Chapter Text
Harry was in his bedroom at Grimmauld Place, shoving clothes into a suitcase in preparation for tomorrow, when they would be taking their international portkey from the Ministry International Travel Station to the one in MACUSA, which was what America called their ministry. He finished zipping it and put his toiletry bag on top of it. Then he smelled something from downstairs; Kreacher was preparing tea. He skipped downstairs to find the elf slapping Sirius away from the fresh biscuits. Harry smiled and swiped one off the tray.
“Wow Kreach,” Sirius teased. “You’d think Harry was your favourite from the way you treated him.”
The elf looked at him. “He is my favourite,” he replied, deadpan.
“Alright, no progress there…” the Black lord trailed off. And it was true. Kreacher was rather fond of Harry; as soon as he’d stepped into Grimmauld Place the first time and saw that the house elf was sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs, he demanded that he be moved to one of the bedrooms despite Sirius’s childhood issues with him. Sirius had trouble understanding why his godson was so steadfast on this point until McGonagall pulled him aside for a moment and said a few words. There was no more objection after that, and the elf was thereafter very fond of Harry.
“Are you and Sev getting along?” Harry asked his godfather as he wiped chocolate off the corners of his mouth.
“Yes, we’re playing nice. I still can’t believe he’s staying in my house.”
“It’s just for one night,” Harry said. “You know we’ve got an early portkey out.”
“You’re still sure you wanna go through with this mind-healer thing?” Sirius asked, trying again for a biscuit.
“Yeah, I think it’s a good idea,” Harry told his him again as Kreacher again slapped him away with a “not tea time, Master!”
“It just seems like kind of a depressing way to spend your summer,” he said.
“It’s only for a couple of weeks,” his godson reminded him. “I’m just tired of being bothered by all the memories and flashbacks and stuff, y’know?” Harry had been somewhat open with Remus and Sirius since the night in the shrieking shack where he’d let slip that he’d been beaten, and Sirius in return had admitted his own childhood wasn’t exactly idyllic.
“Y’know,” he continued. “Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to see someone either, y’know, eventually.”
“I’ll think about it, Prongslet,” Sirius promised, using his personal nickname for Harry.
Harry sighed. That’s all he was going to get out of him for the moment. Remus, Severs, and Minerva gradually streamed downstairs as Kreacher poured the tea and (finally) put the freshly-baked biscuits on a plate.
“Everything packed, luv?” Minerva asked Harry as she poured milk into her tea.
“Yes M’na,” Harry said around a mouthful of chocolate.
“And you brought muggle clothes too, for when we go sightseeing?”
“Yeah,” he said, looking distinctly pleased. “Did you pack your muggle clothes, Sev’rus?”
“Yes, yes I did. But I am not wearing that I love New York t-shirt you bought; I don’t care how much you beg.”
“I’d wear the shirt,” Sirius said.
“So would I,” Remus agreed.
“You’re both juvenile,” Severus spat back. Harry rolled his eyes.
“I’m not picking a favourite, you three,” he sighed.
“Ignore them, Harry,” Minnie ruffled his hair. “They’ve brought out the worst in each other since they were children.”
“So,” Harry prodded his godfather and Uncle Moony, “what are you planning to do while we’re gone?”
“Oh, you know,” Sirius said, looking lustily at Moony.
“Forget I asked!” Harry cried, hands over his ears.
“Little Master be helping Kreacher put better silencing charms on his rooms, yes?” the elf asked Harry. Harry nodded, patting Kreacher between his floppy ears.
“I bought a book and everything,” he told him.
“Kreacher thanks little master. Kreacher cannot be hearing that again,” he shuddered.
[Du’s just going about her business, looking for rats in the garden]
“Got everything?” Minnie asked for the third time that morning as Kreacher packed some bacon sandwiches into a brown paper bag for the three of them.
“Yes M’na,” Harry told her, again for the third time.
“I was actually talking to Severus this time, dear.”
“Yes Minerva,” Severus grit out. He was not a morning person, funnily enough.
“Alright then, no need to be snappy, through the floo, through the floo,” she waved them on, Severus first, then her, holding Harry’s hand. The teen sighed; at this rate, he’d be allowed to get high on catnip before he could floo on his own.
The Ministry travel office wasn’t much to look at; it was simply a plain building much like a muggle train station, although instead of platforms there were signs for various countries, each of them above a number of odd objects like an old boot, a spinning top, various umbrellas and hats of many different colours and patterns. The three of them headed for the large sign that said “NEW YORK, USA,” with flashing letters spelling out “8:00 AM PORTKEY LEAVING SOON,” directly below it. There was another family waiting by the gates, and their two small children were not chastised for staring at Harry, as their parents were doing the same thing.
“Did no one teach you manners?” Severus snapped at them, and they finally stopped staring at Harry, who was desperately trying to flatten his wild hair over his scar. They very conspicuously cast their eyes downward, and Harry cast a grateful look at the cranky professor.
The sensation of a portkey was even worse than going through the floo, and because it was an international portkey, it was almost a full minute longer than a normal one. Harry managed to hold back his nausea until the other family had ambled away, helped along by a glare from Snape, before he turned to his guardian.
“Gonna throw up,” he told her so she would know why he suddenly ran for the nearest trashcan. He didn’t quite make it, though, and was on his hands and knees retching in the middle of the floor. Embarrassed, he realised several government officials were watching him from their desks. He banished the mess and stepped back, hiding behind Minerva. “Hi there lil’ fella,” one of them said. Oh great, now they were being patronising. “It’s all right, you can come out. C’mon, we gotta get ya through customs.”
“Okay,” he sighed. This was gonna suck…
“Let’s see, names and ages.”
“Minerva McGonagall, fifty-eight.”
“Severus Snape, thirty-four.”
Harry sighed deeply. “Harry Potter, thirteen.”
The agent looked rather embarrassed, both because the kid he’d been trying to comfort over throwing up in his office was actually nearly fourteen and not 8 or 9 like he’d initially thought based on size, and also because that child happened to be Harry Potter.
“Well, I suppose that would make sense, with the wandless magic and whatnot,” the official said, clearing his throat. “Right then, might as well start by telling you that here, we let our kids do magic during the summers. Just plain archaic that you guys don’t, to be quite frank. How’re you s’posed to practice if you can’t?”
“I don’t… I don’t make the rules,” Harry said.
“Oh, right, you Brits are rather literal; that was a hypothetical question. Anyhow, let’s get ya finished up. Duration of stay?”
“Three to four weeks, depending,” Severus said.
“Depending on what?”
“Reasons.”
“Yeesh, real charmer, ain’t ya?”
“We have six-week visas,” Minerva broke in. “We’re here for touristic and educational reasons. I’m Harry’s guardian.”
“Right then,” the official said, looking over the paperwork. “Everything checks out. Enjoy your stay. Hot dog stand in front of MACUSA’s a great place to start if you’ve got a hankerin’.”
“Isn’t it like, four am here?” Harry asked.
“Welcome to the city that never sleeps, Mr. Potter. We’re mighty pleased to have you here.”
“Do they all sound like that?” Harry asked Minerva as they left the building, now sporting a headache from trying to parse out the man’s accent to match the aftertaste of the breakfast he’d just thrown up.
“I’m fairly certain that man was from the south,” Minerva said. “They have a tendency to butcher the English language.”
“Brooklyn does the same, I’ve heard,” Severus added. “Alright, so we’ve rented a flat in Chelsea, although for some reason they call it an ‘apartment’ here.”
“Excuse me,” Minerva asked a passer-by. “Would you please point us to the tube?”
“The wha’ now?”
“They call it a subway here, for some reason,” Severus griped, already sick of the country. “I wish we’d gotten a map with apparation coordinates.”
“For a muggle flat in a muggle neighbourhood- it’s impossible. Just use a point me spell to get to the underground so we can sleep off the time difference,” Minnie ordered her colleague.
The New York Subway was a truly horrifying place. Trying to find your way was… there were no words. What should have been a fairly quick trip somehow ended up taking them to Chinatown. At least they got some great dim sum, and nobody gave them a second look in their strange robes, which they hadn’t found a place to change out of yet. To be fair, there was a man licking peanut butter off a barbie doll, so they seemed positively normal in comparison.
“Shall we just take a cab from here, then?” Minerva suggested after they’d put on their muggle clothes in the back room of the dumpling house in which they’d eaten their 5:30 am second breakfast.
“They’re all so yellow,” Snape sniffed derisively.
“Would you rather go back into the hell-scape of the underground?”
“Ugly yellow cab it is.”
Harry watched his two protectors standing on the street trying to get one of the cars to stop for him for several minutes before he spoke up.
“If the movies are right, you gotta try something like this,” he put his fingers in his mouth, and although his first attempt was an odd “pfffbtt” noise, he achieved the infamous wolf-whistle on only his second try, a truly momentous achievement. A car stopped immediately.
“We’d like to go here, please,” Minerva requested politely, handing the gristly driver the paper with the address on it.”
“19.50,” he barked. Snape pulled out their roll of muggle money and tried to find the required bills before grouchily handing it all to Harry.
“Figure that out, Harry, would you? I can’t- it’s all the same colour, for some reason.”
Harry squinted at the bills until he found two tenners and handed them to the driver.
Driving in Manhattan was like waiting for death, and Harry was relieved, and also kind of worried about throwing up again, by the time the cab pulled up in front of where they were staying. The driver threw their suitcases out of the trunk and drove away with a grunt.
“Enjoy your stay,” he called out belatedly as he drove away without a goodbye.
“Not bloody likely, what with the alarming lack of basic human decency and such,” Snape grumbled as he grabbed his and Harry’s bag and, because there were muggles out and about in hordes even at this ungodly hour of the morning, hauled them up the stairs by hand, leaving Minerva to take care of here own.
“Just get some sleep, you cranky bastard,” the tabby animagus told him, rolling her eyes. She was already regretting bringing him along.