Chapter 2
| The Boy-Thief |
Harry did not know whether Professor Snape or Uncle Vernon looked angrier. His uncle's face was furiously hot, and Snape's nostrils flared out like a bull's. The air was very thin and scarce. He hardly dared to breathe.
"Are you hard of hearing?" asked Snape, as he removed his wand from his cloak. "I told you to unhand him."
Uncle Vernon squeaked in nervousness at seeing this. "D—don't you dare order me about on m—my own property."
"Drop—that—boy," said Snape in a low and impatient tone, "or else I will be forced to embark on more hostile means of persuasion."
Uncle Vernon took another look at Snape's wand, which was practically poking him in the nose, and released Harry.
He fell to the ground with a great thump. Hearing this, Uncle Vernon looked at him, and then back at Snape—his long hair, his bat-like robes, his very presence. Something seemed to click in Uncle Vernon's head.
"You!" He pointed a plump finger at Harry. "You've invited this one, haven't you?"
"What?" said Harry, rubbing the side of his face. He could feel it swelling up already.
"This freak! He's one of your friends, and you've invited him to cause trouble!"
"No, I haven't! He is not my friend, and I would never invite—"
Snape plucked Harry up from the ground and, surely in a brief moment of insanity, brushed the grass and dirt off his clothes. "Up to your room, get your things."
Harry looked at him.
Uncle Vernon looked at him.
Snape bristled. "Potter, go!"
Slowly Harry turned around and walked the path to the house. When he looked back, he saw that Snape was talking to Uncle Vernon with an outraged look on his face, though he could not hear the words.
Once in the house, Harry bound up the stairs, ignoring Aunt Petunia's inquiries ("Who is that awful man? What's he doing on our lawn?"), and wondering what in the world was going on. Perhaps Snape had been sent to fetch him for the Order. But then why would he have been lurking around hedges for the past couple days when he could have simply burst through the doorway, or Harry's window, or down the chimney?
Harry sniggered, thinking of Snape in a Santa suit.
Whatever the reason Snape was here, he was sure it was worth listening to if it meant he would be taken from the Dursleys for the summer.
The floorboard under his bed came loose easily, and he emptied its contents: his Invisibility Cloak, Quidditch through the Ages, and a couple Chocolate Frogs. He clamped it all under one arm, opened his wardrobe, and snatched his Firebolt.
He had the sudden horrifying vision of Snape doing something cruel to his broomstick to sabotage Gryffindor's chances at the Cup this year; though, he knocked that out of his head immediately. Snape wouldn't take the chance of ruining Harry's broomstick, only to have Harry buy a newer, faster model.
He felt a pang of sadness at the thought of his Firebolt. Sirius had bought it for him, Sirius had—
Harry shrugged it off, ignoring the sting in his eyes. He couldn't keep doing this. Sirius was gone, and that was that.
With a deep breath, he adjusted his things so that the cloak was fastened safely inside the book, the Chocolate Frogs were in his pocket, and the Firebolt was in his hand, and made his way downstairs.
Snape had Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia cornered on their sofa. They seemed to be shouting, but no sound came from their mouths. He looked up as Harry came stomping down, saying with a scowl, "Good, let's go," and flicking his wand toward Harry's relatives.
"Wait, I have other things in—"
But Snape was already flinging open the door. "We're leaving, Potter."
"But, Professor!"
Snape continued out of the house and across the lawn.
Harry was frustrated. "Well, are you just going to leave them mute?"
"The charm will wear off," Snape called. He looked very out of place in his great black robes, prowling along the sidewalk. He was headed toward the hedges where he appeared at a brisk pace.
"Are we going to the Headquarters?" asked Harry, finally managing to catch up.
Snape looked at Harry sharply, down his beaky nose at him, and then sped his strides. Harry was at a slow run to keep up with the man's long legs. "No," Snape replied. And that was all he said.
At the hedges, Snape pulled out a dirty-looking broom, one with splayed bristles and a splintered handle. He held it at his side and waved his wand in the air. Before Harry could get the question he was about to ask from his mouth, the Knight Bus came hurdling out of the sky, nearly knocking him over.
"Sir?"
"Get on, Potter."
It was dark, so Harry couldn't see the faces of the other passengers or the conductors. He chose a bed near the end of the bus, where no others were resting. After Snape had paid for them, he came slinking over to the bed next to Harry's and laid himself out, hardly acknowledging the boy. It was almost enough to make him pout, being stolen away from his guardians and not told why. He leaned forward.
"Professor?"
Snape was facing away from him. "Mm?" he grunted.
"What about my other things? My school things?"
Snape sighed very loudly. "You'll have your things. We just…needed to get out of there."
"Oh."
Harry turned away, looking out the window. It was almost completely dark now; the lights of cities could be seen streaking by under the great purple bus. It made him smile. Wherever he was going, it was in the Wizarding world, that was for sure. And that meant home.
***
Harry was being shaken.
"Go away, Dudley, I'll clean your room later," he said, and smacked his cousin's fat hand off his shoulder. Except it wasn't fat.
Harry opened his eyes. It wasn't Dudley either.
Professsor Snape loomed over him, his long hair making a shadow across his face, his eyes glinting in the dim light. Harry sat up quickly, nearly bashing Snape in the nose with his forehead. He was on the Knight Bus, he noted as he looked around. Now he remembered.
"Where are we?" he wondered.
"Hogwarts. Let's go."
As the huge bus charged off into the distance, Harry and Snape stood at the front steps of Hogwarts. He had never seen the castle from this angle this late at night. Even though the students were gone, there were still pin points of light scattered across the structure, little illuminated windows high up. It was beautiful, though he didn't think Professor Snape would appreciate him bringing such a thing up. Instead, he glaced at Snape in question of what to do next.
Snape was already walking forward. He wasn't going toward the tall front doors, however.
"Sir?"
"Hush, Potter!" The man whirled around, holding up a long white finger. A couple more inches and it would be pressing against Harry's lips. Snape looked at him for a long moment. The wheels were turning in his head. He bit his lip with his crooked, yellow teeth so long that Harry wondered if he planned to chew it off until, finally, Snape gestured to Harry to come along.
They ended up in an alcove far away from the front doors, where Snape whispered, "Lumos." It was still very dark, but Harry could make out Snape's fingers feeling the stone of the castle, as though searching for a secret point, and then—
"Thank you, Lupin. I knew it was still here…."
Harry found this extremely odd, and despite the fact that he was itching to ask Snape what he meant, he didn't. Snape tapped his wand on a certain point on the castle wall; Harry was astounded to see it open up like a giant mouth to a section of the castle lit by torches. It was damp here, drippy—a familiar sort of sound. Also, it was quiet, much quieter than Harry could ever remember it being in all his time at Hogwarts. Snape had led him inward, past the entrance, which closed behind them, down a long staircase, and around a couple corners before Harry decided to risk speech again.
"Are we…in the dungeons?"
"I marvel at your astuteness, boy."
Then, just as Harry was about to ask what he thought must have been his thousandth question, Snape stopped walking, and with a spell he flung open a door.
Once the torchlight kindled, Harry could see that he was in a small sitting room with bare stone floors and a kitchenette to the side. It was a still room, and a very plain one, too: there was a small sofa, just right for a couple people; one wooden chair; an unused-looking fireplace; a desk that was swamped with papers, quills, and inkpots; and two doorways. He didn't know where they led.
Snape was leaning against the hearth when Harry turned to him, his head on his folded arms and his shoulders slumped (or as slumped as a person's shoulders could go in such a position). Despite that somber sight, his foot was tapping rapidly. Maybe he had a song stuck in his head—Harry sometimes tapped a beat when that happened to him—but somehow, he doubted it. The man's air seemed worried or angry or—a little scared?
Harry heard noises. It wasn't the wind whistling, for there were no windows in the dungeons, nor was it mice that he suspected lived down here. It was Snape. He was talking to himself.
"What am I doing?" he whispered frantically, "Merlin, help me what have I done?"
Harry was rooted to his spot. He didn't know whether to put a hand on the man's shoulder or to go fetch Dumbledore. Before he could react, Snape was pacing. Pacing madly. His shoes clicked across the stone, robes flailing about with every turn he made in the tiny space. At last he stopped.
He sat in a creaking wooden chair near an empty fireplace.
Harry could hear nothing but his own breaths.
Snape's hair covered most of what was above his shoulders, but Harry was sure he held his head in his hands. He leaned forward, straining to know whether Snape was still talking, perhaps whispering to himself. In a quiet voice Snape said, "Good Lord, I've kidnapped Harry Potter."
For a second, Harry thought he had heard wrongly. Kidnapped? So the Order hadn't sent Snape to get him, and now the Order didn't know where he was. But surely he was safe. He was at Hogwarts! That was where Dumbledore lived. Harry could sneak out right now and have a cup of tea with Hagrid if he liked. He hoped.
Snape's back lifted as he breathed. A lock of hair was blown away form his face when he exhaled and came floating back down afterward. For all the glumness the slouching man gave off, Harry thought he looked peaceful in his chambers, and wondered whether he was like this all the time or only when he kidnapped students. Harry laughed softly.
Snape glanced up with a look on his face like he had forgotten Harry was there. With a scowl, he heaved himself up and marched into one of the two rooms. Harry assumed it was his bedroom because he emerged with a bundle of blankets, which he tossed at Harry.
"Sleep," he snapped. "If you leave these rooms I will feed you to the giant squid." And he slammed his bedroom door behind him.
Well.
He didn't suppose being squid meat was worth a midnight wander.
The sofa was too small, which meant for once he was thankful that he was too small as well. He could only lay on it if he curled his feet under himself and tucked his head near his chest. Harry felt like a kitten, snuggled on nasty old Snape's sofa, warm in nasty old Snape's blankets. He closed his eyes for the second time that night.
Posted October 26, 2003