“I can’t buy an international portkey.”
June 14
Harry felt his stomach quivering as he stood in the foyer of Number Four Privet Drive.
The floral linoleum was sparkling clean… the off-white wallpaper was pristine… there wasn’t a speck of dust on any of the golden edged photographs that were hung completely evenly space on the walls…
It was the only house Harry knew, it just wasn’t his home.
Harry didn’t know where his home was, but he grasped the handle of his trunk and knew that it wasn’t in the house he grew up.
Harry still felt shaky on the inside when he slipped out and began walking down the dark road. It was terrifying to be truly leaving the Dursleys, but it was liberating too. Harry wondered if it was how Sirius felt when he escaped Azkaban.
Sirius…
Harry sighed and shook his head, still unsure if he was doing the right thing or not. It was mental of Harry to take the word of Sirius about the possibility of a family out in the world. Sirius was- well… Harry liked him quite a bit, he seemed genuine and was the first adult to ever just like Harry, but Sirius also seemed mad as a hatter so taking his word as truth wasn’t Hermione-level-thinking.
Which was why Harry didn’t mention his scheme to Hermione, or Ron, in the letters he sent off with Hedwig just hours ago. All Harry told them was that he was going to take a trip with his new friend and could Ron take care of Hedwig for a while? Hedwig had nipped Harry’s fingers when she took the letter, as if she knew they would be apart for a while, and Harry watched her fly away with hopes they they would be reunited eventually…
Maybe in the States… where Harry had a father and brothers. Harry wasn’t actually much worried about finding them, surely Winchester wasn’t a common name and there were phone books and computers Harry could find. No, that wasn’t what was contributing to Harry’s queasy feeling…
What if they didn’t want him?
What if Harry managed to get to the States, he managed to find John Winchester, he proved he was the man’s son, and he slammed a door in Harry’s face?
Harry had to actually stop on the corner of the road and grab the lamppost to catch his breath at the fear clawing its way to the front of his mind. It could happen, it could happen easily. One look at the warm and loving relationship between Harry and the Dursleys was proof that blood didn’t mean anything.
Sirius had only been a part of Harry’s life for three weeks really and he already meant more to Harry than Aunt Petunia did. Of course, Sirius was also the madman who thought Harry knew James Potter wasn’t his biological father.
Who on Sirius’s list of people in the know would have told Harry?? His dead parents? Peter Pettigrew?? Professor Lupin was a real option, but that man didn’t even tell Harry he was such good mates with James.
Harry scoffed and used that moment of irritation to spur him onward. It was a long walk to get to the closest city and Harry needed to call a cab, that much he knew for sure.
The Knight Bus didn’t exactly offer any privacy and there was only so many summers in a row Harry could runaway without being punished somehow. Sirius had bobbed his head eagerly when Harry tentatively told him his plan earlier on their magic mirrors. Sirius even gave Harry some good ideas to ease the way…
That didn’t say much for Sirius’s mental state though because some people would consider enabling their thirteen year old godson to runaway as ‘irresponsible’.
Harry grinned as he imagined Hermione’s reaction if he planned with her…
“Oh, Harry! That’s quite dangerous! You really shouldn’t go without an adult… If you’re sure though, I’ll do some research on the best methods to get to the States!”
And Ron… Ron would think it was a grand adventure…
“That’s brilliant, Harry! Make sure you pack some snacks for the trip though, never know when you’ll be hungry! Ugh, brothers? I’m sorry, mate…”
It made Harry actually huff a laugh as he lugged his trunk along to imagine Ron being disgruntled to learn that Harry had brothers. Not Harry though, Harry was as excited as anything to have brothers.
Harry hoped that John Winchester had at least six other boys. A sister would be okay too, though she would be younger than Harry since Sirius only knew that John Winchester had ‘boys’ before he… before he tracked Harry’s parents and friends from Las Vegas to London, intent on killing them all.
That once again wiped the half-smile Harry had away. Harry pondered that after he finally reached a busy enough area to flag a cab. Harry gave the driver the address Sirius gave him and helped to load his trunk in the boot. When Harry settled in for what he hoped wasn’t a long drive (Harry only had a twenty pound note he stole from Uncle Vernon as a final goodbye… but he also had his invisibility cloak, so he rather liked his odds), he wondered more about John Winchester.
Sirius called him a witch hunter, something Harry was startled to discover was a real profession. It was mentioned in History of Magic about the muggle witch hunts, but it was hard to imagine people still keeping up on it. Harry rather hoped that Sirius was wrong… surely muggles were comfortable enough in their technology and modern inventions that they didn’t believe in magic. And if they did, Harry hoped they didn’t really hunt witches…
And if they did… Harry just hoped that John Winchester didn’t.
How was Harry meant to find a family that would be thrilled to have a new son and brother if Harry’s biological father was killing witches?!
Sirius was mental, Harry reminded himself of that. Sirius thought Harry’s parents would have told him that James wasn’t his biological father when they had been dead for nearly thirteen years. Sirius also said Harry could join him in Majorca if it didn’t work out in the States though, so Harry kept that in mind as well.
As mental as Sirius might be, he did give Harry a good address. The cab driver pulled up on a quiet street in London and Harry peered through the window, checking that there really was a Number Twelve before leaving the cab.
It was Sirius’s childhood home, one he told Harry he could stash his trunk in before using the floo inside the house to travel to Diagon Alley and going to the bank. Harry planned on sleeping too, going first thing in the morning.
Except Sirius did not warn Harry that there would be a deranged elf with sharp knives, a shrieking portrait that called Harry a variety of slurs, or what seemed to be twenty years of grime inside that house.
Harry managed to find the room that once belonged to Sirius as he literally ran up a set of stairs from the elf screaming about ‘filth’. It was rich, really, since Harry couldn’t even see the elf at first as it blended in with the walls so dirty Harry couldn’t tell the original color.
Sirius’s bedroom wasn’t as bad, Harry reckoned Sirius cleaned up some when he went looking for his belongings. There were boxes stacked to the side of the room, clothes and records and books hanging out of them, but Harry was more interested in the walls.
Harry left his trunk at the foot of the dusty bed and walked around the walls, touching each photograph he spotted. Not the posters of women in bikinis on motorbikes, but the ones of Sirius when he was young and… and not insane.
Less insane? Harry wasn’t sure. Harry just liked seeing Sirius smiling in his photos with James Potter… Remus Lupin… ugh, Peter Pettigrew… there were a few with Lily… probably in their seventh year judging by - by the way they looked just as they did in the photos Harry had.
It sort of struck Harry then how truly young his parents (and if James knew Harry wasn’t his but said he was his dad anyway then he was his parent) were when they died.
They weren’t even fully grown, probably. Harry traced the boyish smile on James’s face, the sparkly eyeshadow on Lily’s eyes… Harry was almost fourteen… and they died at twenty.
Harry shivered and decided to just try and sleep. It was a fitful and dusty sleep, but surely there was a shower somewhere in the house he could use the next morning.
The shower ended up as grimy as the rest of the house and Harry had to actually clean it before he could use it to get clean. But it felt heavenly… all the hot water he could use, even if none of the soap in the bathroom was useable. He also used some of Sirius’s clothes in the boxes in his bedroom… Sirius did say that anything in the house Harry was welcome to? And if Harry had to wear someone’s baggy hand-me-downs, he would much rather they be Sirius’s than Dudley’s.
Sirius had funny taste in clothes and Harry had laughed at some of the very skinny legged jeans, the shirts that were more crop than they were top, and the… ugh. Harry found a pair of leather trousers that- that were missing important areas and he tossed those to the side with a crinkle of ick on his face.
There were jeans that had to have been Sirius’s from when he’d been closer to Harry’s age, as they didn’t look bad with the rope Harry used for a belt. Pairing them with a baggy black shirt, a faded red and black flannel, and Harry’s own ratty trainers almost made him look like a new person. Or, at least, a person who didn’t only own holey sweats that once belonged to his sloppy and much larger cousin anyway.
Harry then used up all of his not-inconsiderable amount of bravery to ask the house-elf, who refused to give Harry his name, to light a fire so Harry could floo to Diagon Alley. The elf refused and then Harry couldn’t find matches and he had to call Sirius.
“His name is Kreacher,” Sirius told Harry. “And he’s a rotten bit of filth. Lemme see him.”
Harry tilted the mirror so Sirius could see Kreacher, who had what was either a rusted or bloody knife, lurking in the corner of the room and snarling.
“Is that a knife?!” Sirius immediately howled, his voice just louder than Kreacher’s insults.
“Master’s nasty son is back… broken out of prison… broken my Master’s heart…”
Harry stayed quiet while Sirius called Kreacher a variety of names that Kreacher returned with gusto. By then end of it though, Kreacher did light the stack of rotten wood in the fireplace for Harry.
“Don’t forget to use the BLACK VAULT,” Sirius yelled at Harry, clearly wanting Kreacher to hear. “Since one day it’ll all be yours anyway.”
Harry absolutely was not going to do that, Sirius needed his money to stay hidden. Also, Sirius should pay someone to cut his hair. It was much longer than he had worn it in the pictures where he was happy. Harry only smiled and nodded though, pretending he wasn’t second guessing everything.
“Wait!” Harry caught Sirius before he disconnected the link between them. Harry tried to sound casual, but he was sure Sirius could sense the worries radiating off him. “Sirius…”
Harry couldn’t even finish his thought, Sirius didn’t seem to need him to.
“It’ll be a blast,” Sirius said, his grey eyes warm as he smiled reassuringly at Harry. “And if it’s not, I’ll fly back and pick you up!”
Harry swallowed down his fears, reminding himself that even if his father and brothers didn’t want Harry, there was at least one member of his family who did.
And with that, Harry floo’d to Fortescue Ice Cream Parlor. That had been Sirius’s idea, he said that the owner had a floo in his kitchen and that Sirius used it when he wanted to sneak off when he was a kid. Harry liked Florean, he used to give him free sundaes last summer when he did his homework there.
Florean did it again when Harry sheepishly appeared in his kitchen. He asked about the bruise on Harry’s cheek, which Harry concocted a story of falling off a muggle bicycle for him, and he chuckled when he told Harry to stick around for a sundae before he went shopping. So when Harry left it was with a stomach full of ice cream, his cloak covering him from anyone who might recognize him, and a sense of excitement where it had once been worries.
Harry’s excitement was squashed after he withdrew a sizable amount of gold from his vault only to be told that he wasn’t old enough to purchase an international portkey. The shopkeeper had stuttered when he said Harry needed a parent, apparently aware of who he was taking to.
No amount of pitiful orphan faces, not-so-subtle bribes, or outright pleading for the ailing cousin in Nevada who needed him would change the shopkeepers mind. Harry left the store and immediately ducked in the first alley he could to hide himself and call Sirius again.
“I can’t buy an international portkey,” Harry whispered as soon as Sirius answered. It seemed as if Sirius were still flying toward Spain, the sun was reflecting off the mirror, blinding Harry, and Sirius could hardly be heard when he responded.
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m not old enough,” Harry said with a scowl. It was bollocks. Harry was old enough for loads of mad things, but suddenly almost-fourteen-year-olds couldn’t go to Las Vegas alone?
“You’re sixteen!” Sirius yelled, just loud enough for Harry to hear. Harry’s stomach twisted uncertainly and he reminded himself that Sirius… well… Harry knew Sirius was messed up in the head. He was funny, brilliant in a lot of ways, and he seemed to truly like Harry. But he did spend twelve years surrounded by dementors, and Harry himself didn’t feel totally sane after only months of it at school last year.
“Yeah, I know,” Harry agreed mildly, not entirely concerned with Sirius forgetting his age. He would feel better eventually and with time, he would probably remember how old Harry was. “What can I do instead?”
Sirius’s grand idea involved an airplane. As in… a muggle airplane that had once nearly scared Harry away from trying to fly a broomstick. Magical broomsticks? Sure. Airplanes?
They made no sense to Harry and he had even asked Hermione how they worked. That much weight in the air without magic should fall. Gravity was a thing, Harry knew that. Airplanes didn’t make sense without magic and that was what frightened Harry.
It didn’t stop Harry from converting galleons to pounds and dollars, buying a more ‘airplane approved’ backpack, and filling it with clothes and personal belongings when he returned to Grimmauld. Harry couldn’t fit all his belongings in a backpack, so he mostly packed a few outfits - from Sirius’s belongings as he had been too anxious to consider buying clothes of his own - his photo album, the scrapbook from Sirius, his cloak, the mirror, and his wand. The Firebolt had to stay behind… as did all of his robes and books and Dudley’s baggy clothes.
Harry didn’t let himself think that it was pathetic all his belongings fit in a single trunk, Harry just slung the backpack over his shoulder and took a deep breath.
For better or worse, Harry was off to the United States.
Harry only had to pray that someone there would be happy to see him.
And then of course - because SIRIUS WAS MENTAL AND HARRY HAD TO STOP TAKING HIS ADVICE - Harry couldn’t buy a bloody airplane ticket to the United States because he had no ID, no adult with him, and when they asked if he had a passport Harry only made a stupid face.
Harry could do it though, he could. The London Heathrow Airport had plenty of signs, plenty of people walking around. All Harry had to do was find a flight for Las Vegas, Nevada, and board it.
Easy, peasy… probably.
Harry slipped under his cloak in the loo and then had to carefully guide in and around other people filling the airport. He found a flight he wanted on a big board and then followed signs to get to that gate. Harry was fairly certain it was his fault when alarms started blaring after he creeped carefully through security gates, but he did it! All he had to do was find the gate, maybe grab something to eat, and Harry would be off!
On an airplane… to the States… where he might have a family… maybe one that hunted witches…
Harry tried not to think about that. He just stole a snack from one of the little stores in the airport and leaned against a wall near his gate to eat it. Harry chewed the little cheese flavored crisps quietly, watching people instead of thinking of all his fears.
There was a little family that made Harry smile. The two mums fussed over the toddler with wipes to clean his sticky face. Harry quietly laughed when one of the mums leaned over to clean his cheek and ended up dumping a drink all over them. Nobody got mad, they just shared exasperated expressions before bursting in laughter.
There was a teenage girl sitting in one of the chairs with big headphones over her ears. She popped bubbles of gum the same shade as her hair while she bobbed her head to whatever music she listened to. Harry thought she was quite pretty and then immediately averted his eyes with a blush at the thought.
Harry snuck a few more glances at her though, even while he pretended not to…
By the time they were opening the doors for the flight to Las Vegas, Harry had a plan. He had seen how people handed over a ticket and then were granted access in different groups. Harry just waited for a gap in the groups and slid right through the entrance.
There was a tunnel to walk through before Harry was actually on an airplane. There were rows and rows of seats, but the other passengers were looking at their tickets before choosing a seat so Harry assumed they were assigned. He hung back in a little area that had carts of snacks and drinks while he waited to see if there would be any open seats.
It seemed to take forever for the voice over the intercom to announce that the doors were closed, but Harry went in the loo and removed his cloak when they did. There weren’t many open seats - and Harry wanted to sit by a window rather badly… - but there was one open window seat in the back…
Right beside the girl with the headphones and bubblegum.
“Er…” Harry grinned a bit shyly and nodded at the seat just on the other side of her. “That’s - well…”
“Oh!” The girl curled her legs up and laughed loudly, a pretty laugh. “Sorry! No offense, but I was totally hoping nobody would sit there so I could take it. I loooove window seats.”
“You can have it,” Harry offered, a true sacrifice. The girl lit up though and aimed a bright smile at Harry before scooting over to the window seat.
“I’m Michaela,” she said, offering Harry a hand with dark purple fingernails. Harry accepted it and shook back.
“Harry,” he said. Michaela had a backpack with all different pins on it stuffed between her legs and the seat in front of her so Harry did the same with his bag. A voice over the intercom told them to buckle up and Harry must have looked as confused as he felt.
“Like this.” Michaela buckled herself in and Harry mimicked her.
“First time?” she asked politely.
Harry laughed and tried to relax, though he kept a white-knuckled grip on the armrests.
“Is it that obvious?” he asked.
“Totally.” Michaela laughed and dug around in her backpack until she pulled out smaller headphones that had two little earbuds instead of the large ones she had on before. She also pulled out a package of gum and offered Harry a piece. “It helps with the ear popping,” she winked.
Harry took the gum and thought he would actually get sick when the plane started moving. That was when Michaela held out one of the white earbuds for him.
“I’m on a rock kick, but I figured you won’t mind,” she said, looking at Harry’s shirt. Harry glanced down and realized The Rolling Stones must be a rock band.
“I don’t,” Harry said, gratefully accepting the earbud. It was a bit awkward, as they scooted together to share the headphones. Harry’s arm was brushing hers and she was warm and smelled good and Harry never really talked much with pretty girls with pink hair and headphones…
Actually, Harry never did that.
But he also never flew on airplanes to go to a new country and find a father and possible brothers before either.
The plane took off in the air and Harry made a quiet sound in the back of his throat that only stopped when Michaela put her hand on his.
“I fly allll the time,” she told him just loud enough for him to hear over the music. “My dad moved to London for work, my mom lives in Reno. So I stay summers and Christmas with my mom, my dad the rest of the time.”
“You have to do this four times a year?” Harry groaned, feeling sick once again.
Michaela laughed and Harry really wished he was brave enough to pretend as if he didn’t think the plane was going to crash. Or funny enough to make Michaela laugh again. All he could do was listen to her talk about her parents and all the things she was going to do with her mum that summer.
When they hit a ‘patch of turbulence’ that had Harry scrambling for his wand, Michaela distracted him by talking about the car she was hoping her mum would get her.
“Oh! I never even asked why you’re going to Vegas,” Michaela said then. Harry slowly let go of his wand inside his bag, finger by finger, and was rather honest with her.
“I’m looking for my dad,” he said. “I just found out I have one and - er… well… I’m hoping he’s up for having a son.”
Michaela had blue eyes that were ringed with thick black lashes and those eyes popped then. She smacked Harry on the arm in a playful way and laughed.
“Your story sounds way more fun than my boring divorced parents!” she cried. “Spill, Harry! Tell me everything!”
So Harry did.
They listened to Michaela’s music while Harry told her everything. He explained that his parents’ best friend just recently left prison and how he told Harry that the man Harry thought his father wasn’t. Harry said that John had met Harry’s parents in Las Vegas, so he thought it was a good place to start his search. Harry explained that he knew John had other kids, at least two boys, and that he had always wanted a bunch of brothers and sisters.
Michaela might have been a witch really, Harry certainly felt as if he were under a spell as he spilled his soul to her. He said his relatives hated him, it was mutual, and that he left without any love lost.
A flight attendant brought them trays of food and Harry kept talking when Michaela asked questions. Michaela asked how Harry got his ticket if he ran away and Harry said that his parents’ friend bought it before he went to Spain and Harry was going to join him if he couldn’t find his family. Michaela asked if the Dursleys really wouldn’t miss him and somehow that led to Harry telling her about the cupboard and every insult, fist, and frying pan that had ever been thrown his way.
Michaela shook her head when Harry was talked out. It was getting dark and the other passengers were beginning to drift off to sleep.
“You can’t just show up in Vegas and start looking around,” she said matter-of-factly. “Oh! Listen! Come with me!” Michaela smiled so brightly it made Harry smile in reflex. “I’ll tell my mom that we met at school and you’re staying for a week. She won’t care, trust me. Then I’ll help you find your dad!”
Harry was touched, honestly.
“You’d do that?” he asked.
Michaela winked before she laid her head right on Harry’s shoulder, setting off a terrible blush.
“Yeah, Harry. We’re like best friends now.”
“Oh.” Harry still had her hand on his, her head on his shoulder, and her headphones in one of his ears. He grinned and slowly tilted his head to rest on hers as well. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Just… like shut up now so I can sleep. Jet lag is such a bitch.”
Harry huffed out a laugh and then stayed perfectly quiet so Michaela could sleep. Harry didn’t think he would be able to, but Michaela’s quiet and even breaths, coupled with the soft rock in his ears, eventually lulled him to sleep as well.
“We’re experiencing some turbulence with our descent, please remain seated with your trays folded and seat belts buckled.”
Harry was startled from his sleep hours later when the airplane shook so hard Harry could feel it in his bones. Michaela’s head popped up off his shoulder and her grip on his arm was tight enough to bruise. If Miss ‘I do this four times a year’ looked shaken by the shaking of the enormous airplane, then Harry didn’t hesitate before plunging one arm in his bag and gripping his wand tightly.
There were no spells Harry knew of to keep an airplane from crashing, but just the warm feel of his wand in hand made Harry feel better.
Then the plane did a horrible shaking thing that actually made Harry scream. Nobody else screamed, but they did only a few moments later. The plane began truly shaking and shrieking and there was a voice telling everyone to remain calm, but Harry could feel his stomach shaking and his heart racing. Harry’s entire body began to thrum with true fear - like being surrounded by dementors, like facing down a basilisk.
“This isn’t normal,” Michaela whimpered beside Harry, no longer calm and collected.
The plane began truly falling, leaving all of Harry’s fears about his family up in the sky where the plane was meant to be.
It didn’t seem to matter anymore if his father hunted witches or not when Harry would never get to meet the man.