In the months that Harry had been running the Marauder's Den, he had seen a lot of different people walk through his doors.

The largest group were the students from Midtown High, but even within them, there were as many different types of personalities as there were teenagers. There were the sporty-types, the 'jocks', he'd been told that they were called. They were often the most boisterous, the centre of attention. Then there were the ones who just wanted to 'hang out' with their friends, sitting in small groups, talking and laughing or sharing stories. And then there were the loners, the fringe part of the crowd, like Peter, who was often there, but off by himself, watching and taking it all in.

Most of his adult customers could fit into these broad categories as well. Some came to eat and relax with their friends. Others were there in body, but not in mind, their noses buried in reports or their phones. Occasionally there were small parties and groups that seemed to take over the entire place with their personalities, regardless of how much physical space or tables they occupied.

Thus, when the small bell tinkled above the door, Harry had grown into the habit of looking up and seeing if he could categorise his latest customer.

But Harry found the latest person to walk through his door hard to categorise. He definitely wasn't in the 'party' mode group, being as there was only one him. The way his eyes scanned every part of the room, taking it all in and noting the people in attendance, indicated that he could be a part of a smaller group, an idea that was squashed when he strode across the room and took a seat at one of the smaller tables by himself.

The man seemed to be a bit of an enigma. He carried himself with extreme confidence, but there was something there, something tiny, that told Harry that he was a little uncertain, a little unsure about things. And then there were his clothes. Now, Harry would be the first to admit that he had next to no fashion sense, but even he could see that the man's clothes were out of date.

He wore a plain button-up shirt under an old-style brown leather jacket. His pants were made from some sort of linen and were held up by a wide belt. To complete his look, the man had his blonde hair neatly combed and parted.

Harry waited until the man was seated and looking at the menu, a frown appearing on his face, before approaching him, his order pad in hand.

"Hi! Welcome to the Marauder's Den. What can I get you today?" Harry asked.

The man looked up with clear blue eyes, that frown still there.

"You know, I'm not sure," he replied.

"Well, we can cater to most things," Harry replied. "I can do you a meal or simply a dessert or a slice of some kind."

"Would you have any apple pie, at all?" the man asked.

"Sure do," Harry smiled. "Would you like it with cream or ice-cream at all?'

"Cream or ice-cream?" the man repeated with a small shake of his head. "No, I think I'll pass on those."

"And what would you like to drink? A tea or coffee? We can do latte or cappuccino or an espresso ..." Harry trailed off at the lost look that appeared on the man's face.

"You know, I have absolutely no idea what those are," he admitted.

"How about I bring you a simple cup of coffee?" Harry suggested. "Would you like it with milk or sugar?"

"Just plain black coffee sounds great. Thanks," he replied, placing the menu back into his holder on the table.

"Be back in a moment," Harry promised.

By the time he returned with the man's order, it was to find that he'd pulled out a pad and a pencil and was in process of sketching the room.

"Thanks," the man said as Harry placed the coffee and plate of pie beside him.

"You're welcome," Harry replied before nodding to the sketchpad. "You're very good."

"Thanks, it helps me unwind. Hope you don't mind," the man said.

"Not at all. Stay as long as you want," Harry assured him. "This time of day is always quiet. That'll change later after school gets out, though."

"School?" the man asked.

"Yeah. The students of Midtown High have kind of adopted this place to hang out at every afternoon," Harry explained with a shrug. "Keeps them off the streets and out of trouble."

"And I'd assume that it's not bad for business, either," the man smiled.

Harry simply acknowledged that with a smile of his own.

"I'll let you get back to your drawing. Enjoy your coffee and pie and if you need anything else, all you have to do is ask," he said.

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," the man replied.

ooo00ooo

Harry frustratedly flicked through page after page of the map book that he'd bought. Surely somewhere in it, it'd tell him where he was.

This whole adventure was beginning to grate on his nerves and he questioned the very wisdom of leaving the safe, quiet (well, sometimes quiet) Den and relying on others or the public to get around.

But, no. Somehow he'd been convinced that getting a driver's licence and a vehicle of his own was a good idea.

'More freedom to do what you want, go where you want,' he'd been assured.

'It'd be easier to take off at the drop of a hat,' had been another recommendation, that one from his new chef, David.

In the end, after weeks of advice from his staff and then his customers when they'd cottoned on to the idea, he'd given in.

Taking a day off, he'd gone to the nearest Department of Transport office and completed the written test. After travelling so much over the past five years, it hadn't been hard. Really, the hardest part had been remembering those rules that pertained to driving in America, like the fact that they drove on the wrong side of the road compared to people back home in jolly old England.

A couple of lessons later and he was pronounced a natural, thus, he'd gone and taken the driving test. The tester, an older man with a very large combover that Harry did his very best to ignore, assured him that if he could drive in New York, then he could drive anywhere in the world. Harry believed it, too.

The streets around the city were pure chaos. Drivers pushed their cars into the tiniest of spaces in an attempt to get them where they wanted to be in the shortest amount of time possible. And the horns! Harry'd once heard that the shortest measurement of time in the universe was the 'New York second' – the time it took for the light to turn red and the first horn to sound. And after driving in the city and experiencing it himself, he wholeheartedly agreed with that sentiment.

And so, with fresh licence in hand, Harry decided to treat himself with a small road trip around the State, hired a car ... and had promptly gotten lost.

He knew that he was somewhere in the county of Westchester, possibly in its northwest corner, although that wasn't a given. Really, with the way he'd been navigating, he could be anywhere. A sign that he passed not that long ago said 'Salem Centre', so that was something.

After flipping backwards and forwards through the map book for nearly a minute, he finally found 'Salem Centre' and surprisingly, it was indeed in the northwest corner of Westchester County. Now all he had to do was to find the name of the road that he was on and he was sure that he'd be able to navigate his way back the nearest highway to get himself home. Hopefully before nightfall.

Dropping the open map book on the passenger seat, Harry put the car in gear and rolled slowly along the road, looking for something to give him more information.

And then he saw it.

A large oval metal sign was attached to a high brick fence, just beside a double metal gate. 1407 Graymalkin Lane, Salem Centre. That was the address of the school that he was outside of.

Throwing the car into park, he searched the map, his finger moving rapidly about. A sigh of relief escaped him.

"Okay," he said to himself. "I follow this Lane to here; hang a right and keep going 'til I reach this town and go left and that should lead me straight back to the highway."

Getting home before nightfall would be iffy, but at least he wasn't lost anymore.

ooo00ooo

After getting lost in Salem Centre in the upper part of the state of New York, Harry found that he had an urge to visit the real Salem, or at least, the one that he'd heard about and read about back home – the one where there was a magic school and the site of one of the most famous historical events of the magical world in America that there was.

Salem, Massachusetts was only about a three-and-a-half-hour drive from New York, so Harry decided to make a weekend of it and drive up there and stay overnight. Thankfully, it being a weekend, it hadn't taken much to convince Gwen to take over running the Den for him.

Finding a map of the area wasn't hard – a simple stop at a travel agent was all that was needed for that. Using it, Harry drove into the city with one eye out and very quickly found a place to stay. It was a quaint, little bed and breakfast. But what made it particularly attractive to Harry was the fact that it was located in a two-storied house that could have been dropped out of seventeenth or eighteenth century merry old England.

The couple that ran the place were extremely friendly, especially when he mentioned that he'd come up simply to see the sights – apparently, it was rare for a young man to do so on his own. Before he was able to excuse himself to go see the sights, he'd been gifted with nearly a dozen recommendations of 'must see' places.

Knowing that he was likely to be quizzed later, Harry decided to stick to the muggle parts of the town for the rest of the day.

The tour of The Witch House that he took was a bit of a let-down, really. It was an authentic seventeenth century house, decorated with period furniture and with mannequins strategically placed to simulate what life would have been like back then. But for Harry, after living in a castle for seven years, staying in the Leaky Cauldron for a summer, owning and living in Grimmauld Place, not to mention the countless trips to Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, it felt incredibly mundane.

The Salem Witch Museum was much more interesting. It was filled with realistic sets and exhibits that detailed the Salem Witch Trials of sixteen ninety-two as accurately as possible. He'd startled slightly when the first of the signs that he was reading blurred slightly and a second sign appeared directly beside it. This one gave a magical accounting of the scene in question – the death by crushing of a man accused of witchcraft.

Now knowing what to look for, Harry spent the next couple of hours examining everything and being sure to look out for the many magical signs. Unsurprisingly, he decided that he'd learnt more in those couple of hours than he would have in a couple of years' worth of Binns' lectures.

The next day, after a hearty old-English breakfast that found Harry going back for seconds, and then checking out, Harry moved on to the magical side of Salem.

His first stop was one of the most famous magical schools in the world: The Salem Witches Institute of Magic. From what he'd been told, all muggles saw of the sprawling campus was a huge farm, complete with cows and a windmill. While it was interesting and was something that he could now cross off his list of places to see, Harry found it relatively unimpressive. He guessed that after living in a castle, most schools would feel that way.

From there, Harry headed back into town searching for the magical district.

This one wasn't that hard to find, especially as he'd noticed a magical sign giving directions near the end of the tour of the Salem Witch Museum the day before.

Stepping into Old Salem Town was like stepping back in time or at least, stepping into Diagon Alley once more. Harry found himself shaking his head at how much he was comparing this visit to an historical site to back home – it was really highlighting how behind the times magical Britain was.

After his usual stop in at the bookstore where he bought a basketful of books, Harry finally succumbed and entered the one type of shop that he'd been avoiding ever since he'd lost his Firebolt all those years ago: a broom store.

He knew that this was going to be an entirely frivolous purchase – he lived in the middle of one of the largest cities in the world, for Merlin's sake. It wasn't as though he was exactly going to get much time to ride a broom.

The thing was, after Los Angeles and searching for the missing thestral, he'd promised himself that he'd buy himself a broom. And he hated breaking promises, even to himself.

Salem was the first magical district that he'd encountered since then, so today, it seemed, was the day.

The largest section of this store was set up for the sale of merchandise for quadpot, an American sport that was still played on brooms, but was more popular than quidditch was, even though that, too, had a following here.

"Can I help you with something?" a voice asked form slightly behind him.

"Yeah Yeah, I'm needing a new broom," Harry admitted, running a hand through his hair.

A lump had formed in the pit of his stomach as he'd been standing there, perusing the racks. Even after all this time, it felt as though he was betraying Sirius by buying a new one. It was a completely ridiculous feeling and one for which his godfather would smack him over the back of his head for.

"What sort of broom are you looking for?" the young man asked. "We have your average brooms for everyday people; brooms designed for sport and ones designed for different positions; racing brooms; and even brooms to learn on, if that's what you're after. Have you had a broom before?"

Harry couldn't help but smile as he answered. "My first broom when I was eleven was a Nimbus Two Thousand and the next was a Firebolt, actually, it was one of the first Firebolts out of production."

"A speed demon, huh?" the young man said. "Well, if speed's your thing, we've got just the thing."

Harry was led into the next aisle over and his eyes widened and a smile blossomed on his face. Just looking at these brooms was enough to know that they were built for speed. The footrests were angled just right; the bristles were perfectly aligned and the handle was polished to perfection.

"This is our top of the line broom at the moment," the salesman said, going into his pitch. "It's the latest from Nimbus, the company that made your Firebolt. It's called the Lightning Bolt. 0-350kph in ten seconds. Comes with the newest and best wind shear charms as well as all of the standard charms that'd you'd expect."

Automatically, Harry's hand reached up and caressed the smooth cherry wood. It was a thing of beauty and he knew that he wanted it.

"How much?" Harry asked, his eyes still glued to the broom.

ooo00ooo

By the time that Harry arrived back in the outskirts of New York City, the sun had already gone down. He knew his way, though, so he wasn't worried. Oh, it'd mean taking the car back to the rental place the next day, but he'd already rung them and arranged for that.

The hundreds of high rise buildings in New York really emphasised why cities of this size were often called 'urban jungles'. Every building was like a massive tree reaching up to the heavens and each one was trying to outdo everyone around it.

There were some, though, that simply outstripped all others. The most notable of these was, of course, the Empire State Building – the tallest in the city. Another was the Chrysler building that, even after all these decades, was still in the top five.

And then there were the newer additions. Oscorp Tower was one that reached high above its nearest neighbours. But compared to the newest building in the city, it seemed blocky and outdated.

No, the latest building was designed to be artistic as well as functional. It started wide at the base before tapering high on one side. A large section jutted out near the top which, from what Harry'd heard, was going to be a platform for helicopters to land on. Really, the only garish thing about the entire building was the giant word on the side just under the platform: Stark.

As Harry drove into town, he found that he instinctively looked for the new tower being built a scant few blocks from the Den. What he found, though, wasn't what he was expecting.

For the very first time, Stark Tower was lit up. Windows up and down its length were lit in sharp white lights. And in a bright electric blue, the name of the tower as well as the line under it told everyone exactly who it belonged to.

It wouldn't be long now, Harry knew, and Stark Tower would be open for business.