Harry Potter and the Book of Ages

Chapter 4: Determination and Destination

Harry sat at a picnic table outside an unoccupied caravan, full from his unanticipated feast. Thinking back over the last couple of days, Harry realised how lucky he had been to get this far; he now had some decent shoes on his feet and his stomach was full and - miracle of miracles - he'd seen no evidence of his pursuers!

Knowing that Malfoy and the Death Eaters would be fairly close behind him, Harry knew that he couldn't go on much further on foot. He needed some form of transport and he needed it fast. He also needed to determine his destination.

Where to?

Harry carefully weighed up his options.

Back to Privet Drive?

No point. The Dursleys were dead and the house would probably still be crawling with Muggle police officers. Might as well just hand himself to the authorities.

To Arabella Figg's?

Too close to Privet Drive. Somebody who knew him or the Dursleys might spot him.

Hogwarts?

Too far! He would be safe there, Harry hoped, but would really be pushing his luck to try to get that far whilst being pursued by the Death Eaters.

And then it came to him... where next to Hogwarts was one of the safest places in the wizarding world? Grimmauld Place. Of course! Much nearer than Hogwarts and, with the enchantments on the place, Harry would surely be protected from pursuit and from the Muggle police. He would be able to get the Omnioculars and the information they contained to the Order of the Phoenix.

With a destination now firmly in mind, the next item on the agenda was how?

If only I could Apparate it would take only seconds. A Portkey... Floo... Broomstick...

Harry sighed with frustration. There were many different ways to magically transport oneself from one side of the country to the other, but Harry could not use any of them so he was going to have to stick with Muggle methods.

Bus?

Too far and no money for fare.

Train?

Better but still need fare money.

Car?

He couldn't drive and he'd done enough stealing and didn't want to do more if he could avoid it. Not only that, but he was already wanted by the police and didn't want to risk drawing any more attention to himself.

Walking between rows of caravans, Harry approached the back of the food court once more and then the answer came to him.

Parked at the back of the Fish'n'Chicks and Buckets o'Chips restaurant was a lorry bringing fresh fish from Billingsgate Fish Market in London.

He could try to hitch a ride with the lorry driver!

Excitement coursing through him, Harry rapidly strode towards the back door hoping that the driver might still be inside the restaurant. When he looked inside, however, his insides turned to ice. Sitting on the counter was a portable TV with the lunchtime news on and slap bang in the middle of the screen was his own face!

Panicking, Harry turned tail and ran. He ran up the road to the entrance to the site and kept on running right out on to the main road.

It only took about five minutes for Harry to realise that he couldn't keep on going like this. Seeing a sign saying Public Footpath to Summerton Bassett he turned into a hedge-lined avenue running at right-angles to the main road. Slowing his pace to a fast walk, Harry re-thought his options.

A lift in a lorry up to London would have been perfect, but now would be too risky. If his face was on the TV news then the chance was that his description would also be on the radio; a lift by a lorry driver could be a lift straight into captivity.

Well, until he could think of a better choice it would have to be Shanks's Pony. Harry knew the winding country footpaths would keep him well away from busy Muggle-populated areas, but the only problem was that the more remote the path was from "civilization," the greater the chance that the Death Eaters would use brooms to search for him. So another compromise.

Stick to the B class roads through the scattered hamlets and hope that the risk of cars and farm vehicles passing him would also keep the Death Eaters away. Surely motorists spotting a lone kid on the road would pay very little attention to him and wasn't he being sought in Surrey and not in Wiltshire?

With these worries playing on his mind, Harry arrived in the village of Summerton Bassett. Typical of many hamlets in that part of Wiltshire, Summerton Bassett was strung out along one main street with a church, a pub and a petrol station that had a mini-supermarket and post-office attached. Having drunk most of the coke along with his fish and chips, Harry needed to use the loo; fortunately the petrol station had one that was not only open, but also immaculately clean.

Harry had just vacated a cubicle when a young man in his early twenties wearing motorcycle leathers came in and Harry heard the unmistakable tones of a mobile phone ringing. With an annoyed shrug to Harry, the motorcyclist dumped the rucksack he was carrying on the floor and rummaged inside it, pulling out nearly the entire contents until he found the phone. Finally answering it, he shouted to his caller that the signal was breaking up and to hang on.

"Do me a favour, mate? Keep an eye on me stuff for us will ya?"

"Yeah, sure," replied Harry, walking over to the sink to wash his hands.

In just a couple of minutes the biker was back.

"Bitch! Bloody bitch! Couldn't even tell me to my face!" Despite the tough looking exterior Harry could see tears welling up in the man's eyes. Harry didn't know what had happened, but it was obvious that the call had been devastating to receive.

"You OK?" Harry enquired with not a little trepidation. The man was only a few years older than Harry, but he seemed to have muscles on top of muscles and Harry had no doubt he could flatten him if he chose.

"OK? No, I'm bloody well not OK! I've just got off a six-week stint on a rig in the North Sea and do you know what the first thing I did was when I hit shore? I went and spent two months wages on a bloody engagement ring that'll never be worn, that's what I did! I've been riding all night to get here and, with only another fifty miles to go, she rings me up and says not to bother coming round tonight because she's going out to dinner with Alexander!"

The rider spat the name out as if it were some foul swear word.

"I knew he was coming on to her, but she kept on swearing that he was only coming round to her flat to talk about work. 'It's a major project and we just don't have time in the office to get to grips with all the problems.' Yeah right! It was problems he wanted to get a grip of, was it? I know what he wanted to get his hands on and it weren't no problems!"

At that, his anger seemed to be drowned in the welling tears. In his embarrassment he turned to Harry. "Sorry, kid, shouldn't be blubbering all over you like a bloody girl!"

"No, it's fine, really. Don't worry about it!" Harry was strongly reminded of Hagrid whose rough exterior belied a very soft and emotional centre.

Bending down to re-pack his bag, the biker picked up a baseball cap bearing an oil-company logo on the front of it. "Brought that back for her this trip, I did. Well, that was another waste of time, weren't it? Tell you what, why don't you have it? Can't bring you any more bad luck than it has me."

Bad luck! thought Harry. He'd had enough of that to last a lifetime, but he thanked his newfound friend and stuck it on his head. "Cheers. At least it'll keep the sun out of my eyes while I'm walking. Anyway, better be getting a move on." Harry went out the door and was walking across the forecourt with his new "disguise" and thought that perhaps his luck would hold after all when he heard footsteps behind him.

"Here, hold up, kid! You said you were walking? Where you going? D'ya need a lift?"

Not believing his luck, Harry quickly said that he was making his way to London and the biker's face fell.

"Sorry, but I'm going in the opposite direction. I'm heading for Southampton. You're welcome to join me if you like. Tell you what, my mate Sam's taking his forty-footer up to Tilbury for a re-fit. I'll ask him to give you a berth if you like."

Harry's face broke into the first real smile he had worn for days.

"That'd be brilliant! Cheers!"

"Well if we're travelling together I'd better introduce myself proper like. Name's Michael Thomas but most of my mates just call me Tank."

Harry looked puzzled and Tank quickly added, "Yeah, I know, but on the rigs everyone has a nickname and I got mine because of that damned kids TV programme!"

Harry continued to look puzzled. The Dursleys had allowed Dudley to watch all the TV he wanted, but anytime Harry tried to sit down and watch something he was curtly told, "Don't sit there wasting your time, boy. Go and do...." And then they would reel off a list of chores for him to do instead.

"Don't tell me you've never heard of Thomas the TANK engine?"

Tank roared with laughter. "Well so much for the theory that anyone under 25 spends all their time watching TV, eh? Anyway that's the nickname I was lumbered with."

"Well I don't mind calling you that," said Harry.

"Good! What's your name? Or have you got a nickname, too?"

No, thought Harry, don't go using a classmate's name again. He remembered using Neville Longbottom as an alias back in third year. Stick to a nickname, it'd be safer. But he'd only ever been called Harry by his friends. The Dursleys called him all kinds of names, none of which he cared to remember. But then he remembered back to first year when the Gryffindor Quidditch Team was upset at him for losing 50 points in one go.

"You can call me Seeker," said Harry quite pleased at coming up with what he considered not only an appropriate but also cool sounding nickname.

"OK, Seeker! Let's get going then."

Tank pulled a spare cycle helmet out of the top box on the back of the bike, showed Harry how to adjust the chinstrap and once it was on his head and his new baseball cap safely stowed in his "rucksack," they were on their way.

This was wonderful! This was brilliant! Harry felt that riding the motorbike was the next best thing to flying his Firebolt. The sensation of speeding through the lanes and the familiar feel of wind rushing over his bare face felt marvellous. Harry remembered back to Sirius and Remus reminiscing about Sirius' old motorbike and now Harry fully understood Sirius' love of the machine. I must get one of these! thought Harry and wondered if he would need to ask someone's permission to ride one; he knew that in the Muggle world you had to be 17 to have a car licence, but how about a motorbike licence? Sirius was no longer around to give consent as his legal guardian so who would be his guardian now?

The Dursleys? Harry hoped not. They had to act in that capacity while Harry had been in primary school, but surely not now? Dumbledore perhaps? After everything that had happened at the end of last year Harry wondered if he would ever again be able to trust the aged Headmaster as he had once done. He knew Dumbledore meant well which made it all that much harder when he made mistakes--such as failing to tell Harry the contents of the prophecy and his suspicions that Voldemort would try to make Harry retrieve the record from the Ministry of Magic.

Sitting on the back of Tank's bike, feeling the soothing vibrations of the powerful bike, Harry felt safe and relaxed for the first time in days. The blur of scenery sweeping by him helped him to focus out his surroundings almost like a form of meditation. He closed his eyes and...

Harry was sitting with his legs crossed in an almost throne-like wing backed leather chair. His left hand was stroking the head of a huge snake that moved its head in appreciation of the caress. Harry knew if it had been a cat it would have been purring loudly. His right hand held a large brandy glass.

Opposite Harry and sitting in an almost identical chair sat the unmistakable figure of Lucius Malfoy. His poise was elegant and languid and he too caressed a glass containing--no doubt-- an exceptionally fine old brandy.

"Ah, Lucius, how we take for granted the simple pleasures of life! The ability to feel, (he stroked the snake's head in emphasis), to smell, (he rolled the brandy around the bowl of the glass, noting with deep satisfaction the way it clung to the interior as he held it beneath his slit-like nostrils), and even to breathe! Having been deprived of those simple pleasures for so many years by Potter, it is my one over-riding ambition to take away from him all the simple pleasures in which he delights. One by one they shall be stripped from him. Piece by piece he shall feel his very essence ripped from him until all that remains is a shell. Burnt out and useless, he shall be pitied by all and revered by none. I shall leave him alive, Lucius, oh yes I no longer wish him dead for I wish him to experience the despair, loneliness and isolation with which I spent so many years."

At these words Harry noted a look of fear enter Lucius Malfoy's eyes.

"My Lord, I assure you we did try to find you! I sent men to scour the world for news but to no avail. But your loyal Death Eaters were few in number and we did what we could, I assure you my Lord..."

"Yes, yes, Lucius, you have assured me time and again that you are loyal to me and you are well aware that I reward my loyal Death Eaters. But I did not release you from the bumbling clutches of the Ministry simply as a reward for services rendered! Soon, Lucius, you will be truly able to demonstrate your loyalty to me."

"Tell me what I must do, Master. My only desire is to meet your every need."

At this point, Harry thought to himself, You are nothing but a puppet Malfoy. You shall dance for me and when you have served your purpose, I shall cut your strings. Then you will know what it feels like to be powerless.

Harry was puzzled to note that Malfoy did not react to these words, but realised suddenly that in fact Voldemort had not spoken them out loud at all.

Harry was brought back to reality by Tank suddenly sounding the bike's horn.

"Don't know about you, Seeker, but I need a break! How about we stop and get a bite to eat? There's a place about a mile or so ahead, 'kay?"

"Yeah, I could do with stretching my legs, Tank, but I haven't got any money for food. But take as long as you need --I'm OK!"

"Don't be daft! I earn good money on the rigs and I reckon you ain't a big eater, eh, Seeker. You could do with feeding up a bit if you ask me, so don't go worrying about the price of a couple of burgers, OK?"

Harry couldn't help but grin back at Tank. Burgerland! Other kids at school used to talk about going to Burgerland as a treat and the Dursleys often used to call in when they did their weekly shopping, but all Harry ever got was a small portion of fries. He'd always wanted to try a Megaburga and his mouth watered at the idea of a chocolate milk shake. His only worry was whether the TV or radio would be on with his details for all to see. When he thought back to his rare trips in the past, however, he only remembered hearing piped music --not live TV or radio. Feeling he could push his luck just this once, Harry realised just how hungry he was and how long ago it had been since he had eaten at the holiday camp.

They had been riding along a dual-carriage way for about 5 minutes when they saw the sign for a new-looking retail park which had the usual cluster of fast food outlets. They parked up and walked in to the sparkling clean restaurant. He had jammed on his new peaked hat as soon as he'd removed his helmet and stowed it away and now kept it low over his eyes trying to keep his scar well hidden.

Once inside it took only moments to choose their food and pay for it. Harry led the way to a table, selecting seats away from the serving counter and main door in an effort to be as invisible as possible.

"One thing about these sort of places, you know they're going to have clean kitchens and loos. Living in close quarters on the rigs you have to keep everything spotless," said Tank sliding into his seat.

"Oh I know all about having to keep everything spotless. My Aunt P...." Realising suddenly what he had been about to say, Harry faked a coughing fit.

"You OK, mate?"

"Yeah, fine thanks! I was gonna say my Aunt Pamela keeps her house so spotless I reckon you could eat your dinner off her kitchen floor. But I reckon it's just not healthy, you know? No dirt anywhere --as my mate Don'd say, it ain't natural."

"Who's Don? One of your mates from school? You still at school right?"

"Yeah, I'm still at school and Don sleeps in the same dormitory as me."

"What? Don't tell me you go to one of those posh boarding schools? If you don't mind me saying so, kid, your clothes don't fit the image!"

"Well, I don't know about posh, but it is a boarding school. One of the other lads in my dormitory has a milkman for a dad and Don's dad works for the government, but I don't think he earns very much and has seven kids to keep as well. Don's always moaning about having everything handed down to him from his brothers and not getting anything new."

"How come you're there then?"

"Well, it's not an ordinary school. It's a school for kids with special needs."

"What, behavioural problems and the like?"

"Yeah, something like that," Harry blushed and realised that Tank would probably think Harry was a right little hooligan. Well, he was used to the neighbours in Little Whinging thinking that.

"I knew it! You're a lot like me then! I grew up with four younger brothers and they were always being picked on at school for being swots. I wasn't as brainy as them, but I had the brawn as they had the brains so I always ended up sorting out the bullies. Well, one day I was seen giving a little toe-rag a seeing to for trashing my youngest brother's homework and that was it! Labelled a troublemaker and I was packed off to a school called St. Brutus's. Mind you I ended up getting the best out of that deal 'cos there we got all kinds of chances the other kids didn't! I had always enjoyed tinkering with engines and cars and stuff, well at St. Brutus's I got proper training in mechanics and mechanical engineering. They gave me the chance to show what I was really capable of doing. That's how come I qualified for the job on the rig! Good old St. Brutus's.

"S'funny you know, I haven't thought of that place for ages and only last night I saw my old headmaster on the telly talking about some kid that's supposed to have gone there, but he knows nothing about him. This kid's supposed to have attacked his family!"

At those words Harry nearly choked on his shake. Tank had obviously heard the news report of the attack on the Dursleys, but he hadn't connected the kid from the report to him. Thank goodness! As much as he liked being with Tank and the ride was proving to be very useful and also extremely enjoyable, Harry decided that it was probably high time for a parting of the ways. It was a pity, but he just couldn't risk being recognised. The last thing he needed was to end up in the custody of the Muggle police.

Thankful that he still had on the baseball cap, Harry decided to slip out the back door and be on his way. Using the excuse that he needed to use the loo, Harry got up and made his way to the back of the restaurant, his makeshift rucksack slung over his shoulder. When he saw Tank turn and look towards him, Harry pushed open the door to the restrooms and walked in.

Harry realised it must have looked a bit odd taking his bag with him, but he needed to split from his travelling companion if only to protect him. As Tank had said, the loos were immaculate and Harry entered a cubicle.

If only I didn't have the damned scar on my forehead and had brown eyes and hair then I could just disappear and no-one would recognise me, thought Harry. Wishing he were a Metamorphmagus like Tonks, Harry sat and waited a good few minutes before checking to see if he could sneak out unobserved.

Harry was about to reach for the handle when the door was suddenly pushed open. His heart in his mouth, Harry felt that his luck had finally run out when a burly 6'3" tall policeman pushed his way into the restroom. Convinced that he was about to be arrested, Harry stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall, but the policeman paid him no heed and just rapidly made his way into a cubicle.

Not wasting any more time, Harry snatched the door open. He almost ran from the restaurant, but stopped in his tracks when he heard Tank's voice.

"Hey, Seeker! I'm over here! What'd you do, lose your bearings?"

Without looking him in the face, Harry took the helmet from Tank and jammed it on his head, tucking the peaked hat in the waistband of his jeans.

"You OK, Seeker?" queried Tank but he looked at Harry then at the police car. It was obvious to Tank that Harry was trying to leave as quickly as possible, so he didn't push matters. Harry remained silent as he climbed onto the bike behind Tank and they roared away.

They had only been riding for about 20 minutes when Tank indicated and then pulled onto a small track leading into some woods. When he had turned off the engine, Tank got off the bike and confronted Harry.

"Okay, mate! Spill the beans! You're hiding from the law, that's obvious, but I want to know why and I want to know now!"

God, if there ever was a time when Harry wished he could Apparate then this was it! If he told Tank the truth, would he turn him in to the police? Being associated with Harry had brought a lot of people into danger; was Harry prepared to put Tank at risk like that for just giving him a lift? No, thought Harry, I won't ruin any more lives!

Getting off the bike, Harry removed his helmet and automatically ran his hand through his hair. His nervous perspiration made his hair stand up on end, leaving his lightning-shaped scar all too visible.

"Something happened to my aunt, uncle and cousin and the police think I'm responsible, but I swear, Tank, that I didn't do it! I was miles away, but someone who looked like me ...... murdered them and made it look like I did it! There you know now." Harry felt exhausted. All the stress of the last few days crashed down on top of him. "If you want to call the police then you had better do it. I won't run, I promise." Harry sank down onto the grassy verge and put his head in his hands.

It was over! Harry was convinced that Tank would use his mobile to call the police. He would be taken into custody and then what? No doubt Voldemort and his Death Eaters would be able to get him, but at least another innocent Muggle would be safe. Harry was determined that no other lives would be ruined because of him.

But Tank did not phone the police. Harry reluctantly looked up and saw his newfound friend staring him in the eyes. "Seeker, can you swear to me that you really haven't done anything wrong?"

Harry thought back to the Muggle campsite. "I swear I haven't hurt anyone --well not deliberately anyway. I only stole these trainers 'cos I didn't have any and I knew I wouldn't get far barefoot."

Tank nodded and, thinking he might have an ally, Harry continued, "Tank, I was telling the truth when I said that I need to get to London. I'm trying to get in touch with my Headmaster and if I were really guilty of murder, do you think I'd try to do that?"

"No, Seeker, I guess you wouldn't! Like I said earlier, my old Headmaster helped me to turn my life around, perhaps yours will be able to do the same for you, eh? Look, I know I might be nuts for this, but I'm gonna trust you. I'll get you to my mate Sam's boat and ask him to drop you off at Tilbury. It's still a few miles from central London, but you should be OK. Sam's not too fond of the police either; they once arrested him because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, if you know what I mean. Took forever to clear his name and he's never trusted them since then."

Tank pulled out his mobile and rang his friend. "Sam, I'm bringing a mate with me. Can you let the entrance gate know to expect the two of us in about 25 minutes? Yeah, I'm still riding my old Honda 500-4. As long as the old girl keeps going, I'll not part with her. Okay. See ya." Tank ended the brief call and turned to Harry. "The boatyard's pretty hot on security these days. If they don't know you, they don't let you in."

Harry breathed an enormous sigh of relief and the two of them put their helmets back on and rode off once more.