Harry Takes a Break

Chapter 2

          The crowded atrium of the Ministry of Magic hummed with tension. Wizards and witches stood shoulder-to-shoulder, gazing up at the newly reinstated Cornelius Fudge. His familiar lime-green bowler hat sat crooked on his head, giving him a look of false grandeur as he addressed the room from a podium draped in velvet.

"Now, now, I understand that recent events have caused a great deal of... confusion," Fudge began, his voice rising over the murmur of the crowd. Harry clenched his jaw as Fudge waved his hands dismissively, like he was swatting away a particularly annoying gnat. "But I am here to assure you that there was never any real threat. You-Know-Who's so-called 'return'- a tragic case of mass hysteria, spread by those with too much imagination and too little common sense."

Harry's hands tightened into fists, the anger simmering low but steady in his chest. How could Fudge stand there and say that? The image of Voldemort's twisted face, the flash of green light, the blood and screams at Hogwarts-they were real, far more real than Fudge's smug, dismissive lies.

"It's like he's rewriting history," Ron muttered next to him, his face red with frustration. "We were there. We fought him. And now Fudge is just pretending it didn't happen?"

"He's trying to save face," Hermione said through gritted teeth. "The Ministry looked weak, so now he's pretending Voldemort was never a real threat. It's infuriating."

"More like cowardly," Harry muttered darkly. His scar throbbed faintly as Fudge continued to drone on, claiming that the Dark Lord had been nothing but a specter, a ghost conjured by fear and exaggeration. "Let's get out of here before I do something I regret."

Without another word, the trio slipped toward the back of the crowd and out through the side entrance of the Ministry. The autumn air was cool against Harry's skin, but it did little to ease the burning in his chest. They walked in silence for a few blocks, until the sound of Fudge's speech had faded entirely.

"Can you believe that? After everything we did, they just... sweep it all under the rug?" Ron said, shaking his head. "I swear, if I hear him talk about 'mass hysteria' one more time-"

Later, the three of them sat cramped in one of the old dorm rooms in Gryffindor Tower, parchment strewn about, quills scribbling furiously. The room was warm, but the stress hung heavily in the air as they tried to map out what seemed like an impossible plan.

"Okay, so if we're going to the States, we'll need to figure out Muggle transportation," Hermione said, biting her lip as she jotted notes onto a spare piece of parchment. "No Floo Network, no Apparition-at least, not unless we want to risk us getting splinched in the middle of the Atlantic."

"Hold on, back up a second," Ron said, looking thoroughly confused. "We're going to the U.S.? Like... Muggle-style? That means flying metal tubes and those... underground metal trains, right?"

"Airplanes and Subways," Hermione corrected with a sigh. "Yes, Ron. Subways. And airplanes. And buses. And trains."

"Planes..." Ron shuddered. "We've got to fly in one of those Muggle contraptions? Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"We can't use magic," Harry said firmly, scribbling down rough ideas for how they might navigate airports and Muggle cities. "We need to disappear for a while. The States are big. No one will know us there, and we won't stand out as much if we do things like Muggles."

Ron groaned. "I hate Muggle transportation. Why can't we just fly on broomsticks or something?"

"Because we'd stick out," Hermione said, exasperated. "We can't have random wizards or Muggles spotting us. This has to be discreet."

As Ron sulked, Harry shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at the parchment in front of him. "There's another thing we need to figure out... how we're going to pay for all this."

Ron immediately looked hopeful. "I was wondering about that. I mean, I've got a bit of pocket money from Mum and Dad, but I don't think it'll get us very far in America."

"I've got it covered," Harry said, looking between his friends. "Between what my parents left me and what Sirius left behind, I have enough to pay for everything. You don't have to worry."

Hermione looked like she was about to protest, but Harry cut her off before she could speak. "No, Hermione. I mean it. After everything, this is the least I can do. We deserve this. I don't want either of you worrying about the money."

Hermione's eyes softened as she looked at him, a small smile pulling at her lips. "Alright, Harry. But it's not just your holiday, okay? We'll help where we can."

Ron grinned. "If Harry's paying, I say we fly first class."

Harry laughed. "One thing at a time. First, we've got to figure out how to get through a Muggle airport without setting off every alarm in the building."

Hermione picked up her quill again, her brow furrowing as she returned to her notes. "This is going to be tricky. We'll need Muggle passports, and that means finding a way to"

"How hard can it be?" Ron interrupted. "We'll figure it out."

She smiled slightly, though her eyes were still fixed on the parchment. Harry watched her for a moment, his mind drifting. Despite the chaos of planning, the stress, and the unknowns ahead, the thought of escaping with Hermione and Ron—even just for a while—made something inside him relax. For the first time in what felt like ages, he felt a small flicker of hope.

"Right then," he said, looking up at them both. "Let's plan our holiday."

WORD COUNT: 1030