Seek

[A/N - I'm trying to give you the love you deserve.]



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Travel was usually an exhilarating experience for Harry, but two trips in one day had him on edge. Thankfully Alex had suggested that he could travel south by train. It wouldn't have occurred to him and he didn't quite feel up to the broom ride to Portland.



The floor of the dining car hummed quietly beneath his feet as the Coast Starlight speed south and Harry savored the last of his supper. He almost wished he were one of those passengers headed for California as the scenery outside the windows dimmed in the west coast twilight. He had never seen this side of America before, and he found it exciting - the sheer wet greeness of it as the train cut through wooded areas and over the fields of the Willamette valley. As darkness fell and the view was cut down to the occasional blur of town lights and, when the freeway was near enough, headlights, Harry ordered a gin and tonic and returned to his seat. According to a passing porter, Portland was only twenty minutes further down the line.



In his pocket with his shrunken luggage Harry carried a slip of paper with Malfoy's address and the the address of his hotel, the DeLuxe, written in Alex's precise scrawl. He had booked the room because the hotel was only three block's from Malfoy's building. That had been a surprise in itself, that Malfoy was living in an apartment complex. Of course, Harry assumed it was one of those sprawling things they had put up in the revitalized districts back home, the ones with homelike condominiums on lower levels and high-rises above - which would explain the third floor address.



For the portions of the train ride that he had not been simply enjoying the scenery or calling ahead to his lodgings, Harry had been thinking of how to approach Malfoy. Alex corresponded with him at least once a week, although by her account most weeks passed with little more news than that the prat was still breathing. Harry had got the impression, for all her gruffness, that Alex cared deeply for Malfoy. And that there was a whole lot she wasn't saying. In fact she had utterly refused to disclose more than Draco's address, that he had known these past years that the danger in Britain had passed and that Severus had died in the final battle.



Those little scraps of information had told Harry plenty. They meant that Malfoy had chosen not to return to the mother country. And, combined with the presence of his book on the shelf in Alex's sitting room and her passing mention that Draco was grateful for his work in clearing Snape's name, they left Harry baffled over Malfoy's motivations.


It was perfectly safe for Malfoy to return to Britain and he had chosen to stay on the American west coast rather than claim what remained of his estate and inheritance and return to the lavish lifestyle he had so enjoyed in their school days. Of course, both Malfoy's parents were dead, Hermione said a great deal of the money had been claimed by the Ministry, and those of his old cronies who had come through the war had moved to the continent. 'But still,' Harry reasoned, 'this is Malfoy I'm talking about. And the Malfoy Harry knew would certainly want his title, and all that came with it.


Harry was still pondering Malfoy's decision to stay away from the mother country when he disembarked in Portland onto a canopied pathway leading into the station. Despite it's small size the station was impressive. The vaulted ceilings made the space seem much larger than it really was, and he appreciated the understated decor and muted lighting. With the intention of picking up a packet of chewing gum, Harry wandered out of the main room, following a a sign indicating where the restrooms and commissary had been tucked away. At the end of the hall he noted what appeared to be a rather posh bar before entering the small shop directly to his right. He took in the racks of papers and noted that the town seemed to have no shortage of local publications, then blinked in surprise. What had, at first glance, seemed to be an empty display rack actually held several booklets printed on garish green paper, picturing a couple of young witches and a wizard strolling up a city street. The oldest witch, a twenty-something creature to whom the black and white print had not been kind, winked hugely and grinned at him. The title read 'A Wizarding Guide to the City of Roses', and Harry plucked a copy immediately. Once he'd selected a packet of gum, Harry headed to the register cautiously, but the young man behind the counter scanned the tour book with the same indifference he gave to the gum. Harry paid with the last of the American muggle currency he'd been carrying and berated himself for the generous tip he'd given his suicidal Seattle cabbie as he left the little store, wandered through the main room of the station, and out the door.


The view from the front of the station was unremarkable. Immediately in front of the station a road descended from one of the city's many bridges, and a block off the his left he noticed a bus station. Mildly disappointed with is introduction to the 'City of Roses' (though he did notice a few well tended bushes beneath the windows of the station), Harry hailed one of the several taxis waiting at the curb. Once he had assured his driver, who spoke significantly more English than the previous one- albeit with a thick Russian accent, that he had no luggage and had given the address of his hotel, he settled back into the seat to watch the city pass beyond the window. He usually enjoyed cab rides, and had found the anxiety of his trip through Seattle irritating, depriving him of the chance to settle himself into someone else's competency. The driver muttered something about avoiding Broadway on a Friday night and shortly they were driving up a quiet avenue the paralleled several blocks of pleasant green park that were surprisingly populace for a Friday night in a city. There weren't many children about, mostly people Harry's own age. Quite a few were walking dogs, and more strolled about in small groups, though one large gathering caught his attention. They all wore strange costumes, some bordering on the absurdity usually found in wizards trying to pass for muggles, notab;y the man in striped stockings and a pink tutu. "What's going on there?"

The driver's voice was dry. "Dey are crazy cyclists, ride down big hills and all over city in costumes." He paused a moment, then spoke with the air of a man remembering something vital, "Zoo Bombers."

"Zoo Bombers?"

"Dey ride down big hill from zoo, call demselfs, Zoo Bombers."

Harry craned his head to watch the group as the cab passed away and noticed the gaudy bicycles. "Oh."

The rest of the short ride passed quietly, only the soft jazz from the radio and the soft undertone of a buzzing city disturbing Harry's thoughts.

There were probably ritzier places to stay, Harry reflected as he signed the slip for the cab fare he had put on his Visa and added another generous tip, but he liked the look of the DeLuxe. The white enameled brick and potted palms made it stand out from the plain-fronted red brick buildings and painted concrete office buildings that neighbored it, and the valet outside was impeccably courteous, even when he discovered that, no, sir had no luggage. The lobby proved to be just as pleasing, high ceilinged and tastefully decorated, boasting a far more polished staff than his previous visits to the the country had left him to expect. He checked into his reserved suite, accepted his key, and headed for the stairs.

The room proved to be as well decorated as the lobby and Harry wasted little time removing his things from his jacket pockets and resizing them. That done, he flopped down gratefully into one of the plush chairs and began unlacing his boots with deft fingers. He grinned when the first dropped to the floor without a sound and reminded himself again to thank Charlie for the charm he'd worked on them. He was briefly tempted to put on his trainers and go have a look at Malfoy's building right then, but after a brief internal debate he simply undressed and tucked himself up into bed. Harry Accio'd the remote, flicked on the telly, switched channels until he found a fairly innocuous 10 o'clock news cast, muted it, and settled in for an early night's sleep.

He dropped away to sleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow.