Same Old Lang Syne
Author's Note: I am so sorry I've been letting you all hang like this. Things got really really busy for me, and I've barely had time to think. After New Year's Eve, I went with my best friends and my cousin to Pennsylvania to ski, so I had no time there, and then my cousin took a bad fall and sprained her knee, so she couldn't drive home, so she's been staying with us. I'm really sorry about this. I'll do my very best not to let it happen again. Again, I'm really sorry. This is the best response I've ever gotten to any of my work, and I have to say, I'm absolutely thrilled that so many of you are enjoying this story.
February 1st
Harry sat up. The dirt was cold and hard beneath him. He rubbed his forehead instinctually. His scar felt as if he had run into a brick wall face-first. The last thing he remembered was the fight with Malfoy, and a dark green light.
"Wait a second," he said to himself. "Dark green?" He looked around. He didn't feel dead, and the killing curse produced a bright green light. "Lestrange's wand," he said silently. "Using her wand must have made something go wrong."
He stood up and took a look around. He seemed to be in the middle of a farm. He reached inside his robes for his wand, but he couldn't find it. He set out towards the nearest hill, hoping to find somebody.
After walking for over half an hour, Harry finally found somebody.
"Excuse me, sir," he said, getting the man's attention. "Where is this?"
"Jonesboro," said the man, looking Harry up and down cautiously. "Jonesboro, Georgia. Say, are you British?"
"Yes," said Harry simply. "That'll put me in America, then," he muttered to himself.
"Well, of course you're in America," said the man, obviously surprised. "What kinda weirdo are you, anyway?"
"Never mind that," said Harry dismissively. "Could you tell me where the nearest city is?"
"Atlanta's about 17 miles north of here," said the man, eyeing Harry suspiciously.
"Thanks." Harry paused. "Could you give me the time? I seem to have lost my watch."
"It's four-thirty," said the man, obviously beginning to wonder why Harry was asking him what he saw as very strange questions.
"Thanks," said Harry, looking up at the sky to get the direction. Once he had his bearings, he began to walk north, leaving the man scratching his head behind him.
About four hours later, Harry passed a sign that said "Welcome to Atlanta." Once he found a bench, he sat down and tried to think. He had no muggle money, least of all American muggle money. He didn't know anybody in the states. He didn't have his wand, and he didn't have his broomstick. He couldn't think of any way he could possibly get home. He sighed deeply. He couldn't even tell Hermione he was alright.
"There's got to be a way home," said Harry to himself. "I know there's a magical community here in America, but I have no way to find them." He tried to think. "Let's see," he said to himself. "I think I remember Moody saying something about a small wizarding community in New York City. Maybe I should make my way there and try to find them." He stood up, stopped the nearest passerby, and asked for directions to New York. He was told to go to Hartsfield International Airport. Upon asking how to get there, Harry got a strange look, and directions.
"Now all I have to do is get some money," Harry muttered, sitting down again. Soon his mind began to wander back home, to Hermione and what she must be going through. Harry felt a burst of determination and stood up. As an Auror, he was taught methods of hypnotism which would be very effective on muggles. He didn't like the idea, but he needed to get home, or at least to New York City. He caught the eye of a passerby, and motioned that he wanted to speak to her. She came over, and he 'convinced' her to give him some money. He didn't ask for much. He didn't want to be greedy, and he didn't want to take all of the money anybody had. He was forced to do this many times, to many different people, so that he wouldn't have to take too much from any one person.
Finally, Harry suspected he had enough money to get him to New York City. He followed the directions he was given, and, upon arrival at the airport, went directly to the nearest counter and asked for a one-way ticket to New York City. He was given the ticket, but the woman behind the counter looked very nervous. As he walked away, the woman signaled to a security officer, who approached Harry cautiously.
"Excuse me, sir, would you please come with me?" The officer took hold of Harry's arm.
"Okay," said Harry warily. "But would you mind taking your hand off me." He spoke in his most intimidating voice, and the security officer immediately let go of his arm. Harry followed him to a small room, where he was asked to sit down. "What's going on," asked Harry.
"Just a security precaution," said the officer.
"Great," muttered Harry. "I'm going to miss my flight."
"Don't worry, sir, this shouldn't take long."
An hour later, Harry walked out of the small room, feeling extremely annoyed. He had been searched in every single way possible. When nothing dangerous had been found on him, the security officer looked very embarrassed, but said nothing, except that Harry could go. He looked up at the departure board. His flight was scheduled to leave in five minutes. Harry ran to the gate, just as they were about to close the door.
"Wait!" Harry yelled, running towards the door. The man stopped, opened the door, and checked his ticket. Harry was allowed onto the plane, and as he took his seat, he sighed. "This has been a great day," he muttered gloomily. "First I'm thrown across an entire ocean, into the middle of nowhere, then I have to beg for enough money to get to New York, and finally, I'm searched for an hour for no apparent reason. It just can't get any worse." The expression of the person sitting next to Harry could only be described as extremely freaked out.
"I'm a writer," said Harry quickly, giving the man a very fake smile. This seemed to be enough for the man, who nodded. However, Harry had to spend the next hour and a half answering questions about writing (most of which he made up the answers to) and having to listen to stupid ideas for stories from the man, who apparently fancied himself to be an amateur writer.
Finally, upon exiting the plane, Harry went straight to the area for pickup for the airport shuttle, as directed by many signs posted all over the airport. He told the driver he wanted to go to Times Square. He figured that if there were any place he'd be able to find somebody from a wizarding community, his best chance would be in a highly populated area.
Harry got off the shuttle in front of Port Authority. Immediately he was accosted by a tall, large man with blue eyes, and who was about Harry's height.
"What are you doing, dressed like that in front of all these muggles," hissed the man. "Do you want to expose us?"
"Listen," said Harry, obviously relieved. "I need to talk to you."
"Okay, but not here." He turned around, looking for somebody. "Hey, Norma, come here!"
The three of them went into a small hole in the side of a building which opened up before them automatically, but which nobody else seemed to notice.
"What do you think you're doing," asked the man seriously.
"Devin," said the woman who had been identified as Norma. "I think this is Harry Potter."
"It doesn't matter who it is, Norma. We can't risk exposure. Now, given, Times Square is definitely a place where people expect to see oddities, but you know very well how hard it is to modify the memory of everybody who sees something odd in New York City. If one person who is considered reliable makes a connection, we risk complete and total exposure. Norma, this is not something I want on my head!"
"Can I say something," said Harry, growing impatient.
"Alright," said the man named Devin, taking a deep breath.
"I have no other clothes," said Harry, gesturing at his lack of a bag. "I did not come here voluntarily. I was sent here by what I believe was a spell gone wrong, and I have every reason to believe that everybody I know believes me to be dead. All I want is to get back home, or, failing that, get word back home that I am, indeed, still very much alive. My partner's family, which has all but adopted me, is going through a nightmare which I was told they were afraid of for all the years they've known me. My girlfriend, who, by the way, I am getting ready to propose to, in thinking that I'm dead not two months after we got together, must be aging years at a time. Now, will you please help me out?" Harry sighed. "I'm sorry, I've had a very bad day."
"That's perfectly understandable," said Devin. "The only problem is that there are currently storms all over the ocean right now, so sending word is, for the most part, impossible. Sending you home, however, is a different matter." He turned to Norma. "You know more about this than I do, Norma. Muggle relations is more your field than mine."
"Okay," said Norma, stepping forward. "This is easy enough. All we have to do is get you some muggle clothing and get you on a plane back to England. From there I'm sure you can take care of yourself."
"Easily," said Harry, relieved that something was finally being done to help him.
Within three hours, Harry was sitting in the terminal at J.F.K. airport, waiting for his flight to begin boarding. Devin and Norma were waiting with him. As his boarding call came over the speaker, Harry stood up and shook their hands.
"Thanks," he said, smiling. "You know, I've heard about you two. I've heard you're the American versions of Ron and myself." He turned to Devin. "And I've heard you've got my way with a wand," he said, grinning widely. "I hope to meet both of you again sometime under better circumstances."
"Me too," said Devin, pumping his hand again. "Good luck, Harry."
"Good luck," said Norma, shaking his hand again.
Once aboard the plane, Harry was unfortunate enough to learn that he had to sit next to a muggle who reminded him disturbingly of Lockhart, who availed Harry of all of his adventures in the field of paranormal investigation. Not only was Harry convinced that half of the stories were embellished, to say the least, but he was aching to tell the man that each and every one of the things the man claimed to have done, Harry actually had, and with considerably more success. Finally, Harry managed to silence the man by pretending to fall asleep.
By the time Harry disembarked at Heathrow airport, it was two o'clock in the morning, London time. Harry sat down in the airport to try to figure out how he was going to get home.
"This has been the single longest day in my life," he said to himself.
After a few minutes, he stood and walked to the exit. It would be a simple matter to acquire transportation to London, where Harry could make his way to the Ministry. From there it would be easy. Arriving at the door to go outside, Harry observed that it was pouring outside.
"It would have to be raining, wouldn't it," muttered Harry, stepping out of the airport. However, despite the weather, and his perceived temperament, Harry was happier than he'd been in what seemed like a very long time. He was almost home.
Harry boarded a bus to London, his bag with his robes in hand. Fortunately, he did not have to share his seat with anybody, and for a small part of his traveling time, Harry was blessed with peace.
Finally, he arrived in London, and entered the phone booth that would allow him access. He punched in 6-2-4-4-2 on the keypad, said that his business was arriving home, and the phone booth descended into the Ministry lobby. Soon, after having sufficiently proven that he was indeed himself, Harry met with a very serious looking witch named Naomi, who recommended that instead of sending word that he was safe with an owl, which would not be received until morning, that Harry stay in the Ministry for another few hours, get some sleep, and then go home. Harry reluctantly agreed, but only on the basis that he was extremely tired, and could use any sleep he could get.