Flying Motorcycles

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or Harry Potter; I make no money from the writing of this fanfiction.

Warnings: This story contains SLASH – this is defined as boy/boy or girl/girl romantic relationships. If this offends you, please do not read any further.

*This story follows Harry Potter canon up to and including Order of the Phoenix, and most of Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. The pieces that are missing from the movie will become apparent almost immediately.

A comment: The plots of Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows do not exist in my little world. As well, I know very little about mechanics, so anything specific that you read in this story is pretty much going to be made up off the top of my head or very vague; apologies in advance to nitpickers. On the other hand, if any of you guys out there are motorcycle buffs, I would more than welcome pointers on engine types, speed, durability, etc. Just don’t kill me if what I write isn’t exact ;)

Chapter 2

Harry had managed to fix some of the damage to the motorcycle, but not enough. He looked through the instruction manual, and found the company it originally came from. It was located in America. The contact information included a Floo address and an actual muggle telephone number. It had been more than two decades since Sirius had bought the motorcycle, but Harry figured he had to try.

It was a week before he turned seventeen, and Harry was by and large ready for it. When he turned seventeen, all of Sirius’ estate would be fully transferred to him – including Grimmauld Place. His first act would be to close the London townhouse to everyone but Remus, Hermione, and the Weasley twins. He and Ron had had yet another fight, and Harry wasn’t in the mood to listen to yet another condescending talk from Dumbledore or Molly Weasley about making up with him. Harry felt bad about Hermione being caught in the middle again, but after six years of school with Ron, she should have known what she was getting into when she decided to try dating him shortly after Moldy-shorts’ defeat. He had a feeling the dating thing wouldn’t last much longer; excluding the nearly constant fights with Harry, Ron was being a jerk to Hermione – and she was not one to stand for it – resulting in fights between them as well.

Harry found a fireplace in a room out of the way, and tossed in the requisite extra amount of Floo powder that was required to make a Floo call long-distance.

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Sideswipe twitched as Mudflap and Skids started yelling at each other again. He’d been stuck on this cursed ball of dirt for several human months now, and never before had he missed his twin, Sunstreaker, as much as he did at this moment. Not only did ‘Flap and Skids give Cybertronian twins everywhere a bad name, they’d pranked the human military on the base so much that they were now assigned a babysitter during daylight hours – which Sideswipe was unfortunate enough to be stuck doing, as he’d pissed off Ironhide with a smart-assed comment about his human. And the pranks that Skids and Flap got up to were boring, just stuff like switching equipment around and jumping around corners and shouting “Boo!” He and Sunstreaker were far better pranksters than the ghetto-punk-wannabes, but they’d never get a chance to demonstrate if Sunstreaker didn’t get his bleeding arse over to Earth!

Sideswipe had been watching British films out of sheer boredom lately, and found that he preferred their accent to that of the Americans, and filtered it into his English speech, much to the amusement of the soldiers.

Sideswipe thought longingly of the target range that Ironhide had set up. When he wasn’t plotting pranks with his twin, his favorite thing to do was blow things up, preferably in as loud and as messy a manner as possible. Actually…

“Skids, Mudflap!” he called sharply.

The ghetto-fied Transformers stopped their argument momentarily to call back, “Yo?”

“Let’s go to the target range. I want to blow something up!”

The twins agreed, but promptly starting arguing over who would create the biggest explosion. Sideswipe sighed out loud, grabbed each twin by the arm, and started dragging them towards the range. He should learn not to make teasing comments about Ironhide’s human.

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Harry sat back on his heels, and contemplated the information that the repair company had given him for a long moment. The motorcycle could be repaired, but the flying and safety charms were nearly two decades out of date; the bike needed a major magical overhaul. The full repair and magical updates would take a month, at the very least.

Harry’s gaze strayed to the travel pamphlets sitting on his bedside table. He hadn’t really wanted to go to Hogwarts this year anyway.

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A sudden spew of violent Cybertronian language had Sam jumping, Annabelle laughing as she was jolted in his arms. Sam was sitting on the porch swing with the baby, Ironhide pulled up close to the house for once because Sarah was out running errands. Bumblebee, also close by, was strangely silent for a moment, before similar Cybertronian sounds began to pour from the normally cheerful yellow car.

“Uh, guys?” Sam called uncomfortably over the sounds. “I’m not catching all of that, but I’m pretty sure that’s not language that should be used around a little kid.” Following Sam’s experience with Cybertronian technology possessing him, Sam had suddenly found many school subjects easier for him, languages among them. He could read the Cybertronian written language very easily, and understood a fair amount of the spoken, though there were still many times that he got lost. Some of the newly-arrived Autobots, the ones that hadn’t been around for any of the battles involving Sam, were leery of a human having such ready access to their files and technology; Ironhide’s canons and Optimus Prime’s energy blades had ‘mysteriously’ caused all complaints to stop, much to Sam’s mixed embarrassment and amusement.

Ironhide transformed right there in the Lennox’s front yard, causing Sam’s eyes to go wide and Annabelle to squeal in absolute glee. The giant robot knelt down and proceeded to bang his head several times on the ground, causing a minor earthquake. Sam staggered, nearly being thrown off the porch swing. When Annabelle made an unhappy sound, Sam decided enough was enough.

“Hide! You’re scaring Annabelle!”

Ironhide stopped banging his head on the ground, but remained kneeling with his head bowed and his fists clenched, weapons humming.

“Bumblebee?” Sam asked, bewildered. Bee responded with a low moan that sounded just as despondent as Ironhide’s posture looked. Sam glared at his two large friends. “What the he – heck, guys?” he demanded, catching himself just in time from uttering a ‘bad’ word in front of Annabelle.

Bee gave a half-hearted snigger at Sam’s stumble, then let out a long, mournful sigh. “There’s another New Arrival.”

Sam frowned. New Arrivals were normally a cause for celebration amongst the Autobots. He glanced at Ironhide, who was muttering Cybertronian curses in a steady stream under his breath. “Sooooo…”

Sam could see Bumblebee cringing, even though his yellow friend hadn’t transformed like Ironhide. “It’s – it’s –“

“That miserable, paint-splashing, ‘Con fragging – “

“Hide!” Sam snapped, hastily clapping his hands over Annabelle’s ears; the baby made an inquisitive sound. “Little ears!”

“Little what?” Ironhide asked, puzzled and momentarily distracted from his misery by yet another strange human phrase.

Sam could practically hear Bumblebee rolling his eyes as the yellow car explained, “Sam doesn’t want you to curse in front of Annabelle.”

“Then why didn’t he just say that?”

“Ironhide,” Sam said sharply, determined to stay on topic. “Why is the New Arrival a bad thing?”

Ironhide let out a feral growl that made the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck stand on end, then spat out a series of Cybertronian syllables that had Sam puzzled.

He concentrated a moment, then asked in confusion, “Sun lightspeed streaker?”

“Sunstreaker is the more coherent translation, and the name of the New Arrival,” Bumblebee sighed out.

“He’s Sideswipe’s twin,” Ironhide growled, shifting from a kneeling position to sitting flat on his rear, pressing a hand to his head and moaning.

Sam frowned. “Isn’t this good? Sideswipe’s been moping for months about his twin.” He didn’t know the cocky fighter as well as he did some of the other Autobots, but he liked Side’s sarcastic humor and irreverent manner of speaking. Annabelle squirmed in Sam’s grip, and he set her down on the ground, where she promptly toddled in Ironhide’s direction. Sam smirked a little as the Weapons Specialist put down a hand and picked up the baby without a second’s thought.

“Sam,” Bumblebee began in a pained tone. “Do you think that Skids and Flap are annoying?”

Sam cocked his head at his friend. “You know I do. That ghetto language thing they’ve got going on is really headache-inducing, and the pranks are just stupid sometimes.”

“Sunstreaker and Sideswipe together make Skids and Flap look like Annabelle,” Ironhide said, lifting his head and scowling at the baby as if it were her fault she was so adorable. Annabelle patted ‘Hide’s thumb and kissed it, and the Weapons Specialist’s face visibly softened.

Sam coughed to keep from laughing, and Ironhide transferred his glare to the older human. “You don’t KNOW, boy. They’ve blown up my training areas, painted the official escort ships pink, stolen Ratchet’s tools and hung them from the ceilings of sacred meeting rooms, locked Ratchet and Optimus Prime in a closet together, and those are just the pranks they used when they were being nice.”

Sam’s eyes widened when Bumblebee made an unhappy, but agreeing sound. “So…when does this Sunstreaker land?”

“He’s due for landfall July thirty-first,” Ironhide growled. “I refuse to be on the continent when he gets here.”

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Harry read over the latest missive from his goblin advisor at Gringotts and nodded in satisfaction. He had a flight scheduled for Las Vegas, Nevada the day of his birthday. Harry was going to spend his birthday week gambling and doing what he pleased. He had arranged for all of the money he spent to come from the Lestrange vault, which he had inherited by default when the murderers were caught and killed; Bellatrix was a Black, and Harry was named Sirius’s heir.

It still amused him, in a bitter fashion, to know that Sirius had been the outcast of the Black family, but had never actually been expelled from said family, and so as the last male descendent had been default Lord until he died. Harry was actually a Black through his grandmother on his father’s side, Dorea Black, so the title was legitimate and more than an honorary motion from his deceased godfather. He thought Sirius would appreciate Harry blowing the Lestrange fortune on gambling and alcohol (when he could get his hands on it).

A knock on the study door made him look up. “Come in,” he called, a little curious as to who was actually courteous enough to knock. Everyone else that currently had access to the house barged in where they pleased; that would soon stop, Harry thought with satisfaction.

Remus walked in, and glanced at the note from the goblins with a faint smile. “Everything set up, cub?” Remus was the only one, other than the Weasley twins, to know of Harry’s plans for his birthday. He hadn’t even told Hermione about Vegas, not wanting a lecture on irresponsibility.

Harry nodded. “You’ll take care of the house while I’m gone, won’t you?” At Remus’ surprised look, Harry said, “Sirius always wanted you here, Remus, and my opinion isn’t any different. As far as I’m concerned, this is your home whenever you want it.”

“Cub…” Remus began.

“Moony,” Harry countered. Remus’ gaze softened, and he came over to Harry and rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. After a long moment, Harry said quietly, “I need someone I can trust here to look after my interests while I’m gone. Fred and George have their own business to worry about, and Hermione’s good, but she doesn’t understand pureblood business intricacies.” Remus had been the one to guide Harry in looking after his family’s assets when Harry had first been made aware of them by an irritated goblin who wanted to know why the Potter wealth was just sitting in the vaults festering. “You might see about ruining Rita Skeeter’s life for me – I would consider that an awesome birthday present.”

Remus snorted. “What’s she written now?”

“Apparently I’m going to marry Ginny Weasley and have lots of little red-haired children and give Ginny all of the Potter family jewelry, of which there is much,” Harry said in a flat tone. “She listed several specific items of jewelry that Ginny might be interested; I’m rather curious to know where she got her information, as I know the goblins didn’t give it to her.” The goblins, as a rule, hated Skeeter.

Remus winced. Ginny was a sore spot for Harry, and had been for a long time. Harry had tried to be friends with Ron’s little sister, but the chit was too obsessed him with the idea of the Boy-Who-Lived to care about the actual Harry. Her stalking and jealous reactions had endangered several members of the DA, and if there was one thing Harry couldn’t forgive, it was the deliberate endangering of people under his protection. “I’ll see what I can do, cub.”

Harry leaned back in his chair and stretched with a sigh. “Just one more week,” he muttered, and Remus squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.

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“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, SUNSTREAKER’S GOING TO BE HERE IN A WEEK?!” Ratchet’s shriek could be heard through the base, and every Autobot present cringed. The medic was the favorite target of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker; the news that the twins were soon to be reunited had him PISSED. Most of the Autobots decided they needed to find other places to be on July thirty-first.