They Shook Hands: Year Three (Original Version)

They Shook Hands : Year Three

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic
by Dethryl

Chapter Two - Escape

The night air tasted downright delicious. In books, the prisoner always longed for the breath of free air, and now Harry knew why. There was something pure about it, something rejuvenating. He drew in several deep lungfuls, feeling a bit giddy.

His anger was fading away like the wisps of clouds in the night sky. The Muggles would never again bother him, and he put everything about them behind him. He was almost beginning to forget the name of this awful place. He was free.

Harry put his original plan into action. He'd gone back to Privet Drive to get the letter that Professor Dumbledore had left with him on the Dursley's doorstep. The envelope that Aunt Petunia had given him was empty, just one more of her Muggle tricks. With nothing else to hold him to Privet Drive, he had planned to take the train back to London and figure out things from the safety of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Well there's no trains at night," he said aloud. "I've faced down Dark wizards; I can survive a night on my own." He had his wand. Nobody would be able to lay a hand on him.

In any case, he wanted to get as far from this rotten place as possible. He'd cast a lot of magic tonight, he realized: at least half a dozen violations of the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry. Harry was honestly surprised that Ministry of Magic representatives weren't swooping down on him already. He'd never been in trouble with the law before, but using magic in front of Muggles -- on Muggles -- was serious business indeed.

He set his trunk down and pulled out a sheet of parchment. Quickly scribbling a note, he tied the scroll to Regal's leg and said, "Regal, this is very important. You must fly as fast as you can and give this letter to Mister Lucius Malfoy. I need help, and he's very well-connected. Do you understand?"

Regal hooted and sprang into the air at once. Flapping his wings rapidly, he was out of sight within eyeblinks. Harry envied his pet at that moment. It would be so much more convenient to mount his broom and follow, but it was safer to lay low and be inconspicuous. People might be looking for him.

Stick to the Muggle world, he thought. Easier to escape notice. Nobody in the Muggle world had ever paid any attention to Harry.

The wind rustled the leaves of the trees. It was a cool night, he finally noticed. He opened his trunk again and took out his favourite cloak: Slytherin green satin with Slytherin silver fur lining. Harry felt a surge of House pride as he donned his colours. Slytherin House was certainly the best of the four Hogwarts houses.

A chill tongue of wind tickled its way inside Harry's hood. Then the hair stood up on the back of his neck. Someone was watching him. How he knew, Harry couldn't say, but he was sure of it. He dropped his right hand down to the wand sheathed at his belt.

Harry peered into the night. The nearest light pole was a block away, but he'd grown up in the dark of the cupboard under the stairs. Darkness was an old friend.

There! In the narrow gap between a garage and boundary fence. He'd seen a gleam of light. A stray beam had twinkled in the eye of -- something. Curious, Harry kicked his trunk closed and started forward.

As he got closer, Harry realized that the eyes were low to the ground. Just an animal, he thought with relief. As if it, too, sensed the end of the mystery, the beast stepped out into the dim light.

It was a dog. A very big dog, too. It must have been laying down before. It was a great shaggy beast, though its black fur was matted and bedraggled. The eyes were wide and pale, not menacing at all.

Harry chuckled. "Aw, you don't look half so scary as I imagined." He'd been picturing Ministry officials. "Are you lost, boy?" Nobody in the neighborhood had a dog like this, he was certain. Aunt Petunia, the tremendous gossip that she was, would have known about it.

"Woof," the dog said, shaking his head. His great ears went flopping around.

"C'mere, boy," Harry coaxed, reaching out with his left hand. He'd never had a dog, and his only experience with them was Aunt Marge's evil beast, Ripper, but that one always immediately went for the ankle. "Are you friendly?"

The dog whuffed again and trotted over to sniff Harry's hand. The big nose snuffling tickled, but Harry didn't pull away. Eventually the dog tired of his hand and moved on to sniffing at his shoes. Harry stroked the matted fur.

"You're skinny," he told the dog. "You need a bath and a good meal, boy."

"Woof."

"I wish I could take you with me. You'd be great for scaring Weasley. Oh, Weasley's this boy at school who's the biggest prat you've ever seen. He'd never sleep again if he got a good look at you. But they don't allow dogs at Hog- at school. Cats are okay, but not dogs."

"Woof."

"You like to chase cats? You'd have to stay out of the dorm then. We've got three in our year alone."

Harry started scratching the dog behind the ears. "I've got to get moving. Want to come with me for a little bit at least? We could keep each other company."

"Woof."

Harry walked back and picked up the handle of his trunk. He drew his wand, pointed the tip out between the folds of his cloak, and uttered, "Lumos!"

A beam of white light shot out of the end to illuminate the ground. Just like a flashlight. With his new friend trotting along beside him, Harry began walking towards the train station, but he really felt like flying. After so much grief at the hands of the Muggles, he was free. He would never go back, Harry vowed, no matter what. He had already made a new friend, and surely more good fortune would follow.

A stone wall simply beckoned Harry to climb up and walk along the top. The dog looked up at Harry with a cocked expression as the handle on his trunk extended automatically. Harry winked at his companion. "Just a little magic, boy."

"Woof."

Then, between not paying full attention to where he was going and closing one eye, Harry lost his balance. He dropped the trunk and tried to catch himself. His wand, glowing spark of light at the tip, flew up into the air, spiraling end over end.

He landed hard on the sidewalk with a thud. The impact was rough, but not too bad. The wall he'd been walking on was only a couple of feet high, and Harry was thankful for that.

"Only my pride," he said with a laugh as he got to his feet.

Bang!

The sudden shock of noise startled Harry half out of his skin. He leapt back up onto the stone wall and looked for his wand.

There! It was laying on the grass at the other end of the lawn. Harry ran to it, crouching low, and dropped over the side of the wall for cover.

A great, triple-decker city bus had appeared out of nowhere. It was violently purple in colour, with giant wheels and blindingly bright headlamps. It had come to a stop only inches from where Harry had been sprawled. Bright gold lettering over the windshield spelled The Knight Bus.

For a split second, Harry wondered if he had been knocked silly by his fall. Then a conductor in a purple uniform leapt out of the bus and began to speak loudly to the night in a very bored tone of voice.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand, 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."

Stan Shunpike had large, protruding ears, and a pimply face. He couldn't have been more than twenty years old. He looked around now that he was done with his monologue. "'Ello?"

Harry slowly stood up from his cover behind the stone wall. He kept his wand at the ready, just in case.

"Oh, 'ello there. You signalled for the Knight Bus, then?"

The wheels were churning in Harry's mind. If this Knight Bus could take him anywhere, he wouldn't have to wait for the train.

"Yes," he declared. "Though the driver needs a few lessons." He scratched the dog behind the ears. "I'm going now, boy. Be a good dog. I hope you find a good home."

Stan grabbed hold of Harry's trunk and humped it up into the bus. He grunted, the cords sticking out in his neck from the weight. "Blimey, there's bricks in 'ere."

Harry climbed in after him, ignoring the dog's sad gaze. "How much to get to Wiltshire?"

"Fifteen Sickles," said Stan. "But for eighteen, you get 'ot chocolate, and for nineteen you get a 'ot water bottle an' a toofbrush in the colour of your choice.

Harry popped open his school trunk and fished out his money pouch. "Here," he said shortly, dropping eighteen silver coins in the young man's hand.

There were no seats on this bus. Half a dozen brass bedstands stood behind the curtained windows. Candles were burning in brackets beside each bed, illuminating the wood-paneled walls. An older blonde witch was talking in her sleep, murmuring, "I just need one more ingredient."

"You 'ave this one," Stan whispered, shoving Harry's trunk under the bed right behind the driver, who was sitting in an armchair in front of the steering wheel. "This is our driver, Arthur Weasley."

Harry's head snapped up sharply. Sure enough, the older man with thinning red hair he had seen in Diagon Alley a year ago was smiling at him. "Good evening, young sir."

"Mister Weasley," Harry mumbled.

"Take 'er away, Art."

There was another tremendous bang, and the next moment, Harry found himself flat on his bed, thrown backward by the speed of the Knight Bus. Pulling himself up, Harry stared out of the dark window and saw that they were now bowling along a completely different street. Stan was watching Harry's stunned face with great enjoyment.

"This is where we was before you flagged us down. Where are we, Art? Somewhere in North Eire, right?"

"Correct."

"How come the Muggles don't hear the bus?" Harry asked curiously.

"Them!" Stan said contemptuously. "Don't listen properly, do they? Don't look properly neither. Never notice nuffink, they don't."

"Now, now, Stan, there's a lot of very bright Muggles out there," Mr. Weasley disagreed.

Stan ignored the bait amd disappeared up a narrow wooden staircase. Harry looked back out the window, feeling increasingly nervous. Mr. Weasley didn't seem to have fully grasped the use of the steering wheel. The Knight Bus kept mounting the pavement, but it didn't hit anything. Lines of lamposts, post boxes, and dust bins jumped out of its way as it approached and back into position once it had passed.

Stan came back down the stairs with a tiny little wizard who looked right chipper. "'Ere you go, Mister Dammad," he said cheerfully as Mr. Weasley stamped on the brake and the beds slid a foot or so toward the front of the bus. Mr. Dammad hopped down the steps, Stan tossed his bag out after him and rammed the doors shut, and they went thundering down a narrow country lane with another stunning bang!

Harry wouldn't have been able to sleep, even if he had been on a bus that didn't bang loudly or jump a hundred miles at a time. His stomach churned, and he tried to sip at his hot chocolate. It wasn't easy, and a great deal of it ended up spilled down his front.

"How long?" he asked Stan, who was busy reading the Daily Prophet with his tongue between his teeth.

"As long as it takes," Stan answered. "Not more'n a day."

"A day!" Harry yelped.

"Only joshin'. We 'ave to delivah all the customahs 'oo came on 'fore yeh. Then we drop yeh in Wiltshire. Lucky-ly, there be only a few wizards left, an' they're all goin' te Diagon Alley."

Though it took Harry a few moments to decipher Stan's abhominable Cockney accent, he got the gist that he was going to get off last. "So, wot, a few hours?"

"'Bout that."

Harry grunted and pointed at Stan's paper. "Do you have another copy?"

"'Ere yeh go."

A large photograph of a sunken-faced man with long, matted hair blinked slowly at Harry from the front page. He seemed oddly familiar for some reason, but Harry knew he'd never seen the man before.

This was the Black fellow that Vernon and Marge had been talking about, Harry realized. His lip curled as he realized that, not only was he thinking about the Muggles again, but that they'd been bad-mouthing a wizard, yet again.

Harry looked into the shadowed eyes of Sirius Black, the only part of the sunken face that seemed alive. Harry had never met a vampire, but he had seen pictures of them in his Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, and Black, with his waxy, white skin, looked just like one.

Anger burned in Black's eyes. It was a prison photo, but it didn't seem as though the anger was directed at his circumstances. Harry couldn't put his finger on it, but the entire pose seemed off somehow.

"Thirteen people," Harry murmured.

"With one curse," Stan nodded. "During broad daylight, in fron'a witnesses an' all. Huge trouble, wannit, Art?"

"Oh yes. Black was a huge supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but once he was defeated by little Harry Potter, all of his followers were tracked down. Most of them knew it was over once their master was gone and came quietly, but Black was a different breed altogether. Rumour says that he was going to be number two once You-Know-Who had taken over."

"If he was so powerful, then how'd they catch him?" Harry wanted to know.

"Well, nobody's ever been able to figure it out," Mr. Weasley continued, his driving getting worse now that his attention was divided. A farmhouse had to leap out of the way to avoid the bus. "Witnesses say that Black was confronted by another wizard, in a street full of Muggles, and that he blasted half the street apart, killing a dozen Muggles and the wizard. When the Aurors arrived, they found him laughing insanely in the middle of the rubble."

"Laughing?"

"Laughing. And he went with the Aurors as peacefully as you like. So far as we know, he's still laughing. He's quite insane. If he wasn't when he went, he certainly is after twelve years in Azkaban. I'd blow myself up before I faced that. He deserves it, of course, after what he did. Those poor, innocent people."

"They 'ad a job coverin' it up, din' they, Art? Too much chaos teh even cat-alogue. What woz it they said?"

"Gas explosion."

"An' 'e's out now," said Stan. "Never been a breakout befoe'. Beats me 'ow 'e did it. Frightenin', wot? Mind, I don't fancy 'is chances 'gainst those Azkaban guards, eh, Art?"

"Please stop talking about it, Stan. There's no need to frighten our young passenger."

Stan shivered dramatically and then climbed up the stairs again, leaving Harry alone with Mr. Weasley, who he didn't try to talk to. Instead, he mused on the great deal of trouble he was in.

Harry had broken some serious wizarding laws. The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry had been in place since, since, well, a long time to be sure. Tim Nott or Blaise Zabini, his two smartest friends, would know for sure. Worse, in the eyes of the law, he had cast magic on Muggles: a very stern offence. He was sure of at least that much.

But they deserved it! he thought fiercely. He wouldn't apologize to anyone for his actions.

There was no sense in worrying about things now, he reasoned. Once he got to Wiltshire and explained his situation to Mr. Malfoy, then he could worry about consequences. Mr. Malfoy would know what to do; he'd handled the situation masterfully when Elan had been accused of being a Death Eater last summer.

But Elan had to go off to Durmstrang, his inner voice reminded him. Do you really want to learn to speak German?

Harry laid back on his bed, staring up at the swinging chandelier with his hands laced behind his head, and tried to think positively. "If I do go to Durmstrang, at least I'll know somebody."

Despite his worries, and the insane motion of the Knight Bus, Harry did eventually drift off to sleep. Getting used to the Bus was rather like he imagined getting your sea legs would be aboard a ship. Everyone knew that it took a few hours for your body to get used to the motion of the ocean. He was awakened by Stan gently shaking his shoulder, saying, "Rise'n shine, me boy. Weer'n Wiltshiah."

Harry yawned, stretched, and rubbed at his eyes. "What time is is?"

"Jus' afta' midnight."

Harry hoped that the Malfoys had truly meant it when they invited him to stop by "anytime".

"Where'bouts in Wiltshiah did'ja want teh go?"

"Malfoy Manor."

"'Ere that, Art? Malfoy Manor for our last guest."

In the mirror, Harry could see Mr. Weasley's mouth turn into a frown, but thankfully he said nothing as he slammed on the brakes, and the bus skidded to a halt in front of a rickety-seeming wooden building.

Mr. Weasley was yawning hugely as Harry stepped off the bus. Stan heaved Harry's trunk out the door -- it was too big and heavy to throw -- and waved cheerily before the Knight Bus gave another tremendous bang and disappeared.

Harry stood alone in the darkness. After the constant noise of his transport, the quiet night seemed almost eerie. He could see, clearly illuminated by the full moon, the imposing structure of Malfoy Manor at the top of the gentle hill. It was a distance to walk, but Harry felt energized by his short nap. He seized his school trunk and set off for what he hoped would be his new home.

The double gates opened automatically for him. It felt like home already. Harry smiled as he entered the grounds. He had taken only two steps forward -- when his right foot wouldn't lift up! Harry nearly fell over in surprise. His left foot wouldn't lift either! Harry felt a stab of panic. He yanked frantically, but his shoes seemed glued to the ground.

Vines sprang up from the soil and twined up his legs. Harry drew his wand and cast the first spell that came to mind. Green light glowed around his feet, but he still couldn't get loose. His magic had no effect!

The vines were getting thicker now, wrapping around Harry's waist and chest. He took a deep breath and fought off his panic. This was just like when he'd faced the Devil's Snare during his first year at Hogwarts when he'd gone after the Philosopher's Stone. Goyle had cast the spell then, and Harry remembered it well.

"Incendio!"

The flames lighted on the vines, but -- to Harry's horror -- had no effect! He howled as his arms were also captured. He kept on shouting, demanding his release, as the vines covered his head, and he felt himself being dragged down, down, down into blackness.

* * *

Harry slowly came back to consciousness. A pale green light burned in the stone room he had been brought to. He sat up. His head hurt atrociously, but at least he was alive.

"Well, this isn't fun," he commented.

He was sitting in a cell that very much resembled Regal's owl cage. There wasn't a door that he could see. Metal bars rose vertically to a high dome over his head, too close together for even Harry to slip through. It seemed that he was a prisoner once more, this time of his friends.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

There was no response. Harry checked his watch and saw that it was still the middle of the night. He'd only been out for an hour or so. He rattled the bars of his cage. Time slowly ticked by, and Harry wondered what was taking the Malfoys so long to investigate. If only he could send them a message somehow.

"Dobby!" he called out suddenly. "Dobby, come here this instant!"

It was the only name Harry could remember of the many house elves that the Malfoys owned. With a stunning bang, the mopey little creature with the wide, staring eyes appeared.

"Dobby, you know who I am."

"S-s-sir is the great Harry Potter, sir."

"I do not belong in this cage. Go to your master at once and tell him there has been a mistake."

"Master is sleeping, now."

"Of course he's sleeping! It's past midnight! Go wake him up!"

Dobby flinched back as Harry shouted at him. The elf dropped to his knees and began pounding his head against the stone floor. "Bad, bad Dobby!" it chanted.

"Stop that!"

"Bad, bad Dobby!"

"Help! I'm locked in a cage next to an insane house elf!"

Dobby staggered around for a bit, finally shook his head, and vanished with a faint popping noise. Harry muttered vile things after the house elf and sat down with his back against the bars of his cage. How long he sat, he could not have said, but eventually he heard footsteps approaching the stone room. He rose to his feet.

A tall man with long blond hair tied back by a black ribbon entered the room. He had a dark green dressing gown on and carried a silver snake-headed cane.

"Mister Malfoy!" Harry said with relief.

"Harry? What in magic's name are you doing here?"

"It was your magical trap. You tell me."

Mr. Malfoy chuckled at that witicism. He snapped his fingers, and the cage bars bowed out, allowing Harry to step free. Once he was clear, they snapped back into place like rubber bands.

"I'm puzzled, Harry. All you had to do was identify yourself to the front gate and the path to the door would have opened up. You could have come into the Manor, stowed your trunk in the guest room, and said hello in the morning. Our home is yours, you know."

"All I had to do," Harry echoed in disbelief. "I didn't know that." And nobody had told him.

"Well, you're no worse for wear, are you? Come, come, I've already had your trunk brought up."

Harry followed Mr. Malfoy up the stairs and out of the dungeon area. They passed through the foyer and up to the second floor. Harry was to stay in the same room that he'd had last summer, when Elan and Draco had rescued him from Privet Drive. His things were all there, still packed away in the heavy trunk.

"Nibby!" Mr. Malfoy called. Another house elf appeared with a bang. "Fetch Harry Potter anything he would like to eat or drink. See to all his needs."

"Thank you, sir."

"No trouble, Harry. I'll see you at breakfast. We'll talk then."

Mr. Malfoy left the room, covering a yawn with his hand. Harry would have felt guilty about rousing the man in the middle of the night were it not for the fact that he'd been locked in a cage.

"Cold pumpkin juice," he told Nibby. "Toast with strawberry jam, and some fried potatoes."

Harry could have eaten much more than that, but he didn't want to sleep with a stuffed stomach. He could never rest when he did that, and rest was what he wanted most.

Nibby bowed silently and popped out noisily. A short time later, the elf returned bearing a silver tray with Harry's late night snack. There was actually more than what Harry had asked for. In addition to his juice, toast, and potatoes, there was also a glass of milk and a fried egg. There was even a small piece of chocolate.

"Nibby hopes you do not mind, sir," it said nervously. "Nibby heard Harry Potter's stomach talking and brought more food."

What a thoughtful little elf! Harry smiled at it. "No, that's fine. That will be all. Thank you."

When he had eaten, Harry pulled off his travelling clothes and donned his pyjamas. "Good night," he said to no one, and fell into a deep, deep sleep.

to be continued....