The strange thing about living with people was that you ended up learning a lot about them through sheer proximity. After two years at Hogwarts, Harry knew that he had to get up at a certain time before Seamus started hogging the shower, and that you had to check before you stepped into your shoes in case Neville’s toad, Trevor, had crawled into them. It was one of those things you couldn't help, and this principle also unfortunately applied to living with people who you didn’t like.

He knew that Aunt Petunia had trouble sleeping most nights, and generally got up even before Harry because of her insomnia. He knew Uncle Vernon always read the Telegraph at breakfast and was allergic to bees. He knew about Dudley’s severe hay fever, which made his cousin’s eyes turn red and swollen without fail every spring. Harry couldn’t help picking up this information about his relatives, just as he couldn’t help learning more about Malfoy and Snape than he would have otherwise liked over his next few days at Spinner’s End.

Snape was always accompanied by a chipped blue mug, which was without fail full of steaming black coffee. He even drank it at night, which Harry was almost certain couldn’t be good for you.

Every morning and evening, Malfoy spent what seemed like forever hogging the upstairs bathroom, which was the only loo in the house, doing some sort of intricate skincare routine. There was more than one occasion on which Snape ended up shouting at him through the door, threatening to take away something called a Glow Elixir.

Malfoy also read a lot of books. Fiction, if the titles were anything to go off, although they all seemed to be wizarding books because Harry had never heard of them and the cover art moved. In fact, Harry almost never saw him without a novel tucked under one arm or open in his lap.

Snape was left-handed. He always wrote up their class instructions onto the chalkboard with a flick of his wand, so Harry had never noticed that until now when he actually had an opportunity to see the man write something down. Snape also often switched his wand between hands depending on what spell he was casting, which Harry thought was odd but didn't ask about.

Malfoy's fingers were often rhymically tapping away on a surface. Sometimes, when he thought no one was listening, he hummed.

Snape exclusively wore closely fitted, long-sleeved robes, even on the boiling hot day where it hit thirty degrees and the house felt more like a furnace.

Malfoy still talked in his sleep, and the words he was saying became more and more comprehensible with every night Harry spent here.

And Snape always seemed to be watching Harry. He had the ability to move soundlessly through the house, which was horribly unnerving, and sometimes Harry would turn around and catch Snape staring at him with one eyebrow arched, expression thoughtful. It made Harry wonder if he and Malfoy had picked up on any habits of Harry’s during his stay at Spinner’s End. He almost immediately dismissed the idea, but Snape's watchful behaviour was starting to get under Harry's skin. What was he doing? What was he trying to work out?

Of course, Snape and Malfoy didn’t have much opportunity to learn things about Harry because he was doing his best to make himself as unobtrusive and invisible as physically possible in order to avoid any further confrontations with Snape. The twisted rage on Snape’s face when Harry had dared to ask about his mum had thoroughly scared him into silence. As much as Harry was aching to find out why Snape had never mentioned knowing her, he was far too worried about what Snape might do to him if he dared to bring up the topic again.

So, they had settled into something of a routine. The three of them generally ate breakfast, lunch and dinner together, excluding the times when Snape was upstairs brewing. Malfoy and Snape would talk, Harry would sit in sullen silence and try to eat as quickly as he could so he could get away from them. Snape made Harry garden in the morning, then do his homework in the afternoon, which he generally insulted and occasionally described with words that almost sounded like compliments. Of course, as this was Snape giving feedback, Harry assumed they were just further insults he couldn’t quite understand. The evenings were free for Harry to hide in the bedroom he shared with Malfoy and pretend like he didn’t exist.

Malfoy and Snape tended to sit together in the living room while he hid upstairs, or they brewed together. That suited Harry just fine, as he didn’t want to spend any time with the two of them if he could help it. His problem was when Malfoy was left with nothing to do. While Snape was perfectly happy to hold up his end of the bargain and ignore Harry’s existence, Malfoy seemed to take vindictive pleasure in taunting Harry whenever Snape was out of earshot. Whatever fragile truce they’d had for the first couple of days had vanished the minute Malfoy had seen the bruises under Harry’s shirt. Harry was simply thankful that Malfoy hadn't guessed it had been Harry's relatives who had caused them. No, all he seemed to realise was that he had information Harry wanted to keep secret, and that was that. Now, he knew Harry had to sit by and take it whenever he wanted to make snide comments about Harry, his friends, his parents…

Just a few weeks, Harry told himself. That was it - a few weeks here, and then he’d be back at Hogwarts and his proximity to Snape and Malfoy would lessen. Just a few weeks of dealing with this, a few weeks was all…

And Harry did his best to control his temper, he really did. Unfortunately, the hellish environment that was Spinner’s End meant Harry was really struggling with that, and he felt his patience gradually wearing thin as his first week drew to a close.

After he seemed moderately satisfied that Harry wasn’t going to set the house alight, Snape had started spending all of his mornings and most of his afternoons holed up in the laboratory brewing that potion of his - whatever it was, it seemed to have a time limit. That left Harry and Malfoy alone to get on with either their homework or chores unsupervised. Malfoy had long since finished having Harry clean up the kitchen for him, leaving him with a lot of spare time. Naturally, he had taken to insulting Harry as he got on with whatever tasks he’d been set, since he knew Harry couldn’t fight back. It had been just about bearable so far, but today was different. Harry was rapidly running out of the ability to keep his cool, while Malfoy had woken up in a particularly foul mood, which he’d decided to take out on Harry, of course.

“Hey Potter, are you digging out a new hole in the ground for the Weasleys to live in?”

“Imagine if they could see the famous Harry Potter, digging about in a garden without magic…”

“There’s mud all over you, Potter, have you noticed? Of course you wouldn’t - you’re used to muddy things, considering your bloodline…”

“Oh, just shut up, Malfoy!” Harry shouted, the last comment finally pushing him over the edge. Draco had been sniping at him for days, and he was going to lose it and hit him over the head with a trowel if it didn’t stop -

“Potter!” Harry couldn’t help his groan at the sound of Snape’s voice. Of course he had to materialise now. “Stop being rude to Draco. Get inside, it's time for lunch.”

Why is everything always my bloody fault?! Harry wouldn’t be surprised if Snape had overheard the barely concealed slur towards his bloodline and just didn’t care. Nasty, bigoted Slytherins always stuck together…

Harry picked at his food, feeling far too angry to eat. This was becoming a frequent occurrence. Unfortunately for him, as the meal progressed, it turned out Malfoy wasn’t the only one with a giant stick up his arse.

“Potter, must you always engage in this infernal sulking?” Snape hissed, slamming his fork to the table. “I am sick of this sullen adolescent moping! Would it kill you to act politely?”

It was like something in Harry snapped. “Oh, will you just shut up for once in your bloody life!”

Snape’s eyes flashed dangerously. “What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me, or are you too stupid to understand me?” Harry asked snarkily. “You greasy, slimy old -”

The words leaving Harry’s mouth abruptly turned to silence before the string of expletives he’d been about to unleash. Snape’s lips curled up unpleasantly. “I’m sorry, Potter, what were you saying?”

Harry tried to shout, but was once again met with nothing but silence. Horrified, he grabbed at his throat.

“When you find yourself able to speak respectfully,” Snape said silkily, “I will lift the Silencing Charm.”

Unable to bear his smugness for another moment, Harry fled the kitchen and back out into the garden, where he hid in the narrow gap behind the shed again. He tried everything from whispers to flat-out screams that tore through his throat like ragged knives, but no matter what he did, sound wouldn’t leave his mouth. It was utterly awful. What was he going to do? Was Snape going to leave him like this for the rest of August, silenced and powerless?

Harry had just given up on his futile screaming attempts when he finally registered the sound of steady breathing behind him. He whirled around and saw Snape leaning against the shed, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. He still looked unbearably smug. “Finished?”

Harry glared at him, hoping his gaze could convey the depth of his hatred.

“Now,” Snape said, twirling his wand between his fingers, “When I lift the spell I want an apology. If I don’t get one, I’ll leave it on for the rest of the day.”

  Stupid old bastard…

Snape flicked his wand and looked at Harry expectantly. He half-considered remaining silent - the idea of apologising to Snape was utterly loathsome - but then Harry realised he’d be confined to silence during Malfoy’s taunting if Snape left the spell on, and he really didn’t think he could bear that.

“Sorry,” he ground out in a hoarse, strained voice. The screaming hadn’t done his throat any good.

“I will be brewing,” Snape said, turning around. “Do not disturb me with another one of your temper tantrums, or I will be highly displeased.”

He flounced back into the house without another word. Harry rubbed his eyes despairingly, feeling more miserable than he could have ever imagined.

After a little while longer of feeling sorry for himself, Harry just about managed to pull himself together. He wasn’t going to bother with lunch again - instead, he decided to go back to gardening, since the prospect of going back into that horrid house actually made him feel a little bit ill. Harry brutally chopped at a shrub with a pair of gardening shears, fairly mangling the poor plant, which he was currently imagining to be Snape’s stupid face.

“Well good afternoon, Potter.”

Someday, Harry reflected, he was going to murder Draco Malfoy. Between the sharp gardening shears he was currently holding and the simmering anger just waiting to boil over, Harry thought it rather likely that today might just be the day.

“You might want to show me some manners when I speak to you,” Malfoy said mockingly. “Severus is rather insistent on that, after all…”

“Oh, fuck off,” Harry snapped, grinding his back teeth.

“Aww, are you upset about a little Silencing Charm?” Malfoy asked, sidling closer. Harry did his best not to look at him. “Poor, little baby Potter…”

“JUST SHUT UP!” Harry roared, throwing the shears to the floor, blood pounding in his ears.

“I don’t think I will,” Malfoy said quietly. “I think I’ll just talk and talk, all about that biking accident…”

“Oh yeah?” Harry challenged, trying to think up anything he could use back. He was done tiptoeing around Malfoy, he just couldn’t take it anymore. “Well then I’ll tell the whole school about how your darling parents got themselves locked up."

Malfoy’s features twisted into a snarl. “Don’t you bring up my parents -”

“Or I’ll tell them about your little tantrum!” Harry shouted. “Poor Draco Malfoy, throwing fits and crying like a three-year-old! Oh, or I’ll tell them about Snape’s book for traumatised teenagers -”

The sound of Malfoy’s blow hit Harry before he felt it connect with his face. Sharp pain blossomed in his cheek. He shoved Malfoy back, and Malfoy stumbled, struggling to keep his feet. Harry took advantage of his distraction and kicked him hard in the shins. Malfoy grimaced, then pushed forward and pinned Harry against the fence with surprising strength. Harry could feel him actually trembling with fury as his forearm pressed into Harry’s neck. His grey eyes were narrowed and glistening with hatred.

“At least my relatives actually want me!” Malfoy growled. He dug his arm in so hard that Harry couldn’t breathe past the pressure. “Those filthy Muggles you call a family threw you out, didn’t they Potter? No one can stand you - in fact, I bet your parents were glad they died so they didn’t have to put up with you anymore.”

He slammed Harry back against the fence one last time, knocking the wind out of him, before storming back into the house. Harry fell to his knees, gasping for air. He half-considered chasing after Malfoy and getting another blow in, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, Harry sank backwards against the wall.

He was surprisingly hurt by Malfoy’s words, and he hated himself for it. It was stupid - Malfoy didn’t know a thing about Harry’s parents, after all - but he’d always been very skilled at getting under Harry’s skin. Being unwanted…that was something Harry had struggled with his whole life. The Dursleys had hardwired it into him that nobody wanted anything to do with Harry.

And they were right - nobody did. That was why he was stuck at Spinner’s End with a man who hated Harry with a passion, since Snape was the only person who Dumbledore had managed to force into looking after Harry. That was why he’d originally been planning to live above a pub for the rest of August. Harry didn’t have anyone.

For what felt like the hundredth time that week, Harry considered just dragging his trunk out of the house and taking the Knight Bus back to the Leaky Cauldron, away from this horrid place. The only thing that had stopped Harry was the fact that Snape would probably hear him dragging his trunk down the staircase and stop Harry before he got out the door.

Harry's face was throbbing from where Malfoy had punched him. He raised a hand to it and gingerly ran his fingers over his cheek. Uncle Vernon had certainly hit Harry plenty, but never in the face. Aunt Petunia's slaps certainly stung, but she never hit Harry hard enough for it to bruise by any stretch. They were too scared of someone noticing something like that. The only person who dared to go anywhere near Harry's face was Dudley, who declared it a win every time he managed to break Harry's glasses when trying to bloody his nose.

Harry really hoped Malfoy’s punch wasn’t going to bruise. Knowing Harry's luck, Snape would see it and go completely nuclear. How bloody fantastic.

Snape didn't spend very long brewing, considering how vehemently he'd insisted on being left alone. It had to have been just shy of an hour since his and Malfoy's fight when Snape resurfaced and wrenched open the back door. His face was the picture of outrage. Harry wearily got to his feet, preparing to be shouted at…

But Snape didn't say a word. He stalked over to Harry, grabbed him by the upper arm, and practically dragged him inside. He only released Harry once the back door was tightly shut. A muscle in Snape's jaw was ticking.

"Where is it?" he said through gritted teeth.

Harry gave him a blank look. "Sorry?"

Snape's lips drew back into a snarl. "Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm referring to! Where did you hide it?"

"Hide what?"

"The necklace!" Snape shouted, slamming a hand onto the kitchen counter. Harry flinched. "Where did you hide his blasted necklace?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Harry protested.

"Do not lie!" Snape bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth.

"I'm not!"

"Perhaps I ought to jog your memory, then!" Snape took a step closer, until his hooked nose was barely an inch from Harry’s face. "Instead of employing a fraction of basic empathy, you decided to follow in the footsteps of your arrogant bully of a father and pick on Draco in regard to the situation with his parents.”

“What?” Harry demanded. He went to continue protesting, but Snape wasn’t done.

“If that wasn't cruel enough, you then decided to steal one of the only items Draco has of his parents!” Snape yelled. His face had gone rather red by now. “So, tell me now, where did you put the necklace?!"

"I didn't put it anywhere because I didn't take it!" Harry shouted. "I didn't even know he had a necklace!"

"And what makes you think I would trust a single word out of your mouth?" Snape asked angrily.

"I don't know, but you certainly shouldn't trust Malfoy!"

"Why are you fighting this?" Snape asked, crossing his arms. "We both know perfectly well that you took it. Just give it back."

“You’re a wizard, aren’t you?” Harry challenged. “Don’t you have some sort of spell to find things you’ve lost?”

“A Summoning Charm would not work on heirloom jewellery like that, as you knew perfectly well when you took it!” Snape growled. “Stop trying to wriggle your way out of this and say where you’ve hidden it!"

A sudden wave of despair washed over Harry. He took a step back from Snape and leaned his head against the kitchen wall dully. He hadn't taken the necklace, but Snape was never going to believe that Harry was telling the truth. As far as he was concerned, Harry was a nasty bully, and nothing he said was going to change Snape’s mind. He couldn’t even tell Snape about Malfoy’s horrid taunts over the last few days, since Malfoy was still blackmailing him. This was all a part of that torment, wasn't it? As revenge for Harry's comments earlier, Malfoy was intentionally getting him in trouble with Snape, knowing he couldn't get out of it.

It was so viciously clever, and Harry hated Malfoy even more for it.

"Well? Potter?"

Harry didn't respond. He just didn't have the energy to fight anymore. It was so pointless…

"This really is extraordinarily cruel, Potter," Snape muttered. His hand shot out, quick as a flash. Harry tried to duck away from the blow, but Snape's hand instead latched onto his upper arm. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Considering your own parental circumstances I'd have liked to imagine you could muster a modicum of understanding for Draco's situation, but I suppose an expectation of basic human compassion from the likes of you was far too much to ask for. Perhaps some time in your room to contemplate your actions will loosen your tongue."

Keeping a vice grip on Harry's arm, Snape began to stalk from the kitchen. For a single, heart-stopping moment Harry thought Snape was about to throw him into the cupboard under the stairs, but they went straight past it, as well as the living room. Harry caught a glimpse of Malfoy’s white-blonde hair through the open door and felt a sudden surge of rage. Snape had the whole situation backwards, and it was entirely that git’s fault! He wrenched himself away from Snape and stormed into the living room, pushing the door so hard it hit the opposite wall with a loud bang.

“You’re a right lying arsehole, Malfoy!” Harry shouted. Malfoy didn’t reply - he stared at Harry imperiously, a single eyebrow raised. Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. Moments later, Harry felt Snape seize him and yank him back into the hallway. He shook Harry’s shoulder and glowered at him.

“Enough!” he said through gritted teeth. “You’ve done enough to him already! With me, now.”

He pulled Harry along, up the stairs and onto the landing before he was finally released in the bedroom.

"I will be in my laboratory when you are ready to confess," Snape said irritably. He slammed the bedroom door shut.

Harry immediately buried his face under the pillow on his bed, hating how close to tears he felt at that moment. He should have predicted Malfoy doing something like this when Harry had made the stupid mistake of attempting to threaten him back. Of course Malfoy would always be two steps ahead of him when it came to sneaking around and being horrid; he was a Slytherin, after all. This was their bread and butter.

What had Harry been thinking? He wouldn’t be surprised if Malfoy kept the necklace hidden wherever he’d put it for the rest of August, just so Snape dredged up whatever miserable punishments he could think of to torment Harry until he finally got back to Hogwarts. Although, Harry thought gloomily, even the start of term didn’t necessarily put an end to this nightmare. He wouldn’t put it past Snape to stick Harry in detention at school indefinitely until he confessed to stealing the necklace. Harry was even half-considering confessing just to get it all over with, but there was no point, since Snape almost certainly wouldn’t leave Harry alone until he gave the necklace back, and he couldn’t do that since he hadn’t actually taken the stupid thing in the first place!

He contemplated trying to find where Malfoy had hidden the necklace, but there was no point. Harry had only been living at Spinner’s End for a week, and Malfoy would certainly know hiding spots he couldn’t weasel out since he’d been here for so much longer.

Instead, Harry remained in the room and stared blankly at the ceiling as afternoon stretched into evening, trying to think of ways to prove his innocence, but none of his ideas amounted to anything useful. Every explanation about how Malfoy had been just as nasty to Harry as he was supposedly being to Malfoy somehow led back to what Malfoy was blackmailing him about, which Harry couldn’t let Snape find out. If he got the Dursleys in any kind of trouble, next summer with them would be hell, and Harry would much rather be stuck scrubbing cauldrons all year because of a false accusation than stuck at Privet Drive getting the stuffing beaten out of him.

Harry was in the middle of trying to come up with some sort of plot to get back at Malfoy when the door was wrenched open. Snape strode over to the bed Harry was lying on and loomed over him, arms crossed. “Well? Are you going to put a stop to this ridiculous stand-off and just tell me already?”

“No, sir,” Harry said in a perfect monotone. “I’m just a cruel little bully, after all, and I want Malfoy to suffer as much as possible.”

Fury flashed in Snape’s eyes. “Don’t you dare cheek me.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Harry asked, leaning back on his elbows and staring up at Snape, feeling dangerous. “I’m just like my arrogant father, aren’t I, with no respect for anyone, including you.”

“Then you will stay in here until you see fit as to change your attitude,” Snape growled.

“Fine by me!” Harry said loudly. “I can do this all day and night if you want me to! Locking me in a bedroom, that’s nothing! I've had far worse!"

Snape didn’t respond. He was looking at Harry with an odd expression on his face, which gradually smoothed into a crafty smirk. “Do you know what Legilimency is, Potter?”

Harry obviously didn’t, but the triumphant glint in Snape’s eyes let him know it couldn’t be good.

“Legilimency is the art of magically navigating another person’s mind,” Snape explained softly. “A skilled Legilimens can interpret the memories of their subject directly from the brain." He took a step forward. "I am a Legilimens, Potter.”

Harry jumped to his feet at once, his heart speeding up to a frantic beat. “You can read minds?”

Snape scoffed. “Only a naive fool would refer to it as such. It is far less straightforward - a Legilimens has to trawl through all sorts of memories in the journey to find the information they are looking for.” Snape took a menacing step forward. “So you have a choice, Potter. Either tell me where you hid that necklace, or I will comb through every single little memory in your mind until I find what I need to know.”

Harry couldn’t breathe. If Snape really went through his mind, looking for information Harry didn’t have, he’d see every single one of Harry’s most embarrassing memories. He’d see Dudley beating him up, Petunia screeching at him about how he was a lazy brat, Vernon throwing him into the cupboard under the stairs with a bruising grip…

“You have half an hour to give me the necklace,” Snape said quietly. “If you still refuse, then I will start looking for myself.”

He strode from the bedroom in a flurry of black robes, and slammed the door to his laboratory shut, leaving Harry alone, feeling like an elephant was sitting on his chest. He was in an impossible situation. There was no way for him to get that necklace back to Snape, who absolutely could not see those memories.

Maybe he could beg Malfoy to take pity on him and tell Snape Harry hadn’t taken anything? No, that would never work. Snape was surprisingly strict with Malfoy, and if he found out that Malfoy had lied to him to get Harry in trouble, he’d almost certainly be furious. Malfoy wouldn’t dare incriminate himself.

Maybe he could ask Malfoy to give Harry the necklace so he could confess to stealing it and hand it back in? Snape almost certainly had some sort of miserable punishment that Harry would be stuck with either way, so that would make Malfoy happy…

But Malfoy wanted Harry to feel as wretched as physically possible, so he was probably thrilled that Snape was going to read Harry’s mind. No, there was no way to get out of things that way, so there was only one thing to do. He had to get away from Snape before he could see those memories and use them to torment Harry for the remainder of his Hogwarts years.

Harry grabbed a worn old backpack that he’d inherited for Dudley which he’d used for primary school. With his heart in his throat as he glanced at the alarm clock on Malfoy’s desk, ticking away the precious seconds until his half an hour was up, Harry started to pack. Nothing but the bare essentials, of course. A change of clothes. His Gringotts key and any money he had. His food stash. The photo album of his parents. He was loath to leave his other belongings, like his Nimbus Two-Thousand and the broomstick servicing kit that Hermione had given him for his birthday, but Harry had to pack light if he was going to get out of Spinner’s End undetected. He had to leave his trunk and Hedwig’s cage behind, too, if he was going to successfully manage to escape.

When the backpack was full, Harry zipped it up and slung it over his shoulders. Taking one last look around the room to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, Harry snatched up his wand and threw the Invisibility Cloak over himself. Harry did his utmost to try and control his frantic, panicked breathing as he crept across the landing and towards the staircase. The only thing that Harry thought would get him in more trouble than what he was in right now was if Snape caught him running away. Harry was certain he’d at last hit Harry if that happened. Thank goodness he’d memorised which parts of the house creaked. He was able to get all the way downstairs without making a sound.

Now came the more difficult part. The living room door was open and judging by the occasional rustle of a page, Malfoy was currently in there reading. Harry may have been invisible, but the cloak wasn’t soundproof. He’d hear the door opening. Would he tell on Harry to Snape? Almost certainly.

Biting the inside of his cheek so hard it drew blood, Harry reached out a hand and placed it onto the doorknob. Slowly, agonisingly, he twisted it. When the moment felt right, Harry crouched, ready to run…

And he yanked on the handle. The door swung open, and the sound of a sputtering motorbike engine filled the hallway.

“Who’s there?” Malfoy called. Harry didn’t even bother to close the front door as he sprang forward, running out of the house on Spinner’s End and into the street. Years of Dudley’s Harry Hunting had prepared him for this moment as he sprinted forward, his trainers slapping against the pavement, occasionally causing the corners of the Invisibility Cloak to flap up. Harry prayed there weren’t any attentive Muggles eyeing the street. There was a reasonable chance they’d notice a lone pair of trainers running by themselves, and that could cause all sorts of problems.

It was easy to get lost in Cokeworth, and even easier to lose any people that were potentially tailing you. Harry almost immediately ran down an alleyway that completely hid him from anyone who might have been watching from Snape’s house. As far as he could tell Snape wasn't following him, but Harry couldn’t be too safe. He didn’t stop running as he navigated a maze of narrow streets and alleyways, even when he nearly tripped over an irate fox rooting through an overflowing dustbin. It was only when Harry could no longer breathe through the stabbing stitch in his side that he dared to stop. He slumped against the brick wall of someone’s driveway and took deep, gasping breaths. He wasn’t out of the woods yet - he was still in Cokeworth after all. Harry needed to get away from this town and go somewhere Snape couldn’t follow him.

When he was fairly certain no Muggles were around to see, Harry yanked off the Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it under his shirt. Holding it in place with one hand, he stuck out his wand arm. The violently purple Knight Bus appeared with a loud bang moments later, screeching to a halt right next to him. A familiar figure jumped from the doors.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this -”

Stan abruptly stopped speaking, when he finally realised who he was talking to. His jaw dropped. “No way! Bloody ’ell, Ern, Harry Potter’s come back!”

“Yeah, yeah, hi,” Harry said impatiently, jumping onto the bus and shoving a fistful of silver at the conductor. “Is that enough to get me to London?”

“Should be, yeah,” Stan said, counting the Sickles in his palm. “You’ve got enough for an ’ot chocolate, if ya like?”

“Nah, I’m alright,” Harry mumbled, flattening his fringe down over his scar. The few other witches and wizards on the bus generally didn’t seem to care who had just gotten on, but a couple of witches at the back had glanced up curiously - probably when they’d heard Stan shout his name out, Harry realised with a wince. He sat down on a rickety-looking chair that nearly shot out from under him as the Knight Bus jumped forwards with a bang. The beds Harry had seen last time had all been replaced by a number of these mismatched chairs, which also weren’t nailed down when Harry rather thought they ought to be…

“’Choo doing all the way up here, eh, Neville?” Stan asked, still calling Harry by the name he’d given last time he’d ridden the Knight Bus. “I fought we already dropped you in London! How’d ya get up north?”

“I’m up north, then?” Harry asked blankly.

“’Course you are!” Stan snorted. “You need to ’ave a good look at a map, Neville! That Cokeworth place is right ’round Leeds. We was actually driving through when you flagged us down, eh, Ern?”

“Ar,” Ernie commented from where he was driving.

Leeds. That explained Maureen’s strong Yorkshire accent, then. And the accent of the shop assistant who Malfoy had called a filthy Muggle, come to think of it. But Snape had grown up in Cokeworth, based on what Maureen had told Harry, and he certainly didn’t have a Yorkshire accent. That was strange…

Harry suddenly found himself wondering what his mother had sounded like.

But any curiosity Harry was feeling was quickly quenched by the thought of Snape’s snarling features bearing down at him. Harry shivered. He was really beginning to regret his badly thought-out plan to just sprint straight out of the door. He’d had that whole half an hour to sneak out quietly, but by wrenching the door open and bolting he’d probably alerted Snape to his absence within about three minutes of his departure. Was there any way for Snape to figure out that Harry had taken the Knight Bus? He hadn’t seen him, sure, but Harry was certain that with the aid of magic Snape would be able to quickly ascertain that Harry was not in Cokeworth any longer, and there were only so many ways you could travel magically. Harry couldn’t Apparate yet obviously, and if Snape knew he’d taken the Knight Bus when he’d run away from Privet Drive he’d almost certainly check… and the Knight Bus appeared as soon as you flagged it down! Snape could appear and swoop down on Harry at any moment -

“You ’eaded back to the Leaky, then?” Stan asked.

“What?” Harry said distractedly. “Er - yeah, I suppose…”

Harry hadn’t actually given much thought to where he was headed, just that he needed to get as far away from Snape as was physically possible.

“You’re in luck, then!” Stan beamed. “Mr Knowles is gettin’ off there, and ’e’s next in the queue, so you can ’op off with ’im soon as we’ve dropped these lovely ladies in Bath…”

He attempted a pitiful wink directed at the two witches in the back who had stared at Harry when he’d gotten on the bus. They both giggled and cast sidelong glances at Stan.

Harry stared at his knees, thinking hard. He supposed the Leaky Cauldron could do - he would just pay to be put up in a room for the last few weeks of August like he’d originally planned. If Snape came looking and tried to take him back, he’d just refuse to go until the man was forced to get Dumbledore. He hadn’t argued hard enough originally, but after spending one terrible week living with Snape, Harry was perfectly willing to shout at Dumbledore himself if it meant he got to stay somewhere else.

Besides, Harry was rather angry with Dumbledore. Hadn’t he promised to check in on Harry at Snape's house in the Leaky Cauldron before he’d sent Harry packing to live in hell on earth? Well, it had been a whole week, and he hadn’t seen hair nor hide of Dumbledore! In all likelihood, Dumbledore had meant he would be checking in with Snape, who obviously wouldn’t say if he was being a complete and total git…

The witches at the back of the bus were quickly dropped in Bath, and both craned their necks to try and get a good look at Harry as they got off. He sank down into the seat, wishing he could disappear. With every passing minute, as Stan happily chatted with Ernie, Harry felt his dread only grow. At any moment, Snape might summon the Knight Bus and find Harry sitting here. He would then proceed to murder Harry right here in front of Stan and Ernie. He was desperate to get off as soon as possible.

Luckily, the bus finally pulled up to the familiar street outside of Diagon Alley before that happened. Mr Knowles, a stooped old wizard with a few lonely strands of grey hair clinging to his bald forehead, made to get off first. He ended up blocking the door, having a go at Stan for how long the Knight Bus had taken to get him there. Harry rolled his eyes, since waiting around to shout at the conductor was making the man’s journey take even longer, and glanced past Mr Knowles to take a look at the Leaky Cauldron. He froze as he saw who was standing at the entrance. 

Why was the bloody Minister for Magic always at the blasted pub? Did he ever work?

Fudge was chatting with a blonde, square-jawed witch who was scribbling away in a notebook with an acid-green quill. The Muggles walking past somehow didn't notice this.

While Harry didn't get the impression that Minister Fudge was looking for him like he had been last time, he still was reluctant to get off the bus and walk past. Fudge had given him a stern talking-to about staying in Diagon Alley and not wandering into Muggle London, Harry didn't think it was the best idea for the Minister to see him waltz back into Diagon Alley like that. Harry didn’t know if he knew he’d been moved to Spinner’s End, but he was almost certain that Fudge would send him straight back to Snape if he was aware. Harry wasn't exactly about to get in a shouting match with one of the most important men in magical Britain, especially as he'd just let Harry off lightly for blowing up Aunt Marge, so he knew Fudge absolutely could not see him right now. He considered using the Invisibility Cloak, but Harry couldn't put that on while he was on the Knight Bus, or on the street that was positively crawling with Muggles. He was stuck.

Stan poked Harry’s arm, jolting him out of his thoughts. "Aren't you gettin' off 'ere?"

"Er," Harry said, taking a step back so he wasn't visible through the door, "actually…I'm super sorry, I just remembered I need to pick something up. Um, a birthday cake for my friend. We're having a party in Diagon Alley, see…"

"Blimey, Neville, you're a right scatterbrain!" Stan said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Didja leave it back in that Cokeworth place?"

"Oh, no!" Harry said quickly. "No, it's actually in, er - in Hampstead! Yeah. I need to pick it up from a friend's house."

"Well, that ain't too far…" Stan said thoughtfully. "Tell ya what. Since it's you and all, we'll make a quick detour and drop you, eh? Let's go, Ern!"

The bus shot off moments later. Harry generally tried to avoid using his fame for things, but at moments like this it did happen to be extraordinarily useful to use his name to try and get to Hermione’s house. It was the only other place he could think of to go…

"Where d'you want to be dropped?" Stan asked.

"Um," Harry said. The panic about someone coming after him was making Harry's brain short circuit, and he was completely blanking on Hermione's full address. "Just - just the general area?"

Stan frowned at him. "Pretty big area, innit? Well, we're comin' up to the high street now…"

"Yep, that's it!" Harry said quickly. The bus came to a sudden stop, nearly toppling Stan over. "It's right around the corner from here. Thanks guys."

"Orright," Stan said, tipping his cap to Harry as he jumped off the bus. "Bye, Neville!"

Harry took a deep, shaky breath as the bus zoomed away down the street. He'd been on the verge of some sort of nervous breakdown ever since Snape had threatened to Legilimise him, and for the first time since he'd left Spinner's End, Harry felt like he could actually breathe again. He still didn't understand why he got like that sometimes - it felt like Harry's lungs stopped working, and every time Harry was fairly certain he would never be able to breathe again, and that he was going to drop dead from the stress of whatever was going on. He didn't know what was wrong with him, and he'd had the problem for as long as he could remember, but he obviously wasn't going to go to the Dursleys about it. They wouldn't care, for one thing, and they also tended to make Harry's breathing problem worse. He just had to get on with it, as unpleasant as it was.

Once Harry was feeling a little calmer, he decided it was time to start moving. Without the all-consuming panic of getting off the Knight Bus and away from Snape taking up the majority of his headspace, Harry could at last recall Hermione's address. Unfortunately, that wasn't very helpful since he didn't have a clue where this random high street the Knight Bus had dropped him off at was in relation to Hermione's road. Well, there was nothing for it. Harry hitched his backpack up his shoulders and started walking.

His plan was patchy at best, Harry knew that. He wasn't even entirely sure if the Grangers were actually back from France yet - it had either been the 15th or the 19th, Harry couldn't quite remember. If it really was the 15th, Harry would be just about fine, but if it was the 19th it would still be days before anyone got home. Harry desperately wished he'd packed his friends' letters so he could just check. If they weren't back…maybe Harry could break into their shed or something? It was summer, so it wasn't like he'd freeze to death. Besides, Harry was used to sleeping in uncomfortable places. He hoped the Grangers wouldn't be too angry, but he could probably get out of the shed and act like he hadn't been staying there before they got back. Or, he'd head back to Diagon Alley in the morning when the Minister would have finally cleared off and when there wasn't a chance of Snape finding him riding the Knight Bus.

Still, if Harry wanted to sleep in the Grangers' shed, he actually had to find their house first, which was becoming increasingly difficult as the sun slowly set. All of the houses here looked the same.

He walked, and walked, and walked some more. No luck. Harry considered calling the Knight Bus again, but was overcome by the vivid image of Snape jumping off in a purple conductor uniform to seize him and immediately decided against it. Apparently, he was just going to walk around north London for the foreseeable future. All night, if he had to…

Harry groaned. In his journey through the maze-like streets, he'd found himself in a dead end alleyway. For some reason, that filled Harry with crushing despair as the implications of his situation really started to sink in. He was thirteen, alone in a strange part of London, penniless and homeless. He was no closer to finding Hermione's house than when he started.

He leaned his head against the wall of a house and shut his eyes. Now that the panic had worn off, Harry was starting to realise how stupid what he'd just done was. Maybe he should just go back…maybe Harry could pretend he'd been hiding at Maureen's the whole time so Snape didn't know just how far Harry had strayed? Sure, he'd be in a load of trouble…but at least he had a roof over his head at Spinner's End. It might be kind of miserable there, but it was a far sight better than being stranded on the streets. Harry was surprised he thought that - even when he’d been stranded in Magnolia Crescent with no way to get out of Surrey,  he’d never even considered for a second going back to Privet Drive. In fact, it had been the least appealing of his options, since Harry could only imagine what awful things Uncle Vernon would do to him for blowing up his sister…

No, even though Spinner’s End was a pretty grim place, it was a far sight better than Privet Drive. In fact, if Harry was forced to choose between the Dursleys or Snape and Malfoy, he’d choose the latter every single time. As much as Harry hated Snape, with the distance he had from the situation now Harry could reluctantly admit to himself that Snape hadn't been completely terrible. He didn't like Harry, but unlike the Dursleys, he didn't take that hatred out through beatings and starvation. In fact, the only missed meals Harry had faced at Spinner's End had been the ones he'd skipped himself. The worst Snape did was shout and send Harry to his room. And threaten to Legilimise him, but he did think Harry had stolen something that was apparently deeply precious to Malfoy, even if his reasons for thinking that were completely stupid. And Snape hadn't done it immediately, like Harry had expected. He'd just threatened it…

And maybe, just maybe, if Harry begged enough, Snape wouldn't do it. Snape himself had even said at the start of his stay at Spinner's End that he knew about Harry and Malfoy's relationship. Perhaps Harry could convince him that Malfoy really had hidden it himself, or -

"Potter!"

Harry wheeled around and clapped one hand over his mouth.  Snape was standing at the end of the alleyway, blocking Harry’s exit. His expression was strange - clear, obvious panic, and something else. Something deeper, lurking in the depths of his dark eyes. Terror coiled in Harry’s chest.

   I am in so much trouble.