A circus was in nearby town, and Dudley wanted to see it. Fortunately, it was Halloween. Halloween meant that Mrs. Figg couldn’t take Harry, so he got to see the circus, too.

“As if she couldn’t visit graves anytime else”, Aunt Petunia complained every year.

Harry thought that was rather unfair. It was, he figured, a traditional time to visit graves, so why shouldn’t Mrs. Figg want to do it?

It wasn’t her fault that many fun things Dudley wanted to do happened to also be on or around that day.

And Harry himself did not mind at all that the Dursleys were forced to take him along.


He enjoyed looking out of the car window, even though he was squeezed into a corner next to Dudley’s best friend Piers.

The car was very big, but Dudley still took up almost two seats, leaving only one for Piers and Harry to share. It was a good thing Piers was thin.

Usually, Harry didn’t get to go anywhere more interesting than school or Mrs. Figg’s house, so he enjoyed just looking at the otherwise pretty boring fields that seemed to fly past the window.

At last, Uncle Vernon slowed the car down and parked it on a field that had been converted into a temporary parking site.

“Stay in the car”, he barked at Harry. “And don’t break anything!”

Harry waited until the Dursleys and Piers had walked away. Thanks to Dudley having talked about it so much, he knew exactly when the show would start, and when it would end.

And he did not intend to spend that time in the car.

He scavenged for coins between the backseats, and found enough to afford a chocolate bar. After making sure the Dursleys weren’t anywhere near, he also looked under the front seats and found some more.

Being left alone in the car was a treat all by itself.

Harry checked the clock. Still some time until the show would start and he could be sure to not get caught.

He took out the sandwich Aunt Petunia had made for him and started eating. The lettuce and tomato on it hadn’t been very fresh to start out with, and were now rapidly wilting. Sandwiches for Harry usually included things that would go to waste otherwise. Which meant that, at least according to the expert who had visited the school last term, Harry ate healthier than Dudley. No wonder Dudley was so fat. Unlike Harry, Dudley almost never got sandwiches, but instead got money to buy what he wanted.

Some of which he tended to lose in the car.


Harry checked the clock once more, swallowed the last bite of the sandwich, and carefully stored the paper bag it had been in inside his pocket. He couldn’t lose it, or Aunt Petunia would know he had left the car if she bothered to check – and sometimes, she did.


He took off the extremely ugly sweater – it was bright orange and had made Dudley look like a pumpkin and didn’t look much better on Harry – and the T-shirt, put the sweater on again, rolled the sleeves up and put on the T-shirt again. This wouldn’t work with normal clothes, but since Dudley’s clothes always were much too large for Harry, it now looked as if Harry was wearing only a baggy T-shirt. No one would notice a boy in an orange sweater, no one would mention one, and the Dursleys would never suspect a thing.

So disguised, Harry walked towards the circus tent. As he had hoped, there were other shows going on at the same time. You could look at the animals, fish for apples in a tub or buy sugary snacks.


And then, some way away from everything else, was a black tent, decorated with carved pumpkins. A sign at the entrance read “Spooky Tent”

It probably wasn’t very scary – Harry’s experiences from school trips had lowered his expectations for things that promised to scare you witless – but it still was entertainment.

As luck would have it, the spare change he had collected was just enough to buy a ticket for the spooky tent.

Harry debated with himself for a moment, but in the end decided that getting to see something – anything – interesting at all beat having some more food. Experience had taught him that sugary treats didn’t keep you full for long, anyway.

At the entrance, a lanky young man with lots of pimples collected Harry’s money, and immediately went back to his pastime of smoking.

Inside, Harry noticed he was the only visitor.

The tent was dimly lit by candles, and in the flickering light, Harry saw a skull with mysterious symbols drawn on it – Dudley would have dismissed it as probably being plastic, but Harry found it rather convincing.

There was a mummified hand that allegedly had belonged to a mermaid. Harry shuddered with a mixture of fear and delight at the sight of the webbed fingers.

While the cursed necklace, next to which a collection of newspaper articles detailed the gruesome ends of its owners, didn’t look very exciting itself, there was something else that did look intriguing.

It was an old black and white photograph of a man on a windswept beach.

But the really interesting thing was that the man was wearing long, black robes, and Harry immediately thought he must be a wizard.
He wasn’t even sure where that thought had come from. The stage magicians Dudley watched on TV were dressed in garish colours, or sometimes suits, while this man ... he was wearing robes, and even though there was no colour in the photograph, Harry was sure the garment was black.

“Cursed photograph”, it said, next to the picture. “The man on the photo is a real, living person who made the mistake of touching the cursed photo of the Isle of Drear. If you listen carefully, you might hear his pleas for help, but beware, for if you do as he asks, you will take his place inside the photo.”

Harry shivered. Now that was scary!

Since he had lots of time, and the tent was rather small, Harry stared at the photograph for a long time.

You could see it was windy because there were high waves, and the man’s longish hair was tossed to one side.

Wait – hadn’t it looked differently a moment ago?

Harry stood on his toes, as the picture was hung at an adult’s eye level, and looked more closely.

He almost jumped when the man’s expression changed. Harry bit his hand to muffle his surprised cry.

The man didn’t look sad and serious anymore, he looked ... surprised? Shocked?

Was this real? You could do a lot with computers nowadays, or so Harry had heard, but ...

He could see the space between the photo and the tent wall, there couldn’t be a mini TV there.

And the man stared at him, as if he was just as surprised to see Harry as Harry was to see someone being trapped in a photo.

Then, very slowly, the man raised a hand and put a finger on his lips. Silence.

Harry nodded.

The man knelt down and wrote something in the wet sand.

“POTTER?”

Now, Harry was really scared witless. There was no way ... sure, Potter was a very common name, but still ...

When the man added “HARRY?”, Harry bit his hand so hard he tasted blood.

The man wiped out the letters. “DO NOT TOUCH PHOTO.”

Hadn’t the text said to not listen to the man? But then, it also said he had gotten trapped by touching the photo.

“TELL ALBUS DUMBLEDORE.”

Harry frowned. He wanted to help, but at the same time, following the instructions would be dangerous, right?

“I don’t know anyone of that name”, he replied, wondering, at the next moment, how he even knew it was a name.

The man’s eyes widened.

“PETUNIA DOES”, he wrote after wiping out the other name. “ASK HER.”

Asking Aunt Petunia for help with a man trapped in a photo sounded like a rather bad idea. She would want to throw the photo away. And touch it. Perhaps that was the plan?

And ... if it was, did Harry actually mind? He felt terrible for even considering it, but ... did the man deserve to be trapped in a photo more than Aunt Petunia? Or Uncle Vernon? Or Dudley?

“It says here that anyone trying to help you will take your place”, he whispered.

The man frowned, then nodded. “DANGEROUS”, he wrote. “LET ADULT WIZARD HANDLE IT.”

That sounded really reasonable. The teachers at school always said to let adults handle dangerous things.

Aunt Petunia, on the other side, wasn’t that worried about Harry handling hot frying pans and burning his hands on them.

Wait – a wizard?

But Harry didn’t have much time to think, as in that moment, he noticed it had gotten much noisier outside.

Of course! There must be a break in the show!

What if the Dursleys came here? Dudley would say everything was fake and plastic once he was here, but he would want to go inside anyway.

Harry made a decision. He rolled out one oversized sleeve, wrapped his hand in it, and carefully took the photograph.

Nothing happened, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Years at the Dursleys had taught him how to steal food so that no one noticed it. One of the rules was: Always make sure no one finds the packaging.

So he ripped the description of the photo off the wooden rack with his left hand and stuffed it in his pocket.

He just so managed to hide the small wooden frame between his shirt and the sweater before the first people poured in.


Harry decided to make a run for it. Dudleys first thought would be likely of food, so he had a few moments.

As he had hoped, the young man at the entrance didn’t look at him when he walked out, and didn’t go inside, either.

His heart rapidly beating, Harry searched for the car.

Autumn mists had gathered around the parking space, and he could only see what was right in front of him. With his right sleeve holding the stolen photo, he couldn’t even wipe his glasses properly.

The damp air sucked the warmth out of his bare arms.

Had the car been stolen? If the car had been stolen, Uncle Vernon would kill him, for sure. They didn’t lock him in the car anymore, after some passersby had scolded Aunt Petunia for it on a hot summer day, but in exchange for that bit of freedom, they did expect him to guard it with his life.

At last, the familiar numberplate appeared right in front of Harry. He had walked past it at least three times without noticing.

Harry opened the back door and slipped inside. Carefully, he pulled the photograph out and placed it on the seat next to him.

The man didn’t seem shaken by the journey.

He did, however, look very angry. It was like he was yelling at Harry, only Harry didn’t hear anything.

“I’m sorry, I thought it was better to take you with me so you could tell me more. The circus won’t stay here, and I would have no idea how to find you.” Not to mention Harry had no way of getting here again.

That did seem to calm the man down a bit. He sat down to write: “IF HE ASKS” the wiped that out “YOU DO NOT THINK I AM REAL”

“But I do!” It was obviously real. Magic was real!

“NEVER TELL ANYONE” The man wiped it out. “YOU STOLE IT TO SHOW FRIENDS.”

“I, um, don’t actually have any friends. But okay. I will hide you from the Dursleys anyway. They hate anything that isn’t normal.”


“THE MAN WHO DID THIS TO ME”

Harry nodded to indicate he had read it. So it had been done on purpose? Well, figured. How else would someone know so exactly how it worked? When reading the description, he hadn’t wondered, but now ... He shivered.

The man wiped it out. “HE WILL FIND YOU”.

“He might, but I don’t think you have to worry much, there were lots of people in that tent.”

“MAGIC”

Harry had not considered that. Obviously. The man knew his name by magic, so this other guy could likely find out where he was. “What do I do, then? If I lie to him, he will still take you back.”

“WRITE LETTER TO” The man waited a while, then wiped it out. “ALBUS DUMBLEDORE.”

“Can you give me an address?”

“NO NEED. FIND AN OWL.”

It was all very strange, but Harry still had a lot of time to kill and writing a letter did seem harmless, so he took the Grunnings ballpen Uncle Vernon kept in the car and wrote a letter on the now rather greasy paper of the bag his sandwich had been in.

“To Albus Dumbledore:

The Head of Snakes is being held by a Richard Smith of Smith Circus.
Contact me.

James Evans.”


“Isn’t that identity fraud or something?” Harry asked when he had signed with the fake name.

“SAFETY”, the man wrote. “NOW USE YOUR SLEEVE!!!”

Harry nodded.

“AND HIDE ME, THEN”

“Yes?”

“GIVE LETTER TO AN OWL.”

Harry was about to tell the man that owls weren’t that common when he remembered that, in fact, he did see a lot of owls in the rare cases when he was in the countryside.

“I can try to find an owl, but I can’t promise I will.”

When he wanted to use his sleeve to hide the photo again, Harry noticed he was still wearing his sweater under his t-shirt. He took off the shirt, then the sweater, but them back on in the right order, and reached for the photo.

Only the man’s upset waving reminded him to use his sleeve.

He could easily wrap the the lower part of the sweater around the photo – Dudley wasn’t as much taller than Harry as he was fatter, but it was plenty enough.

Across the street was a small wood. Harry carefully looked in both directions to make sure no car would suddenly emerge from the fog, crossed the road, and walked into the forest.

“Hello? Any owls here?”

He wasn’t sure if he felt scared or stupid, or both. He was following the instructions of a photo!

Or of a man trapped inside a cursed photo. Harry really hoped he wasn’t falling for a really, really elaborate prank. The only one he could think of who would want to prank him was Dudley, anyway, and Dudley was much too stupid to pull something like this off.

An owl cried.

Harry jumped.

“Owl? Uh.... do you understand me?”

The owl cried again.

“I need to get a letter to one Albus Dumbledore. Could you, uh, help me?”

God, this felt so incredibly silly! Harry waved the letter he had rolled up and held in his left hand around.

Suddenly, in a whirl of feathers, the letter was ripped out of his hand, and Harry landed on his behind.

Damn! He just hoped he hadn’t harmed the man. Who still hadn’t told Harry his name, obsessed as he had been with aliases.

Harry decided to call him Snake from now on.

Fortunately, he had let go of his makeshift letter just in time so it hadn’t been damaged, or so he hoped.

When he got back to the car, Harry realized he had another problem. The bottom of his trousers was only wet, he had checked that, but his shoes had left mud all over the car floor when he had gotten back into the car before.

To make things worse, the noise from the circus tent indicated that the show was now over for good.

If Uncle Vernon pulled him out of the car to shake him, the photo might fall down into his trousers ...

Harry decided to just sit in the car and hope the Dursleys didn’t notice anything in the fog.


He was lucky. Dudley and Piers had so much mud on their shoes that Uncle Vernon might not even notice some of the mud was from Harry.

“I want that skull”, Dudley said in that tone he always used if he didn’t get what he wanted immediately.

“No!”, Aunt Petunia shrieked. “How about a new pet instead? You wanted a tortoise, didn’t you, Dudders?”

He couldn’t have really wanted it, Harry figured, as Dudley always got everything he wanted – except for creepy skulls, apparently – but perhaps Dudley had said something positive about a tortoise at the zoo once.

“Why can’t I have a skull?”

“Because your mother does not want one in the house”, Uncle Vernon boomed, in a tone that he usually reserved for Harry.

Dudley wisely decided to shut up.


Back in Privet Drive number four, Harry thought he had gotten away with everything, when Aunt Petunia suddenly shrieked: “Boy! What did you do to your shoes!”

Damn!

“I, uh ...” Harry thought feverishly. At last, he had an idea. “I had to leave the car to go to the toilet.” She couldn’t argue with that.

“Go clean them, then. Take Dudder’s shoes, too, while you are at it.”

Whew. That had been close.

Fortunately, it was was now raining, so the Dursleys would stay inside. Not even Dudley would go outside to make fun of him in that weather.

Harry took off his shoes, carried them to the back garden and carefully placed the photo on the ground before he started cleaning the shoes with the garden hose and a brush.



It was properly night by the time Harry was done and could slip into his cupboard to hide the photo.

Snake seemed to be alright, or as much alright as he ever was. He sat on the beach and glumly stared at Harry. Or perhaps at no one in particular.

He made to get up, but Harry shook his head and placed the photo on a shelf deep inside the cupboard.

“Are you done? Come here!” Aunt Petunia called.

Harry trudged to the kitchen to help with dinner.

This time, he wasn’t angry or disappointed that he didn’t get a steak while Dudley and Uncle Vernon got two each and Aunt Petunia elegantly nibbled on a tiny one she had specially prepared because of her diet.

In fact, he was glad he only got some potatoes and vegetable, as he was too excited to eat much, anyway.

Back in his cupboard he wanted to wait for the Dursleys to go to bed so he could switch the light on, but it turned out that wasn’t necessary.

There was a faint light coming from the cursed photograph.

Harry reached for it, again remembering just in time not to touch it with his bare hands.

He angled under his bed for Aunt Petunia’s rubber gloves, which she sometimes used for cleaning, and which in reality were more often used by Harry now that he was old enough to handle the dangerous chemicals.

Those should work with cursed photos, too.

Snake seemed to have magically conjured a faint light that illuminated his beach.

“SAFE?”

“The Dursleys are watching TV, they won’t ...” Only you could never be sure. When Harry wanted to be alone was most often when Dudley got it into his head to annoy him.

But Harry had thought of a solution for that long ago. He placed a mop over the door in such a way that it would take a while to get the door open.

“REMEMBER?”

Snake must be tired of writing in the sand. “I think I remember everything you told me. Albus Dumbledore was the name, right?”

“WHAT TO SAY TO RICHARD”

“Oh. I am to tell him I just stole the photo for showing off, right? That needs a bit of work, I mean, he might believe it, but the Dursleys won’t, they know I don’t have friends. How about I just say I wanted to have it because it is spooky and all?”

Snake seemed content with that, he nodded. “NO FRIENDS?”


“I wear weird clothes and am a bit strange, and ... some children still wanted to be friends with me, but then Dudley beat them up, and ... yeah, I’m not very popular. Sorry about that. You probably hoped I could give you to a friend for safekeeping or something, but ... there is no one.”

“I SEE.”

“What about you? You must know more people than just this Dumbledore guy. Perhaps even ones who are in the telephone book? If I could just phone them, that would make things much easier.”

“NONE I CAN TRUST.”

“Oh. How sad.”

Snake only raised an eyebrow.

“That’s different. I’m just a child. When I grow up, I can move out and get a job and buy decent clothes, and then I’ll have friends.” Harry hesitated. “I hope.”

“PEOPLE WHO MIND YOUR CLOTHES” was the answer “ARE NO FRIENDS”

Harry pondered that for a moment. “I guess you’re right. But I can’t blame people for not wanting to be beaten up by Dudley. And then there’s the thing that strange things happen around me.”

“STRANGE THINGS?”

“There was this one time my hair grew back overnight ...” Harry told Snake a couple of stories. “I swear I didn’t do anything.”

“YOU DID MAGIC.”

“But that’s impossible. I mean, I know nothing about magic.”

As Snake explained to him, that was exactly why he made things happen without meaning to, and would change once he went to a school to learn how to control his magic.

“But the Dursleys will never pay for that!”

“NO MATTER. ENOUGH QUESTIONS.” Snake wiped the sand. “BEDTIME FOR YOU.”

“Bedtime? You aren’t my dad or anything.” And unlike the Dursleys, a man imprisoned in a photo couldn’t exactly force him to do anything.

Snake just looked sternly at him, and Harry realized he wouldn’t get any more answers tonight, no matter whether he slept or not.

“You are tired from writing in the sand so much, aren’t you? You could just have said that.” Harry placed the photo carefully on the shelf.


“Good night!” Harry yawned and didn’t even think to take off his jeans before he fell asleep.


When he woke in the morning from Aunt Petunia’s pounding on the cupboard door, Harry was glad he had decided to not be stubborn and actually sleep.

He felt tired enough as it was.

Before leaving the cupboard, he checked the photo. Snake was already up. Could he even sleep in there?

“I have to go make breakfast. I’ll be back as soon as I can”, Harry promised.

Snake made a gesture as if shooing him away.

Didn’t he want to talk to Harry? After having been trapped in the photo for so long ... and it had not looked like he often wrote in the sand. Surely, someone else would have freed him before? Or at least tried?

How long, exactly, had he been trapped? It could have happened recently, but somehow, Harry didn’t think it had been only a week or so. Snake looked like he had been unhappy for years.

Distracted as he was, Harry burnt the bacon, and Aunt Petunia scolded him loudly.

This time, Harry hardly listened, already distracted with thoughts of the cursed photo again.

Some time later, after Harry had had some time to nibble on a dry piece of toast, the doorbell rang.

Uncle Vernon looked up from his full plate. “Do you expect anyone, Pet?”

“No – probably someone begging for donations.”

The doorbell rang again.

Aunt Petunia looked at Harry. “Go tell them to leave.”

Harry got up. At least he would get to talk to someone other than the Dursleys. That was always nice.

The man at the door was dressed in a nice suit, like one of those people who wanted to advertise their religion. He smiled, showing perfectly white teeth. “Good morning! My name is Albus Dumbledore. I am here on account of the letter.”

It had worked! Harry stared at the man. With his tidy suit, wheat-blond, short hair and cleanly shaven face, the young man looked much less like a wizard than lots of people Harry had met.

He must be very good at staying incognito.

“You!” Aunt Petunia shoved Harry to the side. “You – whoever you are, you are not Albus Dumbledore.”

For a moment, the man looked surprised. “You do not recognize me, Mrs. Evans? Why, of course, I do look years younger.” He grinned.

“So that’s who you are.” Aunt Petunia’s eyes narrowed. “I was warned about your like. Leave my house this instant!”

Harry tried to get through the door – he had to tell Dumbledore about Snake! – but Aunt Petunia grasped his arm in a death grip. “Don’t even think of it.”

And before he knew what happened, she had shoved Harry back inside the house.

She was about to throw the door shut when a black shoe crossed the doorstep.

The next moment, something unbelievable happened. Blue fire sprang up, as suddenly as if someone had set petrol on fire.

“Go into your cupboard, Harry.”

“But - ”

“This was one of those child-snatchers they warned us about on the telly. To your cupboard!”

She was yelling now, and Harry thought it safer to obey.

“You have not seen the last of me”, he heard a booming voice, just before the door fell shut.

Harry drew the cupboard door shut behind him.

Snake was waving frantically. When Harry looked more closely, he could see what was written in the sand.

“THAT’S NOT ALBUS!!!”

“Don’t worry.” Harry reached for the photo.

Something in Snake’s waving his arms made him reconsider. Oh, right, the curse.

He crouched on the bed instead. “Calm down, he couldn’t get into the house anyway”, he whispered. He could still hear Aunt Petunia’s steps outside. “How do you know he isn’t? You haven’t seen him.”

Snake nodded, wiped out the letters in the sand and wrote: “ALBUS IS OLD.”

“Well, yeah, he did say he looked younger ...” And very old people did sound old. If that had not been Dumbledore, then ... who was it? “Magic can do that, right?”

“ALBUS WEARS GARISH ROBES”, Snake wiped that out. “HALFMOON SHAPED GLASSES” Snake waited a bit longer before wiping that out. “AND NEVER TRIES TO FIT IN.”

“Huh. So he’s more of a, you know, typical wizard?”

“VERY.”

“The guy at the door looked more like someone trying to fit in a bit too hard. Black suit and all. I wonder who he was.”

“RICHARD.”

“The man who imprisoned you?” It felt like ice water trickled along his spine. “He knows where you are? Already?” Now that he knew ... the man had called Aunt Petunia Mrs. Evans, like the alias Snake had made him use ...

“MAGIC. HE HAS COME TO HARM YOU. DANGER!”

That was rather obvious, Harry had to admit. He just had hoped magic couldn’t do that. And it did make sense that Richard would want revenge for stealing the photo. “When he tried to get inside the house, there was something like blue fire. Did I do that? I didn’t even want him gone.”

Snake frowned. He didn’t seem to have an answer for that. “MUST HAVE BEEN”, he wrote at last, then wiped it out and wrote. “YOU HAVE TO GET RID OF ME.”

“What? What do you mean? I told you I don’t have any friends I could ask to hide you.”

“BURY ME IN GARDEN.”

“But you just said he could magically find out where you are. And if I can somehow keep him out of the house, you are perfectly safe here. Also, you wouldn’t have anyone to talk to.”

“I LIKE PEACE AND QUIET”, Snake replied.

“If you really want to, I could hide you under the bed”, Harry offered, a bit hurt. “Plenty peace and quiet there. I mean, what if the photo rots? Wouldn’t that kill you?”

“NO. MAGIC.”

“Oh, okay, but still ...”

“EARTH BLOCKS HIS MAGIC. SAFER.”

Something didn’t seem quite right with that. Harry frowned. Was he just thinking that because he really didn’t want to bury his new friend – well, at least Harry had considered him a friend, even if Snake didn’t like him – in the garden?

And then it hit him. Snake hadn’t told him he wanted peace and quiet yesterday, he had told him to go to bed. If earth blocked magic, wouldn’t Snake have told him to bury the photo immediately?

“You are just trying to get me to get rid of you so this evil wizard won’t come after me, are you?”

The annoyed look on Snake’s face said it all.

Harry smiled. “Nice try. I’m not going to do that. Listen, if I’m a wizard, I should be able to free you, right? Without changing places with you, I mean.”

“AS ANY HUMAN CAN” Snake wiped the letters. “REMOVE AN APPENDIX.”

“Hey, perhaps I could remove an inflamed appendix if I had a doctor standing right beside me telling me what to do!” But he had to admit Snake had a point. Just being a wizard probably wasn’t worth that much.

Snake raised an eyebrow. “WITHOUT SCALPEL? YOU HAVE NO WAND.”

“Oh. I need one?”

“NO. TOO DANGEROUS ANYWAY” Snake frowned. “FIND A WIZARD OR WITCH.” He wiped the beach clean. “SEEN ANY ECCENTRIC PEOPLE?”

Harry knew what he meant at once. So all those people ... wow! “Mostly just the people who want to shake my hand or bow to me in the street ... that only happens when Aunt Petunia takes us to London for shopping, though. People with robes and pointy hats, right?” He hadn’t seen any of them around. The Dursleys would probably move away if any neighbour was anything but perfectly ordinary.

Snake nodded. “OR A CRAZY CAT LADY?”

“Crazy cat ladies are really witches?”

“NOT ALL. SOME.”

Harry pondered that. “I don’t know any crazy cat ladies, either. Well, there’s Mrs. Figg, but I don’t think she counts, she’s not crazy, just a bit obsessed with her cats. And she can’t be a witch, I’ve been to her house plenty times, I always have to stay with here when the Dursleys are on holidays.” Or perhaps ... “What kind of things do witches have in their houses?”

“OPEN FIREPLACE”

“Mrs. Figg has one of those, but lots of people do!”

Snake waved impatiently. He wasn’t finished. “JAR WITIH POWDÈR ON MANTLEPIECE.”

“I didn’t exactly look for it. There’s lots of things standing around, there might be a jar on the mantlepiece, too. What is it for?”

“TRAVEL.”

“You mean, to use on a flying broomstick? Mrs. Figg has a vacuum cleaner.”

Snake shook his head. “WHEN YOU SEE HER NEXT?”

“Usually when Aunt Petunia wants to go out, but I can just sneak out and ring at the door. Is there any way to find out if she’s a witch? Without asking?” She was such an ordinary person, Harry could hardly imagine that she was a witch, but then, you never knew. And he really needed to get help for Snake.

“STAY INSIDE. SAFER.”



Harry heard steps approach and sat on his bed, so that one could not see the photo from outside.

Moments later, the door was opened and Aunt Petunia shoved a sandwich into his hands. “Stay here.”

It was very unfair. He hadn’t done anything! She had asked him to answer the door! There wouldn’t have been any weird blue fire if she hadn’t made him answer the door.

But he had someone to talk to, now, so he didn’t really mind being stuck – just the unfairness of it.

He crouched to look at the photo.

“DOES SHE DO THAT NORMALLY?”

“What? Send me to my cupboard? Yeah. She doesn’t normally make sandwiches for me, though.” Harry looked at it. “Oh, it even has bacon on it. I guess the man at the door really upset her, she must have confused my sandwich and Dudley’s.” He bit into it. “I’m sorry, I’d offer to share, but I can’t really get that into the photo, can I?”

“NO. I NEED NO FOOD HERE.”

“Oh, okay.” That was a good thing, since Harry didn’t think there was any food on the island. It looked very wild and lonely.

Snake began working on a new message. “NEW PLAN: IF RICHARD GETS YOU”

Harry swallowed the last bit of the sandwich. “I hope he won’t. What am I to do?”

“SAY I THREATENED”

“Yes?”

“TO KILL YOU”

“Hey, you didn’t do that!”

“IF YOU DO NOT HELP ME.”

Harry frowned. “But why should I say that?”

“HE MIGHT SPARE YOU.”

“I don’t know. He traps people in photos.That’s a pretty evil thing to do. I don’t think he’ll care if I was being blackmailed.”

“PROMISE YOU WILL.”

Harry didn’t really think it would help, but if Snake wanted it ... “Okay, okay, sure, I can do that. But ... will he believe you did that? I mean, he is evil, so if you were evil too ...”

Snake put an exclamation mark behind his latest message.

“Okay. I promise. But he won’t get me. And we still have to find someone who can help you.” What if Mrs. Figg turned out to not be a witch? “I can tell Mrs. Figg about you. She’s nice.” True, she made him look at cat pictures, and it was very boring to stay with her, but the one time she had looked after him when he was sick, she had made hot soup for him and let him lie on the couch. The herbal tea she’d made him drink had tasted horrible, but she had tried to help. And that, Harry figured, was what he needed right now.

“BE CAREFUl. THEY BURN WITCHES.”

“That was ages ago.” But perhaps Snake was right. You never knew.

“CAN SHE TAKE YOU TO LONDON?”

Getting to London was definitely possible. “I guess she could. But I would have to have a pretty good reason. It’s not something she normally does.” The truth would be a good reason. If he said he wanted to go shopping ... no, that only ever worked for Dudley. “Anyway, I can make Dudley want to go to London. Then I’d get to stay with Mrs. Figg while Aunt Petunia takes him there.”

Snake nodded. “HOW?”

“You mean, how I get Dudley to want to go to London? Oh, that’s easy. London has the best shops. I just have to think of something he doesn’t have yet, and make him think he can get it in London.”

Now, Snake actually smiled. It was not a very happy smile, but Harry was glad he had cheered the poor man up a bit. “We will get you out, don’t worry.”

There were a lot of things Harry wanted to ask, but in the end, he settled on: “So, this school for magic ... can you tell me more?

Snake nodded. He didn’t write anything, but instead drew something in the sand. A castle, with many towers. Under it, he wrote “HOGWARTS SCHOOL”

“So the school is a castle? And it is called Hogwarts?”

Another nod.

“And you think I can go there? Even though the Dursleys don’t like it?”

Snake nodded again.

“But how?”

“HEADMASTER TAKES CARE OF IT.”

“Are you sure? I mean, the Dursleys think I should go to Stonewall High, and ... you know, if it was Dudley, you could just tell them some nonsense about it being an elite school, but they don’t want me in an elite school, they think I’m a freak ... oh! I know! You could tell them it’s a ... what are those called? A special school for rowdy children? They’d love that, if it cost them no money.”

“YOU ROWDY?”

“I don’t think I am. It’s just that those things happen. You know. What you say is magic. And okay, sometimes I hit Dudley back, but that’s only if he gets me cornered. You haven’t seen him, he’s really fat and a lot stronger than me, I wouldn’t get in a fight with him if I could avoid it.”

“TELL ME MORE.”

“You sure? I don’t want to sound like a crybaby, but ...”

There was a lot to tell about Dudley, and it was so nice to finally have someone who listened.

Harry talked until Aunt Petunia fetched him to do chores.

However, it turned out he didn’t have to do much. Aunt Petunia seemed to want to keep him within her sight at all times.

Which meant that, when he came back to his cupboard after dinner, he had no news.

“Sorry, I couldn’t talk to Dudley. I mean, I could have, but Aunt Petunia would notice what I am trying to do.”


“JUST BE CAREFUL.”

“That’s not dangerous at all. I can do it tomorrow at school.”

Snake nodded.


“Do you think I will find friends at Hogwarts?”

“CERTAINLY.”

“I mean, doing magic won’t be a problem, but my clothes ... I know you said actual friends won’t mind, but I just don’t think I will make a good first impression.”

“UNIFORM.”

“Oh, they have school uniform, of course!” That cheered Harry up – right until he remembered that he had no way of getting one. “I just hope it isn’t more expensive than the one of Stonewall High.”

“I WILL MAKE SURE YOU GO THERE.”

“Thank you! Then I really don’t have to worry!”

Snake made a dismissive gesture, as if it was nothing.

For Harry, it was the world. And there still were so many things he wanted to ask. “Have you asked anyone else for help? You must have been stuck in that photo for quite a while.”

“THREE MONTHS. I ONLY ASKED YOU.”

“Why?” The text next to the photo had said he would ask for help ... and that the one trying to help him would be stuck in the photo instead ... but that was just lies, right? No one who’d imprison someone in a photo could be trusted.

“MAGIC IS SECRET.”

Oh, that again. “So you needed a wizard? But anyone could have written a letter!”

“AND FIND AN OWL?”

“Okay, sending letters with owls is not something normal people do. But that didn’t work anyway.”

“I HAD MY REASONS.”

What reasons might that be? Harry knew he couldn’t look especially trustworthy in Dudley’s old clothes. More the opposite.

Harry was beginning to suspect that Snake was a bit paranoid.

But he could hardly blame someone imprisoned in a photograph for being paranoid. When Mrs. Figg showed him her cat photos, Harry certainly never had suspected she might be trying to trap him inside them.

Snake probably thought he hadn’t been careful enough and was trying to make up for that mistake.

“Can you tell me more about Hogwarts?”

Harry learnt a bit more about the magic school before Dudley’s heavy steps reminded Snake that it was bedtime for young boys.

“Why would you even care”, Harry protested weakly. You’d think someone trapped in a photo would have more pressing problems than bedtime.

“TIRED BOYS CAN’T THINK WELL.”

“Fair enough. Good night.”

The next morning, Harry was still feeling rather sleepy when Aunt Petunia rapped on the cupboard door.

When he had dragged himself to the kitchen, Aunt Petunia told him why she had woken him early: “Vernon will take Dudley and you to school with the car before work. Be grateful.”

Later, when Dudley made an appearance, Uncle Vernon said something about the weather being so bad, but Harry wasn’t fooled.

Even Dudley seemed suspicious. Much as he hated walking, he hated getting up early more, and pointed out that it wasn’t more rainy than on other days where he had had to walk to school.

Harry was pretty sure it was all because of the strange man. Richard Smith. Somehow, Aunt Petunia seemed to know he was after Harry.

Driving to school took just as long as walking, since you couldn’t take any shortcuts, and when they arrived, they had to wait quite a while for school to actually start. They were on the school grounds, with a bored teacher standing watch, but Harry didn’t feel much safer than he would have walking to school.

On the up side, Dudley’s friends weren’t there. Some of them were a bit smarter than Dudley.

“I talked to one of the circus kids while I waited in the car”, he said as casually as possible. “He said the show wasn’t anything special.”

Now he had Dudley’s attention.

“And I didn’t miss anything with the spooky tent”, Harry continued. “The skull they have in there you can buy in London for five pound apiece.”

Dudley’s little pig eyes narrowed greedily. “Tell me where.”

“Oh, I don’t exactly remember. Might have been called Burke’s ... I think it might have been near King’s Cross station. In a dark side alley, of course. But Aunt Petunia will never let you buy one anyway.”


By the time Dudley’s friends arrived, Dudley was half convinced he himself had had a conversation with a circus kid who had told him where to get a spooky skull.

Predictably, once Uncle Vernon came to fetch them, Dudley was obsessed with going to London to get a spooky skull.

In the evening, Dudley went to bed early because, as he said, he felt sick.

“INCONVENIENT” Snake wrote once Harry got back to his cupboard. “THEY WILL NOT LEAVE YOU ALONE.”

“No, it is all going according to plan. Dudley always pretends to be sick when he wants to skip school. Just wait, he will recover once school has started.”

Even better, since there was no need to drive Dudley to school, Uncle Vernon didn’t think it worth the effort to drive Harry, and Aunt Petunia decided Harry should stay at home, too. “After all, you might have caught it from Dudley”, she reasoned.

Harry went back to his cupboard. “They’ll go to London, and either leave me alone or send me to Mrs. Figg. I just have to hide you under my sweater if I go to Mrs. Figg’s.”

“HOW DID YOU DO IT?”

“Get Dudley to pretend to be sick?”

Snake nodded.

“That was easy. He said he wanted a skull like the one in the spooky tent, so I made up some story about talking with someone from the circus who told me you can get them for five pound apiece in a shop called Burke’s. Usually, Dudley doesn’t like things you can get cheap, but since Aunt Petunia is dead against having a skull in the house, he’ll do anything to get one.”

“BURKE?”

“Yeah. Is that a name of something well-known? It somehow came to mind ...”

“YES.”

“Shit. I hope Dudley won’t remember it. He hasn’t, so far.”

“NO WORRIES.”


As Harry had predicted, Dudley recovered as soon as the danger of being sent to school was safely over. However, Dudley’s stomach was allegedly still so upset he could only eat at his favourite fastfood restaurant in London.

“Of course, Dudders”, Aunt Petunia cooed. Harry didn’t think she really believed Dudley – she and Uncle Vernon often talked, admiringly, of how clever their little Duddikins was after he had lied to them to get what he wanted.

Just what they thought he could become with this kind of ‘cleverness’, Harry wasn’t sure. Used car salesman surely wouldn’t be fancy enough. Investment banker, perhaps?


Harry overheard Aunt Petunia phoning Mrs. Figg to come over. “Harry is sick, he shouldn’t leave the house.” Mrs. Figg said something. “If you absolutely must”, Petunia conceded.

After hanging up, she knocked at the cupboard door. “Go sit on the couch.”

Harry did as he was told, and Aunt Petunia even gave him a blanket. “Don’t forget, you are sick.” He wondered if she had started to believe her own lie.

Some time later, the doorbell rang. Aunt Petunia went to open.

“Thank you so much”, Harry heard her gush. “I am sorry it is such short notice ...”

“You are welcome”, Mrs. Figg said amiably. “I have been meaning to drop by anyway. There’s a stranger loitering about the neighbourhood, and my cats don’t like him at all. I thought I’d warn you.”

“Yes, I have noticed him. Terrible, the police should do their job! Oh, please don’t let your cats into the living room, the carpet is new, you know?” Aunt Petunia turned towards the stairs. “Dudley! Are you ready?”

It sounded as if a baby elephant trampled down the stairs.

Harry waited impatiently while the two women exchanged some more empty pleasantries. At last, the door fell shut behind Aunt Petunia and Dudley.

“You heard what she said, dears. Wipe your feet and be careful with the furniture.” Mrs. Figg must be talking to her cats. “What, you don’t want to go into the living room? You are much too honourable, as always, Galahad. Harry wouldn’t tell on us, you know?”

At last, Mrs. Figg made her way into the living room. “Harry, dear, are you alright? I will make you some sage tea right away.”

“I’m fine, thank you”, Harry replied. “I just need to go to the bathroom.”

“Of course, dear. Do you need help with that?”

What?! “No, I’m not that sick. Aunt Petunia exaggerated.” Lied, more like.

“Glad to hear it. Still, some tea won’t do any harm.”

Harry noticed that he actually needed to go to the bathroom, so he did before sneaking into his cupboard on the way back.

When he looked at Snake, wanting to ask him what he thought of Mrs. Figg, he had already written: “SHE’S A WITCH.”

“Are you sure?”

“DO HER CATS OBEY?”

“I don’t know. Only one went with her in the living room, the other two are outside the cupboard. It’s like they’re watching me. A bit creepy.”

“THEY ARE.”

“What?!”

“HARMLESS. BUT WITCH. SHOW ME TO HER.”

Harry dutifully wrapped his hand in a sleeve, took the photo and left his cupboard. “Mrs. Figg, I need to show you some-“ He interrupted himself when he almost stumbled over a cat, and in the process, he dropped the photo.

He could see it, as if very slowly, fall towards the floor. He made to catch it with his left hand, but at last, the glass shattered on the tiles.

“No! I’m so sorry, are you - ”

Unthinkingly, he had used his left hand to pick the photo up.

Things went black for a moment, and next he knew, Harry stood on a cold beach.

“Idiot boy! You have doomed us both!”

Harry winced. He had never thought Snake’s voice would sound so harsh.

“Fool! Imbecile! I was so close to getting out!” Snake walked around on the beach, which extended way past what was seen in the photo. “How could you? How could you be so unbelievably stupid!?”

Nervously, Harry waited. For ... something. Perhaps an apology. But as soon as Snake seemed to have calmed down a bit, he aimed his wand at Harry.

Harry ducked away and ran.

“Come back this instant!”

There was a crippled tree in some distance. Harry ran toward it, zigzagging to escape possible spells aimed at him. Fleeing from Dudley and his cronies had been good training.

As had been Aunt Marge’s visits with Ripper. Harry was an expert tree-climber by now.


When he looked back, Snake had written in the sand again. From here, Harry could not decipher what it said. Should he come back to save Mrs. Figg?

But Snake needed her to send a message, he wouldn’t harm her.

Not yet, at least.

Because now, Harry wondered. Perhaps Snake was not all that nice. Perhaps there was a reason Snake didn’t want to tell him about lots of things.

True, he had only asked Harry to send a letter, but if a wizard could find out where he lived ... perhaps the real Albus Dumbledore was needed so Snake could change places with someone on the outside.

And now that Harry was stuck here too early, he couldn’t be that one anymore.

It was, Harry thought bitterly, much more likely that Snake had chosen him to ask for help because he looked like someone who wouldn’t be missed than any other reason.

“If you don’t come back, Mrs. Figg will never know where you are!”

“You tried to curse me! I’m not that stupid, you know?” But there was, indeed, a giant face on the strange, picture-frame like space that had previously been white – white as the ceiling.

“Harry dear? Where are you?”

“Mrs. Figg! I’m here! I have to hide from the man in black!”

“She cannot hear you, foolish boy. I only tried to put a warming charm on you. Now come back here, and we might still be able to get help.”

Snake was busy writing in the sand.

“Harry is scared of you? Oh dear. Wait, I will get an oven glove. That will be enough, yes?”

Try as he might, Harry could not decipher what Snake was writing.

Mrs. Figg’s face left.

Snake walked towards the tree. “Harry, listen, I ... I’m sorry I spoke so harshly. You are just a child, I was foolish to expect you to ... You did well, considering your age.”

“You are lying. You hate me. You were only nice to me so that I would save you.” It felt all so obvious now.

Instead of denying it, Snake turned and walked back to the beach.

“There you are.” Mrs. Figg had returned, and her face appeared at a different angle now, with some wallpaper in the background. Part of the window to the real world was obscured by what must be the oven glove. “I’m so glad I took my cats. Would be lost without them. They didn’t let me touch the photo.”

Snake wrote something.

“Oh yes, they are all half Kneazles. But before you get your hopes up – I am not a witch.”

Harry wanted to ask Snake about Kneazles, then remembered, with a twinge of hurt, that they weren’t friends anymore. Never had been.

Snake was busy writing in the sand.

“Oh yes, I know about magic. I am a Squib, you see. Don’t you worry, I know people. You will just have to wait some more, I am afraid.”

More writing.

The background of Mrs. Figg’s face was now the living room ceiling, with the ugly lamp.

“He tracked you here? How? I mean, does he just feel where the photo is, or does he use a spell?”

Snake wrote in the sand, Mrs. Figg nodded.

“Then why don’t we just make him believe the photo is still here? He will not use a spell if he thinks he knows exactly where it is.”

Apparently, Snake liked that idea, as the next thing Mrs. Figg said was: “I will wrap you in a freezer bag. You don’t need oxygen in there, do you? It might get dark when I hide you in my cardigan, but don’t panic. We will have you out of there in a jiffy.”

It did not get dark. Only the window-like space went black. The grey clouds above were still lighted by a hidden sun.

Harry made himself as comfortable as he could in his hiding place. Tears rolled down his face. He was crying. Why? Because Snake hated him? Everyone hated him, it was not exactly new ... he had just thought – hoped ...

“Kneazles are creatures, similar to cats, who can detect deception”, Snake volunteered. “A Squib is a person who has magical parents but cannot do magic. Mrs. Figg will be able to get you out of here.”

“Just me?”, Harry asked, his resolve to ignore Snake already wavering. He so wanted to believe the apology. But it would be stupid.

“Depending on whom she asks for help, they might not be all that enthusiastic about getting me out. I am not exactly popular in the magical community. You, however, need not fear. Every effort will be made to free you.”

“It’s not like anyone cares much about me. That’s why you chose me, didn’t you? Cause no one would miss me.”

“I chose to ask you for help because I know who you are. And as for no one missing you, you are very much mistaken. Loathe as I am to say it, you are a celebrity. All those strangers who wanted to shake your hand? They know exactly who you are.”

“Yeah, right. I am not falling for that. You can try that one on Dudley.” If someone told Dudley he was a celebrity, he would do everything they wanted. He would totally believe it. After all, his parents told him every day how special he was.

It was a rather cheap tactic. Kind of like those letters you got in the mail sometime, where they claimed you had won the lottery, and then they clarified you only had a chance to win, but only if you signed some document or something – Harry wasn’t sure, Aunt Petunia always threw those away immediately.
Not even Uncle Vernon would fall for them.

“You think I am just telling you what you want to hear?” Snake sounded exasperated. “I am not. I myself have never thought you all that special.”

At least now he was being honest.

“I know you have no reason to trust me. Yet you did. You stole the photo. Why are you afraid of me all of a sudden?”

‘Because you yelled at me’ would have been the honest answer. But Harry felt that would sound childish. And anyway, he had plenty good reasons. “You didn’t even tell me your name.”

“I was worried you might be familiar with it. As I told you, I am not very popular. My name is Severus Snape, and I am the head of Slytherin House at Hogwarts, hence my alias. It would have been rather transparent to anyone who went to Hogwarts in the years I taught there.”

He was a teacher? Harry wondered what he taught. He had spent quite a while talking about how Defense Against the Dark Arts would help you not be trapped in photos, or help others get out of them.

Harry leant forward, as if willing it so would get Snake – or Snape? – to continue talking.

“As for why I chose to talk to you – I knew your parents.”

His parents? Harry leant forward a bit more.

“Hence I could assume you must be a wizard. You look almost exactly like your fa-“

Harry wondered why Snape had stopped speaking, and noticed the ominous cracking noise too late.

He tumbled down with the branch he had leant all his weight on.

“Foolish boy!” Snape yelled, running towards him.

Shit. Trying to get up hurt – his leg must be broken. Harry attempted to crawl away, but it was no use.

“Now see what you did! We have no healer in here, and you just had to go and fall down a tree!” Snape knelt down next to him. “How bad is it?”

Without waiting for an answer, he prodded at Harry’s injured leg. “Is this where it hurts?”

“Ow!”

Snape pointed the wand at him. “Ferula.”

Bandages appeared, strapping Harry’s leg to a splint.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Just bruises, I think.” Confused, Harry looked up at Snape. “Why are you helping me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you hate me. You didn’t even deny it.” Tears welled up in Harry’s eyes.

“Does your leg hurt worse? It should be better.”

“It is better.” Why were they talking about his leg, now?

“I could attempt a healing spell, but I am not a fully trained healer. It might make things worse.” Suddenly, a stretcher appeared next to Harry. “Let’s get you back to the beach.”

Harry crawled onto the stretcher – it wasn’t like he had much choice.

“You will soon be out of here”, Snape promised. With his wand pointed at it, the stretcher lifted up into the air and floated.

When they were back at the beach, Snape took off his black cloak and laid it on a piece of grass behind the sand.

A move of his wand, and a black couch stood at the beach. Harry’s stretcher floated towards it, and melted into it, leaving Harry to lie on the couch.

“Why didn’t you get yourself a couch earlier?”

Snape aimed his wand at Harry. This time, a pleasant warmth spread around him. “Because my original plan was to just pretend to be a normal photograph.”

“How would that have worked?”

“It would not have freed me, if that’s what you mean. I just thought it would ruin the plan to make me an exhibit to be gawked at. A man on a windy beach can be an ordinary photo. A man who has a couch on said beach? Hardly. I do conjure a bed at nights, but always out of sight.”

“Harry!” Mrs. Figgs face appeared. “There you are! I managed to get you to my house, but I met that stranger outside. He was very insistent about wanting to help a frail old lady, so I told him you had run away and I needed someone to wait for you to return to the house while I was out looking for you. That will keep him occupied for a while.”

“He will suspect you took the photo”, Snape muttered, and wrote something in the sand.

“Yes, that’s the problem”, Mrs. Figg agreed. “But I thought I could give him a fake photo.”

“A fake photo? How would a Squib make a believable copy?” Snape wrote something in the sand.

“Oh, I have a photo of the Isle of Drear somewhere. My parents took me there when I was a child. That was before my Hogwarts letter failed to arrive, of course.”

“The Isle of Drear is inhabited by monsters”, Snape said. “Not exactly a lovely holiday location.”

But he didn’t bother to write something in the sand.

Mrs. Figg disappeared from view. “It isn’t the frame that’s cursed, is it? Don’t worry, I will be careful. And I will write a note to Dumbledore, just in case, before I take the photo out of the frame.”

When she reappered, she held a photo in her hand that looked quite a lot like the one Harry and Snape were in.

“It will have to do”, Snape decreed, then started to write something in the sand.

“Yes, of course”, Mrs. Figg answered. “I tried to contact Dumbledore with the floo, you see, but he wasn’t in his office. And the nearest owl post office is rather far away.

“Floo?”

“You throw floo powder into a fireplace, the fire turns green and you can use it to call someone or travel. I told you about it before. A squib might have her house attached to the network. That’s something I overlooked, but for our purposes, as you see, a squib is almost as good as a witch. Your average witch next door wouldn’t have been able to break the curse on this, either.”

Mrs. Figg had rubber gloves for cleaning, too, and she used them to get the cursed photo out of the broken frame, and the other photo inside.

“There, now. I wonder ... do you think Harry would have been sucked inside if the glass wasn’t broken?”

Snape wrote in the sand. “Probably not”, he explained at Harry’s questioning glance. “But I thought it better to never take the risk.”

“I will get a nice new frame for you, then.”

Harry recognized the frame she returned with as one that usually held a cat photo, but didn’t complain. He wasn’t keen on finding out what would happen to Snape and him if the photo was damaged.

“That’s taken care of, then.” She wrapped the photo and frame in a freezer bag again. “I will hide you in my cardigan, and the other photo goes to my handbag. Don’t you worry.”

The window outside went dark again.Harry heard a door open and close, then steps.

And finally ... “Did you see Harry? No? Oh dear. I so hoped ... Mrs. Dursley will be so angry. The poor boy, he just ran away because he broke a picture frame. I heard the noise, and when I came looking, he was gone, and the broken frame on the floor.”

“A picture frame?” That was Not-Dumbledore. Who was probably the man called Richard Smith. Harry recognized the voice.

“Yes. The photo wasn’t even damaged, but Mrs. Dursley is very strict with him, so he must have been very afraid, the poor dear. If he hadn’t run away, I would offer to buy a new frame, I don’t expect Mrs. Dursley will be back before evening, but I cannot take a bus to town before I find him ...”

“If you can show me the photo, I might be of assistance?”

“Oh! Thank you very much, that would be so kind of you.” Mrs. Figg rummaged in her handbag. “Here it is – be careful with the broken glass. I wrapped it in a kitchen towel right away.”

“You won’t be able to get that kind of frame in a shop”, Not-Dumbledore said. “They don’t make them anymore. But I think I might have a piece of glass that is just the right size at home. I can repair it while you look for the boy, and be back in a hour or so.”

“That would be awfully kind of you”, Mrs. Figg exclaimed. “Then I only have to find Harry. Of course I should leave a note for Mrs. Dursley, just in case she returns earlier ... oh dear, oh dear.”

She said goodbye to Not-Dumbledore and Harry heard her open a door.

“Here we are. I don’t expect he will return, seeing as he has no intention of returning the photo.”

Harry saw Snape write something on the sand, while Mrs. Figg apparently took the photo out.

“You mean, he could make a not-cursed copy? That complicates things. If he wants to make sure only one of them is cursed ... oh dear!

Before Mrs. Figg could worry more, however, her cats meowed loudly, and she bustled away, promising to feed them.

“I cannot believe he fell for that”, Snape muttered.

“You expected me to fall for that fairy tale about me being a celebrity”, Harry huffed.

Snape stared at him. “That again? I thought you had given up that foolish notion. I did not lie to you, and I never had any intention of harming you.”

“You hate me. You as good as admitted it.” Harry bit his lip and willed the tears to stop. With limited success. He had thought he had a friend. It had been stupid, of course. No one liked freaks like him.

“Things are not always black and white.” Snape drawled. “And yes, the irony of saying that while trapped inside a black and white photograph does not escape me. I do admit to having ... disliked your father. Whose almost perfect likeness you are. I might have been ... prejudiced.” He eyed Harry. “For Merlin’s sake, boy, stop crying! You have nothing to fear!”

“I’m not afraid.” And that was true. Snape hadn’t harmed him so far. He was probably saying the truth about that. But ...

“Then you are in pain? Let me have a look at your leg, I might –“

“No, it’s okay.” The bandages seemed to help a lot more than Harry would have thought.

“You are crying”, Snape pointed out.

“Just because – because you’re mean to me.” How childish he sounded! It was embarrassing.

“I am not - ” Snape interrupted himself. “I did apologize for yelling at you earlier.”

“And then you did it again.” Harry hated how whiny he sounded.

“Just because you – that is – I mean ... I was upset because you hurt yourself.”

Harry thought about that. Upset? Not angry? “Why? I can’t help you much from inside here, anyway.”

“As you so shrewdly observed, I am not your father. However, I am a teacher at a boarding school. It is my job to keep children from getting hurt. Perhaps that is why I mind so much.” Snape paced the beach. “Or, possibly, it is just a normal human reaction. Would you not be upset if you saw someone else break his leg?”

Oh. “Yes, but ... that’s just me? Sort of? Or ... nice people?” Dudley wouldn’t be upset. He’d find it funny.

“So I do not fall into your definition of nice people? Because I yelled at you?”

“I guess.” Though if Snape had yelled at him because he was worried, that was ... kind of nice? Only it wasn’t, because being yelled at was very much not nice.

“Be aware that some of the most dangerous people in this world coat their words with sugar, Harry. I cannot claim to be a nice person, certainly not, but you are safe with me. You would not be safe with some people who sound a lot nicer.”

That made sense. Harry knew that Aunt Petunia could be positively sugary sweet to people she wanted something from. Even if she actually hated them. Like Mrs. Figg. Aunt Petunia didn’t think highly of her house that was covered in cat hair, or her unfashionable clothes, but she needed someone who would watch Harry.

And Snape hadn’t asked Harry to steal the photo. He had been very insistent that Harry not touch it. But it was possible he needed someone else to make the magic work properly. Perhaps, if he just asked ... the villains in the cartoons Dudley watched often betrayed themselves if you got them to talk. “The note next to the photo said that you would try to make someone change places with you. But now we are both trapped in here. Why didn’t it work?”

“Because the man who trapped me here is a liar. He told me that getting someone to touch the photo would free me and imprison them in my stead.”

“But there’s no one here but us.” Hadn’t Snape tried it before at all?

“Of course not. I could not have inflicted that fate on anyone. Some foolish boys touched the frame, but nothing happened. I still wasn’t sure if that was because they were muggles – not wizards - so I advised you to be careful ... if only I had not ... he obviously warded the glass especially for such cases, and if you hadn’t broken it ...” Snape sighed. “And I suspected he was lying. He hates me, why would he provide me with an opportunity to escape? No doubt he wanted to present me with a horrible choice, and then force me to live with the knowledge that I willingly sacrificed someone else to save myself – all while still imprisoned here, of course.”

What a monster!

“And you still think he would let me get away if I claimed I had just stolen the photo for fun?” Which was, in Harry’s opinion, much worse than stealing a photo to free someone imprisoned in it.

“As I said, I am not popular. I have done wrong. Mr. Smith seems to be the kind of person who likes to torture people who are ... acceptable targets. He might spare a child. Perhaps he would even be willing to free you if you could convince him that I manipulated you into helping me. You could tell him that it was I who broke your leg, perhaps that would go some way towards persuading him ... However, that should be the last resort. I do not trust him, and we are not exactly in a hurry, seeing as we do not need to eat or drink.”

That made sense. “Yeah, it isn’t worse than my cupboard, and as long as I get out in time to start at Hog-“

Their talk was interrupted by loud banging on the door.

Mrs. Figg walked towards it, then returned. “He found us out”, she informed them. “I don’t know how, but he is very angry, and he is trying to get into the house, but it looks like Dumbledore’s protective enchantments work.”

“I don’t know this Dumbledore fellow!” Harry complained. “Why does everyone else know him?”

“Because Albus Dumbledore is the most powerful wizard of our time”, Snape explained. “After your parents were killed –“

“My parents died in a car accident!” Harry exclaimed, although he had a feeling that the Dursleys might have lied about that.

“So that’s what Petunia told you? No, they were murdered in cold blood, and with no car involved. The details do not matter right now. Suffice it to say it was Dumbledore who decided that you would live with your aunt and her husband. I have come to doubt the wisdom of that decision, but it seems the protections he promised this would grant you are indeed rather useful.”

“So that’s why you asked me for help? Because you thought I would remember him?”

“I had expected him to have visited you, yes. And your aunt knows him. She might not, however, wish to contact him, even in an emergency.”

Harry heard a muffled noise that must come from outside the photo.

“There’s an owl at the window”, Mrs. Figg said. “Poor thing, I wonder - ”

And then, there was a much louder, cracking noise.

“Please excuse my sudden appearance, Arabella”, said the voice of an old man. “It seemed safer to apparate, as the house appears to be under siege.”

“Professor Dumbledore! You got my note?”

“No, I am afraid not. However, I was visited by a very upset owl and went to investigate. Is there a problem with Harry?”

Mrs. Figg sighed. “One could say so. Look at this photo – careful, do not touch it, it is cursed.”

“Oh! Why, that is a pleasant surprise.” The face of an old man with a long white beard, piercing blue eyes and half-moon glasses appeared at the ‘window’. “Hello Harry. Do not get me wrong, I am by no means pleased about your current predicament. I am just glad to have found my potions teacher. How are you, Severus?”

“How do you think I am, you silly old codger?”, Snape grumbled.

“A most ingenious curse.”

“Does that mean you can’t break it?” Mrs. Figg asked.

Harry wondered the same thing.

“Never fear. It is powerful dark magic, so much is true, but there is only one necessary ingredient to break it.”

“Get on with it!” Snape yelled, and Harry had to agree.

“Is it hard to get?”, Mrs. Figg asked, worried.

“It would be in any other situation than the one we fortunately are in. I need the blood of the one who cursed it, and if I interpret the situation correctly, that very man is currently trying to enter the house.”

Snape wrote something on the beach.

“Ah, wonderful idea, Severus. The irony of it will be quite amusing. I shall return in a moment.” The old wizard’s face disappeared.

“What did you write?”

“I suggested a curse whose incantation bears some resemblance to my name. A pun, you might say.” Snape wiped the writing out. “Before you get any ideas, you are much too young to know it.”

“But I can learn it if I go to Hogwarts?”

“When you go to Hogwarts. You will not be allowed to skip school, young man. I will drag you there myself, if needed.”


Dumbledore returned and muttered a spell that, apparently, removed the frame Mrs. Figg had put on the photo. With a feather dipped in blood he drew some arcane symbols on the ‘window’, then took out a wand of dark wood and moved it in the air, muttering incantations.

“Any moment now”, Snape warned. “Better get up. Wait.” He slid an arm under Harry, and turned the couch back into a cloak.

Seconds later, Harry landed, rather painfully, on the Dursley’s living room table. It would have been even more painful if Snape hadn’t caught him before all his weight went on the broken leg.

“Couldn’t you have put us on the floor?” Snape grumbled. “Harry is hurt.” He helped Harry sit down on the table, then climbed down.

“Hurt? Oh dear, I thought you were just sick!” Mrs. Figg frowned, concerned.

“A broken leg. He will require a healer.”

“Now, now, Severus, you know we cannot meddle in the lives of muggles. I hear muggle doctors can deal with such injuries quite well. Petunia will want to to take him to the hospital, and -”

Muggles? Ah, non-wizards, Snape had explained.

“And nothing. What I saw during my stay here ... they make him sleep in a cupboard! He cannot stay!” Snape helped Harry onto the couch.

“I will need to talk to Petunia. Still, you will have to agree Harry is safe here.”

“That’s only if Petunia doesn’t kill him by neglect. And regardless, his leg was not broken when she left the house”, Snape drawled.

“It was not? How did he get hurt?”

“I climbed a tree in the photo – you can’t see it, but it is in there – and fell down”, Harry explained. “Just a stupid accident. But please – please, Aunt Petunia will never take me to the hospital if I tell her I broke my leg inside a photo, and I was supposed to lie on the couch all day, so ...”

“Quite a convincing argument”, Dumbledore agreed. “It would be best if Petunia does not notice any difference. Severus, if you would?”

“I? If I thought myself capable of healing him, I would have done so. It is school policy that - ”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, but we are not at school, Severus. And I have quite a lot of trust in your skill.”

“Well, I don’t”, Snape grumbled, but knelt down next to the couch. “You know accidental injuries are not my area of expertise.”

“They tend to be much easier to heal.”

“Fine. Do not move, Harry.”

Harry had not planned to move, anyway. Snape took the trouser leg between two fingers and aimed his wand at the fabric.

The wand did not touch the fabric, but it was cut apart as if with a very sharp knife.

“No broken skin”, Snape muttered. “Very well ...” He trailed his wand over the leg, half humming, half singing a melody that sounded familiar even though Harry was sure he had never heard it before.
It seemed to resonate in his very bones.

“Better?”

Harry touched his leg. The pain was gone. He moved it. Still no pain. “Feels good. Thanks?”

“Reparo.” The fabric of the trousers grew back together. And not only that, the holes that had been in that particular pair vanished, too.

There were so many things Harry wanted to ask, but just as he opened his mouth, he heard Uncle Vernon’s car.

“That’s my uncle”, he said instead. “It, uh, is probably better if he doesn’t meet you.”

“We shall take our leave, then”, Dumbledore said.

Snape cleared his throat. “Harry, I ... you ... I was very impressed by how you engineered things so that Mrs. Figg would come to babysit you. I should be pleased to welcome you in Slytherin House once you start school.”

And then, suddenly, the two wizards were gone.

“Apparating”, Mrs. Figg explained. “I had almost forgotten how jealous I am about that one.” She sighed. “No use complaining, though. Would you like a cup of sage tea now, dear?”

“I don’t really care for the taste, to be honest”, Harry said, feeling that after all he had gone through, he deserved to be spared the bitter tea.

“Yes, I know, but it is good for colds, and you can’t look too happy, dear. If she thinks you enjoy staying with me, she might try to saddle me with Dudley, and I have no idea how I would talk my way out of that.”

“I like peppermint tea”, he offered. “And I can just pretend I hate staying with you. I’m not sick at all, Uncle Vernon just didn’t want to drive me to school.”

The key was turned in the lock. Uncle Vernon had come home.

“Hello Mr. Dursley”, Mrs. Figg opened the living room door. “Your wife is out, something about going to the doctor with your son, I think? She didn’t want Harry to leave the house, since he’s so sick, so I came over.”

“Thank you”, Vernon ground out, but he didn’t sound happy at all. “Did she say when she will be back?”

“I did say I could stay until the evening if I could bring my cats, so I am afraid I have no idea.”

“Hm. You won’t have to stay any longer. I’m sure your cats will want their dinner.”

Mrs. Figg couldn’t have stayed without being rude, Harry had to admit, but he still felt incredibly lonely when, as soon as she had left, Uncle Vernon sent him to his cupboard.

His cupboard that now did not contain a photo he could talk to.