Snape stared down his young ward, searching for any sign of mischief.
It had been an unusually quiet few days, especially after Snape had realized how ridiculously easy it was to keep his charge entertained.
He'd continued to re-enchant the small paper dragon, which delighted the boy far too much. He'd caught glimpses of Potter chasing the small creature around the back yard,
He'd dug up an old wizard chess set—presumably inherited from his mother's side, though he'd never seen her touch the game, as she'd been far more fond of Gobstones in her younger days. He'd let the pieces themselves try to teach Harry the rules and strategy. He'd sensed that Harry had been overwhelmed at first by all the conflicting advice he'd received from the small stone figures, most of whom were more keen on preserving their own lives than winning the game overall, but the boy seemed to have picked up on things relatively quickly, and for two days straight spent most of his day bent over the board, testing his skills against the collective wit of the opposing color.
It had been a welcome break. Snape had even caught himself thinking that, just maybe, Potter's presence would not be such a nuisance after all. He still had a tendency to interrogate Snape on any subject that caught his fancy, from what Hogwarts was like to why wizards maintained a different dress from muggles. Though, to the boy's credit, he'd adapted, and learned only to ask one or two questions at a time rather than inundate Snape with a hundred all at once.
But, truth be told, the balance had been almost tolerable. Snape had been able to devote as much time as necessary to his research and lesson-planning. And after nearly being crushed to death beneath the dresser, the Potter boy had become especially respectful and deferent, qualities that Snape certainly appreciated.
But now they were about to venture out into public—into the wizarding portion of it, no less—and Snape wanted to be absolutely certain that Potter would not forget himself and make a scene.
"What are the rules, Potter?" Snape demanded softly. They'd been over this two other times already, but there was no such thing as too much caution. Not when James Potter's blood ran in the boy's veins.
Harry's eyes were locked on his shoes. "Stay in your sight—"
"Eyes up here."
Harry reluctantly lifted his eyes up. Snape saw nervousness in their green depths.
Good, he thought. The boy was taking him seriously.
Though he couldn't help but feel a small twinge of guilt at the genuine fear he saw there. After all, he hadn't beaten the boy, had he? Just had him do a little manual labor. But that was doubtless too much for the great Harry Potter….
"I'm to stay in your sight," Harry recited dutifully. "And keep my hands to myself. Don't talk to strangers. Mind my manners."
Snape watched as the boy struggled to remember if there was anything else. "And?" he prompted impatiently.
"And… and….."
"And you will not cause any trouble," Snape pronounced, unable to keep the note of disdain from his voice. "Because if you do, you will pay dearly for it. Do we have an understanding?"
Harry nodded vehemently, his gaze drifting downward again. "Yes, sir."
Snape held out his arm to Harry. "Come along, then."
Harry latched onto Snape's arm, clinging quite tightly to him. He did not seem to be looking forward to the experience of Apparition, and Snape could hardly blame him. He would have simply planned to make the journey through the Floo Network, but he doubted that would be much easier. Besides, he preferred a method of travel that did not separate him from the Potter boy at all. So Side-Along Apparition it would have to be.
Snape checked once more to make certain that he had his small bag of gold. He would eventually have to stop by Gringotts, he thought. The stash of wizard money he kept at the house was growing small. He glanced over at the boy, wondering if he should contact Dumbledore about the boy's own vault. Not that he would need access to the entirety of his inheritance anytime soon. Likely he would blow it all, given the chance, on something idiotic and useless, like a racing broom that he would not even be permitted to fly.
Not that he relished having to spend any amount of his meager salary on playthings for the boy. But circumstances were far from dire. It was hardly worth bringing it up, he decided.
He fixed the image of Flourish and Blott's in his mind, deciding that it would be a suitable place to start. He'd ordered a few rare volumes and figured now would be the best time to check in on them.
The familiar immense pressure overcame him, and in seconds his dreary sitting room was gone. Suddenly they stood in the middle of a very busy cobblestone street, where witches and wizards in robes and pointed hats flowed by on each side, chattering and carrying parcels and shopping bags.
Snape spared a cursory glance for the Potter boy, who, though he still looked rather pale, appeared to have fared significantly better during this journey than he had the last time. He was craning his neck around, trying to take the entirety of the scene in. His jaw hung open as he turned from store to store, wide-eyed.
"Have you finished gawking?" Snape demanded coolly. "I have a long list of errands to run."
Harry snapped his jaw shut and turned his attention immediately to Snape. "It's just—there are so many of them—of us. And—and all the shops—"
"Yes, rather astounding," Snape muttered absently. He was already planning his route out in his mind. Flourish and Blotts, then straight to the apothecary. He would need high-grade crystal flasks for his latest concoction, a prototype of a powerful restorative potion that he strongly suspected was quite volatile in its current form. And he was running low on several of his staples. And beyond that, he supposed a visit to one of Diagon Alley's many novelty shops was in order to find something to occupy the Potter boy's time.
"Quality Quidditch Supplies," Harry read to himself, inspecting a shop down the way. "Sir, what is quidditch?"
"A wizarding game."
"What kind of game?" Harry asked, still staring, transfixed, at the sign. Snape had to jerk him sharply out of the way of a portly little man in plum-colored robes, who was struggling to carry a cage that was almost as big as he was filled with chattering miniature monkeys.
"Not the time, Potter," Snape barked impatiently. "Pay attention to your surroundings." He took the boy by the wrist and dragged him over to the front of the bookstore.
"Now," Snape began again, but he was interrupted by a woman's shrill cry.
"Oh my goodness! Is that—is he—"
"It's Harry Potter!" a tall, older wizard with a scraggly grey beard murmured. "Bless it, it's him, isn't it?"
Before Snape could get a word out, a small throng of witches and wizards had gathered around Harry, all of them trying to get their chance to shake his hand or touch his hair or get a good look at his scar.
Snape rolled his eyes. Well, he thought irritably, best to let the famous Harry Potter have his moment. As if the boy's head wouldn't be big enough already, given his genetic predisposition. No, now every witch and wizard old enough to remember the darker days would be clamoring to pat his back and tell him how special he was.
"Excuse me," came Harry's hesitant voice from somewhere in the small crowd. "Excuse me, but I'm here with—"
The bearded old wizard turned back, glancing at Snape in surprise. "Oh my. You're that fellow… you teach at Hogwarts? Arithmancy—no, potions, is that right?"
Snape forced a stiff smile. "I do."
Harry had managed to free himself from the entanglement of all his admirers, most of whom had begun gushing to each other about how phenomenal it was to meet him in person. He tripped back over to Snape's side, and to Snape's great surprise, the boy's face was beet red. He wasn't smiling, either. In fact, his eyes were almost pleading.
"Archeron Raspusis," the old wizard introduced himself, though more to Harry than to Snape. "Such an honor to meet you, Mr. Potter, truly."
Harry looked at the ground. "Er… thanks. And you. Nice to meet you too."
"Getting an early start on that education, eh?" Archeron chuckled amiably. "Private potions tutoring during the summer?"
"I am serving as Mr. Potter's temporary guardian, until other arrangements can be made," Snape informed him smoothly. "Not that the inner workings of Mr. Potter's private life are in any way the concerns of the general public…."
The soft, dangerous edge that had crept into Snape's tone did its work. Archeron's affable mood dampened immediately, and he even shuffled back a step. "Of course," he conceded. "Just wanted to thank you, Mr. Potter. Such an honor." And with that Archeron bowed out.
The other members of the small crowd, who had watched the exchange, seemed to take the same cue. Most of them bade him quick farewells and hurried on their way.
"Thanks," Harry mumbled once the throng had cleared.
Snape couldn't help but arch a puzzled eyebrow. "For what?"
"For getting rid of them."
Snape's lip curled in an involuntary sneer. "Ah, not too fond of your admirers?" he inquired saccharinely. "It must be terrible to be so… loved."
Harry blushed again. "I didn't even do anything. Dumbledore told me what happened, why everyone…." He shook his head to himself. "I was just there."
The boy's answer surprised Snape. He had no real response, since he wholeheartedly agreed with the Potter boy's analysis.
"Many do not see it that way," Snape said at last. "You are the Boy Who Lived to many of them, and whether that title should mean anything or not, everyone in our world knows your name. So you'd best get used to the attention."
Harry nodded to the ground.
"Come. At this rate we'll be out all day…."
XXXXX
The inside of Flourish and Blott's was far grander than Harry could have imagined. The bookstore was vast, almost impossibly so, with shelves upon shelves of books of every size, shape, and color. Titles floated down from the shelves at the behest of shop assistants, who used their wands to guide the volumes into the hands of waiting customers. Up at the counter, a clerk was showing a mother and two children about Harry's age a magnificent pop-up book of sorts—except instead of two-dimensional cut-outs, an entire miniature forest grew between the pages, complete with tiny animals.
Harry was beginning to feel that he was never going to get enough of this new world—his world, he thought. Every time he thought he'd seen the most astonishing thing he'd ever lay eyes on, some fresh novelty would stun him yet again. This outing alone had already been overwhelming.
"I've a few things to check on," Snape informed him, glaring at him from the corner of his eye. "If you can mind yourself, you may browse the shelves while you wait. I will meet you at the counter presently."
"Of course," Harry agreed quickly. He'd already been eying a particularly garish corner of the shop, where the titles he could make out seemed fairly promising.
Snape gave him one final look of warning before stalking off to the counter.
Harry made his way over to the corner, still twisting his head this way and that, trying not to miss a single detail.
The Dursleys had hardly ever taken him out in public, and even then it had only been on brief shopping trips, or to the toy store so that Dudley could get the latest gadget he'd been throwing a tantrum over. Uncle Vernon had always taken Harry aside and warned him that he would beat him within an inch of his life if there was any "funny business". Most of the time they just left Harry locked in the car, but even when he'd been permitted to venture into the store, he'd kept to himself in the corner, afraid to even look at anything.
The one time he had picked up a toy—a model helicopter—Uncle Vernon had dragged him out of the store so rapidly that the store clerk had rushed out after them, thinking that Uncle Vernon had apprehended a would-be shoplifter rather than his own nephew. The trip home had been consisted of a long, bellowing rant about how Harry was blessed to have been taken in by them, and how dare he feel so entitled as to think that, on top of all the care they had provided for him, they would be buying him whatever expensive toy his heart desired. And then he'd been shut up in his cupboard for the rest of the week, with no meals in the evenings, to teach him "gratitude" for what he took for granted.
The freedom Harry felt now—even accompanied by Snape—was exhilarating.
Harry began browsing the titles on the shelves eagerly. He felt a small jolt of pleasure when he realized what section he'd been inadvertently drawn to after reading the first few titles. The Official Guide to the Quidditch World Cup. The Beater's Bible. Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry took up the last title, figuring it had to be as good a place as any to start.
He sank down onto the ground and spread the book out in his lap, sinking easily into the first chapter, The Evolution of the Flying Broomstick. He couldn't help but grin from ear to ear as he read Kennilworthy Whisp's analysis of the invention of the magic broomstick, which he would have found fantastically absurd just weeks before. Now, it was just fantastic.
It was no wonder that he lost track of the time. He was quite a ways into the second chapter by the time he became aware of the shadow hanging over him.
He snapped the book shut and leapt to his feet, only to find Snape, sour-faced, staring at him, arms folded over his chest.
"No, please," he drawled. "Don't let me inconvenience you."
"Sorry, I just—"
"What's this?" Snape snatched the title from Harry's hands before he could react. He examined the cover briefly and then muttered, rolling his eyes, "Of course."
Harry tried to take the book back. "I think it just goes on the shelf here—"
But Snape had already turned and strode off, the book still in hand. Harry rushed after him, unsure of what was going on.
Until they reached the counter, and Snape threw it down in front of the clerk along with one thin black volume and another small, thick green tome bound up with a thin leather band. Neither of Snape's books had visible titles.
"That'll be four galleons, eleven sickles, and three knuts," the clerk, a blonde witch with rosy dimples, told Snape cheerfully.
Snape dumped a handful of strange coins onto the table, which the clerk counted and changed for him. Snape pocketed his remaining coins and grabbed the three books, then began making his way toward the exit.
As Harry caught up to him, falling into pace beside him, Snape passed him the copy of Quidditch Through the Ages.
"Thank you," Harry beamed. It had to have been the first time anyone had gotten him a gift—a real gift, not a Dursley gift, like his Uncle Vernon's old socks. He didn't know what else to say, so he repeated himself stupidly. "Thank you—"
"It will spare me several hours of inane questions and, I assume, it will keep you quiet and well-mannered for a few days. A worthwhile investment."
The words were cold, dismissive, and, if Harry was being honest, a little insulting. But Harry chose to believe that this was Snape's way of saying "you're welcome". So Harry clutched his new treasure to his chest, resolving to take especially good care of it for the remainder of the trip.
They continued to push their way through the bustling street. Harry made sure to match Snape's hurried pace, not wanting to lose sight of him. The last thing he wanted now was to upset the man.
Though he couldn't help but slow down a little as they passed by a magnificent ice cream parlor. Several wizarding families were crowded around tables outside, devouring towering cones and the largest, most elaborate sundaes Harry had ever seen. A smiling, middle-aged man with shaggy brown hair and a beard was carrying dishes out to a family waiting at a café table. He was dressed rather whimsically, even for the wizarding crowd, in a bright orange shirt with a ruffled neckline, with a shiny purple vest. A green polka-dotted pocket square stuck out rather conspicuously from his right breast.
Despite his resolution to stick close to Snape, Harry found himself slowing to a halt as he watched the man serve the wizarding family.
The man looked up from the table and his eyes locked with Harry. He froze for a moment, his eyes going wide.
And then he was hustling away from the table, his lips curving into a wide, friendly grin. "Well, if it isn't Harry Potter," the man greeted him, offering out his hand. "Florean Fortescue, proprietor of this fine establishment. I knew your father. And your mother, though your father was a more loyal customer, I dare say."
Harry shifted his new book carefully to his left arm and shook the man's hand. "It's nice to meet you, but I—"
"Potter!"
Harry dropped Florean's hand and spun around to find Snape just feet away, glowering at him.
"Professor!" Florean smiled. "My apologies. Should have realized that young Mr. Potter wouldn't be running about unaccompanied."
Snape's lips pursed in a sour expression. "I don't believe we've met."
"Florean Fortescue. Albus mentioned that his potions master had been helping out with Mr. Potter here—he's an old friend, you see. Drops by quite often, whenever he has business in London. Ah, but his sweet tooth is hardly a secret, now, is it?"
"I wasn't aware that Albus Dumbledore engaged in such idle gossip," Snape commented coldly.
Florean didn't seem to be the least bit affected by Snape's nettling words. He only laughed a little. "Well, I pester the man. He doesn't let much slip, just bits here and there. Not nearly as bad as the ministry, you know. Bunch of chattering magpies, they are. I knew Harry had been moved before Dumbledore even breathed a word."
Snape seemed wholly unimpressed. "Well, I am certain Mr. Potter is pleased to make your acquaintance. However, we must be on our way—"
"Ah, but surely you have time for a sundae, my treat? We're world-famous, you know. Or, at least, famous enough in Britain."
Snape's nose wrinkled slightly. "I must decline. Potter—"
Florean's gaze turned to Harry. "Well, perhaps Harry would like to rest here, professor, while you finish your shopping?"
Harry turned to Snape, watching his expression expectantly. "I promise I'll stay right here," he swore. "And this way I won't hold you up—"
Snape heaved a sigh. "Very well." He turned to Florean and, speaking very softly so that only the three of them could hear, he said, "Potter's safety is of the utmost importance. I am sure I do not need to tell you that there may very well be those out there who wish to do him great harm. You will not take your eyes off of him, and you will guard him with your very life. Because if any harm should befall him—"
"He's in good hands," Florean reassured Snape cheerily, though his tone was noticeably more sober now.
"I hope, for your sake, that he is." Snape turned back to Harry, his black eyes glittering. "Behave," he commanded. And with that he turned and disappeared into the crowded streets.
"Well," Florean commented, "it's good to know that you're in such capable hands, Mr. Potter."
Harry suspected that Florean had a few other choice thoughts that he wasn't about to share.
"Now," Florean sighed, "down to business. What will we be having today?"
"What do you like best?" Harry asked, mostly because he had no idea of what he might even order at a magical ice cream parlor.
Florean chuckled. "A terrible question. You'd might as well ask a mother which of her children she loves best. Hm… for the uninitiated, might I suggest a Butterbeer Sundae?"
"What's butterbeer?" Harry asked.
Florean nearly choked. "What's butterbeer? Oh my. Oh dear. Such a tragedy. Like butterscotch, you see, but not quite so…. Well, best you taste it. Yes, that's the only proper way to answer that question. I'm sure you'll like it, though. Very few who don't."
"That sounds great," Harry said, smiling.
"Then one Butterbeer Sundae it is."
Minutes later, Harry was digging into the best-tasting ice cream he'd ever had. Not that he'd had much ice cream. The woman who used to watch him from time to time when the Dursleys went away, Mrs. Figg, had once given him a small bowl of vanilla ice cream, though it had tasted old and freezer-burnt. And a handful of times there had been leftovers after Dudley's birthday parties. But none of that compared to the confection he was now enjoying, a heaping sundae that tasted like light, creamy butterscotch, only better. Florean had heaped it with candied nuts, rich chocolate syrup, a mountain of whipped cream, and a handful of sprinkles.
Harry was sure he was going to get sick off of such a rich treat, but he didn't care.
Even better, Florean had joined Harry to chat with him while he ate and, upon spying Harry's new book, had launched into a fascinating lecture on lesser-known early modes of travel. He seemed to be extremely knowledgeable in particular of enchanted shoes that certain families had chosen as alternatives to magic broomsticks.
"Some worked quite well," Florean explained as Harry suffered through his third ice cream headache. "For example, Arce Fleetfoot supposedly charmed her boots so well that she was able to run through the air effortlessly. It wasn't as quick or as efficient as flying by broomstick, though. But Arce argued for a time with her peers on the value of enchanted footwear. Just as discreet as brooms, just as ordinary, but always ready at a moment's notice for escape from the unexpected angry mob. Different time, it was. We had to be on guard constantly, you know. Ah, but poor old Arce's footwear was all but forgotten as soon as broom sports were born…."
Florean suddenly reached into his pocket and, pulling out an enormous silver pocket watch, exclaimed, "Goodness, the fudge ripple! Ah, no sense in spoiling Whisp's fine account anyway. I'll be right back, my boy. Another sundae?"
Harry was wise enough to decline. "But it was really good," he reassured Florean.
"Another time then. You'll have to see to it that your professor…ah…."
"Snape," Harry provided.
"Snape. Yes. Well, have him bring you back any time. We haven't even begun to discuss the history of magical transportation."
Harry smiled broadly as Florean dashed off. He hoped that he would be allowed to come back.
Harry finished his sundae and, after carefully wiping his sticky hands on his jeans, he pulled his book out in front of him and searched for his place.
"Harry Potter." The smooth, unctuous voice floated from behind him.
Harry turned around in his chair only to find a rather tall, pale man standing behind him. His long platinum blond hair framed his face in perfect curtains. From what Harry could tell, he was extremely well-dressed. His robes were black, perfectly tailored, and buttoned up the front by a series of identical intricate silver fixtures whose twists reminded Harry of curled snakes. He wore a short fur cape over his shoulders, despite the summer warmth, and in his black-gloved hand he held a cane with a silver snake's head fixed at the top.
"My, but I didn't expect the Harry Potter to be sitting around here, all alone."
"I'm not alone," Harry said defensively, his eyes flickering quickly back to the interior of the ice cream parlor.
"Of course not," the man said with a little smirk. "Lucius Malfoy." He approached Harry's table slowly, his gait languid, almost lazy, and offered a hand down to him.
Harry did not take it.
Malfoy retracted his hand, a flicker of irritation wrinkling his expression. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "I have a son your age, you know. Draco. I imagine you'll be classmates in a few short years here."
Harry cleared his throat. Something about the man made him feel deeply unsettled. He wished Florean would return. "I'm really not supposed to talk to anyone—"
Malfoy's smile widened. "Oh, my dear boy, I am not just anyone. I've heard that you are still new to… well, the idea of magic." Malfoy pulled a face, shaking his head. "I'd heard that crackpot Dumbledore had consented—even insisted, I heard—that you be raised by muggles. Of all the inconceivably foolish notions. They might as well have had you raised by wolves."
The Dursleys were horrible, Harry thought, but that wasn't true of everyone who wasn't a wizard. Malfoy didn't even know the Dursleys, so how could he possibly think it was such a bad idea?
"But I hear that Dumbledore has finally come to his senses," Malfoy continued, "and is seeking to place you in a magical household, where you belong. Is that right?"
"I guess," Harry mumbled. Dumbledore had only said that living with the Dursleys was not ideal, and that he was trying to make other arrangements. He'd been very vague, even about why Harry was staying with Snape.
"My point," Malfoy sighed, planting his cane and leaning heavily into it, "is that there are certain kinds of wizarding families, Harry Potter. Some are, to be blunt, well-endowed, both with magical gifts and with wealth. It is no coincidence that the two often occur together."
Harry had little doubt what kind Malfoy thought himself to be.
"Now, knowing your parents, there is no doubt in my mind that you will be a great wizard. And it would be a shame—a waste, really—for you to be placed with the wrong kind of family and have your great potential squandered." Malfoy leaned even closer and lowered his voice so that Harry alone could hear him. "It cannot be coincidence that we have run into each other like this. Did you know that just last night I began writing letters, one to Dumbledore and one to the Minister himself? To assure them that my home is open to you, Harry Potter."
Harry couldn't shake the deep sense of discomfort that had lodged in his gut—and he doubted it was from Florean's sundae. "Er… thanks," he mumbled, not sure of what else to say.
"Lucius."
An overwhelming sense of relief flooded Harry when he heard that voice. Snape had returned. He twisted in his chair in time to catch sight of his guardian approaching the table, now laden with several new bags.
Malfoy turned as well, a look of pleasant surprise on his face. "Severus. Good to see you. I was just speaking to my new young friend here, Mr. Potter. This is Severus Snape, one of the finest potions masters Hogwarts has ever seen."
Snape smiled thinly. "We've been introduced. Mr. Potter is currently in my care, Lucius, while the headmaster arranges for other accommodations."
Malfoy's brow arched high. "Dumbledore must hold you in high esteem to entrust you with such a task. Well, I dare say that the ministry will be getting involved soon. That old fool has had too much of a hand in the boy's care. In fact, I was just telling Mr. Potter that I intend to propose he be placed in our home. After all, we have the means to see to it that he wants for nothing. And everyone knows how esteemed the Malfoy name is. I can hardly see Fudge objecting."
Snape's smile grew brittle. "Sensible as it would be, I cannot see Dumbledore approving, given your… history."
"Our history," Malfoy corrected him quietly, though Harry did not understand the distinction. "Yes. But with the proper political pressure, even Dumbledore will yield. After all, it has been rather presumptuous of him to assume complete control over the boy's affairs." Malfoy paused, then sighed. "I don't know how you stand working under the man, Severus. I've heard the most unsavory things about him."
"I manage," Snape replied simply. "Lucius, it has truly been a pleasure to catch up, but I'm afraid we're in a bit of a rush. Some of these ingredients are in danger of spoiling. As you know, they must be stored properly, less they lose their potency. Perhaps we can speak at length another time."
"Of course," Lucius agreed. "I'd best run along myself. I've only been to half of the quidditch supply stores. I promised Draco that I would look at broomsticks while in London… little tyke's already zooming around. I think he's outgrown his toy model. I tell you, Severus, in a few years he'll be a fine addition to your house team. I can see him making Seeker."
"Wonderful," Snape smiled. "Perhaps we will maintain our streak of excellence in Slytherin."
"Yes," Lucius mused, "I'd heard that Slytherin has been doing rather well. House and Quidditch Cup champions for how many years now? Four?"
"Five," Snape informed him. Harry noted the smug satisfaction in Snape's voice.
"Hardly surprising. Well, I shan't keep you any longer." Lucius smiled down at Harry, his eyes almost greedy. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter. I sincerely hope we will be spending more time together in the future."
"Yeah," Harry mumbled unenthusiastically. "Nice to meet you too."
Lucius nodded courteously to Snape. "Severus. Keep in touch."
As soon as Lucius turned his back, Snape's polite smile collapsed into a look of distaste. He stared after the man for a few seconds longer, his black eyes full of displeasure, before turning his attention back to Harry.
"Potter. What were you told about speaking to strangers? And where is Mr. Fortescue?"
Harry fidgeted uncomfortably under Snape's intense scrutiny. "He started speaking to me, sir. I told him that I wasn't supposed to." He had a million questions after the exchange he'd just witnessed, but the most pressing one was Malfoy's insistence that Harry come live with him. "He's not really going to—to adopt me, is he?"
"Doubtful," Snape muttered. "He is rather influential in the Ministry of Magic, but even Fudge is not such a coward as to cave to the man's demands." Seeing the look of confusion on Harry's face, Snape sighed. "I suppose I'll have to give you a lecture on our governing structure at some point. As for Mr. Malfoy, that is nothing you need concern yourself with. Now, I believe I asked two questions. Where is Mr. Fortescue?"
"Right here!" the man called, bustling out of the shop. He was wheezing, rather out of breath. His long brown hair was a mess, with stray locks plastered every which way, and there was a streak of a sticky brown substance (harry suspected it was chocolate sauce) across his forehead. "My bad, my bad. One of the assistants thought to use a Churning Charm to speed the process along and, well, long story short, it was a little too strong, and things quickly got out of hand. But it seems all is well here?"
Snape pursed his lips tightly. "Yes, fortunately. Though I thought I'd specified—"
"Ah, professor, Harry's a good boy. You can see it in his eyes!"
Snape winced.
"He knows to keep out of trouble," Florean said with an good-natured wink directed at Harry.
"I rather doubt that. Now, we must be on our way. Potter, come along."
Harry gathered his book up. "Thank you for the ice cream. And the history lesson."
Florean beamed. "Any time, my boy, any time. Next time we'll have to have a whole chat on the history of broom races! Mr. Whisp glosses right over them—as well he should—but there's a great deal of interesting information there."
"That'd be great," Harry said. "Goodbye, Mr. Fortescue!"
"Goodbye, Harry. Goodbye, professor!"
Snape made an irritated sound in the back of his throat and seized Harry by the arm, dragging him back into the busy street.
"Can I carry something for you?" Harry offered as they hurried along, eying Snape's bags.
"As several of the components I've purchased are combustible and volatile and I've no wish to be blown to bits, I'll have decline your generous offer," Snape told him acerbically.
Harry tried to ignore the unfriendly reply. He was quickly learning that this was just how Snape was. He reminded himself that Snape was taking good care of him, that he was a thousand times better than his aunt and uncle, and that just because he wasn't sweet and doting didn't mean that he didn't care about Harry.
Harry decided to change the subject. "What's Slytherin?"
Snape heaved a deep sigh. "Note your questions, Potter. When we return home, I'll direct you to readings that will answer them."
Harry sensed that he was pushing Snape's patience past its limits, so he clamped his mouth shut and resolved to just follow along silently.
Snape paused at the far end of the street, scanning the shops, apparently searching for something. Which surprised Harry, since he'd had no trouble heading directly to the other shops. After a few moments, Snape seemed to find what he was looking for, and he dragged Harry along until they were standing in front of a brightly-colored storefront that read Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop.
Harry thought that Snape must have made a mistake, or lost his mind. He couldn't even imagine the man entering such a place.
"Sir?" Harry asked hesitantly. "What are we—?"
"We've already established that you are less destructive when your attention is occupied elsewhere. I have little faith that a chess set, a piece of enchanted parchment, and a book will hold your attention for much longer. So, you will be picking out a plaything—preferably, something durable. No gags, no fireworks or explosives, no live animals, nothing that will create a mess. I will be waiting for you at the counter. Be quick."
Harry could hardly believe this. Snape was acting like his only interest was in keeping Harry out of trouble, but here he had already bought him a book. And now he was going to be able to pick something out from a magical toy shop. This was better than all his Christmases and birthdays combined.
"Are you sure?" Harry asked, though he really wanted to just dash straight into the shop.
"Go on," Snape told him coolly, his words sharp. "Before I change my mind."
Harry didn't wait for further invitation. He bolted inside, unsure of where to begin.
There was so much to take in. Crowds of school-aged children were clustered all over the store. Harry had to slip through all of them just to get a look at most of the items on display. Thankfully he was small enough that he was able to duck around arms and legs without much of a problem.
The store stocked everything from candy slugs to love potions—heart-shaped bottles filled with a glittery hot pink substance that giggling girls passed around, their eyes bright with excitement. On one wall were displays of something called Gobstones. There was a set in solid gold, one that claimed to spew an "extra-repulsive" substance at the loser, while another set, all in lavender and pink, promised exactly the opposite, a "pleasant flower shower" for the disgraced party. Beside that were decks of self-shuffling cards, particularly sets of something called Exploding Snap (which Harry knew better than to examine to closely, given Snape's stipulations). There were rows of novelty plants, some miniatures of existing species, some that Harry had never seen before. One, a golden-barked bonsai tree with silver leaves, claimed to be a "Galleon Tree", though a prominent disclaimer warned that the tree only produced cheap replicas of galleons and not actual currency.
What caught Harry's eye more than anything was a banner toward the back of the store that proclaimed in bright, flashing letters, "CASTLE SIEGE—the hit new game has finally arrived!" Below, set up on a sprawling table, was a tiny, elaborate castle, surrounded by what appeared to be sets of sharpened toothpicks. Fifty or so miniature figures—soldiers in metal suits and knights on tiny horses—were gathered outside the castle, apparently trying to storm the keep. Meanwhile, another two dozen figures were firing tiny arrows down on them from the battlements, many of them shouting curses.
Harry approached in wonderment, his eyes drifting to find a small placard describing the game.
With Castle Siege, YOU are in command! Choose a side and defend the castle or try to storm it. Marshal your troops, formulate a strategy, and execute! Includes 30 knights, 25 foot soldiers, 40 archers, 50 pikemen, a king, two commanders, and one castle as well as 2 catapults and one battering ram. Expansions sold separately.
Harry wondered if a miniature battle would create a mess, if Snape would deem this to be too destructive. Well, he figured, he could ask.
Harry found Snape standing off in a corner at the front of the store, standing beside the store's limited practical stock—cleaning supplies and such, likely more for the convenience of parents than for the rowdy child patrons.
"Well?" Snape demanded.
Harry cleared his throat, then launched into a quick description of the game he'd found. He felt very small as he made his case for it, especially trapped beneath Snape's critical gaze. "Would that be all right?" he asked faintly at the end of his explanation.
Snape pursed his lips, and for a second Harry thought that he would say no.
"You will not play with it in the house. The backyard only."
Harry stared at Snape, uncomprehending. Had he said yes?
"Go fetch it," he snapped.
Harry practically skipped back to the display, where he struggled to pick up one of the small wooden chests that contained the full set.
He couldn't help but hope, just a little bit, that Snape would change his mind and let him stay. Because strict as he was, Harry thought, at least he was fair. And he didn't seem so… slimy, like Malfoy. He was afraid of what another guardian may be like. And, worst of all, he dreaded being shipped back to live with the Dursleys.
Snape paid quickly for the set and, with a tap of his wand, lightened the load, just as he had with Harry's trunk, so that Harry did not have to struggle quite so much to carry it. Snape led him back down Diagon Alley, in search of a quiet corner where, Harry guessed, they could magically pop back home.
As they reached the front of a mostly-dead magical junk shop, Harry turned to Snape and, in his most sincere voice, said, "I just wanted to thank you, sir, for everything—"
Snape turned away from him, for some reason refusing to meet Harry's gaze. He looked slightly uncomfortable. "Don't mention it," he muttered. He held out his arm, and Harry knew enough then to take it without further prompting.
The world squeezed tightly around him, and in the next instant they were back in Spinner's End, standing at the edge of the walkway leading up to Snape's house.
Chapter 4