Chapter 25, everybody! In which we get the plot of Prisoner of Azkaban kicked off—and Word recognizes Azkaban HOW—
TroyWeb, thanks for the reviews! Dumbledore should, honestly….And yeah. Fun when you're reading it as a kid but on later rereads you start going "wait not everyone was a dope guys please tell someone." And yes Weasley solidarity and being good sibs makes me happy. :D That right there—that's probably why Professor McGonagall told them no pensives before graduation. As for the Basilisk…thank Saphroneth and their fic Harry Is A Dragon, And That's Okay—original-original plan when I was still kind of closely following canon did have Harry going ahead and fighting the basilisk until common sense intervened in the story, then it was going to be a team of aurors that took care of it, until finally this iteration. Couldn't do that to Empress. ^^ Yeah that snake and it ending up with Luna kind of happened but I enjoyed it. :D And yeah—Hermione was raised to be polite, Harry was raised to be quiet, and Ron has so many older brothers that it doesn't make much difference with him being brash and occasionally borderline rude. And of course! That always bugged me in canon so I'd rather avoid it when I can. :D
Harry Potter © JK Rowling
Summer that year was…questionable.
Good news: Dobby apparently did something on his way out last year, because the Dursleys were happy to let Harry keep his stuff in his room this year, which meant he could do his homework for once while it was still fresh.
Bad news: the Dursleys made sure to pile a ton of chores on him, with the admonition that he not get his meals unless he finished the insane list they gave him each day. Some days he missed meals altogether, and he absolutely refused to do what Snips suggested and write to his friends asking for help. As soon as he could, yes, he'd write to the Weasleys and ask if he could stay over, but he didn't want to give his home situation away.
On the positive side, Harry made extensive use of Neville's pocket pruning shear during his outdoor chores. Since in appearance it wasn't overtly magical and didn't require magic for him to use, he made it a point to use it rather than trudge to the shed and drag out whatever he needed. Although he did have to be careful when pulling it open into one of the larger tools.
It was also evident that some of the neighbors and even Aunt Petunia were eyeing it with something akin to envy—several neighbors were making it a point to walk by on a regular basis, obviously working up the nerve to ask the "neighborhood delinquent" about the tool he was using.
"Oh a friend of mine gave it to me last Christmas," he said, when someone finally did ask. "He's real big into plants—best in our class on the topic."
"So they eh, do teach you…at your school?" the person asked, hedging.
Harry wondered just how much the neighbors really knew about his education. "Oh yes, matter of fact we're very big on science and mathematics—I'm going to be taking an advanced mathematics course this coming year, actually." Since Herbology, Potions, and possibly Care of Magical Creatures kind of counted and Arithmancy definitely sounded mathy.
He couldn't tell if the person walked off enlightened or confused.
Of course, that ended with him getting into trouble, as people started inquiring after Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon about Harry's tool and you never said what kind of school Harry goes to my son was looking for a science-based secondary school. Considering they had never had to elaborate past he goes to a school for the incurably criminal this resulted in some spluttering before they insisted Harry was lying, which led to some side-eyeing from some neighbors and some muttering that Harry heard while weeding the hedges, that you know come to think of it Harry's always been quiet and unobtrusive something sounds kind of screwy there.
Sitting in his room that night with no supper, Harry was inclined to agree.
What made things worse this year though was the need to have a permission slip to Hogsmeade signed, which said it needed to be signed by a legal guardian. Regrettably, he only had two choices, and with the looming visit from Aunt Marge, he was hard-pressed to find a good time to ask. He finally did manage though, negotiating around behaving himself and staying quiet with the stipulation that if he did so, Uncle Vernon would sign his permission slip.
So all he had to do was survive a week of Aunt Marge. He could do this.
He hoped.
Snips did not entirely object to being kept in Harry's room while Aunt Marge was visiting.
Well, no, that was wrong—he did object to it, strenuously—matter of fact, he objected strenuously to Harry being here, with the Dursleys, especially that nasty shrieking woman that seemed annoyingly familiar to him and made him want to bite her. He didn't, firstly because he was better than that, secondly because he was certain she'd give him food poisoning.
Why, why, why was Harry even here? he couldn't really think of any spell or blood ward or anything that could justify him living with such a family—and that was before he had seen how Harry had been treated last year. One meal a day was honestly the least egregious thing these—these people had done. The only thing that had stopped him last year was simply the fact that even with a small growth spurt, he was still about the size of a bat—and about as easily crushable.
Incidentally, that was what was stopping him this year as well.
But he was drifting off topic, which was an unfortunate side effect of not having any way to properly spend his days whilst Aunt Marge was here—didn't even have the owl here to watch, she had been sent off with the admonition that she not come back until Aunt Marge was gone. Hedwig, at least, shared Snips opinion of the idiocy of it all, but she was willing to do so for Harry's sake.
Mostly because Harry was very desperate for 'Uncle' Vernon to sign his permission slip to Hogsmeade.
Honestly—the sorting hat was so ridiculously off when it said that Harry had Slytherin traits—he knew Dean Thomas, knew he was good with a quill, could have had him forge Vernon's signature no problem, wouldn't have to kowtow to this pig at all. No one at the school had ever laid eyes on Vernon's signature—Snips could forge it and it would still pass muster! Especially considering that the permission slips had no spells on them to counter attempts at forgery—really a daft oversight, but he supposed it acted as a chance to sharpen Slytherin minds, at least.
But here he was, mostly because he had flatly refused Harry's order to go with Hedwig—which, honestly, was probably the only reason the owl finally relented and left—sitting on top of Harry's dresser and bored out of his skull. Sorting through potions in his head was only diverting for so long.
On the positive side, Aunt Marge would be gone shortly, along with her nasty dog Ripper—which was probably the main reason Harry had been insistent that Hedwig make herself scarce and Snips at least stay in Harry's room. And, should the next two days pass without incident, Harry would happily have his permission slip and Hedwig would come back, and if Snips had to spend the next several days inking a letter to the Weasleys because Harry was too daft to ask, so be it.
Actually, maybe he could do that—give him something to do while Harry was trapped in the claws of his relatives.
He had squeezed into the trunk, managed to shove out a piece of parchment, was working on getting an inkwell out when Harry came bursting in, slamming the door behind him and flopping down on the bed. Snips ended up dropping the inkwell—forget the inkwell, squeeze out of the trunk and over to Harry, chittering in concern.
Harry sighed deeply, shoved himself up.
"We're leaving, Snips."
Yes—FINALLY. And really, he'd be dancing for joy but for Harry's stony expression—
And the fact that after he packed up and tied together his trunk and Hedwig's cage, he fished his wand out.
"I know, I know, long story," Harry said, dragging the trunk as Snips flew to his shoulder, still yipping. "Later."
That wasn't good enough for Snips, but it was going to have to be—hang on for dear life as Harry sped to the front door—
Vernon stepped in the way, a rather ugly shade of puce in his fury.
"YOU!" he bellowed. "YOU BRING HER BACK AND YOU PUT HER STRAIGHT RIGHT NOW!"
"NO!" Harry yelled back. "She was cruel and she deserved it!"
Oh good gravy Harry what did you do—
Vernon lunged for Harry—Snips saw that as a golden opportunity, snapped at Vernon's fingers before baring his needle-sharp teeth and hissing, promising pain if he even thought about grabbing him—Vernon got ready to grab him anyway—
Harry pointed his wand at Vernon.
Vernon backed off, jabbing a finger at them. "You wouldn't dare—"
"Try me," Harry said. "I'm leaving now—and don't you dare follow me."
Good for you, Harry—Snips dug his claws in, aimed one last hiss at Vernon as they left. Whatever had happened, Harry having the gumption to actually up and leave was enough to give Snips some patience in learning whatever the matter was.
They made it a good few blocks before Harry finally stopped, put his trunk down—ah, finally remembered all those featherweight and storing charms you and Hermione worked on, took you long enough. Seriously, sorting hat, whatever gave you the idea that this was a Slytherin? One hundred percent Gryffindor, right down to the boneheadedness.
Harry finally sat down on his trunk, looking exhausted—both physically and emotionally. Snips crred, concerned.
"I blew up my aunt Marge," Harry said finally. "Like—like a balloon, not like an explosion."
That would explain the odd sight earlier as they were fleeing Privet Drive. Wait patiently for an explanation, got one shortly.
"She was—" Harry swallowed hard. "She was insulting my mum and da—I tried, honest—I tried ignoring her, but—"
Snips sighed and shook his head—fair enough, he'd have lost his temper too, if someone had talked like that about Lily in front of him.
"So now I don't know what to do," Harry said, after a few moments of deep, ragged breathing. "I can't exactly walk to London, and I don't know about using my broomstick, and I don't know about using any spells—OW! Hey!"
Sorry Harry, but you were starting to get hysterical, and not in the funny way either. Flap his wings a bit to get Harry's attention, look around—fly off to a spot where some bushes were growing, snap off a little twig, land on Harry's knee and point the stick at Harry's wand. Ron was better at guessing Snip's charades than Harry was, but he'd get it given enough time.
"Okay…magic, then," Harry said.
Snips nodded, waved to get him to stop—turned to face the street, put the paw holding the stick out. Look at Harry, start chirping to get him to imitate—
Stop suddenly when he felt eyes on them.
Snap his head around, look—something was out there, something that made all the feathers on his head stand on end—
"What?" Harry asked, scooping Snips up with his free hand as he stood. "What is it?"
He didn't know—that was the problem. It was something familiar though—something familiar and hated—
There!
Start snarling, look as big as possible while baring his teeth—
Except he was no match for Marge's bulldog—he'd be no match for a big black dog that made it look like a pansy.
Harry spotted it too—threw out his wand arm to defend himself—backed up—tripped over his trunk—Snips grabbed onto his hand to keep from being flung—
And then lights and a deafening honk—
And then what Snips had been trying to get Harry to summon came screeching up to the curb.
"'Ello," a pockmarked young man said, reading from a cue card. "Welcome to the Knight Bus—my name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor for this…evening…whatchu doin' down there on the ground?"
"I-I tripped," Harry said.
"Watchu trip for?"
"I didn't do it on purpose!"
"Well who does?" Stan asked—which was honestly a good point; Harry, come up with better comebacks.
Harry, meanwhile, had gotten to his feet and was peering around the Knight Bus—Snips looked too—
No dice—the dog was gone, scared off by the bus. Well, it could have been worse. Most likely a stray, although he had a hard time believing that such a thing could happen in Little Whinging—he was pretty sure if that was the case, they'd be hearing the hup-tee-do up at Hogwarts.
Stan leaned around the bus. "Watchu looking at?"
"Nothing," Harry said, snapping his attention back to Stan and the bus. "What is this?"
"This here is the Knight Bus—emergency transportation for a stranded witch or wizard."
"I think I might qualify," Harry said. "Can you get me to London?"
"Sure sure—hop on, that'll be four sickles, five if you want hot chocolate or coffee—no I get your luggage, you get on."
Harry clambered on, Snips squinting in the brighter lighting of the bus's interior. Stan had to nudge Harry further in—Harry was too busy gaping at the vaulted ceiling of the bus, the chandeliers dangling down, and the four-poster beds scattered everywhere.
"I love magic," Harry managed finally.
Snips sighed—he'd be saying this now, but just wait until the bus actually got moving.
Stan hauled the trunk into the bus—Harry stopped him long enough to get the money out to pay for it—five sickles, Snips guessed the hot chocolate. And then helped Stan with the trunk when it was obvious the man didn't have enough oomph behind him to lift it by himself. Definitely another Gryffindor, anyone from any other house would have remembered the featherweight or levitating charms, come on, you were inside a magic bus that you were allowed to use magic in. Oi.
A few minutes later, Harry was settled on one of the four-posters with Snips and a cup of hot chocolate—Snips took a quick deep sip and grabbed a marshmallow, suspecting the rest would be on the floor soon enough.
"So where to?" Stan asked.
"The Leaky Cauldron—that's in London," Harry said.
Stan snorted, as was expected at such an inane statement. "You 'ear that, Ern? 'The Leaky Cauldron, that's in London.' 'Old on then."
As Snips expected, the hot chocolate was yet another casualty resulting from riding on the Knight Bus.