Chapter 4 Kidnapped
Harry was nervous. He kept fiddling with his oversized clothes and smoothing his hair down self-consciously over his scar, though in the Muggle world, no one would think it strange.
Until recently, he had believed it was from a car accident that had killed his parents. Now, he knew the truth—it was from a Killing Curse meant to end his life. The thought that someone had wanted him dead sent a shudder through him.
If that was true, wouldn't it be safer for his aunt, uncle, and cousin if he weren't staying with them? He might not like them much, but that didn't mean he wanted them harmed. Even Hagrid giving Dudley a pig's tail—amusing at the time—hadn't helped his case. The Dursleys, of course, blamed him for it.
Harry kept a vigilant eye on the library's front door, while the librarians kept a wary eye on the small boy with messy hair and clothes far too large for him. He didn't realize they weren't even noticing the battered cardboard box on his lap—the Notice-Me-Not charm was still one of the best.
Thankfully, he knew what Remus had looked like as a 17-year-old, so he hoped he would recognize the tall, sandy-haired man with a few scars—just like him. A thrill of excitement shot through him, but then he glanced around nervously, half-expecting something to go wrong and prevent him from leaving.
Just when he had convinced himself that Mr. Lupin had forgotten about him, there he was—a tall, pale man, clean-shaven and dressed in an old but well-kept business suit. His brown hair was streaked with gray, and Harry watched him cautiously for a moment before finally speaking.
"Hello. Are you Mr. Lupin?"
The man smiled warmly and nodded. "I am. How are you, Harry?"
Harry tried not to stare at the scars. He hoped they didn't hurt. Distracted, he didn't immediately notice the man had extended his hand. Flushing, he fumbled with the box before finally managing to shake it.
"F-fine," Harry stuttered.
Remus smiled again, then gestured toward the exit. "Got everything?" He started toward the doors, conscious of the fact that their conversation was likely being monitored.
A middle-aged librarian watched their exchange with growing alarm. Remus knew he probably didn't look the most trustworthy. As they left, he caught sight of her rushing toward the phone. Just great, he thought. Exactly what I needed.
Harry jogged to keep up, struggling with Remus's long strides. "Yes, but I couldn't get my trunk—it was too big. But everything important is in here, including my wand," he panted.
Remus glanced down and noticed Harry lagging behind, trying to appear casual despite his clear exhaustion. At the crosswalk, he crouched down and started tying Harry's shoelaces properly. He tried not to let his shock at Harry's malnourished state show.
"Very good, Harry. You'll have to tell me all about it," Remus said with a small smile. Then his expression turned serious. "Now, I don't want to alarm you, but I think the librarian in there was calling the police."
Harry's eyes widened, and he immediately started glancing around, his body tensing.
"Don't panic, Harry," Remus continued, his voice remaining calm and steady. "Listen carefully. I'm going to summon the Knight Bus, and we'll be gone before they get here."
Harry swallowed hard, his heart hammering. He could already hear the distant wail of sirens, growing louder. Still, he nodded, gripping his box tightly and trying his best to stay calm.
Remus reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and smoothly pulled out his wand. With a practiced motion, he extended it toward the street.
BANG!
A deafening crack split the air, and suddenly, out of nowhere, a massive triple-decker bus materialized right in front of them. The force of its arrival sent a gust of wind whipping through Harry's hair, making him stagger slightly. The vehicle was a deep shade of purple, its golden lettering gleaming in the bright midday sun: The Knight Bus.
With a hiss, the doors swung open, and a tall, lanky young man in a purple uniform stepped onto the pavement, his mouth already opening to begin his usual introduction.
"Welcome to the—"
Before the conductor could finish, Remus quickly ushered Harry up the steps, smoothly stepping in front of him to block both the conductor's and the driver's line of sight.
"Two to the Leaky Cauldron," Remus said firmly, fishing a few coins from his pocket and pressing them into the conductor's hand before the young man could properly process what was happening.
Harry, still catching his breath from the rush of magic and urgency, clutched his box tightly and tried not to gawk at the strange interior. Instead of rows of seats, the bus was lined with comfortable recliners, upholstered in worn but plush fabric. They rocked slightly with the unnatural sway of the vehicle, as though the bus wasn't quite obeying the normal laws of motion.
As the doors shut with a final hiss and the bus lurched forward with impossible speed, Harry finally exhaled. He wasn't sure whether he felt relieved or just more overwhelmed.
"That was close," he muttered.
Remus, watching him carefully, gave a small nod. "Yes, it was. But we're safe now."
Keeping his head down, Harry darted up the stairs, moving quickly like a rabbit bolting for cover. Behind him, Remus lingered for a moment, casually engaging the conductor in conversation. He dropped a few well-placed coins into the man's palm, ensuring that he understood this particular fare came with an expectation of discretion.
Once satisfied, Remus followed Harry upstairs and slid into the seat beside the trembling boy with a sigh. "That could have gone smoother, yeah?"
Harry blinked over at him. "Are we outlaws now?"
Remus hesitated, his smile slipping slightly. He swallowed. "Maybe?"
Harry let out a long sigh and stared down at the box in his lap. "Should I go back? That way you won't get in trouble. I can put up with the Dursleys for a few more weeks."
Remus studied him for a moment, his eyes flickering to the box. It was then that an idea—no, a brilliant idea—formed in his mind. Ten points to Gryffindor, Remus.
"Not if I can help it, Harry. At least not until next summer, and even then, only for a few weeks. Remind me to explain the wards that surround your aunt's house. But if you do have to go back…" He tapped a finger against his chin, then grinned mischievously. "I think I can sneak in with you."
Harry looked up, confused. "What do you mean?"
Remus nodded toward the box. "I'll stow away."
Harry stared at him for a second before bursting into laughter. "What, like you'll fold yourself up and hide inside?"
Remus smirked, letting his inner Marauder out to play. "Exactly. If you go back, you can suddenly develop amnesia or something, and I'll just… smuggle myself in."
Harry snorted. "That's ridiculous."
"Brilliant, you mean."
Harry shook his head, still grinning. "Should I call my aunt and uncle and let them know I'm safe? They can just say they sent me off with a family friend for a camping trip or something." His voice had taken on that quick-thinking, survival-mode edge—the same one he used around the Dursleys when trying to avoid trouble.
Remus considered the idea, rubbing his chin. "Maybe, if you think it's best. I could talk to them, I suppose." He arched a brow. "Do you think they'd pay a ransom if you were kidnapped?"
Harry's laughter died instantly. His eyes went wide, and his voice shot up several octaves. "A what?"
Remus winced, cringing as he rubbed at his ears. "Okay, too far?"
Harry nodded emphatically.
Remus let out a dramatic growl. "Fine. We'll discuss it later."
Before Harry could respond, the bus gave a sudden, violent lurch, sending him sliding straight off the edge of the recliner. With a startled yelp, he tumbled forward—only for Remus to catch him. Unfortunately, the impact sent them both careening across the floor in a tangled heap.
"Well," Remus muttered, groaning as he tried to untangle his limbs from Harry's, "that was graceful."
Remus hauled himself and Harry to their feet, both still slightly breathless from their ungraceful tumble. As Harry dusted himself off, his eyes landed on the box—and his heart nearly stopped in horror.
Then, almost immediately, relief crashed over him. It was completely untouched, exactly as it had been before.
"Impervious Charms," Remus said casually, brushing off the concern. "Come on. This is us."
Without wasting another moment, he steered Harry toward the exit, once again positioning himself between the boy and any curious onlookers. The last thing he needed was to have a disguise spell recorded on his wand.
The BANG of the departing bus echoed through the street, and Remus wasted no time leading Harry past the Leaky Cauldron.
"Sorry, Harry," he said as they walked briskly past the old pub's entrance. "But we need disguises before we go in there. And they need to be Muggle disguises. There's a decent second-hand shop not far from here."
Harry glanced up at him and grinned. "Okay. But only if you let me buy you some new clothes too. I have loads of money!" He waved his hands dramatically as if to illustrate the mountains of gold in his vault.
Remus blinked, momentarily caught off guard. For a second, he saw flashes of both James and Lily in the boy's expression—the mischievous determination of his father, the unwavering kindness of his mother. And perhaps, just a little, he even saw something of himself.
His smile softened. "Yes, Harry. We're both going to need new clothes. And as it happens, I know just the place."
He led Harry down a narrow side road meant for foot traffic, tucked away from the main thoroughfare. The little shop at the end of the lane had a simple, hand-painted sign above the door that read: Second Chance Fashions.
Harry grinned as they approached. He had never had clothes that actually fit before—never owned something truly his. This was already shaping up to be the best shopping trip of his life.
Remus pushed open the door and ushered Harry inside before stepping in after him. The scent of old fabric, worn leather, and faint lavender filled the air.
From behind the counter, a plump, middle-aged woman with short, graying curls peered up over her reading glasses.
"Hey, Bee," Remus greeted easily. "Don't get up. I've got my nephew here, and he needs a whole new wardrobe."
Bee's lips curled into a knowing smile as she set aside the book she'd been reading. "Oh, I see how it is, Remus Lupin. Finally decided to dress the part of a respectable guardian, have you?"
Remus smirked. "Something like that."
Harry just beamed.
Bee waved a distracted hand as Remus handed over the cash. "Alright, thanks, Remus." Her eyes flickered briefly toward the television in the corner, her voice rising with excitement. "I think they're about to reveal who killed Sammy. I'm telling you, it was Jonathan!"
Harry glanced over and spotted an older woman with short salt-and-pepper hair, completely glued to the soap opera playing on the small screen. The scene reminded him eerily of Aunt Petunia's rigid devotion to her own afternoon dramas.
Remus, unconcerned with Bee's theories about fictional murders, steered Harry deeper into the store, straight toward the children's section. He wasted no time piling clothes into Harry's waiting arms. The shop was small, the aisles narrow, making it easy for Harry to vanish among the tightly packed racks of clothing.
From a nearby display, Remus snagged a knit cap and a baseball cap, handing both to Harry. "You'll need these."
Then, moving methodically, he pulled a handful of sweaters and shirts from a rack, selecting four or five that looked warm and durable before swiftly shifting to pants. He grabbed several pairs of faded but sturdy jeans, a pair of khakis, and a pair of cargo pants—those caught Harry's eye instantly.
"Like those, do you?" Remus asked, smirking.
Harry nodded, running his fingers over the extra pockets. "Yeah. Loads of space for stuff."
Remus merely hummed, making a mental note of it.
From there, they moved to the shoe section. One glance at Harry's too-small, worn-out trainers was enough to solidify Remus's opinion that the Dursleys would pay for their neglect.
Harry picked out a pair of well-cushioned trainers, but it was the scuffed yet sturdy hiking boots that really caught his interest. He ran his fingers over the worn leather, trying them on and walking a few steps. They felt like they had already been broken in just for him.
"Those it is, then," Remus said approvingly, adding them to the growing pile. He also found a pack of brand-new socks and—perhaps most importantly—unopened packages of briefs.
Finally satisfied, Remus gestured toward the changing rooms. "Try everything on and keep only what fits and what you like. Take your time. Keep all the tags and meet me at the counter, Evan."
Harry caught the emphasis and nodded. "Okay, Uncle," he said smoothly, playing along.
With an armful of clothes, he ducked into the dressing room, feeling oddly overwhelmed. He had never had so many options before—had never been given the chance to choose.
Stripping quickly, he grabbed the first pair of jeans that came to hand and yanked them on. They fit. Perfectly. He swallowed, staring at his reflection in the small mirror, marveling at how much of a difference it made to wear something that actually belonged to him.
Next, he pulled on a black t-shirt emblazoned with the word KISS across the front.
It was weird—the feeling of comfort, of normalcy. He thought of something Uncle Vernon had once said to Aunt Petunia before some big work event: "The clothes make the man."
Looking at himself now—hair messy but not unkempt, posture more relaxed, the boy in the mirror actually looking… confident—Harry wondered if that was true. Maybe the right clothes didn't make the man, but they could at least help him see himself better.
He glanced at the pile of shirts and grinned, reaching for another one. This one had a giant peace sign across the front.
By the time he stepped out of the dressing room, Harry was wearing his newly chosen ensemble: a NYC baseball cap, a simple white t-shirt, and over that, a faded denim jacket that felt just right. The tan cargo pants fit comfortably, and most importantly, the side pocket held his wand perfectly. The hiking boots were snug, worn just enough to feel familiar but solid enough to last.
Most noticeably, he was wearing the biggest grin imaginable.
Harry deposited the unwanted clothes in the return bin and carried his choices—along with the price tags—to the counter. His grin widened when he spotted Remus there, his own pile of purchases in hand.
Remus, it turned out, had taken the opportunity to update his own wardrobe as well. He now wore a well-fitted pair of jeans, a white button-down shirt, and a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows, giving him an almost scholarly air. The biggest surprise, however, was the pair of cowboy boots on his feet.
"Well, let's have a look at you," Remus said, making a show of stepping back and gesturing for Harry to turn around. "What do you think, Bee?"
Bee, who had momentarily torn herself away from the television, tilted her head and gave them both a once-over. "Oh, you two look downright dashing."
Harry ducked his head, pleased.
Bee, apparently not done, rummaged through a nearby display and plucked out a few extra items. "Here," she said, handing Remus a scarf. "This'll suit you—makes you look all… debonair. Like a proper professor."
Remus raised a brow but accepted it with a chuckle.
"And for you, Evan," Bee continued, digging deeper into the pile. She pulled out a few more band t-shirts and a well-worn leather belt. "Grateful Dead, The Beatles, Pink Floyd… all classics. You've got good taste, kid."
Harry practically beamed, touching the belt and nodding at the shirts. He wished he could wear all of them at once. The fact that they weren't brand new—that they were "vintage," as Bee called them—only made them better. New clothes, like his Hogwarts robes, always felt stiff—unnatural, like they weren't his yet.
These? These felt right.
At the counter, Remus handed over the cash, despite Harry's immediate protests.
"I have money!" Harry insisted, scowling.
"And we'll use it next time," Remus said smoothly, handing over the notes and giving Bee a nod. "Think of this as my welcome gift."
Harry hesitated, then relented, nodding. "Next time, though," he muttered.
Remus smirked but didn't argue.
Bee, meanwhile, had already become absorbed in the next twist of her soap opera, waving them off with little more than a murmured, "Have a good one, boys."
As they stepped out onto the narrow London street, bags in hand, Harry took a deep breath of the cool evening air.
For the first time in a long time, he felt… comfortable. Like himself.
And maybe, just maybe, like someone new.
"Hungry?" Remus asked as they stepped out of the shop and into the quiet London street.
Harry nodded, "Yeah." Remus grinned, "Me too. Let's see…" He nodded, "This way Harry." They walked for about five minutes before Remus stopped in front of a small restaurant called Mikey's.
As they stepped into Mikey's, the scent of sizzling burgers and freshly brewed coffee filled the air. The place had a nostalgic charm—vinyl booths, checkered floors, and a jukebox humming softly in the background. It was quiet at this hour, just a few scattered customers enjoying their meals. The lighting was warm, casting a golden hue over the polished countertops and the vintage Coca-Cola signs adorning the walls.
Remus led Harry to a booth tucked in the farthest corner, offering them a degree of privacy. They settled into the cushioned seats just as a young waitress approached, balancing a notepad in one hand and a tray of glasses in the other. Her long blonde hair was swept into a high ponytail, and her pink uniform looked crisp and well-kept.
"Good afternoon! Welcome to Mikey's. What can I get started for you today?" she asked cheerfully, flashing them a warm smile.
Harry glanced at Remus, uncertain. He wasn't used to having a say in what he ate, let alone ordering for himself. Sensing his hesitation, Remus took the lead.
"We'll have two cheeseburgers with fries," he said easily. "And two chocolate milkshakes."
Harry's eyes widened slightly. A milkshake? He had never had one before. The Dursleys never let him have sweets unless it was an afterthought—usually a leftover Dudley didn't want. He glanced at Remus, who winked.
"Make that extra whipped cream on the milkshakes," Remus added with a grin.
The waitress jotted the order down with a nod. "Coming right up."
As they waited, Harry took in the diner. It was cozy, welcoming, nothing like the stiff and formal places the Dursleys went when they wanted to impress someone. He liked it.
"So, tell me, Harry," Remus began, resting his forearms on the table. "What's your favorite subject in school?"
Harry thought for a moment. "I like math," he admitted. "It makes sense, you know? There's always a right answer."
Remus smiled. "That's a good way to look at it. I always enjoyed Arithmancy for the same reason."
Harry tilted his head. "What's Arithmancy?"
"A branch of magic dealing with numbers and their properties. It's used in spell crafting, divination, even some forms of enchantment," Remus explained.
Harry perked up. "That sounds… really interesting."
Their conversation was interrupted when the waitress returned with their food, placing the plates and milkshakes in front of them with a practiced ease. "Enjoy, boys," she said with a friendly wink before bustling off to another table.
Harry stared at his plate. A whole burger. His own fries. And the milkshake—topped with a generous swirl of whipped cream and a cherry. It felt unreal.
Remus watched as Harry hesitantly picked up the burger and took a small bite. His eyes widened in delight.
"Good?" Remus asked, amused.
Harry nodded quickly, already taking another bite. "Really good," he said through a mouthful of food.
They ate in companionable silence for a while, but it didn't escape Remus' notice that Harry's enthusiasm slowed down rather quickly. His stomach had been conditioned to smaller portions for years. Still, he didn't rush the boy, allowing him to enjoy his meal at his own pace.
When Harry finally set his burger down, about halfway finished, Remus took the opportunity to shift the conversation. With a subtle flick of his wand under the table, he murmured, "Muffliato."
Harry blinked at the sudden buzzing sensation in his ears. "What was that?"
"A privacy spell," Remus explained. "It keeps others from overhearing us. Very useful for conversations we'd rather keep quiet."
Harry grinned. "Brilliant."
They spent the next hour talking. Harry shared his impressions of Hogwarts, his amazement at discovering the wizarding world, and his love for the enchanted painting he had found—the one that let him talk to his dad and the Marauders. Remus listened intently, laughing heartily when Harry recounted how he had accidentally fallen into the hidden compartment.
"You truly have your father's knack for finding trouble," Remus mused with a fond smile.
Harry chuckled. "That's what everyone keeps saying."
Remus leaned back, stretching slightly before shifting the topic. "So, here's what I think we need to do next," he said. "First thing's first, you need new glasses."
Harry frowned slightly, reaching up to adjust his round frames. "What's wrong with these?"
Remus gave him a pointed look. "Harry, even I can tell they're inadequate, and I haven't seen an eye doctor in years. Your father went to a magical optometrist—same one I'll be taking you to."
Harry hesitated, then nodded. "Alright."
"After that, we'll get you some proper school supplies. I know Hagrid helped you, but there are a few things you'll need that weren't on the list."
Harry's curiosity piqued. "Like what?"
Remus smirked. "You'll see."
As they finished up their meal and Remus paid the bill, Harry leaned back in his seat, feeling… content. Full, warm, and strangely safe. He wasn't used to that feeling, but he liked it.
And for the first time in a long time, he was excited about what came next.
AN: Edited as of 2/13/25 - please drop a review if you enjoyed the changes to this chapter.