The Snape man stumbled over to me, and I realized he’d definitely been drinking; quite a lot actually.

“Are you still cleaning that thing? No use in it. Scourgify.”

He flicked his tapered little stick and the fireplace was all clean. Brilliant!

“You eat?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“Come on, then.” He smiled at me. He actually smiled at me! It was a sloppy, drunken smile, but I fancied he could be this way without the alcohol. I started to get out the food, but he waved me out of the way with a lazy hand and cut a colossal, lopsided wedge of cheese and a thick slice of crusty bread. He tried to spread a large glob of butter, but it didn’t work so well; most of it landed on the floor. After handing me the plate, he took out the milk and drank half of it right from the bottle, spilling a large portion on his dirty cape. I wasn’t invited to the table, so I sat on the floor and waited to be told I could eat.

He looked down at me, and for a moment I thought he might fall straight over. Instead, he laughed and plopped himself right down on the floor next to me, handing me the jug of icy cold milk.

“Finish it,” he slurred, and I took the opportunity to chug the rest down. My stomach started to protest and cramp, but I disregarded it. Who knew when I’d get the chance to eat again?

He picked up the slice of bread and took a large bite; for a tense moment I wondered if he’d intended the food for just him. But he handed me the partially eaten piece.

“Eat the ress. Thick ’m gonna be sick!”

He gathered himself up and tried to run to the bathroom, but only made it to the ragged plaid armchair. I fetched the few towels we had and cleaned him up best I could. He just looked at me while I did it, eyes fluttering, trying to focus. He caught my hand and patted it when I was finished, saying

“You’re a good boy, Harry. Finish yer breakfass, or lunch, or whatever ‘tis, then go out back ’n play. Need to ress.” And he passed out on the splintery wood floor.

I gobbled down the rest what was on the plate, cleaned up breakfast, and contemplated what I should do. He’d told me to go out back, but the day before he’d told me I wasn’t allowed in the garden. I thought perhaps I’d be safe if I stayed by the trees; they were away from other plants but still in the yard.

I sat under the low branches of the smallest weeping willow; the swaying and rustling of the wispy branches lulling me into a trance. I wondered about the things this man could do. He had to be a sort of sorcerer or something, didn’t he? What else could he do? I wished he could time travel so I could go back and see my parents. Maybe he could bring them back to life! Surely he’d like to be rid of me. But I supposed if he could do that, he would have already. Could he mesmerize people and make them do anything he wanted? That was a scary thought. I leant against the tree watching melancholy, grey clouds, trying to unclutter my mind.

I fell to sleep and dreamt the Snape man was a vampire who’d sucked the blood of the nice tailor in a field of poppy flowers. He turned himself into a bat and made a nest out of my hair, and then he took hold of my clothes with his claws and flew me home. Dropping me down the chimney he was off, flowing into the night.

I jerked awake just before I hit the bottom of the fireplace. It was growing dark outside, and the glowing moon was just visible through the ceiling of leafy branches. I was troubled; should I go inside? Most kids had to go inside when it got dark, didn’t they? But I’d slept in the bushes at the Dursleys plenty of times; sometimes Uncle Vernon wouldn’t allow me in. He’d said I was mangy like a tabby, so I could sleep outside with the cats. I reckoned if I was told to go outside, the best course of action was to stay outside until I was told to come in.

To fill the time, I pretended I was on a desert island sitting beneath a squatty coconut tree. I was all alone so I could do anything I wanted, wherever I wanted, and there were always fresh coconuts, bananas, and fish to eat. Cackling crows were squealing sea birds that flew overhead; the night’s gusty wind was the rush of the ocean. I could almost feel a cool marine mist on my face.

After a moment, however, I realized I really did feel moisture; it was beginning to rain. Few minutes later my clothes were saturated, and the air was becoming frosty. I took my arms out of their sleeves and pressed them to the warmth of my chest, snuggling up to the tree to keep a bit of the water off me. I was almost asleep again when the back screened door tore open like a gunshot.

………………………………………………………………………

I woke with a pounding headache and realized I was lying on the parlor floor. Sniffing my robes, I smelt alcohol and vomit. It was perhaps the most unpleasant way to wake up, save awakening with searing pain in my forearm from the dastardly mark. It was black as pitch, and I stumbled around for a candle before my muddled brain snatched my wand and struck up a fire in the grate. Suddenly, I wondered where the boy was. I wasn’t even certain of the day. The last things I remembered were brewing dreamless sleep and calming draught while downing a copious amount of firewhiskey. It must have been close to four in the morning when I’d started all that. How did I even manage to get up the stairs from the dungeon?

I hoped I’d find the boy cuddled up in his bed but, unsurprisingly, that was not the case. I searched the house, getting more and more frustrated with each step, before I thought to check outside. ‘It would suit the defiant little scamp to be in the one place I told him not to go.’

And there he was. In the garden.

“Boy!” I called, and he came running, soaked to the bone. The lengths this child would go to just to disobey me! I took him by the back of the neck and propelled him up the stairs, sticking his nose in the corner of his bedroom.

“I told you quite clearly never to bother the garden, boy. You will stay here until I tell you to move. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” he said in a small, petulant voice.

I left him then. I thought half an hour or so in the corner with wet clothes would be a fitting reminder not to defy me. I figured if I’d have to deal with lecturing the boy, I’d best take a calming draught first. Yelling at him wasn’t making him behave, so I thought I might try old Dumbledore’s method and reason with the child. Couldn’t hurt. The calming draught didn’t taste right, though.

‘I’m such an idiot! I should know better than to mix potions and alcohol! What on earth did I do to it?’

………………………………………………………………………

I’d made the wrong choice, as usual. I should have come inside when dusk shrouded Spinner’s End. I was so stupid! Why couldn’t I ever do anything right?

I stood in the corner, glad to be inside again at least. Ever so slowly, my clothing went from drenched to damp, and I warmed. As incensed as the man had been, I was surprised he hadn’t thrashed me. Perhaps he still would when he came back. My stomach grew quite thick with jitters, and my hands began shaking at the thought of being beaten. I flattened them to my sides to make them stop, but my nervousness only spiked at the lack of physical activity. I’d nothing to take my mind off my dread, and switched on in my brain was a bewitched cinema projector. I reeled with memories of Uncle Vernon’s punishments, and for long moments I feared I’s going barmy.

After a while my feet started to really ache, and that ache crept up my legs and into my back. It wasn’t really so bad; I’d dealt with much greater pain loads of times. And the physical pain overpowered my mind’s eye, liberating me from my past.

As the blackness turned to pale shades of purple, then blue, I realized I’d not been to the loo since early last morning. I perked up my ears and silently willed Mr. Snape to come back. Even if he was going to strike me, at least it would only be for last night’s offense. If he waited much longer to come, I’d be in trouble for two transgressions; the latter being unbearably embarrassing. But he did not come.

The sunlight took flight, and I was afraid I was hallucinating; it couldn’t be nightfall again yet, could it? A deafening thunder clap startled me, and in one moment I felt relieved in more than one way: I wasn’t hallucinating, but my pants were becoming warm and wet.

As the ultimate indignity washed over me, I began to cry. I was so tired and hurting, and now I’d shamed myself like a bloody little toddler. I knew for certain now I would be in for a true punishment.

……………………………………………………………………

I woke with a start as a summer storm battered Ashton-Under-Lyne. My limbs felt as if they were incased in marble. I’d made the calming potion entirely too strong. Then it struck me: Harry! What would he be into now, with me having been out for Merlin knows how long? I bounded up the steps to his room with the mild hope he’d be playing or sleeping or whatever else it was spoiled boys do.

My heart dropped to the ground when I saw him standing in the corner. Maybe he’d heard me coming up the stairs and had sprinted back to the corner to hoodwink me. I put my hand on his shoulder and he leapt. As I turned him round I saw great tears pouring down the little one’s cheeks; could that be a ruse, too?

I got my answer when I sniffed the acrid smell and saw the front of his trousers. The bed had not been touched either. He had to have been there for at least . . . ten hours! If Lily was looking down upon this scene, I knew she’d never forgive me for neglecting her son so. He truly had been standing there all night. What had ever given him the strength or will to do so?

“Child, bathe and change your clothes. When you’ve finished, come downstairs. We need to have a talk.”

He nodded his head and moved to take a step toward the door, but fell flat on his face. I was ‘bout to help the lad get up when he half-righted himself and crawled to the lavatory, hiccoughing sobs following him all the while.