He could do with appearing, really; but Professor Snape had said it was something he would have to learn much later. Harry thought he had done something like that once already, and had told him so. At that, Professor had coldly inquired if he'd wanted to appear at the intended destination or all over the place. Which was a good point in favour of waiting, Harry decided.

Still, Harry could swear he saw a figure in grey out of the corner of his eye, when Uncle Vernon dumped his trunk on a cart and bid his sneering farewell at King's Cross Station. Most likely, he imagined too much.

He tried not to touch his memories of that day in July, like a jewel box that could be broken. Only when he had lain awake in his bed, and the cobwebs on the ceiling made him distrust the reality of his future, Harry had dared to remember in detail where his (his!) books on the shelves had come from, the gaudy crowds and the cunning goblins, the owls and the brooms, and a handful of coins and a ticket under his pillow.

In yet another corner of his mind he kept the way midday sunlight had burned his skin and the taste of soft bread and tomatoes, and how normal Professor had looked just sitting there on a normal park bench, while his words had painted surreality in broad strokes. The way he had always towered somewhere near him, glaring at a woman in the bookshop until she unhanded the confused Harry, or telling the man behind the counter at the Apothecary to have some shame not to sell utter garbage to his students in his presence, thank you. Harry snickered quietly. While he had been a bit scared himself every time the man glared at someone, in retrospect it looked rather more fun.

~SS~SS~SS~SS~SS~

The station buzzed with colour and motion, muting the exchange between the boy and Petunia's husband. Severus leaned casually on a wall barely twenty meters from the target, patiently picking lint from his suit, although that task certainly wasn't necessary under disillusionment.

Patience was necessary, however. In the last month, Severus had been developing a nasty feeling that he had unknowingly stepped into a middle of a web, or became an extra component in a volatile potion; so he should patiently and carefully extract himself from it. If his behaviour came to light... Or, rather, when...

What he had seen going after Potter Jr he hadn't been intended to see, but that much had been clear from the beginning. Another thought disturbed him much more. Would I have seen something different if I did go the way that was intended for me? Heard different things?

Every time he saw Dumbledore, his mouth filled with bitter saliva and he found himself unable to demand an explanation. Minerva was normally a good candidate for championing justice, but he couldn't imagine speaking to her against Albus and being understood. She criticized Headmaster readily, yet frowned upon anyone else doing the same.

His thoughts turned back to his possible exposure. Could McGonagall have sent him intentionally? No, she wouldn't have put them both on the spot and endangered a student, as well, merely to prove some point to Dumbledore. Besides, she seemed genuinely grateful for the intervention and had even asked whether an increase in his labs' financial support this year would settle her debt. That was a nice side-effect.

Nevertheless, he needed to wrap it up himself, so there would be no blame to lay afterwards.

Besides, he liked to see his instructions being followed.

~HH~HH~HH~HH~HH~

“Your magic will let you pass, just don't hesitate.”

“But I can't do anything yet! I don't know anything magical!”

“Irrelevant, Mr. Potter.”

Harry tried to stop feeling weird. He wasn't afraid and had told Professor Snape as much. He tried glaring at the approaching wall. The wall ignored him and stayed solid. Perhaps, he had to touch it, and that was how his magic would let him through.

Don't hesitate. He pushed the cart before himself until it gained momentum. Then, a meter from the obstacle, pulled it into a 180-degree turn. He barely had time to stretch his hand to touch the stones.

He stumbled backwards and was nearly run over by his cart, but managed to stop it in time. He still fell on his backside and, looking up, saw an ornate gate where the other side of the wall should have been. He nodded to himself, got up, then trudged up to the train with a lot of time to spare, pushing his way through the people on the platform.

.

“What house do you think you'll be in?” the girl asked. “I hope I'm in Gryffindor; it sounds by far the best.”

“Good luck,” Harry replied, still watching the landscape passing by. She didn't need his input, by the looks of it, swinging her legs in agitation and sharing the more exciting bits of Modern Magical History without pausing for breath.

“So?” she finished her monologue suddenly.

Harry managed to lose its thread by then. “Um, sorry?”

“Gryffindor house, isn't it great?”

“Well, it did have a lot of people, it seems,” Harry said politely. “None of the names says anything to me, I'm afraid.”

“And if they have a test?” Hermione looked even more agitated at the thought. “What will you do?”

“Then I'll go to the worst house there is, for sure.” His talk with Professor seemed to hint there wasn't any wizarding history entrance test, but he didn't want to explain his sources.

“Like, um, Huff— Wait, there shouldn't be a house for people who don't know things.” She frowned and looked like she was ready to expel him in advance.

“Then, there shouldn't be a test,” Harry remarked, fighting a smile. “Anyway, if I had a choice, I would like Slytherin.”

“Why?” the girl was unrelenting.

Harry thought that 'Because the Head of the House doesn't mind' wasn't an answer to throw around and, instead, said, “I hope to study Potions in-depth; it sounds fun.” When it was obvious the girl couldn't quite connect the facts, he clarified, “The current Head of the House is a Potionmaster.”

Hermione's face brightened, and she nodded, seemingly content with the explanation.

~SS~SS~SS~SS~SS~

Being preoccupied with possible and real consequences took his mind off the fact that the new school year was about to begin.

Every year, Severus saw sour expressions even on the faces of more cheerful teachers as the Sorting Feast drew closer, and thus thought his extreme dislike of the day absolutely natural. The only person on the staff who showed any enthusiasm was, unsurprisingly, Albus. He didn't have to interact with children every waking hour and in the middle of the night, at times.

“Speak gently! It is better far to rule by love than fear,” the headmaster recited, glancing at him as if listening in to his thoughts, the congenial smile never leaving his face. Severus stared at him in dull exasperation. Perhaps, the man's habit of lacing candy with drugs had finally got out of hand?

Sighing, Severus gave the herd of children to be sorted a cursory glance, noting first Draco in his studied nonchalance, with the Goyle and Crabbe offspring by his side. And then Potter, to whom no one had paid any attention yet. He wasn't the most impressive specimen of eleven-year-old monster, that was even more clear now. Scrawny, with eyes too light, he somehow combined a grayish, vaguely anaemic pallor with the hair discolouration of someone who had spent the high days of summer outside. Severus once again found himself hoping he hadn't aggravated the insanity brewing in that clean, faceless, eggshell-blue house by appearing on the doorstep. Minerva ought to stumble into it sooner rather than later.

When Potter, Jr sorted himself, Severus wondered whether the thaumaturgic energy of Potter, Sr turning in his grave would be enough to power an Avada for himself or, at least, a small stunning spell.

.

“--You have entirely the wrong reasons, though,” sighed the Sorting Hat. “SLYTHERIN!”