The next morning, Harry was still feeling rather sleepy when Aunt Petunia rapped on the cupboard door.
When he had dragged himself to the kitchen, Aunt Petunia told him why she had woken him early: “Vernon will take Dudley and you to school with the car before work. Be grateful.”
Later, when Dudley made an appearance, Uncle Vernon said something about the weather being so bad, but Harry wasn’t fooled.
Even Dudley seemed suspicious. Much as he hated walking, he hated getting up early more, and pointed out that it wasn’t more rainy than on other days where he had had to walk to school.
Harry was pretty sure it was all because of the strange man. Richard Smith. Somehow, Aunt Petunia seemed to know he was after Harry.
Driving to school took just as long as walking, since you couldn’t take any shortcuts, and when they arrived, they had to wait quite a while for school to actually start. They were on the school grounds, with a bored teacher standing watch, but Harry didn’t feel much safer than he would have walking to school.
On the up side, Dudley’s friends weren’t there. Some of them were a bit smarter than Dudley.
“I talked to one of the circus kids while I waited in the car”, he said as casually as possible. “He said the show wasn’t anything special.”
Now he had Dudley’s attention.
“And I didn’t miss anything with the spooky tent”, Harry continued. “The skull they have in there you can buy in London for five pound apiece.”
Dudley’s little pig eyes narrowed greedily. “Tell me where.”
“Oh, I don’t exactly remember. Might have been called Burke’s ... I think it might have been near King’s Cross station. In a dark side alley, of course. But Aunt Petunia will never let you buy one anyway.”
By the time Dudley’s friends arrived, Dudley was half convinced he himself had had a conversation with a circus kid who had told him where to get a spooky skull.
Predictably, once Uncle Vernon came to fetch them, Dudley was obsessed with going to London to get a spooky skull.
In the evening, Dudley went to bed early because, as he said, he felt sick.
“INCONVENIENT” Snake wrote once Harry got back to his cupboard. “THEY WILL NOT LEAVE YOU ALONE.”
“No, it is all going according to plan. Dudley always pretends to be sick when he wants to skip school. Just wait, he will recover once school has started.”
Even better, since there was no need to drive Dudley to school, Uncle Vernon didn’t think it worth the effort to drive Harry, and Aunt Petunia decided Harry should stay at home, too. “After all, you might have caught it from Dudley”, she reasoned.
Harry went back to his cupboard. “They’ll go to London, and either leave me alone or send me to Mrs. Figg. I just have to hide you under my sweater if I go to Mrs. Figg’s.”
“HOW DID YOU DO IT?”
“Get Dudley to pretend to be sick?”
Snake nodded.
“That was easy. He said he wanted a skull like the one in the spooky tent, so I made up some story about talking with someone from the circus who told me you can get them for five pound apiece in a shop called Burke’s. Usually, Dudley doesn’t like things you can get cheap, but since Aunt Petunia is dead against having a skull in the house, he’ll do anything to get one.”
“BURKE?”
“Yeah. Is that a name of something well-known? It somehow came to mind ...”
“YES.”
“Shit. I hope Dudley won’t remember it. He hasn’t, so far.”
“NO WORRIES.”
As Harry had predicted, Dudley recovered as soon as the danger of being sent to school was safely over. However, Dudley’s stomach was allegedly still so upset he could only eat at his favourite fastfood restaurant in London.
“Of course, Dudders”, Aunt Petunia cooed. Harry didn’t think she really believed Dudley – she and Uncle Vernon often talked, admiringly, of how clever their little Duddikins was after he had lied to them to get what he wanted.
Just what they thought he could become with this kind of ‘cleverness’, Harry wasn’t sure. Used car salesman surely wouldn’t be fancy enough. Investment banker, perhaps?
Harry overheard Aunt Petunia phoning Mrs. Figg to come over. “Harry is sick, he shouldn’t leave the house.” Mrs. Figg said something. “If you absolutely must”, Petunia conceded.
After hanging up, she knocked at the cupboard door. “Go sit on the couch.”
Harry did as he was told, and Aunt Petunia even gave him a blanket. “Don’t forget, you are sick.” He wondered if she had started to believe her own lie.
Some time later, the doorbell rang. Aunt Petunia went to open.
“Thank you so much”, Harry heard her gush. “I am sorry it is such short notice ...”
“You are welcome”, Mrs. Figg said amiably. “I have been meaning to drop by anyway. There’s a stranger loitering about the neighbourhood, and my cats don’t like him at all. I thought I’d warn you.”
“Yes, I have noticed him. Terrible, the police should do their job! Oh, please don’t let your cats into the living room, the carpet is new, you know?” Aunt Petunia turned towards the stairs. “Dudley! Are you ready?”
It sounded as if a baby elephant trampled down the stairs.
Harry waited impatiently while the two women exchanged some more empty pleasantries. At last, the door fell shut behind Aunt Petunia and Dudley.
“You heard what she said, dears. Wipe your feet and be careful with the furniture.” Mrs. Figg must be talking to her cats. “What, you don’t want to go into the living room? You are much too honourable, as always, Galahad. Harry wouldn’t tell on us, you know?”
At last, Mrs. Figg made her way into the living room. “Harry, dear, are you alright? I will make you some sage tea right away.”
“I’m fine, thank you”, Harry replied. “I just need to go to the bathroom.”
“Of course, dear. Do you need help with that?”
What?! “No, I’m not that sick. Aunt Petunia exaggerated.” Lied, more like.
“Glad to hear it. Still, some tea won’t do any harm.”
Harry noticed that he actually needed to go to the bathroom, so he did before sneaking into his cupboard on the way back.
When he looked at Snake, wanting to ask him what he thought of Mrs. Figg, he had already written: “SHE’S A WITCH.”
“Are you sure?”
“DO HER CATS OBEY?”
“I don’t know. Only one went with her in the living room, the other two are outside the cupboard. It’s like they’re watching me. A bit creepy.”
“THEY ARE.”
“What?!”
“HARMLESS. BUT WITCH. SHOW ME TO HER.”
Harry dutifully wrapped his hand in a sleeve, took the photo and left his cupboard. “Mrs. Figg, I need to show you some-“ He interrupted himself when he almost stumbled over a cat, and in the process, he dropped the photo.
He could see it, as if very slowly, fall towards the floor. He made to catch it with his left hand, but at last, the glass shattered on the tiles.
“No! I’m so sorry, are you - ”
Unthinkingly, he had used his left hand to pick the photo up.
Things went black for a moment, and next he knew, Harry stood on a cold beach.
“Idiot boy! You have doomed us both!”
Harry winced. He had never thought Snake’s voice would sound so harsh.
“Fool! Imbecile! I was so close to getting out!” Snake walked around on the beach, which extended way past what was seen in the photo. “How could you? How could you be so unbelievably stupid!?”
Nervously, Harry waited. For ... something. Perhaps an apology. But as soon as Snake seemed to have calmed down a bit, he aimed his wand at Harry.
Harry ducked away and ran.
“Come back this instant!”
There was a crippled tree in some distance. Harry ran toward it, zigzagging to escape possible spells aimed at him. Fleeing from Dudley and his cronies had been good training.
As had been Aunt Marge’s visits with Ripper. Harry was an expert tree-climber by now.
When he looked back, Snake had written in the sand again. From here, Harry could not decipher what it said. Should he come back to save Mrs. Figg?
But Snake needed her to send a message, he wouldn’t harm her.
Not yet, at least.
Because now, Harry wondered. Perhaps Snake was not all that nice. Perhaps there was a reason Snake didn’t want to tell him about lots of things.
True, he had only asked Harry to send a letter, but if a wizard could find out where he lived ... perhaps the real Albus Dumbledore was needed so Snake could change places with someone on the outside.
And now that Harry was stuck here too early, he couldn’t be that one anymore.
It was, Harry thought bitterly, much more likely that Snake had chosen him to ask for help because he looked like someone who wouldn’t be missed than any other reason.
“If you don’t come back, Mrs. Figg will never know where you are!”
“You tried to curse me! I’m not that stupid, you know?” But there was, indeed, a giant face on the strange, picture-frame like space that had previously been white – white as the ceiling.
“Harry dear? Where are you?”
“Mrs. Figg! I’m here! I have to hide from the man in black!”
“She cannot hear you, foolish boy. I only tried to put a warming charm on you. Now come back here, and we might still be able to get help.”
Snake was busy writing in the sand.
“Harry is scared of you? Oh dear. Wait, I will get an oven glove. That will be enough, yes?”
Try as he might, Harry could not decipher what Snake was writing.
Mrs. Figg’s face left.
Snake walked towards the tree. “Harry, listen, I ... I’m sorry I spoke so harshly. You are just a child, I was foolish to expect you to ... You did well, considering your age.”
“You are lying. You hate me. You were only nice to me so that I would save you.” It felt all so obvious now.
Instead of denying it, Snake turned and walked back to the beach.
“There you are.” Mrs. Figg had returned, and her face appeared at a different angle now, with some wallpaper in the background. Part of the window to the real world was obscured by what must be the oven glove. “I’m so glad I took my cats. Would be lost without them. They didn’t let me touch the photo.”
Snake wrote something.
“Oh yes, they are all half Kneazles. But before you get your hopes up – I am not a witch.”
Harry wanted to ask Snake about Kneazles, then remembered, with a twinge of hurt, that they weren’t friends anymore. Never had been.
Snake was busy writing in the sand.
“Oh yes, I know about magic. I am a Squib, you see. Don’t you worry, I know people. You will just have to wait some more, I am afraid.”
More writing.
The background of Mrs. Figg’s face was now the living room ceiling, with the ugly lamp.
“He tracked you here? How? I mean, does he just feel where the photo is, or does he use a spell?”
Snake wrote in the sand, Mrs. Figg nodded.
“Then why don’t we just make him believe the photo is still here? He will not use a spell if he thinks he knows exactly where it is.”
Apparently, Snake liked that idea, as the next thing Mrs. Figg said was: “I will wrap you in a freezer bag. You don’t need oxygen in there, do you? It might get dark when I hide you in my cardigan, but don’t panic. We will have you out of there in a jiffy.”
It did not get dark. Only the window-like space went black. The grey clouds above were still lighted by a hidden sun.
Harry made himself as comfortable as he could in his hiding place. Tears rolled down his face. He was crying. Why? Because Snake hated him? Everyone hated him, it was not exactly new ... he had just thought – hoped ...
“Kneazles are creatures, similar to cats, who can detect deception”, Snake volunteered. “A Squib is a person who has magical parents but cannot do magic. Mrs. Figg will be able to get you out of here.”
“Just me?”, Harry asked, his resolve to ignore Snake already wavering. He so wanted to believe the apology. But it would be stupid.
“Depending on whom she asks for help, they might not be all that enthusiastic about getting me out. I am not exactly popular in the magical community. You, however, need not fear. Every effort will be made to free you.”
“It’s not like anyone cares much about me. That’s why you chose me, didn’t you? Cause no one would miss me.”
“I chose to ask you for help because I know who you are. And as for no one missing you, you are very much mistaken. Loathe as I am to say it, you are a celebrity. All those strangers who wanted to shake your hand? They know exactly who you are.”
“Yeah, right. I am not falling for that. You can try that one on Dudley.” If someone told Dudley he was a celebrity, he would do everything they wanted. He would totally believe it. After all, his parents told him every day how special he was.
It was a rather cheap tactic. Kind of like those letters you got in the mail sometime, where they claimed you had won the lottery, and then they clarified you only had a chance to win, but only if you signed some document or something – Harry wasn’t sure, Aunt Petunia always threw those away immediately.
Not even Uncle Vernon would fall for them.
“You think I am just telling you what you want to hear?” Snake sounded exasperated. “I am not. I myself have never thought you all that special.”
At least now he was being honest.
“I know you have no reason to trust me. Yet you did. You stole the photo. Why are you afraid of me all of a sudden?”
‘Because you yelled at me’ would have been the honest answer. But Harry felt that would sound childish. And anyway, he had plenty good reasons. “You didn’t even tell me your name.”
“I was worried you might be familiar with it. As I told you, I am not very popular. My name is Severus Snape, and I am the head of Slytherin House at Hogwarts, hence my alias. It would have been rather transparent to anyone who went to Hogwarts in the years I taught there.”
He was a teacher? Harry wondered what he taught. He had spent quite a while talking about how Defense Against the Dark Arts would help you not be trapped in photos, or help others get out of them.
Harry leant forward, as if willing it so would get Snake – or Snape? – to continue talking.
“As for why I chose to talk to you – I knew your parents.”
His parents? Harry leant forward a bit more.
“Hence I could assume you must be a wizard. You look almost exactly like your fa-“
Harry wondered why Snape had stopped speaking, and noticed the ominous cracking noise too late.
He tumbled down with the branch he had leant all his weight on.
“Foolish boy!” Snape yelled, running towards him.
Shit. Trying to get up hurt – his leg must be broken. Harry attempted to crawl away, but it was no use.
“Now see what you did! We have no healer in here, and you just had to go and fall down a tree!” Snape knelt down next to him. “How bad is it?”
Without waiting for an answer, he prodded at Harry’s injured leg. “Is this where it hurts?”
“Ow!”
Snape pointed the wand at him. “Ferula.”
Bandages appeared, strapping Harry’s leg to a splint.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“Just bruises, I think.” Confused, Harry looked up at Snape. “Why are you helping me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you hate me. You didn’t even deny it.” Tears welled up in Harry’s eyes.
“Does your leg hurt worse? It should be better.”
“It is better.” Why were they talking about his leg, now?
“I could attempt a healing spell, but I am not a fully trained healer. It might make things worse.” Suddenly, a stretcher appeared next to Harry. “Let’s get you back to the beach.”
Harry crawled onto the stretcher – it wasn’t like he had much choice.
“You will soon be out of here”, Snape promised. With his wand pointed at it, the stretcher lifted up into the air and floated.
When they were back at the beach, Snape took off his black cloak and laid it on a piece of grass behind the sand.
A move of his wand, and a black couch stood at the beach. Harry’s stretcher floated towards it, and melted into it, leaving Harry to lie on the couch.
“Why didn’t you get yourself a couch earlier?”
Snape aimed his wand at Harry. This time, a pleasant warmth spread around him. “Because my original plan was to just pretend to be a normal photograph.”
“How would that have worked?”
“It would not have freed me, if that’s what you mean. I just thought it would ruin the plan to make me an exhibit to be gawked at. A man on a windy beach can be an ordinary photo. A man who has a couch on said beach? Hardly. I do conjure a bed at nights, but always out of sight.”
“Harry!” Mrs. Figgs face appeared. “There you are! I managed to get you to my house, but I met that stranger outside. He was very insistent about wanting to help a frail old lady, so I told him you had run away and I needed someone to wait for you to return to the house while I was out looking for you. That will keep him occupied for a while.”
“He will suspect you took the photo”, Snape muttered, and wrote something in the sand.
“Yes, that’s the problem”, Mrs. Figg agreed. “But I thought I could give him a fake photo.”
“A fake photo? How would a Squib make a believable copy?” Snape wrote something in the sand.
“Oh, I have a photo of the Isle of Drear somewhere. My parents took me there when I was a child. That was before my Hogwarts letter failed to arrive, of course.”
“The Isle of Drear is inhabited by monsters”, Snape said. “Not exactly a lovely holiday location.”
But he didn’t bother to write something in the sand.
Mrs. Figg disappeared from view. “It isn’t the frame that’s cursed, is it? Don’t worry, I will be careful. And I will write a note to Dumbledore, just in case, before I take the photo out of the frame.”
When she reappered, she held a photo in her hand that looked quite a lot like the one Harry and Snape were in.
“It will have to do”, Snape decreed, then started to write something in the sand.
“Yes, of course”, Mrs. Figg answered. “I tried to contact Dumbledore with the floo, you see, but he wasn’t in his office. And the nearest owl post office is rather far away.
“Floo?”
“You throw floo powder into a fireplace, the fire turns green and you can use it to call someone or travel. I told you about it before. A squib might have her house attached to the network. That’s something I overlooked, but for our purposes, as you see, a squib is almost as good as a witch. Your average witch next door wouldn’t have been able to break the curse on this, either.”
Mrs. Figg had rubber gloves for cleaning, too, and she used them to get the cursed photo out of the broken frame, and the other photo inside.
“There, now. I wonder ... do you think Harry would have been sucked inside if the glass wasn’t broken?”
Snape wrote in the sand. “Probably not”, he explained at Harry’s questioning glance. “But I thought it better to never take the risk.”
“I will get a nice new frame for you, then.”
Harry recognized the frame she returned with as one that usually held a cat photo, but didn’t complain. He wasn’t keen on finding out what would happen to Snape and him if the photo was damaged.
“That’s taken care of, then.” She wrapped the photo and frame in a freezer bag again. “I will hide you in my cardigan, and the other photo goes to my handbag. Don’t you worry.”
Chapter 4