Harry Potter and the Fifth Element

Chapter 9 - The Great Escape

The next day, Harry still boiled with scarcely hidden rage as he accompanied Bill Weasley to the Ministry for his Auror training - today's topic being spells concerning objects. Through his Aural Pensieve, Harry had acquired some serious magic. He learned to transfigure hundreds of pine needles into nails and hurl them simultaneously at a target. He could bewitch objects so that they were many times heavier or lighter than normal, causing them to come crashing down or go floating away. Harry was now able to conjure, and then employ as weapons, a wide variety of noxious substances - from the deadly (corrosive acids and alkalis) to the merely loathsome (Stinksap or vomit).

Nevertheless Harry's mind was elsewhere. He was focussed not primarily on learning all this new spellwork, but rather on planning an escape from constant Order surveillance whenever such an opportunity arose, or could be created, at some point during the next few days.

Harry concluded that he no longer trusted any of the adults who so often claimed that they had his best interests at heart. For that reason, he had thrown himself into Occlumency sessions with redoubled fervor. In the afternoon, he scheduled a special session with Lao Kung. Harry did not just want to protect his mind from penetration by Voldemort; he wanted to prevent everybody - Dumbledore, Snape, Moody, Lupin, and the rest - from knowing his private thoughts. If they were not going to be open with him, he was not going to leave himself open to them.

The Sefu had been much impressed with the boy's progress. Harry had been able to clear his mind sufficiently to repel invasion in less than thirty seconds. Essentially at will, he had been able to redirect Lao Kung's attempted mental penetration either to the unrelieved boredom of Dudley's daytime television shows or to the abstract nothingness of the ocean meeting a sandy beach. Lao Kung therefore initiated a new exercise. He sent Harry to the main part of the gym to work out - and even to have a go with Dudley in the ring (Dudley being requested to pull his punches, of course).

Lao Kung then attempted to use Legilimency against Harry at odd times when his conscious mind should be distracted by his other exertions. On his five attempts, the Sefu was completely unsuccessful in accessing his student's thoughts and memories. The only untoward effect upon Harry was the one occasion that he had to pause to concentrate whilst sparring with Dudley. That was not an advisable thing to do, for his cousin was indeed an accomplished pugilist, and Harry caught a right hook to the jaw. That planted the boy quite firmly on the canvas for about thirty seconds. But even the process of taking a fist to the face did not cause him to permit intrusion into his mind.

Harry was also making significant strides with the wandless magic that Lao Kung was teaching him. Whilst he was not yet to the point of breaking bricks, or pulverising them, he was learning to project several kinds of spells from his bare hands. Not only was Harry now routinely setting sawdust on fire - but he could extinguish the fire by drenching the sawdust with water. He could freeze the sawdust, blow it around, and cause it to rot.

In short, Harry was finally mastering not only Occlumency, but quite a bit more. Dumbledore discovered just how much more during his regularly scheduled Wednesday evening session. For the first time, the Headmaster found himself totally unable to penetrate Harry's defences without resorting to tactics that would be plainly unethical if used against a student. Little did Dumbledore know that Harry considered his intrusions almost as unwelcome as Voldemort's.

Hermione, perhaps the only person Harry still trusted, was aware of his sentiments almost immediately due to her mental link to the boy's emotions. During their first break in training the next morning, she asked him, "Is there something wrong, Harry?"

"No," Harry denied, "just a might tense from all the practicing, that's all."

"My you-know-what is telling me that that's not all," Hermione hissed in response to his quite predictable lie. "Yesterday, your roller coaster emotions were extremely distracting, and almost caused me to lose my train of thought in the midst of testifying against her Royal Toadness. Today, it's almost as bad."

He muttered only a cryptic reply. "Nothing that concerns you, really. It's just those bastards keeping me in the dark again."

Hermione knew Harry better than to be put off. At lunch, she returned to the same subject. For her trouble, she was treated to another of Harry's tirades about how Dumbledore, after twice promising full information, still was not telling him everything. He also ranted on about things that she did not fully understand, such as the Malfoys being involved in contesting Sirius' will and how there was much more at stake than Harry had thought.

Eventually he found the limit to Hermione's tolerance for verbal abuse. After Harry carried on with his outburst for some minutes, she got shirty with him. "Harry, do you know how much of an egotistical prat you're being right now? This isn't all about you all the time, you know. Sure Dumbledore holds back with you. Join the club. I'm certain he's telling each and every one of us only what he wants us to know. But you're hardly one to be going on so self-righteously about it. You're not exactly the most forthcoming person in the world yourself."

At this Harry ceased his vituperation and looked at Hermione as if she had suddenly grown another head. "What in bloody blazes do you mean, Hermione?" he snapped. "I tell you things I've never told anyone else."

'Why then don't you tell me you love me?' Hermione thought to herself with a sigh. But to the boy himself she said, "I'm sure you have, Harry, but that still doesn't mean that you've told me enough - if you want to have my best endeavour at helping you fight Voldemort. Do you realise that in almost two years, you've never told me about the spell Voldemort used to return to corporeal form.... Not a word, Harry!"

"Sure I have," he retorted. "During the interview last year with Rita Skeeter, I told you all about how Cedric died, how Voldemort came back, and how I fought and escaped from him. In fact, you're the only one, other than that Skeeter cow, that I've ever told face to face about that. I'm sorry, but I just don't fancy going through that again."

"Sod Cedric Diggory," replied Hermione. "Sod your duel with Voldemort too. That doesn't help me help you. I want to know exactly what Voldemort did to get his body back, how, and with whom. How am I supposed to help you get ready for the next duel with Voldemort if I have no idea what nature of being he now is?"

That stopped Harry cold. She was right..., more right than she knew. Other than Dumbledore, and some Aurors, Harry had never discussed with anyone - not even Sirius - the magic Voldemort had employed to create a new body for himself. If he should tell anyone, it should be Hermione, since she was bound to find something interesting and useful buried in the details.

"You're spot on, as usual," conceded Harry with a defeated look on his face. "I haven't told you that, and I should ... and I will. But not here and not now.... It's a long story, and I need a more private place than the Auror's cafeteria. If you're free, I'll see if we can grab a spare office after training this afternoon."

The lesson went very well after that. Object spells were interesting and dramatic, which maintained Harry's attention. For her, these spells involved transfiguration and charms, which were her best subjects. In their daily concluding duel, he noticed, both to his chagrin and relief, that Hermione had corrected the flaw in her shield charm. They struggled back and forth against each other for almost fifteen minutes - littering the Situation Room with all manner of objects that they either flung at one another or used to block various spells. Harry finally won, but only by using a Gravitas Charm to bring the roof (including a couple of very surprised Aurors from the floor above) collapsing down about Hermione's head. At the last instant, he reversed the charm to cause the rubble to float harmlessly away. However, by then she had chosen discretion as the better part of valour, and done a bolt. Having left the field of battle, Hermione had given Harry victory by default.

Harry was indeed able to borrow a room, but Bill could not (or, Harry thought, did not - as in "Fleur" - want to) stay late that evening. Tonks volunteered to escort the both of them home, since she needed to catch up on some paperwork. "Be thankful you're not really training to become Aurors," she had groaned in frustration. "You're only learning the fun stuff."

Harry then gave Hermione a blow-by-blow description of everything Voldemort and his followers did to create that new body a little more than a year previous. "Here's what happened," he explained as she listened intently. "After they caught me, they tied me to a cemetery headstone.... It was Voldemort's father's. Then they brought out a great stone cauldron and lit a fire under it. They filled it with some liquid - maybe water, but perhaps not - and set it to boiling."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, and she clutched Harry's hand.

"It boiled so fast it was probably something else," Harry allowed. "As it steamed, it threw off sparks - so many that the whole surface looked shiny and sharp. Wormtail was carrying Voldemort, who looked like a huge hideous slug, except covered with scales.... He had tiny misshapen limbs, and blood-red eyes."

She could stand it no longer, and let out a long, "Eeeeuuuuuwwww!"

"That's right," Harry agreed. "Made me want to spew.... Then he dropped what there was of Voldemort right in the cauldron. He, or it, sank out of sight. After that, Wormtail chanted some sort of spell, about how the bones of the father, unknowingly given, would renew the son. I didn't catch it exactly, but that was the gist of it. The ground below me cracked and dust came out.... I assume it was what was left of Voldemort's father's bones...."

Harry stopped as Hermione let go of his hand. She summoned a quill and began taking notes.

"Er ... The bone made the stuff in the cauldron turn blue," Harry went on. "Then Wormtail took a knife and cut off his own hand...."

"That's disgusting," Hermione interjected, but she kept writing.

Harry continued, "He said something about 'flesh of the servant,' but I couldn't make out the rest, because he wasn't speaking very loudly and was facing away from me, towards the cauldron. He cut off his hand so it fell in. Then whatever was boiling went bright red - so bright I could still see it with my eyes closed."

Hermione was breathing deeply, trying to calm herself so that she could continue writing. Harry paused to wait for her to recover. She acknowledged his indulgence with a weak smile, and when ready to continue, she nodded to him.

"Then Wormtail ... he ... he ... cut me ... cut me with a knife ... right here...." Harry pushed back the sleeve covering his right arm and showed Hermione a faint vertical scar in the crook of his elbow. Hermione's jaw started to tremble, and he thought she might break down, but she retained control, although just barely.

"He said to me - and I'll never forget this as long as I live - 'Blood of the enemy' ... that's me ... 'forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe.' My blood.... He let it ran down my arm until it dripped into some sort of glass phial that he had. He took my blood to the cauldron and poured it in...." Harry let out a deep breath at the memory.

Hermione gasped again, "Oh Merlin.... And then it happened, didn't it?" she prompted.

"Yeah, then it happened," he confirmed. "The liquid turned white ... more brilliant than anything I think I've ever seen. There was a whoosh and a flash of steam - the whole cauldron erupted - a great billow of it. And out of the cloud ... stepped Voldemort...."

Hermione shuddered visibly. Throughout it all she had tried her best to stay quiet - to let Harry tell the hideous story in his own way. All the while she wore an odd worried look on her face, something more than mere concentration.

Harry continued to tell her what happened. When he finished describing Priori incantatem, she finally interrupted him with her usual informative thoughts. "Harry, I was thinking before that we should devote our seventh year independent work to Necromancy. Now I'm certain. For over a year I've thought Voldemort's power probably lies in the magic that transforms life and death. Even so, I had no idea that his power would be so starkly revealed. Harry, I know Necromancy is quite a Dark art, but I recognise the magic that Voldemort used to create that body. If you want to destroy Voldemort, Necromancy or something related to it is likely to be the means to his death, just as it is presently the source of his life."

"Quite dark is the understatement of the year," Harry responded. He felt like he had been hit with one of Dudley's sucker punches - or with another of Dumbledore's sudden, yet calculated revelations. How could she have known anything about this? He had to find out.

"According to Ron anyway, who I grant isn't the world's greatest authority, Necromancy is so Dark that even the Restricted Section isn't allowed to have books about it. Wait a minute...." Harry paused. "...Where in the world did perfect, rule-abiding Hermione Granger learn to recognise Necromancy spells?"

She made a face and stuck her tongue out at him in retaliation for his barb, but answered the question slowly and precisely. "You're very welcome, Harry. I never learned anything about Necromancy at Hogwarts, and I didn't set out to study that subject at all. But whilst I was being bored to tears at Grimmauld Place during last year's summer holiday, I had nothing else to read but the Black family library. The Blacks had all the Necromancy literature anyone could possibly want, and I read parts of several books on the subject. I don't remember the name of the spell, or all the details, but bone-flesh-blood and blue-red-white was discussed in one of those books - 'Life into Death' something or other - and it's not something I could ever forget."

"You're amazing, Hermione. Do you know that?" said Harry putting his arm around her impulsively. "No matter how bizarre, or obscure, or even evil the spell, you seem to know something about it."

"And don't you ever forget it, Harry Potter," she chortled. But her light tone rapidly became very serious. "But that spell, whatever it is called, was never completed properly. I remember distinctly that the 'enemy' from whom blood was collected has to be killed before the spell is truly complete. Otherwise the homeostasis of the conjured body is incomplete and the result possibly unstable."

"What does that mean, Hermione?" Harry asked with even greater interest, "that Voldemort is liable to explode or spontaneously combust?"

"It means that the corpus created by the spell cannot reach equilibrium. Beyond that, I just don't know...," Hermione sighed. She had a forlorn look on her face and was practically beside herself. "I'm sorry. I only took a casual interest in those books. I didn't really study them, and this spell, like so many others, was awfully repulsive. If you had only told me sooner, I would have paid more attention.... I do remember that the enchantment was supposed to transfer power from the blood donor to the recipient - and if the blood donor isn't killed the donor retains the power to penetrate the recipient's defenses."

"Bloody hell, Hermione!" Harry exclaimed. "That's it. That's why Dumbledore had that weird triumphant look in his eye for a split second when I first told him what had happened. Once I described the magic Wormtail had used, his face lit up, just for a bit. Then he went all poker-faced again. Dumbledore knew.... That bastard...."

"Ow, Harry! Let go of my hand..., if you're going to squeeze it that hard," Hermione protested.

Harry did, "Sorry Hermione...," he apologised, but he could not stop muttering about Dumbledore. "He knew.... He knew, that because I had escaped, the failed magic meant that I could finish Voldemort, and that the.... Dammit. He knew I was to be his weapon, but he never told me why! That son of a bitch keeps so many secrets! Now if you could only figure out what power I have that Voldemort would ever want...."

Then Harry looked at her with an intensity that made her go weak in the knees. "Hermione - thank you yet again. I should always tell you things like this, because you always have something incredibly useful to offer."

As he said these words, however, Harry shivered a bit because he knew he was being hypocritical. He had almost told Hermione about the prophecy, but had caught himself just in time. At some point he knew he would tell her, but not today.

"There's more, Harry," she said briskly after the warm feeling in her face retreated. "I assume that Dumbledore did tell you that the Priori incantatem effect that you experienced with Voldemort comes from two wands sharing the same core. You must know what that wand core is, since your own wand has it."

"A phoenix feather," Harry answered. "Feathers from Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes."

"That's wonderful Harry!" Hermione bounced up and down as she always did when she was overly excited. Then she hugged him, but he had no idea what for - although he liked it just the same. He soon learned.

"I thought it would be something much rarer.... Even I can learn to fight Voldemort then," Hermione declared. "Whilst I know that the wand picks the wizard to a large extent, Moody has been keen on us acquiring reserve wands in case our primaries were stolen or broken. Why shouldn't I...? Why for that matter shouldn't the entire Order of the Phoenix become a real order of the phoenix by getting reserve wands with Fawkes' feathers as their cores? If we could all stymie him the way you did, wouldn't it go a long way to neutralise Voldemort's ability to use the Killing Curse effectively?"

Harry's jaw dropped. While not nearly as clever as she, he could think of no reason why her idea would not work.
Could Fawkes be the key...?

Oblivious to the passage of time, the two of them continued their discussions for quite some time until Tonks stuck her head in the door.

"All right you love birds, wrap it up," she ordered. "It's almost eight o'clock, and I have to get the both of you home before your families throw a fit ... or Hermione's anyway. Also you've got a very important day ahead of you tomorrow - Apparition isn't easy to learn."

Harry scowled. Tonks had no business joking about either his lack of family or his being with Hermione ... when she did not want him that way. "The Dursleys would greatly prefer if I never came back," he replied.

"Harry, don't say that," tutted Hermione, looking scandalised.

"Well it's true, isn't it?" snapped Harry back at her. "My entire family is dead - and my godfather. Unlike you, I don't have a family worthy of the name to go home to, and my only living relatives tolerate my presence only because the Order has scared them half out of their wits. Tonks, give us five more minutes, please?"

Tonks nodded and slipped away.

"What is it Harry?" Hermione said, considerably more gently. "You seem so depressed all of a sudden."

"I'm just so frustrated by all the lies and cover ups," he muttered. "I know I shouldn't go off on you about it, though. You won't believe it, but I do feel sorry about screaming at people..., even if I can't seem to stop myself.... Hermione, I need you to do something for me - or more accurately, to refuse to do something for me. I think I'm on the verge of finding out a big chunk of the truth about what's going on - why all these things are happening to me without me knowing."

"You know I'll do anything for you, Harry," Hermione smiled and took his hand.

"I have to meet with someone willing to share things with me - don't worry, it's not dangerous or anything like that, just that the information is supposed to be hush-hush, and the person could get sacked for telling me. But I have to get away from the Order's constant watch over me to do it...." His voice trailed off.

"You need me to help you escape, then," whispered Hermione. "I don't think it will be easy because you know I'm being watched too."

"No, Hermione, I think I can manage getting away all right," said Harry conspiratorially. "It's keeping myself away that'll be the ticket. You and I both know that the Order is going to throw a fit when they find I've gone, and that they'll try to find me again. I just need some time. If what I have in mind works, I'm sure they will come to you - because of these." Harry tapped his partner ring against hers. "The ring lets you find me, and I need you to let me stay unfound - at least for a while. I guess what I want is for you to refuse to use your ring to locate me until..., say midnight."

"Midnight, when?" asked Hermione.

"I don't know yet," replied Harry, "because I haven't thought it all through.... The details need working out.... It's going to have to be a spur of the moment thing - more of my improvised magic...." He talked over her grimace. "...All I can tell you is that it will happen sometime soon, and during the day. Can you give me until midnight of whatever day they ask you to find me? If I'm not done by midnight, then something's wrong and I might need help - but I'm not trying anything dangerous, I promise."

"I have a bad feeling about this - your record with improvisation is quite spotty.... You know they'll be furious with me if I do what you want," said Hermione.

"And I'll be furious with you if you don't," replied Harry, grinning at her to let her know that was meant as a joke. "I promise I'll tell you what I find out. Please do it for me?"

"You're asking me to take a pig in a poke, you know," Hermione said.

"True," said Harry. "You're the only one in the world that I'd trust would do it."

Hermione thought for a moment and said, "I'll do it for you on one condition."

"And what is that?" said Harry, with a slight edge to his voice.

Hermione smiled slyly, "You have to come and have dinner - at my house in Knightsbridge - and meet my parents like Dumbledore promised you would."

Harry's face brightened. "Of course I'll do that. I would've done it anyway, you know...."

"Good," Hermione replied crisply. "I'll get some dates from my parents. And if you're still breathing when the Order gets through with you, you can tell me what you've learned."

Harry poked his head out of the door and called, "Tonks, we're done"

Using Portkeys, Tonks dropped Hermione off at what looked to Harry like a big brick and stone house. It was set back from a quiet, well-lit street by a small lawn containing several large, old trees. Harry had never seen Hermione's house before, and he was impressed.

Before dropping Harry off, Tonks told him some interesting news. "I didn't want to worry Hermione any, but I think you need to know that there's going to be a change in your guard this weekend. Fudge has decided to up the Voldometer to orange this...."

"What's a Voldometer?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Harry," giggled Tonks, "that's what the Aurors call the Death Eater Activity Alert Code Fudge began last week. Bit of a joke really - colour codes from scarlet to white, based upon the supposed threat of a Death Eater attack. It's in a little black box on the front page of the Prophet."

"I haven't noticed it," he confessed.

"I'm not surprised that you haven't," replied Tonks. "It's not like it's serious security - just political fluff... Makes it look like the Ministry's doing more than it is. The Ministry gets some rumour from who knows where that the Death Eaters might be up to something. So it puts out an alert to the public...." Tonks lapsed into her deepest, most official sounding voice:

"'Based upon anonymous information that Death Eaters may or may not be planning an attack of an unknown nature against an unknown location somewhere in the British Isles, the populace is advised to be especially cautious over the next 24 hours,'" she boomed. "Like that tells anybody bloody anything. So the Ministry gets the public in a tizzy without telling them anything useful."

"But if that were all, it would just be a nuisance," Tonks continued. "Unfortunately a Code Orange level or above automatically revokes all leaves for the Auror Corps. With no Aurors on leave, there are no Aurors available to guard you, Harry. Having the stupid Code Orange tomorrow and over the weekend, means that instead of having Aurors protecting you, you'll be stuck with the likes of Sturgis Podmore, Daedelus Diggle, or even Mundungus."

Tonks made a face as he said the last wizard's name, going bald, wrinkly, and practically toothless. "They're not as skilled as your normal weekend guard, so please be extra careful with yourself. Ironic isn't it? The higher the alert status, the less protection available to Voldemort's number one target - but there you are. Don't get your knickers in a twist, though. Our own spies say there's nothing to suggest any increased Death Eater activity at the moment."

Although his relatives had nothing but cold leftovers for his supper ("Don't expect us to wait on you if you're out late with your freaky friends."), Harry minded not at all. Somewhere between Occlumency and going to bed with his Aural Pensieve set on Apparition, a plan of action began forming in Harry's mind. He dialed the number Eliza had given him.

Harry was disappointed to reach only an answerphone. "Er ... Eliza, this is Harry - Harry Potter. You met me at the Ministry the other day, gave me your number, and said I could ring you up. Well I'd like to see you again, and I have a plan [click]"

Eliza picked up the phone, slightly out of breath. "Harry, is that really you?"

"Of course it is," said Harry, feeling slightly annoyed. "You gave me your number on the back of your card. Surely you expected that I would call."

"Well, you never can tell," she sighed. Harry was definitely not like most men she knew. "What is your plan?"

"I'm still not exactly sure, but I want to meet you Saturday somewhere in Muggle London," said Harry. "Please be reachable Saturday around noon."

"Muggle London is a big place, Harry," Eliza cautioned. "You know that don't you?"

"Err, I guess so," Harry fumbled. "Is there a Tube stop near the British Library?"

"Which branch, Harry? There are several." Now here was something Eliza had not expected - no man she knew would voluntarily choose to go to a library.

Harry fumbled around a bit. "Er, St. Pancras branch."

"That's easy Harry," Eliza replied. "It's close to both the Kings Cross and Euston stations."

Harry was relieved. "Kings Cross? At least I have some idea where that is."

"So do I, Harry," she confirmed. "So you're serious about this?"

Harry declared, "Serious enough to risk landing in a great deal of trouble."

"In that case, I want to give you another telephone number to use," she said worriedly.

"Why is that?" asked Harry.

"Oh Harry," Eliza said gently. "You're so naïve about this kind of thing. Have you ever seen the charges for your phone?"

"Err, no," he mumbled.

"The bill probably doesn't even go to you," she informed him. "Well the statement lists every number that you call. I don't want to get crossways with my bosses either. Whilst you'll just get told off by whoever's minding you, I don't have that kind of leeway. If I get caught, I'm sacked, and I doubt I could ever get another job in my field. This new number's in my mum's maiden name."

"Won't your mum skin you for this?" asked Harry apprehensively.

"I doubt it," Eliza replied cheerily. "She emigrated to Australia ages ago."

* * * *

The special Apparition lesson on Friday was every bit as grueling as Harry had been warned it would be. Apparition shared some elements with conjuring and others with Occlumency, but Harry expected to find it much more difficult than either of those had been. In effect, he had to conjure himself. And instead of clearing his mind, Harry would be attempting to teleport it instead.

The Apparition practice zone was nowhere near London, but rather out in the country - somewhere in Lincolnshire, Harry was told. When he arrived, both the thick early morning mist and the somewhat foul odour suggested to Harry that he was probably amongst the Fens near The Wash. Auror candidates typically already knew how to Apparate, so this lesson was irregular. The Aurors has somehow borrowed a large fallow field almost a kilometre across, with no trees or other solid objects that could splonch a novice Apparator.

Dress was informal, with lightweight, loose fitting clothing recommended for both the instructors and the instructed. Harry deliberately wore some of Dudley's hand-me downs - figuring that he could hardly get any looser than that. Hermione wore an orange T-shirt emblazoned with the purple-lettered slogan "A Man of Quality Is Not Frightened by a Woman for Equality." Harry duly noted that it was quite the opposite of loose-fitting.

Hugo Halliburton and Betsy Greengrass approached the two somewhat anxious trainees with a short, wisp of a man and a rather stout woman trailing behind them. The man had light brown hair and piercing, watery brown eyes. The woman was blonde, blue-eyed, and looked considerably younger - thirty at most - but she was built rather like Molly Weasley.

Hugo called out to his trainees, "Harry, Hermione! Meet Wilkie Twycross and Honoria Thurso. He's a senior Apparition instructor with the Department of Magical Transportation. She's an Unspeakable with a postgraduate in Theoretical Apparition from the Institute for Advanced Magic in America. I was quite fortunate to nab both of them on such short notice. They've agreed to help with the practical side of things."

Introductions all around followed. Harry and Twycross chatted about Hogwarts. He learned that Twycross supplemented his Ministry paycheck by serving as the school's Sixth Year Apparition instructor.

Hermione at once fell into an intense conversation with Thurso concerning the Institute.

After a few minutes of idle chatter, Twycross conjured up folding director's chairs for everyone in the middle of the field. He sat himself down and addressed the two teens, "All right then.... Apparition. My favourite topic. I've been teaching it for over two decades now. Have either of you had any experience with it before?"

"None whatsoever," Hermione admitted somewhat sheepishly.

"Er ... I did a Side-Along Apparition with Headmaster Dumbledore not too long ago," Harry indicated.

"Excellent!" Twycross exclaimed. "You know how it feels, then?"

Harry could not stop himself from making an uncomplimentary face. "It felt - really awful. I was being squeezed in all directions. It was like being crushed tightly against other people.... I was about to be sick, when something like a small opening developed, and all of a sudden I felt like I was being sucked through a straw.... Then I was there. It wasn't exactly pleasant...."

"Well, well," Thurso said in an even voice. "I've never heard it described exactly like that before, but to each his own. You're quite correct. It's definitely an acquired taste. Apparition almost always feels uncomfortable to novices...."

Twycross stood and conjured a large slate board. Picking up a piece of chalk, he asked his two students, "Do you fancy the technical or the lay description of what it's about?"

"Technical," Hermione quickly requested, before Harry had even processed the question.

"Excellent," Twycross responded. "Honoria? Care to do the honors? That's more your area of concentration...."

Thurso summoned her own piece of chalk, clapped her hands once and began, "Apparition, as best we understand it is an application of what's called 'superposition' - which is just a fancy word for the characteristic of being in two places at once...." The chalk wrote the big word on the board by itself as she spoke.

Hermione had a quill out, and was furiously writing away herself. Thurso took pains to mention that, "There's no need to take notes." While that made Harry feel better, there was no deterring the girl.

Somewhat bemused, Thurso launched into a discussion that was as technical as anyone could desire. "The principle of superposition holds that the total response to multiple signals propagating in the same space at a given place and time is the sum of their separate individual responses. If we take the converse of that principle, then the disassociation of those signals will allow the response to possess simultaneously two or more values for the same observable quantity - specifically position. Hence, the ability to project simultaneously to different spaces or places."

Hermione was enthralled. Harry was at sea.

Thurso continued, "Muggles are currently only able to envision superposition on a quantum level - with the notable exception of an equally notable cat owned by one Dr. Erwin Schrödinger. Wizards, on the other hand, possess sufficient reserves of charmonium, or charmed quarks, in their nervous systems to direct superpositional forces on the macroscopic level. Apparition takes place only on this level, which is fortunate because otherwise it would be subject to the Uncertainty Principle and thus would be too dangerous to be used...."

If the word had more than three syllables, it might as well have been Gobbledygook to Harry. Hermione, by contrast, was lapping it all up.

"How, then, does one operate superpositionally?" Hermione asked - the far-away look in her eyes revealing that she was thinking hard. Harry, on the other hand, was having a hard time thinking.

"Excellent question," Thurso beamed. "I was just getting to that. The technical term for the medium is an 'asymmetric Casimir force....' As a practical matter, Apparition is performed through our magic, which enables us to tap into the zero point energy that is all around us, but unseen and unfelt by Muggles. The simplest form of Apparition - which is all we intend to teach to you novices today - requires you to visualise your destination. You then focus your magic on that position, employ the charmonic forces to disassociate yourselves into the multiple signals I mentioned previously, and finally project yourselves through the means of zero point energy to the desired destination. At the precise moment of Apparition you will become superpositional, and occupy both spaces simultaneously. By focusing on the destination you will pass instantaneously from one place to the other."

"Have I made myself clear?" Thurso concluded.

"Completely," Hermione chirped. She was almost bouncing on her heels as she vanished the quill. "I can't wait to get started."

Unfortunately, for Harry, Thurso's long-winded explanation had been so much technobabble. "Er ... Mr. Twycross?" he interrupted. "Could I trouble you for the lay explanation she offered earlier? I'm not sure I followed all that.... In fact, I'm sure I didn't."

"Certainly, Harry," Twycross agreed instantly. If there were any annoyance with Harry's thickness, both instructors hid it well. "In nonscientific terms, all Apparition involves is the Three D's ... destination, determination, and deliberation. You focus on your destination. Let your magic flow in that direction. Then you determine that you are going to occupy that spot - first in addition to, but then in preference to, the space you are currently in. Third, you feel your way into nothingness - that's the zero point - and with your determination and deliberation, you will yourself across the intervening void to seize your destination, and Bob's your uncle, you're there."

With that, the time for mere talk ended.

Harry and Hermione started out practicing conjuring, making small objects appear and disappear hither and yon. Hermione, who had mastered the Aparecium Charm, had a much easier time of that bit than Harry did. Although Harry could conjure small objects from short distances away, not until around 9:00 a.m. that he was able to familiarise himself with the precise magical effects of the spells he was performing.

The learning process was also physically exhausting. Their instructors had brought with them 10-litre Muggle plastic jugs with spigots at the bottom. Both Harry and Hermione were more than pleased to learn that the jugs were filled with a specially modified version of the Pepperup Potion that the Aurors had developed for advanced Apparition training. Whilst ordinary Pepperup Potion was brewed using a water base, the version the Aurors dispensed contained Lucozade instead.

By the time Harry was comfortable with his conjuring, Hermione had already moved on to dissolving and reforming herself - in one spot. Fortunately, Harry was able to make up a little ground at this point, because of his Occlumency training. The zero point energy involved in mentally willing one's body to dissolve was at least somewhat similar to the energy he used to clear his mind of conscious thought.

Lunchtime saw large quantities of specially selected high energy food - mandrake-flour biscuits covered with peaches and cream, candied Mimbletonia fruit, dragon meat burgers, and a tuck box filled with American-style deep-fried Rocky Mountain oysters. All of this was washed down with as much Lucozade and Irn Bru as one could drink. The relaxed and informal atmosphere, which mixed hard physical effort with all-you-can-eat food in the warm summer sun, produced a distinct feeling of contentment in the two trainees.

"You know Harry?" remarked Hermione with her mouth full. "These Yank oysters are really good. I hadn't heard of anyone raising oysters near the Rocky Mountains, but the Yanks must have very advanced aquaculture. I wonder if we could get these added every now and then to the Hogwarts menu?"

"Excellent idea," Harry agreed, whilst refilling his plate. "I never much liked the oysters we get served at Hogwarts, because they taste too fishy. These are much better."

"It's a Muggle recipe, isn't it?" Hermione asked. Hugo nodded, whilst laughing at some joke that Twycross cracked. "That means it's probably available on the Internet. I'll see what I can find when I get home."

"You do that, Hermione," Hugo replied, still chuckling.

Harry was particularly pleased when Betsy Greengrass took both him and Hermione aside and asked about his plans for Dumbledore's Army, the extracurricular dark arts defence group they had founded at Hogwarts last term. Betsy explained that her daughter, Daphne, had complained the entire year about the inadequacy of Professor Umbridge's lessons. The elder Greengrass feared that Daphne had done poorly on her O.W.L.s as a result of substandard instruction. Betsy hoped that Harry and Hermione would accept Daphne into the group.

"She's reliable and she really admires the both of you, even if she can't publicly say so, being in Slytherin," advised Betsy.

All Harry knew about Daphne is that she was green-eyed blonde who was as pretty as she was quiet - which in both cases was "very." He probably had not spoken more than a dozen words to her in their five years at Hogwarts. Whilst he had been leaning towards continuing the D.A., his thoughts had been primarily idle. He had yet to focus very much on what the D.A. might look like when it no longer necessary to organise it as a clandestine organisation.

"What do you think, Hermione?" asked Harry. "We won't have to be hiding this year, and I daresay that Malfoy has been taken down a peg or two with his daddy in Azkaban."

"I thought we should have reached out to the Slytherins last year, rather than letting Umbridge just have them," she replied. "I think that the Sorting Hat was right about the need for unity in the school."

"Ditto," agreed Harry. Turning to back to Betsy, he told her. "Daphne can come. We will welcome her, although she should expect that some people in the D.A. will probably act like prats to her, at least for a while." Harry thought of Ron, and his best mate's strongly unfavorable views about Slytherins.

After lunch it was time to tackle actual Apparition: the physical process of dissolving from one location and reforming at another. Their instructors split up Harry and Hermione at this point. Honoria Thurso and Betsy Greengrass took Hermione to one side of the field, whilst Wilkie Twycross and Hugo Halliburton led Harry to the opposite side. It soon became clear why this was done.

Twycross tossed a galvanised metal bilge hoop on the ground. When Harry gave him a quizzical look, he told the boy, "That's your destination. It's something to aim for. I find that these hoops help novices to focus."

They certainly did. Harry's first successful solo Apparition soon followed. He felt the same awful sensations he had with Dumbledore - and the distance he travelled was only a metre or so - but the worst, and most embarrassing, thing was leaving his clothes behind.

"It happens, Harry," laughed Twycross. "I am pushing you quite hard, after all - much harder than if you were in one of my Hogwarts classes. Since I'm having you skip several intermediate steps, you're concentrating so much on moving your body from one place to another, that what you're wearing just slips your mind."

"Don't worry about it at all," advised Hugo. "In fact, don't even bother to put them back on for the moment. Clothes are actually an unnecessary distraction at this point in your training. The hard part of Apparition is converting your body into magical energy and back again. Once you've gotten that down, adding clothes is a cinch."

Harry spent the next two hours starkers, popping from place to place in the open field under the warm afternoon sun - and feeling vaguely nauseous the entire time. Beyond the uncomfortable sensations of Apparition, which he was using Occlumency to ignore, in the back of Harry's mind was the worry that someone might decide to collect all those Galleons that Playwitch was offering for a nude photograph of him.

That worry, however, vanished in one terrifying moment. A horsefly took a bite out of Harry at the precise moment he was attempting a three-metre Apparition. As a consequence, he splinched himself spectacularly, with the upper two-thirds of his body disappearing to parts unknown.

Thankfully, the part of Harry that disappeared included his Auror partner ring. After discreetly determining that Hermione was decent, Harry's trainers had her activate her ring. The rest of Harry was soon located on a golf course a few miles northeast of Plymouth near the South Coast. Harry was reunited with the rest of himself (and with his clothes), whilst the Obliviators were handed the task of modifying the memories of several very surprised duffers.

Hermione was frantic until the brief ordeal was over.

"Thank Merlin, Harry, you're all right," she cried when she first saw him again, hugging him tightly.

"Stop squeezing me so hard Hermione," gasped Harry. "They just put me back together."

"Sorry Harry," Hermione apologised. "What on earth happened?"

"I'm not altogether sure," Harry admitted. "I was concentrating on the jump, and I got a nasty insect bite on my bum. The pain disturbed my focus, and all of a sudden what was supposed to be a three-metre jump became a 300-kilometre Apparition ... er ... for most of me anyway. Beyond that, I haven't the faintest idea how I did it. I'm just happy I didn't end up somewhere out at sea."

The summer sun was making its way to the northwestern horizon when their instructors decided that the risk of an out-of-clothes experience was sufficiently remote to warrant bringing the two prize pupils back together for more advanced training. Neither of them had left more than the occasional shoe sole or shirtsleeve behind in the last twenty minutes.

"Harry, Hermione, this is what passes for our Apparition range," announced Thurso. "Please spend the next fifteen minutes walking over it and familiarising yourselves with it. Pay close attention to the limed lines, they tell you the distance from your starting point. The key to Apparition over any significant distance is deliberation. You must create a mental image of yourself in the destination where you want to be - then you flow to that image. As novices, you cannot achieve superposition if you're not aware of your end source location. Once you can create and access that image, then you perform the same unbundling of your magic that you have already successfully used over short distances. The result should be the same."

A quarter hour later Harry and Hermione were standing next to one another at their designated practice positions, looking over the field, which had concentric circles and little white signs with red numbering denoting 100 metres, 200 metres, and so forth through half a kilometre. "This looks like a driving range," commented Hermione.

"Wouldn't it have to have a little more asphalt, or at least macadam?" responded Harry.

"No, silly, I meant a golf driving range," answered Hermione.

"Oh, I wouldn't know," said Harry. "I'd never seen a golf course until I landed on one earlier today. My uncle plays occasionally. I've seen him with his bag. He tried to teach Cousin Dudley once, but Dudders has a temper, and after he pitched few of my uncle's clubs into a pond, my uncle gave up."

Harry volunteered to be the first to try. He concentrated, and went through the three Ds in proper sequence. He flickered, and then flickered again at the 100-meter target location, but almost immediately returned to where he started - feeling squeezed, stretched, and crowded all at the same time.

"Excellent try out of the box!" exclaimed Twycross. "You actually hit your target, however briefly. When you couldn't hold it, you did the right thing to give it up and try again. Plenty of first-timers let their determination get the better of their deliberation, and try to hold it when they're not ready. They end up splinching themselves for their trouble...."

Hermione tried next. She set an initial goal more modest than 100 metres and with the characteristic pop, succeeded in Apparating to a point approximately 65 metres distant. Unfortunately the particular spot she had chosen had a large anthill in it. She ended up having to walk back to the starting point because she was too distracted by ants in her knickers to risk a return Apparation.

The two made slow but steady progress as day turned to dusk and then to night. Hermione pointed out that the Summer Triangle was shining brightly overhead in the Milky Way when their instructors called a halt to the proceedings and pronounced themselves satisfied (she was already studying for her Astronomy retake). At that point, both Harry and Hermione had successfully performed twenty consecutive out-and-back Apparition cycles to various distances throughout the Apparition range. Harry was successfully blocking out most of the unpleasant sensations.

Hugo conjured a stand-up desk, some quills and two provisional Apparition certificates. By wandlight, all four instructors made a show of signing the certificates, which had Harry's and Hermione's full names on them in elaborate Gothic script. Twycross announced, "By the power vested in me, I hereby declare you officially, albeit provisionally, licensed to perform Class I Apparition, with all of the rights and responsibilities that such license entails. Congratulations to both of you - and I think I speak for all of us that we would be happy to welcome you back as official Auror candidates for advanced Apparition training."

* * * *

It was almost midnight by the time Harry returned to Number Four Privet Drive, fully licensed for basic Apparition. He could now learn to perform Auror spells, to the extent they involved Apparition, and could Apparate rather than Floo to the Ministry from now on. Harry was of two minds about this. When he tried Apparition, he thought he preferred the Floo network - but when he tried the Floo, he believed he would rather suffer through Apparition.

True, he could not Apparate to any place he had never seen before, and he lacked the ability to Apparate extremely long distances - although his unplanned jump to Plymouth had Harry wondering if he might go as far as Hogsmeade. But his mind was really set upon Apparition of an entirely different sort.

Harry's escape plan had developed to the point that he had only a couple of loose ends to tie up. He needed Dudley's help, or at least his acquiescence. By telling his cousin only a part of the truth, Harry obtained it quickly.

"So you need to fly the coop to see a girl?" asked Dudley, with a knowing look.

"Yeah," acknowledged Harry, "now will you help me?"

"Sure," replied Dudley enthusiastically, "I'd never keep a bloke from his girl, even you. It's the same bird that you had in your room isn't it? Things went farther than you've let on, eh mate...?"

"No," growled Harry irritably - it seemed like everybody from Dudley to Tonks to Voldemort himself seemed to think he had a romantic relationship with Hermione. "Actually it's somebody new. I only met her the other day. She's quite pretty.... A witch.... Older than me. Wish me luck, Dudders, the third time's the charm."

"With you, more like three strikes and you're out," replied Dudley.

"Huh?" responded Harry blankly.

Dudley fumbled a bit. "It's ... er ... the Yanks play this game ... like cricket.... Nah, it would take too long to explain.... Anyway, what do you need, Harry?"

"Not much really," began Harry cautiously. "I need you to take this package to the gym and keep it in your wardrobe...."

"Oh no.... What's in it?" asked Dudley suspiciously. "I don't want to get in a tight spot carrying around things I can't explain what they are."

"Nothing like that at all," Harry assured his cousin. "It's only a change of clothes. I'm keeping all of the ... er ... freaky things that I need with me. When I'm done with my ... er ... karate lesson, I'll come by where you're sparring and make some sort of harmless remark. You get the parcel and bring it to me in the loo. I'll change, and you wrap up my original clothes and take them back with you. After that, you just act normal and keep mum - like you have no idea what's going on. I'll be back tomorrow night."

Dudley put his hand on Harry's shoulder and whispered, "If you're going to all this trouble, by all means spend the whole night with her. Might as well get hung for a stag as for a squirrel."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Harry with a smile. Old Dudders was turning out to be an all right bloke - at least when the subject was the opposite sex. Harry pulled a wad of paper pale green and red paper out of his pocket. Handing Dudley a £20 note, he said "I hope this makes it worth your while."

Dudley goggled, and croaked out, "Blimey, what are you doing with all that? Not up to anything dodgy, are you?"

"Nope. It's a long and boring story, but let's just say that I signed a contract and somebody's paying me to do something. I figure I've got to ride the rail and the Underground, and I'll probably need to buy some other stuff," said Harry.

"Mate, you need some smaller notes," advised Dudley. "You can't really buy a one-time Tube ticket with anything more than a fiver - lest you want a lot of attention." Harry followed Dudley back to his room, where his cousin exchanged a couple of his suddenly rich relative's £50 notes for a roll of smaller bills. "And don't let my dad see you out and about with that, he might start charging you rent," Dudley cautioned.

Harry went to his room, pleased with the finer points he had picked up from Dudley. Even though his cousin's conversion fee was a good bit dearer than the goblins at Gringotts, Dudley had helped him out with a detail that he had completely overlooked. Harry wondered how many other such details might cause his first solo jaunt into the Muggle world to come a cropper. But his thoughts returned to Dumbledore's repeated evasions and deceptions, and Harry steeled himself. More than anything else, he wanted to know the truth.

Pulling out a piece of (uncharmed) parchment, Harry sat down at his desk with a Biro he had nicked from Aunt Petunia's desk and opened the book on electricity he had been given by Dumbledore. But he hardly looked at the book - it was a ruse against the off chance that Godric Gryffindor might stop by the portrait hanging in the bedroom whilst Harry was writing. The boy started scribbling random notes of anything he could think of relevant to the Black family and his possible inheritance.

He struggled to remember the names of ancestral members of the Black family from the tapestry genealogy that hung in the house on Grimmauld Place. Harry remembered a few - Algol Black, the 17th Century patriarch; Phineas Nigellus, whose portrait hung in Dumbledore's office; the 14th Century twins Merak and Dubhe Black; and Europa Corcaroli. He wrote those names in no particular order and added some monetary sums he pulled out of thin air. The exercise strongly reminded him of how he and Ron had prepared their Divination homework over the last three years.

* * * *

Harry took a deep breath as he left Sefu Kung's karate studio shortly after 11:00 a.m. He was as ready as he would ever be for his great escape. Lao Kung had shot him a few quizzical looks that morning because he had been quite distracted at times (when trying to dampen sawdust, Harry had evaporated the Sefu's tea instead). Relatively convincingly, Harry managed to pass off his mood as an aftereffect of his exhausting Apparition training the day before.

Looking for Dudley, Harry smiled evilly. Poor Sturgis Podmore could not have the slightest idea of what was going to happen. Almost certainly, his unsuspecting Order minder was unaware that he had just learned to Apparate. 'Sorry Sturgis,' Harry thought, 'this isn't about you, it's about me, Dumbledore, and the truth.'

"Hey Big D," Harry hooted at Dudley when he spotted him in the ring. "Don't forget that Aunt Petunia wants you to pick up two litres of milk, we're just about out."

"Right-o," replied Dudley.

In a desultory fashion, the boy headed toward the loo. When he saw Dudley slinking towards his wardrobe, Harry picked up the pace. By the time his cousin arrived, Harry had already had a showerhead splashing away. He doffed the clothes he had worn to the gym (inconspicuous Muggle items intermixed with Dudley's ill-fitting hand-me-downs), as if he were washing up. The tap was also on for one of the sinks - filling it almost to the brim with water.

Dudley brought in Harry's package, wrapped in an old bed sheet. The boy beckoned to his cousin to come close, but did not take the parcel just yet. He whispered to the larger boy, "I'm going to generate a lot of steam, don't be surprised - it's nothing to be going on about."

Harry concentrated on Lao Kung's wandless magic, creating as much heat as he could with his left hand. He then plunged that hand into the sink. Almost instantaneously the entire sinkful of water exploded into steam, transforming the loo into an impromptu sauna. Harry darted around the misty room several times examining every nook and cranny before and the steam dissipated. Harry then took one of the fastest showers in the history of mankind.

Through all this, Dudley remained rooted in one spot. As Harry was frantically towelling off, he asked stupidly, "What was all that about?"

"Making sure we're not being watched," replied Harry in a low tone. "With all the steam, anybody in an Invisibility Cloak would have stood out as a clear spot. I'm now sure that I wasn't followed into this loo."

"An invisibility what?" Dudley mouthed.

Harry fumbled a bit. "In my world ... er ... you can weave cloth with Demiguise.... Nah, it would take too long to explain.... Let me have the parcel."

Harry quickly put on the change of clothes. Instead of the grey sweatpants, dragon t-shirt and sockless beat up trainers he had worn to the gym, he would leave wearing a new and completely Muggle outfit he had just received by mail order. He had chosen olive green elkhorn light-weight pants, a beige air strip sun shirt, light green socks, black Rockport walkers and a red American-style baseball cap bearing the Manchester United logo.

"Dudley," instructed Harry. "When you leave, stand outside the door. You'll hear a noise like something falling. At that point, I'll be gone. Open the door and yell at me like I've been a prat and made a mess, then order me not to come out until I've cleaned it up. That should give me all the head start I need." Dudley nodded, impressed by the young wizard's planning.

Dudley did one last thing before leaving. He plucked the cap off Harry's head and replaced it backwards, bill to the rear. "That's how they're worn these days," he grinned. "Glory, glory Man United."

As soon as Dudley left, Harry inventoried his own pockets. He had his money, his Invisibility Cloak ("What Dudley didn't know didn't hurt him"), the wrist holster for his wand ("Can't be too careful when out and about alone"), his Auror's knife, his scribbled-on piece of parchment, a note pad and a Biro. Harry Disillusioned himself, blending into his surroundings. He pointed his wand at the mops, buckets and other cleaning equipment piled in the corner. "Wingardium leviosa."

"Finite." The cleaning paraphernalia crashed to the floor. At that precise moment, Harry Disapparated. The loud popping sound from his Disapparition was completely camouflaged by the clattering of mops, buckets and the like bouncing across the tile floor of the loo.

Harry Apparated about 5 kilometres away, close to the vandalised playground equipment in the park where he did his running. Bending over to let the unpleasant Apparition sensations pass, he breathed a sigh of relief. There had not been any Muggles in the vicinity to see him. He threw his Invisibility Cloak over himself for good measure, and headed off at a fast trot to the bus stop four streets away.

Shortly before one o'clock Harry emerged from the Underground into the balmy mid-summer sun at Euston Station near the St. Pancras branch of the British Library. It was quite humid, and he at once regretted sprinting up the stairs - which left him with an unnecessary sheen of sweat. The first thing Harry did after finding an isolated spot was to ring up Eliza. "Can you meet me in a half an hour on Euston Street in front of the library?"

Eliza agreed even though she was still worried about what she was getting herself into. In particular, using the library as a meeting place seemed rather off. But this was Harry Potter, and everything about what she was doing felt a bit mad to her. "I'll be there. I'll be wearing a dark riding outfit and be riding a sky blue Aprila Atlantic."

"Er ... what's that?" Harry replied, in complete confusion.

"Oh, Harry, you're not very keen about the Muggle world are you?" Eliza asked rhetorically. "It's a motorbike. I have to get around somehow."

"OK," Harry said numbly. "I'll be wearing a red Man U. cap."

"Ick, I'm with the Gunners."

Harry ducked in between an old-style pillar box and a large rubbish bin and disillusioned himself again. He snuck into the library. 'Time for my alibi,' he thought to himself.

Harry consulted the card catalogue and located the old and rare book collection. He also noticed several vacant research computer terminals available gratis to library patrons. Logging into them all in succession, he typed in the names of the Black ancestors. It was all for show, so without bothering to look at the search results he walked away, leaving the computers on.

He was off in search of the old and rare book section, which he found straightaway. As anticipated, it was under lock and key. Once Harry made sure that the area was deserted, he kept it that way by casting the Muggle Repelling Charm he had learned from watching Hermione.

The library's Muggle locks were no match for the combination of Harry's Auror's knife and an Alohamora Charm. He was inside in less than a minute. Reviewing the titles on the shelves, he selected a few that looked plausibly relevant. He unfolded the piece of parchment he had brought and placed it on a table. "Displia." All of the folds and creases in it vanished. He sat down and carefully opened several of the books whilst keeping the parchment in front of him. He took out his Biro and leaned over the parchment to scratch out a few phony notes.

Deliberately leaving the Biro and parchment behind, he exited the library as quickly as he could. As soon as he was beyond the main gate, Harry dodged behind an ornamental shrubbery and tried to catch his breath. Attempting to remain as calm as he could, he walked to the street looking for a woman on a light blue motorbike.

She was quite easy to spot, especially since Eliza had already arrived, and had already seen Harry coming. She giggled at the way he had emerged from the bushes in dodgy fashion, whilst he tried unsuccessfully to look inconspicuous. 'Muggle clothes certainly become him...,' she thought. She reached over the Aprila and sounded the horn.

Harry saw her and could not suppress a smile. She was dressed Muggle-style as well - dark form fitting jeans and a blue sleeveless pullover blouse with gold trim. 'Muggle clothes certainly become her...,' he thought.

Her long blonde hair hung down past her shoulders; the ends in wild disarray where they had escaped from the matching cerulean helmet she had worn whilst riding. She was carrying an old bomber jacket, which was too hot and sticky to wear in this weather unless she was actually moving.

The greeting was awkward, as each of them was stiff and not sure what to make of the other. "Thank you for coming, Eliza," Harry finally choked out.

"My pleasure I'm sure," she responded. She lightly touched his chest as she leaned in and whispered to him, "I just couldn't let you go bashing on without knowing."

He bounced a couple of times on his heels, "Well should we be off, then?" he asked.

"What do you mean, Harry?" Eliza replied with a puzzled look. "I thought you wanted to do this at the library."

He swallowed uncomfortably. "Er... I don't think that a public library is anywhere near as private as we need," he said. "I came to the library as a ruse ... so I could make it look as if that's where I spent all my time. I have to have a cover story when I go back - to protect you. Now can we go someplace private in Muggle London?"

This was another unexpected turn of events for Eliza. Although she also had doubts about whether the library was private enough for the conversation that she was planning, she had assumed that the library was where Harry had wanted to go, and that was that. On the spur of the moment she was at a loss. There was no public place in London that came to mind as sufficiently private on a sunny summer Saturday afternoon. That left only one alternative.

"Can't stay parked in this cab-rank. We'll have to go back to my flat, then," she declared. "Get on Harry."

"Get on what?" Harry asked. Because he thought he knew the answer, he was becoming very discomfited.

"The bike, silly," laughed Eliza. "What else is there?"

"I've never ridden a motorcycle before," Harry mumbled.

"Well, it shouldn't be hard for you, should it?" Eliza replied, rather enjoying the distress of the famous Boy Who Lived. "I remember you as a pretty hot shot flier.... The last Quidditch match I ever went to, you completely outflew our seeker. Then you rubbed our noses in it by blowing away those hapless Slytherin berks with a Patronus Carm, whilst simultaneously catching the snitch with your other hand. I'd never even seen a corporeal Patronus before.... So if you can fly like that, you can certainly perch pillion on a motor bike."

Harry nodded, and gamely but gingerly made for the back seat. "Ouch!"

"Sorry. Forgot to warn you, the exhausts can be pretty hot," Eliza mentioned.

Soon Harry was seated rather uncomfortably on the back of the Aprila, the heat from sun-warmed black Naugahyde under his butt causing him to sweat profusely. He did not find being on a motorbike at all like being on a broom - at least being in the pillion seat. There was precious little for him to hang on to.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked with a bit of a tremor in his voice.

"I live in one of the new blocks of flats near Canary Wharf," Eliza answered breezily as she zipped up her jacket. "It's only a couple of kilometres away. Of course, the traffic could make it interesting." She expertly tossed her leg over the bike and started it.

"Harry, you've got to put on your helmet," she directed. "I don't want to be ticketed."

"Oh," he replied. He removed the helmet from its perch behind him and tried unsuccessfully to put it on.

"You'll have to take off that cap," Eliza giggled. "Here, let me." She reached around Harry's neck, turned her spare helmet the right way, fastened his straps for him, and pulled the visor into place. With that she popped the clutch and eyed the traffic, looking for a break. When an opening appeared, the motorbike jerked forward. Eliza heard a slight yelp from the boy - who felt very precariously balanced upon the pillion seat - and stopped.

"Hold on, Harry," she said, with a little exasperation in her voice.

"I'd bloody well love to," he replied, in a voice rather higher than normal. "But to what?"

"That would be me, Harry," Eliza said with a twinkle in her eye that he could not see under her visor.

Harry swallowed hard and put his arms around Eliza's waist, trying to keep his hands as far away as possible from what he considered forbidden parts of her body. Eliza eased the Aprila into traffic, and they were off.

For the next wild 25 minutes, Harry learned exactly how Hermione had felt when she had ridden pillion on the hippogriff Buckbeak as they saved Sirius from a Dementor's kiss. Riding in back was not at all like he was used to. Harry was accustomed to being in command of where he was going. Now, he experienced a sense of powerlessness and loss of control that made him quite anxious.

Soon enough, he gave up altogether trying to pay attention to the traffic or to the scenery - even though he had never seen much of Central London before. Harry simply buried his face in Eliza's back whilst holding on tight. He was surprised at how nice it felt, really, just to surrender to someone else's will and not have to take responsibility for what was occurring.

Eliza was also thinking about how nice it felt to have Harry clinging to her. Since she had broken up with her previous boyfriend (a Muggle unable to handle her magical abilities) six months ago, she had not dated at all. Whilst her emotions were enjoying the physical contact, her mind kept reminding her - this was not just any young man, this was Harry Potter.

Not only that, Harry Potter was fully four years younger than she was. Eliza thought back to some sage advice her mum had given her about men when she had been about Harry's age. There were two types of men - the fun type and the serious type. A relationship with a fun-type male would leave no lasting effects, however serious-type men were life-changers and had to be handled with care. She thought that Harry, young and inexperienced as he was, was off-the-scale serious.

Eliza lived in a west-facing one-bedroom flat on the 29th floor of her block. Practically everything about the building was new to Harry. It seemed he had only been imagining the Muggle world beyond Privet Drive. He had never been in a large underground car park before, nor had he ever signed in with lobby security, nor had he ever been in a high-rise. Harry openly gawked when he saw the view from Eliza's window - all of Central London was laid out before him, with the dome of St. Paul's and the towers of Parliament especially catching his eye.

"Enjoy the view?" Eliza asked playfully.

"You bet," Harry answered enthusiastically. "I've never been this high up before - except on a broom." Harry looked around the room with interest. Other than the house in which he had grown up, Harry had not been in many Muggle homes, and he had certainly never been in an apartment occupied by a single woman before. "So you can just come and go as you please, then?"

"Absolutely," affirmed Eliza. "That's one of the best things about living as a Muggle. This world is so much bigger ... I don't have to know my neighbours at all. It's not like wizarding society, where everyone's nose is into everybody else's business. Nobody bothers me and I don't bother anyone. I barely know who lives on either side of me, and that suits me just fine. That's why, when you said you needed privacy in which to talk, I really couldn't do better than my own flat. Where do you live, anyway?"

"Little Whinging," replied Harry. "It's in Surrey - to the southwest."

"You must be starving, then," said Eliza more seriously. "Let me fix something." Eliza puréed some fruit with a non-magical blender whilst inserting something into the microwave. In no time they were eating mini-pizzas and drinking fruit smoothies. Harry seemed so enthusiastic about the food that she had to ask whether he ever eaten either of these items before. Harry admitted he had not, since they were not on the Hogwarts menu and were not the type of foods the Dursleys would ever dream of serving. Nor had Harry ever had the Caprice chocolate ices that Eliza produced from the freezer for afters.

Lunch completed, Eliza cleaned off the table. Harry noted that, once again, she did not use magic. Then she looked Harry straight in the eye.

"You asked for this meeting, wonderboy," she said, attempting to keep a straight face. "Now what do you want to know?"

- 42 -

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C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch9 great escape.doc 09/28/03