The graveyard at Little Hangleton was the last place anyone would have chosen for a long delayed get-together. The deathly silence of the graveyard was broken by a villainous monologue, accompanied by sycophantic jeers and pained sobs. At the center of the gathering stood a snake-man hybrid, as though straight out of a crossbreeding experiment gone terribly wrong. Under dark robes and white masks were the Death Eaters, in various states of disarray — some of them had run right out of their evening baths and wore nothing beneath their robes, some of them had been in rather compromising positions when they had felt their Master's call.
The darkness of the evening felt oppressive in its weight. The white masks glinted cruelly and the foul fumes from the cauldron stirred rodents and all sorts of graveyard pests from their hiding places and — well, you get the picture. It was a scene right out of an adventure novel — complete with an ugly evil-eyed villain boasting about his master plans to the soon-to-be dead hero who everyone knew was going to make it out of there perfectly fine. Not that anyone here was aware of that. The minions had stopped laughing — astonished at seeing a teenager throw off their master's famed Imperius.
In the middle of this scene hid our intrepid champion behind a marble headstone, shaking on his injured legs. His heart thumping loudly as if it were trying to squeeze in as many beats as possible into the little time it had left.
"We are not playing hide and seek, Harry," hissed the snake-man softly. "You cannot hide from me. Does this mean you are tired of our duel? Does this mean you would prefer for me to finish it now, Harry? Come out, Harry… come out and play, then… it will be quick… it might even be painless… I wouldn't know… I have never died… ," he crooned softly, his head tilted like a snake sensing its prey, his pupils wide with excitement.
Crouched behind the headstone, Harry considered his options in an adrenaline-fueled haze. His life seemed to flash before him, and all he could think of was Dudley's trousers as he sat on Harry's face in third grade while his friends held him in place — 'Stupid Harry', he thought, 'How was that useful at all? Find something fast or you're soon going to be snake food.'
As much as he had come close to it, Harry wasn't all that ready to die. He thought of Mrs Weasley's jumpers, of Mr Weasley's rubber ducks, of Hermione's scrunched up face as she consumed another book, of Padfoot watching over him as he ran from the Dursleys — Aunt Marge floating away in the background. Harry Potter thought harder than he ever had — of an escape, a way to not end up in that damn snake's gullet. His thoughts flew at the speed of light till — wait, speed of light, running away, Aunt Marge — The beginnings of an idea. An ember of hope ignited inside of him. Perhaps ...
Before Voldemort could stick his ugly snake-face around the headstone, Harry stood up. He gripped his wand tightly and thrust it out in front of him while throwing himself around the headstone, thinking desperately of his final hope, of his need to move , to be anywhere but here.
As Harry stuck out his wand in front of him, Voldemort cried " Avada Kedavra!".
A jet of green light issued from Voldemort's wand and the world seemed to move in slow motion. The space between Harry and the curse seemed to expand as a gigantic purple mass appeared in front of Harry with the metallic screech of brakes and glaring headlights, throwing Voldemort to the ground. A violently purple triple-decker bus, which had appeared out of thin air, stood in front of the headstone in a circle of expanded space. Gold lettering ornately engraved over the windshield spelling The Knight Bus . The green Unforgivable was nowhere to be found.
A conductor leapt out of the bus and began to speak loudly to the headstone. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand han — " he was cut off abruptly as Harry leapt up to him, pulling his arm and using all his strength to fling them onboard like an orangutan jumping off a tree.
" GO. Get inside, fast! Hogsmeade, now ." He cried while practically shoving the conductor inside.
"Hey, Hey. Relax, 'Choo running from?" The conductor said, laughing nervously while pulling himself up the steps of the bus in a hurry. Cries of outrage could be heard from the death eaters. Harry thought he even saw a curse or two flying towards them.
"Heard that Ern? Hogsmeade he says. Move." The bus started moving forward with a tremendous BANG. Harry was painfully thrown onto a bedstead, one of many set throughout the bus. He turned around, but the graveyard was nowhere to be seen. He was sure Voldemort would be able to come after him fast enough. He had to get to Hogwarts fast.
" Wait — you look a bit familiar." The conductor squinted suspiciously at Harry. His face appeared to blur in front of Harry, kept in the shadow under the dim light cast by the candles.
"Aren't you — ," he was cut off by Harry with a shout. "Neville. It's Nevile Longbottom." He said, before realizing his mistake with a cringe. He had used that name the last time he had been on the run. The Minister Of Magic himself had outed his real name to the staff back in his third year. He couldn't say he particularly cared with his circumstances being what they were, yet he found himself hoping that the staff had forgotten the details of that particular incident.
"Neville, you say?" he tasted the name suspiciously. Embarrassed, Harry found himself staring hard at the melting wax of a particularly interesting candle on his bed frame. "Sure, sure. You do turn up at the oddest places, don't you Neville? Last time you were on the Bus the Minister himself had come around to pick you up... 'Choo say, Ernie?" he turned to the wizened driver sitting in front of the steering wheel.
"Aye, Leaky Cauldron 'twas. Right after the Sirius Black business too. Lad's got something fishy about him, if you ask me. Thought I saw a bald vampire leaping out of the way back there." Ernie sent a quick glance towards his torn robes, adjusting the thickest pair of spectacles Harry had ever seen on anyone before squinting back at the steering wheel.
"You sure you didn't mean St. Mungo's, bud? That leg down there looks like a nasty mess." His freckled saviour said while frowning. Stan Shunpike, his brain supplied helpfully. Harry shook his head, declining. If the throbbing in his scar was any indication, Voldemort was enraged . St. Mungo's was not safe, nowhere was. He had to reach Hogwarts.
The bus jumped around haphazardly, moving through the countryside as if it were a spaceship through a wormhole. Harry's injured legs complained painfully. But he couldn't quite process it at the moment, relieved as he was at the miraculous rescue.
Harry lay on the bed, not knowing what to do — whether to laugh hysterically or to cry till he ran out of tears. Cedric was dead and Voldemort was back. He had escaped from Voldemort without casting a single spell. He was alive. And you don't have any money to pay the bus fare — his brain pointed out unhelpfully.
"Odd place for a pickup, don't you think? What business did a lad like you have there? Out of Hogwarts for a nightly lark?" the conductor whispered conspiratorially, sitting on a cushioned arm chair near the driver.
"Yeah. Uh, a... portkey accident, it was a portkey accident. I have to return to Hogwarts as fast as possible, I will find someone to pay the fare there, yeah?" Harry grimaced. As the adrenaline faded, shock was setting in. The pain of the Cruciatus was most prominent, setting into his body like freshly melted snow under the sun.
"Ha! A portkey accident, eh? You certainly ain't the first one with portkey accidents . Don't have to worry about the fare, the Headmaster has a special deal with us for wayward students in emergencies. Right clever, that Dumbledore. Even if he has gone a bit barmy these days." He snorted with a chuckle. Harry was about to leap to Dumbledore's defence when Stan interrupted.
"How is that tournament going at Hogwarts? Hear lots of people gossiping about it. 'Arry Potter made a right mess of it, they say. ," said Stan lightly, carefully not looking at Harry's bleeding scar.
"Yes! I mean, yeah. Harry Potter always makes a mess. A total mess that bloke is — Harry Potter, I mean." He laughed nervously. Ha Ha, very funny, Harry. Very funny. You've got him entirely convinced.
"Hmm. Fame went to his head they say. I always knew the poor kid was a bit touched. Why, the last time he was on our bus, he didn't even recognize Sirius Black!", Stan chuckled pointedly. Harry chuckled back weakly. He felt nauseous, the rapid movement of the bus playing a jerky concert in time with the throbbing in his scar.
"Twelve sickles, to be billed to Hogwarts… ," he muttered to a quill that had floated out of the weather-beaten garishly purple purse he had slung on his shoulders. "And here we are, Hogsmeade town right 'ere," he proclaimed, his arms pointed at the door.
The bus slowed down, before stopping right in front of the Three Broomsticks. Harry slowly hobbled down the aisle of the bus before stumbling into the pub. Madam Rosmerta had hurried outside, hands on her mouth as she took in Harry's state.
"Hello, Rosie." Stan drawled with a wink. "The kid's injured, take him to Hogwarts, won't you? Night, Neville ." He waved before the Bus departed with another demented BANG. Harry was on his last legs, one arm on the counter as Madam Rosmerta supported him by his arms and moved him towards the floo.
Harry was barely cognizant as he was taken through the floo. He answered the headmaster's worried questions, feeling numb with pain and plain disbelief. As he was finally allowed to lay down in the infirmary, he thought about the literal Knight in purple decking that had just saved him, the damsel-in-distress. Having saved at least two damsels in distress himself, his final thought before being claimed by exhaustion was that It was nice to be on the other side for once.
xXx
A/N: Bit crazy how one of the most OP piece of magic in the series is used in something as inane as the Knight Bus. Just raise a wand and BAM the Knight bus somehow picks up your intention from your mind from across the country before teleporting itself to you. You don't even have to cast a spell! That's a few orders of magnitude more powerful than the Trace. And so this one-shot was born.
Mighty thanks to authors ElmDorianGray, Letus and abruca from the Harry/Daphne Discord for their efforts in editing up this one-shot.
Voldemort: "Wormtail! Crucio! Lord Voldemort wants this place cleaned up!"
Wormtail: "Yes, m'lord, " *picks up triwizard cup* "Aaaah!"
Dumbledore: *ominous twinkling of eyes* "Peter m'boy, welcome back to the land of the living."