A vignette about a meeting of the worlds.
There was no intention to publish this, but since it is not all that bad, I am using it to check the upload, to find out how to do it right. I have a big story coming up, some 30 chapters long and almost finished, most of which shall be published here before Book VI hits the world. I want no fuzz with that.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement or violation of rights of any sort is intentded. No money is being made from this.
Harry Potter looked at his watch.
Time was running short, and he would have to go back to Privet Drive right now, whether he liked to or not. His aunt and uncle had left him pretty much alone throughout the holidays, but they insisted that he was punctual for those meals that he had not to fix himself.
He got up from the bench he'd been sitting on, hidden partly by what little greenery the small, dry patch of park provided, and walked slowly down the pavement, toward an old, hunched man in a worn, greenish overcoat who was pushing a bicycle, distributing flyers to mailboxes.
When he was about to pass him, moving out of the way, the man shoved the rusty vehicle into his path. The front wheel rolled over his foot, and he had to stop.
Harry felt his anger rise, and turned. It had not hurt, but why was everyone harrassing him, and trying to impede him? Why had the old man done that? He was sure it had been on purpose.
"What do you think to…"
A pale face, only too familiar, hawk-like, and unfriendly, became visible under a cap, and black eyes glared at him.
Harry stopped dead.
"Pro- Professor Sn…"
The surprise was taking his breath away, and all his angry thoughts vanished with it.
"Shh, you don't know me, Potter!" Snape hissed.
Harry was gaping at the unlikely sight. Here was his Potions Professor, steering an old bike with baskets attached, delivering advertisements to Muggle mailboxes, and – he'd been watching what seemed to be an old man distractedly for some time from his seat in the park – going about it with expertise and dexterity, too, as if he'd been doing this job for years. He had his greasy black hair charmed or pulled up to be hidden under the cap, but that did nothing to improve his countenance.
Was that what he did for sustenance when he was not at Hogwarts?
Harry wanted to grin, but the circumstances were altogether too odd to allow for the spite that he might have felt, with his friends, on finding an enemy in an awkward situation.
"But, sir…"
"Shhh…"
"No, I don't want one!", Harry said loudly, and then whispered: "But why, sir, what are you…"
"I am attempting to find a house," Snape whispered back.
"Oh?"
"It will be well hidden… You have not by any chance noticed an unfamiliar house in the area, Potter, one you are sure you've never seen before; or believed, on occasion, to have caught sight of an entrance from the corner of your eye, and there was nothing there on a closer look? It will be charmed to go unnoticed."
"No, I don't think so… Sir, what is this about?"
Snape eyed him, head cocked, more beaky and bird-like than ever.
"Please, young sir, take one," he suddenly whined, shoulders sagging.
Someone was approaching the door they were standing next to. Harry had not noticed.
The boy was amazed at his Professor's acting talents. A different, much older person was standing before him in an instant. Yet, he had to force himself not to giggle. Snape being deferential toward him… who would ever believe that? And that voice – totally different, too – old, cracking – nothing forceful and intimidating was left in the man's appearance.
Harry himself sounded just like a fairly well-behaved, surprised youth telling off an old scoundrel, as a result.
"No, sir, I really –" Harry stopped. Suddenly, he remembered something.
"Or, actually, come to think, I have… I'll have one…"
He took the proffered paper. The passer-by had vanished inside the house, and this interruption, the opening of a door, had reminded Harry of something.
He whispered: "I actually have seen something, sir, which might be of interest. You might want to take a look. It's right down there – down by the cab stand, around the corner from the 301 bus stop… Opposite the houses, there's a park – sort of a park, mostly dirty lawn, next to the thoroughfare. They look out on it, I think. It's not at all far from here. I walk past those buildings a couple of times a week, and I always thought that there was an entrance too much. It was never lit, and when I looked… I never really noticed, see? But now that you ask… I think I even saw someone enter, once. I only noticed it recently, I think it was not there before… What is this about?" Harry asked again.
He had never until now thought about what he'd seen, or wondered if the place might be magical, belonging to the Wizarding World rather than that of the Muggles, and his impression to be no delusion at all, hence, and owed to his being a part of that world – to his not being a Muggle… This, of itself, was proof of the presence of magic!
Snape did not answer, but Harry could see that he had listened closely and was agitated by what he'd said.
But when he spoke, his words had nothing to do with the hint Harry had given him.
"Now you've got something to tell to your little Gryffindor friends, right, Potter? Their Professor little more than a beggar... Delivering flyers, and in Muggle clothes…"
He was pouring bile over Harry again. Why? Was he trying to distract him? Again, why?
Their conversation so far had been as civilised as a conversation with Snape could get, where Harry was concerned. He would not raise to that cheap bait now.
"Sir, they actually look quite good on you" – Snape snorted –, "and since I believe these are Order matters" – "Shhh!" – "I of course won't tell anyone!"
"Well, well, Potter." Snape turned his bicycle, and had his back to him, about to leave in the direction he'd pointed out.
Over his shoulder, he asked back: "Between which houses?"
"I – I could never tell, sir, but more toward the far corner and the main road, seen from here. Say, what is this about?"
Snape did not answer, but made to move, leaving Harry to stand with the advertisement in his hands. He murmured: "Thank you, Potter."
The Potions Professor mounted the bike, nothing in him betraying the wizard and educated, younger man, and was gone.
And he had actually thanked Harry Potter – for nothing much as far as the boy could tell!
Harry looked at the pamphlet. It was advertising, in screaming colours, a big chain of toy stores that had recently opened an outlet in a new shopping mall on the outskirts of Litte Whinging, and since then was flooding the town with its colourful and ugly flyers praising all kinds of cheap plastic playstuff.
Harry smiled. He was sure that this was about the most hateful thing that Professor Snape could be made to hand out, discounting the fact of having to do a hand-out at all, and that the Professor detested it – if he cared at all.
Maybe he'd shortened the Potions Master's ordeal… Had he but thought about that, he might not have told him what he'd seen or, rather, had not seen…
He shook his head. He might not have remembered. But knowing what Snape was looking for, and remembering what he thought he had seen, he would have told him in any case. This might, after all, be important in the fight against Voldemort. Snape might behave like an ass toward him, but Harry was determined not to let that come between their common fight against the Dark Lord any more.
Harry had not much hope of finding out what precisely this was all about. He was no Order member yet, still being too young, and Dumbledore's tearful speech after the fight in the Ministry had not really contained that much information, or the promise to deliver more, once he came to think about it – even though the old man had claimed to agree that Harry, being a main actor in the drama, should be fully informed.
For a short moment, he thought to follow his Professor, but decided not to. It was quite dark already, and he would be late as it was. He did not want to anger Uncle Vernon who was behaving almost civilised toward him, probably out of fear of Alastor Moody with his singular eye and the other Aurors, and he wanted his dinner.
Moving on, his thoughts went back to the observation he had told his Professor about. His lack of perceptivity reminded him of his neglect to study the Prophet last summer. Harry certainly would take more care to really comprehend what he saw, from now on.