"Harry Potter's gone missing,"

After the initial panic that such a dramatic pronouncement prompted, Severus Snape counted to ten, pulled his Occlumency Shields together, brewed tea and grudgingly offered a cup to the headmaster, changed, found them a place to sit and demanded an explanation from the old man.

Respectfully.

"I was responsible for finding young Harry accommodations after that fateful Halloween," Albus said. "Legally, the responsibility of taking care of the boy would've fallen to the Blacks, because of the rights Sirius Black held."

Severus grimaced at the thought, but didn't interrupt even as he paced, eyes fixed on the Headmaster. Albus continued. "To this day, I have wondered whether the choice I had made for Harry's guardianship was right, as is the old mind's folly. I had monitored and planned, but-"

"Headmaster, with all due respect, I don't think the boy would survive past the night if that is the pace you intend to go at. Explain succinctly, "

He should've fed the man poison instead. Tea made him far too relaxed, Severus thought, curling his fingers into a fist as he tightened his occlumency shields, a furious sort of worry wrapping around his chest. If Potter died— but he couldn't think about that. He couldn't.

To think he was concerned about the condition of his home just minutes ago. Almost surreally, it felt like he was back in the midst of the war; the inky fear that had him in a chokehold all those years ago crept back in, churning in his gut and making his thoughts run wild under his Occlumency shields.

Albus breathed, one, two— and Severus was once again struck; he'd seen a lot more of Albus Dumbledore than anybody else had; had seen him angry and sad and annoyed, but he'd never seen the man truly scared, and he couldn't say the Headmaster was scared right now, but he looked pretty damn close.

"I left Potter with Petunia Dursley,"

"What?"

"You know, just as well as I do, that the events of Halloween all those years ago were less due to the talent of young Mr Potter, and more because of the power of his mother," Albus said, rubbing his eyes. "I do not know the specifics of the magic she used, but I do know that she used her blood to protect her son."

"Blood magic," Severus said disbelievingly. Of all the people he'd have thought to have used blood magic— one of the trickiest and darkest fields of magic that even the most savage witches and wizards shied from— Lily Potter would've been the last person to cross his mind. Say what you will about Lily, but you couldn't deny that she was as light as they came. The very thought someone like her had dabbled in such magic…

"With her gone, it became my responsibility to protect Harry. She had- she had confided in me about the protections she had made, and I came to the conclusion that only someone with her blood could help me revive the blood shields. I took Harry to Petunia the day after, explaining the circumstances and trusting that Mrs Dursley would do the right thing," Albus explained. "As long as Petunia considered Harry family and as long as Harry considered their residence home, Lily's protection would hold,"

"That's it?" scoffed Severus. There were few things that would never change, and his endless contempt for Petunia Evans— now Dursley, he reminded himself- was one of them. "How on Earth do you know she hasn't dropped him off at some godforsaken orphanage, Albus?"

"I had my methods of watching them," said Albus. "I have known where exactly Harry Potter has been for the past decade." He stood up, and Severus joined him. "Until a few hours ago, that is."

Severus grabbed his cloak, hands curling into a fist over his wand. "What happened?"

"Mr Potter has been sent repeated Hogwarts letters for the past week. He had not sent a reply, and as per policy, more and more were sent, with no reply returning to Scotland,"

"And that wasn't a cue for you to check up on them?" Severus asked incredulously. It didn't make sense. Severus had trusted this one thing to Dumbledore— to protect Harry Potter throughout his childhood, and he'd been a perfect little servant, never questioning, never doubting. And Albus- Albus had proven to be incompetent, the infallible, intelligent-beyond-measure wizard failing . The Headmaster seemed to have seen the disbelief and contempt on his face, because he was quick to reply:

"I hadn't known about it. The letters were sent automatically. I was only informed of it yesterday, when Minerva approached me with her concern," Albus told him, stepping into the living room as he pulled his wand out. "She had theorised that Petunia had been taken aback at the arrival of the letter, and had chosen to run. I happen to agree with her- do not look at me like that, Severus, I know what Petunia Dursley is like."

And yet you trusted the safety of the Wizarding World's saviour with her, Severus thought. Albus continued "I had planned to send one of the staff to Harry's location later today,"

"He went missing sometime after that," Severus guessed. Albus nodded. "Earlier this night, I woke to the blood wards breaking," Albus said grimly.

"You mentioned you have his location?" Severus asked, and Albus shook his head. "I had it. The blood wards informed me of where the Dursleys were. With them broken, I have no way to know where Harry Potter is."

Severus stopped, taking it in. In one swish of his wand, the mess in the living room cleared somewhat, the paraphernalia on the ground banished to messy closets and the bedrooms upstairs. He breathed, looking over the house.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" He asked. It's meant just to fill the silence, but Albus has an answer for it. He pulled out an envelope from his night robe. It was slightly crumpled, the Hogwarts logo scrunched and smudged. Severus looked up at Albus with a raised brow.

"Some hundred letters were sent to that location," Albus said, gesturing to the envelope. "The last known location of Harry Potter,"

Severus turned the envelope. It read:

Mr. H. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

When he woke up, Harry was curled into a ball, head bumping into rusted metal.

The light was dim, the sky still far from sunrise, with only the flickering streetlights to keep him company. Harry blinked, confused, before he remembered the events of the day before.

Harry sighs, fumbling his way out of the tube. It looked like it was early in the morning, and there was no one in the park he'd hid in.

After leaving the hotel the night before, Harry had wandered around the town, running to the park when a group of people came too close to him. He'd been tired and sleepy, and the tube—covered and cold enough against the sticky heat— seemed like a brilliant place to sleep.

Obviously not, Harry thought as he stretched. Even the cupboard hadn't been this tight. Yawning, he clutched the bag to his chest as he walked to the edge of the park, peering out at the muddy road below. There was no one outside. Harry trudged back through the sand. He didn't have the faintest idea of what he'd do, now that he was free from the Dursleys. He hadn't— well, honestly, he hadn't thought that far ahead. He'd hoped to get his hands on the elusive letters, and then—

And then, well. Harry had no idea.

The park was old, all pock-marked metal and rusted handles. One of the slides was bent at an odd angle, as though someone took a hammer to it, and the lone bench near the woods was in pitiful condition. It seemed like it had rained before, and the water lingered on top of the equipment, slippery and cold to the touch. Harry clutched his sports bag to his chest and wrapped his arms around himself, leaning against the cold metal of the swing's frame.

There were no letters in the park. Which was fine. The letter sender couldn't have known he'd run away. They'd probably been sent to the hotel. He'd have them tomorrow. Harry was sure of it. He wasn't clear on how the letter sender managed to know where exactly he was, but they couldn't fail now . He'd find the letters tomorrow. Of course he would.

He put the sports bag down, ignoring the treacherous voice in his head that urged him to decide what he'd do next, after finding the letters. It seemed as though his hopeful certainty from the night before had vanished, leaving behind pessimism and fear. He shouldn't worry, he told himself. If everything went well, the letter might just be his key out of misery.

But what if it didn't go well, the voice asked . Harry sat up a little straighter. It had to go well. The letter had to be important, had to be for him— and it would be. If it weren't, why would the letter sender try so hard to get the letter to him? It had to be important. It was important.

Harry walked back to the slide. He might as well get some sleep. Then after… Perhaps he could explore the town. Harry recalled his aunt mentioning she grew up here— Cokeworth. Which meant- his mum grew up here too. Aunt Petunia had said it in a dismissive tone, as though the very thought was something to be ashamed of. Tiredly, Harry wondered; would Cokeworth be worthy of it? Or was it like Harry, something unnatural and worth discarded, something someone like Aunt Petunia couldn't bear being linked to?

He let the thoughts buzz into background noise as he ducked back into the tube, grounding his feet against the walls of the equipment and clenching and unclenching his fists, eyes squeezed shut, a futile attempt to keep the worry at bay.

Of all the places Petunia could've chosen to run, she came to Cokeworth , Severus seethed, his robe and cloak transfigured into a relatively inconspicuous shirt and tie with a long coat that fell to his knees. It was barely seven in the morning, and he strolled to the hotel, which was at the edge of town. Railview Hotel. He'd seen the dingy thing a few times— it was far from Spinners End's side of the town, and it was the place for the odd vacationer stopping by for the night, sufficiently removed from the dirt and abandoned houses in the neighbourhoods near Spinners End.

Severus scoffed, sidestepping an upturned rubbish bin as he turned the corner. Cokeworth was as dirty and disappointing as ever, smelling of garbage and blessedly silent this early. That wouldn't last, though. Soon enough, the town would wake, becoming loud and insufferable, a too-old town collapsing under its weight. There was a time, Severus knew, when it wasn't always like this. Or, well, it wasn't all like this. The poorer neighbourhoods of the town- of which he was intimately familiar with- had always been pathetic, with its occupants rushing to get out of the ruin(not that his family had ever managed to) but when he was a child, there were parts of Cokeworth filled with Muggles with enough money and education to survive respectably. Now, even those neighbourhoods had become a pale shade of what they had once been, and anybody worth their money and intelligence would know to steer clear.

Severus shook his head, lost in thought. He passed a tall man as he walked in the direction of the hotel, which finally came into view.

Severus paused, for a second, reassembling his Occlumency shields once more, ignoring the small flash of pain. It was odd— how breaking them apart and putting it back together at will had become second nature, the pain barely noticeable after all these years. There was a part of him that disliked it still, that preferred the long-gone days of being shielded at all times, but then he'd remember the consequences again, and then…

And then the pain would be a small price to pay for at least a semblance of a peaceful mind and Severus would give up on the topic altogether.

He scoffed, walking towards the gloomy building, picking up speed. The Headmaster's parting words flashed in his mind.

"I'm sure," Albus began, one hand on the fireplace mantle, the other tight on his wand. "That the Death Eaters have had their methods of knowing where exactly Harry Potter has been for the past decade, just like I know the whereabouts of their Master. The only thing protecting Mr Potter was his continued stay with his family and the strength of the blood wards." He paused.

Severus walked up the few stairs of the hotel, grimacing at the slippery wetness of the steps. Had it rained the day before?

"Time is of the essence, Severus," Albus said. "The Death Eaters may very well have a lead in searching for Mr Potter, and if they manage to get to him before we do…"

Something very much like fear tightened around his neck, and Severus coughed, hands paused on the rusted door handle. With the water drops on the door, his reflection from the stained glass was distorted; monstrous, even.

It didn't matter. The likes of Lucius Malfoy might know where Harry Potter was, but Severus knew Cokeworth, like he knew the slippery slopes of his own mind. No Death Eater— not even the most skilled ones, would be able to search for the boy better than him. This— something so trivial as a spoiled boy choosing to compromise his safety— something like this, was not going to put Severus' goals at jeopardy.

He'd make sure of it. He'd always done that, hasn't he?

Severus pushed the door open.

"Oy," a tall woman calls out to him as he enters the hotel lobby. It was cleaner than he had expected, but dimly lit and the small windows didn't do it any favours. Severus turned to the woman, who watched him with narrowed eyes.

"Anything I can help you with?" the woman asked.

"I'm just looking for a friend's family," Severus replied smoothly, dropping the posh accent he'd adopted for Hogwarts in favour of one natural to Cokeworth. "They'd let me know they were staying here during their stay, and I was hoping to see them before they left."

The woman sucked her teeth. "Hmmm, don't get that many families 'round here. There was one yesterday— a big man, a tall woman, kid. Odd bunch. Could've sworn there was another kid when they checked in, but. Ah, well. Not my business. That seems like the friend you're looking for?"

"Ah, yes," Severus nodded, noting the mention of another child. "Can I…?"

"They left," the woman told him, turning away. "Early check out. Took the kid and the luggage and all but ran out of 'ere. Not the sort of thing you'd expect to be dealing with so early in the morning, but, ah, I'm getting ahead of myself." The woman coughed . "Anyway. Didn't they tell you they'd be leaving early?"

"Hmm," Severus said. "No…" Well. He looked down at his watch. This early in the morning- even if Potter had been taken gone missing fairly early last night, Petunia couldn't possibly have known about it so soon. And even if she did, to leave immediately… an interesting decision to say the least. "When did you say they left?"

The woman arched a bushy eyebrow. "I didn't," She looked away, bending to look at something in her desk. "They left early in the morning. 'Round 5, 5:30. Early, that's what. Anything else I can help you with?"

"Ah," Severus said. Albus should be able to get a hold of the Dursleys. Till then..

"No, thank you." He could see the letters in her desk, shining purple seals bright even in the dim light. "I'd contact them later. Thank you," He nodded to the woman and turned to the door, his footsteps ringing faintly in the empty lobby.

There was no one to be seen outside. A lonely car sat at the edge of the parking lot, and the town mill was jarring against the bright sky, a tall, dark blot against deep blue.

The Hogwarts Letters would be sent repeatedly for at least two weeks when a response to the admission hadn't been made. If the amount of letters in the hotel were any sign, Potter had been sent the first letter a week or so before. The next batch of letters ought to be sent out that night, in any case, which would confirm the boy's location, if they hadn't found him til then. That, at least, wasn't the concerning part.

No, Severus thought, walking along the roads. What was concerning, was the fact that Petunia Evans'— Dursley now, he supposed— first action after her ward disappeared was not to call upon Dumbledore, or to attempt to find him in any way. She had chosen to run, yet again. And such a decision— regardless of what reasons influenced it— spoke of an attitude and mindset that Severus really did not want to examine.

Argh. He was getting ahead of himself. Petunia had just remained her cowardly self, running at the first chance of trouble. All he had to do now was to inform Dumbledore, and the Dursleys would be in their hands sooner or later. His job was simply to find the boy, wasn't it? He'd do that. Anything else was simply not his headache to worry about.

Sufficiently composed, Severus strolled through the woods, finding the familiar Apparition points. They were everywhere, often found in secluded areas; an alleyway here, a tree there. They were marked with runes; invisible to the naked eye but obvious to the wand holder. Used daily by the magical commoner, the points recorded magical signatures, keeping everybody's travels within the knowledge of the Ministry. And so, naturally, anyone with business worth discussing would know to avoid them.

He ignored the runes, walking deeper into the woods, stepping over fallen tree branches and the occasional patches of wet soil. Here, his activity would go unnoticed.

For the first few years after the war, he had to keep his travel documented, to avoid yet another Ministry enquiry. The memories of the barely controlled contempt he received in those years came back to him, flashes of sharp derision through hazy grief and sickness. It seemed like an eternity away, but Severus still found himself imagining himself returning to the pitiful person he'd been, and dread curled in the back of his throat. He swallowed, shifting his shields once more, shelving the irrational fear somewhere he wouldn't need to deal with it for a long time. Severus leaned against a tree, changing his grip on his wand. A turning heel, and a loud crack resounding in the forest pulled him through, but not before a familiar tug around his wrist shook him for the second time that day.

With the painful twist of Splinching, and the ever unpleasant burn of Apparition, Severus realised for the second time that day, that he had a visitor.

He'd ventured out after a while, slipping out of the trees and onto the sidewalk. It was nearly midday by that point, and it was only the heat that finally got him to leave the apparent safety of the park. He held his sports bag, unnerved by how much he didn't look out of place in the roads, even despite his grimy appearance and baggy clothing. But then again, it wasn't as if the streets were incredibly clean either. Garbage lined the streets, and the people that were there quickly vanished back into their houses, haggard, thin faces that barely noticed him. It was almost as if he didn't exist; as though some time between the day before and then he'd become totally invisible.

He didn't mind it. There was something particularly freeing about the way there was no presence by his shoulder; no Aunt Petunia screeching at him to get out of bed, and no Dudley looking for an opportunity to toy with him. He'd been lonely for a long time; but this didn't feel like loneliness; this felt like freedom.

The main road— which was close to the park— worn looking flats, the long, bumpy path splitting off into narrow alleyways and cluttered neighbourhoods, the houses growing older and more boarded up as he went deeper. Behind him, down the hill he'd just walked up, the road split off into smaller streets that led to rows and rows of houses, some of them close together and worn-looking while others were bigger, but just as old and worn-looking. Beyond them, a streak of dark blue— almost like ink winding around the too-big town— was the only sign of the river they drove past.

The houses and shops looked empty, as though the shadow of the tall mill had choked out any life in them. Harry shook away the ominous feeling that filled him at the sight, it was far too bright for any fear, irrational or rational, and he couldn't spare time for something so unnecessary.

But it lingered. A very peculiar feeling had begun to trouble Harry, like cold water down his spine. Harry ignored it for the most part, pressing on, walking along the road and watching. But the feeling lingered, making anticipation tingle at his fingers and his legs— absurdly; he should be so tired— ready to run.

He was being watched.

Harry held himself stiffly, walking the streets idly. As the hours crawled by, he found himself walking towards food shops and grocery stores more, looking at peeling pictures of ice creams and food stalls with pangs of hunger curling around his stomach. It took him a while to remember the money he took, and with delight, he took off to the stories, getting a sandwich; and later, with great hesitation, an ice cream cone. He ran to a bench, eating the small meal with relish.

Harry had been careful to not spend the money in one go, so he'd gotten the cheapest options he could find. For some reason, despite the small portions, Harry couldn't finish it, and despite steadily ignoring the nausea, his stomach revolted, and Harry wrapped up the rest of the sandwich and stuffed it into his sports bag, feeling rather odd but not willing to linger on it. The cone was rubbing salt to the bruise, but he persisted, and anyway, if he ate it slowly enough, he could just focus on the cool taste and ignore the way his throat burned afterward.

It was still a good day. Despite the unkempt appearance of the town, it was still interesting to explore, with winding alleyways and roads that were eerie and slightly melancholy, but terrible fun to walk through. He wandered back to the park when it grew slightly colder, the streets empty, and his legs growing sore. And then, with a jolt, the paranoia from earlier returned in full force.

He clenched his fists, running in short bursts of energy and suddenly longing for the safety of the hiding in the park equipment, oddly reminiscent of the way he'd hid in his cupboard. After what seemed like an eternity, the park finally came into view and Harry slowed down, sighing in relief.

He set his bag down on the roundabout, sitting down, wrapping his arms around the cold metal of the equipment. It had grown cold quick, a harsh change from the earlier heat. Harry outstretched his legs, spinning the roundabout by himself and inhaling the breeze. It smelled like dirt and rain, and the faint smell of the sandwich he'd packed away. The slow movement calmed him down, almost, and he sighed, closing his eyes and placing a hand over the sports bag.

Perhaps that was why he hadn't noticed the footsteps.

There was someone there. Harry spun around, his neck twisting uncomfortably. A man: tall, dark, and covered head to toe, stood facing away from him. It shouldn't have been unsettling. He shouldn't have been so scared. But the very sight of the man made the hairs on his neck stand on end, and Harry reeled back.

He held on to the rusted handle, looking over it as he breathed, harshly. The dark man walked to the edge of the pathway, turning in his direction. Harry held his breath, ducking, his heartbeat and the rustle of the leaves echoing in his ears. He couldn't see the man's face, despite the man looking right in his direction and wearing nothing that obstructed his face, which remained oddly blurry. He had to have seen him…

Through the bars, he could see the man turn away, sighing and starting to leave. Harry sighed in relief, and just as quick, the man stiffened. It was like someone had frozen him in place. Harry stood still.

The man spun, hands emerging from his pockets and eyes fixing on Harry. For a second, Harry couldn't breathe. His hands were numb from the cold handle.

One, two.

His knees scraped against the cold metal floor of the roundabout, and it was enough to break him out of his trance. The man stepped forward— and Harry turned and ran , faster than he ever had, eyes screwed shut as he sprinted into the woods.