Chapter Two

Wild Goose Chase

By MissBubblez

—

The night was finally coming about, the last lingering rays of sunlight settling over the horizon and disappearing into the pink-hued clouds that painted the dimming sky in light, graceful strokes. Harry had finally tired himself out from his marching parade of running continuously for hours on end, his lungs having blown out all of the steam that had once devoured it whole. The adrenaline moment of excitement was over, and his feet were dragged across the white pavement. He mused to himself in his mind, scrunching up his furrowed brows deeply as he came to realise just what he had done to himself this time.

He had run away.

There was no way he was going to head back to the Dursleys after finally achieving what he had sought out to do for years now, not a chance. He'd just have to make do with what he could do for now. He doubted that the Dursley's would even bother looking for him out of the goodness out of their hearts — that was a long shot really. His pondering brought him back to the expression of his Aunt's face; scornful, frustration, anger… and maybe even a little vestige of regret in her eyes. He wasn't completely certain with what he saw in her though, after all, he only got to sneak a quick glance before he left bolting out the door like a dog without its leash.

It didn't have to be this way, you know. He thought to himself, pretending that he was actually talking to his Aunt that was now miles beyond his reach. We could have been close. I only ever wanted to please you. I used to try so hard to make you happy with me, so why didn't you? He knew that he could never actually bring himself to speak in such a way to his Aunt — because he would pay miserably for it later — but it didn't change the fact that he wished he had said that to her before he left. Or, at least, filter out the parts that might earn himself a firm scolding that involved constant name-calling.

He dragged his shoes behind him, stopping for a second to kick a lingering pebble that was laying isolated on the pavement. Now, where am I supposed to go? He pondered for a little while, absent-mindedly letting loose a bitter sigh before bending down and snatching the small rock from the ground. Finding a sudden keen interest in the object, he examined it closely, turning it from side to side as if it was a piece of gold.

Maybe I should go back.

Although he hated to admit it, he knew that the chances of him actually surviving on the street like they were the floors of his home were extremely thin. He could probably stay alive for three days tops if some lunatic didn't come bounding after him with a knife and threatened to kill him. That would be much more frightening than seeing a purple-faced Vernon stomping up to him with his fat, beefy hands out in front of him, leaving Harry to his imagination of just what he was going to do with them. And that was a lot of imagination.

Much to his own surprise, he was pulled out from his daze and brought back into the present by abrupt wetness streaming along his dusty cheeks. With one hand still holding possession of the pebble he had found from earlier, he reached a trembling hand up to his face before smoothening a thumb over around his bottom jawline. Realising that the substance was actually the result of tears escaping his eyes without his knowledge, he furiously wiped them away, lifting his glasses up in the process before settling them back down on the bridge of his nose.

Just when he thought all was over, he felt an odd lump building up in the middle of his throat. His legs were buckling and his hunched shoulders quivered vigorously as he battled to keep his composure, only to choke back a violent sob as his vision grew intensely blurry. And before he knew it, his walls had been shattered and the bottle that withheld all of his swirling emotions in one place finally cracked. Like a dam being fragmented into nothing but mere ashes of debris, all sense of resisting and remaining adamant was released in one go.

The cars hollered into clamorous beeps and angry honks as they deviated from their original placings of where they were parked by their owners, the street lights that loomed above flickering on and off before tilting back and forth dangerously. The artificial lamps were soon smashed into little vestiges of glass, nearby house windows following in pursuit as their fragments littered across the sky and then onto the lawn below.

Harry's pallor worsened as his breathing turned heavy and accelerated, his hands curling into staggering fists as he bit down on his bottom lip hard enough to rip the skin of it open, the taste of copper making his face twist in disgust. He hadn't taken any notice of the events occurring around him, the emotions that were surging around in his body being too much for his attention to differ from one thing to another.

As if an endeavour to try and redirect his full consciousness to something other than his elaborate sensibilities, he lifted the trembling hand that he had been holding the pebble in rather tightly, eyes glazed with a screen of water covering his grand, emerald eyes. The stone looked to have been digging into the calloused skin of his hand, deep, scarlet scratches being marked along his palm. He closed his palm up once more, strengthening the grip his fingers had around it before pivoting on the heel of his shoes and pelting the tiny mineral onward.

It shot forth like a bullet of a handgun, a zooming flash trailing behind it before the rock found its marking on a particular car and physically hurled it back several feet across the shadowed street. Harry jerked up before taking an involuntary step back, completely shell-shocked.

What? He screwed his brows down together, narrowing his eyes down in order to get a clear picture of what had just occurred before his eyes. There was no way that he did that by throwing a pebble. Was there? Did he really just do that?

Hovering just beyond his peripheral vision was the outline of what he could just barely make out to be the silhouette of a tall, rather odd-shaped man. It was only until he began approaching Harry that the child finally turned away before running down the rest of the street in a hurry, not wanting to risk a glance over his shoulder to see the guy resolutely dashing after him. For a few seconds, it was only his footsteps that he could hear, which was soon joined in by the hastened taps and clicks of another that was beginning to catch up with him.

"Potter!" The man bellowed indignantly from behind him. "Stop your foolish running, child!"

Go away, go away, GO AWAY!

—

Severus didn't know what he was anticipating from his first confrontation with Potter's little miscreant of a child, only that he was expecting a rotten, spoiled brat. Just like his father, he mused. Dumbledore left very little of an explanation for him to ponder on, only mentioning that he was desperately needed to check in on a certain child. Apparently, the old man was concerned for his safety — the reason? He had no idea.

The only thing that was left for him to go one for was the grave-looking expression that donned his usually cherry features, there wasn't even the familiar sparkle of amusement in his eyes, it was instead glazed with concern and eager anticipation for what was to come. It was a seldom expression that was never really present, even when in the face of absolute tragedy.

And so, here he found himself quietly stalking down the streets in long, elegant strides with his pitch-black cape billowing out behind him in furious waves. A hand outstretched and his wand pointing undeviatingly in the direction of his main objective of this small mission. Not that he really counted it as a mission, it was rather more of a wild goose chase of trying to capture his target. And in this case; Harry Bloody Potter.

Once he could feel himself nearing closer towards the boy, there was a flicker of the lights that caught his immediate attention, a curse balancing on the tip of his tongue, readying himself to fire at any sign of danger he may encounter. Then there was the resounding beeps and honks that erupted from the cars on the next street over, cruelly attacking his sensitive ears mercilessly. The sounds of windows shattering all at once reached his ears, his feet finally meeting the pavement once again as he surveys the damage dealt within the neighbourhood.

For all things that were damnable, this was far from what he was expecting. Far from it.

Upon the endless rows of sickeningly identical houses that lined up along the lawns — all of which no longer held any visible windows that weren't smashed, he noted — of the street were cars rocking back and forth that were joined by the lamp posts within the vicinity. Even someone like Snape couldn't help but loosen his jaw a little at the scene unravelling in front of him.

A little down the road was another figure, he noticed, a smaller frame than his own, much smaller. Whipping out his wand by his side once more, he snapped his head from side to side, highly attentive for any lingering folk. Of course, it wouldn't be a complete surprise to see someone coming out of their house to observe the commotion, but nonetheless, there could always be Death Eaters lingering about and lurking in the shadows. Excluding himself, that is.

Finally, the tip of his wand grew brighter once he made it face the direction of where the child was standing, knees buckling dangerously as if they might give up on him at any second. "Mr Potter!" he shouted agitatedly, striding along the pathway gracefully with his face twisted in displeasure. It was made clear now that the mess befalling the streets were all from the cause of one boy, that just so happens to be the kid standing idly a few feet away from him.

His attire made him grimace, but he didn't question it all too much. Probably too lazy to even dress properly, indolent little spoilt brat. He concluded, rather pleased with his own deliberations. Just like his father, of course. The little devil spawn of James and—

A pebble that would probably win a Nobel prize in "The Fastest Flying Mineral In The World" came spurting across his side like a bullet being delivered from a gun. He faltered in his steps, instinctively side-stepping a few feet onto the grass and into the shadows with his wand hand twitching up slightly.

What was that?

To his surprise, the boy had pivoted on the heel of his foot before launching the rock directly behind him, just barely missing Snape by a few inches. Glancing over his shoulder at the abrupt bang and the skid of tires scratching harshly against the black, asphalt road, he furrowed his brows, a calculating look settling over his dusky features.

The object that the pebble had made contact with was one of the cars that were resting along the side of the road, the said car now having found its new placement a couple of feet away and in the middle of the street.

That was not normal. Obviously. So why— no, how? Either this boy possessed the great power of Dumbledore himself, or his accidental magic had kicked in far too early. Severus didn't know which possibility would be more fitting.

Deciding it was best for him to step out from the shadows this time, he stalked up towards the boy, calling; "Potter!" which gave him the immediate opposite effect of what he was aiming for. The boy was running. He was running away from him. And now he had to try and catch him — which wasn't elegant at all. Fantastic.

Breathing in a sigh, he extended his strides to greater lengths as an endeavour as to not stress himself with the torture of having to put up with running in his tight robes. Of course, luck was never on his side. He broke into a sprint after the boy.

—

Dear Merlin, Dumbledore breathed, a hand clutching tightly onto the fabric of his magenta robes, just a little ways from where his heart had been hammering against his chest like a scalded cat. One hand was slammed against his desk just powerful enough to cause an inadequate crack that inscribed the wooden surface, the furniture groaning in protest. It's happened. Oh, dear.

Not only ten minutes ago has it been since the alarm in his office blared emphatically, indicating one of his deepest fears for not only the entire wizarding community as a whole but for the boy in the same. He closed his eyes tightly, massaging the sides of his lined forehead before slumping down into his leather chair and sagging his shoulders helplessly.

Fawkes gave a concerned squark from across the room, where he remained perched on his glimmering pole, fluttering his wings back and forth and then soaring down towards his master with a soft trill. It wasn't often that the phoenix was given such a sight to witness, the overwhelming amount of stress that was emanating from Albus was enough to send an alarming jolt through the creature's life force.

"Oh, Fawkes," Dumbledore started, gazing up into the dark abyss of his familiar's eyes deeply. "What should I do? What can I do? The boy's missing from the household— and his Lily's sister… oh, I should have never left him there. Dear Minerva was right after all."

Seeming to thoroughly understand his master's words, he gave another trill as to better console the old man, shuffling closer across his desk before positioning himself directly in front of him. As if to say; "It's okay, everything will be fine," the phoenix leaned in with a soft hum before nipping at the wizard's silvery beard affectionately with closed eyes.

Dumbledore's expression softened as he brought a hand over his trusted bird, gently stroking his red and golden plumage with a small smile, his eyes twinkling once more as he brought the phoenix closer within his arms. Enjoying the quiet embrace of one another, the Headmaster gave a low sigh and released the bird from his coddling. Pulling back and locking gazes with each other, Dumbledore couldn't help but bite the bottom of his lip tentatively, jutting the upper part out worriedly.

Honestly, he didn't expect to find himself sitting in his office worrying constantly about these matters. In fact, he didn't anticipate anything.

The blood wards that were protecting Harry from any potential conflict between Voldemort's Death Eaters have evaporated, leaving absolutely nothing like a trail as of where the boy could have possibly been. The only thing he actually knew was that the child was still alive and breathing — compliments to a specialised charm that had been placed on him by Dumbledore himself.

But now, it was as if there wasn't even a Harry Potter, to begin with. He cursed himself for not installing a tracking spell on the boy as well — he had, after all, been mainly focusing on all of the protection charms he could possibly think of at the time. And recalling the memory of that day, it wasn't a whole lot.

Severus' Patronus had trotted in not moments before, delivering his report that stated that the blood wards were indeed destroyed and that the boy was nowhere in sight within the house. Only his, as Severus so professionally formatted it; bloody muggle relatives were present inside.

"I think it's about time we sent a search party, don't you think, Fawkes?" He earned a meek trill in agreement, a faint, but weak smile growing on his lips. "We better find that boy before he gets himself into any further trouble. We must, at the very least, pray that Voldemort's followers don't find him. If they do," his expression grew darkly grim. "I'm afraid it'll all be over. For the boy and the wizarding community. Merlin knows how badly we need him."

—

Harry took notice of how the street seemed to be growing dimmer with more shadows filling in the gaps of where the moonlight shone, his shallow and hastened breaths turning into crisp puffs with every gasp and exhale he released from his mouth. With trembling legs that threatened to give out from beneath him, his eyes darted around frantically in search of a place to either sit and rest or something to lean against to catch his breath before continuing his long departure to… somewhere.

Somewhere. Yeah, right. Harry thought bitterly scoffing at the idea. The best he could do would probably be someone's dumpster or shed.

A bus stop on the other side of the road catches his eyes like a shiny object standing out under a ray of the spotlight. He shifted the straps of his backpack on his shoulders briefly before turning around, meticulously surveying his surroundings to reassure himself that the crook who was running after him was a long ways away from him. Satisfied with the desolated street that held no one else's presence other than himself and the few flying bats that flew overhead, he hastily made his way from the pathway and onto the road.

He always hated the idea of crossing the roads by himself, especially when there were no crossings that he could take. Dudley was to thank for that, seeing as he purposely pushed him out onto the road with those bulky hands of his once. There was a car coming straight for him that day, almost running him over as well. And that wasn't all that was left of it, for that day was the exact timing of where he learnt he was different. Unique even, or, as his Aunt and Uncle always put it; abnormal, or freaky.

Just as he just about stepped onto the sidewalk with his hands firmly clenched around his backpack straps, the voice was back again, blustering from where he had once stood. Whirling his head around to face this familiar danger, he jumped almost a mile in the air before backing up and tightening his grip on his bag.

It was the shadow man.

"For heaven's sake, Potter!" he hollered vigorously, whipping something out of his sleeves that looked starkly similar to that of a thick, sharpened stick. "Do not run. Or I will personally see to it to bind you like the little delinquent you are." The man hissed, lazily perambulating onto the street without even bothering to look from his sides in case an oncoming car might come along. There were also the angry grumbling of things that sounded like; incompetent little brat and half-witted brain of his.

Harry felt himself tensing up at the approaching man, one half of his mind ordering him to stay fixed on the spot, while the other literally pushed him to run and screw the logic behind asking the man what he wanted from him. And in the end, he chose to follow with the latter advice, making yet another — and perhaps not the last — dash down the street, disregarding the vulgar curses and irresponsible uses of profanity behind him.

"POTTER!"

How does this guy know my name anyways? He questioned mid-run, pushing the thought back to focus more on his swift getaway before skidding across the asphalt and turning a sharp corner. I don't know him, so how does he know me? Maybe he's a friend of Petunias or Vernon's. He looked over his shoulder to find the man's face twisted in fury far behind him before turning back. Probably Vernon's.

Upon nearing another corner of the pathway, his steps faltered into an uncertain stagger when he noticed a quick flash of light bolting straight past him by his left side, narrowly missing the side of his stomach by a hair's length. At that point, all the hairs on the back of his neck stood up by the immense shock, his senses seeming to intensify when he felt his instincts kick in.

Spinning on the tip of his shoes and rotating his entire body around swiftly, he unlatched one of his hands from the straps of his backpack before holding it out like he was about to catch something. And catch something he did indeed. It was more like catching a miniature ball, a ball that was primarily made out of light and air. The second it was about to make physical contact with his hand, however, it evaporated as quickly as an ice cube melting on the hot surface of a stove.

Startled, Harry brought his hand up to his face to closely inspect it before looking up at the caster with a mystified but wary look. He wanted to open his mouth to question the perplexing event before he caught notice of the perpetrator's expression. The man was gaping with the same questioning look Harry wore, only he managed to regain their dignity before whisking the incident away and clearing his throat.

Quickly snapping out of his mind-twisting ruminations, Harry didn't even allow the man to open his mouth to speak before swivelling around the corner and running away once again. There was a loud sigh that was followed by an equally disgruntled groan that came from the man behind him before something burning struck his back, a thick transparent rope wrapping around his torso and legs tightly together. He tripped over his own feet before landing on the ground with a squawked "Oof!" before rolling onto his side and glancing up at his vicious capturer.

He was smirking.

Nasty bloody bastard! Harry snarled, no longer concealing the fact that he was irritated, but also frightened of the towering man dressed in black. Reevaluating the sickened expression and overall appearance of the said man, all colour was drained from Harry's face and his expression grew circumspect and disconcerted. He didn't like that look.

"Now, Potter. I won't bother going along with the pleasantries, seeing as you clearly have no manners whatsoever as you've so generously demonstrated by our earlier interactions," he sneered sardonically, stepping closer towards the wriggling boy that was desperately fighting against the constraints. "Oh, cut that out." The man scolded, lowering himself into a crouch by the boy's side. "If I remove these constraints, will you obey my commands?"

Harry nodded eagerly, whipping his hair out of his eyes before looking up at the man ingeniously. There was a moment of silence as their eyes bore into each other, one filled with defiance but also blatant fear, with the other looking as dead and lifeless of that of a corpse. With a curt nod and wave of his hand, the rope that was tethered around the child's body diminished into thin air.

Reaching a hand out to grasp the child's shoulder to make sure he didn't run off again, he was slapped away almost instantly before a loud resounding "Pop!" cracked in front of him. Observing the place that Harry once took on the ground like a frightened and injured animal on the pavement, the man curled his still outstretched hand into hard clenched fists.

Harry had apparated.

Severus looked up into the sky as if to ask 'why me'.

—

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