At 6 in the morning Snape arrived at Spinner's End with Harry. The sun had been up for just over and hour and, aside from a milkman whom Snape had been forced to Oblivate, no one had seen them. Harry had awoken half an hour before their arrival though had said nothing allowing the journey to continue in merciful silence which left Snape able to focus on his thoughts. They touched down in the middle of the potholed tarmac, which was in a state of general disrepair.
General disrepair was an accurate description of Spinner's End and its surrounding neighbourhood. Snape's house, though not viewable by muggle eyes, would not have looked out of place if it had been visible. The bloom of the estate had certainly gone to seed. The lawns were wild, over grown scraps of land with dandelions scattered through the green carpets. One had a car jacked up on blocks resting on the dirt with dented, scratched paintwork and etched glass. The doors and windows of many of the derelict houses were boarded up. The lower levels were daubed with graffiti displaying the tags of local gangs. Rubbish littered the streets. Snape caught a crisp packed between the tarmac and his heel before picking it up and placing it in his pocket. It was worse than he remembered.
Spinner's End itself was perfectly camouflaged within its environment, though it didn't have the Muggle teenagers' impromptu art scrawled across its face: the lawn was unmanaged, and the flowerbeds beneath the windows were racked with bind root and knot weed which twisted among the original inhabitants of the bed. The black front door that stood within a curve-topped porch had dried out flaking paint; the serpentine knocker's ornate scaled detail was masked by a coat of red rust. Snape walked to the door, opened it and gestured Harry inside before sealing it behind them.
The house's interior was little better than the exterior. With Hogwarts essentially being Snape's home for 46 of the 52 weeks in the year, with him staying at the school during both Easter and Christmas holidays as well as the regular terms, Spinner's End faced long term neglect and it showed. There was dense filth on the windows giving a murky quality to the light that caught the fleeting dust moots in the air of the small entrance. There was a pervasive smell of mildew and damp.
Snape escorted Harry into the first room off of the little hall: a living room with dilapidated furnishings. Snape directed Harry to the worn chintz sofa. He placed the broom in the corner, letting it rest brush upwards to prevent the twigs becoming split or broken before he turned his attention back to Potter. He would certainly need chocolate; that could be useful right this moment.
"Stay there and touch nothing," said Snape before leaving the room and going to the kitchen. The tap of the sink dripped and there was a thick, gooey moss growing along the track it had made as it ran down the side of the basin. He reached into the cupboard and checked his provisions. Aside from some staples, he did have everything he needed to treat Potter. He would have to get more supplies soon. In the kitchen, he unwrapped the chocolate halfway down and returned to Harry.
"Eat it all," he said, throwing it at Harry who looked up listlessly as if in a kind of torpor. Some colour had come back to his face; unfortunately it was more of a yellow pallor rather than a healthy pink. He looked more jaundiced than anything else.
Harry carefully removed the rest of the wrapper and bit down on the chocolate, his fear of poisoning by Snape dulled by exhaustion. It was stale and had a white powdered dust upon one the exposed section most likely due to its age, he supposed. He imagined Snape had little occasion to eat chocolate. It didn't taste good, in fact it tasted shocking, but it did the trick. Dull warmth spread through his body, washing outwards from his stomach into his finger tips and down to his toes. He began to fell better. He scoffed half the bar before placing it down on the arm of the sofa. He quickly removed it at a look from Snape and began to eat it more slowly, pondering while the chocolate melted over his warming hands.
"Sir, what was that…thing?" asked Harry turning to look at the Professor.
"If you paid attention in Defence Against the Dark Arts classes you would know," said Snape. He got nothing more than a blank look from Harry. "I would suggest you look Dementors up in your books in the morning."
"It is the morning."
"I will not have cheek from you Potter," Snape snapped, his nostrils flaring slightly. There was a tense silence for a time. Harry sucked down on his chocolate. He was beginning to feel really drowsy. He took another, larger bite from the chocolate.
Harry thought desperately for something to say in the awkward silence. Stifling a yawn, "Thanks for the chocolate, sir," was the best he could come up with. Hopefully Snape would at least find him polite. He was beginning to feel as if a muffler had been placed around his head. The warmth from the chocolate was making his eyes heavy and his head nodded forward, his strength pleasantly draining from him just as in the first stages of sleep. He took five dreamy blinks, staring up through his eyelashes at the window. The last thing he saw before closing his eyes was Hedwig approaching the windowpane at speed.
Snape was mildly impressed. In its powdered form a Sleeping Draught was double its liquid strength. Two blinks was usually the maximum.
With Harry now dead to the world, Snape turned to the owl now sitting on the windowsill now pecking at the glass. He opened it to allow Hedwig to enter and detached the parchment from the owl's leg. From his pocket he withdrew the miniature cage, engorging it to its normal size and coaxed Hedwig inside it with some owl treats while refilling the water. Hedwig refuelled while Snape turned his attention to the letter which read as follows.
Dear Severus,
Thank you for the timely information about the most recent magical activity in Privet Drive. The Ministry is reluctant to acknowledge the presence of the Dementor though has noted that a Patronus was cast in the vicinity of Mr Potter. However its being there merely highlights the necessity that Mr Potter remains under your protection for the last three weeks of the holidays.
In anticipation of your objections, I remind you of your duty of care to the school's pupils which extends into the holidays and also that this care is due regardless of any personal feelings you may have towards them or their families. I would also like to repeat the sentiments of our earlier conversation that you are who Harry.
In short, I shall expect to see Mr Potter on the first day of the autumn term fit and well. You removed him from the Dursley's and you will have to live, quite literally, with the consequences of that action.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore.
Snape crumpled the letter into a ball and stared hard at Harry asleep on the couch. Potter was staying and he was now resigned to that, but that did not mean he was glad about it. He resolved that he would make Potter's time here as useful as possible, for himself.
Snape straightened up and rose to his feet letting his eyes fall once more on Harry, a smile breaking his face as he wondered how Potter would like gutting rats and pickling brains for the next couple of weeks. He ascended the stairs, Potter would have to sleep somewhere and the Draught was powerful enough to maintain his slumber for a good time yet. He prepared a spare room.
Harry awoke with a stiff neck; putting a hand to his mouth he wiped some moisture from his chin. He had an incredible pressure in his head and as soon as he'd raised himself into a sitting position he had to lie himself down. Groggy and nauseous he lay on the sofa feeling the velveteen shapes of the chintz on his face. Despite this his sleep had revived him to some extent and his mind felt clearer. He was aware he was alone and that Professor Snape had brought him here.
Harry tried to sit up again, though this time more slowly. He got a better look of the room. He saw a fireplace filled with the burnt out embers of a long extinguished fire, it had a small metal bowl hanging next to it on a chain, above the mantle piece was a large mirror hanging slightly at an angle off of a long chain nailed into the wall; directly opposite him was an armchair in the same black and gold chintz material as the sofa, there was also a small, mahogany coffee table, whose legs had been carved to resemble the talons of a great bird clutching an egg, the bottom of which had been flattened out, between the suite; light from the dirty windows filtered through the sheets of glass onto a bookcase set into a corner, two deep in books so large that they could only be referred to as hefty tombs.
Looking at the bookcase, Harry began to read the titles of the books, several he had seen before, though only in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library when he, Ron and Hermione had been searching for Nicholas Flamel. They looked very dark. Harry raised himself off the sofa and moved towards it, catching a glance of himself in the mirror as he went. He looked drawn; his hair was greasy and looked even more scruffy than usual. He turned his attention back to the book shelf, reaching out to one of the lower shelves on Dark Magical Creatures to look up Dementors.
"I thought I told you to stay where you were and not to touch anything," said Snape from the doorway. Harry's hand had stopped just short of the book. He whipped it back and stood upright as if he had been shocked. "It seems, Potter, you are intent on breaking rules here, just as you are at school."
"I-."
"Do not interrupt me," Snape said. Harry reflected on the irony that that was just what Snape had done to him, but thought that telling Snape that was the quickest way to an early grave: he didn't even want to think of the imaginative things Snape could brew up to kill him. "You shall be staying in my house for the remainder of the holiday and it would be advantageous for you not to aggravate me. Now that you are finally awake, I suggest you unpack and change into something smarter."
Snape gave a final sneering look down Harry's outfit before leading him upstairs, showing him first a dingy bathroom on a small landing and then along the corridor, past a closed door and then on to what Harry assumed to be a spare room. It was decorated in white with fresh linen on the bed and smelt clinical, like a hospital which had been quickly scoured. There was a desk by the window and a chest of draws opposite it. Harry's trunk was open at the end of the bed, though his cauldron was absent. Harry went over to the trunk and looked in it.
"Sir, my wand's gone."
"It is gone because I have taken it," said Snape with a snide smile, removing Harry's wand from his breast pocket.
"Give it back to me," demanded Harry, reaching to try and snatch it from Snape's grasp. The Professor merely held it above Harry's head at just such a distance that Harry would think he could reach it. He toyed with it like a child dangling a piece of string above a kitten.
"Why?" said Snape abruptly, memories of James Potter flooding back to him, "You shan't need it while you are here, unless you really want to be expelled with further underage magic."
"I didn't use any magic," said Harry exasperatedly.
"Do NOT lie, boy. There are few things I like less than arrogant, little liars. I would advise you NOT to lie to me, Potter."
"I am not a liar," Harry stated. "I didn't do anything, I didn't lie and I didn't do any magic. I don't even know how to do a Hover charm. It wasn't me, it was a House Elf, Dobby, he wanted to stop me returning to Hogwarts.
"The sheer scale of your fibs inspires disbelief, Potter. The fact you know what a House Elf is and not a Dementor merely displays your woeful ignorance. It is typical of your character that you are aware of something that would worship you though not of something that would do you harm."
"I'm telling the truth."
"Unpack," Snape walked out of the room locking the door behind him. A few hours locked in there might make Potter reconsider his story. "I suggest you think again about the answer you just gave me. I will be back later."
"I'm not lying," said Harry running forward and pounding on the door with his fists. Snape continued to walk down the stairs, unmoved.
TBC…
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