Harry Potter and the Lake They Call Michigan

Chapter 1 Towers

Sears Tower, Chicago, Illinois, U.S.A- 1 p.m.

So, this whole thing started because of stupid Frannie talking about how Fraser lives in Chicago but doesn't 'live' in Chicago. "Yea, yea, you know all about the slums and the hair holes and the Mafiosos' social clubs but have you ever even been to the Skydeck on top of Sears Tower?"

Guess where we get to spend my next afternoon off. I tell you, she's just lucky she's so damn cute or I'd really have to show her the business end of a kick in the head. Picture this, Fraser, Dief, me and eight gazillion school kids in an elevator for a hundred and four glorious floors! Oh, did the snot flow. Don't get me wrong, I like kids and all, just not so many at once. Of course, when we finally get to the top, Frase, freak that he is, gets this unbelievably goofy, thousand-watt smile on his mug when he realizes that today it is clear enough that he can see four states.

"Ray, isn't it bracing? This sky brings to mind the ice fields back home!" Oh, and he's done all this prerequisite reading about the Tower. "Built in 1973 for Sears, Roebuck and Co. by the Design firm of Skidmore, Owings and Merrill, Sears Tower stands at 1,454 ft excluding antenna. It held the title of the tallest structure on the planet until the recent construction of the Petronas Towers in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, a title which it retains in reference to the continent of North America." Okay, so maybe Frannie can live another day. A happy freak is a good freak.

At least that is what I'm thinking on the way down until the Mountie turns back into a pumpkin (well, he's got the pants for it). As soon as we step off the elevator and clear the ocean of snot covered munchkins pooling around our ankles, Fraser is striding that 'always gets his man' stride across the lobby and spinning around some poor, skinny bum who probably just wandered in to use the can.

"Sirius Black, I'm Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian . . ." Surprise, surprise, the bum bolts. When is he going to learn to be sneaky? "Oh, dear! . . . Ray!" Now, Fraser's quickly disappearing out onto Wacker, the end of lunch rush closing up behind him. I swear, some days I'd follow him off a cliff; so I'm running for the car and racing around the block, catching glimpses of red serge one street over every couple of blocks, until I can cut across and pull up behind him. Okay, what is this thing he has with riding on the outside of cars? I can see the bum just ahead of us, Dief just behind him.

It occurs to me that the bum is not so concerned with us as he is with some short, bald, dress-wearing guy he seems to be chasing and cursing out at the top of his lungs. Fraser signals me to pull ahead and cut him off. Just as I floor it, the butt-ugly transvestite and the poster boy for hygiene duck down an alley and we overshoot them. Frase jumps off (How does he not break bones right and left, that's what I friggin' want to know?) and rolls into the alley seconds behind old Stinky Gonzales. I slam to a stop and jump out, booking it into the alley to back up my partner. I draw my gun, expecting to find Fraser hog-tying one, if not both, of them with his lanyard 'cause he would be just that perfect. Instead, I find him watching the bum scale the chain link at the end of the alley. Have you ever seen a baffled Mountie? Neither had I. It is a little scary. There's no sign of the other guy and Dief is just sniffing around some rat that scuttled out from under a dumpster. It is like I just ran into Bizarro World, you know, the one where Fraser ain't so good at all things Mountie.

Seeing me snaps Fraser out of his coma and he high tails it to the fence. I double back for the car and didn't we just play this tape? I'm driving behind Fraser, who is chasing the bum. I check the rear view and see that Dief is gaining on me. Damn city streets, I can't open 'er up, too many 'pedestrians afoot'. The serge goes down another conveniently placed alley after the malfeasant who wouldn't say die and I pull off roughly, squealing the breaks. Okay, back to Bizarro World, this time Fraser and Dief have a large black dog cornered at the end of the alley, no bum in sight. Oh, yeah and Fraser is arguing with the wolf. Well, at least that's normal.

"I know the dog is black Dief, I'm not blind!"

"Woof snuffle grr woof."

"No, I was not insulting the physically challenged, it was merely an expression. I fail to understand why this is so important to you. . . ."

"Yipp snarl woof."

"Oh fine, have it your way. Just, let him go." Dief backs off and the dog slinks out to the street. Frase catches sight of me. "Ray, there you are. We seem to have lost them."

"Yeah, I got that Frase. So, you wanna tell me who we were chasing or was that just some random aerobic activity for you?" I'm just a hair steamed at the prospect of spending the remainder of my afternoon off writing up this highly unfruitful sequence of events. Whoa, did I just think 'highly unfruitful sequence of events'? I am definitely spending too much time with the walking dictionary over there.

"Ah, well I recognized the suspect from the Interpol Red Notice that came across my desk last week, though I don't think I'm at all familiar with the Peter Pettigrew he was pursuing." Frase is wearing that serious, crinkly-eyed expression that tells me he is thinking deep, you know, puzzling out how he could have lost not one, but two suspects, despite some serious fancy footwork.

"That guy was some kind of international criminal?" I ask. "He just looked kinda' lost and scared to me Frase." This is just what I want, another wild ptarmigan chase.

"We should look for known associates in the C.P.D. files," Fraser murmurs as he strides passed me to the car.

"Why the 2-7 Frase, why not the R. C. M. P. files? It was your Red thingy wasn't it?" I really don't want to file that stinking report.

"Well, I don't actually have jurisdiction," he responds, the 'well, that's just silly Ray' tone clear in his voice.

"Since when, does that matter? Oh, I get it. The Ice Queen is back from vacation isn't she?" He actually winces at my mention of Inspector Thatcher. No wonder he showed up while I was still asnooze this morning. At least that meant a cup of fresh, Mountie-brewed coffee (complete with m&ms) was waiting for my skinny ass when I got out of the shower. I thought it was strange, since I then had to drive him back to the consulate so he could imitate a statue 'til lunchtime.

"Yes, and unfortunately she and her companion did not see eye to eye so it was not as rejuvenating as she had hoped." That's Canadian for;

"Sven dumped her and she's taking it out on you and Turnbull."

"Precisely," he nods.

"The 2-7 it is."

***

Gryffindor Tower Common Room, Hogwarts Castle, Scotland- 7 pm

You'd think, considering that my two best friends were raised in the Muggle world and my own father has made Muggle artifacts both his occupation and his hobby, that I would have been well prepared to spend time in the Muggle world. You'd be wrong.

It is my fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. My best friends, Harry and Hermione, and I are in the Gryffindor Common Room after dinner. This is a rare situation lately, since Harry can't seem to stop getting detentions with that Umbridge toad, so we're making the most of it. I am trying to do my Divination homework, which is due tomorrow. Harry is helping me by making more and more ridiculous predictions and Hermione is scribbling frantically on the longest History of Magic essay in the wizarding world.

"You will journey across the ocean and defend the honor of a princess," Harry grins.

"My greatest enemy will threaten the love of my life, but I will defeat him in the end," I laugh.

"A man in red, a deaf wolf, a hardboiled detective and a ghost will change your life forever."

"What's a hardboiled detective?"

"A Muggle literary device," Hermione interrupts. "Don't you two get tired of not taking your academic career seriously? Honestly, between your faked homework and all the detentions you get, I don't see how you will ever make it through to seventh year." She has been a little mad since the fight in potions. Of course, that is nothing new- Hermione being mad at me for not doing things the way she does.

"What was I supposed to do?" I ask. "Let Malfoy get away with the things he says? He needs a serious lesson, that one, and I'd be glad to teach it."

"And get yourself expelled for your trouble? Really Ron, it's not like anything you do is going to change him. He was raised to hate. He doesn't know anything else."

"Only two things could change Malfoy into a decent sort, Ron, death or love," Harry says quietly. "Those are the most powerful events one can go through."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispers, a tear gathering at the corner of her eye.

"Okay, so which one shall we try, kill him or find him a girlfriend?" I try to lighten things up. Harry sort of smiles at me. Hermione is apoplectic;

"Ron! Can't you be serious for even one minute? Harry is talking about real and horrible things and what do you do? You make jokes! No wonder no one takes you seriously." With that, she gathers up her books, sets out a few more fuzzy liberators for the house-elves and walks to the portrait hole. "If anyone needs to find me, to apologize, I'll be in the library!" and she is gone.

"You know that Malfoy only said that to make you jealous," Harry tells me.

"You make me sound like Ginny, panting over her like she's the best idea since self juicing pumpkins or something." I am a stupid git for not noticing that my little sister is sitting in a chair just behind me. Ginny gets up and runs out the portrait hole. 'Brilliant, I am just bloody brilliant', I tell myself.

"Ron, am I the self juicing pumpkins in that scene? What is that even supposed to mean?" He doesn't sound angry, just hurt or maybe confused. He gets up and goes to play exploding snap with Neville and Seamus over by the fireplace. Okay, now it is officially time for me to wallow.