Remedial History

Chapter Thirteen: Flight

Theo rubbed at the bruise where Neville had hit him. “Neville –”

“Don’t talk to me – you – you Slytherin snake! I defended you against Harry when he thought you were spying on us. And then you turn out to be just like the others. Lower than the others. At least they never pretended to be decent people.”

Theo drew himself up to his full height. “Look, I don’t even know what you think I’ve done.” That sounded much too mild, he thought, but at least his voice didn’t shake.

“You know damn well what you did. Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending, you treacherous, blackmailing little rat.” Neville turned and stomped out of the Owlery.

Theo was still reeling from this when another set of footsteps echoed on the building’s floor and Blaise came charging up the stairs.

“Malfoy says – the blood in the cup’s gone all clotted,” he gasped breathlessly. “He’s got it into his head that you’re the traitor. I tried to tell him he was being an idiot, but he’s – gone straight off his head – wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Oh God,” said Theo, sinking down on the steps. “What am I going to do?”

“Run. Now.”

“Away from here?”

“Away from school – until he’s come to his senses. He’s gone to round up his goons, I’d say you have half an hour to get away – if that. Keep your wand out – and good luck.”

Blaise touched him lightly on the shoulder and ran out of the Owlery. Theo became aware of a dull throbbing in his left wrist, and wondered how long it had been going on. He pulled up the sleeve of his cloak and looked at the X-shaped scar. It had turned an ugly shade of black.

Theo sat on the stairway with his head in his hands for a minute or two, until a coherent thought came to him. He’d left Buffy in the dormitory.

Moving swiftly and silently, one hand on his wand, he made his way through the underground corridors that led to the Slytherin wing of the castle. This part of Hogwarts seemed deserted, as it usually did on weekday mornings when classes were in session.

Back in the dormitory, he popped Buffy into his pocket and hastily collected a change of underwear, the little pocket money he possessed, and a few of the schoolbooks that were lying scattered between his bed and Blaise’s. He shoved everything into his book bag and left the dorm for good. To his relief, the common room was still empty. He took one of the little-used side passages up to the ground level of the castle, slipped out the house-elves’ entrance, and ran to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

He didn’t dare go deep into the forest, but he used the undergrowth at the edges for cover. For the first hour or two, he struggled through a tangle of brush, saplings, and vines until the castle was well out of sight, and then allowed himself the luxury of hiking through open country. He saw no houses or people, which relieved him at first and then began to worry him as the day wore on.

He had to run across a few signs of civilization sometime, right? This was Scotland, not Siberia.

He didn’t even notice he was hungry until he began to feel lightheaded. He sat down on a rock and rummaged through his bag; all he could find was half a bar of Honeydukes chocolate, which he devoured. Almost immediately, he wished he’d saved some of it for later.

Dusk had begun to fall and a bitter cold wind was blowing by the time Theo saw the first sign of other people. He found himself at the edge of a Muggle road with cars zipping past. He remembered David’s stories about hitchhiking and made up his mind to give it a try. He wasn’t sure where to, but he figured he’d have plenty of time to decide. David had said that it sometimes took hours to get a car to stop for you.

He stuck out his thumb, feeling awkward.

There was a sudden BANG that made his whole body shake and a flash of light. He squinched his eyes shut and reached for his wand. When he opened his eyes again, an enormous triple-decker purple bus had suddenly appeared in the road.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard,” announced a spotty-faced young man in a clipped, professional voice. “Just step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening.”

Apparently hitchhiking, like most other things in life, was much easier if you were a wizard. Theo shrugged and got on the bus. It had the strangest interior he’d ever seen, filled with brass bedsteads and lit by candles stuck into brackets in the paneled walls.

“Where to?” asked Stan abruptly, sounding much less professional than he had a moment earlier. “We go everywhere, long’s it’s on land. Can’t do nuffink underwater.”

“Actually, I’m not sure,” said Theo. “Can I tell you later?”

“‘Choo wanna bus for if you don’t know nuffink about where you’re goin’?”

“I felt like getting away for a few days,” said Theo, trying to sound casual, grown-up, and employed, like the sort of person who was in the habit of taking short breaks.

Evidently it didn’t work, because Stan gave him a funny look. “Woss your name?”

Theo felt it would be dangerous to give his real name. “Neville Longbottom,” he said without thinking.

Stan Shunpike squinted at him. “You looked different last time you took the bus. Shorter, an’ wiv messy ‘air an’ glasses. You’re not one o’ them Metamorphagi, are you?”

“I don’t think so,” said Theo. “I ... I’ve grown a lot over the last year, and I just got my hair cut ... and my vision’s been getting better.” He supposed this must be possible, since he’d never seen Neville with glasses.

“Good, ‘cos I don’t like them Metamorphagi,” said Stan. “Met this girl last year, Nymphadorer-bleedin’-Tonks ‘er name wos, an’ she wos friendly enough at first, I even let ‘er ride on the roof an’ she seemed to enjoy ‘erself, so then I suggested bringin’ one o’ the beds up top ‘cos ‘er talent offered certain possibilities, if you know wot I mean – an’ then she slapped me, would you believe it? Too full of ‘erself, that one. An’ as we wos comin’ down from the roof, she throws ‘erself at me.”

“Wasn’t that what you wanted her to do?” Theo asked, intrigued by this new view of Miss Tonks.

“Not like that. I mean Miss Nymphadorer came down on top o’ me like a bloody great ton o’ bricks as I was goin’ down the stairs. I s’pose a bird’s got a right to say no if she’s too uptight for a bit o’ fun, but she don’t ‘ave to assault a man like that. Anyway, dunno how much to charge if you don’t know where you’re goin’, so you can pay me your fare soon’s you decide,” said Stan, who seemed to have a casual approach to business. “You can ‘ave that bed over there. Want ‘ot chocolate? It’s two Sickles extra – or, uh ... two Sickles, I guess.”

Theo, who was very thirsty, gratefully handed over his two Sickles and accepted the chocolate. He wondered what would happen if he rode the bus somewhere and then discovered he didn’t have enough money to cover the fare. Would he have to stay on the Knight Bus for the rest of his life? Oh well, he didn’t actually have any better plans, and at least Draco Malfoy probably wouldn’t think to look for him here.

The bus kept jolting and rattling, and every so often it jumped hundreds of miles with a loud BANG. Theo struggled not to spill his hot chocolate, and decided that a hundred years or so on the Knight Bus wasn’t such an attractive prospect, after all.

He tried to sleep for a while but he felt too keyed up, so he riffled through his bag in search of Hogwarts, a History. He didn’t know when, if ever, he’d be able to return to class, but the book made for interesting reading anyway.

A large, green-covered book fell out of the bag, but it wasn’t Hogwarts, a History. It was the volume bound in dragon skin that Blaise had taken from the Come and Go Room weeks earlier.

Theo examined the book. It was not printed, but filled with notes in half a dozen different handwritings, some clear, some nearly unreadable. One black, upright hand seemed oddly familiar, but he couldn't place it.

Theo could make neither head nor tail of most of the text, which was filled with references to liquor of Mars, spirit, quintessence, argent-vive, oil of Luna, panthers, dragons, lapis mineralis, and dozens of other cryptic terms. Even when the words were all familiar, their sense still puzzled him. He could make nothing out of marginal notes like, Ask B.B. for advice about imp. He stumbled across only one passage that made sense: with a start, he recognized the text of the binding ritual the Pureblood Youth League had conducted. The rite was written in a spidery feminine hand that covered more and more of the pages as he flipped toward the end of the book.

On the inside front cover, a title was written in flowing handwriting: The Book of Immortality: Being the Experimental Notes of the Slytherin Alchymicall Society. Beneath it, in silver ink, were a pledge, six sets of initials and a date:

We, the members of the Society, hereby pledge secrecy and loyalty to one another even unto death, and absolute dedication to the pursuit of the knowledge that will allow us to transcend our mortal nature.

E. R.

S. W.

B. B.

R. L.

S. S.

B. A.

30 April 1976

Theo frowned, trying to make sense out of the inscription. The fourth set of initials suddenly leapt out at him – Remus Lupin? Yes, he was almost sure of it. He remembered seeing that upright handwriting in the margins of a school essay.

That meant Professor Lupin probably knew how to undo the binding ritual, if any such thing was possible; all Theo had to do was find him. Unless --

Oh no. If he knew about the ritual, and might even have helped create it, he could be yet another person who was after Theo's blood. How could he have been stupid enough to send that owl? And were there any adults he could still trust?

Theo lay down on the bed to contemplate ways out of his increasingly confusing predicament, but nothing came to mind. He tried to sleep in between the bus’s jumps, but the mark on his left wrist throbbed and he was beginning to feel very carsick.

“Have a peppermint, loov,” said a voice. He looked up to see a blonde witch in dress robes that seemed much too nice for the Knight Bus, especially since her hair was in rollers and she had some sort of gooey beauty potion slathered all over her face.

“Thanks,” said Theo. He began to feel a little better as he sucked on the mint.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I don’t know exactly,” Theo admitted. “I’m sort of running away from some people. Not Aurors or anything,” he added hastily, “just friends I don’t want to talk to.”

“I’d advise you to go to London, then. Don’t know as I'm fond of the place, exactly, but it’s easy enough to lose yourself there. I’m headed that way meself. Now, you look awfully young to be all by yourself, so do you mind if I ask you –”

“What are you going to do in London?” interrupted Theo. He hated to be rude, but he was sure he wouldn’t be able to answer whatever she was going to ask. He tried to think of another false name, since too many people seemed to know Neville, and come up with a reasonable explanation for why he wasn’t at school.

“I’m on me way to visit a penfriend.” The woman lowered her voice as if she were saying something very confidential. “Now, I don’t want you to think he’s me boyfriend, ‘cos I’m a respectable married woman and me husband Davey is a good man, even if he’s never been what you’d call handsome. He went too near the Whompin’ Willow when he was at school, and his face wasn’t never the same again. I’m not saying I’d ever leave him or cheat on him – but a woman likes to see a good-looking face every now and again, and I don’t see no harm in going away by meself just for a while to visit a friend. He’s been in St. Mungo’s ever so long, poor man, not even able to write a real letter, just rambling, and now he’s in a convalescent home that sounds just horrid, and I think he ought to see a friendly face about him.”

“Your friend’s just getting over being ill, then?” said Theo sympathetically.

“Oh aye, terrible sad it was, the poor lamb didn’t even know his own name and I could tell from his letters that he didn’t really remember who I was either, but he was always a perfect gentleman all the same. And he was such a brave, active man in his day. The adventures he had, I can never get tired of reading about them. And he used to write so beautifully, but while he was in hospital you couldn’t make head or tail of what he said. It was ever such a pleasant surprise to get a proper letter from him at last, one that makes sense, and in lovely joined-up writing too. But I don’t think he’s real well yet. His grammar’s gone funny. He writes just like one of them house-elves.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Theo. He had learned about all sorts of strange magical illnesses during Medea’s stay in St. Mungo's, but this particular symptom was a new one on him.

“It don’t sound like he’s in a proper convalescent home at all,” the woman continued, pursing her lips. “He says it’s full of the strangest people, and they won’t give him real clothes, just an old tea-towel. Worried to death about him, I am. But here I’ve been rattling on and we haven’t been introduced properly. Me name’s Gladys Gudgeon, but everybody calls me Gladdy. How about yourself, and are you feeling any better?”

“Yes, thanks,” said Theo. The peppermint had helped settle his stomach, and so did having something besides the motion of the bus to think about. Fortunately Mrs. Gudgeon said nothing about the fact that he hadn’t volunteered his name.

“Then have a sandwich, loov, you look half starved.” She took a packet out of her handbag and offered him a dry ham sandwich on slightly stale bread. It was the most delicious thing he’d ever eaten.

Theo spent the rest of the journey alternately sleeping and listening to Mrs. Gudgeon chatter on about her friend. Fortunately she didn't expect him to do much of the talking; every now and then she asked him questions but didn't wait for answers. The bus jumped, rattled, and made stops all over Britain, but seemed in no hurry to get to London. It was already afternoon, and Theo had dozed off again, when Mrs. Gudgeon poked him with the tip of her umbrella and said, "This is our stop." She had taken the rollers out of her hair and washed off the beauty potion, and he saw that she was a passably attractive woman, although her fancy dress robes still looked a bit wrong for the occasion.

He wasn't sure when he and Mrs. Gudgeon had become traveling companions, but he didn't have any better ideas, so he followed her out onto a grey, rain-soaked street. Almost as soon as their feet touched the pavement, the bus vanished with another loud bang. Theo didn't have the slightest idea where they were, but Mrs. Gudgeon took a map out of her handbag, examined it for a moment, and set off down the street at a brisk pace.

“Here we are,” she announced twenty minutes later, squinting at the map, which had gone soggy in the rain. “Grimmauld Place. But I don’t see Number Twelve anywhere.”

Slowly, they walked around the tired-looking little square. Most of the houses seemed to be abandoned; the rest were surrounded by heaps of rubbish, and in one case, an entire rusted-out car which the owners had somehow turned upside down. Although it was only November, the car was topped with garishly colored plastic figures of Father Christmas, Mary, Joseph, a sort of deer with a bright red nose, and a stork with a blue bundle in its bill. The Christmas lights that covered the entire display flashed feebly through the pouring rain. That house was Number Eleven, and the one next to it was Number Thirteen. Theo couldn’t find Number Twelve either.

The wind picked up, and a few hailstones fell on Mrs. Gudgeon’s map.

“I might have the address wrong,” she murmured, “but I don’t want to spoil his lovely letters by taking ‘em out in this weather. Isn’t there somewhere we could get out of the rain?”

All Theo could see was a telephone booth at one corner of the square, but it seemed to be occupied. He could just make out the dim figure of a woman inside it.

“I think I saw a café a few streets back,” he said. “We could go in there and have a cup of tea or something.” He felt chilled to the bone.

Mrs. Gudgeon tucked the map under her raincoat, and they started walking in the direction Theo had indicated. As they passed the phone booth, a grey-haired woman in a tweed coat rushed out.

“Theo!” she shouted. “Oh, thank Merlin – we’ve been worried to death about you! Where have you been? You look half frozen, let me take you to a café so you can warm up and tell me what’s happened. Who’s your friend?”

Theo reached under his cloak and clutched his wand, feeling wary. The woman seemed friendly enough and she was suggesting exactly what he had planned to do anyway, but he wondered how she knew his name when he could not recall ever having seen her in his life.

Then she winked, and he knew. “M-Miss Tonks?”

“Wotcher, Theo.”