FIC: Belle (Chapter Two)
Title: Belle
Summary: Beasts are beasts. They do not change. After Harry is expelled from St. Brutus, the Dursleys kick him out to the streets where Albus Dumbledore finds him and sends him to Severus Snape for his protection. Unfortunately, no one explained anything to Harry. A Snarry version of the Beauty and the Beast
Characters/Pairings: Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Hermione Granger, Albus Dumbledore, Lucius Malfoy
Genre: Drama/Romance
Rating/Warnings: R/implied abuse
Word Count: 3,829
A/N: I'm not certain if fanfiction.net will upload the new chapter before this week ends (it's been quite buggy lately) and as this chapter has no R stuff in it, I'm posting it here if that's okay. (If it's not okay please let me know!!!) The link to ffnet is here: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7654888/1/Belle (chapter one) and chapter two: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7654888/2/Belle
The boy had certainly taken everything with him; if he had started hoarding food again, which Severus was quite certain he had due to the crumbs beneath the bed, he had even taken that with him. The drawers in the desk were cleared right out with only small bits of muggle paper littering the bottom. Severus found it quite peculiar how obsessed the boy seemed to be with muggle items, so obsessed that he hadn’t even seen even one single magical item. Nor, did he seem to use magic at all, at the very least, not in front of him. Had the boy been a year younger Severus would have thought that perhaps the boy wasn’t so arrogant as to flout the degree of underage magic, yet the boy should have been like most his age, being thrilled at the prospect of finally being able to use magic legally.
Unless the boy was practicing far away from him, then he would seem to have no more magic than a squib. Severus waves away that idea quickly. Of course the boy would be using magic foolishly and away from those more attuned.
Severus takes a seat on the bed and cast his eyes across the room. There really was nothing, just the barest hints that someone had occupied the room at one point. Yet, something niggles at the back of his brain. There was something important that he was missing. With a flash he calls out, “Ziddy!”
“Yes, Master Severus?” the house-elf asks excitedly.
“The book of the boy’s, where is it?” Severus demands harshly.
Ziddy snaps her fingers and with a loud crack a small black notebook appears in her hand. She hands it to Severus who waves her off.
It’s as muggle as it could possibly be, with a plastic cover and thin pages. Severus opens it and finds, Property of Harry J. Potter written on the first page. He scoffs. Of course the brat would feel the need to label everything. He flips to the next page. Logically, he thinks that he should just flip to the end, but he finds himself wanting to know what the boy cares to write about. He would never tell anyone, and while the boy was more silent than not, he continuously found himself curious about the boy who abandoned Hogwarts with nothing more than a simple letter.
Mrs. Primrose Williamson has decided that it would help if I wrote down the things that bothered me. “It’ll help you in the future to become a good British citizen,” she says. “Like your aunt and uncle and cousin,” she says. Ha. Like I want to be like them. Only two more years to go, two more summers to go.
Severus stares at the page. The boy was obviously upset when he had written those words, the ink darkened in spots and a couple holes decorated the page. He flips to the next page, but it is blank. He shuffles through the pages only to learn that Potter had most certainly not taken Primrose Williamson’s advice. He turns the book over to the back cover and starts rifling through, hoping the boy had written something at the end.
No such luck.
Severus flips the book over. With a sudden realization he begins trying spell after spell hoping that one will reveal a concealing spell. After a few minutes, it is clear that the boy has not written anything except the small excerpt on the first page. Irritated, he tosses the book at the wall. The stupid boy.
Ungrateful wretch.
He turns to leave but his well-trained eye spots a tiny folded piece of paper that looked like it had slid from some part of the book. Striding quickly across the room, he grabs the piece of paper and unfolds it. It’s unlike anything he has ever read before.
o0o
The sound of a door awakens Harry who rolls over on the couch and slaps his hand around for his glasses. When he finally finds them he places them on and squints from the darkened room and tries to peer into the front of the bookstore. He catches a glimpse of bright purple fabric that seemed to glitter and the bottom end of a pure white beard.
He frowns. For some reason his heart thumps heavily in his chest.
“Professor Dumbledore!” the girl from earlier exclaims.
Harry bolts with a start and covers his mouth with his hand, trying to muffle his now heavy breathing.
Please don’t please don’t please don’t, he thinks.
What he’s asking for he’s not really sure. Of course, he hadn’t been clear on anything for the past few weeks. Or well, ever. Strange things just always seemed to happen around him, so why should he be surprised that his mysterious kidnapper seemed to know the woman who worked in the bookshop?
Wait. Harry thinks furiously, frozen in place. She called him ‘professor’ which would mean she was a delinquent as well. But that didn’t seem right, not at all. She could be a reformed delinquent. Harry had never considered himself a delinquent, so he had always been uncertain on what a “reformed” delinquent was supposed to be like that and then on top of that, St. Brutus really had been for the worst of the worst.
Harry twists his lips nervously as the strange man begins to appear in his view again. He holds his breath waiting for the girl to betray him. Any moment now. The girl, Hermione, suddenly appears in front of the doorway, her back blocking the view between Harry and his kidnapper.
There’s a strange, practically unintelligible conversation about lemon drops in which Hermione laughs and crosses her fingers behind her back. The strange man’s robes make an odd swishing sound and Harry can spot a tall hat, also bright purple and glittering with a bunch of tiny moons and stars, peeking over Hermione’s bushy hair. The top of the hat turns and Harry stays as still as he possibly can, every muscle in his body frozen and contracted into place. When the man moves closer, Harry stops breathing altogether.
“Well, Miss Granger, it was a pleasure seeing you again,” the man says.
Hermione nods and says, “A pleasure, Professor.”
The man’s voice is louder this time, as if Harry is intended to hear it. “And as I said, if you see him, please let him know that I am looking for him and that he’s not in any trouble,” the man says.
“Yes, Professor.”
The cone shaped hat turns and seems to bounce merrily across the doorway, the ostentatious fabric still making the swishing the sound. When Harry hears the door close, Hermione turns around and looks at Harry’s wide-eyed face.
“Did he know I was here?” Harry asks, incredulously.
Hermione shifts uncomfortably.
“Did you tell him?” Harry demands.
“Well why wouldn’t I?”
Harry notes quickly that it’s not a question.
“Because he’s the man that kidnapped me!”
Horror spreads across Hermione’s face before turning into confusion. She shakes her head. “That’s not possible. That’s…He’s a teacher,” she stresses.
“And we all know all teachers are the paragon of virtue,” Harry says wryly. “Besides, I think I would remember an outfit like that. For a kidnapper he’s not very discreet.”
Hermione lets out a strangled laugh before looking around the bookshop and wringing her hands. “What do I do?”
Harry doesn’t know if she’s asking him or herself but he stands up off the couch and grasps her fretting hands. “Look,” he begins, “I understand that this is hard and it is really hard to go against the professors when you’re finally on good terms with them, but I don’t know that man. I don’t know why he took me or why he sent me to that bloody awful house. Whatever he is to you, he’s not the same to me, and I just want to get far away from the place. Can you help me do that?”
Hermione bites her lip.
“Please,” Harry asks, turning her chin up to his eyes.
“Well, Professor Dumbledore is looking for you and you’re not in any trouble. And now that I’ve let you know, I can help you.”
“Used to breaking the rules, aren’t you?” Harry asks with a wink.
Hermione blushes. “I didn’t break any,” she says adamantly. “My shift’s over in a few minutes, let me lock up and then you can stay the night at my place.”
“Thank you,” Harry says, grabbing his bag from its spot next to the couch.
o0o
The paper is definitely muggle, but a bit heavier than what Severus had often seen in his dealings with muggle families. The only paper his father were cheap thin sheets. This paper was different, thick, cream-coloured, and not a handwritten word anywhere on it. The top of the page had a line that stated, “St. Brutus Center” with a line directly beneath it that stated, “Where we teach boys how to integrate into proper society.”
Severus raises an eyebrow. An all boys school then. Womanizer James Potter would have been rolling in his grave, had he known his son not only refused to go to Hogwarts but also refused to go to a school with the opposite sex. He reads on.
To the parents and/or guardians of Mr. Harry James Potter,
We regret to inform you that Mr. Harry James Potter is hereby expelled from St. Brutus. For the past six years we have worked with Mr. Potter in trying to reign in his temper, his lying, his insubordination, and his vandalism. While at times it seemed that he was improving, it is our belief that he had only become more skilled with his dishonesty. He has also refused to work with the school psychiatrist and we are unable to place him in any work programs.
The last act of vandalism in which he set fire to one of the classrooms, yet again, has only secured our knowledge that Mr. Potter is no longer fit for our services. We regret to pass on this difficulty to you, so on the attached page is a list of centers that may be better suited to work with Mr. Potter.
Best wishes,
George Hammond
Headmaster of St. Brutus
A thrill races through Severus’ heart. Like father, like son. Except unlike his father, Potter had obviously not gotten away with his mischief. There were things that struck him as peculiar with the letter. It was completely muggle, right down to the description of ‘psychiatrist’ instead of ‘mediwizard’. Then he remembers that Potter’s guardians were muggle and perhaps the school used muggle means and terms to make them more comfortable.
It had been clear from the moment that Potter was dropped off, in the middle of the night, no less, by Albus Dumbledore (who had immediately disappeared), that Potter’s guardians had obviously had it with him. Scanning the letter once again, Severus now knows exactly why.
And yet, as Severus scans the paper for a third time, he can’t help but feel that he is missing something direly important. He folds the paper back into the small square that he had originally found it and tucks it into his pocket. He picks up the notebook off the floor and performs a shrinking spell and places it into his pocket as well. Though the items are barely noticeable, they seem to weigh his pockets down.
And then Severus realizes that he still has no idea where the boy has fled to.
o0o
While Hermione locks up the bookstore, Harry stays as hidden in the shadows as he possibly can and casts his eyes from right to left, looking for any slight sign that someone was coming his way. Luckily, no one seemed to be traveling on the darkened road.
“So,” Hermione begins, and Harry turns to see her stuffing a stick of wood into a pocket. Harry frowns. What was it with those sticks? Perhaps they were like Dudley’s smelting stick? He had really never seen the point (besides getting hit with it) of the stick, but perhaps it was a big deal in some schools. “How would you like to get to my place?”
Harry looks around, wondering if she had a car hidden in the bushes or something similar. “Walking’s fine by me,” he says slowly.
Hermione grins happily. “I prefer walking as well. Most types of travel make my stomach churn. The fresh air also does me good.”
“I’m terrible at buses,” Harry says, trying to make some sort of acknowledgment. It seems to work.
“The Knight Bus is the worst,” Hermione exclaims. “I was once on it in my fourth year, made me so queasy.”
Hermione’s remembrance of the queasiness did nothing to distract her from her story and with Harry half-listening, she describes the amount of twists and turns and something about how she expected that the bus was going to run over a woman walking across the street, but nearly avoided her.
Harry tries to add nods here and there as Hermione talked like someone unused to friends, or even acquaintances for that matter. Quite frankly, he had become a sounding board for the girl to get everything off of her chest.
“Oh look, we’re here!” Hermione says brightly.
Unlike the austere feeling that Harry had the moment he had been dropped off in front of Beast’s or Snape’s house, Hermione’s small cottage style house had an unkempt yet welcoming feel to it.
“I hope you don’t mind, it’s quite muggle,” Hermione says, “but I much prefer it that way. Doing things by hand, I mean.”
“It’s perfect,” Harry says, “I often did things by hand at my aunt and uncle’s house all the time. Especially the gardening.”
The look of relief on Hermione’s face is overwhelming and for a moment Harry thinks she might just hug him. To his relief, she seems to stop. The place is a simple one-bedroom, with a kitchen and a sitting room.
“Thank you for letting me crash on your couch,” Harry says from the sitting room where Hermione brings out two cups of steaming hot tea.
“You mentioned your aunt and uncle,” Hermione says. “Are you going back to them, in Surrey? Surely, they must be worried about you.”
“I doubt it,” Harry says dryly.
At Hermione’s frown, Harry adds, “they kicked me out.”
Hermione lets out a gasp of horror. “Why?”
Harry turns red. “I uhm got expelled from my school.”
“But they’re your family,” Hermione says, indignant on his behalf.
Harry shifts uncomfortably on the couch.
“I’m sorry, I’m making you uncomfortable, aren’t I?”
Harry shrugs. “It’s fine, if anyone should be uncomfortable, it would be you.”
“What do you mean by that?” Hermione asks sharply.
Perhaps those had been the wrong choice of words. Harry holds his hands up defensively. “I only meant that you are the one with a complete stranger in your house, which I appreciate very much, and if anyone would be allowed to be nervous about a situation, it would probably be you.”
“That’s the most I’ve heard you say at one time,” she says. “Like I said before,” she picks out the stick from before and points it at him, “I can defend myself, especially from perverts.” She tucks the stick back into her pocket. It must be a hitting thing, Harry thinks.
“I’m really not the pervert type,” Harry says and scratches his neck.
“Got any proof?”
“Nothing concrete. I could say that I bat for the other team, but a pervert could lie and say the same thing.”
“Fair enough,” Hermione says and then launches into a spiel about possible ways to make himself comfortable on the couch. The woman seemed to have a plan for everything combined with an inability to censor herself about them. Harry continues to thank her and covers up underneath a pink blanket covered with gold strands of cat hair. “Crookshanks,” Hermione explains. “My cat,” she adds at Harry’s blank stare. “He’ll probably come visit you at night. He likes people. Well some people.” The last thing he thinks before falling asleep, again, is that Hermione didn’t strike him as a cat person.
o0o
“Point me, Potter,” Severus whispers but his wand whirls haphazardly in his hand. There’s no clear direction. “Point me, Belle,” Severus tries, thinking that perhaps his insistence on calling the brat Belle might actually point him in the right direction.
He was surprised with how well Potter took to being called that. He didn’t like it, that much was clear, but he didn’t fight it. He hadn’t planned on continuing to call the boy such, but as it got under Potter’s skin, he found it mesmerizing in the way the boy squirmed. Severus wanted the argument. He had waited years for James Potter’s brat to make it to Hogwarts, for someone he could take years worth of bottled up anger out on, and then the boy didn’t come. All the Headmaster said was that the boy had written and decided to attend a different wizardry school and that Hogwarts just didn’t fit the bill. Severus had sneered and called him pampered; how much better could one get than Hogwarts. Of course it wouldn’t be enough for the savior of the wizarding world.
When the wand once again spins out of control, Severus grips it tightly in irritation. Stupid, stupid boy. It was as if the stupid boy didn’t know that there was an array of Death Eaters out for his blood, just waiting to bring him back to the Dark Lord. The boy didn’t have a care in the world. Just like his father. And the letter in his pocket proved that. It proved everything. Everything he had ever thought about the boy was correct. His guardians sent him to the best school, did everything they could to give him a proper education, but the boy’s temperament proved to be too much for them. It was often too difficult for muggles to deal with a wizard child. Potter was even more so.
And though Severus is grateful that he didn’t have to deal with Potter’s spawn, he thinks that he may have been able to shape him up given the chance. Of course, and the thought seems to come out of nowhere, he can’t help but wonder if the war would be going differently if Potter had been the one in the Hangleton graveyard and not Cedric Diggory.
o0o
From the still darkened curtains, Harry can easily tell that it is not yet morning. The heavy weight pawing at his chest seems to think otherwise. Harry blinks and a large ginger cat’s squashed face turns his head from left to right, his large whiskers ticking Harry’s face.
“Geroff me,” Harry grunts and tries to shove the cat off of him but he doesn’t budge, his bright orange eyes staring right through him. “What?” Harry asks, forgetting for the moment that it was a cat and couldn’t answer him.
“Crookshanks,” Harry says. The cat jumps off and down to the floor and begins scratching before running off into the adjacent bedroom. Harry hears Hermione grunting and a small “what?” as well. A blueish light flicks through the sitting room window before disappearing and Harry’s up with a start. He strains his ears and he thinks he hears a snap of a twig from outside. It could be an animal, Harry tries to reassure himself, but then he hears another heavier snap.
From Hermione’s room comes a large yowl. The bandy-legged cat is obviously unhappy, and Harry hears Hermione’s bed creaking. He thinks she says something like “lumos” which makes no sense, but he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised if she spoke multiple languages. Crookshanks dashes back to the sitting room and yowls at Harry and then bats at his trainers.
Another snap of a twig has Harry yanking his trainers on his feet and grabbing his bag.
“What’s going on?” Hermione asks as she walks out of the room, her stick in hand which was no glowing. Well, it was certainly fancier than Dudley’s Smelting stick that was for sure.
“I think there’s someone out there,” Harry whispers and waves towards the window.
“Get down!” she hisses and Harry drops.
Hermione crouches toward the window and peers out and then curses.
“Is it that Dumbledore man again?” Harry asks.
“That would be a much better option. Death Eaters.”
“Who?”
But then the door explodes off its hinges and into slivers of wood that rain down all around them.
“Hide!” Hermione hisses, scrambling backwards, but there’s nowhere to hide and neither can move fast enough before a black cloaked figure enters the room. The person’s face is hidden by a white mask but there’s a few wisps of long blonde hair peeking out. Harry thinks the person walks like a man.
“The mudblood Granger, I expected,” the figure said, who was definitely male with a rather cultured voice. He pointed a stick at Hermione who held hers out with a shaking hand. “But Potter,” the voice sounds pleased and Hermione lets out a strangled gasp.
“You’re Harry Potter?” she asks, a thirst for knowledge in her eyes that even their dire situation couldn’t seem to crush.
“Er, bigger problems?” Harry answers.
“Figures a mudblood wouldn’t know Potter when it met one.”
Harry isn’t certain what a ‘mudblood’ is but the way he said it and the way the girl winces at it’s mention, he’s fairly certain that it’s not a pleasant term. “Don’t call her that!” he says with far more bravado than he feels.
“Of course you would protect her, like your dead mudblood mother.”
“How do you know about my mum? And don’t call her that!”
The man in the mask laughs and Hermione shouts “Reducto!” and a burst of red light is quickly blocked. The man shouts “Incarcerous” and thick ropes wrap tightly around Hermione and her stick drops to the floor. Harry stares wide eyed.
“Not much of a fighter, are you, Potter?”
“Who are you?” Harry demands.
The man reaches a hand to his face and takes his mask off. Behind it is a very pale man with light blue eyes, long blond hair, and rather aristocratic features. He arches an eyebrow as if waiting for him to make some sound of recognition. When Harry doesn’t say anything he says, “Lucius Malfoy. I serve the Dark Lord. And if you don’t come with me, your little mudblood friend isn’t going to live very long. But I can guarantee you, it will be painful.”
Harry glances at Hermione who looks like she’s on the verge of tears. “Don’t,” she begs.
“Shut up, mudblood!” The blond man says a word that Harry can’t quite make out and suddenly Hermione is gagged.
Harry holds up his hands. “Don’t hurt her. I’ll go.”
The man twists his lips into a cruel smile. “Good,” he says.
128 125 points for Slytherin!
Summary: Beasts are beasts. They do not change. After Harry is expelled from St. Brutus, the Dursleys kick him out to the streets where Albus Dumbledore finds him and sends him to Severus Snape for his protection. Unfortunately, no one explained anything to Harry. A Snarry version of the Beauty and the Beast
Characters/Pairings: Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Hermione Granger, Albus Dumbledore, Lucius Malfoy
Genre: Drama/Romance
Rating/Warnings: R/implied abuse
Word Count: 3,829
A/N: I'm not certain if fanfiction.net will upload the new chapter before this week ends (it's been quite buggy lately) and as this chapter has no R stuff in it, I'm posting it here if that's okay. (If it's not okay please let me know!!!) The link to ffnet is here: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7654888/1/Belle (chapter one) and chapter two: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7654888/2/Belle
The boy had certainly taken everything with him; if he had started hoarding food again, which Severus was quite certain he had due to the crumbs beneath the bed, he had even taken that with him. The drawers in the desk were cleared right out with only small bits of muggle paper littering the bottom. Severus found it quite peculiar how obsessed the boy seemed to be with muggle items, so obsessed that he hadn’t even seen even one single magical item. Nor, did he seem to use magic at all, at the very least, not in front of him. Had the boy been a year younger Severus would have thought that perhaps the boy wasn’t so arrogant as to flout the degree of underage magic, yet the boy should have been like most his age, being thrilled at the prospect of finally being able to use magic legally.
Unless the boy was practicing far away from him, then he would seem to have no more magic than a squib. Severus waves away that idea quickly. Of course the boy would be using magic foolishly and away from those more attuned.
Severus takes a seat on the bed and cast his eyes across the room. There really was nothing, just the barest hints that someone had occupied the room at one point. Yet, something niggles at the back of his brain. There was something important that he was missing. With a flash he calls out, “Ziddy!”
“Yes, Master Severus?” the house-elf asks excitedly.
“The book of the boy’s, where is it?” Severus demands harshly.
Ziddy snaps her fingers and with a loud crack a small black notebook appears in her hand. She hands it to Severus who waves her off.
It’s as muggle as it could possibly be, with a plastic cover and thin pages. Severus opens it and finds, Property of Harry J. Potter written on the first page. He scoffs. Of course the brat would feel the need to label everything. He flips to the next page. Logically, he thinks that he should just flip to the end, but he finds himself wanting to know what the boy cares to write about. He would never tell anyone, and while the boy was more silent than not, he continuously found himself curious about the boy who abandoned Hogwarts with nothing more than a simple letter.
Mrs. Primrose Williamson has decided that it would help if I wrote down the things that bothered me. “It’ll help you in the future to become a good British citizen,” she says. “Like your aunt and uncle and cousin,” she says. Ha. Like I want to be like them. Only two more years to go, two more summers to go.
Severus stares at the page. The boy was obviously upset when he had written those words, the ink darkened in spots and a couple holes decorated the page. He flips to the next page, but it is blank. He shuffles through the pages only to learn that Potter had most certainly not taken Primrose Williamson’s advice. He turns the book over to the back cover and starts rifling through, hoping the boy had written something at the end.
No such luck.
Severus flips the book over. With a sudden realization he begins trying spell after spell hoping that one will reveal a concealing spell. After a few minutes, it is clear that the boy has not written anything except the small excerpt on the first page. Irritated, he tosses the book at the wall. The stupid boy.
Ungrateful wretch.
He turns to leave but his well-trained eye spots a tiny folded piece of paper that looked like it had slid from some part of the book. Striding quickly across the room, he grabs the piece of paper and unfolds it. It’s unlike anything he has ever read before.
o0o
The sound of a door awakens Harry who rolls over on the couch and slaps his hand around for his glasses. When he finally finds them he places them on and squints from the darkened room and tries to peer into the front of the bookstore. He catches a glimpse of bright purple fabric that seemed to glitter and the bottom end of a pure white beard.
He frowns. For some reason his heart thumps heavily in his chest.
“Professor Dumbledore!” the girl from earlier exclaims.
Harry bolts with a start and covers his mouth with his hand, trying to muffle his now heavy breathing.
Please don’t please don’t please don’t, he thinks.
What he’s asking for he’s not really sure. Of course, he hadn’t been clear on anything for the past few weeks. Or well, ever. Strange things just always seemed to happen around him, so why should he be surprised that his mysterious kidnapper seemed to know the woman who worked in the bookshop?
Wait. Harry thinks furiously, frozen in place. She called him ‘professor’ which would mean she was a delinquent as well. But that didn’t seem right, not at all. She could be a reformed delinquent. Harry had never considered himself a delinquent, so he had always been uncertain on what a “reformed” delinquent was supposed to be like that and then on top of that, St. Brutus really had been for the worst of the worst.
Harry twists his lips nervously as the strange man begins to appear in his view again. He holds his breath waiting for the girl to betray him. Any moment now. The girl, Hermione, suddenly appears in front of the doorway, her back blocking the view between Harry and his kidnapper.
There’s a strange, practically unintelligible conversation about lemon drops in which Hermione laughs and crosses her fingers behind her back. The strange man’s robes make an odd swishing sound and Harry can spot a tall hat, also bright purple and glittering with a bunch of tiny moons and stars, peeking over Hermione’s bushy hair. The top of the hat turns and Harry stays as still as he possibly can, every muscle in his body frozen and contracted into place. When the man moves closer, Harry stops breathing altogether.
“Well, Miss Granger, it was a pleasure seeing you again,” the man says.
Hermione nods and says, “A pleasure, Professor.”
The man’s voice is louder this time, as if Harry is intended to hear it. “And as I said, if you see him, please let him know that I am looking for him and that he’s not in any trouble,” the man says.
“Yes, Professor.”
The cone shaped hat turns and seems to bounce merrily across the doorway, the ostentatious fabric still making the swishing the sound. When Harry hears the door close, Hermione turns around and looks at Harry’s wide-eyed face.
“Did he know I was here?” Harry asks, incredulously.
Hermione shifts uncomfortably.
“Did you tell him?” Harry demands.
“Well why wouldn’t I?”
Harry notes quickly that it’s not a question.
“Because he’s the man that kidnapped me!”
Horror spreads across Hermione’s face before turning into confusion. She shakes her head. “That’s not possible. That’s…He’s a teacher,” she stresses.
“And we all know all teachers are the paragon of virtue,” Harry says wryly. “Besides, I think I would remember an outfit like that. For a kidnapper he’s not very discreet.”
Hermione lets out a strangled laugh before looking around the bookshop and wringing her hands. “What do I do?”
Harry doesn’t know if she’s asking him or herself but he stands up off the couch and grasps her fretting hands. “Look,” he begins, “I understand that this is hard and it is really hard to go against the professors when you’re finally on good terms with them, but I don’t know that man. I don’t know why he took me or why he sent me to that bloody awful house. Whatever he is to you, he’s not the same to me, and I just want to get far away from the place. Can you help me do that?”
Hermione bites her lip.
“Please,” Harry asks, turning her chin up to his eyes.
“Well, Professor Dumbledore is looking for you and you’re not in any trouble. And now that I’ve let you know, I can help you.”
“Used to breaking the rules, aren’t you?” Harry asks with a wink.
Hermione blushes. “I didn’t break any,” she says adamantly. “My shift’s over in a few minutes, let me lock up and then you can stay the night at my place.”
“Thank you,” Harry says, grabbing his bag from its spot next to the couch.
o0o
The paper is definitely muggle, but a bit heavier than what Severus had often seen in his dealings with muggle families. The only paper his father were cheap thin sheets. This paper was different, thick, cream-coloured, and not a handwritten word anywhere on it. The top of the page had a line that stated, “St. Brutus Center” with a line directly beneath it that stated, “Where we teach boys how to integrate into proper society.”
Severus raises an eyebrow. An all boys school then. Womanizer James Potter would have been rolling in his grave, had he known his son not only refused to go to Hogwarts but also refused to go to a school with the opposite sex. He reads on.
To the parents and/or guardians of Mr. Harry James Potter,
We regret to inform you that Mr. Harry James Potter is hereby expelled from St. Brutus. For the past six years we have worked with Mr. Potter in trying to reign in his temper, his lying, his insubordination, and his vandalism. While at times it seemed that he was improving, it is our belief that he had only become more skilled with his dishonesty. He has also refused to work with the school psychiatrist and we are unable to place him in any work programs.
The last act of vandalism in which he set fire to one of the classrooms, yet again, has only secured our knowledge that Mr. Potter is no longer fit for our services. We regret to pass on this difficulty to you, so on the attached page is a list of centers that may be better suited to work with Mr. Potter.
Best wishes,
George Hammond
Headmaster of St. Brutus
A thrill races through Severus’ heart. Like father, like son. Except unlike his father, Potter had obviously not gotten away with his mischief. There were things that struck him as peculiar with the letter. It was completely muggle, right down to the description of ‘psychiatrist’ instead of ‘mediwizard’. Then he remembers that Potter’s guardians were muggle and perhaps the school used muggle means and terms to make them more comfortable.
It had been clear from the moment that Potter was dropped off, in the middle of the night, no less, by Albus Dumbledore (who had immediately disappeared), that Potter’s guardians had obviously had it with him. Scanning the letter once again, Severus now knows exactly why.
And yet, as Severus scans the paper for a third time, he can’t help but feel that he is missing something direly important. He folds the paper back into the small square that he had originally found it and tucks it into his pocket. He picks up the notebook off the floor and performs a shrinking spell and places it into his pocket as well. Though the items are barely noticeable, they seem to weigh his pockets down.
And then Severus realizes that he still has no idea where the boy has fled to.
o0o
While Hermione locks up the bookstore, Harry stays as hidden in the shadows as he possibly can and casts his eyes from right to left, looking for any slight sign that someone was coming his way. Luckily, no one seemed to be traveling on the darkened road.
“So,” Hermione begins, and Harry turns to see her stuffing a stick of wood into a pocket. Harry frowns. What was it with those sticks? Perhaps they were like Dudley’s smelting stick? He had really never seen the point (besides getting hit with it) of the stick, but perhaps it was a big deal in some schools. “How would you like to get to my place?”
Harry looks around, wondering if she had a car hidden in the bushes or something similar. “Walking’s fine by me,” he says slowly.
Hermione grins happily. “I prefer walking as well. Most types of travel make my stomach churn. The fresh air also does me good.”
“I’m terrible at buses,” Harry says, trying to make some sort of acknowledgment. It seems to work.
“The Knight Bus is the worst,” Hermione exclaims. “I was once on it in my fourth year, made me so queasy.”
Hermione’s remembrance of the queasiness did nothing to distract her from her story and with Harry half-listening, she describes the amount of twists and turns and something about how she expected that the bus was going to run over a woman walking across the street, but nearly avoided her.
Harry tries to add nods here and there as Hermione talked like someone unused to friends, or even acquaintances for that matter. Quite frankly, he had become a sounding board for the girl to get everything off of her chest.
“Oh look, we’re here!” Hermione says brightly.
Unlike the austere feeling that Harry had the moment he had been dropped off in front of Beast’s or Snape’s house, Hermione’s small cottage style house had an unkempt yet welcoming feel to it.
“I hope you don’t mind, it’s quite muggle,” Hermione says, “but I much prefer it that way. Doing things by hand, I mean.”
“It’s perfect,” Harry says, “I often did things by hand at my aunt and uncle’s house all the time. Especially the gardening.”
The look of relief on Hermione’s face is overwhelming and for a moment Harry thinks she might just hug him. To his relief, she seems to stop. The place is a simple one-bedroom, with a kitchen and a sitting room.
“Thank you for letting me crash on your couch,” Harry says from the sitting room where Hermione brings out two cups of steaming hot tea.
“You mentioned your aunt and uncle,” Hermione says. “Are you going back to them, in Surrey? Surely, they must be worried about you.”
“I doubt it,” Harry says dryly.
At Hermione’s frown, Harry adds, “they kicked me out.”
Hermione lets out a gasp of horror. “Why?”
Harry turns red. “I uhm got expelled from my school.”
“But they’re your family,” Hermione says, indignant on his behalf.
Harry shifts uncomfortably on the couch.
“I’m sorry, I’m making you uncomfortable, aren’t I?”
Harry shrugs. “It’s fine, if anyone should be uncomfortable, it would be you.”
“What do you mean by that?” Hermione asks sharply.
Perhaps those had been the wrong choice of words. Harry holds his hands up defensively. “I only meant that you are the one with a complete stranger in your house, which I appreciate very much, and if anyone would be allowed to be nervous about a situation, it would probably be you.”
“That’s the most I’ve heard you say at one time,” she says. “Like I said before,” she picks out the stick from before and points it at him, “I can defend myself, especially from perverts.” She tucks the stick back into her pocket. It must be a hitting thing, Harry thinks.
“I’m really not the pervert type,” Harry says and scratches his neck.
“Got any proof?”
“Nothing concrete. I could say that I bat for the other team, but a pervert could lie and say the same thing.”
“Fair enough,” Hermione says and then launches into a spiel about possible ways to make himself comfortable on the couch. The woman seemed to have a plan for everything combined with an inability to censor herself about them. Harry continues to thank her and covers up underneath a pink blanket covered with gold strands of cat hair. “Crookshanks,” Hermione explains. “My cat,” she adds at Harry’s blank stare. “He’ll probably come visit you at night. He likes people. Well some people.” The last thing he thinks before falling asleep, again, is that Hermione didn’t strike him as a cat person.
o0o
“Point me, Potter,” Severus whispers but his wand whirls haphazardly in his hand. There’s no clear direction. “Point me, Belle,” Severus tries, thinking that perhaps his insistence on calling the brat Belle might actually point him in the right direction.
He was surprised with how well Potter took to being called that. He didn’t like it, that much was clear, but he didn’t fight it. He hadn’t planned on continuing to call the boy such, but as it got under Potter’s skin, he found it mesmerizing in the way the boy squirmed. Severus wanted the argument. He had waited years for James Potter’s brat to make it to Hogwarts, for someone he could take years worth of bottled up anger out on, and then the boy didn’t come. All the Headmaster said was that the boy had written and decided to attend a different wizardry school and that Hogwarts just didn’t fit the bill. Severus had sneered and called him pampered; how much better could one get than Hogwarts. Of course it wouldn’t be enough for the savior of the wizarding world.
When the wand once again spins out of control, Severus grips it tightly in irritation. Stupid, stupid boy. It was as if the stupid boy didn’t know that there was an array of Death Eaters out for his blood, just waiting to bring him back to the Dark Lord. The boy didn’t have a care in the world. Just like his father. And the letter in his pocket proved that. It proved everything. Everything he had ever thought about the boy was correct. His guardians sent him to the best school, did everything they could to give him a proper education, but the boy’s temperament proved to be too much for them. It was often too difficult for muggles to deal with a wizard child. Potter was even more so.
And though Severus is grateful that he didn’t have to deal with Potter’s spawn, he thinks that he may have been able to shape him up given the chance. Of course, and the thought seems to come out of nowhere, he can’t help but wonder if the war would be going differently if Potter had been the one in the Hangleton graveyard and not Cedric Diggory.
o0o
From the still darkened curtains, Harry can easily tell that it is not yet morning. The heavy weight pawing at his chest seems to think otherwise. Harry blinks and a large ginger cat’s squashed face turns his head from left to right, his large whiskers ticking Harry’s face.
“Geroff me,” Harry grunts and tries to shove the cat off of him but he doesn’t budge, his bright orange eyes staring right through him. “What?” Harry asks, forgetting for the moment that it was a cat and couldn’t answer him.
“Crookshanks,” Harry says. The cat jumps off and down to the floor and begins scratching before running off into the adjacent bedroom. Harry hears Hermione grunting and a small “what?” as well. A blueish light flicks through the sitting room window before disappearing and Harry’s up with a start. He strains his ears and he thinks he hears a snap of a twig from outside. It could be an animal, Harry tries to reassure himself, but then he hears another heavier snap.
From Hermione’s room comes a large yowl. The bandy-legged cat is obviously unhappy, and Harry hears Hermione’s bed creaking. He thinks she says something like “lumos” which makes no sense, but he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised if she spoke multiple languages. Crookshanks dashes back to the sitting room and yowls at Harry and then bats at his trainers.
Another snap of a twig has Harry yanking his trainers on his feet and grabbing his bag.
“What’s going on?” Hermione asks as she walks out of the room, her stick in hand which was no glowing. Well, it was certainly fancier than Dudley’s Smelting stick that was for sure.
“I think there’s someone out there,” Harry whispers and waves towards the window.
“Get down!” she hisses and Harry drops.
Hermione crouches toward the window and peers out and then curses.
“Is it that Dumbledore man again?” Harry asks.
“That would be a much better option. Death Eaters.”
“Who?”
But then the door explodes off its hinges and into slivers of wood that rain down all around them.
“Hide!” Hermione hisses, scrambling backwards, but there’s nowhere to hide and neither can move fast enough before a black cloaked figure enters the room. The person’s face is hidden by a white mask but there’s a few wisps of long blonde hair peeking out. Harry thinks the person walks like a man.
“The mudblood Granger, I expected,” the figure said, who was definitely male with a rather cultured voice. He pointed a stick at Hermione who held hers out with a shaking hand. “But Potter,” the voice sounds pleased and Hermione lets out a strangled gasp.
“You’re Harry Potter?” she asks, a thirst for knowledge in her eyes that even their dire situation couldn’t seem to crush.
“Er, bigger problems?” Harry answers.
“Figures a mudblood wouldn’t know Potter when it met one.”
Harry isn’t certain what a ‘mudblood’ is but the way he said it and the way the girl winces at it’s mention, he’s fairly certain that it’s not a pleasant term. “Don’t call her that!” he says with far more bravado than he feels.
“Of course you would protect her, like your dead mudblood mother.”
“How do you know about my mum? And don’t call her that!”
The man in the mask laughs and Hermione shouts “Reducto!” and a burst of red light is quickly blocked. The man shouts “Incarcerous” and thick ropes wrap tightly around Hermione and her stick drops to the floor. Harry stares wide eyed.
“Not much of a fighter, are you, Potter?”
“Who are you?” Harry demands.
The man reaches a hand to his face and takes his mask off. Behind it is a very pale man with light blue eyes, long blond hair, and rather aristocratic features. He arches an eyebrow as if waiting for him to make some sound of recognition. When Harry doesn’t say anything he says, “Lucius Malfoy. I serve the Dark Lord. And if you don’t come with me, your little mudblood friend isn’t going to live very long. But I can guarantee you, it will be painful.”
Harry glances at Hermione who looks like she’s on the verge of tears. “Don’t,” she begs.
“Shut up, mudblood!” The blond man says a word that Harry can’t quite make out and suddenly Hermione is gagged.
Harry holds up his hands. “Don’t hurt her. I’ll go.”
The man twists his lips into a cruel smile. “Good,” he says.
128 125 points for Slytherin!