"Don't go anywhere," Stan grumbled to me as he walked out of the glass doors and pulled a stack of crumpled-up paper out from his pockets.
"'Chu doing down there?" He asked.
"I fell over."
"'Chu fell over for?"
"I didn't do it on purpose." The boy scoffed as he scrambled to his feet. I peered through the window, squinting to try and discern his face, but the darkness had enveloped the street, rendering it pitch black.
"'Chu lookin' at?"
"Nothing."
"Well come on then, we can't wait for the grass to grow." Stan snapped, and the boy started to walk up the stairs.
Harry Potter stood in front of me, and I felt my heart turn over in my chest as it skipped a beat. It's obvious that Harry didn't try to look good. He'd hardly tried to tame his curly black hair, and he was still being forced to wear his cousin's old clothes during the summer- usually, the same old gray flannel and jeans that were held up by a belt. His eyes were emerald green, just like I remembered. They were about the only thing about him that stayed the same. Most of the time, they couldn't even get through a conversation without poking fun at the other or it ending in an argument. Still, just seeing him made me go fuzzy in the head.
I found myself staring at him, which was a little odd considering I'd seen Harry a thousand times. He had always been cute, but he was starting to be seriously handsome. I silently thanked Harry's aunt for not cutting his hair, because puberty had hit him like a bus and his old bowl cut would've done him very dirty.
"Jo?"
Harry was the only person I'd ever let call me Jo. I wasn't quite sure why, but it felt right when he said it. I snapped out of my daze as Harry ran forward and pulled me into a hug.
"Reunion times over. Pay up o' leave, Jo. Same as you." Stan said, setting Harry's trunk down on a rack in front of the last bed. I felt my eye twitch at hearing Stan Shunpike call me Jo.
"I haven't got any money," I repeated as they broke apart to face the acne-filled teenager.
"'Ight, then." He said, grabbing my trunk. "We'll charge ya for the ride to Surrey. You'll get the bill by owl sometime this week."
"Wait, I'll pay for me too," Harry asked, reaching into his pocket. "How much?"
"I can't ask you to-"
"Shut up, Jo." Harry rolled his eyes. "How much?"
"Where ya 'eaded?" Stan asked, eyeing the two of them suspiciously.
"Leaky Cauldron," Harry said. "That's in London."
No shit. I thought. Stan had the same reaction as he rolled his eyes at Harry's obvious statement.
"Twenty-two sickles then."
Harry pulled out a stack of sickles and a few knuts, and handed them to Stan without counting or hesitation.
"What was your name, again?" Stan asked, cautiously taking the gross amount of money that Harry had so nonchalantly given him.
"Longbottom. Neville Longbottom." Harry said, his eyes glaring into Stan's so seriously that even I almost believed him.
"Right. 'Ern, Leaky Cauldron, that's in London."
The bus lurched forward in a flash, and if I hadn't been gripping one of the rickety, golden bed frames, I likely would've been propelled into the glass at the front of the bus. Despite holding on, I still fell forward, and Harry instinctively put a protective arm out to stop me. I silently prayed that I wasn't as red as I felt.
Harry didn't seem to notice my flushed cheeks, however. He was staring at the wrinkled copy of the Daily Prophet that Stan Shunpike had unraveled from his pocket.
"Who's that?" Harry asked. "That man on the front."
Harry pointed at a large photograph of a sunken-faced man with long, unruly hair – my first cousin once removed, Sirius Black. I didn't know much about my cousin, except for the striking similarity between them. He was born into a family of Slytherin's but sorted into Gryffindor, and he befriended James Potter before ultimately running away from home. Sound familiar?
"'Oo's... That's Sirius Black that is. You're tellin' me you 'aven't 'eard of Sirius Black?" Stan Shunpike scoffed exasperatedly. Harry looked over to me in confusion as he shrugged.
"He's a murderer, Ha- Neville," I said.
"Murderer? Sirius Black ain't jus' no murderer. 'E's a lunatic, 'e is. Murdered 'firteen muggles in broad daylight. Big supporter o' You-Know-'Oo. Reckon you've 'eard of 'im."
"Yeah. Him I've heard of." Harry said. His face turned a sickly shade of green at the mention of Voldemort. I felt an odd pinch of jealousy at his sudden behavior change. I longed to return to a time when the mere thought of Voldemort made me nervous. Staring out of the window, I watched as the bus thundered along the roads of Britain, buildings and benches seeming to squeeze out of its way as the sky gradually lightened. Suddenly, Ernie slammed on the brakes, and the bus skidded to a halt in front of the small and shabby Leaky Cauldron.
"Thanks," Harry said, grabbing his and my trunks from the rack next to the glass door.
I quickly scurried down the stairs, wanting to get off the purple bus as fast as possible and Harry followed. Stan, however, wasn't paying attention to their quick escape. He was goggling at the figure standing in the doorway of the pub.
"There you are, Harry." A voice said. "Miss Lestrange, what are you doing here?"
The Minister for Magic stood in front of me, a welcoming beam plastered on his wrinkled face under his green bowler cap. The two had never met, but I knew who he was from whenever Harry and Ron went to Hagrid's in their second year to see if he knew who had opened the chamber. (Ironic, isn't it?)
"I ran away." I shrugged.
"Blimey! 'Ern! Come 'ere!" Stan Shunpike yelled as he gawked at Harry, I, and the Minister. "What did ya call Neville, Minister?"
"Neville?" Mr. Fudge frowned. "This is Harry Potter."
"I knew it!" Stan shouted. "'Ern! 'Ern! Guess 'oo Neville is, 'Ern! 'E's 'Arry Potter. I can see 'is scar!"
"Yes. Well, I'm very glad the Knight Bus picked Harry and Jupiter up, but we need to step inside the Leaky Cauldron."
We? Did he mean me? I wondered as I stared at Mr. Fudge. I felt a cold hand on my shoulder begin to steer me inside the Leaky Cauldron, and a stooping figure behind the bar came into view.
"You've got him, Minister! And another, I see!" A man said. He had long, bushy gray hair as well as a long, bushy gray beard and toothless gums. "Will you be wanting anything? Beer? Brandy?"
"Perhaps a pot of tea, Tom." Mr. Fudge said.
There was a loud noise of huffing and puffing from behind them, and I turned to see Stan Shunpike and 'Ern standing in the pub. Both of them were lugging the trunks that Harry hadn't gotten to go back for whenever Mr. Fudge steered him away.
"'Ow come you di'nt tell us 'oo you are, eh, Neville?" Stan asked excitedly as he beamed at Harry.
"And a private parlor, Tom." Mr. Fudge requested as he continued to steer us up the creaking stairs to the rooms on the second floor.
Fudge led us into a small, cozy office with a quiet fire in the corner across from his desk."Sit down, both of you." Fudge said, indicating towards two armchairs sitting by the fireplace.
"I am Cornelius Fudge. The Minister of Magic." I already knew this, of course, but he didn't need to know that.
"How do you know who I am?" I asked.
"Well, Miss Lestrange, after the... events that took place last school year I thought it would be wise to read up on you." Fudge sighed. I felt my face go hot and I slumped into my armchair, ignoring Harry's worried gaze on me.
"Now, Harry." Fudge started, pouring himself a cup of tea. You've had us all in a right flap, I don't mind telling you. Running away from your aunt and uncle's house like that! I'd started to think... But you're safe, and that's what matters."
He put a plate of crumpets across his desk. "Eat, both of you. Miss Lestrange, you look dead on your feet." He instructed, yet I just eyed the pastries on the platter wearily. "Now, then... You will be pleased to hear that we have dealt with the unfortunate blowing up of Miss Marjorie Dursley. Two members of the accidental magic reversal squad were dispatched to Privet Drive a few hours ago. Miss Dursley has been punctured, and her memory has been modified. She has no recollection of the incident at all. So that's that, and no harm done."
My mouth fell open, and I began to gawk at Harry. I hadn't even wondered why Harry had been on the bus with me, but now that I knew why, I found it hard not to burst into laughter. Whoever Miss Marjorie Dursley was, she must have done something seriously horrible to Harry.
Harry just stayed silent, his eyes wide as he stared at Mr. Fudge in confusion. "Ah, you're worrying about the reaction of your aunt and uncle?" Mr. Fudge asked. "Well, I won't deny that they are extremely angry, Harry, but they are prepared to take you back next summer as long as you stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays."
"I always stay at Hogwarts for the holidays." Harry shrugged, his fingers gripping the armrests of the chairs. "And I don't ever want to go back to Privet Drive."
"Why am I here, exactly? Because I don't fancy going back to my house either." I interrupted.
"Ah, yes. Let me ask you a question first, Miss Lestrange. I would like to know how you ended up on the Knight Bus as well." Mr. Fudge smiled calmly as he took a sip of his tea, his eyes peering over the small cup.
"Well... it's a long story. You obviously know that my mother is insane, and I don't see any reason that I should have to live in that dreadful place, honestly." I said. "I mean, my cousin ran away and I'm apparently following in his footsteps already so..."
Fudge nearly spit out his tea. "On that note..." he choked. "I think it would be wise for both of you to stay at the Leaky Cauldron for the remaining three weeks of your vacation. Rooms will be provided to both of you, as well as free access to Diagon Alley as much as you wish. There is one exception, however. Pertaining to whom Miss Lestrange has so kindly mentioned, I strongly advise both of you to not wander."
Before either of us could react to his ominous words, the wooden door creaked open. "If you'll both follow me. I've already taken your things up," Tom the barkeeper said from the doorway. We both followed Tom up a handsome wooden staircase to two doors with brass numbers ten and eleven on them, which Tom unlocked and opened for us. We shared one final look before we headed into our rooms.
Inside my room was a very comfortable-looking bed, some highly polished oak furniture, a cheerfully crackling fire, and my old, dusty trunk in the corner. The room was cozy, and slightly resembled my dormitory at Hogwarts but with less red and excited chatter from the girls I shared it with. I lay on the bed for what felt like ages, waiting for my reoccurring nightmare to put me to sleep. I looked around the room once more, trying to find something to busy my mind while I waited. It would've been a perfectly respectable room, except for one thing. It was too quiet.
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"Harry!" I harshly whispered as I knocked on door number eleven. I couldn't sleep, so I figured Harry shouldn't be able to either. It was only fair.
"It's not like it's the middle of the night or anything." An annoyed-looking Harry mumbled as he opened the door. His black curls were even more rowdy than usual, and his round glasses were nowmye to be seen, leaving him with his tired green eyes and his oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. He quickly moved out of the way for me to barge in.
"Who exactly did you blow up?" I asked, walking straight into Harry's room.
"My aunt Marge. I deserved it, though." Harry shrugged, unfazed by my sudden question and lack of boundaries.
"What'd I do?" I asked as I laid on Harry's bed, quickly making myself comfortable.
"Called my mum a bitch and my dad a drunk," Harry said, sitting on the bed next to me.
"Oh, yeah, I definitely deserved it. Now, if she had said it about my parents I probably would've given her a hug." I laughed, my eyes on the canopy that hung over the bed.
"About your parents... what made you run away?" Harry asked. "I mean, I know what made you run away but what was your last straw?"
The smile that once adorned my face slowly faded as I used my elbows to sit up next to Harry, my complexion paling with the thought. "My mother said I was going to pull me from Hogwarts to search for Voldemort," I muttered, pulling my knees up to my chest.
"Why would I want you to look for Voldemort? It's not like you've still got him in your head or anything." Harry scoffed. His disbelieving expression quickly faded once he caught my eye. "Oh..."
"He's not really in my head, or anything. I just... I don't know. It's nothing, I suppose." I shrugged. I was looking anywhere but Harry now.
"Jo, you can tell me," Harry said, his green eyes watching me intently. "I'm probably the one person who'll understand."
I took a deep breath, my fingers fidgeting with the edge of Harry's blanket. "I get nightmares. But they're not... normal nightmares. They're memories. They're his memories. Lately, it's been the same one over and over," I confessed, my heart racing. I had never admitted this to anybody, but this was Harry. If I couldn't trust Harry, I couldn't trust anyone. "I keep seeing you finding me in the Chamber of Secrets from his perspective. Harry, I think his thoughts as I watch myself die on the floor. I thought maybe if I got out of my house, they would go away."
"Have you slept yet?" Harry asked, his head leaning against the bed frame behind it as he stared at me.
"No. That's why I came to bother you." I shrugged.
"My nightmares usually only happen when I'm alone. If you want, you can stay here tonight and see if it happens again." Harry offered. I felt my face get hot, and I prayed the candlelight in Harry's room wasn't bright enough for him to see me turn as red as a tomato.
"You sure?" I asked, my eyes finally pulling back up to his.
"Yeah, I'm sure. I get nightmares about him all the time. The last thing I want is for you to have to go through them too, Jo." Harry sighed. There was a soft smile etched across his face as he watched me think. "Just wake me up if you have one, okay?"
"Thanks, Harry." I smiled. I laid my head on the pillow next to Harry's, and for the first night in months, I had gotten a dreamless sleep.