The Knight Bus, Oh Fudge
Harry walked down maybe four more streets before he collapsed on a low wall in Magnolia Crescent. He had been clever enough to put a featherlight charm on his trunk, figuring he may as well keep on doing magic until he got found by the Ministry for doing underage magic-- which was bound to happen. He'd be expelled from Hogwarts before term had started, what's so wrong with a bit more magic? He wouldn’t be doing very much of it sooner or later, anyway.
But apparently, to his surprise, it would be later-- he was surprised the Ministry weren't hailing down on him at once. Even Hydrus had caught up to him before they, and he was atleast two streets away from the Dursleys by then.
He didn't have muggle money. The money he did have was wizard currency, and the only place he could use that was in London. The only way he'd get to London was if he flew... which he certainly could do. He's already broken multiple laws in his lifetime, so what’s a number now, when he's on the run? Harry checked his pocket watch; It had been well past eleven, and getting close to midnight.
If he sat on the wall any longer, he'd be questioned by patrolling Muggle police on why he, a thirteen year old, had ran away from home with a trunk filled with everything he'd ever owned and a broomstick. Maybe if he up and flew now... but what would he do when it turned day? He knew a spell-- it was on the tip of his tongue... but he couldn't place the name.
He opened his trunk and pulled out the spellbook Padma got him, hoping to find it-- it wouldn't take long, if he was lucky.
It wasn't long before he felt odd. Almost like he was being watched. And, lo and behold, he had been.
The street looked perfectly deserted, but Harry saw it after doubling back-- the outline of what looked like a large dog walking up the side of the garage of the house infront of him and the fence behind him. He supposed it was just a stray, and went back to searching for the spell, but kept watching the outline through the side of his eye. Hydrus was equally suspicious too, climbing up around Harry’s shoulders and hissing rude things at it-- though Harry doubted it understood.
After a while and he hadn’t found anything he could manage to do, Harry looked back at whatever it was, squinting, and put the book back into his trunk. He closed his trunk, completely ready to make a run for it if the outline started getting closer.
The fence wasn't too high, he could certainly jump it... he remembered the shrinking spell, and it wasn’t very hard, so that he wouldn't have to worry about his trunk bursting open and many things being lost...
Harry stepped backwards, trying to get as close as possible to the fence. His legs hit his trunk and he tripped. His wand had nearly flew out of his hand as he flung out an arm to break his fall, and he landed, hard, in the gutter.
There was a deafening BANG and Harry threw up his hands to shield his eyes against a sudden blinding light. With a yell, he rolled back onto the pavement, just in time. A second later, a gigantic pair of wheels and headlights had screeched to a halt exactly where Harry had just been lying. They belonged, as Harry saw when he raised his head, to a triple-decker, violently purple bus, which had appeared out of thin air. Gold lettering over the windscreen spelled The Knight Bus. For a split second, Harry wondered if he had been given extensive brain damage by his fall. Then a conductor in a purple uniform leapt out of the bus and began to speak loudly to the night.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch 'er wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board and we can take you anywhere you wanna go. Me name's Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this eve--"
The conductor stopped abruptly. He had just caught sight of Harry, who was still sitting on the ground, breathing hard. Harry snatched up his wand again and scrambled to his feet, nearly falling down again in the process. Coming to, he saw that Stan Shunpike was only a few years older than he was; Eighteen, nineteen at most, with large, pointed, protruding ears and a fair few pimples.
"What'choo doin' down there?" asked Stan, dropping his professional manner.
"Fell over," said Harry.
"'Choo fall over for?" sniggered Stan.
"I didn't do it on purpose," said Harry, annoyed. One of the knees in his jeans was torn, and they only looked worse because they were mostly too big for him, and the hand he had thrown out to break his fall was bleeding. He suddenly remembered why he had fallen over, and turned around quickly to stare at the alleyway between the garage and fence. The Knight Bus's headlamps were flooding it with light, and it was empty.
"'Choo lookin' at?" said Stan.
"There was something there," said Harry, pointing uncertainly into the gap. 'It was probably a dog or something..."
He looked around at Stan, whose mouth was slightly open. With a feeling of unease, Harry saw Stan's eyes move to the scar on Harry's forehead.
"Woss that on your 'ead?" Asked Stan abruptly.
"Birthmark," said Harry quickly, flattening his hair over his scar. He had to cover up half his eye, but it is what it is. If the Ministry of Magic did happen to be looking for him instead of hailing upon him at once, he didn't want to make it too easy for them. "Really ugly birthmark, trust me, you don't need to see it. Horrifying."
"Woss your name?" Stan persisted.
"My name? Er," said Harry, trying to think of something. “Q-Quinn... Patil." He said, trying his best to not sound uncertain. "So- so this bus," he went on quickly, hoping to distract Stan, "did you say it goes anywhere?"
"Yep," said Stan proudly, "anywhere you like, long's it's on land. Can't do nuffink underwater. 'Ere," he said, looking suspicious again, "you did flag us down, dincha? Stuck out your wand 'and, dincha?"
"Yes," said Harry quickly. "Look, how much would it be to get to London?"
"Eleven Sickles," said Stan, "but for thirteen you get 'ot chocolate, and for fifteen you get a 'otwater bottle an' a toofbrush in the colour of your choice."
Harry rummaged once more in his trunk, extracted his money bag and shoved fourteen sickles into Stan's hand. He and Stan then lifted his trunk up the steps of the bus.
There were no seats; Instead, half-a-dozen brass bedsteads stood beside the curtained windows. Candles were burning in brackets beside each bed, illuminating the wood-panelled walls. A tiny wizard in a nightcap at the rear of the bus muttered, "Not now, thanks, I'm pickling some slugs," and rolled over in his sleep.
"You 'ave this one," Stan whispered, shoving Harry's trunk under the bed right behind the driver, who was sitting in an armchair in front of the steering wheel. "This is our driver, Ernie Prang. This is Quinn Patil, Ern."
Ernie Prang, an elderly wizard with long pointed ears, wearing very thick glasses, nodded to Harry, who nervously flattened his fringe again and sat down on his bed.
"Take 'er away, Ern," said Stan, sitting down in the armchair next to Ernie's.
There was another tremendous BANG , and next moment Harry found himself flat on his bed, thrown backwards by the speed of the Knight Bus. Pulling himself up, Harry stared out of the dark window and saw that they were now bowling along a completely different street. Stan was watching Harry's stunned face with great enjoyment.
"This is where we was before you flagged us down," he said. "Where are we, Ern? Somewhere in Wales?"
"’Ar," grunted Ernie.
"The Muggles don't hear the bus, do they?" Harry asked, catching his breath.
"Them!" said Stan contemptuously. "Don' listen properly, do they? Don' look properly either. Never notice nuffink, they don'. And 'ey think we're barmy!"
"Best go wake up Madam Marsh, Stan," said Ern. "We'll be in Abergavenny in a minute."
Stan passed Harry's bed and disappeared up a narrow wooden staircase. Harry was still looking out of the window, feeling increasingly nervous. Ernie didn't seem to have mastered the use of a steering wheel. The Knight Bus kept mounting the pavement, but it didn't hit anything; Lines of lamp posts, letter boxes and bins jumped out of its way as it approached and back into position once it had passed.
Stan came back downstairs, followed by a faintly green witch wrapped in a travelling cloak.
"'Ere you go, Madam Marsh," said Stan happily, as Ern stamped on the brake and the beds slid a foot or so towards the front of the bus. Madam Marsh clamped a handkerchief to her mouth and tottered down the steps. Stan threw her bag out after her and rammed the doors shut; There was another loud BANG, and they were thundering down a narrow country lane, trees leaping out of the way.
Harry wouldn't have been able to sleep even if he hadn't been travelling on a bus that didn't keep banging loudly and jumping a hundred miles at a time, all while he had a boa constrictor around his neck. His stomach churned as he fell back to wondering what was going to happen if the Ministry caught up to him.
His plan wasn't exactly fool-proof. Mainly because he was still figuring it all out-- he supposed he could just fly to London and get money from Gringotts- money he could use- and take on a new identity. But he didn't know how the Ministry caught people... were they caught when they used magic? Would Harry have to live the rest of his life as if a Squib(a wizard incapable of magic)? On the run?
Stan had unfurled a copy of the Daily Prophet and was now reading with his tongue between his teeth, hanging out his mouth boredly. A large photograph of a sunken-faced man with long, matted hair blinked slowly at Harry from the front page. He looked strangely familiar, but not in a way Harry could place.
"That man!" Harry said, forgetting his troubles for a moment. "He was on the Muggle news!"
Stanley turned to the front page and chuckled.
"Sirius Black," he said, nodding. "'Course 'e was on the Muggle news, Quinn. Where you been?"
He gave a superior sort of chuckle at the befuddled look on Harry's face, removed the front page and handed it to Harry. His stomach churned in a different way as he thought over and over again-- Sirius- Sirius! It meant something to him, really, and much more than the letter he received on his birthday.
"You oughta read the papers more, Quinn."
Harry held the paper up to the candlelight and read:
BLACK STILL AT LARGE
Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.
'We are doing all we can to recapture Black,' said the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, 'and we beg the magical community to remain calm.'
Fudge has been criticised by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.
'Well, really, I had to, don't you know,' said an irritable Fudge. 'Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magical or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it - who'd believe him if he did?'
While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand which Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.
Harry looked back at Black's face. Black was... the few times he’d heard of one of his fathers, Regulus-- his last name was Black. Sirius's letter did say he was Regulus’s brother... and that he was in Azkaban. He mentioned a Harmony, who Harry could’ve sworn he’d heard someone say before... and not to mention, Black was oddly familiar looking. But not from seeing him on the news... maybe Black really was...
But he looked so unlike who Harry swore he remembered. He’d seen Regulus once, he thought- in the Mirror of Erised in his first year, and truly, he and Black did share similarities... but he couldn’t believe they were related from this picture alone. The only part of Black’s face that looked even remotely alive were his eyes-- just like Regulus’, a stark, almost glowing sort of silver, with the same diamond pupils Harry had himself-- but the rest of him looked rather dead, being all sunken in and sickly-looking.
"Scary-lookin' fing, inee?" whispered Stan, who had been watching Harry read.
"He murdered thirteen people?" asked Harry, handing the page back to Stan, and trying his best to avoid eye contact, incase he noticed Harry's pupils-- as far as he knew, nobody outside his magical side of the family; the Blacks; aside from Draco and Mrs Malfoy, had them. "With one curse?"
"Yep," said Stan. "In front of witnesses an' all. Broad daylight. Big trouble it caused, dinnit, Ern?"
"Ar," said Ern darkly. Stan swivelled in his armchair, his hands on the back, the better to look at Harry. "Black woz a big supporter of You-Know-'Oo," he said.
"Who, Voldemort?" asked Harry, without thinking.
Even Stan's pimples went white; Ern jerked the steering wheel so hard that a whole farmhouse had to jump aside to avoid the bus.
"You outta your tree?" yelped Stan. "'Choo say 'is name for?"
"Sorry," said Harry hastily. "Sorry, I-- I forgot, er- grew up with Muggles and all--"
"Forgot!" said Stan weakly. "Blimey, my 'eart's goin' that fast..."
"So... Black was a supporter of-- You-Know-Who?" Harry prompted apologetically.
"Yeah," said Stan, still rubbing his chest. "Yeah, that's right. Very close to You-Know-'Oo, they say... anyway, when little 'Arry Potter put paid to You-Know-'Oo--" Harry nervously flattened his fringe down again "-- all You-Know-'Oo's supporters was tracked down, wasn't they, Ern? Or do they call 'im 'Arley Potter? Righ', anyway-- see, most of 'em knew it was all over, wiv You-Know-'Oo gone, and they came quiet. But not Sirius Black. 'eard he thought 'e'd be second-in-command once You-Know-'Oo 'ad taken over.
"Anyway, they cornered Black in the middle of a street full of Muggles an' Black took out 'is wand and 'e blasted 'alf the street apart, an' a wizard got it, an' so did a dozen Muggles what got in the way. 'Orrible, eh? An' you know what Black did then?" Stan continued in a dramatic whisper.
"What'd he do?" asked Harry.
"Laughed," said Stan. "Jus' stood there an' laughed. An' when reinforcements from the Ministry of Magic got there, 'e went wiv 'em quiet as anyfink, still laughing 'is 'ead off. 'Cos 'e's mad, inee, Ern? Inee mad?"
"If he weren't when he went to Azkaban, he will be now," said Ern slowly. "I'd blow meself up before I set foot in that place. Serves him right, mind... after what he did..."
"They 'ad a job coverin' it up, din' they, Ern?" Stan said. "'Ole street blown up an' all them Muggles dead. What was it they said 'ad 'appened, Ern?"
"Gas explosion," grunted Ernie.
"Gas explosion?” Harry repeated confusedly. He’d hardly ever heard of a gas explosion happening in the middle of the street. Maybe once or twice, but he didn't think... “Nobody questioned it? I mean-- in the street? Not a single person?"
"'Ey, ask t'em Muggles. Ain't'at smart, if you ask me," said Stan. "Back to Black-- now 'e's out," he turned to examine the newspaper picture of Black's gaunt face again. "Never been a breakout from Azkaban before, 'as there, Ern? Beats me 'ow 'e did it. Frightenin', eh? Mind, I don't fancy 'is chances against them Azkaban guards, eh, Ern?"
Ernie suddenly shivered. "Talk about summat else, Stan, there's a good lad. Them Azkaban guards give me the collywobbles."
Stan put the paper away reluctantly and Harry leaned against the window of the Knight Bus, feeling particularly worse. He couldn't help imagining what Stan might be telling his passengers in a few nights' time.
"'Ear about that 'Arley Potter? Blew up 'is Aunt! We 'ad 'im 'ere on the Knight Bus, di'n't we, Ern? 'E was tryin' to make a run for it..."
Harry, had broken wizard law just like Sirius, even before now-- only, this one would be the one where he got caught. Perhaps law-breaking ran in the family. Was inflating Aunt Marge bad enough to land him in Azkaban? Nobody who he heard spoke about Azkaban had said anything good, and never once in a non-fearful tone. Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, had spend two months there only last year. Harry couldn't forget the look of terror on Hagrid's face when he had been told where he was going, and Hagrid was one of the bravest people Harry knew.
The Knight Bus rolled through the darkness, scattering bushes and bollards, telephone boxes and trees, and Harry sat in a ball, restless and miserable, on his feather bed. After a while, Stan remembered that Harry had paid for hot chocolate, but poured it all over Harry's pillow when the bus moved abruptly from Anglesea to Aberdeen.
One by one, wizards and witches in dressing gowns and slippers descended from the upper floors to leave the bus. They all looked very pleased to go.
Finally, Harry was the only passenger left.
"Right, ‘en, Quinn," said Stan, clapping his hands, "whereabouts in London?"
"Diagon Alley." said Harry hastily.
"Righto," said Stan, "'old on tight, then..,"
BANG !
They were thundering along Charing Cross Road. Harry sat up and watched buildings and benches squeezing themselves out of the Knight Bus's way. The sky was getting a little lighter. He had thought it over a bit-- he’d lie low for a couple of hours, perhaps hide out in Knockturn Alley or maybe around a Muggle spot-- the last place the Ministry would ever want to go, he was sure-- go to Gringotts the moment it opened, then set off with all that he could put in the pocket of his trunk-- where to, he didn't know. Perhaps meet up with his supposed uncle...
Ern slammed on the brakes and the Knight Bus skidded to a halt in front of a small and shabby-looking pub, the Leaky Cauldron, behind which lay the magical entrance to Diagon Alley.
"Thanks," Harry said to Ern. He jumped down the steps and helped Stan lower his trunk onto the pavement.
"Well, er," said Harry, "right-- bye then."
But Stan wasn't paying attention. Still standing in the doorway to the bus, he was goggling at the shadowy entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.
"There you are, Harley," said a voice. Before Harry could turn, he felt a hand on his shoulder. At the same time, Stan shouted, "Blimey! Ern, come 'ere! Come 'ere!"
Harry looked up at the owner of the hand on his shoulder and felt a bucketful of ice cascade into his stomach-- he had walked right into Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic himself. Harry’s ears had never burned so much before now. Stan leapt onto the pavement beside them.
"What didja call Quinn, Minister?" he said excitedly.
Fudge, a portly little man in a long, pinstriped cloak, looked cold and exhausted. "Quinn?" he repeated, frowning-- for a moment, Harry thought he saw a bit of fear. "No- that's... er, this, is Harley Potter."
"I knew it!" Stan shouted gleefully. "Ern! Ern! Guess 'oo Quinn is, Ern! 'E's 'Arley Potter! I can see 'is scar!"
"Harry, please, I prefer Harry," Harry said quickly, looking around frantically.
"Yes," said Fudge testily. 'Well, I'm very glad the Knight Bus picked, er- Harry up, but he and I need to step inside the Leaky Cauldron now..."
Fudge increased the pressure on Harry's shoulder, and Harry found himself being steered inside the pub. A stooping figure bearing a lantern appeared through the door behind the bar. It was Tom, the wizened, toothless landlord.
"You've got him, Minister!" said Tom, smiling, though all Harry could see were his gums, "Will you be wanting anything? Beer? Brandy?"
"Perhaps a pot of tea," said Fudge, who still hadn't let go of Harry. There was a loud scraping and puffing from behind them, and Stan and Ern appeared, carrying Harry's trunk and looking around excitedly.
"'Ow come ya di'n't tell us 'oo you are, eh, Quinn?" said Stan, beaming at Harry, while Ernie's owlish face peered interestedly over Stan's shoulder.
"And a private parlour, please, Tom," said Fudge pointedly.
"Bye," Harry said miserably to Stan and Ern, as Tom beckoned Fudge towards the passage that led from the bar.
"Bye, Quinn!" called Stan.
Fudge marched Harry along the narrow passage after Tom's lantern, and then into a small parlour.
Tom clicked his fingers, a fire burst into life in the grate, and he bowed himself out of the room.
"Sit down, Harry," said Fudge, indicating a chair by the fire.
Harry sat down, feeling goosebumps rising up his arms despite the glow of the fire. Fudge took off his pinstriped cloak and tossed it aside, then hitched up the trousers of his bottle-green suit and sat down opposite Harry.
"I am Cornelius Fudge, Harry. The Minister for Magic."
Harry nodded, humming-- he already knew this, of course; He had seen Fudge once before, but Fudge didn't need to know.
Tom the innkeeper reappeared, wearing an apron over his nightshirt and bearing a tray of tea and crumpets. He placed the tray on a table between Fudge and Harry, and left the parlour, closing the door behind him.
"Well, Harry," said Fudge, pouring up tea, "you've had us all in a right flap, I don't mind telling you. Running away from your aunt and uncle's house like that! I'd started to think... but, you're safe, and that's what matters."
Fudge buttered himself a crumpet and pushed the plate towards Harry. "Eat, Harry, you look dead on your feet. Now then... you will be pleased to hear that we have dealt with the unfortunate blowing-up of Miss Marjorie Dursley... two members of the Accidental Magic Reversal Department were dispatched to Surrey a few hours ago. Miss Dursley has been punctured, returned to your relatives' estate, and her memory has been modified. She has no recollection of the incident at all. So that's that, and no harm done."
Fudge smiled at Harry over the rim of his teacup, rather like an uncle surveying a favourite nephew. Harry, who couldn't believe his ears, opened his mouth to speak, couldn't think of anything to say, and closed it again. Was Fudge only telling him what he thought would be good news-- before telling him he'd be going to Azkaban?
"Ah, you're worrying about the reaction of your aunt and uncle?" said Fudge, almost as if he couldn't tell what Harry was waiting for. "Well, I won't deny that they are extremely angry, Harry, but they are prepared to take you back next summer as long as you stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays."
Harry cleared his throat. If Fudge wanted to pretend things were alright, he could pretend.
"I always stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays," he said, "and I don't ever want to see them again. They're horrible. They... they..." He tried his best to explain how they’d treated him his entire life, but he was suddenly having a hard time breathing. It shouldn’t have been so hard-- he knew very well how to say it... they hated him, they’d hit him, they’d never treated him right, even once... but he struggled to find his own voice.
"Now, now, Harry, that's nonsense. I'm sure you'll feel differently once you've calmed down," said Fudge in a worried tone. "They are your family, after all, and I'm sure you are fond of each other- er - very deep down."
It didn't occur to Harry to put Fudge right. He'd would rather not admit that there was anything wrong. Adults weren’t very quick to believe anything he’d say anyway, not if it was honest... and he was still waiting to hear what was going to happen to him now. He supposed he’d never be seeing the Dursleys anyhow, but Azkaban couldn’t be much better than there...
"So all that remains," said Fudge, now buttering himself a second crumpet, "is to decide where you're going to spend the last three weeks of your holidays. I suggest you take a room here at the Leaky Cauldron and--"
"What?" blurted Harry, "But- b- w- what about my punishment?"
Fudge blinked.
"Punishment?"
"I broke the law!" Harry said. "The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry! I can't be let off scot-free after, w- b- breaking the law, it's not right!"
"Oh, my dear boy, we're not going to punish you for a little thing like that!" cried Fudge, waving his crumpet impatiently. "It was an accident! We don't send people to Azkaban just for blowing up their aunts! You didn't try to!"
But this didn't tally at all with Harry's past dealings with the Ministry of Magic.
"Sir-- I- l-last year, I got an official warning just because a house-elf smashed a pudding in their house!" said Harry, frowning. "A house-elf that wasn’t even mine! The Ministry of Magic said I'd be expelled from Hogwarts if there was any more magic located there!"
Unless Harry's eyes were deceiving him, Fudge was suddenly looking awkward, and Harry noticed long, pointy ears were very low and red.
"Circumstances change, Harry... we have to take into account... in the present climate... well, surely you don't want to be expelled over a bout of accidental magic?"
"Of course I don't, but- b--"
"Well then, what's all the fuss about?" laughed Fudge airily. "Now, have a crumpet, Harry, while I go and see if Tom's got a room for you."
Fudge strode out of the parlour and Harry stared after him.
There was something extremely odd going on, even for a magical circumstance. Why had Fudge been waiting for him at the Leaky Cauldron, if not to punish him for what he'd done? Surely it wasn't usual for the Minister for Magic himself to get involved in matters of underage magic? He'd be all over, if that were the case.... Or maybe it was for him, just because he was Harry Potter... that was the only thing that made sense, wasn't it? It had to be. He’d earned legal punishment. He’d done illegal things the Ministry didn’t even know of, and even then, he’d done enough that they did know about to warrant punishment. Something was very wrong.
Fudge came back, accompanied by Tom the innkeeper.
"Room eleven's free, Harry," said Fudge. "I think you'll be very comfortable. Just one thing, and I'm sure you'll understand: I don't want you wandering off into Muggle London, all right? Let's stay that's your punishment- keep to Diagon Alley. And you're to be back here before dark each night. Surely you'll understand. Tom will be keeping an eye on you for me."
"Okay," said Harry slowly, "but, er, why--"
"Don't want to lose you again, do we?" said Fudge with a hearty laugh. "No, no... best we know where you are... keep an eye on you... I mean..."
Fudge cleared his throat loudly and picked up his pinstriped cloak. His ears had fallen again. So whatever was wrong, Harry was in danger?
"Well, I'll be off, plenty to do, you know."
Harry suddenly had a suspicion. "Have you had any luck with Black yet?" he asked quietly, but Fudge clearly heard him.
Fudge's fingers slipped on the silver fastenings of his cloak and his ears fell lower. "What's that? Oh, you've heard-- but, of course you have... er, w-well, no, not yet, but it's only a matter of time. The Azkaban guards have never yet failed... and they are angrier than I've ever seen them." Fudge shuddered slightly. "So, I'll say goodbye."
He held out his hand and Harry, shaking it, had a sudden idea.
"Er-- Minister? Can I ask you something?"
"Certainly," smiled Fudge.
"Well, third years at Hogwarts are allowed to visit Hogsmeade, but my aunt and uncle didn't sign the permission form. D'you think you could?"
Fudge was looking uncomfortable. "Ah," he said. "No. No, I'm very sorry, Harry, but as I'm not your parent or guardian--"
"But you're the Minister for Magic," said Harry eagerly. "If you gave me permission, who's to say no--?"
"No, I'm sorry, Harry, but rules are rules," said Fudge flatly. "Perhaps you'll be able to visit Hogsmeade next year. In fact, I think it best if you don't this year... yes... well, I'll be off. Enjoy your stay, Harry."
And with a last smile and shake of Harry's hand, Fudge left the room. Tom now moved forward, beaming at Harry.
"If you'll follow me, Mr Potter," he said. "I've already taken your things up..."
Harry followed Tom up a handsome wooden staircase to a door with a brass number eleven on it, which Tom unlocked and opened for him. Inside was a very comfortable-looking bed, some highly polished oak furniture, a cheerfully crackling fire and, perched on top of the wardrobe--
"Hedwig!" Harry gasped, putting Hydrus on the bed. The snowy owl clicked her break and fluttered down onto Harry's arm. She nuzzled his face.
"Very smart pair of owls you've got there," chuckled Tom. "Arrived about five minutes after you did. If there's anything you need, Mr Potter, don't hesitate to ask." He gave another bow and left.
It was then that Harry noticed the other owl that was sitting above the wardrobe. He supposed that was Sirius’s owl... he did say he told it to stick around. And Hedwig didn’t seem to mind too much, going back to sit beside it. Harry sat on his bed for a long time, the only sound he could focus on for more than twenty seconds being his own breathing. The sky outside the window was changing rapidly from deep, velvety blue to steely grey and then, slowly, to a faint pinkish gold.
Harry could hardly believe that he'd only left Privet Drive a few hours ago, that he wasn't expelled, and that he was now facing two completely Dursley-free weeks.
"It's been a very weird night," he yawned, watching Hedwig and Sirius’s owl hop around the floor as if playing a game and looking very joyous-- it was sort of endearing to watch...
Without even removing his glasses, he slumped back onto his pillows and fell asleep.