Harry whoops, clinging to Logan as the motorbike soars through the air. He leans over to peer at the ground falling below them. The fields, houses and towns shrink almost as fast as their home, which is now as small as a toy and clutched in Hedwig's feet.
Harry briefly imagines Hedwig carrying the whole world when it's no bigger than Harry's bouncy ball.
Harry laughs at the thought, and doesn't stop for a long time. The wind whips over his face and through his hair.
They aren't trapped here anymore. They can fly over the sea, or take their tiny home on a plane. Harry leans further, trying to decide if the water below them is the sea or a lake.
Logan growls and reaches back to grip Harry tightly.
Harry keeps leaning, trying to steer their motorbike. The broom had been under his control, whereas Logan's always the one driving the bike. As much as Harry has loved riding with Logan all these years, he finds himself missing the freedom of choosing where to fly, when to dive. Flying the broom had felt natural, marvelous. Harry had felt like he could go anywhere and do anything.
Logan's never steered him wrong, though. Harry sighs and settles in to enjoy the ride, even if he isn't the one steering the bike.
There's nothing to crash into up here. They're up above the trees, and he can't see or hear any planes. Harry knows now that his parents hadn't died in a crash, but he still would rather avoid one.
He jerks his head up towards the clouds, bouncing in the seat, and Logan grumbles "What do ya want? Ya got yer flyin' motorcycle."
Harry stretches, trying to catch the sun in his hand. Ron had talked about how the seeker catches the Golden Snitch. Logan snorts. "Too cold up there, bub. And it ain't easy to breathe."
Harry frowns. If he flew a broomstick up there, would there be magic to keep him warm and help him breathe? Their motorbike's magic now. Why can't it keep them warm?
Maybe they should've gone on a plane.
Sometimes they fly, but sometimes they drive. Logan seems to like riding on roads more, seeing trees rush by as their wheels skim over the pavement.
Harry can't understand it. Sure, he likes when it bumps and shakes, but flying is so freeing. He tries to fly with his hockey stick, planning on flying alongside Logan as he roars on the road, but his hockey stick only fake-flies, like how it's only ever a pretend tail.
The next time they stop at a pub, Harry hunts down a broom in the back rooms, and the cook tries tossing him and Logan out for sneaking around. Harry snarls, because Logan hadn't even done anything, and Logan downs his beer and stands for another fight.
The broom gets broken during the brawl, but Harry hangs onto the pieces.
Harry tries using his magic to fix it himself, but his magic won't listen to his brain, the same way his mouth won't say what he's thinking.
Harry hates the thought of having to rely on some other wizard to fix the broom. The Weasleys were nice, and he's grateful they made the motorbike fly, but he wishes he could have done it himself. He had, when they'd flown over the elk, but it hadn't stuck.
They don't visit the Weasleys again, or anyone else. Logan doesn't like people, and Harry still counts himself lucky that Logan decided to take him, and let him stay.
Now, their two old routines are merged into one, the best of both worlds. They spend their days on the bike, either on the road or in the air, and sleep in the camper at night. The only thing that would make it better would be a working flying broomstick.
Hedwig can carry their home wherever they go, and Harry just has to reach in and poke a button on the tiny steering wheel to make it big again.
Hedwig brings more dead mice for Harry's line of animals. Harry wonders if they'd disappear when shrunk, since they're already so tiny to begin with. Maybe they'd become bug-sized, or maybe they would actually turn into bugs. He'd seen a cat and rat become people, so why couldn't mice morph into bugs?
Hedwig doesn't just bring dead mice. She brings rocks for Harry's collection, though Harry isn't sure if any of them are the stone Hagrid mentioned. He's still curious about it, but Dumbledore had stopped Hagrid from saying anything more about it. All Harry knows is it's a special stone, and every stone in his collection is special to him.
One morning, Hedwig swoops in with something other than what she hunted. She has a letter from Ron in her beak. Logan sighs and reads it aloud.
Ron writes about different houses and which one he wants to be in, only Harry hadn't thought the Weasleys were always moving around like he and Logan do. The houses are apparently at Hogwarts, but Harry thought it was a castle, not a house.
Logan doesn't seem inclined to write back, and he doesn't seem to know most of what Harry's thinking, so Harry just sends Hedwig back with a wooden fox that Logan had carved.
Ron's going to Dumbledore's school, so maybe he can show Dumbledore what a fox actually is, since he clearly thinks his bird is one.
Or maybe Fawkes really was a fox once. Harry feels a bit foolish once he realizes that's entirely possible.
Hedwig delivers newspapers, too, which Logan scowls at and usually doesn't read, until there's a picture of that rat man on it, and another man with shaggy black hair, longer than Harry's or Logan's, and a full beard, unlike Logan's mutton chops.
Logan reads that the rat man has gone to prison. The article even mentions Logan, the new savior, and Logan frowns around his cigar.
Harry strokes Hedwig silently. Eventually, Logan grunts. "Ya have a godfather, bub. Sirius Black. They thought he was the one who sold out yer folks."
Sirius must be the guy with shaggy dark hair.
Apparently, Sirius Black was jailed instead of the rat guy, and they just switched places. Sirius wasn't bad after all, but he was still locked up and treated like rubbish, and Harry finds himself strongly reminded of his years with the Dursleys.
Harry wonders if someone came and cut through Sirius' cell, like Logan cut him out of the cupboard.
"I'm bettin' he's another wizard who won't leave us alone." Logan grumbles, tossing the paper aside.
That evening a shaggy black animal lumbers out from the bushes, approaching their camper. At first, Harry thinks it's a bear coming for their food. When it gets closer, he sees it's more doglike, but sadly not quite a wolf. Harry howls softly.
Logan sniffs and heaves a sigh, blowing a cloud of cigar smoke like a dragon. "I know ya ain't just a dog."
The dog transforms into Sirius Black, dressed in robes. Harry wonders if every wizard can become an animal, and how he can learn without Hogwarts. Does Fawkes switch between being a bird, a fox and a person?
"Thanks for catching Pettigrew," Sirius sounds like he isn't used to talking. "I thought I was going to rot there forever. Nobody asked me, after all."
"Don't mention it." Logan grunts, puffing his cigar.
Sirius opens his mouth again, but Logan doesn't want him to mention anything.
Harry flicks open his pocket knife and slashes the air, wondering who cut Sirius out of his cell.
Sirius turns to Harry and smiles. It's not as twinkly as Dumbledore's smile, nor as hairy as Hagrid's. "Hello, Harry. I don't know if anyone told you, but I'm your godfather."
Harry doesn't need a godfather. He has Logan.
Harry shakes his head like a dog shaking off water, trying to tell Sirius to turn back into a dog.
