Chapter 1

He panted as he ran down the white streets, the blaring sun shining overhead in an artificial city that looked warm and welcoming.

The city, laid out in levels of increasing size of concentric circles, was filled with doors opening to houses and rooms, though most led to the outside world. Allen needed one of those now. He'd shut down the door to the Order, the one labeled "Home." Anticipation of being chased pushed him forward, searching for one door that would lead him somewhere the Order wouldn't look, or at least one to give him one hell of a head start.

He turned down an alleyway he'd barely used in the last few months, that he knew no one else who'd been in the Ark had gone down, and grabbed the handle to the first door on the right, throwing himself and Timcampy, who followed closely behind, through it, singing breathlessly as he fell.

When the light of the Ark brightened and his descent ended with a rough landing, Allen had to take a moment to collect his bearings before a chilly wind blasted right through him.

He was standing in an empty, darkened alleyway of what looked like a country village, a harsh, cold wind ripping between the buildings and throwing sleet and rain into his eyes. The unseasonable cold told Allen that wherever he was, it was north, and that was far enough for now that as his teeth chattered and the wind broke through his clothes he glanced at Timcampy and told the golem, "Let's find a hotel."

He wished he had a jacket. It was the first order of business.

That, and money.

He motioned for Tim to hide in his hair and then the two ventured out, Allen shutting the Ark door with a thought and hoping no one had seen the light and come looking. Finding a sheltered, shaded spot in the alley, he watched the street.

There was barely anyone outside, though given the weather that wasn't all too surprising. He glanced up the lane and then stepped out, walking quickly and rubbing his hands up and down his arms to stave off the cold.

A delightful smell of cooking meat and baking bread wafted from an opening to another alley and Allen followed where his nose led. As he broke onto the main lane he saw people at last, bundled up against the weather and walking quickly with their heads down. Even with the weather though, the streets were oddly subdued. Allen frowned. No one stopped to look at him, though, for which he was grateful, and he ducked behind a dumpster to get a break from the wind.

Soon he saw his opportunity; two men had stopped just inside the shelter of the alley, to talk without being battered by the wind, speaking in low voices that Allen couldn't understand nor cared to. As the minutes passed and the attention of the two stayed solely on each other, Allen made his move.

Soon the two strangers were lightened of their valuables and Allen was up on another street, looking for a clothing store and counting his catch.

This money was unlike any he'd ever seen; instead of bills and recognizable silver, he was holding several large golden coins, with a sprinkling of silver and copper ones as well. They were marked with weird words: Galleon, Knut, Sickle. He'd traveled all over the world with his master, and been to all kinds of places, but he didn't remember anything like these.

Oh well; money was money. He spotted a shop that looked promising and stepped inside.

The owner gave him a curious glance before approaching him with a practiced smile. "Can I help find you anything, sir?"

Allen smiled politely and in ten minutes walked out the door in a heavy sweater, tan overcoat, thick scarf, warm gloves, and a travel bag that the man said had an Extending Charm on it, whatever that meant. There had been a small issue with the money exchange where Allen had clearly had no idea how much the coins he held were worth, but it was smoothed over with only a little awkwardness and when he asked where he could grab a bite to eat, was given directions to a pub called The Three Broomsticks. With a wave and a, "Be careful, it's cold out," Allen was out the door.

He checked his money; he still had several gold and silver coins, which might be enough for a small meal but not for a room. It would have to do.

"So, England, Tim," he said absently, and he felt the golem nuzzle in his hair. It wasn't nearly far enough (not far at all, in fact) but he'd eat, take another trip in the Ark, and be someplace else by the end of the day.

The pub itself was easy to find; located on the main thoroughfare where the most foot traffic was, Allen followed the crowd and the scent of roasting meat again. As expected on such a nasty day, inside was crowded and busy, but Allen was perfectly fine with that; no one would notice him.

He ordered the special and a hot coffee. The woman at the bar said they didn't serve coffee, but a butterbeer would warm him right up. Having no idea what a butterbeer was, he took her suggestion anyway.

"Coming right up, love, and the name's Madame Rosmerta if you need me," she said, smiling broadly. Allen smiled politely back and looked around at some of his fellow patrons.

The pub was full of a healthy mixture of adults in strange robe-like clothing and funky hats, and teenage boys and girls his age and younger, wrapped up against the weather, the majority having black cloaks draped over chairs or across laps. Most of them were with friends, laughing and having a good time in the warm room. The sight made Allen ache inside, and so he turned away and picked at the worn bar top.

The door to the pub was opened and a chill rushed into the space briefly before the door shut again, followed immediately by a shout that sounded like, "He was nicking Serious's stuff!"

Allen, like most of the bar, glanced back toward the door to see three teens standing there; the one that shouted, a black-haired boy with glasses, was fuming while his bushy-haired female friend whispered something at him, glancing warily around the bar. The third, a boy with fiery red hair, was glancing around the room, looking for empty seats. Allen turned back around, no longer interested.

Madame Rosmerta came back, placing before him a steaming soup bowl with bread and a tall tankard of a golden drink that he figured must be butterbeer. "That'll be four Galleons, love," and Allen handed over the cash. "Will that be everything?"

"I think so, yes."

"Madame Rosmerta!" called a man further down the bar, and she went to address the order, leaving Allen to his lunch.

He took a swig of butterbeer and decided it was one of the best things he'd ever tasted.

He stayed long enough to finish the soup, have another butterbeer, and then resolved himself to a quick walk to find the Ark and get out of here.

Stepping back into the nasty, stormy weather, Allen pulled the collar of his coat up against his neck and shrunk into his coat, trying to shrink into the background.

The hilly, windy set-up of the village had Allen lost in minutes, until he was walking down a lane leading outside the village, a little ways behind two groups of teens, including the one he'd seen earlier.

"Think if we get higher we can spot the street?" he said to Tim, who was hiding behind his collar from the wind.

The wind carried voices down to him and Allen looked ahead to the teens, seeing beyond the group from the bar to two girls ahead of them, looking as if they were tugging on something between them. One of the girls pulled hard and suddenly the other was rising in the air, the package falling to the ground.

Allen and the teens ahead of him froze in their tracks as the girl rose six feet in the air, oddly graceful and silently, before her blank expression broke and she screamed in anguish.

The other girl with her began to scream and tried to tug her friend down to the ground; the others in front of him rushed forward, trying to help, and Allen ran toward them to see what he could do.

The teens had the girl on the ground and tried to restrain her, but she thrashed and continued to scream bloody murder in a way that reminded Allen too much of recent events.

"Stay there!" shouted the boy with black hair, "I'm going for help!"

He turned and stopped as he spotted Allen, who was breathing hard and staring at the screaming girl before meeting the boy's gaze.

"What happened?" Allen asked.

The boy shook his head, "I don't know," and then ran down the lane, rushing past Allen, who stepped closer, trying to see what was happening.

He noticed the package, lying abandoned on the ground, and went around the group to see what it was. On the slushy ground lay a ripped brown package, where something glittered green from within it. He reached out to pick it up—

And that's when everything went to hell.

A few notes: In this story, Harry Potter and DGM are in the same timeline, same universe, where magic is possible. Takes place in year 6, with canon DGM up to chapter 205 when Allen leaves the Order, non-compliant to canon after that except for bits here and there. That's all for now. Thanks, I hope you enjoy the story.