The Streets of New York

Chapter 2 - New York City

A gun went off three times outside the attic door, sending Harry to his feet in an instant. What happened to the woman and her kid? Are they alright? Horrific fates raced through his mind. It took a moment for Harry to snap out of his delirium and realize that the "gun" was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door. "Get up NOW!" she shouted. "You're making us late."

Harry composed himself and sat back down on the bed. It was a dream, of course. He had gone to sleep after Mary left and dreamt of glorious New York City. Children were playing in front of a row of houses, relieving themselves of the heat in the stream of a broken fire hydrant. Harry watched them play. They beckoned to him, and he followed. When the children turned a corner, Harry found himself in a dark forest. He remembered the children leading him along a path that lead to a large house in the center of a clearing in the forest. It was white, no cars to be seen. The lights were off. Nobody was home. He found himself inside the empty house. Exploring his surroundings, he turned in to a corner in the hall, seeing light emerging from one of the rooms. Light and laughter. A woman was taking her young son out of the tub, laughing and singing. They didn't notice he was there (not that he minded). He felt warm, watching the mother and son singing a song that familiar to him, if only in his dreams.

Harry stared at himself in the mirror. He looked presentable enough, if not a little pale. The whiteness of his skin contrasted with the dark diagonal scar on his cheek, the scar that was, according to the Dursleys, a memoir of the car crash that had killed his parents. Harry stared at himself a short while longer and shrugged. If he didn't look presentable enough, Aunt Petunia would let him know. He picked up his luggage and headed downstairs.

The Dursleys had already eaten. There were three plates, three cups, and nine pieces of silverware drying off on the counter. Petunia hadn't bothered to fix him anything. Outside he heard the car door and trunk opening and closing. Oh, well. The trip to New York would only be three hours long. He'd gone without food for longer periods of time. Leaning to one side, Harry made his way to the garage. Vernon was about to close the trunk when he saw Harry wobbling his way towards the car. He glared at Harry, extending his hand to take Harry's suitcase. "You're late, boy," he said.

"Sorry," said Harry.

"Sorry? Sorry? You're making us late!" Vernon yanked Harry's suitcase out of his hands and threw it into the trunk, slamming the trunk door down.

Harry scowled. "I'm sorry!"

"Sorry's not going to cut it." Vernon flung open a side door. "Get in the car. Don't say anything."

Harry was seething inside, but he knew that, around the Dursleys, he shouldn't wear his emotions on his sleeves. He blinked and made his way to the back seat, with Mary following not too soon afterwards. If there was one thing that was certain, the three hour trip to New York City wouldn't be pleasant at all. Harry frowned and looked out of the window as the car pulled out of the garage and made its way to the city.

~*~

Harry felt a slight tug at his arm that awakened him. He wasn't too sure if he had indeed woken up; what met his eyes as he looked out the window looked almost the same as what was in his dreams a moment ago. They were in New York City. He was in New York, with its tourists and city patrons bumping into each other on the sidewalks with their bags, purses, and briefcases in hand, different model cars on the streets, tall buildings and fancy restaurants, and all the signs of grandeur that only a big city could provide. Without the golden sun (the skies were cloudy), and the running children, it was everything he had dreamed of. He could see that Mary was excited, looking out all the windows in the car, trying to get a better glimpse at the city.

"We're almost there, sweetheart," said Vernon. "As soon as we check in and unpack in the suite we can go out and tour the city.".

"What about Harry?" Mary asked. "Is he going to stay in the suite?"

Vernon flinched, and began to speak, but Petunia interrupted. "After what he did to us today? Of course he should! We can't risk him giving us another inconvenience like that. He's going to stay in the suite and never come out until we leave."

"No, Petunia," Vernon said. "He should go out with us."

"Why?"

"Not in the car, Petunia. We'll discuss this later--we're here." They had pulled in front of a large, expensive-looking hotel.

~*~

Their suite was on the fifth floor. That wouldn't have had any significance hadn't Harry been expected to push the Dursleys' luggage in the cart. Tired, hungry, and dizzy, Harry's vision seemed to become warped, making the cart seem three times his size. They were in an elevator; the bellboy flipped a coin in his hand and whistled with joy at the ease of his job. In time, the elevator gave a small ding. "Suite 502," said the bellboy. "Nice place. Wonderful view." He leaned over and looked at Mary. "Lucky lady you are, celebrating your birthday up here." She smiled; he smiled back, and Harry groaned as he gave a hard push to wheel the cart outside the elevator.

The bellboy was right; the suite did have a wonderful view. The long windows that greeted them as they entered the suite looked out onto the bustling street below. There was a fantastic movie theater directly in front of the hotel. He glanced at Mary, who was looking confusedly around the suit. Meanwhile, Uncle Vernon was tipping off the bellboy and making his way to Harry, ready to give him the lecture he'd been practicing on the way to New York. Mary stopped him in mid-stride. "There are only two rooms here, Daddy. Where is Harry sleeping?"

Harry could see that the question came as a blow for Vernon. They wouldn't let Harry sleep in their own room, that much was for certain; and he would be a great inconvenience in the small living room if they ever invited guests. Vernon gave a pleading look to Petunia. She shook her head and said, "I knew it, Vernon. We shouldn't have brought him here. Here's all the proof we need. There's nowhere we can put him. You are your silly ideas!" Petunia scoffed, picked up her luggage and made her way into their room.

Vernon regarded Harry angrily, his eyes flipping back and forth from him to Mary's room. Finally, Vernon sighed. "Mary... You wouldn't mind... There's no where else we can put him... Damn this all!"

"Um, dad?" said Mary.

"Mary... You wouldn't mind if Harry stays in your room while we're here, do you? I know you want your privacy ..."

"It's perfectly fine, father. He can sleep on the floor," Mary said, composed and icy. She gave Harry a betraying look. Vernon looked well pleased, however, with her display of contempt.

"Good." He turned to Harry. "You hear that, boy? Get your suitcase and get in that room. Sleep on the floor and don't come out until we say so. Don't try anything funny with your cousin or I'll good as leave you out here on the streets to rot. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

"That goes for outside, too. When we go out, don't leave us, don't talk to anybody, don't do anything unless we tell you to, understand? Nothing funny or we'll leave you out there, understand?" Harry gave Vernon a nod. "Good. Get in there."

Harry complied, taking his thin piece of luggage to Mary's room. Vernon held Mary over for a while to discuss her "safety," then allowed her to enter with all of her luggage (she had three). She smiled at him when she entered. "So, we're here."

"So we are," replied Harry. They didn't talk much afterwards as Mary unpacked her things, leaving room in the drawers for Harry. They discussed sleeping arrangements. She begged him to sleep on the bed. Harry talked her out of sleeping on the floor, knowing that the Dursleys would not take well to seeing their daughter on the floor, assuming that Harry had threatened their innocent daughter and had forced her to sleep there. After thirty minutes had passed, Vernon and Petunia emerged from their rooms and asked Mary if she was ready; she replied in the positive, turning to the mirror to check herself. She faced Harry and whispered a question, if she looked decent; Harry nodded. Mary was wearing a blue dress with a pattern of small white flowers. Her hair was down, as always, with a clip in the back; she wasn't wearing any make up or stockings. A small gold cross necklace hung around her neck, the only "old" thing she wore.

Outside, Vernon asked this time if Harry was ready (he was). The two cousins exited the room, met Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, and followed them out of the suite and into the city.

~*~

New York was reacting well to Harry. Thus far, nobody had stared at him, sneered at him, or pointed at him. He was just an average, everyday tourist walking the streets of New York with his family. The most he received from the people on the streets was the resigned stare city inhabitants reserved for tourists.

Mary had insisted on shopping. Harry was weighed down by all the bags she accumulated circuiting the different stores, even with Mary carrying a few herself out of consideration for Harry. The energy had drained out of all of them by the time they reached their final destination: A bookstore. Mary had rushed to find detective novels, a genre she was fascinated by (to her parent's dismay), and had persuaded a very pooped-out Petunia and Vernon to go with her into the store. Harry was given the task of standing outside in with the bags. He found a bench outside of the bookstore and collapsed, entertaining himself by looking at the people walking by. Out of the corner of his eye he could see three teenagers walking past, all of them tall, with flaming red hair. Two of them were pulled by the side by the third. They commenced a conversation, in a loud tone of voice they assumed was a whisper.

"Freddy, George!"

"What is it Ronny?"

"Over there! That boy? See him? The one with the glasses and all the bags?"

"Yeah what abou--Ronny! S'not him is it?"

"Ya know anyone else who looked the spitting image of James Potter?"

"But how do you know? You haven't seen Harry and James Potter since you were four, and you ain't seen him since he was six!"

"I have a photographic memory! You know that, Freddy. 'sides, you never forget James Potter. And did you see that scar when we came in? The one on the side of his face? Exactly where Duey said it'd be!"

"What would Duey know?"

"Everythin'! He was there! 'sides, I've seen lotsa people who got hit by a bullet--Seamus Finnigan, f'example, got skimmed on his leg by a bullet and he's got this big scar that looks exactly like the one that boy's got on his cheek. So that's gotta be him! I know it!"

"Well there's only way you can know for sure."

"How?"

"Ask, stupid!"

Harry tried not to make any obvious body movements as he saw one of the boys approach him. Before he could get out a nervous exhale, a red haired boy was standing next to him. "Uh, 'scuse me... I'm not interruptin' anything am I?" said the boy.

"Just looking at the scenery," Harry yawned.

"Huh. Right. Nice scenery, if I say so myself," he indicated a woman in a red dress passing by. "Don't 'member me do ya?"

"No," Harry said.

The boy stuck out his hand. "Ronny Weasley. We used to be friends when we was younger... Assumin' you're Harry Potter, 'course."

"What if I'm not?"

"Then I won't believe ya. You may have gotten older but you ain't changed much ..."

"Harry!" Aunt Petunia was storming out of the store. "I thought I told you not to talk to anyone! It's dangerous in these parts. You don't know what kind of criminals you can meet out here." She shot a very accusing glance at Ronny, whose face flushed. They glowered at each other for a moment before Petunia broke away and stared back at Harry. "Vernon and Mary are waiting for me inside."

Ronny scowled at Petunia as Harry was scuttled away, confused. How had Ronny known who Harry was? How did he know his family? Harry couldn't remember Ronny at all. How could Ronny remember him? It was all rather strange.

~*~

The Dursleys didn't bother to scold him when they returned to the suite; Harry hadn't given them the opportunity. He cut straight into Mary's room and fell fast asleep on the floor. When he awoke, the Dursleys had already eaten without him; Mary was fast asleep in the bed. He wondered, without hope, if the Dursleys had left him anything to eat. Was there any harm in going out in the living room to see if they did? There wasn't; but on the way there, Harry walked into the wake of an argument between Petunia and Vernon.

"I saw him with a Weasley, Vernon, a Weasley! "

"How did you know he was a Weasley? He could've been some random kid looking to steal."

"Red hair, freckles, tall, lanky, the swagger, the talk... He couldn't have been anything but a Weasley. I knew Harry should've stayed at home."

"Be rational, Petunia! There was no one who wanted to watch him. He couldn't have stayed home alone!"

"What does that matter, Vernon? If Harry gets mixed up with the Weasleys it's a guarantee we'll be all be dead before the school year begins. You don't know how much is at stake if we let him go off and mingle with those people! We're better off keeping him a secret in our house than letting him go off with the Weasleys. If we let him out, they'll find him, and they'll find us."

"What if he dies before they find him?"

"It won't happen like that, Vernon. The Riddles are keen."

"Would the Weasleys rat on him?"

"No. They're too loyal to the McKinstons to do that. But we can't let him go out there. If he isn't caught by the Riddles, he'll tell everything about us to the Weasleys, and I'm sure they won't be happy with the way we've been treating an old family friend. So we keep him in here. We won't let him out."

The conversation died after this. Harry snuck back into Mary's room, in deep thought over what had been said. From what he had heard, he gathered that he had involuntarily gotten himself into a dangerous situation.