Harry settled on a weathered bench out of sight to the oblivious shoppers moving by him. The tattered overhang that shielded Fortescue's outside tables provided just enough shade to assure anonymity and on a warm day like today he wished the ice cream parlour were open. So many storefronts were still closed, the owners dead or in hiding. There was less hustle and bustle on what should be a busy Friday afternoon in Diagon Alley with the new term at Hogwarts only a week away. Something was oddly different today, he mused. An older witch shepherded a group of teen boys in Chudley Cannons jerseys toward Quality Quidditch Supplies, but everywhere else he saw a mix of stylish wizard robes and waistcosts, with the exception of a few well-bundled young men standing in contrast to the unseasonable temperatures. Where were the witches?
Curiosity piqued, he glimpsed a thin face with delicate features under the hood of a heavy winter cloak, her body draped in bulky nondescript layers, eyes darting nervously, taking in everything around her as she walked quickly, her mannish boots scuffing along the cobblestone lane. Now that he knew what to look for, all down Diagon Alley he could see the same thing despite the day's heat: hooded cloaks, dull-coloured layered clothes, full length robes or over-sized trousers and wizard's footwear. A new style? No, he reasoned. Fashion trends in the Wizarding World moved at glacial speeds, if at all. The shapeless figures stayed in groups, their movements suggesting furtiveness, timidity. He watched the lone witch scuttle to catch up with the others ahead of her, apparently strangers. They accepted her silently, absorbing her into the protective gaggle with barely a questioning glance.
They're frightened, he thought. Afraid of attracting notice or being alone. Even that grey-haired witch resolutely leading the flying club toward the Quidditch shop had glanced about nervously. He lost sight of them as more men made their way to the sidewalks, lining the route from the portal to the Refugee Centre.
A bead of sweat trickled down his neck, suddenly he felt exposed, watched. The angle of the setting sun penetrated the shadows, revealing the black clad figure leaning against the wall of Madam Malkin's. Severus Snape's stare held no sign of recognition or emotion. He'd been told about Snape's unexpected survival after the Last Battle, but this was his first glimpse of the man since that night. In fact he felt certain that had Snape not wanted to be seen, Harry would have never known of his presence. Something was very wrong, they could both feel it. Harry slowly nodded to Snape and then turned his attention toward the start of the street noting the presence of Arthur Weasley and Xenophilius Lovegood near the Leaky Cauldron's portal wall.
Reaching a careful hand into his robes, Harry slowly extracted his wand, making sure the action could not be misinterpreted and cast a quiet Tempus. 5:20 PM floated before him then dissipated in wisps of vapour. He missed having his watch, probably still on his dresser, forgotten during the hurried packing earlier while Ginny was at work. Glancing back to his right he saw Arthur tense, and with wand now out at his side, looking at the gathering crowd.
They're late, Harry thought. Normally the group with worksites in and around London returned promptly on Friday for the weekend, along with anyone newly apprehended for questioning. There should have been a message by now if there was trouble again. He did not return the wand to his robes. Across the alley, Snape was still in the same position, arms folded and appearing unconcerned, wand hand empty. Staring at him. Seeing he had recaptured Harry's attention, Snape jerked his head sharply indicating they should cross the distance to the other watchers. Leaving the patio area he saw more adults, mostly wizards, gathering for the weekly spectacle.
"Virginal white," one of the on-lookers sneered to his companions. "Whores and bastards, every one of them. Should have been locked up. If it had been up to me —"
"It wasn't." Harry cut him off, pausing to stare him down briefly before moving on.
"Bli-mey, that was Harry Potter," his friend said in an excited whisper.
"Never thought he'd turn blood-traitor," said another.
Harry could feel their eyes on him but now was not the time to deal publicly with the hatred from the Ministry's ill-begotten 'reforms'. Was this really the only way, Ginny?
A brief swirl of dust rose for a moment, as if the very air sucked in its breath. Soft grating of stone on brick was followed by the emergence of a group of witches and wizards entering through the Leaky Cauldron portal.
The white-clad protectees were accompanied today by Professors McGonagall, Sinistra, and Slughorn. Silence reigned, not one stone or curse was hurled at the group. From the day the professors volunteered to form a civil watch, violence against the protectees had decreased to an occasional shouted epithet. Wands out, the escorts did not take their eyes off their charges until the last swish of white fabric had disappeared into the Refugee Centre.
The group following a few moments behind was paraded slowly down the middle of the street by men in brown hit wizard robes. Friends and family who'd gathered to see the newly charged people pressed forward only to be repelled by unfriendly jinxes. The detainees wore a combination of wizarding and muggle attire, some looking resigned, others were defiantly meeting the stares of the onlookers.
Sudden movement behind the last group caught Harry's eye. Arthur had grabbed Lovegood's arm, holding him back as he laid eyes on his daughter, Luna, for the first time in weeks. She smiled and waved at him as if her detainment were an ordinary event. Charlie Weasley was the last person through, trailing the group as the portal closed. He immediately went to his father's aid in pulling Lovegood away to talk sense into him. Violence would only result in more bloodshed. "I have her papers! I have her papers right here!" Lovegood bellowed over the now rumbling crowd gathering en mass along the street.
Harry backtracked alongside the group as they continued the progression toward the Centre. The willowy blonde witch dressed in faded blue dungarees and a white daisy tee shirt caught his eye. "Hi, Harry!" Luna called out.
"Good to see you, Luna!" he shouted back. Her smile was as radiant as the sun. Ahead of him across the street he saw McGonagall bid adieu to her fellow professors and waited in the partially-shaded doorway of the Refugee Centre, arms spread as if to ask, "And what now?" Snape's mask cracked in an answering smirk as he trailed the final group down the street to join her. He was glad to see them working in concert again, as far as he knew no one else from the Order or Hogwarts mentioned being in contact with Snape. Not everything could be forgiven quickly, or sometimes at all. Harry took a deep breath and prepared to Disapparate. All was well, perhaps his instincts were wrong.
"Where the blazes have you been?" a man's shout pulled his attention back toward the Leaky Cauldron where the brick portal had disgorged two more people.
Arthur pivoted toward the annoyed hit wizard who was now brandishing his wand at the late arrivals: a large wizard in green Healer's garb and Hermione in white. "Get moving, now!" To his credit the Healer who had been moving back to the portal whirled around - an impressive and unexpected move for a man of his size.
Harry was too far away to hear the exchange but the Healer took Hermione's arm and made it clear he was going to escort her to the centre. "Good on him," Harry said quietly.
Pale, eyes shadowed, and hair pulled into an austere bun there was a hesitation to Hermione's stride and she did not acknowledge anyone other than her companion. She shifted her St Mungo's-issued satchel from her left to right shoulder before slipping her arm back into the Healer's whether for balance or comfort, he could not tell. She looked as tired as Harry felt. They weaved through the group and made for the doorway and a smiling Minerva McGonagall.
By this time the detainees had reached the Centre, and were forming orderly lines to be counted. The Hit Wizards from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement never missed a chance to prolong the ordeal in public.
"Potter! Over here," the familiar voice of McGonagall beckoned. Beside her, Snape's head turned in surprise at the invitation. "Oh, relax Severus. It's a conversation, not a war," she chided, her words meant for him alone but carrying clearly.
Harry could take the coward's way out and Disapparate as if he hadn't heard, or he could be an adult and have a pleasant conversation with McGonagall, Hermione, and possibly have his bits hexed off by Snape even though he had no part in the new laws. He crossed the street, threading through the detainee lines. Ahead of him the Healer patted Hermione on the shoulder.
"Minerva, Severus, always a pleasure. Dies dolorem minuit, Hermione," he said in parting.
"Serviam in caritate," she replied in a soft tone which turned to confusion as her mentor chuckled.
"Me vivo, serviam, Hermione. Unless you were addressing Severus, of course," he laughed, looking at Snape whose already thin lower lip disappeared. Any first year Potions student could tell you it meant he was not amused.
"I'm sorry, Healer Cuthbert. I meant no offence - what did I say?" she asked, puzzlement turning into embarrassment.
"Later, Hermione. We'll need to put serious effort into your Latin now that you've been accepted in the higher programmes," McGonagall jumped in to change the subject. "Potter, have you met Professor-Healer Cuthbert, Director of Education at St Mungo's?" she grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward out of the Healer's copious shadow.
"An honour, sir. I am grateful for your service to our community, especially in these times of transition," Harry replied formally, shaking Cuthbert's hand. Being the spouse of a high-ranking Ministry official had meant mastering the art of changing personas on demand. Over Cuthbert's shoulder McGonagall beamed, Hermione's cheeks were still flushed, and Snape regarded him with an unnerving stare.
"The honour is all mine, Harry Potter!" Cuthbert punctuated his words with a Hagrid-worthy slap on the back.
Ouch, Harry mouthed at Hermione to make her laugh. A weak smile was as much as she could manage.
"Well, I have to be off if I mean to be back in time for evening rounds."
"Good night, sir," Hermione called after him. "Oh, Harry it's so good to see you!" She extended her hand, and he took it in his briefly, releasing it after an affectionate squeeze. He knew not to expect anything more. It was worth more than her life to be seen displaying affection for any man who was not her betrothed. Hugs had to wait until they had privacy.
"What was that?" Snape emphasised each word, finally acknowledging his presence. "Times of transition?" he spat.
I should have just Disapparated, he told himself. Face to face with Severus Snape, a man who had even deeper reason to be enraged by the name Potter after the laws were enacted could end no other way than with a disaster.
Harry looked Snape directly in the eyes, inhaled deeply, and opened his mouth to say… something.
Next to them the building exploded.