Still Harry's POV
We walk several streets away before I collapse onto a low wall in Magnolia Crescent.
Anger is still surging through me and Polaris, who is listening for anything that isn't the frantic thumping of my heart.
But after ten minutes alone in the dark street, a new emotion overtakes me: panic.
Whatever angle I look at it, I have never been in a worse fix.
We are stranded, alone, in the dark Muggle world, with absolutely nowhere to go.
And the worst of it Is, we both just did serious magic, which means that we are almost certainly expelled from Hogwarts.
We broke the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry so badly, I am surprised that Ministry of Magic representatives aren't swooping down on me where I sit.
"Harry, don't worry about the ministry, they know neither of us did it intentionally. We'll be alright." Polaris says to me, clearly trying to comfort me.
"But we broke the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, and we're both underage." I argue, trying to stay calm.
"There are some exemptions to that law, accidental magic is one of them." Says Polaris, who kneels down next to me.
Polaris then snaps his head behind me and stands up. He pulls out his wand, and stares at the narrow gap between the garage and the fence of the houses behind us. "What is it?" I ask, also staring at the alleyway.
"I hear a heartbeat, and it's beating the way it does when someone's awake. Somebody's watching us." He replies, not taking his eyes off of the alley.
"Lumos," Polaris mutters, and a light appears at the end of his wand, almost dazzling him.
He holds it high over his head, and the pebble-dashed walls of number two suddenly sparkle; the garage door gleams, and between them, I see, quite distinctly, the hulking outline of something very big, with wide, gleaming eyes.
There is a deafening BANG and I throw up my hands to shield his eyes against a sudden blinding light ...
A second later, a gigantic pair of wheels and headlights screech to a halt in front of me.
When I raise his head, I see a triple-decker, violently purple bus, which has appeared out of thin air. Gold lettering over the windscreen spells The Knight Bus.
Polaris extinguishes his wand and turns around, while a conductor in a purple uniform leaps out of the bus and begins to speak loudly to the night.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this eve - "
The conductor stops abruptly. He catches sight of me, still sitting on the ground. Polaris pockets his wand and helps me to my feet. Stan Shunpike is only a few years older than Polaris and I; eighteen or nineteen at most, with large, protruding ears and a fair few pimples.
I turn around quickly to stare at the alleyway between the garage and fence. The Knight Bus's headlamps are flooding it with light, and it is empty.
"'Choo lookin' at?" says Stan. "There was a big black thing," I say, pointing uncertainly into the gap. "Like a dog ... but massive ..."
I look back at Stan, whose mouth is slightly open. With a feeling of unease, I see Stan's eyes move to the scar on my forehead.
"Woss that on your 'ead?" says Stan abruptly. "Nothing," I say quickly, flattening my hair over my scar. I see Polaris roll his eyes. If the Ministry of Magic is looking for us, I don't want to make it too easy for them.
"Woss you guy's name?" Stan persists. "Neville Longbottom," I reply, saying the first name that came into my head. "Polaris Lestrange." Polaris says, looking at me, clearly annoyed.
"So - so this bus," I go on quickly, hoping to distract Stan, "did you say it goes anywhere?"
"Yep," says Stan proudly, "anywhere you like, long's it's on land. Can't do nuffink underwater."
"Ere," he says, looking suspicious again, "you did flag us down, dincha?
Stuck out your wand 'and, dincha?"
"Yes," Polaris says quickly. "How much would it be to get to London?"
"Eleven Sickles each," says Stan, "but for firteen you get 'ot chocolate, and for fifteen you get an 'ot-water bottle an' a toofbrush in the colour of your choice."
Polaris reaches into his pocket and pulls out twenty six Sickles and gives them to Stan. He then grabs my trunk and easily carries it into the bus.
I enter the bus to find that there are no seats; instead, half-a-dozen brass bedsteads stand beside the curtained windows. Candles are burning in brackets beside each bed, illuminating the wood-panelled walls. A tiny wizard in a nightcap at the rear of the bus mutters, "Not now, thanks, I'm pickling some slugs," and rolls over in his sleep.
"You two 'ave this one," Stan whispers, pointing to the bed right behind the driver, who is sitting in an armchair in front of the steering wheel. "This is our driver, Ernie Prang. This is Neville Longbottom and Polaris Lestrange, Ern."
Ernie Prang, an elderly wizard wearing very thick glasses, nods to us, I nervously flatten my fringe again and sit down on his bed.
"Take 'er away, Ern," says Stan, sitting down in the armchair next to Ernie's.
There is another tremendous BANG, and the next moment I find myself flat on the bed, thrown backwards by the speed of the Knight Bus. Polaris, meanwhile, is standing next to the bed, his arms crossed.
Pulling myself up, I stare out of the dark window and see that we are now bowling along a completely different street. Stan was watching Harry's stunned face with great enjoyment.
"This is where we was before you two flagged us down," Stan says. "Where are we, Ern? Somewhere in Wales?"
"Ar," says Ernie.
"How come the Muggles don't hear the bus?" I ask.
"Them!" says Stan contemptuously.
"Don' listen properly, do they? Don' look properly either. Never notice nuffink, they don'."
"Best go wake up Madam Marsh, Stan," says Ern. "We'll be in Abergavenny in a minute." Stan passes my bed and disappears up a narrow wooden staircase.
I am still looking out of the window, feeling increasingly nervous. Ernie doesn't seem to master the use of a steering wheel. The Knight Bus keeps mounting the pavement, but it doesn't hit anything; lines of lamp posts, letter-boxes and bins jump out of its way as it approaches and back into position once it passes.
Stan comes back downstairs, followed by a faintly green witch wrapped in a travelling cloak. "'Ere you go, Madam Marsh," says Stan happily, as Ern stamps on the brake and the beds slide a foot or so towards the front of the bus. Madam Marsh clamps a handkerchief to her mouth and totters down the steps. Stan throws her bag out after her and rams the doors shut; there is another loud BANG, and we are thundering down a narrow country lane, trees leaping out of the way.
I wouldn't sleep even if I wasn't travelling on a bus that doesn't keep banging loudly and jumping a hundred miles at a time.
My stomach churns as I fall back to wondering what is going to happen to us, and whether the Dursleys have managed to get Aunt Marge off the ceiling yet.
Stan unrolls a copy of the Daily Prophet and is now reading with his tongue between his teeth. A large photograph of a sunken-faced man with long, matted hair blinks slowly at me from the front page. He looks strangely familiar.
"That man!" I say, forgetting our troubles for a moment. "He was on the Muggle news!"
Stanley turns to the front page and chuckles.
"Sirius Black," he says, nodding. "'Course 'e was on the Muggle news, Neville. Where you been?"
He gives a superior sort of chuckle at the blank look on my face, removes the front page and hands it to me.
"You oughta read the papers more, Neville." Polaris scoffs "I don't think he will."
I hold the paper up to the candlelight and I read:
BLACK STILL AT LARGE
Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.
'We are doing all we can to recapture Black,' said the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, 'and we beg the magical community to remain calm.'
Fudge has been criticised by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.
'Well, really, I had to, don't you know,' said an irritable Fudge.
'Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it - who'd believe him if he did?'
While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand which Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.
I look into the shadowed eyes of Sirius Black, the only part of the sunken face that seems alive. I have never met a vampire, but I have seen pictures of them in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Black, with his waxy white skin, looks just like one.
"Scary-lookin' fing, inee?" says Stan, watching me read. "He murdered thirteen people?" I say, handing the page back to Stan, "with one curse?"
"Yep," says Stan. "In front of witnesses an' all. Broad daylight. Big trouble it caused, dinnit, Ern?"
"Ar," says Ern darkly.
Stan swivels in his armchair, his hands on his back, the better to look at me. "Black woz a big supporter of You-Know-'Oo," he says.
"What, Voldemort?" I say without thinking. Even Stan's pimples go white; Ern jerks the steering wheel so hard that a whole farmhouse has to jump aside to avoid the bus.
"You outta your tree?" Stan yelps."'Choo say 'is name for?"
"Sorry," I say hastily. "Sorry, I - I forgot -" "Forgot!" Stan says weakly. "Blimey, my 'eart's goin' that fast ..."
"So - so Black was a supporter of You-Know-Who?" I say, glancing at Polaris for a second. We'll talk about it later. Polaris's voice says in my head.
"Yeah," says Stan, still rubbing his chest. "Yeah, that's right. Very close to You-Know-'Oo, they say ... anyway, when little 'Arry Potter put paid to You-Know-'Oo" - I nervously flatten my fringe down again - "all You-Know-'Oo's supporters was tracked down, wasn't they, Ern? Most of 'em knew it was all over, wiv You-Know-'Oo gone, and they came quiet. But not Sirius Black. I 'eard he thought 'e'd be second-in-command once You-Know-'Oo 'ad taken over."
"Anyway, they cornered Black in the middle of a street full of Muggles an' Black took out 'is wand and 'e blasted 'alf the street apart, an' a wizard got it, an' so did a dozen Muggles what got in the way. 'Orrible, eh? An' you know what Black did then?" Stan continues in a dramatic whisper.
"What?" I say.
"Laughed," says Stan. "Jus' stood there an' laughed. An' when reinforcements from the Ministry of Magic got there, 'e went wiv 'em quiet as anyfink, still laughing 'is 'ead off. 'Cos 'e's mad, inee, Ern? Inee mad?"
"If he weren't when he went to Azkaban, he will be now," says Ern in his slow voice. "I'd blow meself up before I set foot in that place. Serves him right, mind...after what he did ..."
"They 'ad a job coverin' it up, din' they, Ern?" Stan says. "'Ole street blown up an' all them Muggles dead. What was it they said 'ad 'appened, Ern?"
"Gas explosion," grunts Ernie.
"An' now 'e's out," says Stan, examining the newspaper picture of Black's gaunt face again. "Never been a breakout from Azkaban before, 'as there, Ern? Beats me 'ow 'e did it. Frightenin', eh? Mind, I don't fancy 'is chances against them Azkaban guards, eh, Ern?"
Ernie suddenly shivers. "Talk about summat else, Stan, there's a good lad. Them Azkaban guards give me the collywobbles."
"Seriously, those things are horrible. When my uncle forced me to visit my mother there, I almost passed out every time. I'm glad I don't have to visit her anymore. But I still get letters containing batshit insane ramblings from her." says Polaris, taking a letter out of his pocket and reading it. "Thank Merlin I'm nearly sixteen. Because then I can legally get away from them in a year." He mutters.
Stan puts the paper away reluctantly and I lean against the window of the Knight Bus, feeling worse than ever.
I can't help imagining what Stan might be telling his passengers in a few nights' time.
"'Ear about that 'Arry Potter? Blew up 'is Aunt! We 'ad 'im 'ere on the Knight Bus, di'n't we, Ern? 'E was tryin' to run for it ..."
Polaris and I have broken wizard law just like Sirius Black. Is inflating Aunt Marge bad enough to land us in Azkaban? I don't know anything about the wizard prison, though everyone I've ever heard speak of it does so in the same fearful tone. Polaris seems to know about it a little bit, since his uncle forced him to visit his mother in Azkaban.
Hagrid the Hogwarts gamekeeper spent two months there last year. I won't forget the look of terror on Hagrid's face when he was told where he was going, and Hagrid is one of the bravest people I know.
The Knight Bus rolls through the darkness, scattering bushes and bollards, telephone boxes and trees, and I lay, restless and miserable, on the feather bed.
After a while, Stan remembers that Polaris paid for hot chocolate, probably for me, but Stan pours it all over the pillow when the bus moves abruptly from Anglesey to Aberdeen.
One by one, wizards and witches in dressing-gowns and slippers descend from the upper floors to leave the bus.
They all look very pleased to go. Finally, Polaris and I are the only passengers left.
"Right then, you two," says Stan, clapping his hands, "whereabouts in London?" Polaris looks up from the book he is reading and says "The Leaky Cauldron."
"Righto," says Stan, " 'old tight, then..."
BANG!
We are thundering along Charing Cross Road. I sit up and watch buildings and benches squeezing themselves out of the Knight Bus's way. The sky is getting a little lighter. I will lie low for a couple of hours, go to Gringotts the moment it opens, then set off - where, I don't know. Polaris looks like he has a plan, though.
Ern slams on the brakes and the Knight Bus skids to a halt in front of a small and shabby-looking pub, the Leaky Cauldron, behind which lays the magical entrance to Diagon Alley.
"Thanks," I say to Ern.
Polaris picks up my trunk and Stan hands me Hedwig's cage. Polaris, carrying my trunk on his shoulder, jumps off the bus and nods at Ernie
"Well," I say, "bye then!"
But Stan isn't paying attention. He is still standing in the doorway to the bus, he goggles at the shadowy entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.
"There you are, Harry," says a voice behind me.
Back to third person
Before Harry can turn, he feels a hand on his shoulder. At the same time, Stan shouts, "Blimey! Ern, come 'ere! Come 'ere!"
"Here we go." Polaris mutters, shaking his head in disappointment.
Harry looks up at the owner of the hand on his shoulder and he feels a bucketful of ice cascade into his stomach - he has walked right into Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic himself.
Stan leaps onto the pavement beside them.
"What didja call Neville, Minister?" he says excitedly.
Fudge, a portly little man in a long, pinstriped cloak, looks cold and exhausted. "Neville?" he repeats, frowning. "This is Harry Potter."
"I knew it!" Stan shouted gleefully. "Ern! Ern! Guess 'oo Neville is, Ern! 'E's 'Arry Potter! I can see 'is scar!"
"Yes," says Fudge testily. "Well, I'm very glad the Knight Bus picked him and his friend up, but we need to step inside the Leaky Cauldron now ..."
Fudge increases the pressure on Harry's shoulder, and Harry finds himself being steered inside the pub. Polaris follows them. A stooping figure bearing a lantern appears through the door behind the bar. It is Tom, the wizened, toothless landlord. "You've got him, Minister!" says Tom. "Will you be wanting anything? Beer? Brandy?"
"Perhaps a pot of tea," says Fudge, who still hasn't let go of Harry. "I'll take a Butterbeer, please." Polaris says, handing two Sickles to Tom.
There is a loud scraping and puffing from behind them, and Stan and Ern appear, carrying Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage and looking around excitedly.
" 'Ow come you di'n't tell us 'oo you are, eh, Neville?" says Stan, beaming at Harry, while Ernie's owlish face peers interestedly over Stan's shoulder.
"And a private parlour, please, Tom," says Fudge pointedly.
"Bye," Harry says miserably to Stan and Ern, as Tom beckons Fudge and Polaris towards the passage that leads from the bar. "Bye, Neville!" Stan calls.
Fudge marches Harry along the narrow passage after Tom's lantern, and into a small parlour. Polaris is right behind them
Tom clicks his fingers, a fire bursts to life in the grate, and he bows himself out of the room.
"Sit down, you two." says Fudge, indicating two chairs by the fire.
Harry sits down, feeling goosebumps rising up his arms despite the glow of the fire. "I'm alright, Minister." Polaris says politely.
Fudge takes off his pinstriped cloak and tosses it aside, then hitches up the trousers of his bottle-green suit and sits down opposite Harry.
"I am Cornelius Fudge, Harry. The Minister for Magic."
Harry already knows this, of course; He saw Fudge before, but he was wearing his father's Invisibility Cloak at the time, Fudge doesn't know that.
Tom the innkeeper reappears, wearing an apron over his nightshirt, carrying a tray of tea, a bottle, and crumpets.
He hands Polaris the bottle, and then places the tray on a table between Fudge and Harry, and leaves the parlour, closing the door behind him.
"Well," says Fudge, pouring out tea, "you two had us all in a right flap, I don't mind telling you. Running away from your aunt and uncle's house like that, Harry! I'd started to think ... but you're safe, and that's what matters."
"I'm just glad Polaris was there to keep me company. Which reminds me, how did you get there in the first place?" Says Harry, turning to Polaris.
"When I visited you on your birthday, I overheard your uncle telling you about your aunt coming over, your reaction to it made me concerned. So I climbed through your bedroom window tonight and I was going to wait for you, but then I heard her being awful to you, and well, you know what happened next." Says Polaris, who takes a swig of Butterbeer.
"You were going to check on me?" Harry asks, surprised. "Of course, you are like a little brother to me, Harry." Says Polaris, looking at Harry warmly.
Fudge butters himself a crumpet and pushes the plate towards Harry.
"Eat, Harry, you look dead on your feet. 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."
Should've kept her memory, that way she will remember to not fuck with Harry. Polaris thinks to himself.
Fudge smiles at Harry over the rim of his teacup, rather like an uncle surveying a favourite nephew. Harry, who can't believe his ears, opens his mouth to speak, can't think of anything to say, and closes it again.
"Ah, you're worrying about the reaction of your aunt and uncle?" says Fudge. "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."
Harry unsticks his throat.
"I always stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays," he says "and I don't ever want to go back to Privet Drive."
"Now, now, I'm sure you'll feel differently once you've calmed down," says Fudge in a worried tone. "They are your family, after all, and I'm sure you are fond of each other - er - very deep down." Polaris scoffs quietly at this.
It doesn't occur to Harry to put Fudge right. He is still waiting to hear what is going to happen to them now.
"So all that remains," says Fudge, now buttering himself a second crumpet, "is to decide where you're going to spend the last three weeks of your holidays. I suggest you take a room here at the Leaky Cauldron and -"
"Hang on," blurts Harry, "what about our punishments?"
Fudge blinks. "Punishments?"
"We broke the law!" Harry says. "The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry!"
"Oh, my dear boy, we're not going to punish you two for a little thing like that!" cries Fudge, waving his crumpet impatiently. "It was an accident! We don't send people to Azkaban just for blowing up their aunts!"
Polaris looks at Harry with a satisfied smirk on his face. "Told you so."
This doesn't tally at all with Harry's past dealings with the Ministry of Magic.
"Last year, I got an official warning just because a house-elf smashed a pudding in my uncle's house!" says Harry, frowning. "The Ministry of Magic said I'd be expelled from Hogwarts if there was any more magic there!"
Unless Harry's eyes are deceiving him, Fudge is suddenly looking awkward.
"Circumstances change, Harry ... we have to take into account ... in the present climate ... surely you don't want to be expelled?"
"Of course I don't," says Harry.
"Well then, what's all the fuss about?" Fudge laughs airily. "Now, have a crumpet, Harry, while I go and see if Tom's got a room for you two."
There is something extremely odd going on. Why was Fudge waiting for us at the Leaky Cauldron, if not to punish us for what we did? Harry thinks to himself.
And now come to think of it, surely it isn't usual for the Minister for Magic himself to get involved in matters of underage magic?
Fudge comes back, accompanied by Tom the innkeeper.
"Room eleven's free," says Fudge. "I think you two will be very comfortable. Just one thing, and I'm sure you understand: I don't want either of you wandering off into Muggle London, all right? Keep to Diagon Alley. And you're to be back here before dark each night. Sure you'll understand. Tom will be keeping an eye on you two for me."
"Ok," says Harry slowly, "but why -?"
"Don't want to lose you again, do we?" says Fudge with a hearty laugh. "No, no ... best we know where you are ... I mean ..."
Fudge clears his throat loudly and picks up his pinstriped cloak.
"Well, I'll be off, plenty to do, you know."
"Have you had any luck with Black yet?" Harry asks.
Fudge's fingers slip on the silver fastenings of his cloak.
"What's that? Oh, you've heard - well, no, not yet, but it's only a matter of time. The Azkaban guards have never yet failed ... and they are angrier than I've ever seen them."
Both Fudge and Polaris shudder slightly.
"So, I'll say goodbye."
He holds out his hand and Harry, shaking it, has a sudden idea.
"Er - Minister? Can I ask you something?"
"Certainly," smiles Fudge.
"Well, third-years at Hogwarts are allowed to visit Hogsmeade, but my aunt and uncle didn't sign the permission form. D'you think you could?"
Fudge is looking uncomfortable. "Ah," he says. "No. I'm very sorry, Harry, but as I'm not your parent or guardian -"
"But you're the Minister for Magic," says Harry eagerly, making Polaris sigh.
"If you gave me permission -"
"No, I'm sorry, Harry, but rules are rules,' says Fudge flatly. "Perhaps you'll be able to visit Hogsmeade next year. In fact, I think it's best if you don't ... yes ... well, I'll be off. Enjoy your stay, Harry."
And with a last smile and shake of Harry's hand, Fudge leaves the room.
Tom now moves forward, beaming at Harry and Polaris.
"If you'll follow me, Mr Potter, Mr Lestrange," he says. "I've already taken your things up ..."
Harry and Polaris follow Tom up a handsome wooden staircase to a door with a brass number eleven on it, which Tom unlocks and opens for them.
Inside is a very comfortable-looking bed, some highly polished oak furniture, a cheerfully crackling fire, and perched on top of the wardrobe - "Hedwig!" Harry gasps.
The snowy owl clicks her beak and flutters down onto Harry's arm.
"Very smart owl you've got there," chuckles Tom. "Arrived about five minutes after you did. If there's anything you need, Mr Potter, Mr Lestrange, don't hesitate to ask."
He gives another bow and leaves.
Harry sits on his bed for a long time, absent-mindedly stroking Hedwig. The sky outside the window is changing rapidly from deep, velvety blue to cold, steely grey and then, slowly, to pink shot with gold. Harry can hardly believe that they only left Privet Drive a few hours ago, that they aren't expelled, and that he is now facing three completely Dursley-free weeks. Polaris meanwhile, sits down at a desk and pulls out a book called "The Physiology of Dementors" and begins reading it intently.
"It's been a very weird night, Hedwig," Harry yawns. And without even removing his glasses, Harry slumps back onto his pillows and falls asleep.