“This car is so cool ,” Harry laughed, exhilarated. They were soaring away from Privet Drive, wind rushing past the car, having set Hedwig free to fly to the Burrow. “Thanks for coming to get me! I was so sick of that room!”

Ron grinned hugely at him. “Well, we had to, when you weren’t answering our letters… I sent one a few days ago saying that if there was no response we’d fetch you— and so we fetched you!”

Fred was hauling in the bars from Harry’s window, which were dangling from the rope he’d tied around them. “Why didn’t you answer them?” he asked. “Were they keeping them from you? Bastards!”

The other twin, driving the car, jerked the wheel a bit when he added, “Yeah— wish we could have left behind a little experiment of ours.”

“Err,” Harry responded, not quite sure how to explain it. “It wasn’t them. They were getting intercepted. By some house-elf named Dobby.”

From what little Harry could see of Ron’s eyes in the moonlight, they were rounded in shock. “A house-elf!”

He nodded. “Yep. I think he might’ve been crazy— kept telling me I couldn’t go back to Hogwarts— said that was why he took my letters. Used magic and then the Dursley’s just kept me in my room after that. Look, I dunno.”

“ Weird ,” Ron said, a concerned look on his face. “But now you’re with us we don’t have to send you letters, so it doesn’t matter. George !”

George had nearly flown them into a tree.

“Sorry— sorry,” he gritted, wrenching the wheel. “Hadn’t realised how low we’d gotten. Why don’t you go up ?”

The car seemed disinclined to go up again, but was making sputtery coughing noises and jerking itself about. 

“Sounds sick,” Fred said. Then— “ Idiot! ”

The car had dropped a good ten metres without notice.

“It’s not me, it’s the car!” George shouted, red-faced. “It’s not working !” 

This was clear from the way it was shuddering and shaking. They were still going forward quite quickly, Harry noticed, but they weren’t very far off the ground, and George kept having to jerk the wheel to evade trees and houses. Luckily the invisibility booster was still working. But the shuddering only got worse: Harry felt as if his head was being rattled back and forth by an angry Uncle Vernon. Outside the windows was a blur and he felt terribly sick.

“Shi—” George threw his whole body at the steering wheel, and—

Whomp!

Harry was whipped forward.

Crash!

His head banged the dashboard. It hurt . It hurt .

They weren’t moving anymore, he didn’t think. It was all blurry, and spinning a bit, but there was no more jerking. Harry lifted an aching arm to his forehead and it came away with fuzzy red on it.

“—ry, Harry! Get him out, Fred—”

“C’ming,” he said wobblily. And somehow, he staggered out of the car to collapse on the ground beside Ron. 

He had to shut his eyes for a little while, to stop the spinning. When he opened them, he felt a bit clearer.

“What—” he asked. “What—”

Ron’s face was white. It made his freckles stand out— and there was a cut on the bridge of his nose. 

“We crashed, Harry,” he said. “We crashed. I think George has broken his ribs or something.” 

Leaning against someone’s garden wall, George was even more whey-faced than Ron. He was clutching an arm round his ribs, Fred by his side.

“Oh no,” Harry said faintly. Then, looking around, “Where’s the c— Oh no .”

“ Oh no indeed, Mister Potter.”

Ron whipped his head around and blanched even more. “Harry,” he whispered. “ Harry. Am I—”

“You’re not hallucinating,” Harry murmured back. Then, closing his eyes for a second in order to wish himself far away— it would be better if they were both hallucinating— he pushed himself off the ground.

“Hello Professor Snape,” he said in a very small voice. 

“Potter,” the man said coolly. “Why have you crash-landed a car in my garden?”

After that awful, blanching first moment that felt like it lasted for centuries, things actually happened very quickly.

Snape, his nostrils flaring with suppressed anger, had not said a single word after that terrible, horrible question. Ron and Harry hadn’t said anything either, not feeling able to utter a word in their disgrace, nor lift their eyes from the ground. The professor had ushered them inside, into a dim room that was lit only by the streetlight outside. The boys had huddled together on a couch when the man had gone outside to fetch the twins, who were also escorted inside and then left as Snape once again went out the door.

“He’s gone to deal with the neighbours,” Fred said quietly. “The whole street was out there. They’ll probably have to get the obliviators in.” 

Harry felt for Ron’s hand in the dark, and squeezed it desperately, feeling the grit of dirt on the other boy’s fingers. Then they all sat there together in the dark, not saying anything.

When the man came back inside five minutes or so later, he closed the door with a slam and after flicking the lights on headed straight for George.

“Can you feel this?” he snapped. 

“Ow! ” George yelled. “Yes,” he said, more quietly. “It hurts like billy-oh.” The boy was gripping tightly on his twin’s arm, so hard Harry could see Fred wincing.

“St Mungo’s for you,” the man said. Then he slashed his wand in the direction of the fireplace and flames whoomphed up from it. Snape slid his wand back up his sleeve, picked up a jar from the mantelpiece, and threw something inside it on the flames, which turned bright, glittery green.

Harry had just enough time to mutter to Ron, “What’s—”

Then he gaped. Snape had stuck his head in the fire.

“ MOLLY! ” the man yelled. “ MOLLY! ARTHUR! ” 

“Floo powder,” Ron said in an undertone. “He’s— He’s calling Mum…”

It seemed that the potions teacher wasn’t going to burn his head off, after all, because then he was talking quickly, head still in the flames, though they couldn’t hear just what he was saying now that he wasn’t shouting. Harry suspected it was nothing good. Then Snape’s head was pulled out of the flames, and he stepped away from the fireplace.

“ Oh no ,” Ron breathed. “We’re dead.”

The fire flared up, green flames sparking wildly, and spat out Ron’s mother.

“ WHERE ARE THEY?” she shouted, spinning around the room. Then, spotting Harry, her fierce scowl disappeared for a moment as she said, quite calmly, “Oh, hello, Harry.” Then— “FRED, GEORGE, RON!”

“Mister Weasley needs to go to St Mungo’s Hospital,” Snape said, gesturing at poor George, who only looked more ill when facing his mother. “Broken ribs, I believe.”

“ Broken ribs !” Mrs Weasley said, face red with anger. “That car ! I told him— George, dear, you’re in big trouble — but what happens when I do this—”

“ OW! ” roared George, his face now suddenly flushed. Sweat was gleaming on his forehead. “Why do you— it— stop — I’m sorry— just—” a tear slipped out of his eye and trailed down his cheek. “It hurts , alright—”

Mrs Weasley nodded grimly. “St Mungo’s for you, my lad. Better take the rest of you as well, just in case. Stealing that car ! Crashing that car! You just wait until we get home.” And she helped George over to the floo. 

“Thank you, Severus,” she said, nodding her head in acknowledgement. “My apologies for their horrendous behaviour. They won’t be having fun anytime soon. Come along, Ron, Fred. Here— St Mungo’s.”

And she held out the jar to Fred, who took a pinch of the substance inside it and said, “St Mungo’s!” before stepping into the flame.

“Hurry up, Ron,” his mother said. But Ron was standing half-way between the couch and the fireplace, not moving.

“What about Harry?” he asked.

“He’s staying with the Professor for just now, until he can go back home,” Mrs Weasley replied. “Come along—”

“Go back!” Ron shouted, clenching his fists. “Go back ! They were STARVING him, Mum!”

“I never told you that,” Harry blurted out, angrily. Then he flushed an ugly brick-red. Why did he have to go and say that?

“He’s THINNER and there was a CAT FLAP and BARS ON THE WINDOW—”

“RONALD WEASLEY—”

“His UNCLE’S been—”

“ Enough ,” Snape said. “Weasley, be quiet .” But Ron already was, his chest heaving as he glared at his mother and Snape.

“No more shouting,” Snape said coldly. “George Weasley is in need of medical attention. You will go to St Mungo’s with him and your mother, and Potter will remain here with me. He will not be going back to the Dursleys until I can verify the truth of what you are saying.”

Ron’s hands unclenched slowly by his side, and then after a little he said, “ Mum— ” in a rather broken-sounding voice. 

“Oh, Ronald ,” Mrs Weasley sighed, still supporting George, who was leaning against her looking hardly conscious. She exchanged a look with Snape, and then focussed back on her youngest son. “It’ll be fine. Come here. Harry will stay where he’s safe, and Dumbledore will be able to come round in the morning to sort it all out.”

Ron was walking over to the hearth slowly, now. “Bye, Harry,” he choked out, before he vanished into the flames.

“I’ll call you in the morning,” Mrs Weasley told Snape. “Take good care of that boy, now. I’ll see you later, Harry.” 

And then Harry was left alone with Snape. The boy picked at the stitching on the couch and wished he were anywhere but where he was. When he chanced a glance up at a surprisingly quiet Snape, he saw the man had his eyes closed and was resting his fingertips lightly on his temple.

Harry looked down again, at his hands. There was a deep sigh from the man in the corner. 

“Potter,” Snape said after a minute, sounding as weary as Harry had ever heard him. “It is two o’clock in the morning, and I have had enough to deal with tonight. You will follow me without a word and obey me to the letter. Understood?”

Harry nodded. Standing up from the couch, he followed Snape down a corridor and then up a rickety staircase. 

In a tiny, cream-tiled bathroom, Snape had him stand very still while he waved his wand in a complicated pattern. Seemingly satisfied with what he found, the man rummaged in a cabinet and handed Harry a washer. 

“Get all that blood and dirt off your face while I hunt out the surface cuts solution.”

A glimpse in the mirror assured Harry he looked a fright, and made him aware of the tacky, unpleasant feeling of the dried blood on his face. He gently wiped it off with the wet flannel, before Snape unscrewed the lid of a jar and dipped his fingers within. 

“Stand still.” 

And Harry endured Snape’s cool fingers spreading a thin layer of ointment on his cut forehead. It was strange— Harry could feel the cut actually binding itself back together.

“Hmmph,” the man said, washing his hands. “Potter, you’re all over bruises, but that will wait. That cut would have become infected. Follow me.”

Again Harry trotted silently after Snape, each step making his legs seem heavier and heavier. He muffled a yawn in his elbow.

“In.” 

The room was small but neat— obviously a spare room, it looked unlived-in. The light Snape had switched on when he entered was flickering. Snape flicked his wand and the sheets stripped themselves off the bed, only to be replaced with fresh ones he’d summoned.

“Bed,” Snape uttered, pointing at it as if he thought Harry didn’t understand what he meant. Harry toed his shoes off and slid under the covers. 

“Now,” Snape breathed, “I’m not to hear a peep until I come get you. The only thing you’re to do now, Potter, is sleep. You’ll have a big day tomorrow.”

And on that ominous note he left the room, turning off the light and closing the door behind him. But Harry wasn’t given time to ruminate on the fate that awaited him in the morning; instead, he rolled over onto a less bruised part of his body and instantly fell asleep.