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Author: Rosina Ferguson Story: Harry Potter and the Book of Ages Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: WIP Reviews: 4 Words: 64,426
Just as Tank had promised, after 25 minutes they were pulling off the main road into a boatyard. Tank briefly removed his helmet and identified himself and a guest to the guard on duty who had obviously been warned of their imminent arrival. They slowly made their way through the various buildings and down to the finger pontoon docks at the water's edge. Tank parked his beloved Honda and the two helmets were stowed in the top box on the back of the bike. The two then made their way out to one of the pontoons and Harry finally got a glimpse of Sam. Harry was strongly reminded of Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Auror and member of the Order of the Phoenix that he'd met this time last year. The man gave off an unmistakable aura of power and strength and made Harry think twice about staying in his company for any length of time, but as soon as he saw Tank his face split into an enormous grin and he roared with laughter. "Man, it's good to see you! Why'd you keep away from me for so long, eh? Just because you broke up with my kid sister is no good reason to keep friends apart, eh? What did you think I'd do? Rip your head off or something?" Harry saw Tank's face break into a sheepish grin. "Well, you can't blame a bloke for being cautious, can you? Anyway, she's obviously better off without me." "Girl's a damn fool if you ask me!" replied Sam. "But why'd you go and take off like that? You'd done nothing wrong! The whole damned family's missed you, man! It's sure good to be together again. Come aboard and let's open a couple of cans and you can introduce me to your new friend here." They went down into the cabin and Sam got three cans of lager from the fridge and they settled down. Although it was tiny and Sam and Tank were by no means midgets, the two men surprised Harry by moving around with agility and ease. The cabin was small, but not cramped, and Harry seated himself on a bench built into one of the bulkheads. Not being used to lager, Harry took his time with his drink. It was not bad, he decided, but he much preferred butterbeer from the Three Broomsticks. Harry sat and sipped slowly and his mind drifted back to his friends and how much he missed them. But were they missing him? Did they believe the article in the Daily Prophet and were now convinced that he had murdered the Dursleys? After all, the two witnesses against him were Bill Weasley and Arabella Figg, with them speaking out against him, what chance did Harry have? At the end of his fifth year Dumbledore had told Harry of the prophecy which foretold that Harry would end up murdered or murderer, but could he really kill someone? What would Molly and Arthur say? Ron's mum and dad and indeed all his family, were the only real family Harry felt he had. Would the Weasleys believe he could take a life? Would Ginny think he was a murderer? All at once, the gently smiling face of Ginny Weasley came to mind. Ginny! God, he hoped Ginny at least would believe him innocent. Innocent! Could Harry really claim that he was still innocent? Hadn't he cast the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix Lestrange last June? By rights he should be in Azkaban right now for casting an Unforgiveable on a fellow human being, but Bellatrix had cursed Neville Longbottom's parents so much that they resided in the Locked Ward for Permanent Spell Damage at St. Mungo's. Harry hoped that Bellatrix, being an escapee from Azkaban, would be considered a legitimate target by the authorities and that they would go easy on him if it ever came to light, but as he was now being sought in his own right... Peels of laughter from the two friends brought Harry's wandering thoughts back to the present. Tank thrust another can into Harry's hand as he embarked on yet more tales of life on board the North Sea rig. Harry's eyes were getting heavier and heavier until he finally gave up and fell back on the bench, sound asleep. "Report!" The single word sounded like a whip cracking in the tense atmosphere. The speaker was standing at the top of a flight of stone steps at the foot of which were gathered about fifty black-cloaked figures, their faces hidden by masks. Harry recognised the exterior of the house from which he had escaped. "My Lord!" One of the Death Eaters had stepped forward. "We have been able to follow Potter's movements and it seems he has had some assistance with his escape. He managed to escape the grounds to the Muggle campsite. We had some difficulty tracking him, but we have been able to determine that he was given some assistance by a Muggle with a motor bicycle!" At Voldemort's look of confusion the Death Eater continued, "It's a Muggle method of transport, my Lord. It has two wheels and can travel quite fast!" "And?" questioned Voldemort. "Well, we have managed to track them to a marina at Swanwick, just outside Southampton," continued the Death Eater. "Well, what are you standing here for? If you know where he is, retrieve him or feel my displeasure!" "Yes, my Lord! Immediately, my Lord!" Harry heard the familiar pops of Disapparition. The figure of the Dark Lord turned his back on his remaining Death Eaters. "You can try to evade me, Harry, but I will always find you and when I do, you will pay for all the times you have thwarted my plans! Yes, you will pay most dearly and not just you! I will hunt down all those you care for. Your thoughts have given you away, Harry, and now I know your weakness. How like your father you are, Harry. He too was prepared to sacrifice his life for your mother's. Will you do the same, I wonder?" "Noooo!" cried Harry with mounting alarm as he struggled awake. As Harry was thrashing around, Tank laid a hand on his arm to try to gently awaken him. All at once, Tank was blasted back across the cabin, striking his head and falling to the floor. Alarmed, Harry sat up and looked at his new friend lying unconscious. Sam bent over him showing unexpected gentleness for such a large man. "Tank! Wake up, man! What did you do to him?" Sam looked accusingly at Harry who pushed past him in fright, trying to get off the boat and away from the two friends. He was nearly on the deck when he heard Tank's voice shouting. "Stop him, Sam!" Harry's legs felt like jelly as he tried to run for it, but Sam was a good deal taller than Harry and his long legs quickly ate up the distance between them. Suddenly he was rugby-tackled to the ground, Sam's weatherworn arms wrapped tightly around his legs. "Get off me!" Harry shouted, but his panic was less than when he had first awoken and this time Sam kept a hold of him. "Seeker, I'm fine! Don't go running out on me like that!" called Tank. "Calm down, it's okay!" added Sam and at these re-assuring words, Harry stopped struggling in Sam's grip and his panic suddenly turned to near-hysteria. "Oh God! I'm so sorry I hurt you! Everyone who gets close to me ends up hurt or dead and I just thought.....!" Harry slumped in relief, glad that Tank was really all right. Sam stood up and pulled Harry to his feet. "Help, I can't find my glasses! Oh, Merlin, I hope they didn't fall overboard. I can't see a thing without them." The panic in Harry's voice and the oath he'd used made Sam screw his eyes up in an unspoken query. "Got them, they're fine," came Tank's voice from behind Harry who reached out to take them. "No, hold on, the screw's just about to fall out on this side," noted Tank. "You still got that set of jeweller's tools below deck, Sam?" "Should have. Don't ever throw tools away, never know when you might need ‘em. Do you think you'll be able to make your way okay or do you need a hand?" Sam asked Harry. "I can manage okay, thanks and sorry for ... you know ... earlier," Harry stammered. "It's a good job I'm not that clumsy when I'm on the rig or I'd be doing myself a damage," replied Tank. On seeing Harry's puzzled expression, Tank explained that just as Harry had awoken from his nightmare he, Tank, had tripped over his own feet and fallen backwards. Harry didn't believe a word of it but didn't dispute it. He had felt the same surge of power as he'd felt last summer when Uncle Vernon had grabbed him round the throat through the open window. What was going on? If he was doing accidental magic would it be detected by the Ministry and lead the Aurors to him? Just as the three had gone below deck, the first few tell-tale spots of rain appeared on the cabin windows. "They are called portholes on board ship, not windows," said Tank as he secured the outer hatch and closed the portholes. "The forecast said there would be a storm today, but that it should be blown out before midnight." Harry resumed his seat on the bench while Sam fixed his glasses, cleaning them before handing them back. "It makes all the difference in the world when you have the right tools for the job." Harry nodded his agreement. He had a job to do but the tool he needed, his wand, was back in Malfoy Manor!
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