Unofficial Portkey Archive

Title: Harry Potter's Day Off

Author: Arachne

"You're mad! You are! You are absolutely barking!" Ron hooted. "I can't believe you did that--I can't believe you got on a bloody buggering Beltane parade float!"

He, Harry and Hermione were waiting at the entrance of the multi-storey car park to pick up the cabriolet. It had taken a trip to the Gringotts Trading Tower Observational Platform, a posh lunch, a Quidditch match, a jaunt to the Museum of Magic and a raucous parade, but Ron was finally starting to loosen up a little.

"And this!" Dropping his voice an octave, Ron began an affected, smarmy-sounding send-up of Harry on the float. "Ladies and gents, you're such a wonderful crowd, we'd like to play a little tune for you. It's one of my personal favourites .." Harry and Hermione laughed appreciatively. "You're off your head!" Ron continued. "D'you realise how many people saw you? You're done for!"

"No, I'm not," Harry playfully swatted away the accusation with a wave of his hand.

"You are--you're done for!" Ron insisted.

"You are positively done for!" Hermione echoed.

"Who's going to believe I was in a Beltane parade?" Ron put his hand up, and Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Besides, anyone who would want to do me in wouldn't have been there. Who do I know that would go to a parade? Malfoy? Snape? Voldemort? Hardly."

"My mum would."

"I'm not that bothered about Molly Weasley," Harry scoffed.

If the trio had been looking through the grimy windows of the attendant's kiosk just then, they would have seen the Austin Mini enter through the exit to Charing Cross Road on the other side the car park. The skinhead at the wheel screeched to a halt, allowing his blue mohawked passenger to hop out, then slowly drove around to Harry, Hermione and Ron, tooting the horn softly as he pulled up next to them.

"That was fast," Hermione said, surprised.

The skinhead shut off the engine and got out of the car. He made much ado of polishing his fingerprints from the door with a rag, then turned to the trio and doffed his tweed cap.

"Wotcha!"

Harry smiled in response. Circling the car carefully, he nodded his satisfaction at his friends after completing a full circuit. "I reckon this looks all right, Ron."

"Looks great," he shrugged nonchalantly, climbing over the door and settling himself in the tiny space behind the seats. "Let's get a move on!"

"Superb," Harry said to the skinhead. He tucked another fiver in behind one of his braces to match the one he'd given him when they had dropped the car off, and patted the skinhead on the chest. "Cheers, mate!"

As the skinhead fished an ancient-looking wallet from the end of a chain that disappeared into his back pocket, a tall, thin, blue-mohawked youth approached the group and leant against the wall next to him. Over his black jeans and long-sleeved black t-shirt, he wore a short-sleeved, light blue polyester shirt with the car park insignia stitched over one breast pocket and the name "Clive" stitched over the other. The skinhead exchanged a covert look with his co-worker as he added the five pound note to the one Harry had given him when they dropped off the car. "Yer a very gen'rous individual, Guv. Come back any time, yeah?"

Hermione made a move towards the passenger door but was cut off by the blue-mohawked attendant.

"If you please, Miss, allow me."

He opened the door for her and gestured towards the seat with a sweep of his arm, as a wide-eyed Hermione allowed him to help her in. Gently closing the door behind her, he then dashed across to the driver's side and opened the door for Harry. Harry smiled awkwardly and nodded at him politely. He held on to the windscreen for balance as he got in, only to have the skinhead swat at his hand with the rag. As Harry adjusted the mirrors and put on his seatbelt, the skinhead rubbed at the marks on the windscreen with vigour, fussing and tutting at him under his breath for leaving fingerprints on the glass.

Harry turned the key and fired up the engine--which, to his surprise, started with a loud rumble--and slowly drove towards the exit to Charing Cross Road, as the skinhead and his blue-mohawked co-worker grinned and waved madly at them, in a send-off fit for royalty. Puzzled, Harry watched them from the rear-view mirror, clapping, cheering and jubilantly slapping each other's hands.

Crikey, he thought bemusedly, two fivers go a long way these days.

Malfoy meekly poked his head out of Hagrid's bedroom door. Across the dimly-lit room, he could make out the shape of the unmoving creature, crumpled in a heap. He watched for a few minutes to ensure the vampire was truly unconscious, then crawled towards the fireplace on his hands and knees. A moment later, he was speaking to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Look, I'm not having you on, all right? I'm calling from Hogwarts--There is an intruder--a vampire, possibly evil, certainly creepy--in the groundskeeper's hut ... I don't know! It must have come from the Forbidden Forest or something ... M-my-my-my name is Mal-Malfoy ... yeah, I'm dead chuffed you hope Potter is feeling better, but I'm in danger, all right? I am very fit, I am very alone and I am very protective of my body. I do not want it punctured or violated or turned into an undead creature, all right? I need help! Oi! Do you bloody speak English? WANKER!"

Enraged, he pulled his head out of the fire and quickly crawled back to the bedroom. Malfoy thought a moment, then addressed the vampire through the closed door.

"If you can hear me, you should know I've just Flooed the Ministry. So if you've any sense at all, you'll get your arse out of here immediately before I stake you with this wand. You should also know my father has some rather powerful friends and I've got a scorching case of scrofungulus."

With Harry at the helm of the car, the trio soared high above the South of England on their way back to the Burrow. It was a shame they were invisible, he mused as they passed over Surrey, as the sight of their abnormal nephew and his freaky friends flying a vintage Austin Mini over Privet Drive would have surely sent the Dursleys into fits (and give their nosey neighbours at number two something to talk about).

Over Wiltshire, Hermione regaled the boys with details of a fascinating series of books about crop circles she had read over Easter break. She would never change, Harry smiled wryly to himself, but then again, he would never have her any other way. As they drifted into Dorset his ears and thoughts shifted to Ron, who was babbling happily about the day's events. Harry's smile expanded into a self-congratulatory grin. He knew Ron would have a good time once he let himself go a little, and as Harry had predicted, the day had been absolutely perfect. Putting his feet up against the dashboard, he laced his fingers behind his head and let the autopilot take over, enjoying the breeze as it ruffled his hair. They had enjoyed an array of interesting and exciting adventures (without threat of an evil psychopath plotting their death), they had given their minders the slip, and best of all, they hadn't aroused any suspicion nor gotten caught. Nothing had gone wrong. Yes, it had been a perfect day indeed.

"I feel pretty good," Ron grinned. "Actually, I feel bloody brilliant! Those Muggles--those Muggles at the car park were all right, eh Harry? The baldy fella seemed a bit dodgy at first, but they turned out to be a harmless pair of geezers, eh?"

As he nodded his agreement in tune with an old Hobgoblins song on the radio, Harry's eyes happened to sweep across the odometre. Immediately, his head stopped bobbing. He felt the smile slide off his face as he lowered his legs to the floor and leant in for a closer look. Frowning, Harry began to count silently on his fingers. After several seconds, he shook his head and began to count again. This time, it only took a moment for him to trail off.

"Er, Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"How many miles did you say this thing had on it when we left the Burrow?"

"One hundred and twenty-six, and halfway between three and four tenths."

Harry's heart sank faster than a dropped Bludger.

"Why," Ron continued, a frisson of fear creeping up his spine, "how many miles are on it now?"

He leant in over Harry's shoulder to look at the odometre. The little numbers on the dial now read seventeen hundred and one and seven-tenths.

Harry winced. "Here's where Ron goes berserk."

Ron emitted a sound that was unlike anything Harry had ever heard in his life. Part bellow, part wail, it was delivered with such force and volume, Harry was positive Snape had been rendered deaf all the way back at Hogwarts. The last note finally died out almost a full minute later, only to give way to a frenzied sort of hyperventilating.

Hermione cast a worried glance over her shoulder at him, then did a double-take at the expression of shock compounded with terror etched on his ashen face.

"Ron? Ron? Are you all right? Ron? Ron! Steady on!"

Malfoy timidly peeked out his head from under Hagrid's patchwork quilt when he heard the sound of the doorknocker. Ignoring the sound of Harry's recorded greeting echoing throughout the hut, he flung off the covers and made a mad dash for the front door, not even noticing he was now alone in the hut. He yanked the door open, relief tangible on his face.

"Thank Merlin for the Ministry!"

But instead of a Hit Wizard, an Auror, or even a member of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, he was greeted by the deliverywizard from Fenella's Flora and Fauna (this time, carrying a large basket of Puffapods), a plump, jolly-looking witch (carrying a gigantic bouquet of balloons, all charmed to flash the inscription "Get Well, Harry!" on and off) and a bleach-blonde witch in very tight, low cut, lime green Healer's robes. On seeing Malfoy, she immediately burst into song, performing a series of theatrical gestures and movements that displayed her ample assets to their fullest potential.

"I heard that you were feeling ill,
headache, fever and a chill,
I'm here to lift spirits that sag,
'cause I'm the Healer who likes to--"

Utterly disgusted, Malfoy slammed the door in her face.