Friday, 7th July

Severus moved through the darkened grounds of Hogwarts, each step slow and deliberate.

The summer air was heavy, the distant chirping of crickets an almost jarring contrast to the pure and utter chaos that had just unfurled inside him. His robes whispered against the grass, the cool evening doing nothing to soothe the hot, frantic churn of thoughts racing through his mind.

The Dark Lord had returned.

His heart thudded loudly against his ribs, and for a moment, he thought he might be sick. How could everything change so swiftly? He had hoped, even for just a fleeting moment, that it was all a nightmare - a horrible vision from which he'd awaken in his quarters, Lily's memory safely preserved in the past. But no. This was real. Far too real.

Reaching the castle, the towering silhouette loomed over him like a watchful sentinel. His pace quickened slightly, feet carrying him toward the Entrance Hall, where the familiar flicker of torches barely cut through the dimness. His breath caught in his throat as he entered, his pulse a constant roar in his ears. He didn't even have a clear plan, not yet. First, he had to make sure that this was truly happening.

"Minerva!" he blurted, relief surging through him when he spotted her near the staircase, her tartan robes flowing as she paused at the sound of his voice.

McGonagall turned, her face softening in surprise before quickly knitting into concern.

"Oh, hello, Severus!" she greeted, though her eyes narrowed as she took in his appearance, "Are you feeling well? You're looking rather pale, and you missed dinner".

He barely heard her question. Could one look pale in a dream? Could one even eat dinner in a twisted alternate reality? If one wished for it hard enough could time reverse before he looked pale, before he missed dinner, before the Dark Lord had returned?

"I need to ask you for a favour".

"A boon?" she asked teasingly, even as she stepped closer.

"No, nothing of that magnitude" he replied, too tired, too shocked, too scared to give his usual snarky response, "I need you to hex me".

"Gladly".

A split second later, she had her wand pointed at him and with a burst of white light he felt an agonising sting on his arm as a red welt formed beneath his robes. He blinked and then blinked again.

Nope.

He was still awake.

Which meant that this entire ordeal hadn't been a dream.

He felt as though he were drifting through an illusion, a feverish haze where everything was wrong and nothing could be set right. He had never before been so grateful that the castle was empty of its students.

"... Thank you, Minerva" he said belatedly, and although she continued to smile at him as she reholstered her wand, there was more than a hint of worry in her eyes. "Anytime. Now, do you care to tell me what this is all about?"

The Dark Lord had returned.

He stared at her for a long, silent moment. The truth hovered on the edge of his tongue, threatening to spill out in a torrent of horror and dread. But no. He couldn't - not here. Not yet.

The Dark Lord had returned.

"... At a later date, perhaps" he replied, "But right now, it is imperative that I speak with the Headmaster".

McGonagall's lips thinned, but she nodded, the concern not leaving her face. "Of course. He should still be in his office. Shall I accompany you?"

"No" Severus said quickly, more sharply than he intended. He drew a breath to steady himself. "No, but thank you. I… I need to speak with him alone".

She studied him for a second longer, then inclined her head. "Very well, but… but don't hesitate to come to me if you need anything, okay?"

The offer hung in the air, heavier than it should have been. He appreciated it, even if he couldn't show it. Snape gave her a curt nod before turning away, his mind already focused on the next step. He had to tell Dumbledore. The weight of it all pressed down harder, but he had no time to falter. There was no more room for doubt, no more time to question his role. Everything was moving too fast. Too real. Too… much.

Severus reached Dumbledore's office door, each breath a battle against the panic trying to claw its way to the surface. His body felt disconnected, as though he were still trapped in that nightmare, walking in slow motion through a world that no longer made sense He'd told himself, during his… meeting with the Dark Lord, to just keep it together. To just keep himself together until he returned to the castle where he could then proceed to break down in peace. But now, he was here. He was in the castle. And he still had far too much work to do to break down just yet.

He knocked twice, the sound dull in his ears, and waited for the inevitable.

"Come in".

The voice from within was calm, but as Snape stepped through the door, he felt the wards settle over him. The office was just as it always was, of course, but tonight it felt smaller, closer, as if even the walls were waiting for the horrifying truth he carried.

"Ah, Severus" Dumbledore greeted, seated behind his desk, "This is a bit later than our usual talks, I have to say, although- My boy, are you alright? You look…"

Pale? Hungry? Terrified? The words echoed inside Snape's mind, but he said nothing. He moved slowly, crossing the room with heavy, dreadful steps, until he sat down directly in front of Dumbledore - a seat he usually did everything he could to avoid. His choice, his sudden closeness, the expression on his face, only served to heighten the old wizard's concern.

"Severus?" he asked, his voice gentle but worried, "What has happened?"

He had to be careful. Not only for the Dark Lord's sake but for his own too. He was consciously aware of the Vow he'd taken - one slip of the tongue, one ill-chosen word and he'd be done for.

"... I cannot say".

Dumbledore's concerned look didn't falter, but Snape saw the sharpness behind the old man's gaze, the quick deduction that followed.

"You can't say? Or you won't say?"

"Can't".

"A Vow of silence?"

"Yes".

"By someone you know?"

"Yes".

"By someone I know?"

"... Yes".

The younger man glanced up at him, and for the first time in living memory, Albus Dumbledore looked well and truly frightened. That flicker of fear was enough to almost unsettle Snape - almost - but a small part of him found a strange, bitter satisfaction in the fact that the Headmaster, too, could feel out of his depth.

"Severus... Is it him?"

The words were barely more than a whisper, but they hit him like a blow. There was no mistaking who Dumbledore meant. The room seemed to grow colder, as though the shadows themselves were listening. Why had he immediately jumped to the Dark Lord's return? Had he already suspected it? Waited for it? Had he known that the man was never truly dead? Had… Had Lily Evans truly been sacrificed for nothing?

"Severus, is it him?!"

There was no hint of a twinkle in those blue, blue eyes.

"... I cannot say".

Albus reeled back in shock and for a moment, a minute, just a split second, Snape thought he was going to collapse.

He hadn't confirmed the old man's suspicions - of course he hadn't, that wasn't worth his life! - but if it hadn't been the Dark Lord who'd put this Vow on him, then he would have simply said so. The fact that he didn't deny it only proved that he couldn't confirm it - which was as good as an admission, given the Vow's parameters.

"He… He called you?"

"Not directly. Otherwise I would have gone to you first; something which he knew".

"Lestrange? Nott? Malfoy?" he asked, his mind working quickly.

"Malfoy".

"And the others?"

He gave a wry smirk. "Fighting for the cause once more".

Dumbledore slowly nodded, looking horribly frail, the weight of the revelation ageing him in an instant.

"It is exactly as I feared" he whispered, "Lord Voldemort has returned".

"No".

The word escaped him before he could stop it. Severus flinched, bracing for the worst, expecting to feel his heart seize or his body collapse or to fall dead at the Headmaster's feet at any second but thankfully, thankfully, he did not. The entire ordeal of the night had him off-centre, unstable. He could not afford to make a mistake like that again.

"It's not him".

But as long as he didn't say the man's name he should be alright. There were many possible "him"s in the world, after all.

Dumbledore blinked, taken aback. "But you said-"

"I know what I said" he interrupted, frustrated, "It's… It's him but it's not… It's not him!"

The old man's confusion deepened, his frown a mirror of the internal puzzle he was trying to solve. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand, my boy".

Severus internally growled, furious at this ridiculous roundabout way he was being forced to speak. It was only day one and he was already growing tired of this dance, of these half-truths, of the Vow that made every word a struggle. How to explain…

He exhaled slowly, trying to find the right words.

"It's not him from my time" he started carefully, "It's him from yours".

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed as he tried to decipher the statement, and slowly, thankfully, understanding began to flicker in his gaze.

"He's no longer Lord Voldemort… but the person he was before?"

Yes.

"I cannot say".

"Tom Riddle" Dumbledore mused, leaning back in his seat, "My, how… strange".

He didn't know the half of it.

"You're sure he wasn't wearing some sort of glamour? Or an illusion? He was physically in the form of his younger self? What of his personality? Did he act like Voldemort or like Tom Riddle?"

"I'm still alive, aren't I?"

Which was as precise an answer as any.

Lord Voldemort wouldn't have let him live.

Dumbledore nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place in his mind. "And your mark?"

Severus hesitated for a moment before reluctantly pulling up his left sleeve to reveal the still-faded tattoo on his inner arm.

"It hasn't darkened" he said quietly, staring at it, "And it hasn't burned, not once. It's him, but it's not… him".

Dumbledore was staring at the mark too, wide-eyed and curious. "Fascinating".

He was glad that someone thought so.

"He is aware of your changed loyalties then?"

Yes. No. Sort of. How could he answer that? As far as Dumbledore was concerned, Severus was firmly on the Order's side, having renounced his wicked ways to save Lily - but he wasn't a Slytherin for nothing and he had been careful, oh so very careful, to ensure that when the Headmaster made him take that Vow in exchange for staying out of Azkaban, he swore his loyalty to the child, to her son, to Harry Potter. Not to Dumbledore. And most certainly not to the Order of the bloody Phoenix.

How could he, Severus Snape, simply… renounce his entire being? Give up the Dark Arts? Him?! With all that he knew and had learned and created, the old man genuinely believed that he could give all that up, could change who he was at his very core?!

Severus had made him believe it, of course, but it was far from the truth.

"I am under the impression that it is… well-known, within certain circles as to what… deals I struck after the war" he replied carefully, neither confirming nor denying the Headmaster's suspicions. Let him think it was part of the Vow's parameters, for now.

If the Dark Lord believed him on the enemy's side, which he had, then he should have killed him - or at the very least, cast a few rounds of Crucio. The fact that he was still sitting here, alive and relatively well, should of course make the Headmaster doubt his so-called loyalty - but the old man always did try to see the best in people, so he took Severus at his word.

"I see" Dumbledore murmured, his voice quiet yet thoughtful, "This… complicates things. If he is indeed not himself, but some reflection of his younger self, then we must tread even more carefully".

The old man's gaze drifted to the top drawer of his desk. Severus knew that he always kept it locked, but he wasn't sure what was in it - or how it related to the Dark Lord's return.

"There have been whispers of a new duke about to take his seat in Wizengamot" he continued, turning back to the younger man, "It is my belief that Lord Thomas Slytherin and the man you met tonight are one and the same".

That… made sense, Snape thought. The Dark Lord had certainly been more focused tonight than he'd ever been before. He was sharper, more clear-headed and in control. He spoke of building the world they'd always dreamed of without any further bloodshed… At the time, Severus hadn't thought that possible, but if the man was considering going down the political route…

It would take time to make changes that way. More time than simply burning the Ministry to the ground and starting over would. But then again, what was a few extra years to someone who was supposedly immortal?

"He didn't kill me" Severus said, his voice low, "He could have. I gave him every reason to… but he let me go. He wants something, Albus".

"And what do you think that something is?"

Snape hesitated. The question felt like a trap. He had sworn to serve the Dark Lord, to serve their shared cause at the risk of his own life. Dumbledore, on the other hand, was firmly against that cause and would do everything in his power to prevent the Dark from succeeding. If he told him what he believed the Dark Lord to be doing - what he really, truly believed was the man's next step in achieving the future he wanted… then wouldn't he be risking his own future? His own life?

Telling Albus the truth would restart the war. And besides, what harm was there in delaying the two puppet master's inevitable confrontation? Worst-case scenario, the Dark Lord had been lying to him tonight and did, indeed, plan on restarting the war in which case the Headmaster would get what he was preparing for anyway, but best-case scenario…

Didn't Lord Slytherin at least deserve a head start in reshaping their world before Albus Dumbledore tried to tear it all down?

"I don't know" Severus replied, staring at a point just over the Headmaster's shoulder, "He was… evasive. The man I spoke to tonight doesn't crow about his future plans in the way that he once did. He's… playing the long game".

Dumbledore tapped his fingers lightly on his desk, his mind clearly racing through possibilities.

"That does fit with what I remember of the young Tom Riddle" he mused, "He was always more patient than Voldemort, more willing to bide his time and manipulate events from the shadows… Perhaps claiming the Slytherin dukedom is just a distraction, something to keep us occupied while he regathers his forces once more".

"Perhaps" he replied vaguely.

Around them, the castle was quiet, the students having left for the summer holidays only a few days before. The grounds outside were dark, lit only by the large moon which already dominated the sky. The next full moon was in a few days, Snape remembered, and briefly, his thoughts strayed to Remus Lupin, before he angrily refocused on the present moment because, really, there were far more important things to think about right now.

"You must be careful, Severus" Dumbledore said softly, breaking the silence, "I do not doubt your skills, nor your ability to navigate these… truly treacherous waters. But this situation is unlike anything we've faced before".

He gave a curt nod.

"I'm aware" he replied, his tone clipped because he was - painfully so.

"And you will, of course, continue to act as our informant on the inside?"

Of course. He said of course as if there were no other options, as if Severus, of course, would agree to die for this man, as if he had no other choice but to continue the role that had already defined his life for over a decade.

You are far too valuable to waste as a mere pawn like Albus Dumbledore seems intent on doing - I may not have realised this before, I'll admit, but I can see it now and I promise you, I'll never forget your worth again.

Snape clenched his fists, his hands hidden from the Headmaster by the large amount of papers and knick-knacks he had on his desk. How much longer could he walk this tightrope before it finally gave way beneath him?

I keep my promises, Severus. I always have.

"Yes" he said, expression carefully blank, "Of course".

Monday, 10th July

"Evans, you are never gonna fucking guess what I'm about to tell you!"

Once again, Rowle had decided to barge into his room unannounced and once again, Harry desperately wished that he could cast Colloportus on his door without the risk of the muggles finding out.

"What are you about to tell me?" he asked with a sigh, dropping his shoes and taking a seat on the edge of his bed because when Rowle got like this, there was really no way out other than through.

"Guess!"

"You just told me that I'd never guess, so why bother?"

"Fucking guess, you coward!"

Harry rolled his eyes at him but complied.

"Your mother has… finally allowed you to visit Diagon Alley with her?"

The blond scowled, his good mood evaporating in an instant, and he aimed a well-placed yet admittedly mild kick to his shins as he marched past to throw himself down in his desk chair instead.

"No. Of course she fucking hasn't! She's been pretty bloody firm about that for sixteen years, kid, so I highly doubt that she's going to change her mind now".

"Then what is it?"

Rowle suddenly flung a newspaper at his head.

Harry caught it. Barely.

"Damn" the older boy swore, "I was hoping to catch you off-guard this time".

"I'm never off-guard Rowle; you should know that by now".

He obediently flipped over the paper and scanned the headline.

LONG LOST SLYTHERIN DUKE RETURNS

Harry frowned. Long lost Slytherin duke? But there was no Slytherin duke. The title had gone into abeyance after the last war and hadn't been held by anyone before that for quite some time. From what he remembered of Rowle's genealogy book, there simply were no Slytherin descendants - well, not unless he counted…

Oh.

He almost gave himself a papercut he turned the pages so fast, darting to the page that the full article had been printed on, looking for the photograph that he knew was there, that had to be there, because this was-

Oh.

Harry stared at the moving picture of an unfairly attractive young man who was smiling at the camera in such a way that proved he knew it too.

Aw fuck, he thought, of course Lord Voldemort would be so bloody hot.

"I bet you a month's worth of maths homework that you can't tell me who that-"

"The Dark Lord".

Rowle froze, his mouth still open, before his scowl returned in full force.

"I fucking hate it when you do that, Evans! Why can't you just be stupid for once?!"

"Because we can't both be stupid or we'd probably die" Harry replied brazenly, tossing the newspaper on the bed next to him. He'd read the full article later when he had more time - as well as the privacy he needed to freak out. "So, come on, what's the story? What happened?"

"You mean you don't know?"

"I'll do your maths homework until the end of term".

"The end of term is next week, Evans!"

"Yeah, but you'll be doing it yourself otherwise since I just won a month off".

Rowle continued to glare for another moment before giving in with a sigh.

"Alright, fine! So, my mother heard from a friend who heard from a girl who heard from a guy in the right, uh… circle, if you catch my drift-" a guy working directly for the man who murdered his parents, got it "-that this new duke, Lord Thomas Slytherin, is actually the Dark Lord! Can you fucking believe it?"

Unfortunately, Harry thought, staring down at the photograph, I can.

"He's new and improved apparently; got his sanity back for starters and actually plans to achieve the Dark's original goals and ideas again which is… like… just fucking insane, when you think about it! He's the Dark Lord! That's the Dark fucking Lord, Evans!"

"So you've said" he replied dryly, "Also, should you even be telling me this?"

Rowle shrugged, leaning back in the chair.

"I mean, no, but who the fuck are you going to tell? Anyway, he's apparently taking the whole political route to get what he wants this time which is crazy but brilliant but that's the Dark Lord, I guess! And, hey, remember when I said that? Like, two and a half years ago? I fucking told you that if the Dark Lord had turned to politics instead of war he could've won! He was the most powerful wizard in Britain at the time! And now look what's happened! He's actually fucking doing it! I mean, just think about it, if he-"

Harry tuned him out, still looking down as the moving image of Lord Voldemort - Thomas Slytherin - stared back at him. Pale smooth skin, expertly styled black hair, dark piercing eyes. He had a jawline sharper than diamonds, cheekbones you could cut yourself on, and the exact bloody definition of cupid-bow lips.

Harry hated him.

Harry… wanted to hate him. If only on principle.

So the man who had killed his parents had returned. The man who had tried to kill Harry. The man who Harry had supposedly killed instead… The man whose original ideas about muggles and magic weren't all that dissimilar from his own…

Well then.

It was a few years ahead of schedule, but Harry had always planned to return to the wizarding world eventually, hadn't he?

So what better time than the present?

Thursday, 13th July

Albus Dumbledore glanced around the old wooden table at the nervous, scared, hopeful faces staring back at him. It had been a long time since they'd all been gathered in one place like this.

He'd wanted to delay calling the Order of the Phoenix for as long as possible - not moving until he had proof, not reforming until he had solid evidence - but if Severus's troubling report hadn't been proof enough, then the appearance of Tom Riddle in Wizengamot earlier that week most certainly had been solid evidence.

As Chief Warlock, Dumbledore was meant to remain impartial to the various debates and bills argued over by the parliament. His role was to make announcements, declare what needed to be voted on, and represent Wizengamot during ceremonial occasions or while acting as the UK ambassador overseas.

He had no say in who got a seat.

And so, when Tom Riddle, the newly christened Duke of Lincoln waltzed through the chamber's doors on Monday morning to formally announce his new position as joint leader of the Conservative Party, he could do nothing but watch.

Watch, as the man smirked at him knowingly as he walked past the Lord Speaker's table to take a seat to his left. Watch, as his immaculately fine robes and respectable pure-blood name won over their older members. Watch, as his charming handsome features and youthful playful smile won over their younger members.

Watch as Lord Voldemort prowled back into their lives without a single other witch or wizard realising it.

Tom had been… calm, as Severus had said. Controlled. Purposeful. He was no longer the insane obsession-fuelled madman of before. He was the new golden child - a poor half-blood orphan unaware of his true heritage until the untimely death of his mother. Dumbledore could physically see the more tender-hearted members of Wizengamot cooing over the poor boy as he gave his inauguration speech. And he could see the more cunning witches and wizards start to plot how they could use that to their advantage, exploit the poor boy's tragic past for their gain, convince the newest duke to listen to their laws and bills and use his vote for what they wanted him to.

What a fool he'd be.

The power that radiated from the man was undeniable yet subtle and horribly familiar. If that hadn't been evidence enough of his true identity, then the image of the once unflappable Lucius Malfoy swallowing thickly and bowing his head in deference to the man as he joined him on the Conservative's front bench most certainly was.

He was no longer Lord Voldemort.

He was something much, much worse.

Sirius Black had almost laughed himself sick when Dumbledore asked for the use of Grimmauld Place.

"You're telling me" he had said, grinning wide, "that you want to turn my mother's old house into headquarters for the Order?! You want to make her home into a refuge for everything that she despised? Everything that she stood against? You want to plot against her very beliefs in secrecy right in front of her? And she can't do anything about it?! By all means, use the wretched place! I'll even make a special trip home just to tell her myself!"

His few months as a free man had been kind to him.

He was lighter now, healthier. Part of it, of course, had been a life outside of a prison cell, a life with adequate food and decent night's sleep - and bi-weekly visits to a mind healer. Another part had been his new, still-developing relationship with Remus Lupin - they were good for each other, Albus knew, and always something he'd thought of as inevitable. And yet another part had been his escape - not from Azkaban, but from Grimmauld Place.

One of the first things Sirius had done after leaving St Mungo's was purchase a large, bright, airy townhouse in Soho. It had a Georgian front but with the help of magic, he'd completely renovated the inside into something modern, classy, and more than a little bit chaotic - a lot like its new owner. But Dumbledore knew of the wards around Grimmauld Place, knew of the protection charms that generations of Blacks had expertly woven into it. The building was empty now and unused - which made it the perfect place to reassemble the Order.

Which led to now, standing at the head of the table, surrounded by oh so familiar faces - faces that were so much older now than they once had been, more exhausted and world-weary than the idealistic youths that had once looked up to him in much the same way that they were doing now.

There were faces missing, as well.

Some were missing for more innocuous reasons. It had been the full moon last night so Remus, of course, hadn't been able to make it today. Alastor had written to him only a few days before, saying that he'd found a nice little shack in the mountains of Ibiza and planned to go off-grid for a while. Mundungus was doing… whatever it was that Mundungus did in his spare time. But there were others… others that were lost to them forever.

James and Lily Potter. Peter Pettigrew. Marlene McKinnon. Fabian and Gideon Prewett. Edgar Bones. Caradoc Dearborn. Frank and Alice Longbottom. Benjay Fenwick. Dorcas Meadowes.

Had they all died for nothing?

Voldemort was back - Tom Riddle was back, and they had no child of prophecy to save them now. They would have to save themselves… But was such a thing even possible? The faces staring back at him now were fighters, survivors, but they were also older, softer. They had families now, a lot of them - they wouldn't be, couldn't be, as carefree to risk their lives again.

Would he, could he, even ask them to?

Arthur and Molly Weasley sat to his left. Their hair was greying now, lines of worry permanently etched into their faces from years of raising seven children. Their youngest, Ginevra, was only thirteen years old.

To his right, leaning against the wall and half-hidden by the shadows, was Severus, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face, looking as unimpressed as ever. Dumbledore knew that he was asking a lot of the man, but quite frankly there was no one else to ask.

Even Sirius, lounging casually back in a chair at the far end of the table, wasn't as cheerful or easy-going as he'd been in his youth. He hadn't lost his rebellious spirit, but his grey eyes no longer had that carefree spark that they'd once held.

He'd already sacrificed so much, they'd all already sacrificed so much, and yet here he was, about to ask them to sacrifice even more.

Dumbledore's heart ached at the thought, and he couldn't help but wonder just how different things would be today if Harry Potter had joined their world.

Sunday, 23rd July

Today was the day that Harry Potter joined the wizarding world.

Summer holidays had started last Friday and Rowle hadn't brought him any books this year, as per his request. He could tell that the blond was brimming with questions, curious as to why he had turned down the opportunity to learn about magic for the first time ever - but Harry refused to give in and tell him. If everything went well, then he could contact Rowle at a later date himself, but if things didn't work out, then…

No.

Things had to work out.

There was simply no other choice.

He'd packed up his meagre belongings only the night before, which were mostly comprised of the etiquette books Rowle let him keep, his own notes on magic, and a change of clothes. His muggle uniform was, unfortunately, going to make him stand out in the wizarding world, but hopefully, he wouldn't have to wear it for very long. He even bypassed Rowle's room as he snuck out bright and early, leaving his magic textbooks - as well as Harry's own maths notes - on his bed. He'd get them soon enough.

After that, it was simple work to climb out of the kitchen window, which was never locked, and then make his way around the back of the building. He knew that there were cameras in the front of the school monitoring who came and went, but he also knew that there was a small hole in the tall chain link fence next to the woods that the older boys sneaked out through to smoke, and he knew that if he kept walking through the forest he'd eventually make it to the road.

Principal Hayward wouldn't know he was missing for a few days at least given his usual summer reading sprees. He'd left a note on his bed saying that he'd run away with his girlfriend. The police would be called of course and he'd be reported as a missing person but they would never find him - or his supposed "girlfriend" either - since he wasn't planning on leaving the wizarding world anytime soon.

He didn't want to live in the muggle world, after all; nearly every muggle he'd ever met had been either outwardly cruel or else just cold and uncaring, so what was the point in doing his GSCEs or A-Levels if he'd never need them? It was much better to study for the equivalent wizarding qualifications. And so, eventually, he'd be just another runaway kid who slipped through the cracks.

Harry didn't even know if Vernon gave the school the right contact details but he decided it didn't matter. Even if he did, the Dursleys would be the last people to tell the police that he had found his way to a magical world, so he should be safe. In fact, they'd likely even be delighted to hear that he was officially missing. He did feel kind of bad for making Hayward worry though - for all his faults, the man really did care about the boys under his purview - and he mentally promised to send him a Christmas card to let him know was still alright.

St Brutus gave the boys pocket money if they did extra work like cleaning the kitchen and bathrooms. Most boys didn't bother since they weren't allowed to go into the nearby town to buy anything anyway, but Harry had started volunteering for it as last year, knowing that this day would come. He didn't have a lot of money, didn't even have a little, really, but it was enough to get a bus into the next largest city, and from there he made his way to the train station. He still had enough money left over to buy a train ticket to Grantham, which took half an hour, but once there he had to cast a mild Confundo on the ticket inspector in order to make it to King's Cross station undeterred.

Harry didn't like using magic on unsuspecting muggles and he didn't like breaking the law either, but he'd paid his way for as long as he could and, quite frankly, he'd rather break a million muggle laws than never make his way into the wizarding world.

That journey took an hour and a half, and he spent the time staring out the window at the rolling fields and busy streets and everyday people - non-magical muggle people who had no idea what was out there. It felt… weird, being on the outside. For all that it proclaimed itself to be "a home away from home", St Brutus was, essentially, a prison for Harry. Some kids, like Rowle, were allowed to go home at the weekends and over holidays, which made it more like a boarding school for them, but aside from the day before Christmas every year, he hadn't stepped foot outside the school grounds since he'd been left there.

He felt… free for the first time… ever, really, since it wasn't as if he'd ever had time to relax while living with the Dursleys. He wondered what they were doing now - if Vernon was still working for Grunnings, if Petunia was still gossiping about the neighbours, if Dudley was still beating up kids half his size. He wondered who was cooking and cleaning for them, now that he wasn't there to boss around. He wondered why he even cared.

Eventually, he made it to London, and from there it was just one quick underground train to Leicester Square. He was working blind from here on out. Rowle had told him that the easiest way to get to Diagon Alley was through a rundown inn called the Leaky Cauldron, which contained access to the street out back.

Harry was starving - he should have raided the kitchens before he left, but it was too late to go back now.

Steeling himself, he followed the street signs until he reached Charing Cross Road, slowing his pace as he strolled past clothing stores, JD Wetherspoons, and banks until-

There!

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Harry hadn't been actively looking for it, he wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big bookshop on one side to the vintage record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all.

Harry slowly, carefully, hopefully, stepped inside.