" political faction, he might have aligned with them just for the sake of removing Dumbledore.
These overwhelmingly negative sentiments about magical Britain and Dumbledore led him, quite appropriately, to the final museum he planned to visit: Independence Hall (practically hallowed ground to Americans and historians, as both the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution had been debated and signed there) at 5th and Chestnut. As Independence Day approached (it was observed every 4th of July), Independence Hall and several other places associated with the American Revolution—which had largely centered around Philadelphia, due to the city functioning as the capitol of the fledgling nation—always saw drastically increased attendance; this year was apparently no different, as quite a few people were wandering about. He perused some of the writings on display, impressed with the eloquence and passion of the speeches and essays. It was easy to see, given the circumstances, how such words had incited such a dramatic uprising. Of course he could identify with the rebels, Harry thought, chuckling; after all, he was currently several timezones away from Number 4 Privet Drive, undertaking his own private rebellion.
As he turned to leave the building, Harry's eyes alighted on an exhibit which displayed the progression of flags, ensigns, and jacks associated with the United States throughout history. Most were just variations on the well-known "stars and stripes" theme, but some were very different. The one that caught his eye was among the first; it depicted the words "Don't Tread on Me" emblazoned beneath a rattlesnake on a yellow field. Harry read the brief description; apparently it was called the "Gadsden flag," after the designer, who was a general and a delegate to the Continental Congress. He had seen several examples of the rattlesnake being used as a symbol of early American independence in several museums, including the Franklin Institute and the Philadelphia Art Museum; that had originally surprised him, as the European magical communities—and the British in particular—almost universally associated snakes with so-called "dark" magic. It must be just another way the US was different, he supposed, resolving to find out the details of why the rattlesnake had been so prominent of a symbol. Putting it out of his mind for the time being, he apparated off to the food trucks near City Hall. After all, there was a food truck nearby that served heavenly-smelling falafel sandwiches, and that was, at least for now, much more intriguing to the rapidly-growing (courtesy of his nutrient potions) teenager.
After wolfing down his falafel sandwich (who knew that fried chickpeas could be so delicious?!), Harry apparated back to the inn to prepare for his trip to the Pine Barrens. He gave his kit a quick once-over: an expansion-charmed canteen (which he could refill with aguamenti if he ran out of water), several electric camping lights, a tent, his boots, an old U.S. Army rucksack, a sleeping bag, an extendable shovel, both of his wands, several daggers of varying sizes (which Sirius had made him bring from the Black family armory), several "to go" boxed meals under preservation charms, and his Firebolt. He also packed a small potions and antidote kit, which included two bezoars—he doubted he'd need them, but he wasn't very familiar with American flora, so he figured it was better to have and not need than to need and not have. Finally, he threw a spare pair of jeans, several spare sets of socks and boxer briefs, his light jacket, and a few spare tee-shirts into his rucksack, and decided that he was as ready as he was going to be.
Harry figured that a short side trip into the uninhabited forest would also be an excellent chance to try out some of the more...high-impact...magic that he had been reading about in the spellbooks he had bought, having taken a break from his study of Crane's book on dark creatures in order to skim over Offensive Magic for Defensive Mages, by Henry Earp (a magical descendant of the illustrious muggle lawman Wyatt Earp). Ironically, if his new academic determination had driven him to delve just one chapter deeper into the Crane text—or if he had overheard the entirety of that conversation about the details of the Pine Barrens—he almost certainly would have chosen a different destination...any other destination.
Author's Note
I was glad to see my wizardifying of Ben Franklin and Ichabod Crane got a few grins; I even got a chuckle out of tchizek's idea about Johnny Appleseed and Paul Bunyan (though I'll leave it to him to develop those ideas into a story if he so chooses—I've gotta say, that idea definitely has some potential, especially if you throw in a wizard Davy Crockett). I think I'll enjoy the opportunity to give the occasional nod to history and folklore, and there is a fair amount to draw from; Crane (of Washington Irving's The Legend of Sleepy Hollow) was simply the most widely recognizable character in American folklore that popped into my head while writing. Plus, I'll need to pick out names for auxiliary and background characters somehow.
And going into a possibly-dangerous situation based on information gained from a partially-overheard conversation...sound familiar? Perhaps Harry has a bit more in common with 'ole Tom than he thought.
Since the title "Supreme Mugwump of the ICW" was never explained in canon, I decided that it would simply be the title claimed by the United Kingdom's ICW representative. For comparison, the American representative, appointed by the Secretary of State, would claim the title "Ambassador." Most fanfiction writers simply assume it means that he is the leader of the ICW (equivalent to the Secretary-General of the UN), but that does not make sense, as Fudge was able to strip this position from him in HPatOotP. If he were just the representative, it would effectively mean that he held a Ministry-appointed (and thus Ministry-fireable) ambassadorial billet, whereas if he was the Secretary-General equivalent, it would mean he was employed directly by the ICW (and thus the British Ministry would have no say over his employment there). Plus, it sounds just like the whimsical self-aggrandizing bullshit that the Ministry would make up for the title of their official ICW ambassador—they seem to try their hardest to make everything "official" sound ridiculous (I mean, Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests? Really?), and I don't see why their participation in international politics would be any different. I had considered referring to "Supreme Mugwump" as a ceremonial role given to the senior member of the body, but that would require making up some ceremonial duties for him to preside over, and I didn't want to get too far away from Harry's ruminations. Much simpler to just make it refer to the British representative's position, and then proceed to ignore it.
Observation: I have noticed a tendency in my writing to layer multiple explanatory asides within the same sentence, via a combination of dashes, commas, parentheses, and simply stacking on dependent clauses. Is this having any deleterious effect on the readability of my writing? If you review, let me know how you feel about this; should I make an effort to tone it down? Does it give readers the impression that I am letting my sentences get away from me?