Mistaken Identities

~~~~~

A figure emerged from the garish violet bus and merged into the dark rain, heaving an enormous emerald umbrella and two wicker baskets, and heading towards the blurry lights of Hog's Head in the distance.

"An' good luck to McLeod, that 7^th year nephew of yours, Ms. Londonderry!" With a bang, Stan Shunpike shut the door of the Knight Bus and went back to thumbing through a two-month old issue of Playwizard, settling into his seat. He hadn't gotten further than a blatantly displayed pose of Celestina Warbeck on page 13 before an almighty crack of lightning jolted him out of his seat.

"Merlin's whiskers!" Ernie Prang cursed as he swerved to the left to avoid a huddled figure in the middle of the road on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, illuminated by the flash of lightning. A few screams rose up from the rear of the bus, where a couple on Ministry business were sharing a cup of Earl Grey. By Stan's reckonings, however, they were sharing more than tea, and sure enough, when he glanced back, a mop of messy brown hair poked out of a mound of blankets that had been thrown onto the floor by the impact.

"Ye gods," Stan muttered. Amidst shouts of "Get back on your horse, Bode!" and other jeers from the few passengers on the bus, Stan poked his head outside, ready to launch into his spiel and perhaps throw a few insults at the inadvertently troublesome witch or wizard. Instead, the sight of the motionless figure stopped him. "Crickey," he muttered as he ran down the stairs to help the witch or wizard. Ernie peered out cautiously as Stan bent down.

"All right there?" Stan asked, helping the figure up. A decidedly masculine grunt escaped and Stan grabbed at the wizard's right hand, slippery in the rain - no, fresh red blood- and a shiver wracked his body. All of a sudden, he felt a chill in the humid June night.

"Ferula," he muttered, and bandages emerged to wrap neatly around the arm. Feeling a bit panicked, Stan heaved the wizard onto the bus and helped him to a bed amid flickering candles. Several whispers swept through the uneasy silence as he hurriedly cast a Cleansing Spell, remembering the hand covered with blood. Quickly, he drew the curtains around the bed, and withdrawing several Galleons, the wizard shoved the golden coins into Stan's unwilling palm.

"Thank you, sir," he stuttered, retreating to his seat. Somehow, a sizeable view of the singing sorceress's assets didn't interest him so much anymore.

"So, how about - erm - local Quidditch team?" suggested a feeble voice. Ernie snorted as he maneuvered the bus, bumping and jolting, onto the road again. "Or whatever headline's in the Daily Prophet," Axian Bode amended, quickly pulling on a robe.

"More like Harry Potter's love life, then," Fiona McCormack added snidely, knitting in the corner, and a storm of chuckles rose up. Since the years after Voldemort's defeat, the Boy Who Lived had become the Boy Who Slept Around. His conquests included many former schoolmates such as Susan Bones, Emmaline Dobbs, and his former Quidditch captain, Oliver Eustace Wood. Stan didn't want to think about the parade of love interests throughout Harry Potter's life, however.

Ernie, however, joined in with gusto while navigating around Clearpenny Lane and Barringston, on speculations about whether the famous seeker's recent disappearance was contributed to his disastrous affair with Gloria Delacroix, reporter for the Daily Prophet, or simply because he intended to attend Hogwart's 10^th reunion party for the class of 1998. Others thought the latter theory highly unlikely, the wizard having sworn never to return to his alma mater for unknown reasons.

Stan, tired of this talk, took another drink from his hip flask, wincing and leaned back. Business tonight was slow, and there were only about ten passengers. The rain fell monotonously against the window, and he nodded off among speculations of Harry Potter's latest fling with Virginia Weasley.

It was after eleven when he woke up again. Ernie had occupied himself with filling in the crossword in the Daily Prophet while Bode and his little partner-in-crime (hopefully not Croaker, Stan thought) slept, and even Fiona McCormack had drifted off. Remembering the mysterious wizard behind the curtains, he thought it best to inquire as to the man's well being. When he opened the curtains, the wizard seemed to be sleeping fitfully, turning around at frequent intervals.

A cough suddenly wracked the figure, and Stan made a rush for some water. Instead of finding water, however, there was only a supply of rum under Ernie's seat. Deciding that the alcohol wouldn't do the wizard any harm, he brought back a bottle. The wizard drank gratefully, and turned around. "Thank you," he murmured. "That's good rum."

Stan nodded. "Anytime," he muttered, standing there for a bit before curiosity got the better of him.

"You are all right, sir?" he asked tentatively, remembering the blood.

As if reading his thoughts, the wizard stiffened slightly. "The hand? A minor accident, no more." But Stan had seen the flash of a knife in the dark before he rescued the man.

"Quite all right physically," the wizard coughed. "Mentally, it's quite different." His eyes, sunk into his face, seemed to belie his physical weakness, and weary lines creased his skin. He took another drink, relaxing a bit more.

"Work problems?" Stan asked. The wizard downed another sizable gulp of rum.

"Hardly," he chuckled. "More like romance. I suppose you wouldn't remember a time when you had bedded your student."

"Holy-" Stan exclaimed before he controlled himself.

The wizard laughed, quite loudly. Afraid of waking up the bus, Stan cast a Silencing Spell around them discreetly. With some alarm, he also noticed that the liquor bottle was almost half empty.

"Come, you wouldn't deprive an old man of his solacesh on a lonely night, would yoush?" the wizard asked, noting Stan's move to take the bottle away. "I'm not too drunksh - no, not yet. You young whipper-snashppers - don't - don't know what really drunk is -"

Stan remained quiet, watching the wizard with a strange look on his face. As if the strange seriousness of the situation had sunk in for the wizard, the desperate and silly look on his face faded away, and he started to talk, slowly.

"He was always a good student. Was a bit slow in the beginning, though. I used to think he had the biggest ego of his entire class... sometimes he needed his friends to give him a nudge in the right direction, but he was somewhat intelligent, and got his work done on time - whether that was his own motivation or just thanks to his friends, I wouldn't know. I started talking to him in sixth year. He was almost grown. The most mesmerizing green eyes -" At this point, the wizard burst into laughter.

"I sound hardly better than a sixteen-year old girl mooning over her most recent bloke, eh?" he murmured to the ceiling, seeming to forget Stan's presence. "I suppose I was mooning in a way - but nothing really happened until two years after he was out of school. We met in Milan and spent a drunken night in a bar in Italy, and when I woke up that morning - it was as if I could never go back. Because it was like an addiction- we spent weeks together at a time, under disguises, with other people who thought we were total strangers on a one-night-stand, utter morons." The wizard's voice gained some sarcasm.

"But he said good-bye two years later because... why not? He was tired of me; he didn't want anyone to know he was bedding a former professor and... me, of all people. I used to think I couldn't live without him... and I tried to prove it wrong this evening, but I lost the battle, and... it's just not worth living anymore, is it?" He finished.

Quite suddenly, he downed the rest of the bottle. The alcohol had its desired effect, pitching the weary man into a stupor, and Stan rushed forward to rescue the man from falling onto the floor, and placed the bottle quite carefully on the table. Watching the man drift off, he pulled the blanket over the wizard and made his way back to his seat. He sat there the rest of the night, staring out the window into the pouring rain.

~~~~~

"You take care of yourself, Fiona," reproached Axian Bode, heading down the stairs the following morning. He slipped an arm around the Ministry witch, Madeleine McGonagall, whom he had been sleeping with last night. Madeleine shook her head and patted Fiona's arm, waving her off.

"Give your mum my regards, won't you?" The soft-spoken witch called to Fiona's figure, and clasping Axian's hand, she descended the bus, giving a cheeky wink to Stan. He half-heartedly waved back. Impulsively, Stan glanced towards the back, where the wizard was still sleeping.

Quite suddenly, the curtains were thrown open, and Severus Snape emerged, fully conscious. If he had a hangover and a headache from last night, he hardly knew it. And if he had a completely absorbing conversation with a near stranger, he gave no sign of remembering it either.

"London?" he inquired. Ernie nodded, and Stan sat back down, pretending not to notice the professor's figure in front of him. "I'll take my leave, then."

"And Mr. Shunpike?" His gaze swung to Stan. "I was in a rather compromising condition last night. Thank you for assisting me." The short and abrupt sentences were delivered in a curt manner. The young man shivered. It was like he could see through everything.

"Best regards, Professor," he managed to squeak out before the man descended down the steps.

~~~~~

He ordinarily was asleep at this time of day. After all, he had to have a few hours of sleep. And during the summer, as it was now, he had more time to doze at his mother's place. Instead, Stan let himself into Harry Potter's apartment, which the famous wizard shared with Seamus Finnigan. Flipping on the light and moving into the kitchen, he groped about in the cabinets. Finding what he had wanted, he settled down in front of the counter and downed bottle after bottle of Firewhiskey. Not quite as potent as absinthe, but had the same effect after four glasses, he thought. Besides, it wasn't as if he could tell after four glasses.

What an acting job that had been on the bus! However he had managed to keep his composure through everything, he didn't know. He gave a bitter laugh. No one had ever known he was good at acting, had they? No. They didn't care. No one had ever cared.

Except that wizard on the bus, of course.

Hours passed while he sat there and drowned his sorrows in a glass. Then the door opened. A whistling tune wound through the halls, then abruptly stopped as the door closed.

"That you, Harry?" A face appeared in the doorway. "Crickey, you had us worried for a few days - the Daily Prophet's been after you again, just like Molly Weasley." The Irish boy settled down beside him. "And - wait, what's this? Have you been drinking again? What's happened now?"

A harsh laugh. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

And with a bang, Harry Potter let himself out of the apartment, leaving Seamus behind with a few empty bottles of liquor.