The Kansas City airport's car rental area was doing its best impression of controlled chaos—which is to say, it was failing spectacularly at the "controlled" part while excelling at the "chaos" portion. Harry stood at the counter of "Premier Auto Rentals" with Hermione beside him, both of them wearing expressions that suggested they were rapidly reconsidering several life choices that had led to this particular moment.
The rental agent—a harried-looking man whose name tag identified him as "Derek" and whose demeanor suggested he'd long since given up on customer service in favor of pure survival—was clicking through screens on his computer with increasing desperation while occasionally muttering things like "that's not supposed to happen" and "the system shouldn't do that" and "I swear this worked yesterday."
"So let me make sure I understand the situation correctly," Hermione said with the kind of dangerous calm that Harry recognized from years of watching her deal with incompetent authority figures. "We made a reservation two weeks ago for a large SUV with a driver, because as we explained when booking, none of us have American driving licenses. You confirmed this reservation. You sent us a confirmation email with a reference number. And now you're telling us that while you do have the SUV we reserved, you somehow don't have a driver available?"
"That's... technically correct," Derek admitted, still clicking through screens as though the answer might magically appear if he just checked the same information one more time. "The vehicle is here—it's parked right outside, actually, lovely silver Honda Pilot, seats eight comfortably, plenty of boot space—but the driver we had scheduled called in sick this morning, and we haven't been able to arrange a replacement on such short notice."
"On short notice?" Hermione's voice climbed toward registers that suggested volcanic eruption was imminent. "We booked this two weeks ago! How is this short notice?"
"Well, you see, the driver cancellation only happened this morning, so from our perspective—"
"From your perspective, you've had two weeks to ensure you had adequate staffing for confirmed reservations," Hermione interrupted with the kind of academic precision that could dissect logical fallacies at fifty paces. "The fact that your driver called in sick today doesn't change the fact that you accepted our booking, confirmed our reservation, and are now failing to provide the service you promised."
Ron, Ginny, and Andromeda had taken up positions slightly behind Harry and Hermione, forming what Harry privately thought of as their "diplomatic support formation"—close enough to show solidarity, far enough back to avoid getting caught in the blast radius if Hermione decided to start hexing people. Teddy was awake in his carrier, watching the entire interaction with the fascinated attention of someone who found adult frustration endlessly entertaining.
"I completely understand your frustration," Derek said with the kind of rehearsed sympathy that suggested he'd had this conversation before and knew exactly how futile his position was. "And I want to make this right. What I can offer is a full refund of the driver fee, plus a twenty percent discount on the vehicle rental—"
"We don't need a discount on the vehicle," Harry interrupted, deciding it was time to deploy the "reasonable person trying to solve practical problems" approach before Hermione progressed to the "causing international incidents through sheer force of righteous anger" stage. "We need someone who can actually drive the vehicle. That was the entire point of booking a car with a driver—none of us are qualified to operate American vehicles."
"I understand that, sir, and I'm very sorry, but—"
"Is there anyone else here who could drive us?" Hermione demanded. "Another employee? Someone from a different department? A manager who actually has authority to solve this problem rather than just apologizing ineffectually?"
Derek looked around the rental office with the desperate hope of someone praying for divine intervention, and Harry's enhanced hearing picked up the subtle shift in his heartbeat that suggested he was about to deliver news that would not improve the situation.
"I'm afraid not," he said finally. "We're short-staffed today—budget cuts, you understand—and the only other employee in the office is the manager, who's currently dealing with a different crisis involving a customer who's claiming our insurance policy should cover the damage they caused while attempting to drive their rental car through a drive-through that was clearly marked 'cars only, no large vehicles.'"
"That sounds like a you problem, not an us problem," Ron observed with the kind of blunt practicality that had served him well through seven years of magical education and multiple near-death experiences. "We had a reservation, we showed up on time, we're ready to pay—the fact that your company has staffing issues and customers with questionable decision-making skills shouldn't be our concern."
"You're absolutely right," Derek agreed with the weary resignation of someone who'd lost this argument before and knew he'd lose it again. "And I wish I could offer you a solution. What I can do is call around to other rental companies, see if any of them have vehicles with drivers available—"
"How long would that take?" Andromeda asked, shifting Teddy's carrier with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd spent months managing infant care while simultaneously navigating complicated logistics.
"Realistically? Probably several hours," Derek admitted. "Most companies don't offer driver services on short notice, and with it being a Friday afternoon, availability is going to be limited."
Harry exchanged glances with his friends, reading their expressions with the kind of intuitive understanding that came from years of facing impossible situations together. Ron looked frustrated but resigned. Hermione's expression suggested she was mentally calculating the probability of various solutions and finding them all wanting. Ginny appeared to be considering whether hexing the rental agent would solve the problem or just create new ones. Andromeda had the look of someone who'd dealt with worse disappointments than this and was already mentally reorganizing her plans.
"Right," Harry said finally, making an executive decision before the situation could deteriorate further. "Let's step away from the counter and discuss our options."
They moved to a seating area near the windows—which offered an excellent view of the parking lot, their reserved silver SUV, and approximately seventeen other vehicles that might as well have been on the moon for all the good they did without someone qualified to drive them—and huddled together like a sports team planning their next play.
"Options," Hermione said briskly, pulling out her folder of comprehensive planning documents as though it might contain a solution to this particular crisis. "We could wait for another rental company to provide a driver, which Derek estimates at several hours. We could attempt to hire a private driver through some other service. We could use magical transportation—"
"No magical transportation in a Muggle airport," Harry interrupted firmly. "Too many witnesses, too many security cameras, and way too much potential for causing exactly the sort of international incident we're trying to avoid."
"We could learn to drive?" Ron suggested hopefully. "I mean, Bill did it. How hard can it be?"
"Bill spent weeks studying for his driving test and practicing with licensed instructors before the Muggle authorities certified him as competent," Hermione replied with the kind of patience usually reserved for explaining very simple concepts to very slow students. "We can't just hop in a car and start driving without training, licenses, or any understanding of American traffic laws."
"Plus," Ginny added, "given Harry's cosmic enhancements and our collective tendency toward chaos, putting any of us behind the wheel without proper training seems like a recipe for exactly the sort of disaster we're supposed to be avoiding."
"Fair point," Harry conceded. "Though I maintain that my enhanced reflexes would probably make me an excellent driver if I had any idea what I was doing."
"Your enhanced reflexes would let you crash very efficiently," Andromeda observed with dry humor. "But that doesn't seem like a productive solution."
They sat in frustrated silence for a moment, watching American travelers move through the rental office with the casual confidence of people who actually knew how to navigate their own country's transportation systems. Families claimed keys to minivans, businessmen collected compact cars, and elderly couples discussed optimal seating positions with the kind of detailed attention that suggested they'd been having this argument for decades.
It was deeply unfair, Harry reflected, that cosmic superpowers and unlimited financial resources somehow didn't translate to the ability to operate ground vehicles in foreign countries without proper documentation and training.
"Excuse me?" a voice said from behind them, carrying the kind of confident American accent that suggested its owner had never encountered a problem that couldn't be solved through direct action and possibly creative rule interpretation. "I couldn't help overhearing your situation—the walls here are pretty thin, and Derek's not exactly quiet when he's apologizing—and I think I might have a solution that could work for both of us."
Harry turned to find a young woman approximately their age—maybe eighteen, maybe slightly older—standing behind their little group with the kind of casual confidence that immediately marked her as someone who was used to walking into complicated situations and somehow making them work through sheer force of personality.
She was attractive in a way that was more "striking" than "conventionally pretty"—sharp features that suggested intelligence and determination, dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, and eyes that held the particular gleam of someone who'd spotted an opportunity and was already calculating how to make it work for everyone involved. She wore jeans, a comfortable jacket, and carried a backpack that suggested she'd been traveling and knew how to pack efficiently.
But it was her demeanor that really caught Harry's attention—the way she stood with easy confidence despite being surrounded by strangers, the directness of her gaze that suggested she'd learned to assess people quickly and accurately, and most interestingly, the complete absence of the kind of star-struck recognition that usually appeared when people realized they were talking to Harry Potter.
Of course, Harry reflected, Americans probably didn't follow British magical news closely enough to recognize him on sight. Which was actually rather refreshing.
"I'm listening," Harry said, standing with the kind of careful grace his enhanced abilities provided. "Though I should mention that our situation is fairly specific—we need to get to Smallville, which I'm told is about three hours' drive from here, and none of us are qualified to operate vehicles in this country."
"That's perfect, actually," the young woman said with obvious satisfaction. "I'm headed to Smallville too—family visit, checking in on some folks I haven't seen in a while—and I just discovered that this rental place is completely out of cars. Like, completely. They've got nothing available that isn't already reserved or being serviced."
She gestured toward the counter, where Derek was now dealing with another frustrated customer who appeared to be having similar vehicle availability issues.
"So here's my proposal," she continued with the kind of straightforward practicality that Harry was beginning to associate with American directness. "You've got a car but no driver. I need a car but they don't have any available. I've got an American driver's license, I know the route to Smallville, and I'm perfectly comfortable driving people I've just met because honestly, this whole situation is ridiculous enough that I figure we're all in the same boat of 'trying to get somewhere and being failed by rental car incompetence.'"
"You're offering to drive us?" Hermione asked with the kind of careful suspicion that came from years of learning that offers of help often came with complications, ulterior motives, or both.
"I'm offering a mutually beneficial arrangement," the young woman corrected. "You give me a ride to Smallville—well, technically you're providing the car for the ride I'm giving all of us—and I provide the driving expertise that gets everyone where they need to go. It's practical, it solves both our problems, and it's considerably faster than waiting around for Derek to find someone who's both qualified and willing to drive a carful of British tourists to rural Kansas on a Friday afternoon."
Harry exchanged glances with his friends again, reading their reactions with practiced ease. Ron looked cautiously optimistic. Hermione appeared to be mentally calculating risk factors and finding them acceptable. Ginny seemed amused by the whole situation and was clearly fighting not to laugh at the absurdity of their predicament. Andromeda had shifted into her "assessing strangers who want to interact with my grandson" mode, which involved careful observation and probably several mental contingency plans.
"That's... actually quite reasonable," Harry said finally. "Though I should probably mention that there are six of us, plus an infant, plus what will seem like a reasonable amount of luggage but is actually a slightly suspicious amount of luggage given our stated travel duration."
"I noticed," the young woman said with amusement. "You lot have been camped out here for the last twenty minutes looking increasingly frustrated, and I've been trying to figure out if you're tourists, visiting family, or possibly a very organized group of missionaries who've decided that Kansas needs saving from something."
"Tourists," Hermione said quickly, a bit too quickly, which made the young woman's eyes sparkle with interest rather than suspicion. "Agricultural tourism, specifically. We're interested in American farming techniques and wanted to experience rural life firsthand."
"Agricultural tourism," the young woman repeated slowly, and her tone suggested she found this explanation either completely believable or absolutely hilarious. "To Smallville. Which is definitely rural, definitely agricultural, and definitely not the sort of place that usually attracts British tourists unless they're either very interested in corn or very lost."
"We're very interested in corn," Ron said with the kind of solemn sincerity that made Harry want to kick him. "And wheat. And possibly soybeans. Very educational, agriculture."
"Ron," Hermione hissed, elbowing him sharply.
"What? We are interested in agriculture! That's our cover story!"
The young woman laughed—genuine, warm laughter that suggested she was enjoying this interaction considerably more than she probably should be. "Right. Well, whatever your actual reasons for going to Smallville, I'm not going to interrogate you about it. You seem harmless enough—well, harmless-ish, that tall one looks like he could probably bench press a tractor but I'm choosing to believe he uses his obvious physical advantages for good rather than evil—and honestly, I could use the company for the drive."
"Bench press a tractor," Ron muttered with barely suppressed amusement. "She's got your number, mate."
Harry decided to ignore Ron's commentary and focus on the practical matter at hand. "Before we agree to this arrangement, we should probably introduce ourselves properly. I'm Harry Potter, this is Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Andromeda Tonks, and the infant who's currently examining you with the intensity usually reserved for doctoral dissertations is Edward Lupin, though we call him Teddy."
"Lois Lane," the young woman replied, offering her hand to shake with the kind of firm grip that suggested she'd learned to establish credibility through confident introductions. "Currently between jobs, temporarily living with my dad while I figure out what I want to do with my life, and apparently about to become a chauffeur for six British tourists who are definitely hiding something but seem nice enough that I'm willing to pretend I believe their agricultural tourism story."
Harry shook her hand carefully—his enhanced strength required constant attention to avoid accidentally crushing normal human bones—and found himself liking Lois Lane despite her obvious skepticism about their cover story. There was something refreshingly straightforward about her manner, the way she acknowledged oddness without making it a barrier to cooperation.
"We're not hiding anything dangerous or illegal," Hermione said quickly, which Harry privately thought was technically true but also somewhat misleading given that they were absolutely hiding both magic and cosmic superpowers. "We're just... we have our reasons for coming to Smallville, and some of those reasons are personal enough that we'd prefer not to share them with strangers."
"Fair enough," Lois said with a shrug that suggested she'd heard stranger explanations and didn't consider vague personal reasons worth interrogating. "Everyone's got their secrets. As long as your secrets don't involve planning to rob banks or start cults or anything else that would make me an accessory to crime, we're good."
"No bank robbery," Harry assured her. "No cult-starting. Just... visiting family and possibly providing some consulting services to local agricultural interests."
"Consulting services," Lois repeated with obvious amusement. "You're eighteen—maybe nineteen?—and you're providing agricultural consulting services to Kansas farmers?"
"I have unique expertise in certain specialized areas," Harry replied, which was technically true even if the specialized areas involved cosmic superpowers rather than crop rotation techniques. "And the consulting is more... advisory. Helping someone learn to manage unusual circumstances."
"Uh-huh," Lois said with the tone of someone who'd decided not to push but was absolutely filing away this information for future reference. "Well, as long as your unusual circumstances don't involve anything that would get us pulled over by state police or questioned by federal authorities, I'm game."
She pulled out her phone—a sleek device that Harry's enhanced vision immediately identified as considerably more sophisticated than the basic models he'd seen other people using—and checked something on the screen.
"Right, so here's the practical logistics. It's about three hours to Smallville from here, maybe three and a half depending on traffic and how many bathroom breaks we need. The route's straightforward—mostly highway, some rural roads once we get closer. We should probably leave soon if we want to arrive before dark, because finding your accommodation in an unfamiliar town is considerably easier when you can actually see where you're going."
"We don't actually have accommodation sorted yet," Hermione admitted. "We were planning to find a hotel once we arrived, but given that Smallville is rather small, we weren't certain what would be available."
Lois winced slightly. "Yeah, about that. Smallville's not exactly a thriving metropolis—it's got maybe three thousand people on a good day, and most of those are farmers who've been there for generations. There's one hotel, the Smallville Inn, and it's... serviceable. Basic. The kind of place where 'amenities' means 'the beds are reasonably clean and the shower has hot water most of the time.'"
"That sounds fine," Harry said, though he was mentally calculating whether their mansion-trunks would be conspicuous in a small-town hotel setting. "We're not particularly demanding when it comes to accommodation."
"Good, because you're not going to have many options," Lois replied. "Though fair warning—Smallville's the kind of town where everyone knows everyone else's business, and six British tourists showing up claiming to be interested in agricultural tourism is going to attract attention. People are going to be curious, they're going to ask questions, and they're going to make assumptions about why you're really there."
"We'll manage," Ginny said with confidence. "We're quite good at managing curious people and deflecting awkward questions."
"I bet you are," Lois said with amusement. "Right, well, if we're doing this, let's get moving. I'll go talk to Derek about formally adding me as an authorized driver on your rental agreement—there's probably paperwork involved because everything here involves paperwork—and you lot can start loading your suspiciously large amount of luggage into the vehicle."
She headed back toward the rental counter with the kind of purposeful stride that suggested she was used to making things happen through sheer determination, leaving Harry's group to huddle together one final time before committing to this arrangement.
"Thoughts?" Harry asked quietly, keeping his voice low enough that even his enhanced hearing would struggle to pick it up from across the room.
"She seems trustworthy," Hermione said slowly. "Direct, practical, and she's right that this solves both our problems. Though I'm concerned about how much she seems to suspect that our cover story isn't entirely accurate."
"She definitely thinks we're hiding something," Ron agreed. "But she also doesn't seem particularly bothered by it, which is either very American or very concerning."
"Americans are generally more comfortable with ambiguity than British people," Andromeda observed. "They have a cultural tendency toward individualism and personal privacy—if Lois Lane is typical of her generation, she probably believes that as long as we're not obviously dangerous or criminal, our reasons for being here are our own business."
"She also seems competent," Ginny added. "Did you notice how she immediately assessed the situation, identified a mutually beneficial solution, and approached us with a practical proposal rather than standing around complaining about rental car incompetence?"
"I did notice that," Harry said. "She's clever, confident, and she moves through the world like someone who's used to making things work despite obstacles. I like her."
"You like that she called you 'that tall one who looks like he could bench press a tractor,'" Ron said with a grin. "Admit it, your cosmic ego is flattered by American observations about your obvious physical advantages."
"My ego is perfectly manageable," Harry protested, though he was grinning. "And she specifically said she was choosing to believe I use those advantages for good, which shows excellent judgment."
"Or concerning naivety about your tendency to use physical advantages for increasingly ridiculous demonstrations of cosmic capability," Hermione muttered. "But I agree that working with Lois Lane seems like our best option. We need to get to Smallville, she needs to get to Smallville, and she's offering practical assistance without demanding explanations we can't provide."
"All in favor of accepting Lois Lane as our driver and hoping she doesn't ask too many awkward questions during the three-hour journey?" Harry asked.
Five hands went up immediately. Teddy, apparently sensing the democratic process in action, waved one small fist enthusiastically.
"Motion carries," Harry said with satisfaction. "Let's go load our suspiciously large amount of luggage and begin our American road trip with a stranger who thinks we're either harmless tourists or possible cult members."
"This is going to be interesting," Ginny predicted.
"Everything we do is interesting," Ron pointed out. "At this point, I'd be more concerned if things weren't interesting."
They collected their luggage—which did indeed look suspicious given that six people plus one infant shouldn't technically require quite this much in the way of bags, cases, and mysterious packages that definitely didn't contain shrunk mansion-trunks and comprehensive magical supplies—and began the process of loading everything into the silver Honda Pilot that Derek had finally surrendered with visible relief.
Lois emerged from the rental office waving paperwork triumphantly. "Right, I'm officially authorized to drive this thing, Derek has updated your rental agreement to reflect the arrangement, and we're all set to leave as soon as we finish playing Tetris with your luggage situation."
The Honda Pilot, it turned out, had been designed with the optimistic assumption that American families would pack reasonably for their travels. Harry's group did not pack reasonably—they packed like people preparing for an extended expedition into unknown territory who wanted to be ready for absolutely anything including scenarios that violated several laws of physics.
"This is a lot of luggage," Lois observed as Ron attempted to fit the seventh bag into a cargo area that was rapidly running out of available space. "Like, a lot a lot. Are you planning to stay in Smallville for a month? Colonize it? Establish a permanent agricultural research station?"
"We like to be prepared," Hermione said primly. "You never know what you might need when traveling in unfamiliar territory."
"Right," Lois said slowly. "Prepared. For agricultural tourism. In rural Kansas. Where the main challenges are usually 'will it rain' and 'did I remember to buy milk.'"
"We're very thorough," Harry added, carefully positioning his bag—which contained, among other things, his cosmic superhero robes and approximately seventeen other items that would be very difficult to explain if customs had actually examined them—next to Hermione's collection of reference books and backup supplies.
Eventually, through creative spatial management and Ron's surprising talent for optimizing packing efficiency, they managed to fit everything into the vehicle. Seating arrangements were organized with Hermione's characteristic attention to optimal configuration: Harry in the front passenger seat (his enhanced height made this the most comfortable option), Hermione, Ron, and Ginny in the middle row, Andromeda and Teddy in the back with enough space to manage infant care without disturbing everyone else.
Lois settled into the driver's seat with obvious comfort, adjusted mirrors and settings with practiced efficiency, and turned the key in the ignition with the kind of casual confidence that came from years of actually knowing how to operate vehicles.
"Right," she said as the engine rumbled to life, "everyone buckled in? Good. Let's get this road trip started. Three hours to Smallville, plenty of time for you lot to either maintain your mysteriously vague cover story or gradually reveal whatever interesting secrets you're actually hiding. I'm betting on the latter—people always crack during long car rides. Something about highway hypnosis and the gentle hum of the engine makes everyone eventually start sharing things they probably shouldn't."
"We're very good at not sharing things," Ron assured her.
"We'll see," Lois replied with a grin that suggested she considered this a challenge rather than a warning. "Now, who wants to control the music? Because we're not driving three hours in silence—that way lies madness and increasingly awkward small talk about weather patterns."
As they pulled out of the rental lot and merged into Kansas City traffic—Lois navigating with the kind of assured competence that made Harry's enhanced senses relax slightly about the whole "trusting a stranger to transport us across unfamiliar territory" situation—Harry found himself thinking that this was either going to be the most helpful coincidence of their entire expedition or a complication they hadn't anticipated.
Lois Lane was clever, observant, and clearly suspicious about their actual reasons for traveling to Smallville. But she was also practical, direct, and apparently willing to help without demanding explanations that they couldn't provide.
Whether that made her an ally, a potential problem, or just an interesting person they'd happened to meet at exactly the right moment remained to be seen.
But one thing was certain: the next three hours were going to be very interesting indeed.
"So," Lois said as they accelerated onto the highway, "agricultural tourism. Tell me everything about your passionate interest in American farming techniques. And please try to make it convincing—I'm a terrible liar but an excellent detective of other people's lies, so this should be entertaining for at least one of us."
Harry exchanged glances with Hermione in the rearview mirror and saw his own thought reflected there: We're definitely going to need a better cover story.
"Well," Hermione began with the kind of careful academic precision that suggested she was preparing to deliver a lecture on agricultural economics, "it all started when we became interested in the comparative analysis of British versus American crop rotation methodologies..."
In the back seat, Ron buried his face in his hands and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "we're doomed."
But Teddy, apparently finding the entire situation delightful, gurgled happily and waved at Lois in the rearview mirror.
At least one member of their expedition was enjoying the journey.
Three hours to Smallville. Three hours to either maintain their cover story or accidentally reveal enough to make Lois Lane's obvious curiosity considerably more complicated to manage.
This was going to be interesting.
Very, very interesting.
—
The highway stretched ahead of them in the kind of straight, uncompromising line that suggested American road engineers had looked at the flat Kansas landscape and decided that curves were an unnecessary complication. Fields of stubbled corn—already harvested for the season—spread out on either side like a geometric demonstration of agricultural efficiency, broken occasionally by farmhouses, silos, and the kind of rural infrastructure that spoke to generations of families working the same land.
Harry watched the scenery blur past while trying not to think too hard about how his enhanced senses were picking up details that probably weren't meant to be noticed at seventy miles per hour. Individual fence posts, distant cattle, the subtle variations in soil composition that his cosmic awareness insisted on cataloguing despite his complete lack of agricultural expertise.
Hermione had been delivering her lecture on comparative crop rotation methodologies for approximately fifteen minutes—a heroic effort at maintaining their cover story that involved more enthusiasm about soil nitrogen levels than Harry had thought humanly possible. Lois was listening with the kind of polite attention that suggested she was either genuinely interested or waiting for the right moment to point out the obvious holes in their explanation.
"So you're all interested in agriculture," Lois said finally, her tone carrying just enough skepticism to make it clear she was asking rather than accepting. "All six of you. Collectively decided that Kansas farming techniques were worth an international trip."
"We're very dedicated to agricultural education," Hermione replied with the kind of determined sincerity that would have been convincing if she weren't also clearly improvising.
"Right. And the baby is... what, your research assistant?"
"Teddy's here because I'm here," Andromeda said calmly from the back seat. "And I'm here because my grandson's godfather is here, and I'm not letting him travel internationally without proper supervision."
"That's actually the most believable thing anyone's said so far," Lois observed. "Though it does raise the question of what kind of agricultural consulting requires godparent supervision."
Harry decided it was time to deploy his carefully prepared partial truth—the kind that was accurate enough to be believable while vague enough to avoid revealing anything they actually needed to keep secret.
"Actually," he said, shifting in the passenger seat to look at Lois directly, "the agricultural tourism thing is... well, it's cover for the real reason we're here, but not in the way you're probably thinking."
"Harry—" Hermione began with warning in her voice.
"It's fine," Harry assured her. "Lois is already suspicious, and maintaining an increasingly ridiculous cover story for three hours is just going to make things worse. Better to tell her a version of the truth that explains why we're here without revealing the complicated bits."
"I'm listening," Lois said, and there was genuine interest in her voice now rather than polite skepticism. "And I appreciate you deciding that I'm trustworthy enough for partial honesty. That's progress."
"The truth is that I've got distant family in Smallville," Harry explained, choosing his words with care. "Very distant—they emigrated from Britain generations ago, and we've been out of touch for decades. I only recently discovered they were living in Kansas, and I decided this would be a good opportunity to reconnect. Surprise visit, family reunion, that sort of thing."
It was, Harry reflected, actually true. The Potter Squibs who'd left Britain in the 1800s were legitimately his distant relatives, and he was definitely planning to visit them. The fact that he was also planning to locate and mentor a cosmic-powered farm boy was simply an additional objective that didn't need to be mentioned right now.
"That makes considerably more sense than agricultural tourism," Lois said with obvious relief. "Why not just lead with that? 'I'm visiting family' is a perfectly reasonable explanation that doesn't require elaborate lectures about soil nitrogen."
"Because they don't know we are coming," Hermione supplied quickly, adapting to Harry's new direction with the kind of quick thinking that had gotten them through seven years of complicated situations. "It's a surprise visit, and Harry didn't want word getting around the town before he had a chance to actually show up and introduce himself."
"Small town discretion," Lois nodded with understanding. "Yeah, that tracks. Smallville's the kind of place where if you tell one person something, the entire town knows by dinner. So you wanted to avoid having your family hear about British tourists asking about them before you could actually make contact."
"Exactly," Harry agreed, grateful that Lois had provided her own logical explanation that fit the situation without requiring additional lies. "Hence the vague cover story that we knew wouldn't hold up to scrutiny but would at least provide plausible deniability until we could figure out our next steps."
"Who's the family?" Lois asked with obvious curiosity. "I mean, my cousin Chloe lived in Smallville for most of her life—and she documented everything on her social media. I probably know your distant cousins, or at least know of them."
Harry hesitated, mentally reviewing what Pev-Rell had told him about the Potter family who'd settled in Kansas. He knew they ran a farm, that they'd been there for generations, and he figured that they'd changed their name slightly after immigrating—"Potter" becoming "Pott" or possibly "Potts" through the kind of casual Americanization that happened when immigration officials couldn't be bothered with extra letters.
"The Potters," he said finally, deciding that partial honesty extended to family names. "Or they might go by Potts—I'm not entirely certain. They emigrated in the 1800s, settled somewhere in the Smallville area, and we've been completely out of touch since then."
"Wait," Lois said, and something in her tone made Harry's enhanced senses snap to attention. "You're related to the Potters? Nell Potter and her niece Lana?"
"I... possibly?" Harry said carefully. "I don't actually know specific names—the family records are pretty sparse after they left Britain. But if there are Potters in Smallville, there's a good chance they're my distant relatives."
"That's wild," Lois said with obvious delight. "Nell Potter's family has been farming in Smallville since forever—they're one of the founding families. And her niece Lana is my age, actually—my cousin Chloe went to school with her."
She glanced at Harry with renewed interest. "You know, now that you mention it, there is something familiar about your features. I've seen pictures of Lana with Chloe, and Lana's got that same sharp jawline, similar messy hair. Though you're considerably taller and..." she paused, clearly searching for appropriate words, "...more dramatically enhanced in the physical department."
"I've been working out," Harry said dryly.
"That's one way to put it," Lois agreed with amusement. "Right, well, this explains the whole secrecy thing. You're planning to show up at the Potter farm unannounced and hope they're receptive to long-lost British relatives appearing out of nowhere?"
"That's the general idea," Harry confirmed. "Though I'm hoping the family connection will make them more open to unexpected visitors than they might otherwise be."
"From what Chloe told me, Nell's good people," Lois said thoughtfully. "She's been running that farm alone since her sister died—Lana's mom—and from what I remember, she's always been welcoming to anyone who needed help. I think she'll be surprised but probably pleased to discover she's got British relatives who cared enough to visit."
"That's reassuring," Andromeda said from the back seat. "We were concerned about how to approach this without seeming intrusive or suspicious."
"Well, showing up with six people and a baby is still going to be a bit overwhelming," Lois pointed out. "But leading with 'we're family' is definitely better than 'we're British tourists who are definitely not lying about our interest in agricultural methodologies.'"
"Point taken," Hermione said with slight embarrassment. "Though in my defense, I did prepare a very thorough lecture on crop rotation."
"I noticed," Lois replied with a grin. "It was impressively detailed for someone who I'm now assuming has absolutely no actual interest in farming techniques."
"I researched!" Hermione protested. "Just because we're not here primarily for agricultural education doesn't mean I didn't put genuine effort into creating a believable cover story!"
"Your dedication to thorough preparation even for lies is admirable," Ron observed. "Slightly concerning, but admirable."
The conversation shifted after that, becoming more comfortable now that they'd established a foundation of partial truth that everyone could work with. Lois shared stories about growing up in Smallville—the kind of small-town anecdotes that painted a picture of a community that was simultaneously welcoming and intensely curious about anyone new or different.
"Fair warning," she said as they passed a sign indicating they were now officially entering Smallville County, "the town's going to be very interested in you lot. British visitors claiming family connections to one of the founding families? That's front-page news for the Smallville Ledger, assuming anyone still reads that thing."
"We'd prefer to keep a low profile," Harry said carefully.
"You're six British people, one of whom looks like he could model for magazines about impossible physical fitness, showing up in a town of three thousand," Lois replied with dry humor. "Low profile was never really an option."
In the back seat, Ginny laughed softly. "She's got you there, Harry. Your cosmic makeover has made subtlety somewhat challenging."
"His cosmic what now?" Lois asked sharply, her journalist instincts apparently activated by the unusual phrasing.
"Comprehensive fitness routine," Ginny corrected smoothly. "Very cosmic in its... intensity. Lots of unusual exercises. Revolutionary training methods. Nothing weird or supernatural, just... dedicated physical development."
"Right," Lois said slowly, and Harry could practically hear her filing away yet another interesting detail to examine later. "Cosmic fitness routine. That's definitely a normal thing that normal people say."
Harry met Hermione's eyes in the rearview mirror and saw his own thought reflected there: We're going to need to be considerably more careful about what we say around Lois Lane.
But for now, they were making progress. Smallville was approaching, they had a better cover story than "agricultural tourism," and they'd gained an unexpected ally who knew the local area and could help them navigate small-town society.
Whatever complications Lois Lane might represent, having her on their side—or at least not actively working against them—seemed preferable to trying to navigate Smallville completely on their own.
"Welcome to Smallville," Lois announced as they crested a small hill and the town came into view—a modest collection of buildings clustered around what appeared to be a main street, surrounded by endless fields and the kind of agricultural infrastructure that defined rural American communities. "Population: about to increase by six British tourists with mysterious fitness routines and questionable honesty about their interest in crop rotation."
Harry looked out at the town and felt something settle in his chest—anticipation, perhaps, or recognition of the beginning of something significant.
Somewhere in that modest collection of buildings and surrounding farms lived another young man with abilities he was only beginning to understand.
And now, finally, Harry was here to help.
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