Chapter Four

Pervert Man

By MissBubblez

—

Why does this place have to be so depressing?

Was one of Harry's many afterthoughts as he hobbled down one of the more abandoned alleyways that he had come to be familiar with over the past several hours that have passed by unknowingly. At this point in time, he was growing frustrated, berating himself for devouring too much of the precious rations that were supposed to last him for a longer period of time. It wasn't supposed to just last me for a week!

Of course, there was very little for what he could blame upon himself. The child was starved and purposely deprived of any sources of food within the Dursley's household and with a backpack filled to the brim with packets of chips and crackers that he had managed to steal over the course of a few months, it was pretty obvious to guess what the ravenous child would do with it all in such a short amount of time.

He had only three packets of chips left in his bag, as well as the additional clothes that he stuffed inside earlier on. His essential supplies were running out, he needed to find something other than literal garbage to feast on and fast. He didn't want to stoop as low as to search through the bins for food, but he will if it did indeed come to that unfortunate decision.

I wonder if I can use that magic again, Harry thought, pausing in his sluggish steps in the middle of the narrow alleyway. It can't be that hard, can it? Well, maybe it is, but I can still try. Then he thought back on that utterly uncomfortable feeling he had when he 'teleported' and shook his head briefly to himself. No teleporting though, no way. Never again.

He continued with his trek, glancing around the area curiously. Looking down at his grimy clothes with disdain, he pinched the cloth of his shirt before tugging on it helplessly, small particles of grim falling off in the motion. Maybe I could use my magic to clean myself. One side of his mouth curled up in disgust as he dusted himself off briskly, turning his hands over to examine the dirt that now stained them, biting the inside of his chin when he noticed how the tip of his nails was coated in god knows what. Yuck.

Once Harry finally reached the opening of the lane, he grounded to a halt just on the edge of the pathway, craning his head upwards to observe the street sign that loomed just above him.

Spinner's End.

For a moment, he reflected, lost in his own daydreams. I wonder who lives around here. Are they nice? Are they bad? Maybe there's a murderer or criminal lurking around here somewhere, the place gives bad vibes. Are there any kids around here? I haven't seen one for ages, only a couple of adults and maniacs that belong in an asylum. I'm surprised I haven't been killed or mugged yet, especially in a place like this. Would I be safe here? Oh, of course not, I'm living on the bloody streets for crying out loud. I should have just stayed with the Dursleys, oh…

"Potter?"

Every ounce of colour that may have once painted Harry's face was instantly drained from his face faster than a bullet shooting out from a gun, his dreamy look being wiped off his face in seconds and instead replaced with one of pure, shocking terror. For a split second that seemed longer than it actually was, he could have sworn that his heart had stopped before starting up like a roaring engine before jumping back and forth against his chest rapidly.

He snapped his head over his dirtied shoulder, not caring if he broke it in the process. There, towering over him like a bent-over, solid shadow, was the one man he wanted to avoid running into at all costs. With eyes as wide and spacious as saucers, he felt his jaw wrench open and fall as he considered the man in front of him.

Shadow man. Or, in the back of his mind, Pervert man. Or, well, just Pervert.

A strong hand landed on his hunched shoulders, causing his breathing to hitch as he tried to jerk away, only to result in the man's hand clenching more firmly on him. He kept his eyes lowered as he tried to squirm out of the man's touch, despising the physical contact. "Let me go! Get off!" He cried, pushing and trying to yank the man's arms away from him.

"Calm yourself, you idiotic brat," the man spat, planting both of his calloused hands on Harry's shoulders to hold him down on the ground securely, merely disregarding Harry's desperate little punches. "I'm not going to hurt you. Stop trying to resist for Merlin's sake! Potter!"

—

Snape took to shaking the little Potter whelp vigorously to tire him out, baring his teeth in distaste. Oh, he was coming very close to slapping the insolence of his father out of him. But, when the brat looked up at him with those damn emerald eyes of his that promptly marred any former aggression he held against the child, he loosened his grip and sighed. Snape inwardly thanked the gods that the streets were partly empty, knowing that he would have probably resembled that of a random hooligan trying to threaten some kid.

Harry ducked his head before successfully jerking his body out of the Potions Master grip, his arms wrapping around his body tightly. He loathed physical contact, absolutely hated it. "What do you want from me?" He internally berated himself for the way his voice trembled as he kept his eyes keenly fixated on the cracks of the pavement, not wanting to make eye contact (or any sort of contact really) with the man dressed in black.

Snape took a moment to contemplate the image before him, now closely observing the boy when he didn't have the chance to do so earlier in their little wild goose hunt. Merlin, he looks like a proper street rat. A tang of guilt hit him there when he thought of it, shaking it off and pulling a stoic mask over his face. Why couldn't he have just stayed with his relatives?

"What I want from you, Potter, is not nearly as important as to what I need from you," he started, overlooking the quizzical look that washed over the child's face as he tilted his head to the side slightly. He isn't cute, Severus. God, he isn't even innocent, snap out of it. "You may address me as Professor Snape," Not pervert, "I was a friend of your mothers." Just not your pompous fool of a father. "Now, you will follow me. Unless, of course, you wish to go on another wild goose chase once more. But, I must inform you that I do not plan on being gentle if you choose to take such an option."

Harry furrowed his brows, looking away for a moment before looking back, seemingly making up his mind. He knew mum. Was all he could think about, nothing else. It was only until Snape cleared his throat as he brought back from his dazed stupor, blinking up at him ignorantly. "Where will you take me?" Harry asked gingerly, narrowing his gaze into slits. He wasn't about to just go with some stranger just because he stated that he knew his mother, that was practically just throwing his life away.

No, for all he knew, this man could be a pedophile.

Snape arched an eyebrow at the abrupt shudder the boy took on but brushed it off as the child's anxiety getting to him. "Where I will be taking you is a pristine school for those 'gifted' in the arts of magic, an academy where witches and wizards alike attend to further their education in the magic world," he explained, taking note of the way the child copied his earlier action of raising an eyebrow.

"You shouldn't call other people witches," Harry mumbled quietly, diverting his gaze to stare at the looming sign that hung firmly above them. Snape simply sighed tiredly, opening his mouth to retort and snidely remark on the boy's words before he was talked over by him — much to his displeasure of being rudely interrupted. "Anyway, how are we even going to… to this school you're talking about? I haven't seen a single school while I was here, just factories and… well, just factories and broken houses."

Snape snorted; he wasn't wrong, most of the houses here were most definitely ragged and abandoned in every way, obviously unsuitable for people in possession of a rational mind. Of course, it didn't indicate that they were completely abandoned, for there would most likely be someone or something inhabiting the building. Be that of homeless people, your everyday criminal or just runaways in general.

"Apparition, of course," he answered snarkily, composing a point of making it appear obvious, strenuously dismissing the jag of guilt that poked at his heart. It was sincerely doubted that the child had any knowledge at all that concerned that of the wizarding world, let alone the various transportations that took place. When Harry looked up at him with his head cocking to the side quizzically, Snape rolled his eyes almost automatically at the puzzled expression. "Right," he sighed. "Simply, in a way that you can comprehend, it's fundamentally a form of transportation to move one's self from one spot to another of farther extent."

Harry bristled at the clear insult in his words, furrowing his brows slightly with a frown. "Oh, don't give me that look," Snape admonished firmly, only deepening Harry's frustration as the child wheeled himself around to begin walking away at a fast pace. "And where exactly do you think you're going?" He reprimanded fiercely, taking a step forward, wholly intending to follow the little brat that decided to take the lead.

He shrugged nonchalantly, "Away from you, you're crazy." There was a distinct yet familiar feeling of dread that rumbled in his abdomen at his blunt claim, but he trudged forth without looking behind him. So what if he was being rude? The man was a lunatic — he was basically saying that they would teleport to that place; that was impossible.

Although, I did kinda teleport here in the first place.

"Is that so?" He felt a strong hand clasp around his forearm persistently, fear trickling into his heart when the grip tightened abruptly. "I'm afraid I'm not in the mood to take chances in trying to influence you peacefully."

Once he was turned around forcefully to face the man, he snapped his eyes open at the wooden stick being pointed between the middle of his eyes before a powerful flash assaulted his eyes and his vision was consumed by an abyss of nothing but darkness. The only feeling he could remember was a pair of large arms wrapping around him like a blanket along with long, slender fingers sliding across the back of his head swiftly.

"Sleep, Harry."

—

A/N: Sorry for the shortened chapter! As always, a review would be most appreciated!