Just a few nights later found Harry lying in bed and wide awake, despite the fact that it was almost midnight. He couldn’t remember how young he’d been when he’d first started staying awake the night before his birthday, but it had been long enough that tonight he’d woken up automatically. It was usually the only chance he got to celebrate his own birthday.

 

His life had changed so drastically – so fantastically – over the last year that he was half afraid he’d blink awake to find himself still lying on the dusty floor of the hut in the middle of the sea, with his aunt and uncle running from something he didn’t understand. He could still see, in his mind’s eye, the outline of the cake he’d drawn on the floor, and the candles he’d pretended to blow out . . .

 

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM! Someone was hammering on the door, causing the flimsy bit of wood to tremble on its hinges. Thunder crashed outside, long and loud, rolling around the house. On the settee above him, Dudley had jerked awake, snorting. “Where’s the cannon?” he asked in bewilderment, looking around as if he expected to find one in the room with them.

 

Uncle Vernon came rushing into the room from where he and Aunt Petunia had been sleeping. He was holding a shotgun. “Who’s there?” he bellowed, his remaining moustache twitching wildly. “I warn you – I’m armed!”

 

With a noise that rivalled the crack of thunder, the door abruptly gave way and crashed inwards, causing a large cloud of dust to mushroom up around it. Harry coughed, and waved a hand in front of his face to dispel it.

 

In the doorway stood an absolute giant of a man. He was stooping to look through the now open door. His face was mostly obscured by wild, tangled hair and a thick bushy beard, both of which looked like coarse black wires.

 

Harry – smaller than he really should be at his age – felt his heart skip a beat, even as he frantically backed himself into the corner behind the fireplace. This stranger was big enough to squash him without realising it.

 

Ducking even further to squeeze through the door, the man easily hefted the door back up into position, then he turned around and gazed at Dudley. “Couldn’t make us a cup of tea, could yeh?” he said, and there was a small squeak from where Aunt Petunia was standing in the doorway to the other room. The giant man turned his head to look at her. It was impossible to make out his expression.

 

“Dudley Dursley?” he asked, turning back to Harry’s cousin. Dudley let out a meep, but nodded. “Good to meet yeh! I’m Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds.”

 

Hang on a minute. Harry shook his head. This was all wrong. Hagrid should be there for him, not Dudley. He should have twisted Uncle Vernon’s gun into a pretzel, and he should have given Harry his first ever birthday cake . . .

 

Instead, Hagrid was now busily cooking sausages over the roaring fire that he’d somehow created, and Dudley was inching closer, his nose twitching eagerly. With a chuckle of delight, Hagrid scooped six onto a plate and handed it to Dudley, who grunted before shoving three into his mouth at once. He glanced enquiringly at where Harry was peeping around the brickwork at him.

 

“Don’t bother giving any to him,” Uncle Vernon sneered, finally putting the shotgun down. “He’s not worth it.”

 

“Rightio!” Hagrid agreed, and set about dishing up the other sausages between the four of them.

 

Harry felt his mouth water at the mere smell of the cooking meat, and his stomach growled. This wasn’t right. Hagrid should have given the sausages to him, and warned off Dudley, who had been ordered by Uncle Vernon not to touch any. They had been the best thing Harry had ever tasted . . .

 

“So,” Hagrid said, eventually, settling back onto the settee, which gave an ominous creaking sound. “Yer a wizard, Dudley.” He reached into a pocket and withdrew one of the letters that Harry knew had been for him, that Uncle Vernon had dragged them all out here to escape from. “You’ll enjoy Hogwarts.”

 

“No. NO!” Harry cried, taking a step forward from the shelter of the fireplace. “I’m the wizard, not Dudley!”

 

The other four in the room burst into loud laughter. “As if you’d ever be a wizard,” said Aunt Petunia.

 

“Yeah, freaks aren’t special,” Dudley chimed in. He looked delighted with the chance to gain new ways of tormenting Harry.

 

Hagrid shook his head, and dug in a pocket for a large handkerchief. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose with a loud honk. “Don’t worry,” he said to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. “I’m sure we can find somewhere that’ll take him for yeh. Got to concentrate on Dudley, after all. Not every day you find out you’re a wizard.”

 

Harry stood dumbstruck, his heart beginning to race in panic, as Aunt Petunia sighed and went all misty-eyed, and Uncle Vernon beamed proudly and puffed his chest out. Dudley was reaching for more sausages, the lure of food eclipsing all else.

 

This couldn’t be happening. This was supposed to be special, the night when everything changed for him.

 

“No, the letter’s for me!” he insisted, stepping forward to reach for the letter that Dudley still hadn’t opened yet. “It’s got to be for me! I’m a wizard! Let me see it!”

 

“Gerroff!” Dudley grunted, elbowing him aside as he reached for more sausages. “’s mine.”

 

“Just as good for nothing as my sister and her husband,” Aunt Petunia sniffed. “I always knew my Duddykins was special!” She threw her arms as far around Dudley’s shoulders as she could and squeezed tightly.

 

“No. No!” Harry screamed, his hands forming into fists and lifting to beat at his temples. If he could just wake up, he could prove he was a wizard, he could, he could, he just had to wake up now . . .

 

“You’ll have to learn some good curses,” Uncle Vernon said, his eyes glinting maliciously in Harry’s direction. “You’ve got a nice guinea pig right here, after all.”

 

Suddenly, Dudley was pointing a wand at Harry, even though he hadn’t had one a second ago, and couldn’t have gotten it from anywhere. “Let’s try the one that killed his parents,” said Dudley, enthusiastically. “How did it go again? Oh, right . . . AVADA KADAVRA!”

 

Harry bolted upright in bed, screaming his head off, his arms uselessly trying to protect him from a spell that wasn’t there.

 

“Potter. Potter! Harry!” he could hear Snape yelling, but he couldn’t stop screaming.

 

Abruptly, there was something icy touching the back of his neck, which caused his lungs to seize, and he wasn’t screaming anymore, because now he couldn’t breathe—

 

Snape moved beside him, and the iciness disappeared. It had been Snape’s hand on the back of his neck, Harry realised, as he inhaled deeply several times, trying to get himself under control. Snape was standing with his arms folded across his chest, watching Harry, and Marble was prancing anxiously in circles on the desk.

 

“So-sorry,” Harry stammered, realising that he’d woken them both up.

 

“Potter,” Snape started, then sighed, and actually sat down on the side of the bed. “Harry,” he began again. “You had a nightmare. It was not your fault.”

 

“But I was screaming,” Harry pointed out, hoarsely. “I woke you up.”

 

Snape eyed him for a long moment. “Your cousin must have had nightmares, surely?” he asked. Harry gave a vague movement of his head that could have signalled agreement – although most of Dudley’s nightmares were the result of too many sweets, rather than actual terrors. “Did your aunt care that he woke her up?”

 

Harry hesitated. “N-o,” he finally said, slowly. Aunt Petunia had always fussed over Dudley. He, on the other hand, had always then been blamed, as if he’d somehow caused Dudley to stuff himself sick. The nightmares in the week after the Hogwarts letters had arrived had been the worst. With Dudley waking up every few hours screaming about “that giant” turning him into various animals, then Aunt Petunia had been downright vicious to Harry in return, since – as she pointed out numerous times – if they hadn’t been saddled with Harry in the first place, then her poor Diddykins wouldn’t have been abused and traumatised like that.

 

Snape sighed, obviously hearing what Harry hadn’t said, along with what he had. “Regardless, it smacks of stupidity to blame someone for having nightmares,” he said. “Since, unless they’ve over-eaten, then they did not consciously decide to suffer through one.” He paused and regarded Harry for a long moment. “That means that it is not your fault,” he repeated.

 

“No, sir,” Harry said, trying his best to at least sound agreeable. If only he wasn’t so weak, then he wouldn’t keep having dreams like that. . . .

 

Snape frowned at him. “Repeat after me, Potter,” he said. “Having a nightmare is not my fault.”

 

“Having a nightmare is not my fault,” parroted Harry, obediently.

 

“With a bit more belief, before I make you write it out a thousand times,” Snape said, but he shook his head when Harry opened his mouth again. “I think that’s a conversation for another day – and one for Albus, too,” he added under his breath. Shaking his head again, the professor rose to his feet. “You should try to get back to sleep,” he said. “However, if you find you really cannot sleep, then you may stay here until a more bearable hour.”

 

He took a step towards the door, and then hesitated. Taking his wand from his sleeve, he gave it a flick, and then put it back. Harry wondered how on earth it stayed up there. Did the man glue it to his arm?

 

Catching a package wrapped in plain brown paper, Snape half-turned back to him, for once looking unsure of himself. Finally, he held out the package to Harry. “In case you can’t sleep again,” he said.

 

“Thank you, sir,” said Harry, a bit puzzled.

 

“You’re welcome,” replied Snape, and he turned to go again. Marble, having come to a halt, suddenly stomped a foreleg on the desk, impatiently. Snape glanced over his shoulder and glared at the Aethonian, who just tossed his head. “Bossy Pegasus,” he growled, then shot a quick look at Harry. “Happy birthday, Potter,” he said, and swept from the room.

 

“Um . . . thanks?” Harry said to the empty room. Shaking his head, he looked down at the package he was still holding. No, the present. Despite himself, Harry felt a spark of joy fizz inside him. The only birthday present he’d had before this had been Hedwig the previous year. Strangely enough, the Dursleys had never felt like celebrating the day he’d entered the world.

 

A wide grin beginning to grow, Harry tore off the paper. It was a book. The Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes, the title read in a bright golden font stretched over the front of the book.

 

“Wow,” Harry murmured to Marble, running a hand over the cover before eagerly flipping to the first page. ‘In the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the University of London, and proceeded. . .’

  

---

When Severus woke up the second time – at the much more sociable hour of seven-thirty – it was so quiet that at first he thought Potter had managed to fall back to sleep after all.

 

A quick check, however, showed him that Potter was still in bed, but not asleep. Instead, he was thoroughly engrossed in what looked to be the book Severus had given him just a few hours ago. This theory was borne out by the paper that was still scattered on the bed.

 

Shaking his head in bemusement, Severus made his way downstairs. He had planned to continue his experiment in his lab today, but having been reminded of what day it was, then he supposed it wasn’t really fair to Potter to keep to their usual schedule.

 

Fair, he snorted to himself, rummaging through a kitchen cabinet. Since when was I concerned with being fair? Especially to a Gryffindor?

 

A terrible thought struck him, and he froze, horrified. What if Potter’s Gryffindor-ness is rubbing off on me?! Shuddering, Severus hastily banished the thought deep into the recesses of his mind, layering his Occlumency shields on top of it so that it would never see the light of day ever again.

 

Thankfully, any further thoughts of that kind were banished by the sounds of Potter coming downstairs. Unseen by the boy, Severus raised an eyebrow. He’d thought that he’d have to go upstairs and physically haul Potter away from that book, but either Potter had stopped himself or Marble had made him come down – probably by trampling all over the book until Potter tucked it away.

 

“Here,” Severus said as Potter appeared in the kitchen doorway, thrusting a bowl of cereal at him. “Eat this, and then go and get dressed in something that can pass for Muggle.”

 

Potter gaped at the bowl – understandably; they hadn’t eaten anything other than toast or porridge since the boy had been here – before taking it with a murmured thanks. Marble, who had followed the boy down, was now standing on the counter, poking his muzzle towards Severus’ own bowl of porridge. Severus flicked his fingers at the Aethonian’s nose, and Marble skittered backwards, snorting as though the thought of trying to eat – or pretending to try and eat – Severus’ breakfast had never occurred to him.

 

“I don’t want varnish in my food,” Severus said to him, sternly. Really, did Bertie have this much trouble with his other animated figurines? he wondered. He’d have to ask his friend sometime.

 

There was a choking sound, and Severus turned his head just in time to see Potter hurriedly place his bowl on the counter while he doubled over, coughing. Shaking his head, Severus cast a quick spell to clear the boy’s airways.

 

“Sorry, sir,” Potter murmured, straightening up again and reaching for the bowl again, but Severus could hear the faint laughter that had caused Potter to choke in the first place.

 

“Be quick; and dress for Muggles,” Severus reminded him, collecting his own bowl and heading for the back door. “That also means you have to leave the foal here, Potter.”

 

Guiltily, the boy clapped a hand to the waistband of his pyjamas, where the Abraxan foal was tucked in. “I can’t leave it, sir,” he protested. “Marble keeps trying to hurt it.”

 

Severus raised his eyes to the ceiling in a ‘why me?’ gesture. He beckoned his fingers towards Potter. “Give it here,” he ordered. “It can stay in my lab while we’re gone.”

 

Instantly, Potter’s face lit up, and he scrambled to pull the foal free. “Thank you, sir!” he said, enthusiastically.

 

Severus said nothing aloud, but grumbled internally to himself all the way to his lab about the contagiousness of Gryffindor foolishness.

  

---

One thing this summer had been good for, Harry reflected later that morning, was that he’d finally gotten used to the horrible feeling of Apparating. Sure, he still got a bit nauseous, but he didn’t fall to his knees, or actually throw up anymore. He still didn’t like it, though, and was determined to create a new way of travel that was safe . . . and sane.

 

As they walked out of the deserted alley that Snape had Apparated them to, the sunlight burst over the tops of the buildings beside them, so Harry was blinking away dazzled tears when he realised they’d stopped in front of a particular building. Lifting a hand to shade his eyes, he gaped in astonishment.

 

They were in front of a cinema.

 

Snape cleared his throat, awkwardly. “I thought—” he started, then shook his head slightly and began again. “They’re showing a special viewing of Silver Blaze.”

 

Ordinarily, Harry wouldn’t have had a clue what Snape was on about, but the name rang a very loud bell for him. He’d seen it, only a few hours ago, in the book – in the present that Snape had given to him. “As in the Sherlock Holmes Silver Blaze?” he asked.

 

“The very one,” Snape agreed briskly. “It’s in black and white, of course, but—”

 

“I don’t mind!” interrupted Harry, then he cringed slightly. “Sir,” he added, hastily. “I don’t mind that, sir.” It wasn’t like the Dursleys had taken him to see any films in colour, after all.

 

“Hmm,” said Snape, but apparently he was willing to overlook Harry’s bad manners this once, as he placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder to propel him inside.

 

Harry blinked rapidly as they entered the cool, darkened building. It was emptier than he’d thought it would be, but then again it was still relatively early. Maybe most children were like Dudley and refused to get out of bed before noon at the earliest.

 

Twisting his head to examine the colourful array of posters along one wall, Harry dawdled a bit as Snape strode towards a counter where a young woman was serving another customer. “Two, under the name Snape,” he was saying when Harry finally caught up.

 

“Of course, sir.” The girl clicked several times on her computer, then a whirring sound came from under the desk. Harry craned up onto his tiptoes to see what she was doing. He dropped back as Snape gave him a small nudge, but the girl just smiled at him as she handed over a strip of tickets. “Here you are, sir. Silver Blaze starts in twenty minutes. Enjoy your film!” She winked at Harry, who beamed back at her, even as he felt himself start to blush.

 

“Come along . . . Harry,” Snape said, but he sounded as though something was stuck in his throat. Glancing up at him as they moved away from the counter, Harry was surprised to see the professor was smirking in a way that was a lot less derisive than his usual smirks. Puzzled, Harry decided he didn’t want to know.