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Author: Rosina Ferguson Story: Harry Potter and the Book of Ages Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: WIP Reviews: 7 Words: 64,426
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 hed seen no evidence of his pursuers! Knowing that Malfoy and the Death Eaters would be fairly close behind him, Harry knew that he couldnt 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 Figgs? 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 couldnt drive and hed done enough stealing and didnt want to do more if he could avoid it. Not only that, but he was already wanted by the police and didnt 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 FishnChicks and Buckets oChips 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 couldnt 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 Shankss 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 wasnt 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! Couldnt even tell me to my face!" Despite the tough looking exterior Harry could see tears welling up in the mans eyes. Harry didnt 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, Im bloody well not OK! Ive 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 thatll never be worn, thats what I did! Ive 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 shes 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. Its a major project and we just dont 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 werent no problems!" At that, his anger seemed to be drowned in the welling tears. In his embarrassment he turned to Harry. "Sorry, kid, shouldnt be blubbering all over you like a bloody girl!" "No, its fine, really. Dont 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, werent it? Tell you what, why dont you have it? Cant bring you any more bad luck than it has me." Bad luck! thought Harry. Hed had enough of that to last a lifetime, but he thanked his newfound friend and stuck it on his head. "Cheers. At least itll keep the sun out of my eyes while Im 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? Dya need a lift?" Not believing his luck, Harry quickly said that he was making his way to London and the bikers face fell. "Sorry, but Im going in the opposite direction. Im heading for Southampton. Youre welcome to join me if you like. Tell you what, my mate Sams taking his forty-footer up to Tilbury for a re-fit. Ill ask him to give you a berth if you like." Harrys face broke into the first real smile he had worn for days. "Thatd be brilliant! Cheers!" "Well if were travelling together Id better introduce myself proper like. Names 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, "Dont sit there wasting your time, boy. Go and do ." And then they would reel off a list of chores for him to do instead. "Dont tell me youve 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 thats the nickname I was lumbered with." "Well I dont mind calling you that," said Harry. "Good! Whats your name? Or have you got a nickname, too?" No, thought Harry, dont go using a classmates name again. He remembered using Neville Longbottom as an alias back in third year. Stick to a nickname, itd be safer. But hed 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! Lets 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.
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