Catechism

Chapter Two
Leaving Home

Dinner was early Monday evening so they would be finished before their unwelcome guest arrived. Harry was given a slice of bread though he insisted his hunger was presently quite manageable, and ate it almost fearfully, feeling like he was giving in to something horrible. He ate it kneeling in the far corner of the kitchen, ready to jump to obey if any of the family needed anything from him. Usually, except for their demands and unless he did something requiring of reprimand, he was ignored, but tonight was different. His aunt and uncle gave lots of last minute advice, which mainly consisted of playing dumb and giving away as little information about his life, his family, and his thoughts as he could. They warned him of what might be said to him and what kind of responses he should make. And they reassured him that if he could resist the magic and keep trying to be good even when surrounded by freaks, he would be making excellent progress towards actually being good.

Dudley pouted at not being the center of attention but was, for once, not heeded by his parents.

Harry listened carefully to all their instructions and advice. He was determined not to disappoint them. Although even now he knew he was doing badly and was angry at himself for the hint of pleasure he felt in having them show interest in him rather than Dudley. He knew it wasn't right, but it felt good to have them reminding him one more time before he left how much they really cared for him, and how concerned they were for his safety and well being. And he had to admit, although he knew how much it would disappoint them if he said it aloud, that he was self-centered and shameless enough that having them tell Dudley not to interrupt made it all the better.

With the meal complete, Harry cleaned the kitchen for the last time before moving towards his cupboard. A word from his Uncle stopped him. "He'll be here in a quarter hour. You can stay out."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," he acknowledged, surprised, stopping to stand awkwardly by his door. He was only out when he was doing something, whether cleaning or learning, and wasn't sure what to do. Standing still was apparently permissible, however, for his uncle didn't object. He was wearing clothes that, though far from top of the line, actually fit, and it felt ... odd. Confining, yet comfortable. And he had a small suitcase of similar clothes. Jeans, t-shirts, and sweatshirts more or less his size and purchased this morning in a thrift shop by Aunt Petunia. She had never been to one before, and Harry was grateful for and awed by her willingness go to such lengths for him. The items that were too far off in size she had tucked back into a bag to drop in the donation box the next time she drove by. They didn't want awkward questions asked about Harry's wardrobe.

Petunia and Dudley having retreated upstairs, Harry stood still and silent until the doorbell rang. That sent him diving for his cupboard, but his uncle caught him with one hand on his shoulder and he froze in place awaiting punishment. "No need to hide. It's for you this time, after all. Grab your suitcase, then."

Always obedient, he picked up his suitcase with his left hand and let his uncle steer him to the door, standing nervously as the big man opened it, revealing the tall figure without.

The man was taller than Uncle Vernon but built more like Aunt Petunia, very thin, although his neck was shorter. He had lank shoulder length black hair, sallow skin, and black eyes which were presently staring at Harry down a large hooked nose. "Potter, I presume?"

"Yes, sir," he whispered, the first words he could remember ever speaking to anyone not of the household.

"I am Professor Snape, the potions master at Hogwarts. Is that all you need?" he demanded, his voice seeming to imply simultaneously that he doubted Harry could survive with so little and that the small suitcase was already a major inconvenience. "Yes, sir."

"Very well, then. Come along." The man nodded sharply to Mr. Dursely, then turned and walked back down the walk towards the street.

Harry followed, taking his first steps out of the house and his eyes widened as he took in the shining white of the fence, the green of the grass, the colorful garden, and the darker green of trees. His eyes traveled up a tall tree so dark it was nearly black and he froze, staring up at the vast emptiness above him. He felt a sudden irrational urge to grab on to something, to anchor himself before he fell into it. Slowly he sank to his knees, hands clutching desperately at the ground. The concrete sidewalk was hard beneath his knees, and his desperate fingers found nothing to hold onto, scrabbling uselessly against the walk.

"Mr. Potter!" The words didn't register but suddenly he was being lifted bodily from the ground by two long slim hands. "What is the meaning of this?"

"So- big-" he managed to force out between teeth clenched with fear.

"What is big? Do you see some dragon that I have somehow missed?" He scanned the skies then returned his glare to the boy trembling in his hands. "There is nothing there. If this is your idea of humor, Mr. Potter-"

The front door banged back open and Mr. Dursley hissed, "Will you please go? People will start to notice!"

"What's wrong with the boy?" the professor demanded. "There's nothing there!"

"That might be the problem. I daresay the sky feels a mite uncomfortable to him."

"How can the sky feel uncomfortable? And if he does have this senseless reaction to it, how could you have been unaware of that situation?"

"Never been under it, has he?" Dursley replied calmly. "We were told every place but our home was dangerous for the lad. Weren't given any way to get clarification. So we figured better safe than sorry, and kept him inside."

Snape's jaw dropped. "He has never been outside?"

"Not since he came to us, anyway."

"In nearly nine years?"

"That's right. Would you please remove yourself and the boy from our yard? What will the neighbors think?" The door slammed.

Fuming, Snape considered reopening it and cursing the entire family within, but finally turned to the trembling child beside him. "Mr. Potter." No response. "Harry," he tried in a voice of loathing, clearly not wanting to state the name.

"Yes, sir," the whisper was weak but it came instantly in response. "Sorry, sir."

"Can you control yourself enough to follow me?"

"I-" he swallowed heavily then dragged his eyes down from the huge emptiness above to the professor's face, though they still jerked furtively up from time to time and his shoulders were drawn protectively forward. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Again he turned and moved away, and this time the child followed, dividing his fearful gaze between wizard and sky, with only a bit of attention to spare the wonders he'd never seen before except through glances sneaked out of windows or at the television.

A shape passed by, loud and close, and he jerked a foot to the side, almost falling down in his surprise, before realizing that it must be car. He recovered his balance as Professor Snape shot him a glare. "Sorry, sir," he whispered. Only to stop and close his eyes, face white, as a strong gust of wind ruffled his hair, pulling at his clothes.

"Oh for Merlin's-" The professor returned to the boy and growled, "Take my hand."

Bright green eyes snapped open in abject shock, and the boy stared at the offered left hand. Ungloved. He took a deep breath. He wasn't touched skin to skin unless he had been truly bad. But avoiding punishment deserved worse punishment. Reluctantly, he reached out and awkwardly took hold of the hand, the sky momentarily forgotten in this new overwhelming terror. He wasn't supposed to touch. He'd touched Uncle Vernon's hand once, by mistake. In return he had received the worst beating he'd ever had, special punishments for a full week, and only water, no food, for that same week.

"Sorry, sir," he muttered, apologizing for soiling the professor with his touch, even if he had been instructed to do so.

The man's other hand pulled out what he recognized from his aunt's descriptions as a wand, and Harry watched in dread fascination as it waved about. He barely heard as words he didn't understand were spoken in a strange cadence. Then the professor started walking and he moved to follow only to find himself held in place by the grip on his hand. As he watched, the professor moved away holding the hand of a small pale child with messy black hair holding a battered suitcase. He began to tremble uncontrollably.

"Pull yourself together, Potter," a voice snapped at his side, and he jerked around to look at ... nothing. "We are invisible. I sent an illusion of us on to foil any watching eyes, but we need to get out of here too quickly for me to take you someplace private to apparate." It was said in the same tone Uncle Vernon used when he had failed a particularly simple lesson.

"Sorry, sir," he repeated, trembling, waiting for his punishment. The hand tightened slightly on his and he realized with a shock that the professor could feel his trembling. He wasn't allowed to fear punishment- he deserved it, so what right had he to fear? As long as he kept his voice and expression steady and never actually flinched, his Uncle wouldn't realize, but with this touching- it was a more dangerous situation than he had realized. He forced himself to stillness. "Sorry, sir."

"Would you stop apologizing every other second?" the cool voice snapped.

He froze, trying to comprehend the instruction.

"Just keep holding on. You'll feel a bit of a tug, then we'll be at the nearest apparition point to Hogwarts. Understood?"

Having no idea what he was being told, he quietly murmured, "No, sir. Sor-" he cut himself off.

A groan. "Well, you'll see. Just hold on. You can do at least that, I hope?" "Yes, sir."

"Good."

Suddenly there was a wrenching jerk and he clenched his eyes, fighting nausea. The ground seemed to move beneath him and he stumbled to his knees, startled to find beneath them something far softer than the sidewalk they had left behind. He opened his eyes in surprise and found himself staring down not at his knees as he'd expected, but, rather, at grass. The part where his knees ought to be was crushed down, but just to the side the grass stood taller, waving slightly in the light breeze. He leaned down to get a closer look, amazed by the tiny delicacy of the blades, the variety of colors, the intricacy of each blade of grass. He reached out with his free hand and gasped as he couldn't see it. But he felt the grass beneath it, cool and somehow fresh. The blades leapt out of the way as he moved the hand he couldn't see through them, and his eyes widened at the sensation of the grass running across his palm, tickling his fingers.

He heard a swish and a few murmured syllables and found himself staring at his hand, knees, visible once more, beside it. He began to shudder in reaction to the obvious magic. An ungentle tug on his other hand brought him scrambling to his feet with a murmured apology, which was answered by a growl. He looked up to see, if not actually meet, the irritated black gaze. "Come on, then. We'll be inside soon."

"Yes, sir," he replied mechanically, following as he was led onto a wide strip of brown that was harder and more solid than the grass but was more gritty beneath his feet than the floor at home ever was. There was short grass to either side of the road and then, after about ten feet of lawn, the dark looming shapes of trees. His gaze was forward and slightly lowered, as he usually held it, but focused on the air just ahead of him, trying to avoid seeing the sky, the trees, the wizard, everything. They left the forest and his breath quickened as the omnipresent sky seemed even more overwhelming when not partially blocked. Indeed, to one side of the road it seemed almost to fill the ground, as well, but after a moment he realized that the color was different and, from the sound realized that it was water. A lake. He was glad the professor was walking between him and it, and upset that he was able to think of a wizard's presence as anything but a menace to be hated and feared. They skirted the lake and he was finally forced to look up as a looming presence blocked out the low sun. He swallowed as he tried to comprehend the sheer size of the gray structure before them. There was only one thing it could possibly be- Hogwarts. The focus of so many of his lessons over the years. The evil school where minds were twisted and freakish powers developed. This was where people became unnatural freaks- as he would, if he wasn't cautious and determined.

The hand again tightened on his, and he realized that he was shuddering again. Frantically, he tamped down the shaking.

"Come on, boy. You can admire the school some other time," the professor's voice remarked sardonically.

Before hearing the words he hadn't noticed that he had stopped. "Sorry, sir." He started walking again, dread of their destination overcoming dread of the great emptiness above and the man beside. But disobedience was never an option.

They crossed an open lawn, then entered the castle. Harry tried to suppress a traitorous relief at being under a roof again, even this roof, as long as it protected him from the great void of the sky. He took a shuddering breath, then released it, feeling a bit of tension ease from him, and managed to stop trembling. It wasn't fair how safe he felt here, how protected, when he knew how much danger he was in.