Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Chapter 2

The Dursleys were as bad as ever.

Harry tried to stay out of their way, but the problem was that they wouldn't stay out of his. Dudley was still teasing him about Cedric, because Harry woke up screaming every night, and the Dursleys didn't know about Sirius.

Aside from the usual heavy load of dull chores, Harry was spending more time than ever locked in the cupboard under the stairs. He hadn't had to sleep there in years, and the fact that he had to now was somehow very fitting with his new situation.

Only once had he argued.

The Dursleys were going out. Would be gone for the whole evening.

Vernon was holding open the cupboard door. "Get in, boy."

Recklessly, he started, "I think some of my friends might be interested to know --"

He got that far only. Vernon's red, beefy face leaned very, very close to his, leering.

"I don't see anyone coming to check on you," he said in a low, dangerous voice, stepping forward and forcing Harry to take a step back, almost into the cupboard. "I never got the impression it matters to anyone what happens to you. Even those freaks have better things to do than to concern themselves about worthless orphans like you."

He spat out the word 'orphan' with special disgust.

"That's right, Dad," Dudley said from behind his father. "We haven't heard anything from that convict godfather of his, have we? I think he made it all up. No one would want him... not even a convict."

Vernon shoved Harry the rest of the way into the cramped cupboard and slammed the door shut. "That's right," he said, his eyes narrowed at Harry through the slits of the vent. "We haven't heard a thing, have we."

"He got caught, that's what I think," Dudley continued, grinning at Harry and smacking his Smeltings stick across the door, causing bits of old spiderwebs, plaster, and chipped paint to rain down on Harry. "Did they give him the electric chair, Harry?" he asked in a nasty wheedling voice.

Harry didn't say a word.

"We'll be late," said Aunt Petunia, coming into the hallway. "Come along, Vernon." And as she walked past the cupboard door, her eyes bore into Harry's with a coldness that he felt to his bones. Suddenly, he was sure that she knew, that someone must have written to her, or spoken to her when she and Dudley and Vernon had come to the station to pick him up at the start of summer.

He slid onto the trundle bed that occupied most of the space in the cupboard and listened as the Dursleys left the house, then the car reversing down the drive, and finally... silence.

There was never anything to do in the cupboard but wait. He watched a thin line of light travel slowly up the wall as the evening grew long, until finally he was lying in complete darkness.

He didn't mind being in the cupboard, really. It was the knowledge that they could lock him away and there wasn't a single person in the world who would care.

And that it was his fault.

Peter Pettigrew may have killed Cedric, and Bellatrix Lestrange may have killed Sirius, and Voldemort may have killed Dumbledore... but it was Harry's fault.

And that was something he could never forget.

Neither would anyone else forget, he knew. He couldn't expect them to. Maybe for a while the papers would be content to rehash the story of how Albus Dumbledore took down the Dark Lord (while pointing out that Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, had not), and what a great loss Dumbledore's death was to the wizarding world, but sooner or later someone would decide the story needed a new angle, and then they'd take a closer look at why Dumbledore died that day.

He figured he'd gone from hero to zero that day at the Ministry of Magic, and that was just fine with him. He'd never wanted to be the hero. He wouldn't have been, anyway. Anyone who'd thought he would be the one to end Voldemort was a nutter. It never would have happened. But now, he wondered if the pendulum would swing the other way. From hero to pariah. He didn't think he could stand it, no matter how much he deserved it. The wizarding world was the only thing he had left. He'd lost everything else. If he was driven out, well... Harry just didn't know how he would go on. He couldn't live as a Muggle. Not while knowing what he knew. Not while knowing about the other world; the world that had changed everything for him.

He didn't know how bad things could get. Ron and Ginny's parents certainly hadn't given him much hope, and he didn't think they were unreasonable. He'd almost got both their youngest children killed, not to mention Dumbledore. Lupin might not think much of him after he'd had more time to think things over, either. Sirius had been his best friend, his last childhood friend, and, Harry had thought on a few occasions, maybe had been even more than that.

He, Harry, had ruined more lives than just about anyone save for Voldemort himself. There were Death Eaters accused of causing fewer deaths than Harry felt responsible for. No matter what Lupin or anyone else said, Harry knew he was responsible.

He wished that he could get his hands on the Daily Prophet. He wanted to know what was going on. What people were saying. If all the Death Eaters had been rounded up. If Hogwarts would reopen next year, and who the new Headmaster or Headmistress would be. He could just imagine what the Ministry of Magic might do at the school now that Dumbledore was gone. Someone like Umbridge might be the new Head next year, and then he didn't know if it was worth going back at all.

But no, he'd go to Hogwarts even if Umbridge was teaching every class. If they'd take him back. He supposed they would. He hadn't broken any wizard laws. Being stupid, and thoughtless, and cursed wasn't against the law.

It was frustrating to be stuck at the Dursleys, and to know that this summer he couldn't even expect an early reprieve. This summer, Ron and Fred and George wouldn't be flying a stolen car to rescue him, and the Order wouldn't be escorting him to a secret headquarters in London, and he didn't suppose the Minister of Magic would arrange for a two week stay at the Leaky Cauldron if Harry ran away to Diagon Alley. He supposed there was a chance he'd get a summons to appear before the Wizengamot, either for more questioning or to give testimony, but he didn't think even that was likely.

It was a long time before the first of September, and besides that, he wasn't sure how he would get his things from Privet Drive to the station, with a stop in Diagon Alley for his new books and supplies. He might have to owl Hermione some gold and ask her to purchase his things for him, and to owl him some Muggle money for bus fare.

He would do it now, while the Dursleys were out, but Hedwig still hadn't returned. She had been gone since his first night back, when Uncle Vernon had shaken her roughly out of her cage and threw her outside.

"I don't want this ruddy owl making a racket," he growled at Harry. "Tell it to keep away."

Harry wondered if she would know to come back before the end of summer, and where she was right now.

He was supposed to be sending letters. And receiving them, too. Lupin had told him to owl every three days, and Moody, who had been part of the group that escorted the last of the Hogwarts students to London, had told him the Order would check on him if they didn't hear from him.

But no one had. He hadn't sent a single letter, or received one, or ever had the feeling of being watched.

It still stung to know that they hadn't meant what they said, and that they didn't think anything of not hearing from him for a three week stretch, even though he knew they didn't owe it to him to care.

No one owed him anything. He didn't belong to anyone. Wasn't anyone's responsibility. The only people who ever did have that responsibility were dead, and Harry himself was the reason.

Not that either Dumbledore or Sirius had exercised much in loco parentis responsibility. But he'd had them, anyway. That had been worth something, if only in some corner of his own mind.

Harry shifted uncomfortably on the thin mattress, trying to spare his back from the broken springs. He didn't wish, exactly, that the Dursleys would come back, but if they did he might at least be let out to do chores. He didn't mind that, not really. It gave him something to do other than to think.

It was past dinner now for certain, and Harry wondered if he ought to steal some food before the Dursleys returned, since they were sure to eat out and it was far from likely that Aunt Petunia would give him anything other than cold soup from a tin or day-old bread. Leaving the cupboard was trivial, of course, but he would hate to be caught at it and have them keep a closer eye on him than they did already. He couldn't be sure how long they had been out, and they hadn't said when they would be back. It could be hours from now, or they might be on their way back right now, and it took longer to lock the cupboard door again with an imprecise tool like a hairpin than it did to open it.

His stomach hurt with hunger. He hadn't eaten anything since lunch, and then it had been only half an egg and an apple. He decided to risk it after all.

He sat up, rummaging in the pocket of Dudley's oversized trousers to find the hairpin, and he was about to fit it into the lock when he heard the front door being opened. Quickly he hid the pin again.

There was a long silence. Then the door was shut, and he heard footsteps moving down the hallway. They were completely unlike either Uncle Vernon or Dudley's, and they were heavier than Aunt Petunia's normally were, but heels clicked on the parquet and Harry supposed if Aunt Petunia was carrying heavy shopping bags...

"Lumos."

Definitely not Aunt Petunia, then. Harry instinctively huddled lower so that he would not be seen through the slits in the cupboard door. The pale wandlight barely penetrated into the cupboard, as the caster was still a ways down the hallway.

Harry's heart was pounding hard in his chest, and his hands had grown sweaty. He didn't have his wand. His wand was upstairs, in Dudley's second bedroom, hidden under the floorboards and with his heavy trunk standing on top of it. He didn't fancy trying to get at it if he needed it.

And it seemed that he might need it, because the footsteps continued down the hallway toward his cupboard, and whoever it was did not call out Harry's name like he would expect someone with a good reason to visit Privet Drive to do.

A good reason other than wanting to kill him, that is.

But apparently whoever was out there did not know about the cupboard, because the footsteps moved away toward the front room.

Harry wiped his hands on his trousers and dug the hairpin out of his pocket again. If he could get out fast enough, he might be able to run outside and... hide.

Granted, it wasn't the most dramatic plan, but he didn't think running upstairs for his wand while a fully-armed wizard was on the ground floor was such a brilliant idea.

He was about to begin picking the lock when the footsteps returned into the hallway.

Barely daring to breathe, he listened as they walked right to his cupboard, but didn't pause in front of it. The dining room door, directly opposite the cupboard, squeaked on its hinges, and from the way the light moved Harry imagined the wand was being held high overhead to illuminate the large room. A minute later the footsteps moved past the cupboard and to the kitchen at the end of the hallway.

And then back toward the cupboard again.

Harry held his breath and crouched as low as he could, his knees in pain from kneeling on the uneven floor.

He couldn't help but keep his face turned upward, and he saw a brilliant light at the tip of a wand that was pushed close to the slits in the door. The cupboard walls, with their shelves full of old preserves and various household odds and ends, were cast in a harsh white light. Harry squinted but could not see who was peering into the cupboard. His heart hammered, and he was sure he would be either seen or heard.

But just as suddenly, the light was gone and the footsteps moved purposefully toward the stairs.

Harry slowly let out a shaky breath.

He worked as fast as he could while trying not to make a sound. It couldn't be helped; the lock clicked as it sprung back. Harry winced and froze, listening.

He heard nothing.

He took a deep breath. How many steps was it from the cupboard to the front door? Was the kitchen closer? He could get out the back, and then he would not have to pass the stairs, but he would need to climb the fence to leave the yard, and that would slow him down.

Another deep breath, and then he grabbed the door handle and...

The door wouldn't open, for a moment sending him into a confused panic. He threw himself at it, and it came unstuck and he stumbled out into the hall, careened off the opposite wall, and finally made a dash for the front door.

Long before he would have reached it, he felt his foot catch on the edge of a rug and went sprawling, arms outstretched to break his fall. Before he even hit the floor, he knew he blew it. There was no way all that racket hadn't been heard.

Any moment now --

"Mr. Potter."

Harry shut his eyes and groaned.

Snape. Why did it have to be Snape?

It wasn't even worth getting up off the floor.

But he did. His face was burning, but he tried to glare as he turned to face Snape.

Snape slowly descended the last few steps, his expression unreadable.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked hotly. As if it wasn't bad enough to have to deal with Snape at Hogwarts, somehow having him skulking around Privet Drive was worse.

Snape's face twisted into his usual scowl. "I've come to collect you."

"Collect me?" Harry repeated in disbelief. "What do you mean collect me?"

He could see Snape's anger rising, but he didn't particularly care. He glared back as Snape looked down his nose at him with narrowed eyes.

"Your stay with your relatives is over for the summer," Snape said. "Pack your things and bring them here."

Harry didn't move.

"Well?" Snape asked. "Are you so stupid that you do not understand simple instructions?"

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

Snape made a move as if to grab his arm, and Harry had to dodge out of the way. "Yes, you are. Now --"

But he didn't finish, because at that moment the front door banged open and Dudley blundered in, carrying a large bag of sweets and too engrossed in trying to unwrap one to watch where he was going. Behind him, the drive was illuminated by the headlamps of the Dursleys' car, and Aunt Petunia was making her way to the house with a sack of groceries in each hand.

Dudley flicked on the hallway lights, looked up from his sweet, saw Snape, dropped his bag and sent caramels and gumballs flying across the floor, and screamed so loudly that Harry only just kept himself from slapping his hands over his ears.

"Dudley? Dudley, what is it?" Petunia called as she hurried up the steps. "What is --"

She saw Snape and Harry, who were still frozen in the same position, though Snape had withdrawn his hand.

She screamed.

Harry darted a glance at Snape, and saw him roll his eyes with a most disgusted expression. He felt that things couldn't possibly be any worse, but he knew they would be when Uncle Vernon joined Dudley and Aunt Petunia.

"Uh... Aunt Petunia..." he started hesitantly. It wasn't as though he had a good explanation handy for why Snape was at their house. "I..."

But Aunt Petunia was not paying any attention to him. She was staring at Snape with horror, her hands clawing at Dudley as she tried to gather him to her. "YOU! YOU!" She sputtered, seeming to be unable to say anything more than that.

"Aunt Petunia, do you know who --" Harry began rather curiously.

"I KNOW WHO HE IS!" Petunia roared at him, her eyes wide and wild.

Harry did not know what to say to that.

"I have come to take the boy off your hands, Tuney," Snape said calmly. "We were about to collect his belongings and leave."

If possible, Aunt Petunia's eyes grew even wilder, flashing between Harry and Snape with a mixture of emotions that truly frightened Harry. "TAKE HIM! TAKE HIM! AND DON'T BRING HIM BACK! WE DON'T WANT HIM HERE, WE NEVER WANTED --" Her voice broke suddenly and she rounded on Harry, one claw-like hand raised as if to strike him. "FILTH! FILTH, LIKE YOUR MOTHER. LIKE YOUR... YOUR..." With a sudden terrified shriek she cut herself off, grabbed Dudley practically off his feet, and rushed from the house, almost colliding with Uncle Vernon on the lawn.

Harry stared as the three of them looked back one last time before piling into the car and tearing down the drive with a squeal of rubber.

He felt like he had just survived a minor tornado. He raked one hand through his hair and tried to suppress a nervous laugh bubbling up in his throat. It wasn't funny, really, because they would be back, and he was going to catch it. He had no idea what had set Aunt Petunia off, because she wasn't usually that explosive.

"Potter."

Harry suddenly remembered Snape was still there.

Snape's tone was deliberate and slow, and Harry somehow knew he was not going to argue this time.

"Get your things. Now."

He did. He had never unpacked, save for hiding his wand and a quill and parchment under the floorboards, so it took only a minute to pocket his wand and drag his trunk out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

Snape flicked his wand, shouldered the heavy trunk effortlessly, and strode toward the front door. "Come along, Potter. You wasted enough of my time for one night."

Reluctantly, Harry followed.

Privet Drive was completely dark and completely silent. Harry wondered why none of the street lights were on despite the late hour.

He had to nearly run to keep up with Snape, and then nearly bumped into him when Snape stopped abruptly as they reached a low stone wall at the corner.

"You do not have your Apparition license."

It was not a question; you had to be at least seventeen to get one, but Harry muttered a sullen, "No."

"Give me your arm."

Harry loathed to let any part of him touch Snape, but he didn't appear to have very many choices. Grudgingly, he offered his arm, which Snape used to yank him closer.

"Where're we going?" Harry asked quickly. It was bad enough he was letting Snape drag him away; he at least wanted to have some idea where to.

They were already going, already Apparating away; he could feel a tugging in his stomach and a horrible squeezing sensation around his ribcage, but he heard Snape's voice nonetheless.

"Number twelve, Grimmauld Place."


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