Outside the car window, the scenery shifted from flat coastline to rolling hills, the place names on the roadside signs blurring past so fast they formed a single hazy line.
Harry held the self-curling magical map in his hands, trying to locate their current position.
But the map clearly suffered from a bit of “culture shock”—it seemed interested only in showing where the finest wineries were, while remaining completely indifferent to the actual roads.
“We just missed the highway entrance to Paris,” Harry pointed to a tiny dot emitting purple smoke on the map.
“If you wanted to go there, that is.” “Go to Paris?” Fleur scoffed, turning the wheel with one hand as the Citroën deftly overtook a loaded Muggle truck.
“That would be turning ourselves in, Harry.
The French Ministry of Magic is right under Paris.
My father’s colleagues and even the doormen there know my face.
If we went there, a dozen Aurors would surround us within ten minutes to invite us for tea and notify Dumbledore to come pick you up.” “Where are we going then?” Harry put the map down.
“Higher up.” Fleur pressed a button on the dashboard, switching the radio music to a melodious accordion tune.
“We’ll take the Alps, cross the border into Switzerland, and then go to Austria.” “Austria?” Harry frowned.
His knowledge of geography was limited to the countries his uncle complained about while watching the news.
“What’s there?
Is there a safehouse?” “Nope,” Fleur answered casually.
Harry’s eyes widened.
“No?
Then why are we going there?” “Because the scenery is nice.” Fleur turned and flashed him a radiant smile.
“Besides, their chocolate is famous, and they have ski resorts.
Even though we can’t ski in the summer, drinking hot cocoa at the foot of snow-capped mountains is still a treat.” Harry opened his mouth, unable to say anything for a long moment.
He was used to Hermione’s schedule, planned down to the minute, and Ron’s chaotic yet goal-oriented way of doing things.
This logic of “crossing half of Europe just because the scenery is nice” was practically an alien language to him.
“And…
after Austria?” Harry couldn’t help asking.
“We need a long-term plan, don’t we?
Like where to hide, or where to go next?” Fleur sighed, as if dealing with a dense schoolboy.
“Harry, Harry, Harry…” She shook her head.
“You still don’t understand the essence of a ‘Gap Year.’ If you make a detailed plan, it’s called a ‘business trip,’ not ‘wandering.'” She pointed toward the endless road ahead.
In the far distance, the outlines of majestic mountain ranges were vaguely visible against the horizon.
“We take it one step at a time.
If the Swiss cheese fondue is good, we stay two extra days; if the Dark wizards in Austria are too annoying, we step on the gas and head to Hungary or the Czech Republic.
That’s the fun of running away, isn’t it?
Nobody says where you have to be tomorrow.” *Take it one step at a time.* Harry repeated the phrase in his head.
The uncertainty gave him an instinctive surge of anxiety, but immediately following it was a strange sense of liberation.
No timetables, no task lists, no “must-dos.” “Fine,” Harry leaned back against his seat, watching the slow-spinning planetarium mounted on the car ceiling.
“Whatever you say.
You’re the driver, after all.” “That’s more like it.” Fleur nodded approvingly.
“Now, open the glove compartment in front of you.” Harry opened it as told.
Inside lay not gloves, but a slender wand resting quietly.
It wasn’t any wand he had bought at Ollivanders; in fact, it looked a bit rough, its wooden surface showing the worn marks of time.
“I got it off a black-market dealer when we were in Calais,” Fleur said offhandedly.
“Vine wood, dragon heartstring, eleven inches.
Nothing fancy, might feel a bit stiff in your grip.
Most importantly—it’s not registered with any Ministry of Magic.
No Trace on it.” Harry’s heart skipped a beat.
His hands trembled as he picked up the wand.
It lacked the warm, “meant for you” feel of his holly wand, carrying instead a cold, unfamiliar sensation—like an unbroken wild horse.
“Give it a try,” Fleur encouraged.
“We’re out in the middle of nowhere.
No one’s going to care.” Harry gripped the wand firmly, pointing it toward the dark night rushing past the window.
He silently recited a spell he had longed to cast on countless lonely nights at Privet Drive, but never dared to.
“*Lumos*.” A blinding burst of white light instantly erupted from the wand tip, far brighter than he had anticipated—almost dazzling, illuminating the roadside woods like a flashbang.
No warning letter.
No sound of owl wings flapping.
No screeching from Uncle Vernon.
Only light.
As Harry stared at the globe of light, his eyes suddenly felt warm.
Outside of Hogwarts, before reaching legal age, he had for the very first time truly possessed the right to use magic.
Not to save his life, not to pass an exam, but simply…
for light.
“Ease up on the power, Savior,” Fleur reminded him with a chuckle, her voice laced with warmth.
“You nearly blinded the Muggle truck driver behind us.” “Sorry,” Harry muttered softly.
“*Nox*.” The light extinguished.
But a spark had been ignited inside his heart.
“How much farther to the Alps?” Harry gripped the unfamiliar wand, finding it suddenly didn’t feel so awkward anymore.
“If we switch this car to ‘flight mode’ and take a shortcut…” Fleur glanced at the compass.
“About four hours until we see the sunrise over the snow peaks.” “Then fly,” Harry looked ahead, anticipation shining in his eyes for the first time.
“I want to see the sunrise in Switzerland.”