Spinner's End. Harry struggled through the narrow door with his trunk and Hedwig's cage, Snape clinging to his hair, and found himself in a cramped, dimly lit foyer.
It was not as bad as he expected. Small, he could reach the two doorways, one leading to the kitchen and the other a sitting room, in a couple of steps. The narrow stairway to his right looked uninviting, and a faint smell of dust hung in the air, but from where he stood he could see everything was clean enough, if well worn.
The first thing Harry did was open Hedwig's cage. With no other friends except her, he had learned a lot about the care of magical post owls and hated having her stuck in a cage that was only ever meant for travelling. He had mixed feelings as he watched her fly off, hooting happily in passing, leaving him alone with his hated Potions Professor, but closed the door behind her and turned to Snape.
"What now, sir?"
"Now you will put me down in the kitchen and start on the potion."
Kitchen. His stomach rumbled on cue. Could he hope for food? There was. Fresh eggs, butter, milk, and bread in a magical coldbox, and he made them tea while Snape sat on the table, telling him they had no time for that.
"I can't cook your potion if I faint from hunger, sir," Harry said, trying not to look at the pink boots or he would surely start giggling and never stop. And the hair— Oh, what he wouldn't give for a camera!
His words had the desired effect, though.
"Cooking!" Snape spat. "One does not cook a potion, have you not learned anything this year?!"
Of course he had. Loads of things. How to annoy the Potions Professor was on the top of that list. He expected more vitriol, enough to time the eggs with, but it never came, instead, Snape gasped and held his ribs. But when Harry asked, he waved him off and told him to mind his own business.
"You are my business, sir," Harry protested. What if Dudley had hurt him beyond repair? If he had thought Snape a doll, he wouldn't have known to be careful. "Do you need to see a doctor? Maybe Madam Pomfrey?"
He had no idea how to get them back to school. Did the bus go there also? If it did, why did all the kids have to take the train when the bus was much more fun. He could send Hedwig with a letter, maybe? Will that be fast enough? He had never received mail at school so he didn't know how long it would take Hedwig to fly from here to there.
"Cook your food, Potter," Snape ordered, letting go of his ribs. "I will not die."
A month ago Harry might not have cared if Snape did but this last week he fancied he had come to know the grumpy wizard a little, and even fancied they were similar in their lonely ways. He didn't ask again but decided to keep an eye on him. Which might have worked had Snape not been Snape.
In the days that followed, Snape set up his quarters on the kitchen table, his bed a dishcloth—clean, Harry was happy to see, if threadbare—right next to the cauldron. On his orders, Harry brought a couple of books and placed them in a stack next to the potion, the spines acting as steps for Snape to be able to climb up, see over the top of the cauldron, and criticise his brewing techniques.
Harry was allowed to make a bed on the sofa, near enough to come running when it was time to chop or stir, and far enough to be out of Snape's face.
"I don't want to see you every second of the day, Potter," Snape had squeaked when Harry asked one too many times if he was all right, watching with worry when sweat beaded his pale face as he climbed the book spines. "Stay away unless I call you; use your time to do your homework, if that's not too much to expect."
It wasn't too much, he was happy to do the summer homework without the Dursleys there to tell him not to, but he didn't say that. When he was in the sitting room there was also no Snape to order him around, and he relaxed, spending his time alternately reading the many magical books that filled the bookcase and dreaming of the day when he would be an adult doing the same in his own house. And not just any adult, an adult wizard. Which made him realise he had no idea what jobs were available to wizards and witches besides teachers and shopkeepers.
He braved Snape's wrath to ask—the small wizard back to being extra grumpy after their escape—and was surprised when it turned into a decent discussion that lasted nearly a day.
A letter came for Harry. A warning for doing underage magic, and he trembled when he read it out loud. "… and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C)."
"Cease your worrying, Potter," Snape ordered, sounding exasperated. "It's only a warning."
"But I'm doing magic here, sir!"
He was doing magic daily, having forgotten the warning completely, casting Lumos in the evenings, shrinking stuff for Snape—he was very proud of the tiny plate and spoon, and the scissors Snape had asked for so he could finish Dudley's buzzcut had been his best work. He was now trying to shrink a robe which was more difficult to shape—and sometimes he practised spells he found in the books.
Snape scoffed. "In a known magical house. They don't track underage magic here or I would have stopped you myself."
"But wait, sir, you mean if I do magic, they'll think it's you? Won't the Auro—"
"They will not track it here, did you not listen?"
"But—"
"Enough!" He paused, breathing heavily, sweat speckling his brow. It took a while before he was able to speak again, and that was concerning, but Harry had learned not to ask anymore; twice they had ruined the potion with Snape shouting at him to go away and not calling him to add ingredients in time.
Harry pinched his lips together, feeling frustrated beyond belief.
"Sir…"
"Potter," Snape said and pinched his nose. "The potion doesn't need attention now. Go away, I will call you if I need you."
He left, taking his mail with him, the second one he had ever received, and placed it in his trunk next to the crumpled letter inviting him to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
One morning Snape looked at his baggy clothes and asked about the Dursleys and their treatment of Harry. Harry had never told a soul, mostly because while he had known they didn't like him and were not treating him great, he hadn't realised how not great that treatment was until he went to Hogwarts. After thinking it over, he decided he did not have anything to lose and told Snape everything.
That afternoon Snape showed him where he kept his Muggle money and sent him to the chippy a few streets down.
"I'm done with eggs," Snape declared before instructing him not to talk to strangers.
"Then how will I place the order, sir?" Harry cheeked before he could stop himself, and only breathed again when Snape just rolled his eyes.
"And don't wander off—come right back."
He promised he would, listened to Snape repeat everything he shouldn't do, promised he wouldn't, and set off, locking the house behind him.
An adventure! He didn't mind if it was just because Snape felt sorry for him, it was out of the house and he practically skipped down the grimy streets. The only obstacle to enjoying the adventure fully was that he had never been sent to the shops by his aunt before—they liked to keep him out of the public eye—and the ones he'd been to with Hagrid, the groundskeeper had ordered for him. Jogging down the streets, following Snape's directions, he prayed he wouldn't make a fool of himself.
Two streets down the houses took a turn for the better and even the smell wasn't so pervasive, and he slowed his pace. He passed a park where a couple of children played and wondered if maybe one day he would be allowed to go there. Perhaps when the potion was finished. Whenever that would be. He hadn't asked how long it would take because… well, because he feared what would happen after. Even now he didn't want to think about it and shook the thought off as fast as it came.
At the chippy, he drooled from the salt and vinegar smells assailing him, dizzy from sudden want. He wasn't dying from hunger, he ate enough at Snape's, but after Hogwarts a diet of egg and toast was bland, to say the least, and up to this moment he hadn't realised just how bland.
The menu was a blue board on the wall and Harry read the offerings with a mixture of awe and consternation. Fish, Fish small, Special fish… what was the difference between them? And should he just get chips or chips 'n' cheese or chips 'n' gravy? That wasn't even starting on the other stuff on the menu, there were spam, pies, curry, pudding, and even burgers and pizza, but those at least he was safe to ignore because Snape had said 'get us some fish and chips'. But what was a chip steak? At least he could figure out the single size and supper size and it would probably be fine to get single—Snape ate like a mouse, and even less these last two days because he was sleeping most of the time now—but he wished he could order supper size and pig out for days on it.
Thankfully he wasn't the only customer, and at first he hid behind a middle-aged woman, then stepped aside for a group of teenagers, still trying to figure out what to choose.
And then he couldn't hide anymore, shoved to the front of the mini crowd.
"What will it be, lad?" the exasperated woman behind the counter asked.
"One fish and chips, single," Harry ordered, nearly swallowing his tongue with the words. He dropped the money on the counter, too fast, causing the coins to roll everywhere, and wiped his sweaty palm on his pants, feeling his face heat up. "Sorry."
She barely glanced at him. "Next!"
Harry found himself shoved to the side to wait for his food, and when no one looked at him or laughed at him his heartbeat slowly returned to normal. And then it was just a matter of straining to hear when his order was called.
He went directly home, carrying the bag like a prize, only stopping to feed half to a hungry-looking dog on the way, a small price to pay for not getting eaten himself.