As the sun rose once again over Privet Drive, tiny beams of light found their way through the small cracks in Harry’s worn and dusty curtains. They crept across the cluttered floor, slowly snaking their way towards Harry’s closed eyelids.

Harry Potter; The Boy Who Lived. 

Harry stirred in the morning light and opened his eyes. He began to blink rapidly, the bright stream of light offensive to his tired eyes. He felt around for his glasses, his fingers fumbling in his tired state.

His hand closed around something long and pencil like; he pushed it out of the way and heard a clattering as it fell to the floor.

“Damn,” he muttered. 

His hand fumbled once again and closed this time around a familiar pair of spectacles - he put them on lazily and blinked a few more times. His small bedroom came into focus as he let out a yawn. 

Hedwig’s cage, perched rather precariously on top of a pile of old newspapers, stood empty – she was clearly still out hunting. Next to Hedwig’s cage stood Harry’s old wardrobe. Door slightly ajar – he had tried many times to fix it – it contained all of his school robes and textbooks.

Harry’s most prized possessions could also be seen scattered haphazardly about the cramped room. His Firebolt was standing proudly by his bedside cabinet, propped up against the wall; his invisibility cloak lay folded neatly in his trunk which was sat open under his window; and lastly an old, leather-bound photo album containing the only images Harry had of his dead parents sat safely on his bedside cabinet.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet resting lightly atop the cold, wooden floor. He wiggled his toes to get some feeling back into his legs - compared to his bed at Hogwarts, the mattress the Dursley’s had ‘given’ him (Dudley, in his ever-growing size, had broken half the springs) really wasn’t something to boast about.

He stretched, stifled another yawn and stood up, the movement making his back and knees click rather impressively. He crossed over to his curtains and pulled them open, showering the room with tiny specks of dust hanging lazily in the air. Bright, morning sunlight flooded the room, basking it in a warm, pleasant glow. 

Harry pushed his window open a little wider and stood back as Hedwig swooped in gracefully,dropping a letter on Harry’s bed before landing safely in her cage. She hooted at Harry, tucked her head under her wing and settled down for a long snooze.

Harry smiled as he watched Hedwig for a moment – he then turned back to the window and closed it, leaving a gap large enough to allow a cool breeze to circulate the already stuffy room.

As he turned his attention back to his bed, he remembered that he had knocked something off his bedside cabinet in his search to find his glasses, and sure enough, when he went to check, his wand was missing. He glanced down at the floor but it was nowhere to be seen. Grumbling slightly, he got down on all fours, eventually spotting the stick of wood lying innocently under his bed. He retrieved it along with a folded bit of parchment that appeared to be stuck between the floorboards. 

Heaving himself off the floor, he put his wand back where it should be and brushed the dust off his hands and knees. He sat down at his desk, the broken chair he had salvaged from one of Dudley’s latest tantrums wobbling slightly as he did so. Harry thought nothing of it as he began to unfold the grubby piece of parchment. He knew what was written on it, having memorised it weeks ago, but the untidy scrawl made him smile as he re-read the message.

Harry,

It’s cruel our time together was so short - soon we’ll have all the time in the world, I promise. 

From what I’ve heard about the Muggles you live with, they won’t be too thrilled when they find out you’ve got a murderer as a Godfather, so be sure to let them know that I’ll be keeping a close eye on them - should I hear that you’re unhappy, they’ll have the great pleasure of meeting me personally. 

Buckbeak’s doing fine and we’re keeping on the move. 

I will love you always.

Padfoot

Harry, still smiling to himself, got up and put the note safely in between the pages of his photo album. He could still remember the Dursley’s faces when they’d received a letter from Sirius, the man supposedly responsible for killing thirteen people. Harry hadn’t felt the need to explain to them that Sirius was innocent - it was thanks to Sirius that, for the first time in Harry’s wizarding life, they had not locked all his school possessions away the minute he stepped back through the front door.

Harry looked to his repaired alarm clock, noting it was still quite early in the morning, before glancing over at his homemade calendar. He felt his stomach do a series of backflips as he registered today’s date, circled in a big red swirl.

Harry bound over to Hedwig’s cage and poked her gently awake. She opened her big amber eyes and stared at him reproachfully.

“Today’s the day, Hedwig! This time tomorrow we’ll be at Hogwarts!” Harry said in an excited whisper, fearful of waking up the Dursleys. Hedwig gave a sleepy, celebratory hoot, and then returned to her nap.

Harry, now happier than he had been all summer, replayed the night an unexpected visitor had appeared at the front door of Number Four, Privet Drive.

…

Harry had been sat on his bedroom floor, opening his birthday presents he had received in the mail. The first had been from Hermione; she had sent him a fascinating book on defensive spells and Harry couldn’t wait to try them out (hopefully on Malfoy), along with a huge box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans – Harry had risked a jet black one that had, unluckily, turned out to be rotten fish. Ron had got him a handy little devise to clip onto his broom that told him the time, the temperature, his exact location in the world and his height in the sky. There had also been a note attached.

Harry,

Happy Birthday!

Look mate, I hope you like your present, but I wouldn’t trust it too much – it was only cheap.

We’re going to Australia to visit Charlie in a few days. He’s been sent there to deal with some hexed water dragons, apparently they’re huge! 

Don’t let the Muggles get you down.

Ron

As he was opening his last present, this time from Hagrid, he’d thought of Norbert the dragon from his very first year at Hogwarts - he couldn’t comprehend the size of a fully-grown dragon, let alone a hexed one. 

Hagrid’s gift was about the size of a small notebook, and when Harry ripped off the brown wrapping paper, he had found it to be just that. It wasn’t, however, an ordinary notebook; the pages inside were velvety soft, almost fragile, and the cover seemed to glow faintly in places. When he read the note attached, he was informed that the cover was actually made out of crushed unicorn horn, meaning it was very magical, and also incredibly expensive. Harry couldn’t wait to thank Hagrid. 

Wanting to stretch his legs, Harry had decided a trip downstairs would do the trick. He headed out onto the landing where he could hear the muffled sound of animated voices drifting up the stairs, meaning the Dursleys must be watching TV.

Deciding it was safe to go down, Harry began to descend the stairs; his mouth still tasted unpleasantly of rotten fish and he was hoping he could sneak something out of the fridge without his Aunt noticing. As he reached the last step, the doorbell rang, and Harry stood still as a statue as he heard Uncle Vernon’s low rumble.

“Expecting anyone Petunia, dear?” he asked.

“No, not at all,” came his Aunt’s simpering voice. “Is it one of your little friends, Popkin?” 

Harry heard a sound, similar to a grunt, which he took to mean “no” from Dudley.

“Nuisance-callers, bet it’s some chump asking for money for the latest charity…” Uncle Vernon’s voice trailed off gruffly. The door to the sitting room opened suddenly, and Harry felt a strange sense of guilt wash over him, though he had no idea why.

“What are you doing, lurking about? Got nothing better to do than eavesdrop on our conversations?” Uncle Vernon shot at him. 

Harry shook his head lamely; he didn’t really have a comeback.

The doorbell went again and Uncle Vernon growled, “I’m here, I’m here. Ruddy salesmen, nothing better to do than bother my family … tell them where to shove it …” Harry passed swiftly by his muttering Uncle and headed towards the kitchen. 

An all too familiar voice was soon drifting down the hall, however, causing Harry to stop dead in his tracks. He was confused; that voice didn’t belong in the Dursley’s corridor, it belonged at – 

“Hogwarts, yes. You heard me correctly Mr Dursley. Now, I was wondering if I might have a word with young Harry?”

Harry came out of his stupor and spun around, unable to suppress his grin.

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was standing, framed in the Dursley’s doorway. He was smiling calmly. 

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, warmly, “could you come out here for a moment, seeing as your uncle has failed to invite me in?”

Uncle Vernon gave a stunned start, recovered from the shock of seeing a fully-grown wizard – deep purple robes and all – standing in his doorway, and backed slowly into the sitting room, closing the door as he did so.

As Harry walked past the newly shut door, he heard the tell-tale sound of a lock clicking into place. He chanced a glance at his Headmaster and was pleased to see him still smiling. 

“Harry, my boy, so good to see you,” said Dumbledore as he closed the front door behind Harry. Harry, still so amazed by the fact that Dumbledore was actually here, registered only too late that Dumbledore was talking to him. He opened his mouth hurriedly but was cut off by a quiet chuckle.

“Surprised to see me, I take it?” asked Dumbledore kindly.

“Ye-yes sir, I-I mean no sir, I-I mean …” Harry’s voice trailed off pathetically, his brain working in overdrive to try and form some words.

“Enjoying your birthday, I hope?”

Harry had quite forgotten it was his birthday, but he nodded nonetheless and replied.

“Yes, thank you sir.”

“Good, good,” nodded Dumbledore, thoughtfully. “Now Harry, I expect you’re wondering why I’m here.”

Harry looked up at him, a sense of dread snaking its way into his stomach. He nodded again, more hesitantly this time. 

“I am here to talk about your return to school.”

Harry felt his stomach drop.

“I am going back, aren’t I?” Harry asked, slightly panicked, his words spilling out quickly now. “Hogwarts hasn’t closed down, has it? Wait! Has Snape finally got me expelled? But sir, that’s not fair! He can’t just -”

“Harry!” Dumbledore interrupted Harry’s frantic ramblings with a chuckle. “Harry my boy, don’t worry! Hogwarts has not closed down and Professor Snape –” Dumbledore looked pointedly at Harry and Harry merely shuffled his feet uncomfortably, “– Professor Snape has not had you expelled.”

“Yet,” mumbled Harry, avoiding Dumbledore’s twinkling blue eyes. 

He heard Dumbledore chuckle again before he continued.

“I have decided that, since Lord Voldemort may once again be on the rise to power, it would be unsafe for you to return to school by the usual means. Therefore, you shall be returning to Hogwarts with myself, a week before term begins.” He looked at Harry simply. “I hope that is satisfactory?” Dumbledore’s eyes continued to twinkle from behind his half-moon spectacles.

“Sir, that’s … that’s …” Harry, stunned into silence, was lost for words once again. 

“Good news?” prompted Dumbledore.

“Brilliant news,” answered Harry, grinning. A whole extra week at Hogwarts - that meant a whole extra week away from the Dursleys! Harry could have jumped for joy, but he resisted, not wanting to embarrass himself any further. 

“Excellent,” affirmed Dumbledore, clapping his hands together. “I shall see you on the eve of the twenty fifth – I look forward to it!” 

He patted Harry fatherly on the shoulder and turned to leave. Halfway down the drive, however, he let out a loud “oh!” that made Harry jump.

“Harry, I almost forgot. I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about these plans, otherwise it defeats the whole object, you see?” Harry nodded, his thoughts drifting briefly to his friends.

“Sir, would I be able to –”

“I shall inform Mr Weasley and Miss Granger to expect your absence on the Hogwarts Express,” Dumbledore interrupted, his mouth turning up into a kind smile. 

“Thanks,” Harry grinned back, sad that he’d have to wait to see his friends, but still basking in the glory of a whole extra week away from the Dursleys. 

Dumbledore turned abruptly and disappeared down the deserted street, his robes billowing out behind him. He waved a final goodbye to Harry before disappearing with a loud ‘crack’. 

Harry jumped at the noise, turning hurriedly back to the front door in case any of the nosy neighbours decided to investigate the noise. 

He was greeted by a large, moustached face with small, piggy eyes peering through a crack in the sitting room door.

“Well? Has he gone?” hissed his Uncle. 

“Yep, he’s gone,” said Harry happily, “but he’ll be back on the twenty fifth!” 

Harry enjoyed the stunned look on his Uncle’s face as he headed back upstairs, happier than he’d been in a long time.

…

Harry, now done reminiscing, glanced around the room and noticed something lying on his bed. It was the letter Hedwig had dropped.

He picked up the envelope and flipped it over, frowning slightly as he searched for a name; there was nothing, not even an address. 

“Where’d you get this, Hedwig?” he asked the sleeping bird, his eyebrows drawing together as he ripped the envelope open. 

A blank square of parchment fell out and Harry picked it up inquisitively, dropping it almost instantly as words began to scrawl themselves across the page. They vanished as quickly as they had appeared, and Harry picked up the parchment once again, more hesitantly this time. Words began to appear once more, and Harry leaned closer to read them.

Mr Potter,

Assuming you possess the skill and attention span needed to reveal this note, I wish to inform you that the Headmaster is no longer able to collect you. That duty now lies with me.

I will be arriving at five o’clock this evening. I do not like to be kept waiting. If you are not ready I will not hesitate to leave you behind. 

Do not be late.

Professor S. Snape

Harry’s stomach dropped and his good mood vanished – he felt as though he had just been plunged head-first into a pool of icy water, by none other than Severus Snape.

Professor Snape was easily the least liked teacher at Hogwarts. With the way he openly favoured his own house – Slytherin – and positively hated the others, especially Gryffindor. It was common knowledge that he detested Harry and did everything in his power to make Harry’s life a living hell; of all the teachers at Hogwarts, Harry had to get stuck with the one that was most likely to kill him.

Harry threw the letter to the floor and slumped down onto his bed. He grabbed his pillow and gave it a good wallop, savouring the relief it brought. 

A thought came to him and he immediately reached for a quill and a spare bit of parchment – he would write to Sirius and explain, and Sirius would be able to come and sort it out.

He tapped the feathered end of the quill quickly against his temple, deciding what to write. He could hear the muffled sounds of the Dursleys waking up around him as his thoughts turned to Dumbledore. 

He cursed and threw the quill and parchment to the floor. He had promised; promised not to tell anyone about the plans to move him – and that promise included Sirius. What if his letter was intercepted? What if someone read about the plans to move him? He couldn’t risk it.

He ran his fingers through his trademark mop of messy, black hair. Why was it always him? A week at Hogwarts with the most hated … Harry couldn’t even think of a word that would do the foul bat justice. 

He glanced at his clock and saw that an hour had passed. He hissed and gave his trunk a kick, now dreading the evening that was to come.

Hedwig was watching him, her big amber eyes intrigued.

“Sorry girl, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he muttered, as he pushed himself off the bed and crossed the room to her cage. “It’s not that bad, right? He’s just got to come get us, take us to Hogwarts, and then we can stay out of his way. We’ll be perfectly happy in the common room.” Harry chuckled weakly and Hedwig tilted her head at the sound. He stuck his hand through the open door of Hedwig’s cage and scratched her gently behind the ear. She hooted contentedly and nipped his finger affectionately as he withdrew his hand.

He looked around at his possessions.

“Better get packing,” he said as he began picking things up and shoving them into his trunk, praying that, by some miracle, it would all fit.

Soon enough Harry was heaving his trunk – full to bursting – down the stairs and into the hallway, which was proving to be a lot more difficult than he had anticipated. He had somehow got it wedged in a corner of the staircase and was now struggling to get it any further. He gave it one enormous push, throwing his whole weight against the side of the stubborn case; he felt it lurch away from him and Harry made a mad grab for it, but too late. It hit the floor with an almighty crash that made Harry grimace.

The kitchen door burst open and out charged his Uncle, his face a classic shade of Dursley purple,

“What on earth do you think you are doing, boy?” spat his Uncle. “We’re trying to eat our breakfast in peaceand you’re out here tearing the place down. What is the meaning of it?” his Uncle finished, a little hysterically.

Harry, now wiping small specks of spittle off his glasses, replied.

“I was just bringing my case down for when Professor Snape arrives.” Harry paused – he just called Snape ‘Professor’ without even meaning to. He grimaced, chastising himself. 

“Snape? Who’s this Snape? I thought that nutter with the beard was taking you? Bumble-whatsit-”

“Dumbledore. His name’s Dumbledore,” said Harry, defensively, “and yes, he was coming to get me, but he can’t anymore, so Snape is.”

“Snape?” snapped his Aunt, appearing behind Uncle Vernon. She was wearing a hideously patterned floral dress that made her look like an old, bony curtain that had grown legs. 

“Yes, Snape,” nodded Harry, thoroughly fed up of this conversation. 

His Aunt’s eyes sparked dangerously and Harry stared at her in confusion; the expression on her face was foreign to Harry – he’d seen her angry plenty of times, of course, but this was different – she looked livid, like Harry had just uttered the most disgusting word in the world. 

“What a hideous name,” she hissed, before turning stiffly and disappearing back into the kitchen. 

Harry’s eyebrows drew together and he watched his Aunt leave. Meanwhile, his Uncle was still processing the information, his piggy face scrunched up unpleasantly as his brain tried to connect all the dots.  

Eventually, he retorted.

“What time’s he getting here? We’re going out for a meal, so don’t you expect us to wait around for –”

“He’s coming at five, so you’ll be fine,” said Harry shortly. Patience wearing thin with his moody Uncle, Harry righted his trunk, pushed it to the side, and headed back upstairs. He heard his Uncle muttering something about “freaks” and “wasting my time” before he shut his bedroom door with a quiet snap.

He let his eyes wander over his now empty bedroom, the only things left for him to take where his Firebolt and Hedwig’s cage, along with Hedwig of course. 

He let out a sigh as his stomach rumbled, not wanting to venture downstairs again and face his Aunt or her excuse for a breakfast – a few scraps of dried fruit and seeds if he was lucky. Instead, he headed to the trusty loose floorboard under his bed and pulled out the last of his birthday cake – a present from Mrs Weasley; considering he had received the cake almost a month ago, it was still lusciously moist and tasted superb.

Stuffing the last few tasty morsels into his mouth, he felt the empty feeling in his stomach start to disappear and he glanced out of the window, noting with a faint smile that the sun was still shining – he would escape his last day with the Dursleys by going to the park. 

“See you later, Hedwig,” he whispered to his sleeping friend as he grabbed his wand and stuffed it up his sleeve; he wouldn’t use it, of course, but better to be safe than sorry. The way his luck was going he could just imagine Voldemort appearing atop the climbing frame or sliding menacingly down the spiral slide.

A short walk later – and after a quick Voldemort check – Harry was perched lazily on one of the swings, kicking the gravel beneath his feet as he thought about Hogwarts; he missed the castle terribly, along with all of his friends and professors, he’d even go so far as to say he missed Mrs Norris – at least when she was around it meant he was away from the Dursleys.

“What are you doing, Harry? C’mon, we’ve got to go.” 

Harry’s head snapped up as a woman’s voice sounded from across the park. She was looking in his direction, her hand beckoning him to come to her.

He looked around in confusion and felt his cheeks start to burn as a young boy, no older than seven, ran past his spot on the swings and towards the woman. 

“Please mummy I want to stay,” he whined as he got closer to his mother. She laughed as she ruffled his dusty blonde hair. 

“No silly, we can’t stay, we’ve got to go and see Grandma and Grampy, remember?” The little boy – evidently called Harry – looked up at his mum sadly. 

“Do I get an ice cream at Grampy’s?” he looked hopeful, all thoughts of the park forgotten. 

“Of course,” smiled his mother. 

He slipped his small hand into hers and began to skip alongside her, his feet kicking up small dusts of dirt as he went. The woman glanced back, perhaps checking they hadn’t left anything behind. Her eyes fell on Harry and she gave him a polite smile, before turning around and disappearing over the hill. 

Harry watched them go glumly, the little boy holding onto his mother’s hand tightly. 

He pushed himself gently on the swing as his thoughts drifted to someone he’d not thought about for a while.

His mum. 

He missed her terribly, too. Had she ever taken him to the park? Sat him on her knee and swung him gently on the swings until he laughed? Had his father ever taken him down a slide? The two of them careering around the slippery corners before emerging into the sunshine, Lily’s smiling face waiting to greet them. Had they ever eaten ice cream together? His parents were practically strangers to him, he thought, mournfully. 

He sighed miserably as he looked up at the sky; the sun had travelled a significant amount across the blue canvas. He should head back to the Dursley’s soon. 

He watched a bird, probably a seagull judging by its white colouring, picking at a forgotten sandwich crust; he wondered what a seagull was doing so far from home.

The bird stopped pecking and looked at the old climbing frame that had once been the pride and joy of the park. Harry followed its gaze and felt a sudden cold wash over him – he had the strangest feeling that something was watching him. 

Despite the empty frame, he could tell something was over there, and the seagull could too. Harry noted that the sun had disappeared behind a cloud and the air was suddenly a lot cooler. His mind turned to dementors and he gripped his wand tightly, ready to draw it should he need to. 

He stood up quickly and began to back away, his nervous steps turning into a hurried scramble as the seagull began to caw and screech, its wings flapping anxiously. 

The seagull took to the sky and Harry watched it ascend, wincing as the sun appeared from behind the cloud once more, his hand shooting up to cover his eyes. 

As the warmth slapped his skin, he felt the feeling of dread vanish. His grip on his wand loosened slightly and he blinked towards the spot; the climbing frame was just a climbing frame once more. 

He let out a shaky sigh and began a hasty journey home, making his way quickly out of the park. The seagull was still visible in the sky overhead, flying around in lazy circles, looking for its companions. He appreciated the company.

Once back at the Dursley’s his nerves had returned to normal, and his empty bedroom was a welcome sight for once. He closed his door and placed his wand absently on his bed. He glanced at his bedside clock and began to blink furiously, his vision blurring. 

He placed his hands on his bedframe to steady himself, the rickety metal rods shaking violently under his weight. His legs began to feel heavy before giving way all together. He tumbled to the floor, grasping at his duvet helplessly. He felt his breathing slow as his bedroom tilted dangerously, the floor coming up to meet him and his glasses slipping uselessly from his face.

Someone had turned down the volume of the world, and soon all Harry could hear were his own steady breaths as he lay on the floor. 

He felt like he should go to sleep, but fought against his heavy eyelids, afraid of what he might see in the darkness.

He could hear someone whispering. 

He moved his head in slow motion, looking for the source of the noise. His vision began to vignette, the blackness creeping in from all sides until he felt himself falling down into the dark, the whispering still ringing in his ears. 

Harry stirred; the movement making his head throb painfully.

“Potter.”

A deep voice sounded from far away. It felt familiar but Harry couldn’t quite place it

“Potter, I know you are awake, so would you kindly open your eyes?”

The voice was growing louder in his head, he wanted it to shut up – he was in a relative amount of pain and wanted to go back to the peace and quiet he’d been enjoying before. 

“Potter, open your eyes now, or I will be forced to do it for you.”

That voice really was quite annoying. Why couldn’t Harry just stay where he was? He wasn’t doing anything wrong. He heard something that sounded like footsteps near his feet; they were fading away into the distance.

Good, thought Harry, some peace at last. 

Harry’s emerald eyes flew open as a large amount of ice-cold water hit him directly in the face, drenching him quite effectively and making him gasp for breath. His head instantly began to pound. 

He searched the room frantically for the offender, but found that his glasses had been removed, making everything annoyingly blurry.

As he heaved himself up gingerly onto his elbows, a large, black shape loomed over him, slowly coming into an irritatingly fuzzy focus – Harry wished it wouldn’t.

Long curtains of greasy, black hair fell in front of a pale, sallow face. Dark, obsidian eyes flashed dangerously as Harry made contact with them. Harry wanted to shrink away from the glare as a thin mouth curled into an amused sneer.

Severus Snape, Potions Master, was glaring down at Harry, who was currently sprawled on the floor, his legs tangled in his bedsheets, his hair dripping with water. 

Harry caught sight of his glasses, clenched in one of Snape’s pale hands, and began to protest. 

“Hey! They’re mine!” Harry’s voice was dry in his throat. He glared vaguely towards Snape, still partially blind; he hoped he was glaring in the right direction. 

“Potter, your powers of observation never cease to amaze me,” Snape’s words dripped with sarcasm. 

He thrust his hand towards Harry and Harry snatched his glasses out of Snape’s greasy grip, ramming the frames onto his face. Snape’s smirking face snapped into focus and Harry scowled. 

“I would have thought even you could understand that glasses need to be in front of your eyes for them to work successfully,” droned Snape, sneering down at Harry, “or do you make a habit of leaving them on the floor?” 

“Obviously they fell off my face when I – when I ...”

“When you what, Potter?” 

Harry paused, his head still thudding.

“I don’t know what happened,” he murmured, glancing around his room for inspiration. How had he ended up on the floor? A thick fog was circling his head, jumbling his thoughts and hiding any memories that might be useful to him. “I fell down?” he half answered, half asked.

“Clearly,” Snape quirked an eyebrow and continued to stare at him, his lips turned down remorselessly. 

Harry clenched his jaw and heaved himself off the floor, using his bed as leverage. He manoeuvred himself into a slightly undignified crouch, perching himself on the edge of his bed. Anything was better than the floor. 

“You remember nothing?” pressed Snape, his attention turned to the empty glass he was holding. Wordlessly he tapped it with his wand and it began to fill with water. 

“I remember you throwing water in my face,” Harry mumbled to himself, searching for his own wand. 

“Since you refused to get off the floor, I felt it necessary,” smirked Snape, holding out the now full glass of water. “Drink.”

Harry stared at the glass. 

“What is it?”

“Poison, Mr Potter, I wish to watch you fall down again.” 

Harry held back a growl and took the water reluctantly. He took a sip and felt the cool water quench his dried throat. He tried not to gulp down the rest too quickly, but judging by the expression on Snape’s face, he didn’t succeed. 

“Thanks,” muttered Harry, placing the empty glass on his bedside cabinet. He pushed himself up off the bed and into a half dignified standing position; he still didn’t match the height of the Potions Professor, but then, who did? 

His legs trembled slightly as he stretched out his back. The throbbing in his head was blissfully beginning to fade. Snape was watching Harry closely. 

“Stay there, I shall be back shortly.” 

With a lot of cloak billowing and dramatic music – the music was in Harry’s head, of course – Snape left the room.

Harry – a Gryffindor and never one to follow the rules – grabbed his wand and immediately went to follow Snape. He noted with some annoyance that Hedwig’s cage was gone, along with his Firebolt.

Wand in hand, Harry crept down the stairs as quietly as he could – years of practice meant he could move through the house practically unnoticed. He could hear Snape’s voice coming from the kitchen, so Harry tiptoed to the door and gently pressed his ear to the wood.

The door flew open instantly and Harry found himself face-to-face, or more accurately, face-to-chest, with the Potions Master once more.

“Still not able to follow the simplest of instructions I see, Mr Potter,” came Snape’s cold drawl.

Realising he had been caught in the act, Harry felt he might as well be honest.

“You were talking to someone, I heard you.”

“Congratulations, Potter, do you want an award?” 

“Who was it?” asked Harry, “there’s no one there?” Harry peered around Snape to gaze into the definitely empty kitchen.

“Whom I talk to and how I choose to do it is none of your business, Potter. Now, seeing as you’re no longer sprawled across the floor, can we finally make our way to Hogwarts?” 

“Where’s all my stuff? And Hedwig –”

“Your bird, broomstick, and luggage are already up at the school,” interrupted Snape impatiently. “As I said in my letter, Mr Potter, I will not hesitate to leave you behind. You have delayed me long enough. Now let us go.” 

Harry felt a hand land tightly on his shoulder. It gripped him like a vice and Harry felt all the breath leave his lungs. He was engulfed in a darkness that felt like he was being squished down a very long, very thin tube, and he didn’t like it at all.