Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, it belongs to JK Rowling, etc, etc. Anyone who thinks I do own Harry Potter is an idiot.
A/N: Not much to say. Hope you guys enjoy.
Steps Toward Something
Chapter Three
Harry found Snape's home at Spinner's End to be highly claustrophobic, reminiscent of his time in the Muggle Psychiatric Hospital, with its dark, oppressive aura, and its cramped in spaces. Ascending the stairs to his bedroom every night also brought back memories of being locked in the cupboard under the stairs at 4 Privet Drive, something he tried very hard not to remember.
All that said, there was one thing Harry did like about his new home, and that was the fact that every single wall was lined with overflowing bookshelves, crammed so thick with books he struggled to pry them free, leaving behind fingerprints and clean streaks in the dust.
He had one of those books now, clutched to his chest as he walked the muggy streets of Cokeworth. Okay, so maybe he wasn't allowed to read any of those books, and maybe he wasn't allowed outside, under any circumstances, on his own, so some might say he had stolen the book, and that he was not doing exactly as he was told, but Harry didn't think of it that way. He was borrowing the book, and what was so wrong in wanting to escape the cramped confines of Spinner's End to read it in fresh air?
Harry found a good spot on a small hill overlooking the town's rather shabby looking park. He settled down on the dewy grass and opened the book, which was entitled Book of Spells, by Miranda Goshawk. The book was full of spells, as the title suggested, so many that Harry really didn't know where to start. He flipped through a few pages, studying several different spells.
There was the Reductor Curse, which was used to blast objects to pieces. Harry thought that might prove useful, so he filed that one away for further study. There was also the Severing Charm, which on paper seemed pretty simple, but Harry could think of other uses for it, if needed. These and many more caught his eye, and he resolved to find a way to practice every single one over the summer.
The sound of children yelling and laughing distracted him on more than one occasion, and finally he put the book down to watch. They ran about below him, chasing each other, laughing and so carefree. They swung on the swings, slid down the slide, and manoeuvred like monkeys around the climbing frame. Harry wondered what it was like to be so free. Free of worries, of darkness inside, tainting everything.
He wondered what was going on in their heads. Did they even suspect what the world was really like? No. If they did, they wouldn't be wasting time on silly things like running around a park and acting stupid.
Harry was so enraptured that he didn't even hear Snape approaching. 'Potter!' The wizard was angry with him, that much was clear from his harsh tone. Harry half expected to feel a hard hand close around his neck, or his arm, or something, but none did. Of course not - Snape never touched him, harshly or otherwise.
Harry sighed and stood up, holding the book out, resigned. 'I didn't steal it. I just wanted to read it.'
'I don't care about the bloody book,' Snape snarled, but he did snatch it away, so obviously he did care somewhat. 'You can't be out here! What did I say?'
'I'm not allowed to leave the house.'
'And so you thought you'd ignore me and go for a stroll!?'
'Yeah, I suppose so.'
Snape glared at him, as if he wanted to smack him, but was resisting. Harry would almost welcome a strike. At least he knew what that meant.
Finally, Snape sighed and said, 'when I said you can't be out here, I meant it. Potter, it's not safe for you out here.'
'I'm not an idiot,' Harry argued. 'I know the world is dangerous. You think I don't?'
'It's not just dangerous for you… it's beyond that.'
'What do you mean?' Harry frowned in confusion.
Snape sighed again and turned his back on him. Harry was beginning to realise that when Snape did that, it meant he was thinking over something hard. He let him think and waited.
Snape turned and walked towards him, stopping just short of touching distance. He glanced down into the park, noticing the children playing for the first time. His face softened just slightly. Harry was also getting better at reading Snape's facial features. Of course that didn't help him understand any better. What about the park, and those children playing, was making Snape calm down?
'Potter… do you want to go play?'
Harry laughed it was so absurd. 'What?' He looked down at all of the normal kids and shook his head at them. 'No, not even a little.'
Snape's eyebrows closed together a little, which Harry figured was a frown. 'Why not?'
Harry shrugged. 'Because… I'm not a kid.'
Snape continued to look at him for a long moment. 'Come on then, let's go home.'
Harry started to follow behind him. 'Can I keep reading the book when we get home?'
'I'll do you one better Potter,' Snape said evenly, 'I'll teach you.'
'You'll teach me?' Harry couldn't believe it. He had fully expected to get shot down.
'That's what I said.'
Harry was speechless, and so he just kept right on following Snape.
When he realised Harry wasn't going to say anything else, Snape continued, 'there is a lot I need to tell you, Potter. Why you can't leave the house. What the future has in store for you. And once you know all that, we'll start to prepare you for it. But you have to promise to listen to me and do as I say. Can you do that?'
'Yes,' Harry said, although he wasn't sure if he could.
'Promise me.'
Harry didn't hesitate to lie. 'I promise.'
(-)
At the same time, another theft was taking place, but this one was miles away, within Malfoy Manor.
Draco Malfoy knew all about his Father's collection of Dark Arts paraphernalia, and knew exactly where he kept it all hidden. So it wasn't hard for him to sneak into his Father's study late at night, magic aside the large rug that covered the trap door, and let himself down into the secret vault of Dark Arts goodies. Sure, there was a little ritual blood letting needed to open the door, but Draco was willing to endure the pain of a sliced palm, as long as he could find something, anything, that would allow him to take his revenge against that crazed pyromaniac Potter.
The only problem was, he had no idea what most of these items did, so he found himself wandering the isles, idly touching random objects and wondering, is this the one? What does it do? Draco wasn't stupid, despite what many people said. He knew that to use any of these Dark objects without full knowledge was risky; perhaps even a death wish, but his hatred of Harry Potter drove him to desperation.
Finally, he rounded one corner and saw it. Separate from the rest, a large glass case stood against the back wall, illuminated by a single flickering torch. Draco approached cautiously. What was inside? Some highly powerful magical wand? A cursed object?
It was none of those things, or any of the other powerful items his mind could imagine. No, it was just a plain book. Frowning, Draco placed his bleeding hand to the case, intending to lift the glass top free. Instead, the glass glowed so brightly he was momentarily blind, and when his sight returned, the glass, if that was what it even was, had vanished. The book lay before him. He picked it up carefully. Was it a book of powerful spells?
But when he opened the pages, he was dismayed to find them blank. What was this? He flipped through several more pages, all of them as empty as the first. Why did his Father have an empty book locked up down here?
He got his answer then, when it spoke to him, the writing appearing in flowing script:
Hello, who is this?
