As the night drew in, Harry Potter found himself fervently wishing that Mrs. Weasley, his friend Ron’s mum, had not been so easily persuaded to leave.
When he had seen no sign of any of the Dursleys beyond the gateway to platform nine and three-quarters, Harry had dragged his trunk and Hedwig’s cage behind him to the train station entrance, figuring that was the easiest place to spot his relatives, and for them to see him. After circling the car park three times, he had tried telling himself that they just hadn’t arrived yet, and had settled down on his trunk to wait.
But now – six hours later – Harry was reluctantly admitting to himself that the Dursleys weren’t coming. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. He had no Muggle money, so he couldn’t find a payphone to call them, nor could he afford a bus or a taxi. He had no way of contacting anyone in the Wizarding world, not that he knew anyone to contact for help. He briefly debated sending Hedwig with a letter to Ron, or even back to Hogwarts, but decided releasing his owl would look odd to the Muggles.
Of course, he was getting strange looks from the Muggles passing by anyway. He was a boy, on his own, and had been sitting there for several hours now. Reminded of this, Harry shifted uncomfortably. He was stiff, and his stomach had begun growling a long time before.
“You alright there, son?” a brisk voice suddenly asked from behind him.
Harry whirled around in surprise, and almost fell off his trunk. He looked up at the man, who was obviously a Muggle, as he was wearing the fluorescent jacket all the train staff wore.
“Uh, yessir,” Harry stuttered. “I’m just waiting for my relatives. My train arrived a lot earlier than they were expecting,” he added, hurriedly, as the official’s brows began to draw downwards.
“Well, perhaps we should just—” the man started, but what they should just, Harry never found out, as at that moment the man suddenly stiffened, his mouth snapping closed and his eyes staring straight ahead. Puzzled, Harry glanced around.
“Ah, there you are,” purred a voice from his left. Harry froze himself, then slowly slid his eyes that way. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to hear that voice ever again until September, or beyond if he was really lucky. “Thank you; I’ll take my nephew from here.”
“Of course, sir,” the train official said in a very flat monotone, then he jerked around and almost marched back inside the train station.
Harry glanced up to meet the dark, jeering eyes of Professor Snape, who was standing with his arms folded across his chest, one hand idly tapping his wand against the opposite bicep.
“Well, Potter,” Snape said, one corner of his lip curling up into a sneer. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”
Severus Snape was not sure he liked the way his summer holiday appeared to be starting out.
He had Apparated to London as soon as the Hogwarts Express had left Hogsmeade, to take advantage of the last quiet day Diagon Alley was likely to see for the next two months. He had stocked up on several ingredients that he was planning to use in experiments, but some of them reacted badly to magical forms of transport, so he had arranged to meet the Hogwarts Express for its return trip to Scotland, with a stop for him along the way.
He had not, however, expected to come across one of his students, hanging around outside King’s Cross station like one of the multitude of homeless beggars already scattered around. Potter even looked the part, with his large rag of a T-shirt hanging off one shoulder underneath his cloak, and his faded trousers worn almost through at the knees.
Severus had spotted the boy some minutes before the official had approached him, and had carefully studied the woebegone look the still-scrawny boy had sported. He would have expected panic, or anger, that his relatives had obviously been delayed. James Potter, he was sure, would have thrown a tantrum hours ago, or wrapped every single nearby stranger around his little finger and gained anything he so desired.
Harry Potter had the resigned look of someone used to being shunted aside and left behind. He had been sitting still and silent for a very long time by the look of him, his eyes fruitlessly scanning the car park every so often before dropping again to rest on the toe of his trainers, which looked about ready to fall apart.
“Well?” Severus repeated. The hauntingly familiar green eyes shot up to meet his again. “What are you still doing here, Potter?” he clarified. “The train arrived hours ago. Where are your relatives?”
“I . . .” Potter’s voice trailed off before he’d even started, and his eyes dropped again to his feet. “I don’t know, sir,” he finally whispered. His hands were twisting the hem of his T-shirt, the only outward sign of panic.
“Have you not called them?” Severus queried, feeling his annoyance rising again. No doubt the blasted boy was enjoying worrying them – or was playing some kind of game for his own reasons.
“I don’t have any—” Potter hesitated as he glanced quickly around them. “Muggle money, sir,” he finished, softly. “Only, uh . . .” He darted a hand into a pocket and allowed Severus to see the brief glint of a gold Galleon.
“Then why, pray tell, did you not summon the Knight Bus?” asked Severus, through gritted teeth.
“The what?”
Severus studied the boy before answering. “The Knight Bus,” he repeated, slowly this time. “You have not heard of it before?” Potter shook his head. “It is simple enough; you just hold out your wand to summon it.” Potter looked around, and Severus suddenly realised he had a problem.
The Knight Bus could not be summoned from where they were – there were too many Muggles around. But equally, Potter could not go traipsing around London on his own until he found a relatively secluded spot. Albus would kill him if his precious Boy Who Lived got himself mugged and murdered with Severus so close.
Severus himself dared not leave King’s Cross now. The Express was due to leave very soon; in fact, if he delayed much longer, he’d miss it completely and be stranded himself, unless he wanted to waste the ingredients he’d paid so much for.
He sighed. Really, there was only one choice and he knew it.
“Come along, Potter,” he said, dropping his arms to his sides and reaching for the cage holding the boy’s owl. “You will have to ride the Express with me, and then summon the Knight Bus once we’ve arrived.”
The boy scrambled off his trunk, and then hesitated before grasping the handle. “The Express?” he asked. “With you, sir? But . . .” His voice trailed away, but the uncertain look in his eyes remained.
“The Hogwarts Express, Potter,” he snapped, impatiently. He gestured with his wand, casting a Featherlight Charm on the boy’s trunk. “Hurry up now; it will be leaving shortly, and we will be on it.”
“Yes, sir,” said Potter, doubtfully, and pulled at his trunk. He obviously hadn’t realised just what Severus had done to it, as it slammed into his knees so hard and so quick that the boy was almost bowled over by it. “Oof!” he gasped, and hopped a couple of steps away.
Severus had to bite his lip hard to stop himself from laughing at the boy’s bemused expression.
Harry managed to load his trunk onto the Hogwarts Express a lot more easily than he’d unloaded it several hours earlier. The feel of the train was different, though. With no students running or shouting, it felt dark, empty . . . and depressing. It was a little spooky, and Harry couldn’t help feeling relieved that Professor Snape was with him. Nothing could be scarier than his Potions professor.
Hedwig hooted unhappily from her cage, and Professor Snape turned to look at her.
“Let your owl out, Potter,” he said. “She can make her own way there.”
Hesitantly, Harry reached for the cage door. “Will she know where to go?” he asked.
“We will be disembarking at Berwick,” Snape said to Hedwig, who blinked her large eyes at him, and then hooted. She ruffled her feathers as Harry opened the door, then seemed to bounce once, twice, before launching herself in a rush. With a neat twist and a barrel-roll, she squeezed herself through an open window and disappeared into the night sky.
“Come,” Snape tossed over his shoulder at Harry, and led the way to a compartment halfway down the carriage. “Leave your trunk and the cage there,” he ordered, pointing to a little alcove they’d just passed. Harry blinked at it. He hadn’t seen that before, and he wondered if it was specific to this particular carriage, or if he’d just overlooked it.
Once in the carriage, Snape settled himself in the far corner beside the window, and laid several parcels on the empty seats beside him. He gestured towards the other side of the carriage. “Make yourself comfortable, Potter,” he instructed. “It is a long way to Berwick.”
Harry struggled to undo the clasp on his cloak as he headed for the other seat. He was just about to sit down when the train suddenly whistled loudly, and started with a jerk that knocked Harry onto the seat in a graceless sprawl. His face flushing enough to light a candle on, he hastily righted himself and peeked to see just how badly Snape was laughing at him.
Surprisingly, though, Snape appeared to be concentrating fiercely on the view outside the window, although his lips did appear suspiciously pressed together.
With nothing else to do, Harry turned his attention to the passing countryside, but after what felt like hours – but in reality, when he checked the old scruffed-up wrist watch of Dudley’s, turned out to be only fifteen minutes – he became bored, and turned his head to study the inside of the compartment instead.
Unfortunately, there really was almost nothing in the compartment that was interesting. After another ten minutes, Harry was on the verge of asking Professor Snape if he could go and fetch his summer homework.
Letting out his second sigh in as many minutes, Harry was startled by an exasperated sigh coming from the opposite corner. He looked over in time to see the professor rummaging briefly through his pocket, before, with a whispered word, a book was being held out to him.
“The second year Potions book,” Professor Snape informed him.
Biting back another sigh – because he really didn’t want to read future school books, yet if he refused, the professor might make him do something worse – Harry glumly accepted the book with a muttered thank you, opened to the first page, and then let his attention drift off.
They’d just passed Manchester when Severus realised that Potter had fallen asleep, slumped in the corner, his head pressed against the window, and the Potions book open on his chest. Considering the boy’s head banged against the window every time the train jolted, Severus was rather surprised he’d actually managed to doze off in that position, but he supposed it had been rather a long day, and Potter wasn’t even twelve yet.
Mind you, Severus thought with a frown, studying the sleeping youngster, he doesn’t even look as if he’s ten. Asleep like that, Potter looked pale, vulnerable . . . and very young.
And what had happened to his relatives that had stopped them from meeting Potter at the station? An accident of some sort? It would have had to have been exceedingly recent, otherwise surely Potter would have been informed. Perhaps a message to Albus was in order, just to ensure that nothing was amiss . . .
Severus rose and stepped out of the compartment to conjure his Patronus, so that the silvery gleam of it wouldn’t disturb Potter. He had expected Albus to be quick, since the safety of the Boy-Who-Lived was paramount, but even so, he was surprised that Albus’ reply – spontaneously appearing in mid-air in front of him – arrived not ten minutes later.
Arabella reports no accidents, the scroll said. Dursleys are all well and thriving.
Hmm. Severus re-rolled the scroll and tucked it away in an inner pocket of his robe. If the Dursleys hadn’t met with an accident that prevented them from collecting their beloved nephew, then maybe they’d just gotten the date wrong. He smirked, thinking of how panicked they’d be once they realised they’d left their precious darling all alone at the busy train station for hours.
It was barely two hours until dawn when the train finally began slowing down, heralding their stop, just outside of Berwick. Severus held a brief internal debate – carry or cast mobilicorpus on Potter, or wake him? – and finally reached down to shake the boy’s shoulder.
“’m awake, Uncle Vernon,” the boy muttered, sitting upright, even though his eyes were still closed.
Severus raised an eyebrow, which was wasted on Potter. “Somehow, I think not, Potter,” he drawled. Potter’s eyes snapped open, and he blinked rapidly, frowning faintly in confusion as he looked around, before his gaze came to rest on Severus, and then a fiery blush worked its way up the boy’s cheeks.
“Professor Snape,” he said, faintly.
“Come,” Severus barked at him, already turning and striding for the door. “We’ve reached Berwick.”
The train suddenly slid to a halt with a screech of brakes, and there was a thud and a pained groan from behind Severus. Apparently Potter hadn’t managed to brace himself in time.
“Hurry, Potter!” snapped Severus. “The train won’t stop here for long. Unless you want to travel all the way back to London?”
“Uh, no, sir,” Potter replied, hastily.
Severus quickly shrank Potter’s trunk and owl cage, and hustled them both off the train. Not a moment too soon, as their feet had barely touched the ground before the Express gave an ear-splitting whistle, and sluggishly began to move off again.
“Come along, Potter,” Severus said, beckoning to the boy. “We will have to walk for a while.” He hoped the boy wouldn’t complain too much over the enforced hike they were about to embark upon.
Abruptly, he remembered that he’d sent Potter’s owl to meet them here. If it had managed to arrive already, and they managed to find it, then he could send it on ahead with the precious ingredients, and then he could apparate himself. And Potter, too, he supposed. A sideways glance showed him that the boy appeared unable to stop yawning.
Checking the sky, Severus wasn’t surprised. It was still horrendously early in the morning. No doubt having the boy stay with him for the rest of the night, and then escorting him on the Knight Bus at a decent hour, was the proper thing to do. It was the thing that Albus would want him to do, at any rate.
“Potter, is your owl anywhere nearby?” he asked. He hadn’t been particularly sharp that time, but Potter still jumped anyway. Flushing, the boy hastily averted his gaze to their surroundings.
“No, sir, I don’t see her,” he finally responded. He sounded rather as though he was expecting Severus to take points for it.
Ignoring the boy’s tone, Severus quickly incanted a charm that would call the owl to them if she was within 20 miles of them. A white speck appeared in the sky barely two minutes later. She must have been almost to them already, Severus mused.
The snowy owl landed on Potter’s shoulder, causing him to jerk sideways with a yelp and almost throwing the owl into the air again. Severus stifled a laugh as the owl ruffled her feathers indignantly, gave what sounded like a reproachful hoot, nibbled on the boy’ ear – not so gently by the wince he gave – and then began to preen his hair. Well, it does look like a bird’s nest, Severus thought, biting hard on the inside of his cheek.
“If your owl would be so kind as to deliver these parcels, then we can be that much quicker on our way,” he drawled. The owl looked up at him, blinking her big, golden eyes, and then tilted her head sideways as though to get a better look at him.
“Uh, Hedwig?” Potter asked, reaching up to stroke the bird’s chest feathers.
The owl appeared to be contemplating for a moment, but then gave an agreeable hoot, and sprang off the boy’s shoulder to hover in front of Severus. He stuck the parcels together, and held them up so that the bird could grasp the string at the top in her talons. “Spinner’s End,” he informed her.
With another hoot, and a flap of her wings, the owl was airborne again and disappearing off into the distance.
“Come, Potter,” Severus said, beckoning the boy closer to him. “Now we can apparate.”
“Uh, what’s—” the boy started, just as Severus told a tight hold of his shoulders, and vanished.
The instant that they touched firm land again and Snape let him go, Harry collapsed to the ground, wracked by dry heaves. He’d had nothing to eat since breakfast the day before, and wasn’t sure whether he was thankful there wasn’t anything to throw up or not. Whatever that had just been – had Snape called it apparate? – he did NOT like it!
When he finally managed to pull himself together, he looked up to see a hand holding out a small vial in front of his nose, filled with a pale-blue coloured potion.
“Stomach soother,” Snape informed him, as Harry shakily reached up for the vial.
“Thank you, sir,” he croaked, and hastily downed the potion, shuddering as the coldness of it dropped into his stomach and spread. “What was that? What we just did?”
“It’s called apparition, Mr Potter,” the professor said, taking the empty vial back and storing it in one of his robe pockets. “You have to be of age – seventeen – before you are allowed to apparate on your own. Until then, someone has to side-along with you.”
Personally, Harry thought he’d be just as glad to never experience that again, whether with someone or by himself. He clambered to his feet, only staggering slightly, and only then thought to look around at his surroundings.
They were standing on the top of a medium-sized hill, a beaten track meandering away ahead of them. Sparse trees were dotted about, but appeared to grow into a forest quite a distance behind them. The track led down into a town, but even from up here, Harry could tell that it wasn’t a good place to live in. An old mill perched on another hill at right angles to them. With no sign of any smoke, or any noise, Harry could only presume that the mill had been shut down and abandoned.
“Um, sir?” he queried as the professor started to stride away down the track. “Where are we?”
He thought he heard the man make a grumbling noise, but surprisingly, Snape actually answered his question. “Spinner’s End,” he said, in an exceedingly sour tone. Obviously, he considered it just as bad a place to live in as it looked to Harry. “About thirty-five miles south of Berwick.”
The answer didn’t completely clear up Harry’s confusion – aside from the fact that Berwick was apparently closer to Hogwarts than London, he had no true idea of where it was – but he figured it was the best he was going to get out of the potions master, especially at this hour of the morning. He didn’t know exactly what time it was, but the sky to his left was beginning to sprout a tinge of orangey-pink.
He also decided that his next question – and where are we going? – was too obvious to be answered, at least in a civil manner. No doubt they were headed towards either a hotel or bed and breakfast of some sort . . . or Snape’s own house. When he further considered it, stumbling along the track behind Snape, that actually made more sense. He couldn’t imagine that any hotel in this town prospered.
This proved to be true, as twenty minutes later, Snape halted in front of a run-down house on the edge of town. Most of the terraced houses appeared to be boarded up, and the few that weren’t spoke of the inhabitants living on the very edge of their means. There were no yards or gardens at the front, and the street didn’t appear to have been swept for months. Overflowing bins sat forlornly by the kerb, surrounded by bin bags that had been torn open by some animal hunting for food.
Harry shuddered. He couldn’t imagine willingly living in a place like this.
“Potter!” Snape barked from where he was standing in front of the front door.
Harry jumped, and scurried to join his professor. “Sorry, sir,” he muttered.
Snape ignored him, and briskly tapped his wand in a circular pattern on the door, murmuring under his breath. Then he pushed the door open and hustled Harry inside. “Wait here,” he ordered, and disappeared further into the house.
Harry found himself standing in a long and narrow front room. Although the curtains were drawn closed over the front window, they were thin enough that they really didn’t make much difference. The weakly emerging sunlight cast the room into dull shadows. Squinting, Harry could just make out the shape of an old, sagging armchair, and the bookcases that lined the walls and were filled to overflowing. Through a doorway at the other end of the room, he could just about make out what looked like an old-fashioned refrigerator. The kitchen, Harry realised.
Before he could take a longer look at anything, Snape returned from the kitchen, carrying, of all things, a knife and fork. Puzzled, Harry watched as the man strode towards a bookcase, and reached over a particularly thick tome in a lurid purple cover. He did something that Harry couldn’t see, and then the bookcase swung inwards, revealing a steep, narrow, rickety-looking staircase. Harry’s mouth fell open.
“Come along, Potter,” Snape’s voice floated back down the stairs. “I’m sure you’d appreciate getting to bed as soon as I would.”
Letting out a small squeak – which he swore he’d never admit to – Harry hastily stumbled up the wooden staircase. There were two rooms at the top, one with the door firmly closed, and so Harry hesitantly approached the door that was ajar. Snape was bending over the small, single bed, apparently in the process of transfiguring the knife and fork into a duvet and pillow.
“The other room is mine,” he said, once he’d straightened up again. “You will not enter that room unless it is a dire emergency. By which I mean, you will expire in less than thirty seconds.”
“Um, yes, sir,” Harry agreed. With that, Snape swept out of the room.
Sinking down onto the bed, Harry felt it jostle. The mattress was as hard as stone, but the springs were so loose they were almost on the floor. After debating the matter for all of ten seconds, Harry decided it was much better than his cupboard had been, and it was probably more than his life was worth to go and fetch Snape to fix it.
He toed his shoes off, and then curled up under the duvet. His last thought, as he yawned and immediately drifted off to sleep, was that he hoped Snape woke up before him, as he had no idea how on earth he’d get that bookcase door open again . . . and he’d seen no sign of a bathroom.