Order of the Phoenix: You Got Kidnapped, Robbed a Supermarket, and Fought a Drag Queen with a Wand? Part 3

“So,” Harry said flatly, “we made it to Philadelphia.”

Daphne leaned on the table, chin propped on her hand. “City of Brotherly Love, my arse.”

“Looked like a city,” Harry added. “Loud. Smelled of hot dogs and despair.”

“We did what we’d done before—kept our heads down, tried to blend in.”

“We were doing alright,” Harry muttered, “until we ran into three police officers.”

The room collectively winced.

“Just our luck,” Daphne said, her voice bone-dry. “We finally hit a city where Lucius Malfoy isn’t trying to kill us—and then the Muggles come for us.”

“They stopped us,” Harry said, “asked questions. The usual. ‘Where are you going? Who are you visiting?’”

“And we lied, obviously,” Daphne added. “Told them we were visiting family. Harry even tried to pull off the classic ‘oh, they live just outside the city’ move.”

“I panicked,” Harry grumbled.

“Only slightly,” she teased. “They didn’t buy it. Started rifling through our bags.”

The hall went quiet.

“Found the robes,” Daphne said, “our wands were hidden, but everything else? School uniforms, tins of soup, suspiciously British snacks…”

“Looked dodgy as hell,” Harry admitted.

“They started saying we were runaways,” Daphne said, her expression hardening. “One of them actually put his hand on his weapon.”

There was a loud thunk as Sirius slammed his hand on the table.

“They threatened you?”

“Didn’t draw it,” Harry said quickly. “Just… let us know they could.”

“They loaded us into the back of a police car,” Daphne said. “And let me tell you—nothing feels more like defeat than being locked in a tiny box driven by someone who thinks you’re about to stab them with a toothbrush.”

“We tried whispering plans,” Harry said. “Escape routes. Distractions.”

“She mouthed ‘soon’ at me like a Bond villain,” Harry added, gesturing at Daphne.

“I was trying to be dramatic,” she said. “It’s hard to inspire hope in a police cruiser.”

“Eventually we got to the station,” Harry continued. “Bleak building. Fluorescent lights. Metal benches. Smelled like bleach and depression.”

“They split us up,” Daphne said. “Tried questioning us separately. But we stuck to the story. British teens. Visiting family. Got lost.”

“The detective looked like he’d seen too many reruns of CSI: Miami,” Harry added.

From the staff table, Horatio Caine looked up slowly.

“I resent that implication.”

“I stand by it,” Harry said without blinking.

“They didn’t believe a word of it,” Daphne said. “Even when we started throwing in names of made-up relatives. The stories didn’t match. They started threatening us with child services.”

“I said something about running from danger,” Harry said. “The detective accused me of running from my responsibilities.”

“Then I pulled the oldest trick in the book,” Daphne said. “Pretended to be sick.”

“Doubled over, moaned dramatically. You should’ve seen the man’s face,” Harry said. “He recoiled like she’d just threatened to vomit radioactive soup.”

“They backed off long enough for us to formulate the escape.”

“Next thing we knew,” Harry said grimly, “we were in juvenile detention.”

The room burst into a low, stunned murmur.

“They locked us up,” Daphne said. “Different rooms. Called it ‘overnight accommodation.’ Looked more like a prison cell.”

“Then came the social worker,” Harry said. “Steve. Or maybe Stan. Or Scott. Something with an ‘S’.”

“Beige polo shirt,” Daphne said, “smelled like Cheerios and shattered dreams.”

“He tried to connect,” Harry muttered. “Asked our favourite colours.”

Daphne stared at the ceiling. “I said green. He said ‘great, love a bit of nature.’ I nearly hexed him on instinct.”

“I said black,” Harry added. “He looked like he wanted to refer me to therapy.”

“It was like detention… but for feelings,” Daphne said, haunted.

“They kept trying to get us to talk,” Harry said. “We kept dodging. It didn’t help.”

“Eventually,” Daphne said, “we just waited. Bided our time. And when the center went quiet…”

Harry gave a crooked smile. “We broke out.”

“Alohomora’d the doors, crept through the halls,” Daphne said. “Felt like a scene from one of those awful Muggle spy thrillers.”

“We got outside,” Harry said. “Scaled the fence. Jumped down. Didn’t look back.”

“I tore my sleeve,” Daphne muttered. “Still bitter about that.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“We made it out,” Harry said. “Again.”

“Into the night,” Daphne said. “Free. Lost. And with no idea what came next.”

“Well,” Sirius said slowly, “that’s one hell of a bedtime story.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Except there’s no bedtime, and no bloody sleep.”