Harry had never been to an opti-witch, and before long, he was marvelling at how cool magic was. The smallest things often brought this realization, like when he’d first seen dishes washing themselves at the Burrow, or when their tiny tent at the Quidditch World cup housed several large rooms on the inside. Now he smiled in childish wonder at the various instruments that danced around the room, zooming this way and that, innocuously tracking his gaze, measuring his depth perception, gauging the strength of the prescription he needed.

“First time to a magical optician, I see,” Sarah commented to Snape. “You were the same way, you know. Fascinated by all the magical gadgets.”

Harry turned in time to see Snape’s sour expression.

Sarah laughed and patted his arm.

“Well then, Henry,” she said, striding towards him. “Let’s take a look at your results.”

Harry watched as she retrieved a piece of parchment that he had barely noticed before. A quill had been scribbling on it as the various charmed instruments zoomed around the room. Apparently, the results had all been recorded in an orderly fashion.

Sarah picked up his glasses, the ones she’d taken from him when they’d first entered the exam room, and tapped the lenses several times, muttering incantations that he didn’t understand. Then she tapped the frames once and slid them onto his face.

“There,” she said. “Try these.”

The first thing Harry felt was the metal of the frame glow warmly before twining and shifting around, like liquid metal solidifying, before finally settling comfortably on his face and ears. Then his eyes focused and he looked out through crystal clear lenses. “Wow,” Harry breathed. “I can see! And they fit perfectly! These are brilliant!”

Sarah laughed heartily. “Yes, indeed,” she chirped. “It’s amazing you could see anything at all with the prescription you had.”

Harry looked around, astonished at the clarity of objects, their sharp clean edges and distinct colours. His radiant smile encompassed the room, until it landed on Snape and faltered. Harry hesitated, then looked away. This was yet another thing he’d owe Snape for.

“You’re all finished,” Sarah said, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. “I expect to see you back in eighteen months’ time.”

Harry nodded and murmured, “Thanks.” He missed the concerned look that passed between the doctor and Snape.

“Is something wrong?” Snape inquired as they left the office.

“No,” Harry replied quickly. “The glasses are great.”

He felt Snape watching him closely.

“Thanks for them,” Harry added lamely, watching his feet as they ambled along the street past various shop windows. “I’ve never had a real eye exam before.”

Harry missed the startled look that flitted across his professor’s face. He felt suddenly sick with nerves. If he was going to make a break for it, it was now or never.

“Er... I need to use the loo,” he said, shading his eyes from the sun and looking around for one.

“There’s a public toilet up ahead a little ways,” Snape replied.

Harry was torn as they walked in silence. He would have loved to believe that Snape had given him these wondrous new glasses out of unadulterated kindness. But what reason could Snape possibly have to be this nice to Harry Bloody Potter, son of James Bloody Potter? Harry shook his head with regret. The only possible reason could be on Dumbledore’s orders, but even then, Snape had never been like this before. And surely Snape could have met Dumbledore’s demands without buying him an entirely new wardrobe and fitting him with new glasses. There had to be some ulterior motive. With the bathroom now in sight, he made up his mind.

“I’ll wait here for you,” Snape said as he leaned against a column of the building and surveyed the street for signs of danger. “Don’t take all day.”

“Right,” Harry said and slipped into the bathroom.

After nearly ten minutes, Snape went into the bathroom to see what was taking Potter so long. It was utterly and entirely empty. Snape cursed loudly and looked around for any traces of Potter being taken against his will. There were no fresh signatures of magic here; Potter had left of his own accord. Snape slammed his fist into the nearest stall, leaving a large dent in the cheap metal frame. “Damn you, child!”

Rushing out of the bathroom, he searched the streets desperately. He hadn’t lied when he’d said they were nowhere near Order Headquarters and he doubted Potter would have any idea how to get there. Nonetheless, he ducked into a space between two buildings and sent a message via patronus to Tonks, who was living at headquarters with Lupin, to keep an eye out for the boy. Then he strode off, searching stores, alleyways, and side streets for any sign of the teen.

Anger crawled up his spine and menace radiated from his pores. Even with the notice-me-not charms, passers-by felt an odd sense of alarm when they neared him and crossed the street. Snape gritted his teeth; he’d be hard pressed not to strangle the boy when he found him.

It had been easy enough to slip away from Snape. As the potions master guarded against any potential threat, Harry had tiptoed out of bathroom and stolen into the narrow space between the public toilet and the adjacent building. He’d run along behind the various businesses before hitting a dead end. His exit was blocked by a 6 foot high chain link fence that enclosed some sort of factory. Shrugging, Harry climbed the fence and made a run for it.

Nearly an hour later, after roaming through residential streets without being able to come up with a reasonable solution to his dilemma, he sat on a swing in a deserted playground. He stared off into the distance, not sure what to do next. The only things he had on him were the clothing on his back and his wand. He’d considered signalling for the Knight Bus, but then what? Aside from the fact that he didn’t have any money to pay, with Voldemort tracking him, anywhere he went would put the people he cared about most in danger. He couldn’t do that to the Weasleys, not after Arthur had just been so seriously injured by Voldemort’s snake. He knew the address for the Order of the Phoenix, but it didn’t do him much good. He had no idea how to get there from here, and even if he did, Grimmauld Place would be a grim reminder of Sirius’s death and he wasn’t ready to face that yet. In truth, he had nowhere to go. Cursing his lack of foresight, he kicked at the dirt at his feet.

An hour and a half later, Snape was sweaty, dishevelled, had a headache, and was in a fouler mood than even he thought possible. He was going to wring Potter’s scrawny neck for this. Did the boy not have any sense at all? If a Death Eater ran across him, Potter was as good as dead. The only thoughts that comforted Snape now were that Potter didn’t yet know how to apparate and that if Death Eaters had gotten a hold of Potter, he’d be one of the first to know. Nothing had come back from headquarters either, so clearly the boy wasn’t there.

Snape stopped a moment to consider his options. He’d been searching for over an hour in an increasing radius of where he’d last seen the boy. He’d make one more sweep, and if he couldn’t find Potter, he’d have to call in the Order to help search. He didn’t relish that idea at all. Aside from looking like a complete fool in front of the other Order members, he had no desire to tell Dumbledore that he’d lost the headmaster’s favourite student.

Resuming his search, he walked around an older neighbourhood, thankful that the streets branched out in concentric squares, making it easier for him to keep track of where he’d been. He looked for any sign of Potter, any tinge of his magical signature. The problem was, he’d only recognize Potter’s magical signature if the boy actually used magic, and he didn’t think even Potter was stupid enough to do that, not with both Voldemort and the Ministry breathing down his neck. He noticed a grassy lot with what looked like some playground equipment on it, and crossed the street to get a better look.

There, sitting on a swing with his back to Snape, sat Potter; alone and dejected from the looks of it. Snape snarled inwardly, increasing his pace. When he got through with Potter, the insolent, idiotic child would wish he’d never been born.