The Boy Who Almost Wasn't

Chapter 1: Harry Who?

Thoughts

ooOoo

Ebon slowly opened his eyes and looked around. So this is what freedom feels like, he mused. Then a startling thought hit him. Shouldn't I hurt? after a jump like that he had to be in some sort of pain, surely.

Ebon looked at himself, searching for some indication of his thirteen foot jump onto the hard cobbles below the orphanage wall. There was none. Unless, of course, you counted the scratches he had received whilst climbing the ivy vines to get to the top. In any case he was unharmed.

It's almost like magic, marvelled Ebon. Quickly he brushed that unwelcome thought away. There's no such thing as magic. Is there? Ebon decided to forget about it. It was in the past, along with Cane, Alex and everything else about The Ken Payne Home For Foundlings. He felt a slight pang of regret when he thought of Helen Payne. She had been unceasingly kind to him, but he reasoned that she had always wished him to escape; and now he had. End of matter. He was going to think only about the future, and how he was going to survive out of the orphanage.

Ebon stood up, surveying his surroundings. He wondered how he was going to earn money. Perhaps he could get a job. It couldn't be that difficult. Admittedly he wasn't a very hard worker, but he had a pretty good voice, every one said so. Maybe he could sing for his supper, like those men and women he could see busking on the foot path. Ebon watched as a man dressed in a suit and tie walked past the musical group and dropped a coin inside the bowler hat they had lying in front of them, for that very purpose. Yes, this could be his work. He would sing, just like the group sitting on the foot path.

ooOoo

Four years later, Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry made his way to the staff room, still running through the ingredients for the Wolfsbane potion inside his head.

Dumbledore had called an emergency staff meeting right in the middle of the very complicated potion and he wasn't going to ruin it just because of a mere crisis.

When he reached the open door of the staff room, Severus stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind him. He knew that if there really was an emergency, Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, wasn't going to want the whole school to know.

As Snape stepped into the room Dumbledore began. "Ah, yes, thank you Severus. Please be seated. Now," He looked around at the rest of the staff. "I'm sure you're all wondering what this is about-"

"The thought had crossed my mind," Snape said irritably.

"Thank you, Severus. It has come to my attention that 'The Boy Who Lived' - Harry Potter - is not where he ought to be!"

"Doesn't surprise me. If he's anything like his father, always believing that all rules were beneath him. Put there for other people. Not-"

"SHUT UP!"

Snape jumped, slid back in his seat and looked around for the source of the bellow. The yell had evidently come from - the usually mild tempered - Remus Lupin, who was on his feet, glaring across the room at Snape, his hands balled into fists at his side. "Don't ever talk about James like that. You never knew him. You never knew James!"

"Sit down Remus, please. We need to organise things like adults, not school children." Dumbledore surveyed the room through his half moon spectacles and stood up. Towering over his audience he said in a loud voice "I do not know where Harry has gone. Nor do I know how long he has been gone. It seems rather unfair to blame the boy Severus, for a fault, which will most likely turn out to be mine. What I do know is that we must find him quickly, and preferably before the school year finishes. Now, does anyone have any suggestions as to how we might achieve this?"

Remus cleared his throat, and pointed out that they should probably search for him. His observation raised a slight chuckle from Dumbledore and the rest of the party (with the exemption of Snape).

"That's all very well Lupin," drawled Snape, "but who's going to do it? You're incapable, on account of the a full moon in a couple of days. Albus certainly can't, he runs this school." (Remus muttered something along the lines of 'No kidding. Do I look stupid or something?') Ignoring this interruption, Snape continued. "Minerva can't; she's got lessons to prepare, and everybody else is busy."

"Except you, I believe Severus," observed Dumbledore.

"Apart from a Wolfsbane potion... Hang on - You can't mean... I won't. I mean I can't - You can't be serious Albus. I don't even like the boy!"

"How do you know you don't like him Severus? You've never even met Harry," Dumbledore pointed out.

"Well he is a Potter isn't he," the Potions Master quietly observed.

"What was that Severus?"

"What was what?" replied Snape with innocence that didn't suit him

"Hmmm," was Dumbledore's answer. With that, and the ever present twinkle in his eyes, Dumbledore went on "It's settled then. Severus will have the task of finding Harry Potter, and bringing him back to Hogwarts."

"Excuse me!" protested Snape desperately. "I've also got lessons to prepare for. In case you've forgotten, I am a Professor at this school. So you see I'm much too busy to go looking for delinquent boys."

"I thought you said only a Wolfsbane potion was keeping you occupied Severus," Dumbledore reminded the Potions Master, that thrice damned twinkle prominent in his steady gaze. "I do believe you've already prepared your lessons. It's very unlike you to keep these things until the last minute."

"He just doesn't want to," said McGonagall primly.

"Oh very well," growled Snape, glaring at the deputy Headmistress.

"The Potter race is doomed," said Lupin, shaking his head in mock despair.

ooOoo

Professor Severus Snape stalked angrily up the path to Number Four Privet Drive. He couldn't believe he'd fallen into Dumbledore's trap. The man had obviously intended Snape to be Potter's retriever from the beginning, and Snape had unwittingly helped him, which was very unlike the Potions Professor. Obviously the mention of 'Potter' had unbalanced him.

Now Snape was not a man one would usually see anywhere near nice, clean, normal Privet Drive.

Snape would not look out of place in a night club: what with his tight leather pants, 'Bad Boy' shirt and 'T Bird' bikie jacket (These were the only Muggle clothes Snape could find in the Hogwarts storage cupboards which were a reasonable fit and in a decent colour. Black). Snape, however, had a reasonable excuse to be seen walking on Privet Drive. He was trying to discover the whereabouts of Harry James Potter, insufferable brat that he was. Potter really had no business getting lost and therefore becoming the cause of his - Snape's - rather shortened holiday.

As Snape took in his surroundings, he became more and more disgusted. How could anyone live in such utter sameness? Number Four Privet Drive was almost exactly the same as Number Six Privet Drive, which was almost an exact copy of the rest of the street! The only difference Snape could see was the number of flowers in the gardens! If Potter had run away, Snape could certainly see why. The Potions Master would barely last a full ten hours in this cloned neighbourhood, let alone ten years!

When Snape finally reached the wooden front door (which was a slightly different wood to the rest of the street's: varnished oak instead of cedar), he rang the bell and waited on the welcome mat, an impatient expression fixed upon his face. Severus Snape never did anything so uncontrolled as to tap his foot.

After about thirty seconds, the door opened to reveal Vernon Dursley - a big beefy man with almost no neck and thinning light brown hair, made up for by a large bushy moustache.

Mr Dursley took one look at the lewdly dressed man and growled "Wrong house." Before slamming the door in Snape's scowling face. Or at least, Vernon tried to, but this rude gesture was made rather difficult by the booted foot Snape had wedged in the door frame.

"I've come to inquire about Harry Potter's disappearance," announced a glowering Snape. "You received a letter, explaining why it was you who had the task of raising the Potter boy, did you not?"

Those carefully chosen sentences acted like a rifle shot. Vernon reeled backwards, almost tripping over the rug, his face changing from an indignant red to an unhealthy blotched white colour.

"You... You're one of the-them!" wheezed Mr. Dursley.

"If you mean a wizard, then yes, I am," remarked Snape, with not a little amusement at Vernon's theatrical reaction to discovery of his magical identity.

The knowledge that he was being made fun of by a 'freak' - the nerve - seemed to help Vernon Dursley recover somewhat, and he managed to stutter out an angry "Go away. We don't want your kind here. Don't come near my family!"

"Please. I take absolutely no pleasure in staying in this cloned street. Believe me," drawled Snape. "I am under orders to find Harry Potter. The boy seems to have been misplaced while he was supposed to be here." His unpleasant smile evolved into a menacing smirk.

"The Ken Payne Home For Foundlings," hissed an intimidated Vernon, after a moment's contemplation. "We gave the boy... away before we read the... letter."

After a long pause, Snape removed the offending foot from the doorframe, and Mr Dursley slammed the door shut, Snape distinctly heard the sound of the fat Muggle hurriedly turning the locks.

"Disgusting things," muttered Snape, as he strode back down Privet Drive. His purpose was now to find a place called The Ken Payne Home For Foundlings.

ooOoo

Six pounds ninety. Not bad for a young busker, but not good either. Enough for the next meal, at least.

Ten-year-old Ebon scooped up the gold and silver coins he had been counting into the pocket of his worn jeans and sauntered over to the fast food stall set up on the corner, a slight breeze whipping through his dirty shoulder-length hair. Ebon waited his turn behind an aggravated looking man, clothed in tight, black leather pants and a 'T Bird' bikie jacket.

When said man stalked over to a nearby empty bench to consume his purchase, a mug of strong black coffee, Ebon was left standing at the front of the line.

"Hello Ebon. What'll it be today?" asked Jenny, the owner of the stall.

"Chicken salad sandwich. No onion," responded Ebon

"Why do I bother to ask?" chuckled Jenny, handing the young street kid the package she had already prepared and stored in her mobile freezer.

"'Cause you hope one day I'll surprise you and order somethin' different," retorted Ebon lazily.

"Not likely. You've been having the same thing every Wednesday for four years!" said Jenny. "Orange juice?"

"Apple. Thanks."

The small lunch cost Ebon three pounds. This was why the emerald eyed boy had returned to Jenny's stall for the four years since his narrow escape from Cane and his painful cane. He was comfortably familiar with Jenny and her prices, and found he liked them both. The fact that Jenny was the only friend Ebon had, also played a small part in the street kid's unwavering loyalty.

When he received his change, the boy rewarded Jenny with one of his rare, charming smiles. This smile was one of Ebon's trade marks - he retained all his teeth, which were white, healthy and straight. A trait that made him unique in the hard world of homeless urchins, beggars, thieves and buskers in which he survived. Ebon was smart. He realised that if he wished to live past the age of twenty, he must keep healthy - hence the teeth (and the sandwich). Another unique feature was Ebon's sharp wit and great sense of irony which, coupled with his trend for sarcasm, could pass for a good sense of humour.

Looking about for an empty bench, Ebon spotted the one currently supporting the unusual looking man in the 'T Bird' bikie jacket. As this was the only reasonably empty space left - apart from the ground, Ebon ambled over and seated himself next to the bikie, just as a particularly strong gust of wind blew away the disregarded newspapers and chip packets lying on the pavement. As the gust blew past, it lifted Ebon's crudely cut fringe off his forehead, revealing the lightning bolt scar, which had marked him ever since the youth could remember.

At that exact moment, the bikie glanced up.

ooOoo

Fixing his black eyes on Ebon's scar, Snape yelped two words that were to change the unknowing street kid's life forever: "Harry Potter!"

ooOoo

Snape couldn't believe it. After enduring the cloned houses and staring Muggles that was Privet Drive. Wading through the muck, kids and verbal abuse in the hell Muggles like to call The Ken Payne Home For Foundlings and, as a last resort, diligently ploughing through every newspaper he could find printed in the last five years, searching for any sign of the wretched boy: Harry Potter; he had finally found him. Albeit in the last place Snape had a hope of finding anyone he was looking for: the dinghy, crowded streets of Muggle London.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem as if Potter was going to co-operate, now Snape had found him, for the irrational street kid was insisting he wasn't Harry Potter. Which of course he was, wasn't he?

"Who's 'Arry Potter?" asked the clueless, and excusably startled Ebon.

"You are. Who did you think I was addressing, the bench?" queried a noticeably vexed Severus Snape.

"You've got the wrong person Mister. Mayhap it's all that coffee. Name's Ebon Boon, not 'Arry, Potter," replied Ebon cheekily.

"Don't be a fool, you wretched boy. Of course you're H--arry Potter," countered an insulted Snape, drawing out the 'H' sound for the benefit of the slang-using street kid.

"Why?"

This unexpected response startled the Potions Master. Enough for him to blink a few times and stare curiously at Ebon. "What?" he asked, wondering at the logic behind such a strange question.

"Why are you so certain I'm this H--arry Potter?"

"Because you have that ridiculous scar located on you forehead. Not to mention you look like... like..."

It was then that Snape first realised Ebon looked nothing like his old enemy - James Potter. Actually, Ebon did have thick ink black hair, and his face was also rather thin, but the hair was too long and straight, and no other features looked remotely like those of James Potter's. For the gods sakes, the boy even had a few freckles, which no Potter had ever possessed.

There was only one sure way of determining the young boy's identity.

"Did you live in The Ken Payne Home For Foundlings?" asked Snape.

"An' what's it ta you if I did?" Ebon replied cautiously, on guard now that his former prison was mentioned.

"So in other words, yes," replied a smug Snape.

Ebon nodded reluctantly.

This was all the encouragement Snape needed, and he began whispering quickly to Ebon, determined he would be at Hogwarts, tonight, in time for dinner. "Listen to me Potter; we don't have much time, so you're going to have to trust me here. I'm Severus Snape, Potions Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and-"

"Witchcraft 'n' Wizardry? You're mental!" With that rude comment, the small boy leapt quickly off the bench and made to run back to Jenny's stall, away from this lunatic. However, the Potions Professor was having none of it. He grabbed the back of the street kid's faded shirt in a death grip and refused to yield to poor Ebon's struggles for freedom.

"Not so fast," Snape hissed. "It's taken me three and a half months to find you and I'll be damned if I lose you now. Hold still you wretched boy!" Snape managed to grab Ebon awkwardly around the waist, pinning the street kid against him in a strange parody of a hug, which was surprisingly effective in restraining the boy's arms and upper body. Since he was facing away from Snape, Ebon had difficulty kicking the man. So he yelled instead. Ebon knew what could happen to a youth in the hands of a young man of Snape's size. He just hoped Jenny could hear him.

"JENNY! HELP!" yelled Ebon again. This time his friend heard.

"What are you doing? Get away from him, or I'll call the fuzz!*" threatened a livid Jenny, running over to the pair whilst brandishing her frying pan.

"Shit!" Snape swore, not liking the way things were going. The last thing he wanted were the Muggle authorities getting involved. Not knowing what else to do, Snape dissapparated, Ebon still pinned tightly against him.

ooOoo

Snape knew he would pay for his moment of panic. The Ministry would be after his head now, for: 'unauthorised use of magic in a Muggle area', in front of a Muggle no less. Thank the gods only Jenny was paying attention. Or so Snape hoped. Maybe the Ministry would take pity on him, and settle for execution.

"Let me go you pedafile!" yelled the small street kid, bringing Snape's attention back to Ebon.

"As you wish," Snape took an unexpected step backward, simultaneously releasing Ebon, who barely managed to save himself from an ungraceful fall onto the street.

"Where are we? What the heck did you do?" shouted Ebon, who was glancing wildly around, looking for any means of escape.

"What I did was dissaperate, and we're in Hogsmeade," replied Snape.

"Thought ya said Hogwarts," Ebon pointed out. "Even you don' know what you're talking about."

"Hogwarts is the school. Hogsmeade is the village near the school," explained Snape. "Now come on, we might just be in time for lunch." Those words caught the boy's attention, and he ceased in his search for an escape route and stared imploringly at his kidnapper.

"Lunch? Ya never said nothing 'bout no lunch. Is it free?" Ebon wanted to know "Thanks ta you I never ate mine."

"It's free," Snape replied amusedly. He now knew how to control Ebon - his stomach ruled the street boy.

ooOoo

"This is Hogwarts, British school of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Snape told a staring Ebon "The school year commenced three weeks ago, and I spent the whole time scouring the Muggle world for you!"

"What's a Muggle?" asked Ebon absently, still gazing in awe at the huge castle towering above him.

"Someone who does not possess magic," explained Snape. "Come on, let's get you home."

"Home," whispered Ebon. Was this man really suggesting this school was his home? Not likely, Ebon thought to himself, I'll loose him once we get inside, lunch or no. I'll fin' somethin' to eat meself. Sure looks big enough, he'll never fin' me.

ooOoo

*Police