0945 hours, Oxfordshire


Raine Almasy had a secret - well, to be fair, she had several secrets, but none of them relevant at this moment. Her secret was a sleek, 1963 convertible Aston Martin that coasted on corners like a well honed broom rider and purred softer than one of Gracie's beloved kittens. It gleamed a deep, dark green. Her secret was that she adored old automobiles.

This old automobile in question belonged to the Gryffindor's father at any rate, and she could not realistically claim it to be a private affair.

Close enough, she thought wryly as the car began to decelerate along the wide road that turned into a quieter area just outside of the city. Although the sun shone brightly on Oxford this morning, they were still subject its cold not-quite-Spring weather. Papa had done a marvelous job with the heating (and the trunk space, thank Godric) but she would have been an irregular sight driving up from London with the top down.

Raine finally drew up to the side of the road, glancing distractedly at the tall green hedges as she came to a complete halt. A glimpse at the time - Alex wasn't due for another five or ten minutes. She missed Maurice during in-between moments like these; there simply hadn't been much sense in taking him and the cat was much more comfortable with Aunt Ira's huskies at home.

Dearest Aunt Ira, who had nothing to say about this trip. Hardly even a word of warning about escaped convicts or muggle driving! It was beyond bizarre (she still half-expected a reprimanding Howler) but one could hardly complain. Glancing around, the redhead popped open her door while she groped for the switch to lower the hood. Cool air came rushing in and she laid back in the car seat, eyes closed behind the sunglasses.

This was precisely what she needed anyway. A chance to forget all her morbid nonsense and finally have some fun outside of Hogwarts.

Minutes passed as Alex and her Father watched each other. It wasn’t as though he could prevent her from going, so why he was standing in the foyer and watching her impassively, she didn’t know. It was just another strange event in a strange morning, which had begun when he’d insisted on having breakfast with her, and then maintaining conversation throughout it. It almost made her wonder if he might miss her, but the idea was ludicrous. They rarely saw each other, even when she was at home. She preferred to pretend that she was the sole inhabitant of the house, and for the most part, she could do so successfully.

Their silent staring was not quite so odd, but it was hardly normal. It felt a little like admitting to failure when she smiled, “Good bye, Father.”

“Stay safe.” And apparently that was the sole reason for the silent exchange, as he turned away, headed inside. He had been remarkably relaxed about the idea when she had mentioned it to him – possibly because it would mean that she would be out of his way for a few days. That, she could understand. She hefted her bag, wincing at the weight of it, but there was no helping that.

The idea of a road trip was foreign to her, and she still wasn’t sure why it wasn’t better to use more efficient means of travel to reach their destination, but… Gracie and Raine both seemed to think that it would be enjoyable, and at the very least it would be a way of seeing each other outside of term time. The forced intimacy of term time tended to become stifling towards the end, but the holidays could be surprisingly empty. Not that, in the few days since the holiday had begun, she’d started to miss the two.

Alex’s arrival was barely early in order to avoid waiting in the cold, although she had dressed for it, and she was glad to see that even if Gracie wasn’t there, she would be able to wait in the warmth of a car, one that looked far nicer than she’d expected. She dropped her bag on the back seat, before climbing into the front and declaring, “I’m shotgun! I did that right, didn’t I?” It seemed very odd to her that muggles had decided to name the seat in honour of those who carried deadly weapons, since if you were driving around with someone carrying a shotgun in your car, you were presumably either a criminal or a member of law enforcement.

“Is the car muggle, or magical?” she asked. Of course, most cars were muggle in origin, but they could be modified so that they were more suitable for magic users. Nobody wanted to get stuck in traffic, after all. She’d asked Rick about it, but there hadn’t been enough time to do anything but learn a little about fixing engines and stealing cars. “Can you restore the roof?”

Raine had been about to drift into a light doze when she felt something land in the back seat - she propped her shades up, glancing around in time to see her friend hop into the Jaguar. The Gryffindor cracked a half-smile; Slant would have to ride backseat later but that meant Alex was unofficial navigator.

"I think that's correct-" she shrugged at the question.,"- like in the films." Not that they watched an awful lot of movies in the Almasy household. Just whatever mother considered a 'classic', and her taste was questionable.

The side door shut close and Raine restarted the engine with some effort, smiling softly at its mechanical growl. She liked the sound of muggle cars - although she wasn't so practiced a driver as she pretended to be. Confidence was half the game, wasn't it? The redhead dropped her shades again and the world fell into shadow.

"Papa had some improvements made." Raine answered vaguely and then flicked a switch on the dashboard, in response to the request. The roof began to come forward. It was probably for the best if they didn't want to be eating insects all the way up to Scotland. "Map is in the glove compartment, by the way. And seatbelt on. Next stop is Swindon."

Grinning, she forced her gaze back on to the road and stepped down on the gas pedal.

Earlier, in Stoke Hill, Exeter



Had Gracie even an inkling of the lack of trouble either of her dear friends were having with their guardians, she would have suggested a swap. Immediately. Currently, she gaped across the pile of bags neatly stacked in front of her, at the tall– nay, looming figure staring back at her—his guilt manifest in an impassive, totally unrepentant stare. Eamon wasn’t telling his granddaughter to keep in touch (though that’d be nice, he’d told her calmly), nor was he reminding her to watch out for suspect persons (she could handle them with or without a wand, they both knew)– which, okay, she supposed she could be a little more grateful; not a lot of people her age got to brag that their grim, critical guardian was so certain of their ability to take care of themselves.

But this? This was so much worse.

“You didn’t,” she breathed, horrified, and rushed over to the bags. Dragging the topmost one (because there were three, three) to the floor (but carefully, though), Gracie fell to her knees and yanked down the zipper. The packed, solid weight of it was not promising.

At the sight of the neat little crossbow case resting on top of everything else, she felt a small part of her whimper and die. “Granddad!”

Eamon blinked at her, long and owlishly, because he would. “I though’ I’d jes’ help yeh out,” he shrugged peacefully, as he watched her draw out the extra ammo, and twine, and the multi-tool, and… her toothbrush. Among other things. Yep, that was her bathroom stuff soundly packed at the bottom, there– “Since yeh got back so late an’ all.”

Ouch. “You shouldn’t have,” she winced, putting them back. Still, she grabbed the next bag, not to be deterred. “Really.”

He shrugged. “Yeh’re doin’ this th’ normal way, aren’t yeh?” he pointed out, reasonable as ever. “Which means yeh’ll run inna normal people. An’ unless yer law changed lately…”

“It’s not my law,” Gracie muttered, sifting through the bag. Duct tape, duct tape… Would you look at that: more duct tape. “This is a lot of tape,” she stared down into the bag. Her voice sounded flat even to her own ears. But to be fair, she’d counted at least half a dozen rolls– of the really good stuff, the kind one could pull trucks with. “Why is there so much- tarp? Why is there tarp in here?!” She waved it at him accusingly.

Eamon shrugged again. “Picnics?” he tried, looking none too fussed about it.

“Picnics,” she repeated. And promptly faceplanted into the bag. “Ow!”

“Careful,” her grandfather cautioned mildly, too little, too late. “Th’ bolt cutters’re in there.”





“Not a word,” said Gracie, glaring warningly at the girls as she stomped ‘round to the back, hefting up the smallest-sized duffle bag in one hand and holding an ice pack to her face with the other; by the time she’d finished repacking (which was to say, repacking and arguing with her grandfather), there hadn’t been enough time left over to properly see to it with magic. She had nearly forgotten her guitar, even, and just for that she gingerly put it away, far more carefully than she would have normally (which was already careful enough to begin with). “You wouldn’t believe the stuff he nearly had me bring–”

She didn’t slam the trunk shut, though, as much as she wanted to, and slid into the back all too happily. The reason for this was revealed when she promptly glomped Alex’s head from behind, wrapping her arms around it in that octopus hug the Ravenclaw so obviously loved. “I missed you guys,” she choked tearfully into Alex’s hair.

She let go of Alex, only to pull Raine into a hug as well before finally receding. “This is a brilliant car,” she remarked, craning forward and eyeing the dashboard with a speculative gleam. “If you ever want to take a break, Almasy, I’d be happy to take over for you.”

They had pulled over by a quiet intersection, some distance away from the Swindon city centre.

Raine silently thanked her father for the altered car trunk as she watched Gracie slither into the back seat, a mixture of moods. Unpacking would be an interesting endeavor once they reached Callander. She grinned at the Slytherin briefly - awkward car hugs had not been part of her driver's test but they were more warmly welcomed than tips on parallel parking.

"It's brilliant and foolproof," Raine cocked an eyebrow at the look in Gracie's eye. "You can take the night shift if we run into traffic." According to Aunt Ira - who had asked a friend of a friend - the trip they planned wasn't going to take more than six or seven hours, depending on how often they stopped for recesses.

It certainly sounded like a much more complicated process than any wizardly method of travelling. That, Raine knew, made it much more interesting than popping up to Scotland or falling into the whirlwind nausea of Portkey trotting. She began to shift gears, all business and no chatter as her gaze ricocheted from one side mirror to the next. "Are we tucked in safe and sound?" her voice called out briskly over the sound of the revving motor.

As they began to pull out on to the road, Raine nodded at the map that Alex had unfolded across the dashboard. "I'll take us out on to some country roads, and then you can plot us a course for Callander-" the car accelerated dangerously, just in time to cut the intersection at changing lights. "- we can take the scenic route."

Whatever that meant.

The journey to Swindon passed easily, and by the time they had reached their destination, she was beginning to think that this road trip might actually be enjoyable. Lifting a hand in greeting, Alex smirked, but at Gracie’s behest, didn’t say anything – after all, what did it matter if she was a little over prepared? It was far better to be prepared than to regret not bringing something, and even though it seemed like she’d been forced into a slightly excessive array of things, given the multiple bags, the Ravenclaw was certain that their contents was primarily practical.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Gracie, but her insistence on such persistent physical contact was bewildering and occasionally irritating. “Get off,” she insisted, not bothering to try and pry arms which clung as effectively as a limpet off. The angle was all wrong, and it was easier to wait for her to let go. When she did, Alex's hands immediately moved to her hair, fingers combing through it and smoothing the strands that had been displaced by the hug.

The decision, which excluded her from the driving roster, was not particularly welcome, but Alex knew that she wouldn’t want to trust either of the others with the map – and she certainly didn’t trust Gracie not to steal the shotgun seat. “But is it Slant proof?” Alex asked. The car’s dashboard was nowhere near as simplistic as the offhand comment had made it sound.

Already staring at the map, Alex frowned, “hooray. Can’t we go on the scenic main roads instead?” she asked, without much hope. It wasn’t that she doubted her ability to read a map, which was hardly a taxing task, but maps were not always entirely reliable, and if they were using smaller roads, it was sometimes hard to determine if a muddy track had been counted as a road or not. Not to mention how poor the sign posting was.

“How have the holidays been?” she was sure that, although the time that had passed was brief, something worthy of repeating must have happened. “I asked Rick to tell me a little about cars, but I don’t know how the modifications might have affected the engine, so it might be useless.” She certainly hoped that she wouldn’t be required to use the scant knowledge that she had, and there had been so little time that she hadn’t had a proper chance to test it.

At Raine’s permission, Gracie’s lips drew up in a pleased grin, her satisfaction undeterred by something as mundane as when she’d get to drive. With the car belonging to a witch (or rather, a wizard, as it was in the case of Mr. Almasy), at least most, if not all, of the usual inconveniences no longer applied, she was sure. Night vision? Easily dealt with. Boredom? That, too. Sleep? She usually slept as late as three in the morning anyway. “Nothing is Slant-proof,” she said, smug, as she finally eased back completely.

Which… was just as well; she’d just finished strapping her belt when the car suddenly jerked. Despite the Jaguar’s cushy lining, the force was enough to wind her a bit, and a hand shot out to grasp Raine’s seat; it was definitely a good thing, then, that she take the evening shift. “Did you really,” she leered– well, wheezed, really– as she tugged at the seat belt in vain. When it refused to budge, she gave up and unbuckled it, strapping it in again. “I went out with Dimbleby last night, but you know what, let’s talk about yours instead. Was he shirtless?” Perched as close as she could to the edge of her seat, Gracie draped herself over Alex’s, slanting the Ravenclaw a plain, filthy grin. “Dietrich mentioned he sometimes comes in, for ‘maintenance’.” The word was said with dreamy-eyed relish—which, of course, begged the next, logical question, “have you seen what for?”

The map laid open in Alex’s hands, a clear, definite route traced out on the surface from start to finish. The Slytherin didn’t see why they had to choose– a compromise could be reached easily enough, she was sure –but she could point that out later, when a far more important topic had been laid to rest.

She’d seen her friend’s mentor—had a calendar of him, even, a one and a half foot-long thing where every page glistened and smoldered with a hate for humanity. Oiled or greased, half-naked or suited up, the man was hot like burning. She had questions.