The rest stop appeared like an oasis in the endless Kansas farmland—a modest building with bathrooms, vending machines, and a small convenience store that promised "Fresh Coffee" and "Clean Restrooms" with the kind of earnest sincerity that suggested these were significant achievements worth advertising.
"Teddy needs a change," Andromeda announced from the back seat with the practiced recognition of someone who'd spent months learning to interpret infant signals. "And I could use a proper stretch after two hours of sitting."
"Coffee sounds brilliant right about now," Ron added. "Though I'm slightly concerned about what Americans consider coffee. Bill mentioned something about it being either 'incredibly weak' or 'strong enough to wake the dead' with no middle ground."
"Welcome to American coffee culture," Lois said, pulling into the parking lot with practiced efficiency. "Where moderation is considered suspicious and everyone drinks their preferences like they're making religious statements about lifestyle choices."
They piled out of the Honda Pilot with the kind of collective relief that came from extended vehicular confinement. Harry's enhanced senses immediately catalogued everything about their surroundings—the particular smell of American truck stop food, the distant sound of highway traffic, the electromagnetic signatures of various Muggle devices, and most interestingly, the complete absence of magical resonance that suggested they were now thoroughly in Muggle territory.
"Right," Andromeda said, collecting Teddy and the diaper bag with practiced efficiency. "I'll handle the nappy situation. The rest of you can acquire coffee and whatever passes for food in American rest stops."
"I'll come with you," Ginny offered. "Moral support, and someone to defend you if the facilities turn out to be as questionable as British service station toilets."
"American rest stops are usually quite clean," Lois assured them. "We take our highway infrastructure seriously. The coffee might be terrible, but the bathrooms are typically maintained to reasonable standards."
Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Lois made their way into the convenience store, where a tired-looking clerk was restocking candy bars with the kind of mechanical efficiency that suggested this was routine rather than enthusiasm. The coffee station occupied one corner—a elaborate setup with multiple brewers, cream dispensers, and what appeared to be seventeen different flavor options that made Hermione's eyes light up with the kind of academic interest she usually reserved for particularly complex magical theory.
"They have hazelnut," she breathed with something approaching reverence. "And French vanilla. And something called 'Midnight Mocha' that sounds either delicious or like a cry for help from exhausted truck drivers."
"American coffee culture is serious business," Lois confirmed, filling her own cup with black coffee that looked strong enough to strip paint. "We don't mess around when it comes to caffeine delivery systems."
Harry opted for something middle-ground—not the paint-stripper strength Lois was drinking, but not the cream-heavy confection that Ron was constructing with obvious enthusiasm. The first sip was... interesting. Stronger than British coffee, with a particular bitterness that suggested it had been sitting in the brewer for slightly longer than optimal, but functional in the way that mattered most: it contained caffeine and would help them stay alert for the remainder of the journey.
They collected their drinks and various snacks—Ron accumulating enough sugar-based products to concern any responsible adult—and settled at a small table near the windows that overlooked the parking lot and the endless fields beyond.
"So," Hermione said once everyone was seated and had achieved minimum caffeine intake, "you mentioned earlier that you were headed to Smallville for family reasons. If you don't mind me asking, what brings you back to your hometown?"
Something shifted in Lois's expression—a shadow passing behind her eyes that spoke of complicated emotions being carefully managed. She took a long drink of her coffee, apparently using the time to decide how much to share, then pulled out her phone with movements that suggested reluctance mixed with determination.
"My cousin Chloe," she said finally, her voice carefully controlled in the way that came from practicing emotional restraint until it became habitual. "She lived in Smallville most of her life. We were close—not just family, but actual friends who talked regularly and supported each other through various life complications."
She paused, her thumb hovering over her phone screen as though the device contained something she both needed to share and wanted to avoid confronting.
"A few days ago," she continued, her voice dropping slightly, "I received word that Chloe had died in an explosion at the office where she worked. Some sort of gas leak combined with electrical malfunction—freak accident, official investigation concluded it was nobody's fault, just terrible luck and unfortunate timing."
"I'm so sorry," Andromeda said softly, having returned with Ginny and a freshly-changed Teddy who was now contentedly examining a teething toy. "Losing family is... there aren't words adequate for that kind of grief."
"Thank you," Lois said, and her smile was brief but genuine. "The thing is, I got this video from her. Two days ago. After I'd already been notified of her death."
She turned her phone so they could all see the screen, where a video was paused on the face of a young woman who looked like she could have been Lois's sister—similar sharp features, the same intelligent eyes, blonde hair pulled back in a practical style that suggested someone who was too busy being competent to worry about elaborate grooming.
Harry's enhanced vision immediately picked up details that ordinary sight would miss—the timestamp showing the video had been recorded before Chloe's death, the slight redness around her eyes that suggested she'd been crying recently, and most interestingly, the determined set to her jaw that suggested she'd made a decision and was absolutely committed to following through regardless of consequences.
"She set this to send automatically if she didn't check in for forty-eight hours," Lois explained. "Some sort of dead man's switch she'd configured through her email. Which means she was expecting something to happen to her, and she wanted to make sure someone knew."
She pressed play, and Chloe Sullivan's voice filled the small rest stop table with the kind of practiced steadiness that came from someone who'd thought carefully about what they needed to say.
"Hey, Lois," the video began, and even through the phone's small speakers, Harry could hear the affection in Chloe's voice mixed with fear she was trying very hard to mask. "If you're watching this, then something's happened to me. Something I suspected was coming but couldn't quite prevent, because let's be honest—investigating dangerous things and expecting to avoid consequences was never my strongest skill."
She paused, took a visible breath, then continued with renewed determination.
"I've been looking into something in Smallville for the past few months. Unexplained phenomena, impossible rescues, incidents that don't make sense according to conventional physics or reasonable explanation. The official line is always 'coincidence' or 'misreported facts' or 'mass hysteria,' but I've documented seventeen separate incidents in the past year alone that suggest there's someone in Smallville with abilities that exceed normal human capabilities."
Hermione's sharp intake of breath was barely audible, but Harry caught it. Ron's hand had frozen halfway to his mouth, his candy bar forgotten. Even Lois, who'd presumably watched this video multiple times, was watching their reactions with obvious interest.
"I know how this sounds," Chloe continued on the video, her expression carrying the kind of defensive certainty that came from expecting skepticism and preparing arguments accordingly. "Believe me, I questioned my own sanity more times than I can count. But the evidence is consistent, well-documented, and impossible to dismiss. Someone in Smallville is doing things that shouldn't be possible—lifting vehicles, moving faster than human eyes can track, preventing disasters through intervention that requires capabilities beyond normal human strength or speed."
She leaned closer to the camera, her voice dropping to something more urgent.
"The only person who can tell you the truth about what happened to me is Clark Kent. He's been my best friend since we were kids, and he's... he's at the center of all of this. Not as a cause—Clark would never hurt anyone intentionally—but as someone who knows considerably more than he's willing to admit about the impossible things happening in our town."
Harry felt something click in his chest—recognition, perhaps, or confirmation of suspicions he'd been developing since Pev-Rell first mentioned the son of El.
Clark Kent. Farm boy. Best friend of an investigative journalist who'd been documenting impossible rescues and unexplained phenomena. Someone who knew considerably more than he was willing to admit about superhuman capabilities.
That had to be him. The Kryptonian heir they'd come to find.
"If something's happened to me," Chloe continued, her voice steady despite the obvious fear underlying her words, "it's because I got too close to something that someone didn't want discovered. And Clark... Clark will either know what it was, or he'll be able to find out. He's got resources, connections, and abilities that I can only guess at, but I'm certain he'll help you if you ask. Tell him I sent you. Tell him I'm sorry I couldn't protect myself better. And tell him... tell him that I always knew, even if I never said it directly."
The video ended abruptly, freezing on Chloe's face with that determined expression that suggested she'd said everything she'd planned to say and had accepted the consequences of her choices.
The table was silent for a long moment, everyone processing what they'd just witnessed. Teddy, apparently sensing the emotional weight of the moment, had gone still in Andromeda's arms, his glamour-charmed hair maintaining its ordinary brown color but his eyes tracking between the adults with unusual focus for a six-month-old.
"That's why I'm going to Smallville," Lois said finally, her voice carrying layers of grief and determination in equal measure. "To talk to Clark Kent. To find out what Chloe discovered that got her killed. And to make sure that whoever's responsible doesn't get away with calling it an accident."
"You think someone murdered your cousin," Hermione said carefully, "and made it look like an accident."
"I think Chloe was investigating something dangerous and someone decided she was a liability," Lois corrected. "Whether that constitutes murder or just... removing an inconvenient witness... the result is the same. She's dead, and the official story doesn't explain why she felt the need to create a dead man's switch video warning me about Clark Kent."
She looked at each of them in turn, her journalist instincts clearly activated by their reactions to the video.
"You all went very still when Chloe mentioned impossible rescues and superhuman capabilities," she observed. "Which suggests either you're very good at sympathetic listening, or the concept of someone in Smallville doing impossible things isn't as shocking to you as it should be."
Harry exchanged glances with his friends, reading their expressions with practiced ease. This was decision time—either they maintained their cover story and tried to deflect Lois's obviously sharp observations, or they acknowledged the truth and hoped she could be trusted with information that would fundamentally challenge her understanding of reality.
The problem was that Chloe's video had essentially confirmed what they'd come to Smallville to investigate. Someone here—almost certainly Clark Kent—was demonstrating abilities that matched the description of a Kryptonian discovering his powers. And now that same person was apparently connected to the suspicious death of his best friend who'd been documenting his impossible rescues.
"We need to talk," Harry said finally, making an executive decision before anyone else could object. "Not here, not in a rest stop where anyone could overhear. But we need to talk, because what you just showed us connects to why we're actually in Smallville, and I think we might be able to help each other."
"Help each other how?" Lois asked, her eyes sharp with interest that suggested she'd been expecting this conversation but was still prepared to be surprised by where it led.
"By being honest about why we're here," Harry replied. "Not the family visit story—that's true, but it's not the whole truth. We came to Smallville because we knew there was someone here with unusual abilities, and we wanted to help them learn to manage those abilities safely before they accidentally caused problems they couldn't fix."
"You knew," Lois repeated slowly. "About Clark. About what he can do."
"We suspected," Hermione corrected carefully. "Based on documented incidents and patterns that matched certain... theoretical capabilities we've been researching."
"Theoretical capabilities," Lois said with the tone of someone recognizing evasive language when she heard it. "You're going to need to be considerably more specific than that if you want me to trust you with information about my cousin's death investigation."
"We will be," Harry promised. "But not here, and not until we're somewhere private where we can have a proper conversation without worrying about eavesdroppers or casual observers who might overhear things they shouldn't."
He paused, considering how much to reveal right now, then made another executive decision about honesty.
"The truth is that I have abilities similar to what Chloe described in her video," he said quietly, keeping his voice low enough that it wouldn't carry beyond their table. "I can do things that shouldn't be possible according to conventional understanding of human capabilities. And I came to Smallville because I suspected there was someone here like me—someone discovering abilities they don't fully understand and probably trying to figure out how to use them without attracting attention or causing harm."
Lois stared at him for a long moment, her expression cycling through skepticism, curiosity, and what might have been cautious hope.
"You're saying you're superhuman," she said finally.
"I'm saying I've got capabilities that exceed normal human limitations," Harry corrected. "Whether that makes me superhuman or just unusually enhanced is semantic interpretation that probably depends on your definition of both terms."
"Show me," Lois demanded. "If you want me to believe you—if you want me to share information about Chloe's investigation and trust you enough to introduce you to Clark Kent—then show me something that proves you're not just making elaborate claims."
Harry glanced around the rest stop, confirming that they were the only customers currently present and the clerk was occupied with restocking shelves at the far end of the store. His enhanced hearing picked up no nearby observers, no approaching vehicles, no immediate witnesses to whatever demonstration he was about to provide.
"Alright," he said, reaching for his coffee cup—which was made of thick ceramic and weighed several ounces. "But this stays between us, and you need to promise not to freak out or immediately start filming for journalistic documentation purposes."
"I promise nothing about the freaking out part," Lois replied. "But I won't film. Yet."
Harry wrapped his fingers around the coffee cup and squeezed—gently at first, then with increasing pressure that his enhanced strength could apply with surgical precision. The ceramic compressed, deformed, and finally shattered into powder so fine it looked like sand, all without making more than a soft crunching sound that wouldn't carry beyond their table.
He opened his hand to show Lois the pile of ceramic dust where a solid coffee cup had been moments earlier, then carefully deposited it in a napkin and folded it closed.
"That's..." Lois stared at his hand, then at the napkin, then back at Harry's face with an expression that suggested she was rapidly recalibrating everything she thought she knew about reality. "That's not possible. That cup was solid ceramic. You just... you crushed it into dust. With your bare hand. Like it was made of crackers."
"Enhanced strength," Harry explained, keeping his voice calm and matter-of-fact. "Among other abilities that I'll explain more fully once we're somewhere private. But the point is that I understand what Clark Kent is going through, because I've been through something similar. Learning to control abilities that can accidentally cause damage if you're not constantly aware of your own strength, trying to help people without revealing too much about what you're capable of, navigating the complicated ethics of power that exceeds normal human limitations."
"This is insane," Lois breathed, but there was excitement in her voice rather than fear. "This is absolutely insane. You're telling me that superhuman abilities are real, that Clark has them, and that you've come to Smallville specifically to help him learn to manage them?"
"That's an accurate summary," Hermione confirmed. "Though we'd prefer to keep the 'superhuman' terminology somewhat vague until we've had more time to explain the theoretical frameworks and practical considerations involved."
"Theoretical frameworks," Lois repeated with something that might have been hysterical laughter. "Right. Because when someone crushes ceramic into dust with their bare hand, the appropriate response is definitely 'let's discuss theoretical frameworks.'"
"Are you okay?" Ginny asked with genuine concern. "Because you're starting to sound like Ron when he's processing information that challenges his understanding of how the world works."
"I'm British," Ron protested. "Processing impossible things with increasing panic is our national sport. It's practically in our cultural DNA."
"I'm fine," Lois said, though her voice was slightly unsteady. "I'm just... recalibrating. Everything Chloe documented, everything she suspected about Clark, all the incidents that didn't make sense... they're all real. Actually real. And you..." She looked at Harry with renewed intensity. "You're like him. You can do impossible things."
"I can do several impossible things," Harry confirmed. "Though I'm still learning to control some of them, which is why I brought along friends who are good at keeping me from accidentally causing disasters through poor judgment or overconfidence in my own capabilities."
"We're very good at that," Ron agreed. "Years of practice preventing Harry from doing spectacularly stupid things with the best of intentions."
"Though our success rate is somewhat lower than we'd prefer," Hermione added dryly. "He's remarkably persistent about charging into danger despite all evidence suggesting he should stop and think first."
"That sounds like Clark," Lois said with a slight smile that carried layers of affection and concern. "Always trying to help, always convinced he can fix things if he just tries hard enough, never quite understanding that some problems can't be solved through determination and good intentions alone."
She took a deep breath, visibly collecting herself, then looked at Harry with the kind of focused determination that suggested she'd made a decision and was committed to following through.
"Right. Here's what's going to happen. We're going to finish our coffee, get back in the car, and drive the remaining hour to Smallville. Once we arrive, I'm going to help you check into the Smallville Inn—which is the only hotel option unless you want to sleep in your car or camp in someone's field. Then, tomorrow morning, I'm going to introduce you to Clark Kent and we're all going to have a very interesting conversation about superhuman abilities, my cousin's death, and exactly what kind of help you're planning to offer."
"That sounds reasonable," Harry said.
"In exchange," Lois continued, "you're going to tell me everything. All of it. The truth about your abilities, how you developed them, what you know about Clark's situation, and most importantly, whether you have any information that might help me figure out what Chloe discovered that got her killed."
"That seems fair," Hermione agreed. "Though I should mention that the full explanation is going to involve some concepts that challenge conventional understanding of physics, biology, and several other scientific disciplines that you probably thought were settled matters."
"I just watched someone crush ceramic into dust with their bare hand," Lois pointed out. "I think my understanding of conventional science has already been thoroughly challenged."
They finished their coffee in contemplative silence, each person processing the implications of what they'd just shared. Harry found himself both relieved and concerned—relieved that they now had an ally who could help them navigate Smallville's social structures and introduce them to Clark Kent, but concerned about how Chloe Sullivan's suspicious death might complicate their mission.
If someone had killed Chloe to prevent her from revealing the truth about Clark's abilities, then their arrival—six British visitors who knew about superhuman capabilities and were specifically seeking Clark out—was going to attract exactly the kind of attention they'd been hoping to avoid.
"One question," Lois said as they stood to leave, collecting coffee cups and snack wrappers with the kind of habitual tidiness that came from good upbringing. "You said you have abilities plural. What else can you do besides crushing things into dust?"
Harry exchanged glances with his friends, noting Hermione's slight head shake that suggested she thought revealing too much too soon was strategically inadvisable, but also recognizing that Lois deserved some level of honesty given what she'd just shared.
"I can fly," he said simply. "Without any equipment, without any external assistance. Just... flight."
"Of course you can," Lois said with the tone of someone who'd decided that reality was negotiable and was just going to accept whatever came next. "Why wouldn't you be able to fly? That seems perfectly reasonable given everything else. Can Clark fly?"
"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I've never met him. But if he's got similar abilities to mine, then probably yes, or at least he will once he figures out how."
"This is going to be the strangest conversation in Smallville history," Lois predicted. "And considering Smallville's history includes at least three unexplained meteor showers and that time someone claimed they saw a UFO hovering over the Kent farm, that's saying something."
They returned to the Honda Pilot, where Andromeda had successfully managed Teddy's nappy change and was now settling him back into his car seat with practiced efficiency. Teddy, for his part, seemed perfectly content with the journey so far—his glamour charm was holding perfectly, his demeanor was calm, and he appeared to be treating this entire expedition as an extended entertainment experience designed specifically for his benefit.
"Everything sorted?" Andromeda asked, noting the slightly shell-shocked expression on Lois's face. "You look like you've received unexpected news."
"You could say that," Lois replied as she settled into the driver's seat and started the engine. "I've learned that reality is considerably more flexible than I previously believed, that my cousin was right about everything she suspected, and that I'm apparently now involved in what might be the most important story in human history involving people with abilities that redefine the possible."
"That's... very specific," Andromeda observed.
"Harry crushed a coffee cup into dust with his bare hand," Lois explained. "And then casually mentioned he can fly. So we're well past the point of maintaining polite fictions about agricultural tourism."
"Ah," Andromeda said with the calm acceptance of someone who'd spent months adjusting to the existence of cosmic superpowers and reality-responsive infants. "Yes, Harry does have a tendency toward dramatic demonstrations when he's trying to prove a point."
"It was an effective demonstration," Harry protested. "She asked for proof, I provided proof."
"You destroyed property," Hermione pointed out. "That coffee cup belonged to the rest stop."
"I left money on the counter to cover the replacement cost," Harry replied with dignity. "I'm not a vandal—I'm just someone with enhanced strength who occasionally needs to provide object lessons about the nature of superhuman capabilities."
As they pulled back onto the highway for the final hour of their journey to Smallville, Harry found himself thinking about Clark Kent—the young man they'd traveled halfway around the world to find, who'd apparently been using his abilities to help people while trying to maintain some semblance of normal life, whose best friend had discovered enough about his secrets to get herself killed investigating the implications.
What would Clark think when six British strangers showed up claiming to understand his situation because one of them had similar abilities? Would he be relieved to discover he wasn't alone, or defensive about outsiders intruding into his carefully managed life?
And most importantly, could Harry actually help? Or was he about to walk into a situation that was considerably more complicated than he'd anticipated, with stakes that extended beyond just teaching someone to control cosmic powers?
"One hour to Smallville," Lois announced, checking the GPS on her phone. "One hour until everything gets either very interesting or spectacularly complicated."
"Why not both?" Ron asked with the kind of fatalistic humor that had gotten him through seven years of Harry Potter's friendship.
"Both is probably accurate," Lois agreed. "Though I have to say, when I woke up this morning, 'drive six British people with superhuman abilities to Smallville to investigate my cousin's suspicious death and help a farm boy learn to manage his impossible powers' was not on my expected itinerary for the day."
"Welcome to our lives," Ginny said cheerfully. "Where normal ceased being an option years ago and we've all just learned to embrace the chaos."
In the back seat, Teddy gurgled approvingly, as though he completely understood and endorsed this philosophy.
The Kansas landscape continued scrolling past the windows—endless fields, distant farms, the occasional small town that appeared and disappeared in moments. The sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon, painting everything in shades of gold that made even the stubbled corn look beautiful.
One hour to Smallville.
One hour until they met Clark Kent and discovered whether their carefully planned expedition was about to solve everything or complicate everything beyond all recognition.
Knowing their luck, Harry suspected it would be both.
But then again, that was just how things tended to go when Harry Potter was involved.
The story was about to get considerably more interesting.
And somewhere in Smallville, a young man with abilities he was still learning to understand had no idea that help—complicated, British, thoroughly prepared help—was about to arrive in his life whether he wanted it or not.
Welcome to Smallville, Harry thought as the town's outskirts began to appear on the horizon.
Population: about to increase by six British visitors with cosmic abilities, comprehensive planning documents, and a strong suspicion that nothing about this expedition was going to go according to their carefully prepared plans.
The adventure was just beginning.
---
The outskirts of Smallville appeared exactly as Lois had described—modest, agricultural, and carrying the particular atmosphere of a community that had existed for generations without feeling any particular need to change just because the rest of the world was modernizing at an alarming rate.
"Right," Lois said, consulting her phone's GPS with increasing frustration, "according to this, we should turn left at the next intersection to reach Main Street. Except I'm fairly certain that intersection doesn't actually exist, because I grew up visiting this town and I don't remember there being a road there."
"Technology failure?" Hermione suggested from the back seat, though her tone carried concern rather than amusement. "GPS systems can be unreliable in rural areas with limited satellite coverage."
"Or the road system has changed since the last time the mapping software was updated," Lois replied, turning down what appeared to be a county road that wound between fields of harvested corn. "Which happens more often than you'd think in farming communities—roads get renamed, addresses get reorganized, and suddenly your navigation system is confidently directing you to places that don't exist anymore."
The sky, which had been clear and golden with late afternoon sunlight, was beginning to develop an ominous quality. Dark clouds were rolling in from the west with the kind of speed that suggested weather systems in Kansas operated on considerably more dramatic timelines than British meteorology.
"Is that normal?" Ron asked, watching the clouds with obvious concern. "Because those look like the sort of clouds that feature prominently in disaster films right before everything goes spectacularly wrong."
"Storm's coming in," Lois confirmed, her hands tightening on the steering wheel. "Kansas weather can change fast—we get these sudden thunderstorms that roll across the plains with basically no warning. Should be fine as long as we can find our way to town before it hits properly."
Harry's enhanced senses were picking up atmospheric changes that his pre-enhancement self would have missed entirely—the pressure dropping, the particular charge building in the air that preceded lightning, the subtle electromagnetic disturbances that suggested the storm was going to be considerably more intense than Lois was expecting.
"We should pull over," he said, his voice carrying certainty that made everyone turn to look at him. "Something's wrong with this storm. The electrical charge is building too fast, too intensely."
"How can you possibly know that?" Lois demanded, though she was already slowing the vehicle.
"Enhanced senses," Harry replied tersely. "I can feel the electromagnetic fields shifting. This isn't a normal storm—or if it is normal for Kansas, then Kansas weather is considerably more dangerous than anyone mentioned."
The first drops of rain hit the windshield with the kind of aggressive enthusiasm that suggested they were just the advance guard for considerably more precipitation. Within seconds, it had progressed from light rain to torrential downpour that made visibility nearly impossible.
"Bloody hell," Ron muttered. "Is this what they mean by 'when it rains, it pours'? Because this seems excessive even by that standard."
Lois activated the windshield wipers to maximum speed, but they were barely keeping up with the deluge. The county road, which had been reasonably well-maintained asphalt, was rapidly developing puddles that suggested drainage had not been a priority in its construction.
"I can't see anything," she said with frustration. "We need to—"
The lightning struck directly in front of them—not nearby, not close, but directly in their path with the kind of precision that suggested either cosmically terrible luck or something considerably more targeted. The bolt hit the road with explosive force, creating a crater and a blast of light so intense that even Harry's enhanced vision was momentarily overwhelmed.
"HOLD ON!" Lois shouted, wrenching the steering wheel hard to the right to avoid the smoldering impact point.
The Honda Pilot veered off the road with momentum that physics demanded and common sense protested. They hit the shoulder at an angle, bounced over the drainage ditch with a jarring impact that made everyone grateful for seatbelts and modern automotive safety features, and plowed directly into the harvested corn field with rapidly decreasing velocity.
The vehicle finally came to rest at a dramatic angle, nose-down in the soft earth of the field, engine still running but clearly unhappy about its current circumstances. For a moment, everyone just sat in shocked silence, processing what had just happened.
"Is everyone alright?" Harry asked, his enhanced senses immediately scanning for injuries among his companions.
"Define alright," Ron replied shakily. "Because I'm alive, which is good, but I think I just experienced what Americans would call a 'life-changing event' and I'm not entirely certain my dignity survived the experience."
"Teddy?" Andromeda's voice was sharp with maternal concern.
"He's fine," Harry assured her, his supernatural hearing confirming that Teddy's heartbeat was steady if slightly elevated. "Startled, probably, but the car seat did its job perfectly."
Lois was gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, staring at the shattered asphalt where lightning had struck moments before. "That was... that wasn't normal. Lightning doesn't strike like that. Not with that precision, not directly in front of a moving vehicle."
"You're right," Harry said grimly. "That was targeted."
"Targeted how?" Hermione demanded, already reaching for her wand before remembering they were in Muggle company and magical intervention would require explanations they weren't prepared to give. "Lightning is a natural phenomenon governed by atmospheric conditions and electrical potential differences. It doesn't target specific vehicles."
"Normal lightning doesn't," Harry agreed. "But I felt something in that strike—not just electrical energy, but something else. Something that felt almost... intentional."
The rain was still hammering down, turning the corn field into a muddy landscape that was going to make extracting the vehicle challenging even with the Honda Pilot's all-wheel drive system. The storm showed no signs of abating—if anything, it seemed to be intensifying, as though something was deliberately making their situation more complicated.
"We need to assess the damage," Lois said, already unbuckling her seatbelt with the kind of determined practicality that suggested she'd dealt with vehicle crises before. "And we need to figure out how to get back on the road before this field turns into a complete mud pit."
"Or before whatever caused that lightning strike decides to try again," Harry added, scanning the darkening sky with enhanced vision that could pick out details most people would miss. "Because I'm increasingly convinced that this wasn't coincidence or bad luck."
"You think something attacked us?" Ginny asked with the kind of calm that came from years of facing impossible threats. "With weather manipulation?"
"I think something doesn't want us reaching Smallville," Harry replied. "Or doesn't want us reaching Clark Kent. Which raises the question of who or what would have both the capability to manipulate lightning strikes and the motivation to prevent British visitors from meeting a Kansas farm boy with superhuman abilities."
In the back seat, Teddy—who had indeed been startled by the lightning strike—let out an indignant wail that suggested his opinion of Kansas weather was extremely unfavorable and he would like someone to please fix this situation immediately.
"Well," Ron said as thunder rolled across the plains with ominous enthusiasm, "at least we made it to Smallville. Technically. If you count 'crashed in a corn field just outside town limits' as arriving at our destination."
"I'm counting it," Lois said firmly, already reaching for her phone. "Though I have a feeling our arrival is going to be considerably more dramatic than any of us planned."
Outside, the storm continued to rage, and somewhere in the darkness, Harry's enhanced senses detected movement that suggested they weren't alone in this field.
The adventure, it seemed, was about to get considerably more interesting.
---
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