Number II; A trip to the seaside (p.1)

The first time I remember Dudley ever mentioning the sea, was when I was five.

Everything is always way bigger, more important and giddier when you’re five, children learn how to be dramatic at that age, they learn to take things for granted, to make such a tiny or nonexistent matter and turn it into a mountain of hay, ready to be blown away with the soft breeze of reality. Even at that age, I hated being five.

To be five and be left alone for the weekend is basically a free pass to another planet and child abuse charges for the parents involved, though the Dursleys were not my parents and I was too boring and frightened to be a normal five year old.

I was such a boring kid; now that I look back at it much later, I realize my meek behavior and the Dursleys taking advantage of me was mostly my own fault, though Severus later told me that was one of the side effects of child abuse, and I was not to blame, but what does he know about being boring?

At the age of five, Dudley was the most dramatic, obnoxious, and the brattiest child I remember interacting with. He boasted about going to the sea months before the event (it was an event, for a five year old and not a simple holiday) and /years/ after it actually took place; the more he said, and boasted and goaded me into thinking that sea, was this heaven like place with loads of water and a gigantic sandbox without limitation that was only designed for good boys, the more I was convinced that I loathed the place.

The aspect of being a freak or being left alone in the house with only the old cat lady (I cannot remember her name) was not the issue, my problem was that I was five. And I didn’t believe him.

I should have been convinced if the boy had been boasting about getting to buy a flying dog or some shit like that, but instead I didn’t even fathom that this ‘sea’ thing was that great, instead I used to imagine Dudley and his parents stranded in a scary blub of filth and water where aunt Petunia burned till she got red for months and Dudley got even fatter.

The first time I ever saw the sea, was on the television, not only two years after that, as I was dusting the mantle, staggering on the stumbling stool as I constantly shifted on my knees, my short height barely allowed me to reach the top and the fear of breaking something was worse than me falling and breaking a limb.
I vaguely remember Dudley sprawled on the floor; a big bag of chips and his homework (that I was forced to do for him later) laid around him as he was drooling all over their shiny new TV.

Every once in a while I would avert my eyes and sneak a glance, my arms shaking with the sheer effort of holding my weight on the creaky mantle, and the dirty, damp rag slipping under my palm.

“OH! OH! Mommy! Mommy come look! It’s the sea! It’s on our TV!” the chubby boy suddenly screeched and I almost did a double back on the blasted stool, nearly falling in surprise.


Aunt Petunia didn’t look as excited as Dudley, but rushed in for her son’s favor nonetheless, not even having the time to scowl at me for staring open mouthed at the screen with dazed eyes; that was the moment I /fell/ in love with the sea, the first time I had dared to feel the warmth spread over my chest, and I latched on it like a leech.

Years later, it was still me who always demanded pictures of Hermione when she went on holidays to the seaside; it was me who hung over her every word as we were sitting in the train on our way to Hogwarts as Ron tuned us out in favor of devouring sweets.

And it was still me who was sitting in a rented car, humming along with a country song I didn’t know the lyrics to, as my /potion’s/ Professor was driving the car, eyes narrowed in concentration, we were headed to the cottage by the sea.

The boosting potion and my condition prevented me from using magical means for transportation, forcing the poor man, and me to jog all the way to the main gates in that ungodly hour, walk to Hogsmeade as subtly as possible, catch the train and find an empty compartment to settle in.

Snape immediately charmed the binders close and settled as far from me as possible.

“We would be in London by eleven.” Was all he told me before flipping his journal open, not batting an eye at me as I pressed myself farther into the window, struggling to catch a peak as the train was starting to move.

“This is so cool.” I breathed against the window.

“Yeah Potter, now back down before you puke.”

“No, I wanna watch the trees.”

Severus sighed in exasperation and impatience. “There’s going to be plenty where we’re going, and even if not then you would remember to abide the rules. Remember the rules.”

“Dang it.” I said without an ounce of enthusiasm and sat back, the man hummed back in the same detached tune.

After watching the nauseating process of the train from the window for another fifteen minutes just to spite the man, I decided there would be plenty of time for me to admire the nature around us and sat back with a sigh, idly glancing at my mute teacher.

Was he bored too? I wondered while yawning.

“Can we set other rules?” I suddenly wondered out loud as Snape sluggishly raised his hand to flip another page, the sound of the train moving on the trail was the only sound settling between us by then and I was more than happy to break it.

“Why should we?” he asked.

“It just seems a bit unfair that you get to make and break the rules here, besides, isn’t this a two way relationship?”

“There is /no/ relationship between us Potter. The sooner you get that the better.” After a moment of hesitation, I heard the man sigh again. I indulged a bit in his annoyance and straightened up.

“Alright Potter, what are your rules?” it seemed as if the very question pained him.

“Well…” if Hermione was there, then perhaps those set of rules wouldn’t have been as hilarious and at the same time as sad and pathetic as they have been.

“We should get on first name basis; I might as well call you Sever…ous? By now.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on!”

Snape dropped “Potter, I’m a thirty seven year old man with dignity, and you’re my idiotic student, you’re barely fifteen. Professor Snape is as far as you’re going to get.”

“Then call me Harry.”

“You’re violating rule number five.”

“Am not.”

“Rule number four; you are to contain your /unfortunate/ need to get close to others or care for them, especially me. I’m doing this as a favor to myself, not you. ‘Potter’ is as far as I’m going to get.”

I didn’t keep close to him anymore, I saw a lost cause when I saw one and decided to take a nap instead, now I’m not trying to sound like an old man in his fifties, but do not underestimate the sheer pleasure of taking a nap whenever possible; nap anywhere and anytime you get the opportunity. I could tell you all with confidence that I have; I’ve napped in worse places than a train compartment with my teacher before, including in a bathroom stall in a restaurant in Italy, but that happens a few months later, so I get back to the train.

To my utter surprise, the man hadn’t murdered me when I woke up two hours later, startled by a whistling sound, and Snape’s inconsistent scratching on the paper, the man was still sitting in the same position but somehow different than I think I remembered.

“Stop gawking Potter, it’s the clothes.” The man barked out when he noticed me staring and I flushed at my own slowness.

Of course it was the clothes, or the lack of them therefore; his black robe and overcoat were gone, replaced with muggle clothing, I did not bore my mind with details then, but his attire was as usual entirely in black, he had even kept his dragon hide boots, I made a sound in confusion, titling my head, but I didn’t get the chance to question the reason for his change of clothes.

He dragged me out of the station while I was still a little dazed, whirled me out of the overwhelming crowd, that was mostly consisted of muggles.
I stared around the busy station with a heavy heart, beating so hard against my chest that I was having a hard time breathing, noises overwhelmed me, so did the strangers who unintentionally bumped into me, I let myself fully in the man’s control, oddly aware of my surrendering.

“Hold onto me Potter.” Soon, we were both stepping out of King’s cross station and under London’s cloudy sky; I drew in a shaky breath.

“I…” suddenly this didn’t seem like a good idea anymore, my throat clogged and I whimpered, subconsciously curling into myself as faceless strangers swarmed around us, in what could only be described as a chaotic flop of fish; some determined to get in, pushing past other pedestrians in a hurry, and some other desperate to get out of the station, armed with luggage and annoyance.

“Calm down.” My teacher ordered. His arm squeezing my shoulder in what I supposed was a reassuring way.

“Potter.” The man hissed. “The car’s only a block away, calm down.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, I figured that the potion master must have forgotten to inform me that we would be driving in a car rather than taking the knight bus like I had assumed.

I was still in complete panic mode when Snape proceeded to take me to the other side of the street without being hit by a car or one of those taxies, no one looked at us oddly, no one spared me or my scar a second glance, and I couldn’t describe the feeling.

I was on the verge of tears when the man finally came to a stop, his gaze intently on a silver car. My eyes darted from the car back to the man and then again to the car; he wasn’t serious, was he? It took like four hours from here to Lynton with a rented car, I was absolutely sure I would lose control of my stomach the first fifteen minutes. If uncle Vernon’s driving abilities was anything to go by.

But much to my mortification, the man let go of my arm and strode to the car, leaving me to trail behind him, my mouth opening and closing like a fish.
“No.” I shook my head in denial as Snape nudged me to get me in the car, what if he didn’t know how to drive? I was so screwed! I was running from cancer, only to die from a car crash, which was considerably more pathetic than slipping on a banana skin.

“Potter would you settle down?” the man snapped once he was sitting in the driver’s seat.

“I don’t wanna die!” I squeaked, my hands already trembling and clutching the seat.

“I haven’t even started the car yet.” Snape said incredulously. “Potter, stop being dramatic, and don’t forget your seatbelt.”

A seatbelt wouldn’t prevent a horrific crash that would be the end of me, I thought in panic.

I was comically terrified, and the image of Snape behind wheels was so beyond my imagination, that part of me still thought it was dreaming. At this stage of the cancer, hallucinations occurred often, but not /that/ often for me to believe that this was one of them.

Driving with the Dursleys always had been an unpleasant experience for me; not that they took me out often, but nevertheless, the ride was never one I tended to enjoy, Petunia always had the front seat, even when she wasn’t in the car, I was always crammed in the back, next to an overwhelming amount of body mass and my cousin’s massive backside and hips. If the weight hadn’t killed me by the time we got to the destination, Dudley’s stench would have done the job.

“Settle down.” The potion professor sneered as I eyed the car with distaste and anxiety.

“Do…Do you know how to drive?” I asked, my voice trembling. Snape rolled his eyes as he started the car, causing me to close my eyes.
“I have a driver’s license.” That was the only thing he said.

That didn’t necessarily mean that he was a good driver. I bit my lower lip but remained silent, trying to contain the whimpers that were demanding to be let out.
I didn’t want to die, most definitely not in a car crash. It was too late for me to realize that maybe Pomfrey and the Weasleys were right; I was not ready for this, at all.

Snape swiftly drew out of his parking spot and I quickly wore my seatbelt before he could crash into a lamp post or something.

Which didn’t happen, Snape for all his fuss, and grumpiness, was actually a decent driver, though then, I thought it had more to do with the jamming traffic rather than his patience for insensitive jerks.

“You can open your eyes Potter.” He commanded and I did so almost involuntary, becoming face to face with the back of the car that was in front of us, blushing I wrung my hands and leaned back in my seat.

“Are you afraid of cars?” I could have been wrong, but there was a ghostly hint of amusement in his voice, though his face remained stoic and indifferent.

I flushed even harder. “No, I just find them a bit unpleasant.”

I jolted, being amazed at my own stability and capacity in speech, I didn’t even stutter. Must have been that potion, I realized.

Snape hummed, looking out of his window, we haven’t moved an inch from the block, barely a distance away from our original parking spot, with King’s cross station to our right, still harboring the same, yet different amount of people. This was going to be a long ride.

“I didn’t know you had a driver’s license sir.” I asked the man a little bit later.

Snape’s frown deepened. “You were not supposed to know of it Potter, my private life is none of your business.” I resisted the urge to snap back and set my jaw. The man obviously wasn’t in mood for small talk.

The traffic gradually grew lighter as the silence between the two of us thickened, I was more confused than ever, I haven’t seen this side of Snape before, and the sudden change was sending me into a cluster of unsolved questions. Why did Snape know how to drive a car? Why were we even going with a car? Why hadn’t we got on another train to Devon?

I voiced my questions; my fear of the man’s driving was merely a light disturbance now. Snape didn’t take his eyes off the road, but rolled his eyes at my innocent questions.

“If you had paid attention in the headmaster’s office instead of dozing off, then you would’ve known why already.” He didn’t exactly sneer, not the way he would in a classroom anyways, but he made his displeasure evident in his expression.

“I was.” I protested weakly, Snape momentarily turned and raised an eyebrow.

I shrugged defensively in response.

“We couldn’t use magical means for travel because of the potion you took this morning, it might not cross your mind, but the traces left on magical transportation devices such as portkeys can actually interfere with your own magic, and your core is already busy maintaining you as it is.”

My face grew tense; Snape saw my skeptical expression but didn’t show any outward interest in it. “We could’ve just hopped on another train, instead of renting an actual car.” I pointed out.

Snape titled his chin, his hands swiftly moving on the stir wheel. I felt my nausea slowly dissipate along with the fear. “What is your problem with cars Potter?” the man noticed my wary look.

“Why not the train though?” I asked him, ignoring the potions professor.

“We’re going to the shell cottage, and that adored train of yours, barely makes a stop at a deserted location, the distance wasn’t worth the trouble.”

“Is there any more problems?” for once, I didn’t miss the sarcasm in his voice.

I wanted to close my mouth and let the humiliation slowly trickle past in the silence, but I also couldn’t stop myself from reopening it again.

There were so many to choose from, enough to overwhelm me, some questions weren’t even related together, but still there was a sense of forbiddance and hesitance, whenever it came to asking them.

I finally settled for one. “It’s so curious that I’m only hearing of this ‘boosting potion’ now, isn’t it?”

I wanted to bring this matter up since that very morning. It was suspicious, now that I was under the influence of the said potion, I felt…normal. Yeah, I felt like I did before the cancer, pain free, almost back in my right mind and in control of my actions, why hadn’t anyone suggested this before?

Almost as if reading my mind, the potion Professor hummed in disagreement. “The potion is highly frowned upon Potter; you would know that if you had paid any attention to…”

I interrupted him rudely. “Yeah I know, to the meeting with Dumbledore.”

“That’s Professor Dumbledore, and actually I was about to say in my classroom.”

I gave him a blank look and he sighed. “The boosting potion is only a variety of magically based potions; potions or products that are influenced by your own core and not by the ingredients in the potion you’re using.” He said, fully into his teacher-lecture mode.

“Then why didn’t I get that instead of treatment?” this potion would beat Chemo every day. I thought.

Snape was silent for a while, speeding up a little now that we were out of the town and into the main road.

“That potion is not treatment per say, and long usage is…frowned upon.” He unwillingly admitted, as if saying so was a disappointment to him. I haven’t seen the likes of Severus before; the kind that were highly recognized in their field of work, and respected among peers, but not highly ethical when important matters such as this came up. Even later Severus admitted to willingly brewing some other ‘forbidden’ potions that other potion masters rarely ever approved of.

“Why? Are the ingredients too expensive?” Snape made a sound and his face almost looked as if he was wincing, but one could never be sure with Snape.

“There is that, but it’s the potion itself that’s a bit…under criticism.” Snape turned the car with caution, and I let my gaze wander around the road to other cars, the scenery, and the beauty of a cloudy grey sky.

The man continued. “Every magical core reacts differently to different types of magic, some are even allergic to the potion, some grew immune, and some reject the effects through odd bursts of accidental magic.” He explained. “Using it on a terminal illness such as yours was highly objected to.”

My teeth grazed the inside of my cheek, I drew the red cozy sweater tighter around my body, and I was starting to feel the chills, whether from the cloudy weather or the man himself. “Then why did you?”

“The dose usage I have designed for you isn’t a form of treatment, it’s a scapegoat. Surely you knew that?”

“I do know that.” I half lied. I did know that I would die regardless, but I didn’t know that the potion was assisting my body in its mission. Suddenly the ghastly taste of death in that potion made sense to me.

Snape, oblivious to my inner conflict, continued on. “So it doesn’t matter if you’re immune or not, or even if you’re allergic to the ingredients, your magic only lasts as long as four months, more or less for you to get things in order.”

“Oh.” I said lamely. Right, my clock was ticking, i will be dead by this time next year. The thought was heart wrenching and somehow exhilirating all the same.

“Potter…I didn’t upset you. Did I?” the man asked hesitantly, staring at me. I shook my head quickly in response.

“No, I’m glad that you’re honest with me.” I said honestly, and I did mean what I said; even Pomfrey tended to sugarcoat things when it came to my illness, but I liked the potion master’s bluntness, it made me sound less rude when it came to being blunt.

“It’s just that people lie to me all the time, it’s good to know that you won’t sir.”

Our conversation trailed down slowly. Having nothing to talk about and being trapped in a car with someone like Snape who hated my guts would’ve bothered me to a great extent before, but now I couldn’t find any reason to be upset about it.

From time to time, my heart did a flip as it acknowledged the fact that I was out of Hogwarts and out of the infirmary, that there would be no treatment or Chemotherapy or Mc from now on, then it would settle down as I looked out of the window and started up again when my eyes caught the passing trees. Evidence of my awareness.

By the time we were halfway to Lynton, or shell cottage or whatever the man had planned to take me, I had worked myself up to three panic attacks and back, not in the slightest car sick. My suspicions were right; it was Vernon’s driving that gave me an upset stomach, not cars in general.

“Are you hungry Potter?” the man asked, glancing at me. I raised my head from the window pane, wincing at the cracking sound in my neck.

Was I hungry? If I was being honest with myself, hunger was one of those feelings that rarely ever occurred to me; even before being diagnosed my brain never detected a feeling called hunger, it was either out of responsibility or the sound of my growling stomach that I often gave in and ate.

When I was under treatment, and under Madam Pomfrey’s watchful eyes, my meals were always on time, in coordination with my potions and the side effects of chemo and more or less blander to me, so I never outright demanded food.

“I should be by now.” I finally said, my eyes skimming over the man’s watch, it was a little after twelve, great time for lunch.

The sky was cloudier now, and every now and then a pathetic amount of drizzle came down upon us before abruptly coming to a stop and then it would start again.

Snape let go of the stir wheel and brandished his wand, before I could cry out the man waved his wand and then reached into his pockets.

“Um sir…?” the car was driving on its own, keeping a steady speed limit as Snape patiently enlarged our previously shrunk meals.

The man scowled in distaste as he saw the sandwiches. “Potter, your stomach better handles turkey sandwiches, because it’s the only available food right now.”

“Alright.” I said distractedly.

I didn’t dare take my eyes off the road, worried that Snape’s awry spell might get us in a car accident in any moment, but the man himself was too busy unwrapping and handing me my turkey sandwich to show any concerns.

“Can’t we stop?” yes, I hadn’t gotten car sick yet, but that didn’t mean I was willing to eat in a moving car, I wasn’t stupid.

Snape, much to my disappointment, shook his head and snapped. “No, we cannot afford to get out of schedule, stop fussing Potter.”

“I might throw up.” I deadpanned, affronted at the man’s sudden behavior.

“That’s what the brown paper bag is for.” The man informed me dryly. I almost laughed in disbelief, was he serious? I thought incredulously.

“I don’t think I’m hungry.” I said slowly. I had no desire to seat in car that smelled of vomit for the next of two hours, or better yet, if the man didn’t care enough to pull over for five minutes, then I wouldn’t have to care enough to go by his rules.

Fuck him anyways.

I hid the wrapped packet in my sweater for when we reached the shell cottage and went back to watching the cars, less interested this time.
Who cared what trees looked like? My mind suddenly sprung at me. They were just wood planks with leaves, like cars, which were metal planks with wheels. There wasn’t much difference between the two.

The sound of cars honking, the grip of griminess on the weather, and the ghost silence dominating the car, made me realize just how different this day was turning out from my original fantasy. There was no excitement in getting stuck in a traffic, or in watching a bland sky with no sun, or even tolerating Snape when he switched between being an absolute arse and then to the good guy, which led me to believe the man had bipolar disorder. He should have.

My rambling came to a stop when the man’s patience finally ran out. “Stop sulking.” Snape growled in frustration, he rubbed the tip of his nose.

“I’m not sulking, sir.”

“Then why aren’t you eating your lunch? Are you unwell?” the question was out of obligation and it made me sick to the stomach. This man was my guardian now. This was also added to the ever growing list of things that sucked.

“I will be unwell if I eat it.”

“I can’t spend the next two hours in this car with a sulking angst ridden teenager Potter; we might as well do something productive.”

“Like what?” I wanted to nap; feeling a bit tired and frustrated with the man. A man that I was sure that I didn’t know. I had no idea about this side of Snape; the one that drove, had a driver’s license, ate in his moving car, and actually spoke to me without sneering or sarcasm outside of his classroom. And what? It’s only been like two days?

What would happen in four months? I feared the day that Snape actually became friendly with me. (Not anymore, turned out)

Something fishy was going on here, and I was determined to find out what after my nap, but I didn’t dare to say so to the man.

It seemed as if Snape had read my mind again, the man suddenly regained his composure, lean and stoic, and it made me wonder what had happened to change the man’s mind about me in the first place, his reason to get this comfortable with me.

This person had no reason to do the things he was now, this is the same man who hated my guts only two weeks earlier, deduced points from me while I was in the infirmary, and tortured poor Mike and Neville. Why the sudden change of heart?

Opening my mouth and moistening my lips didn’t help me to smother the question so I clamped my eyes shut, It was later that I realized my hesitance was for the best. That day wasn’t /the/ day for me to pursue the man.

Eventually, as the rain properly started platting against our window, Snape leant back in his seat; looking out of the rear way mirror “We have two hours to kill with this traffic.” He waved his wand for the last time, muttering a quick ‘Finite Incantatem’ and gripped the stir wheel once again.

I pushed myself up; pursing my lips as Snape once again took control of the car, sensing the change in the man’s demeanor, I sneaked my hand to the radio and started fiddling with the stations.

Snape gave me the sour eye, clicking his tongue and I smiled sheepishly, settling for a muggle country song.

“When I said let’s do something productive, I didn’t mean listening to muggle nonsense Potter.” Despite all his nagging, he let the song stay, though he glared at me every now, grumbling as I bobbed my head to the unfamiliar tune.

“What should we do sir? Did you have a suggestion?” I inquired, feeling the glumness fading away.

The man was silent for a moment, as if ashamed of his suggestion. “Are you familiar with road trip games?”

“Are you serious?!” he couldn’t be, I drawled out in shock. Road trip games were for typical families, on normal vacations. It wasn’t made for sworn enemies on a truce, or an abnormal due of people being stuck in a car.

Snape shrugged defensively. “We might as well; I can’t handle your aggravating gaze on me the entire time, like you haven’t ever seen a man before, it’s creepy.”
“Alright, what should we play?” I yielded.

“Let’s play Spy, Potter.”

“Alright.” I conceded with a chuckle, getting the irony in the man’s tone, suddenly the song reached its chorus and I sang along, mouthing the words with the singer.

Snape wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I spy something beige with my eyes.” The man fired off casually, and my face darted off, looking for the said thing.

My mind scrambled to find words and I pruned my mouth. “It’s the beige car two lanes away, behind the white van…right?” the man nodded.

“Correct, and turn that radio down for merlin’s sake Potter.”

“I Spy something that begins with L.” I blurted out, squinting my eye through the rain.

“The lamppost we just passed, honestly Potter, you need to try harder than that.” We proceeded to play that blasted game until I finally decided to take that promised nap, half an hour before we reached the deserted beach in Lynton.

And that, guys, was our first bonding time, spent mostly on the road, under the pouring rain, way before we even reached our first destination.

It was only a shame that Snape’s shitty behavior resurfaced after that very night, reducing him to a bastard I knew and loathed, completely the opposite of the man in the rented car, playing spy with a sick boy. That was also the first time I was left hurt and confused by the man before we had even begun our adventure yet.
The thought of him distancing himself from me hurt, even back then where there were no strings attached, when I didn’t look up to the man the same way a frightened child looks at his parent.

-Someday future Harry would come to appreciate that gesture, someday future Harry wouldn’t be yearning for man’s approval as it would only worsen the agonizing weight of leaving, it would be in those very same days and on the very same beach that they were headed to, where future Harry would collapse down, where future Severus would find him hours later, and where future Harry would really come to appreciate the man’s effort to keep his distance, despite his obvious failure, because then, Harry would be /clawing/ his way out of death’s grasp in fear and desperation, not wanting to die, not after he had /gained/ so much, not when he could have so much.

It would be then that he would see the death’s pitying gaze upon him, shaking his head as Harry clung to the sobbing potion master, wishing that things hadn’t happened the way they had.