Chapter 7 – Run

In a crowded bus, a scrawny boy wearing a sweater and jeans that were too big for him was standing by a slim and tall man in a dark suit.

Harry Potter, the boy, was a bit confused, maybe even disappointed: Mr. Snape said he was from the staff of a School of Wizardry and Witchcraft; Harry expected him to do something like teleporting them both to their destination, opening a dimensional portal to there or even taking him to a ride on a flying broom or carpet.

But instead, they just walked quite ordinarily to the nearest bus stop; when the bus arrived it was already jam-packed and they had to stand, Mr. Snape couldn't even bother to hypnotize someone with those creepy eyes of his to make them give away their seats.

Maybe he works for wizards but isn't a wizard, thought Harry. Fortunately, a few stops later, the bus got a lot less congested and they could sit beside each other and rest their legs. Mr. Snape opened his suitcase and quickly took a book out of it; the book's leathery brown cover was enigmatically blank; then he started reading it with resilient concentration, ignoring all the surroundings, Harry included. The boy tried to discreetly peruse the tome's content over the man's shoulders, just to find out it was written in some sort of foreign language and he couldn't for his life figure out what it was about.

I think he won't be happy when I interrupt him, but I have to, assumed Harry, while he was trying to word his question in a way that wouldn't suggest the existence of wizards to the non-magic people surrounding them (Mr. Snape told him about the secrecy thing just before they left the Dursley's).

"Mr. Snape?" whispered Harry. The man didn't make a single sound neither stirred his head; he just moved his eyes from the book to Harry's direction. Well, I guess it's enough to know he's listening, supposed the boy.

"Why are we taking public transportation?" queried Harry; after his question, he could see the corners of Snape's lips were slightly pointing upwards.

"Why not? Isn't it good enough for the mighty Harry Potter?" he whispered back.

'Mighty Harry Potter', where did he get this from? , thought Harry, while touching the tape-mended bridge of his round glasses.

"I just thought that your people had faster ways to reach your destinations." answered the boy, being very careful with his words and tone. Mr. Snape raised an eyebrow and his sneer became more evident.

"Of course, we have but you can't make use of them until you're older, it's even truer when you're unassisted. We can't guarantee you're going to be assisted by someone from our people for your school shopping next year, so I'm showing you how to get there by conventional methods." he retorted.

"So… Should I be paying attention to the way?" queried Harry.

"Wasn't that obvious? Did I really have to tell this to you? 'Paying attention' should be your default state of mind, and I think you're more than old enough to know that. Oh, well, I can see already you're not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed." replied Mr. Snape, dryly.

Now, that's official: that man is insufferable. I sincerely hope the rest of the Hogwart's staff is nicer than him. , thought Harry while trying to imagine how he was going to endure Mr. Snape's company for the rest of that afternoon. Well, at least I paid enough attention to the way to know how to get where we are now.

After they left the bus they took a train to London, then another bus; they were silent for most of the way. There was a moment Harry was examining Mr. Snape's features while he was focused on his book when he noticed something: a tiny blood stain in a point of his neck; the combination of that little detail with Snape's already unsettling figure made Harry feel a cold in his spine. Why is this disturbing me so much? It means nothing; probably he got it when he was shaving this morning, the boy thought to his uneasy self.

They left the second bus and then walked for a while along some crowded streets where shops were abundant; Harry moved his eyes in all directions, trying to detect which ones of them were most likely to sell magic gear, but they all looked like quite ordinary. They finally stopped right before a minuscule run-down pub almost unnoticeable between two large and shiny stores; its name could be read on a dilapidated wooden sign: "The leaky cauldron".

"We're going in there." said Mr. Snape, pointing it.

This is strange. Aren't we supposed to buy school materials? Why are we going into a dark, grubby-looking pub? Aren't minors supposed to not be in those places? Harry pondered.

Then Mr. Snape covered Harry's head with the boy's sweater's hood, to a point that even his scarred forehead was hidden.

"Keep your hood where it is and keep looking ahead; it will spare us from a lot of inconveniences." he said.

It was when Harry had a terrifying thought: he hadn't seen a single display of magic all the way long.

He had seen Mr. Snape's cold eyes, the blood stain, this suspicious place.

How could he be so foolish? There wasn't magic, there wasn't Magic School.

The letter was just a test, and he failed; he shouldn't answer it without consulting his relatives; by answering it he showed he wasn't considerate to his family, he showed he was just waiting for an opportunity to backstab them.

Mr. Snape was someone the Durleys hired to get rid of him like a rabid dog before he got out of control; he was bringing him to this distant and shady place for not to be seen again.

That's why his aunt looked so sad and resigned when they left.

Harry thought all of this in a fraction of a second.

"Follow me.", said Mr. Snape.

RUN, RUN, RUN! , said Harry's gut feeling.

And Harry ran.

Harry ran with all his strength in the opposite direction, a small car braked only a few centimeters before him. Without stopping, he looked behind for an instant: he could see Mr. Snape wasn't even trying to go after him; he stayed where he was, his body language indicated he couldn't believe this was happening.

I need to find someone or somewhere to help me, a police officer, a firefighter; I don't know… conjectured Harry.

But, before he could find any of those, he stopped feeling his legs and his vision was getting darker and darker.

What's happening? I can't stop now! I need to go on! that was his last thought before he completely lost his consciousness.

When Harry could open his eyes again, he saw he was lying on the ground of a small and dirty walled courtyard behind a shabby commercial establishment: he could faintly hear voices coming from what looked to be a closed back-door, he wondered if it could be The Leaky Cauldron's back.

Mr. Snape was standing near him and he didn't look amused.

"I'm not being paid enough for this." he slurred.

Harry tried to move or scream, but his body wasn't responding. What was going on? Was he hit by some kind of tranquilizing dart?

Mr. Snape was reaching for something inside the holster under his suit.

That's it. He's going to shoot me now.

Harry closed his eyes, he was too afraid to watch his own death helplessly.

He waited for the gunshot, but he didn't hear a thing: he just felt a current of energy running throughout his body, he felt like his clothes were clutching his limbs.

Dying felt funny.

When he opened his eyes again, he wasn't in some kind of limbo: he was still there, with Mr. Snape by his side. But, oddly, the man wasn't holding a gun: he was holding some sort of wooden stick.

"You can get up now, Mr. Potter. But, if you make the slightest suggestion that you're going to act up like you just did again, you're going to stay just as motionless as a flower pot for the rest of today's errands. I'm too old for little chasing games." he hissed.

Just like Mr. Snape asserted, Harry could move now. He got up and almost immediately he noticed something interesting: his sweater and jeans didn't felt like they were once Dudley's, they felt like they were made for him, they fitted perfectly.

Was it possible? Magic?

"Did you... Did you…" Harry was trying to find the words to query Snape while nipping his sweater's sleeve; it was enough to make him get the point.

"The bagginess of you clothes was bugging me; I'm not obligated to watch such a display of bad taste so closely. I don't care what the young fashion looks like nowadays; you don't have the right to hurt my eyes while I'm escorting you all the afternoon long. I don't get anything for enduring this kind of insalubrity."

"But…"

"I'm not interested in hearing your whining, Mr. Potter. I need to concentrate now."

Harry's clothes weren't trendy, they were hand-me-downs; he was actually very happy with their new sizes and was just trying to say "Thank you".

Talking about fashion…

…Mr. Snape waved his wooden stick on his own direction and something amazing happened: contradicting aunt Petunia's and Miss Williams' statements, his short hair just grew up instantly to the length of his shoulders. His dark clothes seemed to grow, too: his sharply cut suit was transformed into some sort of long-sleeved long dress with a cape. Harry thought he was now looking like some sort of gloomy Drag Queen.

"So, magic is real and you're a wizard, sir!" said Harry, thrilled.

"I think I overestimated your wits by presuming you were already aware of that." rustled Snape.

"Yes, but… I doubted it for a moment because you looked like very non-magical before."

"Of course, because looking like a wizard with thousands of Muggles swarming around us would be a very reasonable thing to do. Your brilliance never ceases to amaze me, Mr. Potter." Snape replied, bitingly as usual.

"Mug..what?" questioned Harry.

"'Muggle', and the plural for it is 'Muggles': that's how wizards call non-wizards. Wasn't that glaring enough? Do I really have to spoon-feed everything to you? Can I make it clearer? It's like 'goy' for non-Jewish and 'gaijin' for non-Japanese."

Harry was starting to see a pattern: it was like Mr. Snape had the need to be always unpleasant, even when he was being helpful.

The bitter wizard proceeded: "Since you're so brilliant, I guess I need to make it clear to you that you should pay attention to which brick I'm going to touch now."

Snape approached a trash can adjacent to the wall and tapped a brick with the point of his wand three times; Harry cared to memorize which one. Suddenly, the brick he had touched quivered and wriggled, a small hole appeared in the middle and then grew wider and wider, a second later they were facing a very large archway leading into a cobblestoned street; Harry could already have a glimpse of lots of fascinating shops and people dressed in outlandish garments through it.

"Welcome to the Wizarding World." enunciated Snape, with a cynical voice tone. "As you may already suspect, if your IQ isn't lower than a slug's, we're more than people with elements bending powers: we're a different culture from the one in which you were raised into: we have our own customs, our own traditions, our own laws, our own views, our own way of life and… our own prejudices. The insertion of a muggle-raised person like you into our society is difficult: most of them can't take the cultural shock; I'm not sure if you have the strength of heart required for this, I'm not optimistic from what I've seen. I wish you good luck, Mr. Potter. Keep your head covered and follow me. FO-LLOW ME, UNDERSTAND?"

"O-okay" answered Harry.

They both stepped through the archway heading to the Diagon Alley; after their passage, it shrunk again into a solid wall.

A couple seconds later, a pale young man wearing purple robes and a turban opened the Leaky Cauldron's back door.

"Di-did he sa-say 'Mr. Potter'?" he muttered.