Chapter Two

The Snake escapes

A lone dark figure made its way down a crowded London street. He was dressed in particularly strange attire, wearing a long black cloak which fluttered in the wind as he pushed his way through the crowd. He seemed eager to get to his destination as he shoved, in an almost violent way, anyone who got in his way and some of the people who passed him could have sworn he'd muttered something about 'ruddy muggles'.

It wasn't until he was standing outside a small dingy pub that appeared as though no-one but he could see it that he lowered his hood. Long black locks of flowing hair fell around his face, his dark eyes scanning the street as though in search of some hidden treasure. In one swift movement he had thrown open the door and entered the small room that was the Leaky Cauldrons bar.

Many heads turned as he stalked towards the bar. A few stared open mouthed whilst others tried to focus their attention on anything or anyone but the young man that had just entered the pub.

With no recognition of what was going on around him he walked straight to the bar, pulling up a stool, not bothering if the noise he made disturbed any of the other patrons.

Tom the barman eyed him with suspicion as he cleaned the same glass he'd been cleaning for the past two minutes.

The man looked up from the bar "Firewhisky!" With one word this man had the whole bar staring at him once more. It wasn't that he had more or less ordered Tom to give him a drink or that his rough voice had scared them as it did to most people. The face of the matter was this man had a reputation.

"Do-do you think that's wise Lazarus?" The voice came from the far away corner and when the other patrons thought about it that was probably the safest place in the bar. "Y-you know? After last time?"

"Keep your mouth shut Fletcher! And will you hurry up with that bloody Firewhisky!" he was sounding more and more angry by the second even although the other customers in the bar had a good reason for not wanting him to drink. Or at least drink in their company. The last time he had he was only 18 and had drank a little too much, so much so in fact that by the end of the night he had to be carried from the pub by 6 ministry officials and his little stunts (cursing many of the customers in the pub with various spells) earned him a three year span in Azkaban.

When he realised Tom was not going to serve him he rose from his seat. The bar man cowered, trying to hide his face and many of the other occupants of the small pub seemed to shrink back in fear of what he may do. "Are you so stupid as to think they still permit me a wand!" a laugh escaped his lips that almost sounded like a bark. With that he swiftly moved from the pub, making almost as dramatic an exit as his entrance was and although he wasn't around to hear it many people within the Leaky Cauldron sighed with relief before the hearty banter resumed.

Out on the mean streets of London once more Lazarus lifted his hood once more, ignoring the strange stares he was receiving from numerous muggles as he once again shoved them out of his way.

As he passed by some streets he could hear the calls of market sellers and even the odd honk of a car horn on the busy road to his right. He ignored them all though, only focusing on one thing. He had to get to somewhere quiet.

It took him half an hour before his wish was granted. He scurried down a side Alley, out of view of the muggles passing by, a few of whom spared a glance for Lazarus and his strange behaviour. He reached the end of the Alley way and was glad to see it led out onto a small road, secluded from the prying eyes of the muggles by a large brick wall. He was in a dead end street but it didn't bother him in the slightest. Quickly he lifted his right hand so it looked as though he was hailing a cab but he jumped back quite suddenly when the screeching of brakes reverberated off the walls of this very small space and a large purple bus skidded into view.

Lazarus looked around with caution before stepping onto the bus, ignoring the drone of the old bus conductor, taking a seat as far away from the front of the bus as normal.

"Where to sir?" came the gruff and shaky voice of the old bus conductor who by Lazarus' reckoning was at least 90 if he was a day.

"12 Grimmauld Place" in a sweeping motion Lazarus had somehow manage to extract his money from his pocket and promptly placed it in the hand of the old man. His ticket was issued and then the ride began.

Fields, concrete paved streets, the ocean. These were just some of the things that passed by the windows as the Knight bus made it's way all over the United Kingdom, skidding to a halt frequently to pick up new passengers or drop off unusually green tinged ones.

When finally it came to Lazarus' stop he walked from the bus with poise, that was until he stepped off. The ground felt like it was moving and it took him a few minutes to compose himself. He turned slowly, a hint of a grimace on his face as his eyes fell upon the old decrepit shack that was his home and had been his home ever since his Mothers death.

The garden path was barely visible through the jungle of weeds that had slowly overtaken the whole garden over the past few years. The front door was anything but welcoming. The black paint was scratched and peeling and the large silver knocker in the form of a twisted serpent loomed out at visitors and almost dared them to knock or be bitten. The door handle was rusty and creaked when Lazarus turned it to enter the dark, dank entrance hall of the house.

A large portrait hung on the wall, a pair of curtains draped over it. Lazarus sidled past it, ensuring not to make too much noise for fear he'd wake the monster within the portrait. Silently he made his way upstairs, stepping over the third stair to avoid it creaking.

When he finally reached the first landing, having taken a few moments to climb the stairs he hurried into the first bedroom. Something about the house scared Lazarus. Whether it was the fact his Mothers portrait often shouted obscenities at him if he woke her, or whether it was the feeling of loneliness, he never knew. What he did know however was that he hated it here and the sooner he found a home of his home, the better.

Flopping onto the large bed with it's moth eaten sheets, he let a sigh escape his lips. His eyelids suddenly felt very heavy and it didn't take long for him to drift off into a restless sleep.

His dreams were ones of times he couldn't remember. He'd spent most of his youth locked up in a special ward in St Mungo's after accidentally setting his Mother favourite house elf on fire. She had promptly sent him off to St Mungo's and removed him from the family tree.

Presently his dream was one filled with laughter, he and his two older brothers, Regulus and Sirius were playing Quidditch in the back garden whilst their Mother looked on from the door step. It was surprising to see a smile on her face. Lazarus had forgotten that his Mother even had the ability to smile.

This dream was soon replaced by one of another time, one that Lazarus recognised everything about but wished he didn't. His Mother was screaming at the top of her lungs pointing to something in the distance and there was a poignant smell in the air that caused Lazarus to scrunch his nose up, earning him a slap around the face.

Next came the men in white suits. They somehow managed to restrain Lazarus and were taking him out of the house. His Mother stood by wiping away tears that he knew were false simply by the glint of satisfaction in her eyes.

Waking suddenly from his nightmares Lazarus stared around the room wide eyed. He was soaked with sweat and was shaking from head to toe. "I've got to get out of here" he muttered to himself as he stood shakily on the hard wooden floor. He headed for one of the other rooms and after rummaging through the shelves, emerged with a large sack filled with some of his Mothers old possessions.

He ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time, flew past the portrait of his Mother as she was wailing something about 'filthy ingrates' and yanked the door open almost ripping it from its hinges and slamming it behind him.

Not sparing a glance back at the house he walked slowly down the street now feeling like a huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He was free of that house and there was no way he was going back.