The Hogsmeade Garage

In association with

TCS Productions, Ltd

Presents

Harry Potter and the Unexpected Public School

Conceived, Written, & Edited by

The Plot Mechanic

[[ "Prologue", Electric Light Orchestra ]]

19 June 1993

King's Cross Station, London

"Your aunt and uncle will be proud, though, won't they?" said Hermione as they got off the train and joined the crowd thronging toward the enchanted barrier. "When they hear what you did this year?"

"Proud?" said Harry. "Are you crazy? All those times I could've died, and I didn't manage it? They'll be furious …"

And together they walked back through the gateway to the Muggle world.

(Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, page 341)

Hermione watched her friend walk up to his massive uncle with a mixture of sadness and concern. While she was too far to make out what the man was saying, his red face suggested that it likely wasn't pleasant. Not for the first time, she wondered if there was anything she could do about it.

"Hermione! Over here!"

She turned and saw her parents walking towards her, accompanied by an attractive young woman wearing a somewhat formal blue blazer & skirt combination, an old-fashioned string bow accenting the white shirt underneath.

She snorted to herself. Compared to wizard fashions, the ensemble was practically modern. Further thoughts along those lines were interrupted by her mother's fierce hug. In the back of her mind, she could hear Harry remark "I always wondered where you got that habit from.."

"Are you OK, sweetheart? We heard about what happened at the school," her mother asked, after releasing her and giving her lungs a chance to fill again.

"Y-y-you know? I didn't know Professor Dumbledore had informed you."

"Dumbledore" her father responded, glaring at the barrier to Platform 9-3/4, "didn't tell us a thing. Thankfully, Ms. Lippitt here alerted us to what happened."

"It was my pleasure, Dr. Granger." the woman, apparently named Lippitt, replied.

"Do you have a child at the school? " Hermione asked, eyes narrowing. "I don't know any student by that name. How did you find out about it? Were you involved?"

"Hermione!" her mother scolded, "Be polite!"

Ms. Lippitt smiled, "Relax, Hermione. No, I don't have a child at Hogwarts. I knew about the basilisk via… other means."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, as her parents led her away from the station.

"My associates and I represent an institute of higher education…". Lippitt paused, a slight smile on her face, "in more ways than one. We feel that the wizarding world is not doing a sufficient job preparing their offspring for the real world, particularly those children of mundane origins."

"You mean the muggle-born?" Hermione asked.

Lippitt frowned. "We don't like that term. It's horribly childish, really. Mundane is at least lexically accurate. In any case, we think we can do a better job, and after this year's events at Hogwarts, we've decided to approach the families of the victims to see if they would like to join our pilot project,"

She pointed across the concourse, where a tall figure with graying hair was talking to the Creeveys, "Young Colin and his brother have already joined, and the Headmaster has a meeting with the Finch-Fletchlys tomorrow. You and one Penelope Clearwater are the only other candidates remaining. Do you happen to know when she will be exiting?"

Hermione paused, mind casting back. "I think I saw her with Percy Weasley. Ginny said they were dating, so he might have taken her to meet his family."

"The Weasleys…" Ms. Lippitt murmured. "Ah well, perhaps later. In any case, I'm here today to offer you a place in the founding class of St. Lucien's Academy."

"And we've accepted the offer," Hermione's father interjected.

"Dad!" Hermione shouted. "What about Hogwarts? What about Ha-… my friends?"

Her parents glanced at each other, before her father continued, "Pumpkin, we want what's best for you. Giant trolls, possessed teachers, and a giant snake putting children into comas definitely isn't it."

Hermione stopped and glanced back at the barrier.

"It's for your own good, sweetheart," her mother murmured, putting an arm across her shoulders. "Ms. Lippitt has assured us you will still be able to contact your friends, even if you aren't going to school with them."

"B-b-but.." she stammered.

"Our minds are made up, pumpkin," her father said kindly, as they stepped outside of King's Cross Station. "Ms, Lippitt, can we drop you off anywhere? I didn't see a car when we met you."

"I'll be fine, Dr. Granger." Ms. Lippitt replied.

"Please, call me Dan."

"And Emma." her mother chimed in.

"Then you may call me Sheila. We'll be contacting you in a couple of weeks with more details."

Sheila walked down the street and stepped into a nearby shop.

"Let's go, Hermione." her mother said, "Trust us, it will be OK."

Hermione followed her parents to their car, hand clenched around the paper with Harry's phone number. No matter what happened, she would keep in touch with her best friend.

[[ "Mr. Blue Sky", Electric Light Orchestra ]]

10 July 1993

Skegness Beach, Lincolnshire

The summer sun was doing its level best to burn off the morning fog, but an unseasonable cold snap meant that there were no holidayers in evidence when the bedraggled black dog paddled ashore. Even so, after shaking itself dry, the lanky canine carefully studied its surroundings before transforming into the form of a raggedly-dressed man whose pallor and unkempt appearance suggested that he'd seen better days. Possibly years.

Sirius Black, late of the wizarding prison Azkaban, stood on English soil for the first time in over a decade. He took a deep breath of salty air, thinking back to the dream of piercing blue eyes that had awoken him the night before, and the sudden urge he'd had to make his escape.

"Ah, Mr. Black. There you are at last."

Sirius whirled at the voice, instinctively grasping for a wand that wasn't there. Behind him, on a patch of sand that had been bare moments before, a young woman in a blue Muggle suit sat at a white metal table with a jaunty multi-colored umbrella, sipping at a steaming cup. The long-forgotten smell of fresh coffee wafted to his nose from the silver service on the table, which also held a plate of pastries and various condiments.

"Wha-"

The woman set down her cup. "Do sit down, Mr. Black. Or do you prefer Sirius? Or perhaps Padfoot?"

Mind dizzy with confusion, Sirius sat down, finding a cup already waiting for him. Purely by instinct, he picked it up and took a long draught. His eyes widened at the familiar taste.

"Much better." the woman remarked. "Cream & three sugars was your preference, correct?"

Voice croaking from disuse, Sirius responded "How did you know? Who are you? Did the Ministry send you?"

The woman took another sip, before delicately nibbling at a scone. "In no particular order: My name is Sheila Lippitt. I am not associated with your Ministry of Magic, or indeed any magical government, and I know quite a lot about you, Sirius Black."

Sirius' eyes narrowed. "If you aren't with the ministry, you must be a Death Eater."

"Of course!" Sheila responded. "And I plan to overthrow the wizarding world with an assortment of fresh pastries, and hot coffee!"

Sirius scowled at the retort.

"A rather forceful young lady of my acquaintance insists that wizards don't have an ounce of logic." Sheila continued, ignoring his discomfiture. "Up until now, I wasn't sure I believed her."

"How did you know I would be here?" Sirius growled, "Are you some kind of seer?"

Sheila dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin and sighed. "I told him not to play games, but he enjoys his machinations far too much."

"Who, Dumbledore?"

"No, not him." She leaned forward, peering deep into his eyes. "Pay very close attention, Mr. Black. Ouroboros."

A door unlocked in Sirus' mind, and memories came flooding in. A mysterious visitor. An offer of freedom. Glowing blue eyes and a command to forget until the word was given.

"What do you want?" he croaked.

"It's more about what you want, Mr. Black."

"And what do you think I want?"

"Quite simply, three things. Your name cleared, revenge on one Peter Pettigrew, and the safety and happiness of your godson, Harold James Potter."

"Harry..." Sirius sighed. "I've thought about him every day of the last twelve years. Is he all right?"

Sheila shrugged. "He's had a rough life, but the organization I represent has plans that will change that. And you are a key part of those plans, Mr. Black."

"But how?" Sirius whined. "Where in the world can we go where Harry can be safe with me when I have every Auror on the planet hunting me down?"

She told him, and he barked with laughter.

"That would do it," he replied, a rakish grin taking years off his features.

"Are we in agreement, Mr. Black?"

"We are, Ms. Lippitt. But please…. call me Sirius."

[[ "Twilight", Electric Light Orchestra ]]

6 August 1993

Magnolia Crescent, Surrey

A funny prickling on the back of his neck had made Harry feel he was being watched, but the street appeared to be deserted, and no lights shone from any of the large square houses.

He bent over his trunk again, but almost immediately stood up once more, his hand clenched on his wand. He had sensed rather than heard it: someone or something was standing in the narrow gap between the garage and the fence behind him. Harry squinted at the black alleyway. If only it would move, then he'd know whether it was just a stray cat or - something else.

"Lumos," Harry muttered.

(Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, page 32-33)

A light appeared at the end of his wand, and between the pebble-dashed walls of Number 2 and the garage door, Harry saw, quite distinctly, a woman in an old-fashioned blue suit.

"Ow!" the woman cried, shading her eyes, "That's WAY too bright."

Harry hurriedly whispered the counter-spell, hiding his wand behind his back. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I thought you were a prowler or something. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Potter," she replied, blinking a few times. "Merely startled."

Harry whipped his wand forward again. "Who are you? How did you know where I was? Did the Ministry send you?"

The woman grinned, raising her hands to show them empty. "Wow. Deja vu. You two will get along great. To answer your questions, Harry… can I call you Harry?"

Harry steadied his wand. "If you insist."

"Well, Harry, my name is Sheila Lippitt, and I'm the deputy headmistress of St. Lucien's Academy, a new school dedicated to magical students of a mundane background. We're unaffiliated with the Ministry, as we are not located in the United Kingdom, and would like to invite you to join our pilot program."

Harry's wand shook slightly, as the muscles of his arm, already sore from his long walk, quivered under the strain. "And how did you find me?"

Lippitt shrugged. "We've been keeping an eye on you ever since you left Hogwarts. But this is the first time you've been out of the house for an extended period of time. Your minders are busy cleaning up that burst of accidental magic of yours."

"A-a-accidental magic?" Harry murmured, wand drooping.

"Oh yes. I'm told it happens all the time with young magicals. They have an entire department devoted to clearing these things up. It's not even illegal."

Harry's shoulders slumped. "Then I won't be expelled and have my wand snapped?"

Lippitt smiled kindly at him, "No Harry, you aren't in any trouble. Listen… I'm not even magical. can I put my arms down now?"

"Oh, sure," Harry said, sheepishly, scratching the back of his head with his wand tip. "Sorry… it's been a rough week."

"Yes, we really should do something about that," Lippitt murmured, half to herself. "Maybe Wolf can pay a visit…"

"Excuse me?"

Lippitt grinned. "Just woolgathering. Now that you know I won't be killing you, would you care to hear our proposal?"

"I'm not sure, ma'am," Harry replied, remembering his manners at last. "I'm pretty happy with Hogwarts."

"Possessed teachers. Giant three-headed dogs. Demonic diaries. Being ostracized for language skills. A freaking BASILISK. And that idiotic popinjay, Lockhart." Lippitt replied, counting on her fingers. "Yes, you've had a great magical education."

"It's not _that_ bad". Harry replied. "I've learned a lot, and the professors are great!"

"Snape." she retorted. Harry scowled on reflex.

"Well, _most_ of the professors are great. And I have friends. Real friends!"

"Ah, yes, about that." Sheila mumbled, "Have you heard from your friend Hermione?"

Harry nodded, remembering the letter in his trunk. "She said she had to cut her holiday short this year, because of something that happened. She was going to tell me when we met, but I think it had something to do with that Black guy, the escaped convict they caught in the States."

"You heard about that?" Lippitt remarked.

"Yeah. For some reason, the Government isn't trying to esstry- um.."

"Extradite him, yes," Lippitt said. "It's all very bureaucratic & boring. If I promise it's not a weapon, will you let me take something out of my pocket?"

Harry nodded.

Lippitt reached inside her blazer and pulled out a black rectangle about the size (and half the thickness) of a deck of cards. "You might want to sit down for this."

Somewhat confused, Harry sat on his trunk. Lippitt tapped the glossy face, and stated in a clear voice, "Rushien, chan'neru o hirake."

A blue beam of light erupted from the surface, expanding into a column containing a familiar bushy-haired bookworm. Hermione's head pivoted until she spotted Harry.

"Do I just talk?" she called, nodding as she apparently heard an answer. "Oh Harry, it's great to see you! I have so much to tell you that I couldn't in my letter. Did you like the kit? Are your relatives treating you all right? Are you eating?"

Harry smiled at the rapid-fire interrogation. "I'm okay, Hermione. Is this some sort of Floo thing?"

"Not exactly," Hermione replied, eyes downcast. "I can't tell you more unless you agree to hear Sheila's pitch. Those are the rules."

Harry thought in silence for a bit, while Hermione's image chewed its bottom lip in that endearing way she always had.

"OK, I'll give it a shot. But I'm not agreeing to anything."

Hermione smiled, looking a bit cuter than he remembered. "That's wonderful Harry! I'll see you s-"

The image flickered out, as Sheila rotated her palm to face outwards. "Hold on, Harry, this can be a bit strange the first time. Rushien, tobira!"

A glowing rectangle erupted from the device in her hand, hovering in place before them. Harry's jaw dropped.

"Go ahead, Harry," Lippitt remarked, grinning. "It's just a Door. I'll get your trunk."

Harry stood up, squaring his shoulder. "Gryffindors charge ahead!"

He stepped through the rectangle and found himself in a swirling tunnel of energy that reminded him somewhat of one of the old tapes Mrs. Figg liked to play… something about a doctor? He felt himself being pulled forward to another rectangle, off in the distance, when he stopped with an abrupt jerk.

"Foreign presence detected." a calm voice, reminding him oddly of Ollivander's, announced. "Intervention required."

"Scanning now," a second, almost accent-less voice replied. "Look at me, Harry."

Harry looked around and found himself confronted by two blue eyes in a black cloud.

"Yeah, you definitely don't belong."

Harry panicked. Would he be stranded here forever? There was a sudden burst of rainbow light, and he felt a chill in his mind like an ice lolly he'd had as a lark at Hogwarts. It faded, and his head felt lighter.

"On your way, Harry." the second voice commanded, tinged with humor. "I'll take out the trash".

Before he could respond, Harry was yanked forward again, tumbling through the endpoint to land in a circular room ringed in similar portals, save only for a narrow walkway leading to a relatively normal metal door.

Said door slid open, admitting a brown-haired missile that tackled him in a hug. "Oh, Harry! You made it! We were so worried?"

"We?" Harry asked. A familiar *prek* made him look up, and he smiled at the sight of Hedwig gliding in to take her accustomed perch on his shoulder.

"She arrived earlier today," Lippitt remarked, as she handed his trunk to a lanky young man in a dark purple sweater. "Wolf is still trying to figure out how that happened."

Hermione tugged on his arm, dragging him to his feet, unconcerned with the protesting owl. "Oh Harry, I have so much to show you!"

They went through the door (which closed behind them) and turned left into a gently curving corridor.

"It looks pretty plain here," Harry remarked. "Almost like a hospital".

"Yeah, it's not as fancy as Hogwarts," Hermione admitted. They stopped at a window in the outer curve of the hallway. "But you can't beat the view."

Harry looked out the window at the blue-white expanse hanging before him in the blackness.

"No, I suppose not…"

[[ "The Thunderbirds March", Barry Gray ]]