Chapter 3

He was so pissed, and a little bit scared if he was being honest with himself, that Harry didn't even realize as he was leaving Privet Drive behind. When he caught on with his surrounding, he found himself to be standing near an empty plot on Westeria Walk, a couple of lanes away from Privet Drive. The adrenalin that prompted him to lug his trunk on his shoulder was starting to wear off and he was feeling fatigued. Harry lowered the trunk on the ground and sat on it, his head in his hands as he started to go over the events of the past hour in his mind.

A rustling noise from the bushes behind him made Harry jump back up on his feet. He whirled about to see what made the noises on the dried leaves. He was almost toppled over when a large, black something came slinking out of the bush. A dog? What was it doing here?

A rather silly question there, Harry. It's a stray dog, where else would it be if not on the street, looking for food?

"Hey, boy. Come here." Harry called out to the dog.

How do you know that it's a boy?

I just know, alright.

I am just saying…it could be a girl.

I am sure he is not.

Hermione would have agreed with me…

"For Merlin's sake." Harry rubbed his face tiredly. He was really beginning to lose it. Talking to oneself while pondering on some mystery was kind of okay, but developing a habit of doing it constantly, he was not sure if it couldn't be called mental. It was almost like the time he heard the basilisk around Hogwarts - a voice inside of his head.

He crouched down and opened his trunk to rummage inside. If he remembered correctly, he still had some of the leftovers from his train journey back to London. He had managed to squirrel some food away without Ron eating it all. He didn't trust the Dursleys to feed him and he didn't want to feel the pangs of hunger again, thank you very much.

He brought up a few packages from within his trunk, he hoped that the stasis charm on them held, although, the Trolley Witch did assure him that they would keep. A few Pumpkin Pastries and Chocolate Frogs, rest had all gone as a sacrifice to the Red Headed Monster Muncher.

"Here, boy, I hope you like them. It is not much but that's all I have. Well, better a bite than nothing at all, right?" Harry offered a pastry to the dog. The huge, emaciated black dog with matted fur gave a short whine as it padded towards Harry. It sniffed his hand and wagged its tail for the smell of food.

"Well, go on then." Harry urged the dog. It took the pastry in its mouth and gobbled it down within seconds. Finishing the pastry, it looked up to Harry (though it didn't have to look up very far, His head almost came to Harry's shoulder…it was really a big dog) and licked its chops. Harry chuckled, "You want the other one, too?" He fed it the second pastry.

Harry closed the lid of his trunk and sat on it, unwrapping one of the Chocolate Frogs for himself. He munched on the chocolate as he watched the dog eat the pastry, this time, it took its time, but still, it finished way too early and gave a hopeful look towards the young wizard.

"Sorry, boy…er, you are a boy, aren't you?" The dog lowered its head, almost as if it understood Harry, and him being what would Hermione Granger call being rather thick, completely overlooked it. "Yes, you are a boy, glad that we cleared it up." He patted his head. "Anyways, as I was saying, sorry, but all I have left is chocolate, and I won't give you chocolate. It's poison for dogs, you know? The only useful knowledge I got from Marge, the Barge."

The dog shuffled closer to Harry, he started to scratch him behind the ears absent-minded.

"I wonder what's your name. You don't have a collar on you. Will you mind if I call you Pafoo? I dunno why but you and Pafoo seem to fit together." The dog nudged him with his snout, "I know, weird, right? It's not the only weird thing that kept happening to me for the past few days. But today beats everything. I think I heard my parent's voices today, Pafoo."

Pafoo whined and laid his head on Harry's leg,

"I know what you are thinking, Pafoo, 'but Harry, your parents are dead for a long time, how could you hear their voices today?'" He chuckled self-deprecatingly, "I don't know what happened back at the Dursleys today, Pafoo. Marge was badmouthing my parents. She called dad an unemployed drunk layabout and mum, a bitch. I guess that's when I lost it. Or my magic did, I don't know…I was busy looking at Aunt Petunia trying to protect Dudley, and something nudged loose inside of my head.

I heard a man yell – Lily, it's him, take Harry and run! I will hold him off!

Then a woman begging someone – Please, not Harry! Not my son! Take me, kill me instead. Spare my son!

Another voice answered to her, a voice I heard about a year back, he called her stupid and asked her to step aside. But she didn't, she kept begging, then the voice laughed…he laughed, Pafoo…and said something, ava…abra…something and there was something green and…pain, a lot of pain…"

Pafoo whined again and buried his head in Harry's stomach. Harry, not caring that the dog's fur was matted with mud and grime, wound his hands around his neck and sobbed quietly.

A few minutes later, Harry got his emotion under control and wiped his tears on his sleeves.

"Sorry to bother you, mate. You don't wanna be dragged into my life. It's complete madness I tell you. I wish I could take you with me, but like you, I don't have a home either. What do you reckon -"

He was cut off by a series of cracking sounds, not unlike gunshots. Harry sprang to his feet and raised his wand. He peered into the semi-darkened street to see what made those noises. He could hear faint voices, but the owners of those voices were not coming towards him, but away from him. He just took a step forward when suddenly –

BANG!

A triple-decker, purple bus stood where Harry was just a moment ago. With a hiss, its doors opened and a pimply youth, not that much older than Harry himself was, leaned out and read from a piece of parchment in his hand –

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for stranded witch or wizard. Just hold out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike and I'll be your conductor this evening."

He looked up to say something but was startled when there was none to talk to. He looked around and his eyes bugged out when he found Harry on the ground glaring up at him.

"Wha' choo doin' down there?"

"I fell over, dinnit I?"

"Wha' choo fell over fer?"

"Never you mind…" Harry grumbled as he got up. He looked around for Pafoo but there was no sign of him. He called out, "Pafoo?"

Stan blinked and looked at him like he had lost his mind, "Wha's Pafoo?"

"Er…a name…"

"A name?" Stan's eye's got even bigger.

"Yeah, it's a name…a nickname. My nickname. Yeah, it's my nickname, Pafoo."

Stan scowled, "Wha's yer name then?"

Harry shrugged off the question, "Just call me Pafoo. You said you'll take me wherever I want to go?"

"Tha's wha' I said, innit? Come on, le's get in already. Where ya headed?"

"Uh, Leaky Cauldron in London? Can you take me there?" He wanted to finish this conversation as fast as he could, letting this…conductor of Knight Bus know that he was Harry Potter could prove to be a mistake.

Stan chuckled, "Can we take ya ta Leaky Cauldron in London…ya hear that, Ern? He asks if we can take him ta London?"

Someone grumbled from the inside, "Let's get goin' already, Stan."

Stan seemed to return to what he was supposed to be doing, he scrambled down from the bus and held up one side of Harry's trunk, "Righ', righ'…here, lemme help ya. Mind yer head now. Jus' go straigh' ta the back. We got a few o' the other stops ta make before we head London."

Harry had never seen anything like this bus before. Well, granted, he hadn't seen many busses, but this one was completely out of there. There were beds instead of seats. A few passengers laid on the said beds, all looking quite green. The most startling thing was the chains that were on the empty beds. Harry was thinking if it was a good idea to board this bus or not when Stan came stomping after him, carrying his trunk.

"Here ya go, Pafoo. Now, the fare is 'leven sickles fer London. Ye'll get a cuppa hot choc'late an' a toothbrush in yer preferred colour fer fifteen."

Harry's stomach growled at the name of hot chocolate, he opened his trunk once again to take out his money pouch. He counted out fifteen sickles from it and handed it over to Stan, "I'll take the hot chocolate, but hold the toothbrush."

"Very well," Stan fed the coins to the contraption that was hung from his neck and out came a slip of parchment. He handed the slip to harry and hollered facing towards the front. "Take 'er away, Ern."

Harry was not ready for the sudden lurching movement that the bus made, he toppled over the bed he was standing next to and held on for dear life. He looked out the window beside the bed to see that the bus was running at a breakneck speed half on the pavement, half on the road. But instead of smashing and breaking the lampposts and mailboxes, they leapt off the bus's path. He smiled at the display of magic, "Wicked!"

A snicker from above alerted Harry of the fact that Stan was still there, he turned his head to glare at the pimply youth.

"It's always funny ta see new uns roll 'round the first time they board here bus."

"Yeah, yeah, very funny," Harry grumbled as he tried to sit up.

"Here ya go, Pafoo, yer hot choc'late." Stan handed him a big, steaming mug of hot chocolate. From where did he get the cup or where did the hot chocolate come from, Harry would never know. His only concern at that time was not to get burned by the piping hot beverage. But astoundingly, Harry realized that even as the bus was jerking and lurching this way and that, the bed was still, also the mug that Harry was holding, sitting on the bed, didn't show any sign of movement, not even a small ripple in the liquid inside. Harry could brew the most delicate potion right there on that bed while the bus was moving and not a thing would roll off or spill over. Harry wanted to laugh and cheer as he rode on, it was almost like riding on a broomstick. But the others on board, apart from himself, Stan and the driver, Ernie, didn't share in his enthusiasm. Well, Harry understood their side of things, he had seen Hermione getting sick from just watching him fly on his broom.

"I love magic!" Harry exclaimed.

As he took a sip from his mug, his mind wandered back to Pafoo the dog. He didn't know where the poor thing ran off to. He must've been startled by those gunshots like sounds. Harry wondered what those were about. And the voices that he heard, the people those voices belonged to seemed to be in a hurry. Now that Harry was taking his time, he realized that those people were going in the direction of Privet Drive. He took another sip and absent-minded scratched his chest and stomach with his free hand.

It took him a while to realize that suddenly he was feeling very itchy all over. He set the now empty cup aside and started to scratch like mad.

What's with this itchiness? Am I shedding skin or something?

He rolled a sleeve up to take a look and promptly rolled it down again to cover the exposed skin. Instead of the scales like he had expected to see on his skin, now he was sporting hair…well, fur to be precise. He shoved his hands to his pocket after putting up the hood of the frayed jacket he was wearing. He made himself as small as he could while making sure neither his face nor skin was visible.

Now I am growing fur? Did I become a werewolf too without my knowledge? What is going on?

Stan was standing by his bed, leaning casually against a window, he had a copy of the day's Prophet in his hands. He looked up from the paper and chuckled to see Harry all covered up.

"Feelin' cold, ain' choo?"

"Yeah…a little cold…" Harry chuckled nervously.

"Righ', righ', there be a bit nip in the air…"

Harry was not listening as the youth kept blabbering on and on. His eyes were focused on the newspaper in Stan's hand. Right there on the first page was a moving picture of a man. He was looking quite deranged with his wild hair. He kept laughing at the camera. A memory triggered in his mind as he remembered seeing the same man in the muggle news. Apparently, he was an escaped convict. He remembered him because Vernon was grumbling that the anchor didn't mention why the man was in prison.

"I know him, he was on the muggle news." He blurted out.

Stan looked down at the paper, "Ya mean Sirius Black? O' course 'e was on their news. Killed a buncha them muggles, dinnit he. Caused quite a fear back then if I 'member it righ'. Ain't that righ', Ernie?"

"What is it, Stan?" The driver called back.

"This Black?"

"Oh, aye. Right nasty bugger, he is."

Stan turned back towards Harry, "Ya dinnit know about 'im?"

"Oh…" Harry stuttered, "Er, no…um, I am a Muggleborn, you see…"

"Ah, 'kay then, Pafoo. I'll tell ya 'bout Black. Just like Ern said, nasty bugger. 'e killed over a dozen folks with one curse, they say. The righ' hand man of You Know Who, 'e was."

"Voldemort?"

In an instant, pandemonium ensued inside of the bus. Stan yelped and jumped up in the air before crashing into a bed by the side. On which, laid an old woman who was muttering under her breath with her eyes tightly closed. She yelled and tried to jump off the bed but collided with the body of Stan Shunpike and both of them fell on the floor, rolled around along with the bus's motion. This was not a very memorable thing to do as Ernie, on hearing the Dark Lord's name let out a screech and jerked at the steering wheel, making the bus swerve dangerously, it was possible that the bus also rolled around once or twice because Harry could swear that he saw the ground out of the window, in the upwards direction. The few passengers who were on the front of the bus, cursed loudly, some at the driver, the rest at Harry.

"Wha' choo sayin' tha' name for?" Stan screeched as he managed to get back on his feet and helped the old lady back on her bed as Ernie struggled to get the bus back under his control.

Harry was blushing hard under his hood, "S-sorry, I forgot…"

"Ya forgot ta not say You Know Who's name? Wha' char ya, idiot?"

"Er…told you I am a Muggleborn, I don't understand why everyone is so afraid of the name Vol-"

He was cut off by a strangled yelp from Stan, another nerve-rattling jerk of the bus and more cursing from the other passengers.

"Make him stop sayin' that name, Stan, I almost drove the bus down in the drink…" Ernie yelled back in a pleading voice.

"'ere now, ya had yer choc'late, now ya shut it an' sit there like a good little boy. If I 'ear any peep outta ya, I'll be kickin' ya off the bus, ya got it, Pafoo?"

Harry nodded dumbly. Stan gave him another glare before dusting himself off and stomping towards the front, all the while muttering expletives under his breath.

Harry closed his eyes and rested his head on the headboard of the bed. He actually forgot the fact that the general populace of the wizarding world was very afraid of the name Voldemort. What with Dumbledore always saying it and Harry really never saw the reason behind why he should not say it. He wondered what they will think if he went on to say the name was an anagram.

Besides, he didn't have the luxury to think about this Black or Voldemort. Now he had a new symptom along with being a snake animagus. The fur he suddenly had grown all over his body. Thankfully, he had reverted back to his original self during all the commotion, but still being careful, he was chanting his mantra – Harry the Human , under his breath.

Suddenly, another thought sprang into his mind, which he had not thought about at all for the duration. He did magic. In the Dursley house, a muggle dwelling. Last year, he received a cautionary letter from the Ministry because Dobby floated up a cake. This year, he had blown Marge up like a balloon and caused a miniature tornado in the Dursley kitchen. He was warned last year that he would be expelled from Hogwarts if there was another incident. Well, it seemed to him that he was bound to become a vagabond like his relatives always blamed him to be. It was lucky that he decided to go to the Leaky Cauldron, after all, he would need to visit Gringotts and his vault. He wondered if the Goblins exchanged Galleons for muggle currency. He would need to change his inheritance if he was summarily banished from the wizarding world.

The bus jerked to a stop, breaking Harry out of his musing. Stan was seen scampering towards the door, he looked over his shoulder at the back of the bus and yelled out –

"Oi! Pafoo! This is yer stop. Get yer trunk and get off. I ain't helpin' ye no more."

Harry hurried to his feet and after making sure that he hadn't left anything on the bed, took a hold of his trunk before discreetly brushing his fingers over his face, checking to see if the fur was still there. He let out a sigh of relief to feel that it wasn't. He kept saying his mantra within his mind and proceeded to get off the bus.

As he passed the other passengers, they tried to take him apart by their glares alone. To them, he was the cheeky bastard who had uttered the dreaded name just to pull on their legs. They could tell one the choicest things about the young generation – no respect for their elders, I tell you! Why, when I was at that age, I regularly ate my water and drank my food.

Harry waited behind Stan who was helping an older lady to get off the bus, "'ere ya go, Mrs McDermott. 'ope ye had a pleasant ride. Do 'member us the next time ye wanna travel."

The lady looked anything but pleasant. She gave her fair share of death glare in equal measure to Stan and Harry before she scampered off. Stan turned towards Harry with a frown, "Well, wha' choo waitin' for? Git goin' now, Pafoo."

Harry nodded his head and heaved his trunk back on his shoulder and disembarked from the bus. Stan opened his mouth to speak to him but the new arrival made him forget about his practised speech, or for Harry particularly, a threat if he tried to board the bus in near future.

"Ah, I was wondering how long it will take you to get here. Mr Potter, I presume?" A jovial voice called out to Harry, relief was evident in that oddly familiar voice.

His eyes widened when he turned his head towards the speaker.

"Oh…um…Good evening…"

Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge was standing there, lime-green bowler hat as usual in his hands, beaming down at Harry.

A.N. - Thought to be generous to my readers before '21 ends. Here you go, Happy New Year!