Harry slipped past the blackened wood counter on which an antique metal till rested. One side of the counter was attached at right angles to the wall opposite the door, it bent round in a curve so that the main bench of the counter was parallel to the double glass windows giving the cashier a full view of the street beyond when he was at his post (Harry could see the street was very busy). He reached out to the door behind the till, wishing, praying it would open. He grasped it in his hand and paused, feeling no resistance or the vibrations such as he had felt on the front door. Painfully slowly he twisted it, hoping it had been oiled recently. The only noise it gave off was a quiet click. It swung into the backroom and Harry entered.

The front of the shop had had a quiet dignity. The aura of power which seemed to surround the merchandise on display was added to by the rich and decadent dressing of plush velvet to which they were set. This setting did not extend to the back of the shop. There were no lights on in the backroom so Harry had to rely on the illumination provided from the sunlight flooding through the front windows and coming through the newly opened door. It allowed him to see that the shallow room was unkempt and dusty. Crates were crammed into it in a higgledy-piggledy fashion; it appeared to house only excess stock, the sheer volume of which meant Harry traversed the room with much difficulty. Though the majority of the stock lined the four sides of the room in a disordered fashion a large amount crowded the centre of the room reaching almost to the ceiling meaning anyone entering it could cross it either by going left or right in a circle around them. Following around to the right of the narrow pathway, Harry found a rickety staircase at the back of the room leading, presumably, to a second storey. Harry rejected this instantly, should he ascend he would merely be trapped on a second storey making it twice as difficult to escape.

It became abundantly clear to Harry that there was no second door for him to leave by; it was the front door or nothing. He cursed Snape for taking his wand away but closed his eyes and thought of what he could do. Gryffindors were famous for their courage and bravery and that was what Harry needed now. He couldn't breach the door and he had no alternative exit. He could not do magic and he was in a room crammed with dangerous, deadly enchanted items. He was caught in a building with men that wanted him dead.

Opening his eyes, Harry looked closely at the crates. Suddenly it dawned on him that he was surrounded by tools he could use. Each crate had a row of nails securing the lid to the sides of the box. Harry tested them but they wouldn't move. However, some of them were open. When new stock had been put out, staff had clearly removed them and just left the boxes lying open: unsealed. Harry plunged his hand into one of these opened crates finding nothing within but straw padding. He moved onto the next one and tried again, but the second crate was also devoid of any meaningful contents. The third, however, did yield some objects as did the forth. The fifth was empty. Harry glanced at the door and turned away from the open boxes and instead laid the items he had found out on the floor before him. Each had a tiny tag tied onto various parts of them with effeminate handwriting scribed onto them.

Closely he examined the objects while keeping a surreptitious eye on the door: they must be coming out soon. The first of the five items was a piece of jet stone shaped into the head of a morning star the tag of which named it as the Stone of Alfatiers with the power to absorb and release elements (fire, water, air…) on command; the second was a stiletto knife whose tag declared any wound made by it would not heal; the third, a Death Mask, had the ability to hold the wearer in a state resembling death, with resurrection only taking place when removed; the fourth was a small hammer whose tag established its ability to smash any casement (this Harry pocketed); the fifth and final object, a small enamel cased book, the title of which was written in and illegible script, was identified by the tag as containing rare spells with unpleasant effects. The objects all had one thing in common, the reverse of the tags were signed with the looped signature of the owner, L. Malfoy.

A noise from the front of the shop removed Harry from his revive. He could hear the voices again, the voices from the hidden room and they were getting closer. Harry quickly leapt back around the stack of boxes and pushed the door to the front of shop closed. The conversation grew gradually louder though this time was far more congenial.

"I hope your children are well."

"Business is good?"

"How are you finding the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?"

"Those items you took care off for me…"

"That glove I asked for, did it arrive?"

"Oh yes," said a smarmy voice loudly, "in fact should you want to take it with you I can retrieve it from the storeroom."

This made Harry think fast. Not the stairs, was his immediate instinct. So, leaving his post at the door he went back to the opened crates in the darkness, flung the items he had removed from the boxes back into the cases before jumping in himself, dragging one of the rough lids back across, leaving a narrow opening for him to see through and to breathe.

Again the light front the shop front entered the room, illuminating the narrow section of wall that fell into Harry's restricted view. There was a regular thump of footsteps which entered the room and circled around to Harry's box. Wide eyed, Harry looked out at the figure. He could only see the back of his head which rested on the top of a tailored set of brown robes. His hair was grey, slicked back and tucked into the collar of his shirt. The man had his wand out and ran it along the top of the crate causing the nails to lift out of the wood and deposit themselves onto the centre of the lid. Pushing the lid aside, the man sank his arms into the box and lifted out a black, leather bejewelled glove with fragments of straw tumbling off of it onto the floor. He looked at the tag before removing any trace of dirt and turning around. Harry now got a look at the man's face. He was old and his blue eyes were close together over a piggy nose. His lips were nonexistent and his wide mouth rested on top of a cleanly shave chin.

Shop Man, as Harry christened him, looked directly at Harry's crate. Harry held his breath. The man came closer, extending a veined and liver spotted hand to the box. He grasped the lid. Harry closed his eyes and braced his hands on the side of the box willing himself not to move, not to make a sound. Shop Man dragged the lid to Harry's box closed meaning Harry was plunged into total darkness once more. The receding steps were accompanied by the slight click of the door.

For several moments Harry remained where he was, listening intently, re-evaluated his situation. He was now stuck in a crate, in a closed shop with no idea of the time, surrounded by dark objects and men who wanted to kill him and was utterly alone. He decided to wait. His courage was altered and he resolved to use his cunning and resourcefulness instead, the Sorting Hat had said it, he would have done well in Slytherin.

Harry did not know how long he had been in the crate when he heard the first tinkle of the shop bell as the visitors exited, signalling the reopening of the shop. That gave him hope, the door was open an escape route was made. He would just have to bide his time and wait. He shifted his weight and grasped the little hammer in his pocket. Nothing disturbed the silence of Harry's hiding place for what felt like hours until again there was a jingling tinkle of the bell, confirming Harry's belief the shop was open (though not overly popular).

Pushing the lid upwards, Harry began to slide it off of the opening to the crate. Standing, he silently got out of the box and took off his shoes to dampen the sound of his footsteps. His toe poked out of his left sock. There was another tinkle from the shop's bell. Harry went to the closed door and knelt to the key hole. He could see the back of the desk and the back of Shop Man. He would have to wait longer. He would have to wait until Shop Man moved away from the counter (when he would run for it) or when he came into the back room (when he would have to hide behind the door and then run). He would have to be quick, either way.

The bell tinkled again and shop man moved from his most but still Harry stayed put, resting his hand on the handle of the door listening to the pat of Shop Man's footsteps. Harry heard the beginning of sycophantic schmooze begin to spill from Shop Man's mouth.

"Wait for it," whispered Harry, "Wait for it."

Harry twisted the handle and drew it backwards on its silent hinges. Again only a tiny click escaped from the lock but this went unheard, having fallen into the patter of the conversation that Shop Man and the customer were deeply into. They were examining a cabinet on the side of the room. Silently, Harry circled the counter and walked along the side of the room at the furthest distance form the backs of the two men. He continued to move towards the door as quickly as he could.

"HEY,"

Harry ran, slamming himself into a display case causing it to fall and crack, spilling its contents on the floor. A thick black cloud flumed outwards from the smashed contents of the case emitting a cloud of bats that rose and flapped into the air swarming Harry's pursuers. Removing the little hammer, Harry thrust it at the door causing it to splinter forward into the street. Shooting a glance over his shoulder as he pelted down the road he saw Shop Man hanging in its frame, his wand drawn. Harry dodged between the numerous frequenters of Knockturn Alley. He did not stop even when he reached Diagon Alley.

Wheezing, Harry flew into the Leaky Cauldron. The patrons turned to look at him. The one who turned the fastest was Snape.

There was absolute silence. Snape looked gaunt. He walked towards Harry and glared at the rest of the room who suddenly seemed to become very interested in their drinks and evening meals.

"Tom," said Snape, never taking his eyes off of Harry "do you have a spare room?"

"Yes."

"I should like to take it," said Snape. They followed Tom upstairs in silence. Snape eyed Harry very carefully. Harry looked a mess. Snape took in his broken glasses and grazes. He was filthy from Flooing and there was what appeared to be straw woven into Harry's mop of hair. They were shown into a room which had two beds separated by a night stand. Snape thanked Tom, paying him.

"Now tell me what happened," Snape said as the door clicked shut. Snape pointed his wand at Harry, who was sitting on the end of the bed, and uttered, "Oculus Reparo"

Harry started at the very beginning and regaled Snape with his afternoon's adventure, for by looking at the clock Harry realised he had been stuck there for over four hours.

"…and the items were Malfoy's. L. Malfoy's.," finished Harry removing the little hammer and putting it on the bed for Snape to see.

Snape, reflected on Harry's story looking at him. Had Snape not heard Harry's honesty first hand he would have put this tale down to Harry's fancifulness and self-aggrandizement, but no. The scared boy before him was telling the truth. "Do you feel alright now, Potter?"

"No. I didn't have a wand!" said Harry angrily rising to his feet shaking. Snape pushed him back down again. "I couldn't do anything."

"If you had had a wand you wouldn't have known any spells to use. You are a mediocre student. Had you had a wand you would have not been able to do anything different," retorted Snape.

"I WANT MY WAND BACK," shouted Harry.

Snape looked down coolly. "Do not. Shout. Potter." Again there was a tense silence as Snape evaluated Harry. Carefully he removed Harry's wand. He twirled it briefly in his fingers. "I will give you your wand, Potter, on the condition that you allow me to teach you to use it."

Harry looked at Snape, "Alright."

Snape handed over the wand. Harry held it in his hand thinking about what he had agreed to. He didn't like Snape teaching him at school and now he'd agreed to have him teaching him in Snape's home.

"You've got to tell the Ministry about Malfoy, sir."

"No," said Snape.

"But why?"

"Malfoy," Snape said in a measured tone, "is very powerful in the ministry. Any accusation would be rebuffed. The government is not keen to open old sores."

"But that's not fair."

"Sometimes things aren't."