Harry finished a long letter to Penelope and sealed it up. The large white owl that had delivered her letter waited on a chair back as he wrote. Harry handed the owl his reply, and it immediately departed with it. Harry took her scented letter to the drawing room, where his guardian was working on large piles of parchment. Snape looked up when Harry entered and dropped his quill down, seeming grateful for a distraction.

“The only time I can go to Switzerland is next week, since my Auror testing is the week after,” said Harry. He was trying to not feel too hopeful about managing to arrange his first trip to the Continent.

Snape rubbed his temple thoughtfully, then said, “Are you eager to travel alone?”

“Um.” He shrugged. “I’ve never gone very far before, so I guess not. But none of my friends can get away that soon.”

“There is an extensive library, the Bibliothèque Magie Vieux near Geneva, which I have always thought worth a visit. If you wish, we can travel together most of the way.” He watched Harry think that over, before adding, while he slowly rubbed his long fingers together, “If you see this as some kind of right of passage, then by all means—”

“No,” Harry replied quickly. There would be a lot of hours on trains, he considered. And finding one’s way around unfamiliar places. “I’d like to have someone along. Can we leave on Sunday, then?”

Snape glanced over the parchments spread before him in thought. “I’ll manage to make it work.”

Harry was not familiar with packing for traveling, just for school. He put things in and out of his trunk, unable to decide if he needed them or not. He also had to consider that on Muggle trains, he would have to handle his trunk by hand, not magic, so he didn’t want it to be overly full.

Snape stopped by his room. “Are you eating lunch?” he asked.

“I’m trying to pack.”

“You will want a smaller container. Just a moment.” Snape returned with a half-size trunk, red with silver corners and latch. “Do try to fit everything you need in that, without the use of magic, if possible.” He started to leave but paused to say, “And come down to lunch.”

During sandwiches and tea, Harry studied the itinerary from the travel agent, fascinated by the spell used for the animated logo of a witch on a broomstick with a big heavy trunk balanced on the back of it. Every time the animation repeated the trunk had destination stickers from different continents. The schedule itself indicated that it would take most of a day to arrive in Bern from when they departed. A very long day where they would try to maximize magical transport, which, as Harry was not surprised to learn, was not terribly organized.

They would first Floo to Canterbury where they would catch the train and then a ferry across the Channel. Then they could Floo or take a train, a decision to be made when they arrived on the Continent, but it seemed likely that they would have to take the train to Cologne, where they could access a different Floo network to get to Lake Constance, a grimly dizzying amount of time in-network. And the travel agent warned that the single access node that far north was in a hard-to-find pub and the lines could be very long at the hearth. They could manage to pass the time there or buy a token to hold their place and explore the old town. Then onto the German-Swiss border where they had to catch a train again because foreigners were not allowed to Floo inside Switzerland. It all looked very complicated to Harry, and as adventuresome as it sounded, he was glad he would not have to navigate it alone.

That evening, Harry finally finished packing. He had sent letters to his friends, telling them in detail where he was going and for how long, now that he knew for certain. Hedwig’s cage was empty and Kali was gnawing on the small stuffed bear he had bought her to play with. Elizabeth had promised to come and take care of both of them. Nervous and excited at the prospect of distant travel, Harry headed downstairs.

He found his parent in the drawing room working on his endless piles of paperwork. “I’m all packed for tomorrow morning,” Harry said, feeling as though that were some kind of major victory.

“Ready to leave, then? Ready for your first visit to the Continent?”

“Definitely.”

“Ready to meet your lady friend’s parents for the first time?”

Harry opened his mouth, then thought that over. “Maybe.”

Snape continued on in the same matter-of-fact tone, “Ready to spend unsupervised hours alone with said lady friend?”

Harry tried very hard not to give himself away as he replied, “Yes.”

“Take a seat, Harry. We should have a little talk.”

Harry scratched his ear and pulled over a chair from the wall. He did not like the tone of that. With crossed arms he waited for Snape to finish what he was doing. Snape finally did, putting his quill down and considering Harry for an uncomfortable span of silence.

Snape steepled his fingers and grimaced lightly. “We have never discussed certain things.”

Harry’s clothes suddenly felt too tight and his collar itchy. “Guess not.”

“You need to be aware of certain things when you faced with a situation which may not be conducive to circumspect decision making,” Snape said. Harry thought that had to be the most roundabout thing he had ever heard. Snape went on, “Going on eighteen, you almost certainly believe you know everything.”

All the things Tonks had discussed during their one night together flitted through his mind, making him flush as well as making his collar damper. He didn’t feel utterly ignorant, really, but didn’t wish to argue that point either.

Snape had fallen silent. Harry Occluded his mind and looked up at him, cueing him to continue. “You need to be very careful, more careful than your friends need be. Your reputation is a commodity, one that can be traded upon by those with less than your best interest at heart.”

Brow furrowed, Harry said sharply, “You think Penelope—”

Snape firmly cut him short. “I am not speaking of anyone in particular. I do not think it wise to completely trust anyone when we are speaking of things such as progeny you are not intending to produce. You must always take your own precautions, is what I am insisting.”

“I understand what you are saying,” Harry said, discomfort translating into frustration and a touch of defensive anger as he spoke.

Snape answered the anger with a steely tone, “But are you knowledgeable enough to manage?”

Harry forced himself not to squirm. He really wanted this conversation over with. “Yes,” he breathed, keeping his anger down. When Snape gave him a doubtful look, Harry asked, “You have a book I can read or something?”

Snape frowned and muttered, “No, unfortunately I was not thinking ahead.”

“I really think I can manage.” Harry was feeling more grateful to Tonks by the moment. “Really. I’ll be very careful,” he said as though by rote.

“Do so,” Snape said firmly before returning to his thick stacks of parchment.

Ron and Hermione met them in Canterbury early in the morning to see them off. They walked down the quiet main street while waiting for the train, leaving their luggage beside the platform disguised as two pet carriers containing very ornery Rottweilers. After two groups of wizard tourists recognized Harry, he pulled his orange cap out of his day pack and donned it even though the clouds gave no hint of letting any sun through.

“You should get back to the station,” Hermione said. They had walked to the end of the street and stood outside a crooked and sagging half-timbered pub. The whole town looked as though it might have been constructed over a swamp the way everything had sunk in and leaned in different directions. They turned around and headed back to the gate, where they split up, Hermione giving Harry a nice hug and telling him to behave.

“Okay, Hermione,” Harry laughed at her serious attitude.

Ron gave him a slap on the shoulder and told him to have fun instead of behaving.

The ride to the coast took longer than Harry thought it would, and the train rocked a lot as it clattered along, much more than the Hogwarts Express. He watched the rolling landscape and could not help imagining instead the steep Alps from the travel brochure.

The ferry ride across the Channel left Harry believing that no Muggle child knew how to behave. The journey felt impossibly long as he stared out the scratched window at the rain beating on the grey choppy water.

In Brugge they stopped for tea after a bus from the port dropped them in old town. Harry stared into his cup and thought the day had gone on a little long already, but at least the sun was shining part of the time and it was not actively raining. They sat outside on a cobblestone street beside a railing overlooking a canal lined with mossy stone buildings looking ready to collapse into piles. Harry kept forgetting where he was and had to remind himself this was not just some unusual part of Shrewsthorpe, Hogsmeade, or London.

“We should find the Floo network or local equivalent,” Snape commented. “Muggle transport is proving more…annoying than anticipated.”

“The travel agent seemed to think Belgium was small enough that anything would get us across all right,” Harry pointed out. A tour boat went by, repeating the some historic point in seven languages. Harry could smell something wonderful cooking. “Do we have time for lunch?” he asked hopefully.

“If they will serve it to you this early.”

Harry flagged the waiter, who pretended that he didn’t speak any English, forcing Harry to settle for the recommended dish. What arrived was an alarmingly large canister, steaming with a wonderful seashore and onion aroma. Inside it were more black mussels than Harry could imagine in one place.

After a minute of pitifully slow eating, the waiter came over and demonstrated with copious rambling French, how to use an empty shell as a pincer to get the meat out of another shell. Harry thanked him and began eating with gusto. In the end he sat back and Snape finished the rest, including the curry and mustard mayonnaise, which hadn’t appealed to Harry at all. As he had more tea and rubbed his full stomach, Harry decided traveling was all right after all.

It took only a quarter hour of wandering the alleys of Brugge for Snape to locate a wizard-run shop to ask how best to get to Cologne. The man told them to use the Booth Network to go to Aachen where they could catch a train. After some confusion, they were made to understand that the Booth Network was intended for wizard tourists and that it only went to a few cities in the Benelux region, since the Ministry had never finished building the network. He shrugged as if to say that its incompletion was expected. He sent them off to hunt for a Muggle photo booth.

They located one off the main square. Snape pointed to the sample photo on the side, of a slightly cross-eyed man, the signal that the booth was also a Portal. They fed two Galleons into the coin slot, magically shrunk their trunks so they would fit beside their feet inside the booth, and slipped onto the seat. Harry pulled the curtain closed at the edges as Snape addressed the screen. “Please select your destination,” the screen read in flowing script. A list appeared beside a row of large red buttons down the side of the screen normally used for selecting photographic options. Snape pushed the one corresponding to Aix la Chappelle. “Please wait for your turn on the network.”

“I thought computers broke around magic,” Harry said.

“This is magic you are seeing,” Snape said as he sat back on the narrow bench. Falling into lecture mode, he explained, “But the booth is also Muggle. It is easy to cast a spell to disrupt Muggle technology and many spells will do so, but it is possible to create ones that will not, although it requires some expert skill.”

Their turn on the network finally came up and after a flap of the curtain and a vibration of the floor, the screen informed them that they had arrived. Harry doubtfully peeked out, but indeed, they were now in a strange bus station. He slipped out and looked back into the booth, only to realize it lacked their trunks.

“That’s not good,” Harry said, peering back inside and under the metal seat. They both looked all around the outside of the booth and the surrounding area full of people. Losing his luggage made Harry feel very uneasy, as though, lacking it, he might not find his way home ever again.

“We will wait a few minutes before returning to see if it was merely left behind,” Snape said.

After what felt like a half an hour but was probably only five minutes, the trunks materialized behind the booth, full size. Harry breathed out loudly in relief. “I will second that,” Snape said as he pulled his trunk off the top of Harry’s.

Since they were at the bus station already, they caught a bus to Cologne. Harry expected to have to wait for one, but for once their timing was dead on and within minutes they were roaring down the autobahn at a good clip.

Snape pulled out a French dictionary and began studying it. Harry wondered if he should have learned a few words of German before leaving or learned a polylingual spell. He decided to not worry since Penelope could take care of translations. He watched the landscape go by as well as the occasional very fast German sports car, passing on his side of the bus, the left side, which felt unsettling.

Outside the Cologne train station, the blackened cathedral towered over them. The sun shined brightly here, making Harry squint and pull his cap down farther over his eyes. They towed their trunks—Harry surreptitiously had put a Featherlight charm on his—up around the cathedral and down a side street into the old town.

The winding streets were busy. Many people sat outside at small, high tables drinking tiny glasses of beer. And their trunk towing and clothing garnered some strange looks from the well-dressed drinkers. At a corner, Snape pulled a parchment from his pocket and looked around at the addresses. It required three passes down the street but finally they found the pub, sandwiched between a violin store and a pizza shop. Harry was sure it had not been there on previous passes, and frankly, maybe it hadn’t been.

The Dom Brauhaus was crowded and smokey from many pipes. Harry followed behind Snape as he made his way around to the blonde, braid-sporting barmaid pouring drinks from a tap at a rapid pace. “We want to take the Floo to the south,” Snape said to her.

“Eine Minute,” she growled and carried the tray of little glasses away. Harry watched her swoop around the room, replacing empty glasses with full ones before returning to repeat the process. “Talk to Guido,” she said, nodding at a rotund gentleman in a cap with a feather and a very long pipe, sitting on a stool by a tall clock. “Haf a dreenk,” she said, handing a glass to Harry. Since it was small, he accepted it and sipped it as they found a path through the tall hats and cloaks to the far wall. Harry didn’t see any hearths in the place, even in the side rooms off the main one. The beer was refreshing, making him realize he was very thirsty.

“Good?” Snape asked, as Harry gulped half the glass down. Harry nodded, then held the glass at his side rather than swig the rest of it as he was tempted to. He adjusted his cap to distract himself. Snape took Guido’s attention away from the unsavory gentlemen he was speaking with and began a crude conversation in pidgin-English about how to take the Floo.

“Ees four galleons each,” the man explained. The man beside him snorted. Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Ya, for you, tree then. Und, uh, two and ten for the yung man mit you. Dat includes enough powder to go to Vienna if you vish.” He made it sound as though he were being generous.

“We wish to go to Lake Constantz,” Snape explained, fingering his coin purse. “Or Basel if you think that is better for getting to Switzerland.

”No, no connection at Basel, or it ees a difficult one. You would have to take a Muggle taxi for a…“ He waved his chubby hand in the air. “…tirty kilometers, forty. At Kreuzlingen, is only half a block to de train. Unless you have been before and can Apparate.”

Snape shook his head and counted out the coins. “And the drinks are included, right?” he said. It sounded vaguely like a threat.

“Uh, ya. Fraulein Volf,” he shouted to the barmaid and pointed at the two of them when she stood on tiptoe to look their way. The man put the coins away and pulled another coin purse out of his other pocket. He removed two large brass coins and handed them to Harry. “Number tree and fifty.” He pointed at the tall clock beside him which Harry realized wasn’t a clock at all but a big dial of numbers with three hands, one rusty steel, one brass, and one green copper. The brass hand was pointing at eighteen. The man said, “You vait for your turn, ya? Ven your number here, go to stairs dere.” They followed his gesture around behind him where the bottom of an old red-carpeted staircase could be seen through a doorway at the end, backdropped by a grimy stained-glass window. He waved them away and fell back into his low conversation with the seedy fellow who had slunk back against the wall as though to go unnoticed. Harry had forgotten he was there.

The pub was wall to wall with long tables pushed so close together that the benches touched back to back. The end of one table had just space for two across from each other. Snape strode over there and pointed at the two seats. One of the late middle-aged men sitting there wearing a forest green linen coat said something in German, and when Snape didn’t reply, he switched to English.

Harry gratefully sat down, although he felt strange backed up against a soft wide witch behind him and forced to press firmly against the man beside him to have enough space on the bench. The barmaid arrived with a faint smile and gave them each fresh glasses, taking Harry’s warm one away. In the smoky warmth of the room the cold beverage was a relief. The rusty pointer on the dial moved two places. When the German wizards’ conversation faded, the man beside Harry said something to him in German. The man across the table in the green coat said something with the word ‘Englander’ while gesturing at Harry. He then froze and looked a little surprised. “Solche grünen Augen,” the man said and nodded at his fellow. Puzzled, the other turned to Harry, ducking to look under his orange hat brim. Across from him Harry could see Snape’s alert gaze moving between them, even though he still casually sipped his beer.

The man beside Harry leaned close and said, “Dere is very famous English wizard with zuch eyes. He might wear a hat like yours to hide his—” the man gestured shakily at his own forehead with a worn finger.

“Might he?” Harry asked, sipping from his glass.

The men exchanged an uneasy look and the other leaned across and said conspiratorially, “Dere are no dark vizards here. None.”

Confused by this proclamation, Harry replied agreeably if a bit doubtfully, “Good to know.”

Seeming a little more nervous, the man said after glancing around, “You are hunting dark vizards, no?”

Harry laughed, which only apparently unnerved the man more. “No. Well, not yet anyway,” he quipped.

The man in the green coat said, “You varn us, you start. Ve get out of way.”

Harry checked that the man was serious and sat straight. “Do I look that dangerous?” Harry honestly asked the man before turning to Snape.

“Your reputation precedes you,” Snape commented dryly.

“Do I really look more dangerous than him?” Harry asked the men disbelievingly, indicating Snape.

They appeared to give this due consideration before shrugging. “You are der Junge, der sich weigerte zu sterben? Uh, der boy who refused to die?” the man restated upon seeing Harry’s blank expression.

Harry gave in, took off his cap and fluffed his hair back and forth to get it off his head. Wearing a hat all day was the only way his hair did not stick up in many directions automatically.

The man’s intent bloodshot eyes went over Harry’s face and scar. “You destroyed den Mitternachtslord,” he went on forcefully, darkly. “You can defeat anyone.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Harry said, grinning at the man’s insistence for lack of a reasonable response. A fresh beer replaced his glass, which he had not realized he had emptied. A glance at Snape didn’t reveal that he cared if Harry had another. The brass dial was now on twenty-three.

“You warn us,” the man repeated with a nod before returning to the conversation with his companion.

“I will,” Harry reassured him. Seeing Snape’s serious expression, Harry asked, “You want a warning too?”

“I expect at this point I will see it coming in time,” Snape replied easily. When Harry frowned lightly at him, he continued, “Trouble does seem to follow you.”

After another half hour, the dial finally approached their numbers. They stood and collected their things from the floor. The men gave them nods and one gave Harry a sloppy salute as he moved to where their trunks were stacked by the wall.

On the stairs to the first floor, Harry said, “I was sort of hoping no one here would recognize me.”

Snape responded with a doubtful tilt of the head.

The room above was covered in old, worn, red carpet. A pair of witches, speaking gaily in German, were pulling their trunks out of the very large pink marble hearth. A man in a nice Muggle business suit under a ratty cloak was waiting impatiently for them to move on, tossing his brass coin in the air and catching it. As soon as there was space to do so he rushed forward, dropped the coin into a decorative stein on the mantle and tossed down a great deal of Floo powder after announcing Berlin.

Harry was glad there was no one waiting behind them as they struggled a bit to arrange their trunks inside the firebox. Harry remembered just in time to toss the coins into the mug and duck back inside before Snape tossed the Floo powder. With a surge the red carpet was gone and they were spinning past fires and walls of stone and brick. On and on they spun. Eventually they landed without warning, unexpectedly on a nice silvery carpet.

The hearth at this end was modern and almost Muggle looking with white paint and brushed steel on the hearth. A few wizards in steely grey cloaks stood chatting near a row of square windows on the far side of the room. They paid no mind to the new arrivals. Bright engraved metal plaques pointed the way out and they followed the one which indicated it led to the Bahnhof. They charmed the trunks and carried them down a modern staircase, along a well-lit corridor and through a plain door into the middle of the train station. Minutes later they had tickets and were on the train, their trunks taking up most of the luggage space at the end of the car. Harry reclined his seat and let himself relax.

“Is it me or was that last part too easy?” Harry asked.

“They don’t manufacture watches here for no reason,” Snape commented as he pulled out his dictionary again and began reading. The train pulled away right on the minute printed on the ticket.

The low hills spread out beyond the windows, the sun glowing blindingly bright from patches of snow in the distance. Harry’s eyes slipped closed with the methodic rocking of the train.

“You are missing the scenery,” Snape said, tapping him on the shoulder.

Harry snapped awake as the train pulled into Winterthur and announcements blared incomprehensibly on the platform. As they pulled out again, Harry tried to keep his eyes open and watch the neatly farmed hillsides with their unusual-looking farmhouses. Little towns clung to high hillsides of green with roads snaking up and through them. Harry found himself unable to accept that this was still the same day they had departed Shrewsthorpe.

The world blinked out as they passed through a tunnel and out over a bridge as though the train had taken flight. Harry’s eyes felt too heavy even for such a pastoral scene of fields backed by snow capped peaks, and hanging valleys and he fell asleep again.

Something chittered at Harry, something hard to catch a clear sense of beyond the spindly limbs, long fingers of unbreakable grip, and jagged teeth of grey stone. Harry opened his eyes and was disoriented by the black window, the tiny overhead lights brightening the blue fabric back of the modern seat before him with its overstretched empty black net. Two breaths later he remembered where he was. Snape leaned forward and turned to him questioningly.

Harry muttered, “Strange dream,” as daylight returned out the window. Harry looked out over the landscape, at the clouds floated low just beyond the immediate hills, giving one the feeling of being on the top of the world. They paced a motorway for a short distance, bent around a hill and entered another tunnel. The sides of the car seemed to shift outward with a pop as they did so. The muscles in the back of Harry’s neck twinged as he sensed the same scuttling dark creatures as before, only this time he was wide awake. The tunnel went on much longer than Harry hoped, considering his growing sense that, whatever they were, they were aware of his own awareness and were quieting to pay attention. Harry touched his wand pocket with a casual movement as he imagined that they might be clinging to the train despite its speed.

Snape leaned farther over their common armrest and studied him closely. “Something the matter?” he asked quietly.

Harry’s sensed a shifting of the odd attention as though it were solidifying into malevolence. He balled his fist near his wand and asked, “You don’t notice anything?” When Snape shook his head a little perplexedly, Harry hurriedly tried to explain. “Something’s out there. What lives in mountains?”

“Many things,” Snape replied, sounding like a lecture already. “Trolls for example.”

Harry swallowed, thinking he could see daylight casting itself obliquely on the rock face beside him. “Not trolls. Small, nasty, sharp stone teeth, chatter a lot.”

Snape’s expression made Harry wish that he had not said anything, especially since the blast of full sunlight made the clawing sense dissipate completely.

“Not in your mind?” Snape asked carefully. Harry shook his head, dropped his hand to the armrest and forced himself to relax. Snape went on, “Your description resembles a Shetani, but they are usually only in Africa. They are quite nasty, though. Strongly attracted to magic, especially certain kinds.”

Harry set his head right against the window and tried to look ahead for more tunnels. Only green slopes could be seen. “What kinds?” he asked, feeling like knowledge was his best hope for making it across this land of hills and tunnels.

Snape’s lips twitched reluctantly. “I do not think you will have difficulty with them at this speed. Although they have been known to set traps,” he added thoughtfully, then seemed to realize he should have left off the last. “Do not concern yourself,” he insisted quickly. But since empty platitudes were not among Snape’s best abilities, it did not come out well.

Another tunnel and the chattering made it difficult to sense the seat and the lights, as though the creatures meant to distract him to death. Then they were through again. Snape had a grip on Harry’s upper arm, making Harry flush and shake himself back to embarrassed reality. “What kinds of magic?” Harry demanded to cover his lapse.

Again the reluctance that went on for two valleys. “The darker kinds,” Snape finally divulged.

Harry’s brow furrowed and he wondered what these things saw in him of such interest. As a narrow pure blue lake slid into view, he wondered perhaps if the trailings of Voldemort he still possessed carried the scent of darkness to these creatures. He didn’t like that thought.

Open sunlight continued for a long time after that, almost long enough to forget. At the next tunnel he closed his eyes and Occluded his mind to no avail, but fortunately there seemed to be only a handful of the creatures making them much less bold.

“We will take a different route home,” stated Snape, when daylight again filled the carriage.

Harry nodded. “Maybe I’ll read up on them,” he suggested a little glumly, thinking that knowing for certain they hungered after dark magic would not make him feel any better. Usually, he didn’t think about his Voldemort inherited qualities, but at the moment, he dearly wished that he could exorcise them.

The trolley came by. Snape purchased tea and forced it on Harry with uncharacteristic urging. Harry gave in and sipped it. At the next tunnel, the warmth radiating on his hand seemed to keep him anchored and he did not sense anything. “They’re gone,” Harry said and took a scalding gulp. “You’re right, trouble does follow me.”

A half hour later, they pulled into Solothurn where Snape was visiting an old colleague before going on to the archive. He moved to stand, but hesitated. “I can skip my visit here and continue on with—”

“No,” Harry said firmly. “Go on.” But he bit his lip as Snape collected his shoulder bag from above them.

“I’ll see you in four days,” Snape said. “Do behave.”

Harry shook his head lightly. “Yes, of course.”

As they pulled out, Harry espied Snape pulling his trunk along the platform. Harry gave a wave that went unnoticed and he remembered that the train windows were heavily tinted. With a small smile at how out of place his guardian looked among the nicely dressed Muggles, Harry sat back and thought ahead to seeing Penelope.

The train pulled into the Bern Bahnhof a minute ahead of the scheduled time. Harry had already collected his trunk and day pack and was standing at the doors when they opened. Down on the platform, where he pretended his trunk was heavier than it felt, charmed as it was, he looked around and spotted Penelope coming the other way against the crowd, a broad smile lighting her face. She looked better than he had remembered, or perhaps it was just the stress of examinations being over which made her face seem to glow.

“Harry,” she greeted him happily and gave him a hug. Harry returned the hug and didn’t see anyone with her. “Did you haf a goot trip?” she asked.

“Uh…yeah. Not bad. I need to read more about this area, maybe you have a book?” he suggested, the hair on his arms bristling in memory.

They started along the warning track toward the exit. “Not in English at home, but dere is a bookstore.” She hooked her arm in his. Harry gave her a smile, glad to see a familiar face among so many unknown ones.

She led him out faster than he could attempt to interpret the signs they passed giving directions around the station. “I live just down the hill into old town, on Rathausgasse, so we can walk.”

“Rat house?” Harry echoed quietly.

“Rathaus, where the mayor works. I forget vat you call it.”

Outside, the sun was still shining with the unnatural glare Harry associated with winter. Many people were out, walking quickly, towing their shopping or pushing prams. Several blocks later, Penelope stopped at a door beside one to a pastry shop and unspelled it. Inside, Harry hovered his trunk up the staircase and through another spell-neutralized door. Harry wondered at so much security, but didn’t comment. Inside was a bright, high-ceilinged, sitting room with a kitchen off to the side.

With an apologetic grin she patted the couch. “Dis is the guest room, so you can put your trunk here.” Harry did as she suggested, glad the trunk didn’t look too imposing there. She grabbed his hand, “Come, I vill show you around de old town.” On the way out down the steps, Harry wondered at her accent before deciding she must not use English much here.

They headed down a side alley to a wide street with a statue in the middle. Many other tourists were wandering here, pointing at things. The sun was finally low in the sky for the day, lighting the stone with an orange glow. They walked downhill while Penelope explaining about the bears they kept in the moat, and about Albert Einstein. Harry, worn down from the very long day, was not taking much of it in. People here walked very fast and he felt it took all his attention to stay out of their way.

“Ah, my favorite shop,” Penelope said energetically. Harry peered through the glass at a grand array of perfectly spaced, dainty chocolates. Inside, he let Penelope pick out a boxful. On the way out she hooked her arm through his. “I think you haf need of coffee,” she said with a laugh in her voice. Harry was glad she wasn’t unhappy that he was so worn out.

As they found seats in an airy, tall-windowed shop with a big brass expresso machine dominating the marble counter, Harry said, “I’m sorry I’m not very good company right now.”

“You had long travels,” she said easily, opening the elaborately packaged and wrapped box of chocolates and pushing it over before him. Harry selected a black and white swirled one; it tasted strongly of vanilla. “Good?” she asked eagerly. When Harry nodded, she said authoritatively, “Much better than Honeydukes,” as though she had been suffering all this time.

Harry hesitated at that, but didn’t argue the point. Despite sitting for most of the day, Harry wished only to continue doing so, although the coffee was making him more aware of the world around him. A couple in nice clothes sat at a table by the wall leaning in closely to talk. A woman near the window was reading a small book while pushing the stroller beside her to and fro.

“Ve can walk around tomorrow. The flower market will be in the platz in the morning. And my parents will be home by now.”

Harry stared into his cup to gauge how much more he had and was startled to find it empty. “Yeah, let’s go,” he said, glad not much was expected of him right now.

The door at the top of the stairs was open when they returned. Harry braced himself as they entered. “Mama,” Penelope said to catch the attention of the couple opening the post at the table beside the window. “This is Harry.” She sounded nervously proud.

They halted what they were doing and approached. Through the coffee static in his brain, Harry had the fleeting impression that they had only half-believed he existed. Penelope’s mother, an oval-faced woman with dark hair, held out her hand, “Madeleine Toffen, Mr. Potter,” she said, sounding very formal.

“Just Harry, please,” he insisted, shaking hands next with Penelope’s father, a balding man who squinted when he smiled. He seemed to have a hard time taking his eyes off Harry’s scar.

Madeleine was saying, “We planned to go for a nice dinner, if you are up to it.” Harry nodded, although he worried that when the coffee wore off, he might fall unconscious.

Cleaned up and changed into the nicest clothes he had brought, Harry sat on the couch waiting with Penelope’s parents for Penelope to finish getting ready. Beside him on the end table was a white lacquer framed photograph of Penelope and a boy just a little younger, presumably her brother Robert, given the resemblance. Harry looked away from it and tried not to express regret too obviously. Penelope’s mum tapped her fingertips together nervously. “Rather amazing to haf you here, Mr.— Harry,” Mr. Tideweather said, breaking a long silence.

“I’ve never been to the Continent,” Harry said. “The mountains are very beautiful.”

“You might not haf seen the mountains yet. Unless your train route was poor.” Mr. Tideweather said.

“It is much easier to travel now,” Madeleine interrupted, “Everyone is abroad now, it zeems, even so early in the zummer. But you should go to Paris, a young man like yourself, as zoon as you can.”

Harry considered that they had planned on taking a different route home. “I don’t have much time right now. I have testing for the Auror’s program at the Ministry coming up next week.”

Mr. Tideweather said, “Ah, yes,” leaning forward and clasping his hands. “Peni said as much.”

Another silence settled on the room. Harry was just figuring out how he might obliquely ask about dark-magic-hungry creatures in the mountains when Penelope came out, apologizing for taking so long. She looked pretty smart though in a short grey dress with a sweater over it.

They walked uphill many blocks with much turning left and right. Harry didn’t think he could make it back on his own if he had to without having set a direction charm on his wand. His hosts didn’t seem to think the walk excessively long, even though his feet were feeling sore when they finally arrived at the restaurant.

Dinner passed sedately. Harry tuned out the conversations around their table which he could not understand anyway, turning it into a dull roar in his ears. Penelope’s father talked about Penelope’s plans for becoming an archivist, at the very library Snape was going to visit. Harry had not realized her plans were so well formed. When the topic had come up before, she made it sound like ideas rather than contracts. He wondered at that discrepancy and watched her attending to her plate closely. “But I’m sure you would find that boring,” Mr. Tideweather was saying.

“Sounds interesting, actually,” Harry insisted, thinking of midnight forays into the restricted section of the Hogwarts library.

“You should take Harry to Geneva, Peni,” Madeleine said, shifting topics. “You have not been, correct?” she asked Harry, who shook his head. “You could stay with my sister,” she said, then frowned lightly as though rethinking that.

Penelope looked up from her plate, looking slightly amused. “Aunt Vreni is fun to visit. Do you want to see Geneva?” she asked of Harry. Harry nodded, thinking they would be having a little more fun if not overseen by parents.

The next morning, a car horn woke Harry. The sound of the vertical blind clacking followed. “It is a taxi driver. They are not supposed to do that,” Mr. Tideweather said from beside the window. Harry blinked and sat up on the flattened couch. “Did you sleep well?” his host asked. Harry nodded while rubbing grit from his eyes. He had woken from a dream about flying his broom around the mountains looking for something, but it was fading fast as the morning sun poured into the room.

Right after breakfast, Penelope led Harry around the city, starting with the market and moving to the parliament. The city felt yet more foreign this morning; yesterday’s walk had not accustomed him to the look of things.

Harry’s feet were overly grateful when they stopped for lunch at a pizza shop on the main street. They sat at a small corner table, Harry stretching his toes inside his shoes. Cars rumbled by on the brick street and unceasing pedestrians flowed past the tall windows.

Harry glanced around to see that no one was watching him. took off his hat and fluffed his hair.

Penelope was reading from a ragged tour book of the city. “What vould you like to do next? History museum or Art?” she asked.

Behind her the waitress was speaking adamantly with the chef about something.

“Art sounds better,” Harry replied. Eventually the waitress came back, holding a small notebook very tightly while smoothing the page down with the other as she said something he couldn’t understand. Penelope ordered and the waitress took the menus then hesitated before asking something.

Penelope said, sounding a little testy, “She wants to know if it is really you.”

“It is really me,” Harry said to the waitress, almost making Penelope giggle. The woman seemed confused by this, but went back to the counter. “I didn’t expect to be recognized here,” Harry said, feeling he’d been cheated out of something.

Penelope looked disbelieving. “More Muggles here vould know who you are than in Britain. It is not so…separate here, such news anyway. It is translated into terms that are Muggle. But everyone knows more here. I think it is better.”

By that evening Harry was certain this had been the longest day of his life. As they sat down back at Penelope’s flat, he wished he knew a charm for sore feet, because sitting was not making them feel any better. Penelope didn’t show any effects of the day at all. With eagerness she said, “We have seen most every major thing, so tomorrow ve vill go to Geneva.” Harry’s spirits, which rose at the first part, flagged significantly on the second. She went on, “Very famous city. Great shopping.”

Harry who had taken out a significant part of what remained in his vault for spending money, felt a panicky twinge at that, but Penelope, who was making coffee, did not notice. She brought back very small cups of coffee. “You are hafing fun, no?”

“It’s, uh—yes,” Harry replied. His feet complained at that answer. “I’m not used to so much walking, I think.”

“Ah,” she said and sipped her coffee. “No hike then to Kleine Scheidegg. It is my favorite.”

“Uh,” Harry began, but then realized that she was grinning too much.

“You can take the rail most the way, you know,” she added, sounding corrective. Harry took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. He was not keeping up well.

The first train of the morning dropped them in Geneva in time for an early breakfast. Harry bolstered himself with a big meal at yet another tiny cafe crowding the roadway. The city’s narrow streets curved away, promising more exploring than could possibly be done in a day.

“We will not walk so much,” Penelope assured him. “I am thinking of a short walk, then a long picnic by the water, then a boat ride.”

“Sounds brilliant,” Harry said agreeably as he put down his fork and drank his coffee. He had to admit, the coffee was like the chocolate, thicker and richer than he had ever had it. They wandered along the narrow streets, every one of which seemed to have cafes along them. Penelope turned down a quiet street and stopped before a wooden door and knocked three times and then three times again. The door, despite looking like it might swing inward, probably with a loud squeaking sound, parted quietly in the middle. Penelope stepped through and glanced back as Harry followed.

Inside was a small wizard museum, really the town house of an old wealthy witch who had lived in the 1800s. Every available wall had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and some doorways were half-blocked by freestanding cases. Every shelf was crammed with every imaginable magical item, some really useful like handmade never-out quills with gaudy silver decoration, and some really strange such as a self-stirring make-up tin. The whole place was musty, tickling Harry’s nose.

On the first floor, Penelope beckoned to Harry to join her in the drawing room. “Dame Vera,” she said, indicating the large painting of a woman in a shocking violet lace dress. Dame Vera straightened her skirts, then smoothed them before giving them a smile.

“Looks a bit like you,” Harry observed.

“Very distant relative, actually,” Penelope said. “I don’t think I’ll look that good at a hundred and thirty though.” Vera primped her hair and smiled more.

The tall clock chimed and a real blackbird flew out of the little door at the top, cawed harshly eleven times as it circled the room before diving back inside. The clock resumed ticking.

A small middle-aged man with tiny glasses came into the room. “Thought I heard ze door,” the man said, squinting at Penelope. “Do I know you?”

“I haf visited before. Penelope Tideweather, fifth cousin to the lady here,” she explained, waving at the painting, who blew a kiss at Harry.

“Don’ be such a tease, Vera,” the man said to the painting. “Please, excuse her,” he said. After looking Harry over, took off his glasses and cleaned them thoroughly before replacing them on his nose and frowning more. “Vell, if you have any questions, let me know.” He disappeared again.

After the museum, the sun was intense and the shadows of the buildings starker than normal. Penelope led the way to a shop where they bought cheeses, dried sausages, bread sticks, dried fruits and a bottle of wine. Most of it fit in Harry’s daypack and Penelope insisted on carrying the rest, even though the overnight bag on her shoulder could not hold it. They walked down to the lake and along the tree-lined waterfront to a large park with rolling slopes leading to large circles of flowers. They found a relatively level spot still in view of the water and dropped onto the grass. For once Penelope seemed a little tired.

They spoke of minor things, such as how different Hogwarts was than Penelope had expected and how glad her parents were that she was home safe, even though they should not have worried so much. Harry wanted to ask what her plans were now, but found he didn’t have the will to risk spoiling the lovely moment. Eventually, they ate their picnic, or part of it, and after the wine, Harry grew dreadfully sleepy so he spread his cloak out and put his head down.

Harry woke later, when some seagulls cried out noisily overhead. Penelope’s head was resting on his chest as she stared up at the clouds which had formed over the lake.

“You vant to be an Auror?” she asked, apparently noticing that he was awake.

“Yes.”

“It zounds dangerous,” she said evenly.

Harry thought being an Auror sounded challenging and like something that would satisfy his hunger to be involved while also knowing what was going on. He didn’t voice these things. When he sat up, he felt lightheaded. Penelope opened the sparkling water, poured some into a plastic cup, and handed it to him. Drinking it made him feel much better.

“Ready to go?” she asked.

Harry stood with a grunt at his aches from the hard ground. “Certainly. Where to?”

They wandered some more along the waterfront, took a Ferry down the lake to the next port, Nyon, where they disembarked. Harry noted as he turned back to look over the boat, that the long list of destinations on the sign beside the dock also read Montreux in all capital letters, making him wonder how Snape was faring at the library. He squinted down the hazy lake and imagined one of the towns in the distance contained his guardian.

They wandered through the many pedestrians up to the main square before a turreted castle. “The Château,” Penelope explained taking a seat at a cafe, whose tables were arranged in neat rows. Seagulls hunted under the tables and chairs, quick to get out of the way. “It needs renovations. Soon they say.” She ordered coffee for them both when the waiter appeared. Harry thought Penelope sounded prettier yet when she spoke French.

They caught the ferry back as darkness fell quickly, rendering the apparent distance to the shore longer and the one to the mountains closer. They bought food from the little counter on the boat and ate that with the leftovers in Harry’s daypack.

Penelope, taking Harry’s hand as they stepped onto the quay, said, “We should find my aunt.” They walked along a different part of the waterfront than they had earlier, the lights across the dark lake glinting romantically on the ripples. Rising from the water the hills were visible as clusters of dwindling lights. Behind them, the ferry was plying its way back down the lake, its many windows brighter than the lights beyond it.

They walked along a big, dark, open expanse of concrete beside the water that did not seem to have much purpose. Music drifted on the air from somewhere. Penelope stopped beside a grungy boat dock where two open motorboats were bobbing in the algae-filled water beside the quay. A rusty metal sign like a gate led to steps directly into the water. The air was swampy smelling here. Penelope urged Harry down one step, took out her wand, and tapped each pole. The air rippled and revealed a waterfront full of people sitting at an outdoor bar. The music was loud now. They stepped through and walked along to the last establishment where plants framed a stage where a band played and colored lanterns swung on cables in the faint breeze around the tall tables.

They had to wait for a table to open up, but eventually a couple left and Harry and Penelope took their seats. “Your aunt works here?” Harry asked as the waitress came by and Penelope ordered in French.

Penelope pointed at the stage. “She plays bass.”

Harry looked at the band for the first time and located the woman with artificially bright red hair and black leather trousers playing an almost equally bright red, large, stringed instrument in the center back of the group.

“American blues, you know?” Penelope asked.

Harry shook his head. Penelope went on, “Aunt Vreni is kind of the black sheep as you say.”

“She seems to like playing music,” Harry said as the drinks arrived. They were short glasses with ice, little straws, and slices of lemon, sweet and alcoholic. Snape’s admonitions were trying to intrude in his mind even over the thrum of the music.

Many long songs and two drinks later, Harry excused himself to use the toilet. On the way back, he found the side door first and took it, rather than work his way back through the crowded restaurant. It was quiet over here on the city side. Cars went by infrequently and the shop gates were all pulled down. He walked around the building to where their table was on the outside edge. As Harry came around the potted ferns, he noticed others were gathered around the table. Penelope, lit by the yellow and blue lanterns hanging overhead, gestured in an unfriendly way at one of the people. Curious, Harry slowed in the shadows to observe. He could almost hear them, but he couldn’t understand what must be French, although it did not lilt, it sounded guttural spoken so low.

Harry stepped over quickly. “Friends of yours?” he asked.

The three young men backed off just a little, apparently not expecting him. One of them, with close-cut brown hair and a beard neatly trimmed around his jaw, said snidely, “You brought an Englishman back with you?”

“Not friends. Former fellow students,” Penelope darkly explained to Harry. “They were just leaving.” Harry watched in amazement as she reached into her coat pocket and pulled her wand into her loose sleeve. It was not a motion she tried to conceal although the wand was now hidden from casual view. Harry looked at each of the young men in turn. They looked cocky and sneering, though a little wary now. Penelope said something in French and received what sounded like a threat in return, though they were all speaking too low to really discern.

Harry stepped closer to Penelope so their bodies were touching. “Why don’t you leave now?” he said firmly, threateningly.

“Or vat?” One of them mocked. “You vill use a little British spell on us?”

“No. All I have to do is let go of her hand,” Harry explained, showing them the grip he had taken of Penelope’s vibrating wrist. Penelope looked about as furious as he could imagine her being. Murderous even.

One of them backed up but the other two just laughed. “She does not scare us. Nor do you. The English are as wimps at Quidditch and wimps at magic.”

Another song had started up and the nearby tables which had glanced their way once were not paying them any attention. Harry narrowed his eyes at the boldest of them, the one with short brown hair and a long fringe. In a low voice, he said, “I destroyed Voldemort. I can certainly take on you.”

The pair straightened at this news but did not budge. The third stepped back close and asked, “Vat did he say?”

“He…” one of them began dubiously.

“What?” Harry asked with a hint of mockery that felt much too good, “Don’t recognize the scar?” The three looked more surprised and glanced at Penelope indecisively. Penelope still looked rather murderous. “Get lost,” Harry said. “Or I’ll finish off what she leaves behind.” He released her wrist which she held stiffly at her side, wand not hidden anymore. Harry went on, “And you know, when we explain to your authorities, I bet they believe Harry Potter over you, so please, do try us.”

The wariest of them urged the others to move on and they all left with repeated backward glances. Penelope was shaking as she put her wand away and flattened her hands on the tabletop. Harry pushed the rest of his drink over to her. She swallowed it and put it down hard.

“Dey vere insinuating tings about Robbie. Like they knew vat happened but would not tell,” she explained in a distressed voice. “Dey never proved what happened,” she went on in general explanation.

“I’m sorry, Peni,” Harry said, retaking his seat and squeezing her arm in his hand.

“Dese ones who ver bad but not so bad to get caught, vere zo cocky dis last year,” she went on angrily, her accent thickening alarmingly. “I could kill them.”

Harry picked up and twisted a napkin between his fingers. “Well, I have to say I know exactly how you feel.”

Sadly, she went on, “I vas supposed to protect him, but I did not know how to do dis.”

Harry closed his eyes on the lights inside the restaurant, the swinging lanterns. All kinds of old pain were washing through him. “I should have just let you have at them. Sorry.”

“My parents vould be very disappointed if I did this,” she said with a sad chuckle. “It would not honor Robbie’s memory.”

“I could have taken the blame without much trouble,” Harry said. “I can’t imagine they would do much to me, even here.” He watched the band members playing, unconcerned with anything but their music, appeared to be playing from deep in their heads. “When does your aunt finish?” he asked hopefully.

Penelope sniffled and dabbed carefully at her eyes. “Not ’til late, I don’t tink. But, the zet, it should end.”

“We’ll go at the end of the set, then, when we can get the key,” Harry said reassuringly. Penelope nodded, looking bleak.

The music finally wound down and the singer made some announcement in French before the lights on the stage went to half. Harry took Penelope’s hand as they walked around to the back of the stage, and kept a close eye on everyone around, especially checking the shadows by the building.

“Aunt Vreni,” Penelope called as the woman was setting her bass on a metal stand.

“Penelope!” the woman exclaimed in surprise. She jumped off the back of the stage and gave her niece a tight hug. “And who vould this be?” she asked of Harry.

“Didn’t you get my owl?” Penelope asked, concerned.

Vreni waved her hand dismissively. “Ah. I haven’t been to my flat since, uh, Wednesday. But if you need a place tonight, please.” She fished in her pockets, then went thoughtful a moment before digging around in the pile off the corner of the stage to find a leather jacket from which she finally produced a key. She presented this to Penelope as one might a treat.

“Zo,” Vreni said, putting an arm around Harry. This close he could see she showed her age much more than Penelope’s mother. “This is your mensch? The one you told me of in your letters?”

Penelope bit her lip. “Yes. But, I, uh, might not have meant everything I wrote.”

Harry smiled and straightened, lifting very thin Aunt Vreni to her toes, she was hanging so hard on his neck. Vreni let go but she pounded him on the back. “He is big strong boy, it seems,” she opined approvingly. “You take good care of Peni, she write to me,” she said to Harry.

“It was easy,” Harry insisted.

“Ah, tha’s good. Well,” she said, patting his shoulder. Her gaze fixed on his forehead. “Interesting scar; you vill have to explain how you got it sometime. Over breakfast. Right now I have an appointment with the barman during my break.” She stepped away, turned back and said, “I’ll zee you in the morning.” She gave a little wave and a smile.

“Was she serious?” Harry asked, grinning.

“She is renown for having no sense of current events, but I would not have thought she was that far out of things.”

“I like her a lot already,” Harry said and offered Penelope an arm to lead her away toward the boat launch.

Vreni’s flat was not as chaotic as Harry feared it would be. There wasn’t enough stuff in it to be anything but neat. Just beside the door were things like boots, documents, a book, a key, all in a random pile. Penelope straightened the few things in the room and went off to find bedding for the futon. The bedroom was more chaotic Harry saw, when Penelope opened the door to go in. Harry decided to survey the kitchen and amazingly found the refrigerator had enough food for breakfast, although it also contained many things that didn’t need to be there, such as salt, sugar and bread.

Harry looked over the small bookshelf of photography books, of all things. Penelope came back with two steaming mugs of cocoa, which he would not have imagined could be put together by what he had seen in there. Maybe the milk had been in the cabinet.

It was almost midnight when Penelope declared herself too tired stay up any longer and took her large shoulder bag to the toilet. She returned in a fuzzy night gown, scented with something flowery. Harry did the same, washing up and putting on his pyjamas. When he came back, Penelope was already curled up on the futon. He laid down beside her, hooked an arm around her, and tried to put the evening out of his mind. She turned toward him and Harry decided that there were better ways to forget the evening.

The next morning, Harry was woken by noises from the area of the stove. Penelope and her aunt were cooking breakfast. Harry now realized the problem with not getting redressed the night before. He really should know better, he considered. He scooped his pyjama bottoms off the floor and put them on under the duvet, to Penelope’s amusement from where she stood cutting bread at the counter facing him.

As they ate eggs and stale bread toasted to a crisp in thin slices, Penelope tried to explain things to her aunt. “Yes, I hear of this wizard,” Vreni insisted, pointing at the table with her index finger. “Very bad wizard. But I do not understand,” she said to Harry, “why you fight him zo many times?”

Harry sighed and put marmalade on his toast to have with his refilled coffee. “Took me a while to figure out how to finish him off.”

“Oh,” Vreni said, sounding unimpressed.

Harry shook his head and had to grin. This certainly was a first. Penelope shrugged at Harry apologetically.

After breakfast, Penelope said, “We should check the train schedule, leave sometime this morning.”

Harry nodded that he agreed. He and Snape were leaving early tomorrow, he realized in surprise. “Time went fast,” Harry observed.

Penelope nodded with a sad smile.

The next morning at the Bern train station, Snape was waiting on the platform, wearing his cloak, his trunk beside him. Harry felt a rush at recognizing him there in the crowd. He placed his trunk beside Snape’s and greeted him before pulling Penelope aside quickly, since their train was already beside the platform, doors open.

“No thoughts of revenge, all right?” Harry said, firmly to her.

She glanced away. “Okay,” she said a little unwillingly.

Harry frowned but had no time to say anything more as Snape was putting their trunks aboard without help.

“You are Harry’s guardian?” Mr. Tideweather asked when Snape stepped down from the carriage.

“Yes,” Snape replied and shook the man’s hand.

“He is a very nice young man. It was a pleasure to have him,” Mr. Tideweather said in a very complimentary way.

With a sideways glance at Harry, Snape said, “Good to know he was behaving himself.” He looked up in concern at the platform clock and gestured that they should board.

Harry shook his head and Mr. Tideweather’s hand. Madeleine kissed his cheeks before Snape tugged him to the imminently departing train. Harry waved to Penelope and shouted that he would write as he pulled himself up the high steps. The automatic doors hissed closed behind him as he cleared them and immediately the train heaved forward.