In the Midst of the Night

In the Midst of the Night

Chapter 3 - Sanctuary Amongst Garbage Cans

Severus was left startled and starting after the boy as the child weaved between the people on the busy streets of Diagon Alley. What was it that the Potter boy had said? Green light? Scary man who hurts people with his wooden stick? His stomach churned with the meaning behind the Harry's earlier words. What had the child saw?

He sighed and ran a hand through his midnight black hair. What was he to do now? It was lucky that he had walked over when he saw Draco standing outside the bookstore by himself and Harry had been there as well. But now that the child had run off again, he wasn't quite sure he'd be as lucky as he was before. For a while, he stood in the middle of the street looking around with his arms crossed and a dark scowl upon his face.

After a moment, he pulled his ebony black wand out and muttered, "Point me." There was a faint tug and Severus followed it. He was led towards the end of Diagon Alley and when the spell ended, he repeated the words once more. The jerk towards a darker alley made his insides wrench and he cautiously trailed the pull of the spell.

Vaguely, the professor wondered what harm could befall a child in Knockturn Alley at this time of day. Already the sun was beginning to set and it painted an array of blues and purples across the sky where the faint twinkling of the stars could be seen. By nightfall, the scavenger hags and necromancers would be on the prowl. Who knew what else would be out at that time?

~*~

Harry sniffed as the breeze nipped at him playfully. He wore only his new, light robes and the outfit Madam Malkin had had him try on. With a shiver, he wiped away what traces were left of his tears. It was getting dark now and he felt particularly lonely in the solitary alley he had hidden away in. Slowly, he stood up and found himself gasping painfully as he leaned against the brick wall for balance. His earlier excursion had left his weak muscles sore while his invisible welts and bruises were trying what self-control he had left.

Despite his will, still more tears fell freely from his seemingly glittering emerald green eyes. With his other sleeve, he wiped them away and looked around, an arising sense of distress welling within him.

He ran away - again. What had he been thinking? - blurting out the nonsense about the green light and the scary man with the dreadful wooden stick? Harry knew what the consequences of such talk were and yet he let the wicked words spill so effortlessly from his lips. He didn't even know the man! Sure, he had billowing black robes that looked sinister, yet familiar all at once. And all right, so he came from a mysterious school called Hoggerts, a name that sent waves of warmth through him, but why was any of that important? - it wasn't! The boy didn't know a single solid fact about Professor Severus Snape!

Yet why was it that that was the sole person he now wished to find most?

Harry treaded down the alley with a cautious air thick about him. Shadows seemed to creep around him and he felt as if he was being watched. Though, whenever he turned around, there was never anyone there. The winds were howling now and made the hairs on the nape of his neck stand and he shivered - though not from the cold. There was something...

"Child," hummed a soft lilting voice nearby. The boy jumped and whirled to his right where he saw a hunched woman cloaked in thick black robes. "Why are you wandering all alone? It's dangerous in Knockturn Alley at night," crooned the stranger. She advanced slowly as if she were floating rather than walking. "Who knows what lingers, waiting for unwary drifters..."

Her voice had dropped leisurely into a calm whisper and Harry stood transfixed at the figure. In his peripheral vision, the child saw a green haze, creeping stealthily towards him. Quickly, he turned to dash away with a sudden swell of fright arising within him. The ache at his side was protesting again, he noticed as still more panic crawled revoltingly in his stomach. He put his hand to the hidden contusion as if to ward away the pain, but all it did was slow the pace at which he ran so desperately.

It was almost as if he could feel the stranger chasing him, but when he chanced a backward glance, there was no one to be seen. The agony in his side seemed to throb twice as painfully and with tears welling in response to the smarting bruise, he slowed his gait to a careful trot. His instincts bid him to keep running away, to leave the scary feeling behind, but his body rebelled forcefully. It was too much effort for such a tiny creature and he was now feeling for the foolery of his reckless exertion.

Emerald eyes scanned the near empty street for a safe place to hide. He had run away from the orphanage many a time and was skilled in finding refuges in sheltered corners and alleys. Harry spotted a cluster of glinting silver garbage cans nearby and made his way towards them, making sure to keep wary eyes out for the terrifying woman who sang her words and others that might wish to do him harm.

The old saying that children learned when they were very young came to mind. "Never speak to strangers," instructed a very masculine male voice. One would believe that it was the voice of the raven haired child's inner father. Being so bold and baritone, it was just the ticket to strangely comfort poor little Harry. He rubbed away scorching crystalline tears that had not ceased to fall from his verdant colored eyes and sniffed almost inaudibly as to not attract attention from any other wanderers on the lonely street.

I mustn't - mustn't ever talk to strangers again, he repeated, trying to shrink within himself behind the trashcans.

His mind drifted to the very last time he had tried to run away after an unmerciful beating from Mr. McKinnon. Harry had raced away that night through the window commonly used as an escape route by the boys. The orphanage master, however, never bothered to barricade it. With no where to go and no notion on how to survive, his charges always returned, despite the fact that a thorough thrashing would welcome them. At least the dreadful place offered food and shelter - of which neither were accessible on the streets of muggle Manchester to the sheltered orphaned boys of St. Mary's.

On the night that the just-turned six year old Harry Potter ran away through the carelessly open window, he had roamed the midnight street with a sense of temporary freedom. Just barely healed from a birthday surprise from Mr. McKinnon, he walked with soreness stirring in his muscles down to his very bones. The night was much like the one today and it was nearing autumn so the weather was chilly, but not cold. The clothes that Harry wore (new and stolen from the laundry before his escape) did little to keep away the chill, but he hadn't minded - the feeling of liberty was wide awake in him and he was content just to be away from the horrible orphanage that was his unwanted home.

Still a child, he had known what dangers lay in walking by oneself in the night streets of the lower area in Manchester, yet the stories fabricated by the elder and more experienced boys of the orphanage lay unheeded in the carefree and momentarily satisfied child. His walk, regardless of a slight limp from a sprained ankle, was lighthearted and spirited. He was a happy boy on the day only a week after a previously forgotten sixth birthday.

Never did he notice that he had wandered down a strange lane and, unbeknownst to him, a shifty figure watched him under a hood of a ragged cloak just one block ahead.

When the hand snaked around his mouth from the alley and the free arm wrapped around his waist, Harry was too stunned for even a small shout of surprise to escape his already covered lips. He was dragged forcefully and painfully into the deserted alley where even cats and rats dared not to tread. When he struggled, the arm fastened more tightly across his abdomen making his ribs cry in protest and so he stiffly let himself be drawn away - out of sight of whoever might wish to help a pathetic street urchin.

He was thrown unceremoniously against the brick wall of the passage and he slumped upon the filthy ground, wide emerald eyes looking in fright at the seemingly giant of a man that towered above him.

"All 'lone at nigh', youngster?" drawled the stranger, and the child could smell the reek of alcohol.

Harry hadn't responded and was forcefully pulled almost off his feet as the man gripped his collar with a strength that had terrified the boy. A whimper had escaped his lips and he could still remember the burning sensation that smoldered on his cheek after a particularly severe backhanded strike.

He hadn't whimpered again afterwards.

The next morning, he was found by a patrolling policeman. The young officer, new at his job, had called for backup at the horrendous sight of the ruthlessly beaten child of whom he wasn't sure was still alive and hours later, Harry lay on a hospital bed, feeling almost comfortable despite his pains. He later learned that the new police officer had resigned after seeing such a brutal display and had visited the child to say that if such things were what he would witness on a day to day basis, the job was not one he wished to have.

After a few days and many instructions on how to quicken the healing process by the kind nurse that had watched after him, Harry was left in Mr. McKinnon's care. The boy had admitted to running away from the orphanage and once back home, days later, another beating - worse than usual - would ensue.

Harry never ran away again after that.

He sat there amongst the trashcans and thanked the heavens for a hiding place at the moment, despite that rancid smell that emitted from his protectors. If he were to be abducted like before, he doubted he would be so lucky as to have another officer discover him. This place was one that Harry had never seen or been to before and the people that had been littered about the street earlier were ones that children were always taught to be wary of.

No one would care for a misplaced child in this place, though Harry with a shudder. And no one would come after me if I was seized again. It was a thought that sent more tears to well in his eyes and he wrapped his arms about himself. For a long time he sat there, just thinking random thoughts with his mind running through the events of that day.

Maybe it was all just a dream. Maybe it was something he had just made up. At least, he hoped it was. Perhaps he would be awoken by Aden in the middle of the night - back home at the orphanage. Could this just be a nightmare?

But Harry, wishing hard though he may have been, knew that this was not so. His nightmares consisted only of the green light, the scary man, and the wooden stick. Nothing else plagued his subconscious mind except the fear stirred by the strangely familiar and frightening 'magic'.

How long would he sit there, amongst the trashcans that were his haven? Where would he go? Surely Mr. McKinnon wouldn't take him back - not after what had occurred just that morning...would he? Harry shook his head, reminding himself that high hopes for a wretched orphan such as he were always dashed to the ground - further into a merciless, bottomless pit.

But it was hard for him to keep another thread of faith swell in his heart. Perhaps...No, thought Harry forcefully. No, no, no! I mustn't think such things, I mustn't, mustn't, mustn't! Yet, the sliver of hope would not go away.

Would the strange...what was the word? Ah, yes, 'wizard', was what the man had called himself. Would the strange wizard come to his rescue again? Would the man named Professor Severus Snape of Hoggerts School of Crafts and Wizardry save him from the despair that had enveloped him? He was someone who sent a familiar feeling throughout the child. The man sent waves of warmth rushing through the boy whenever the word Hoggerts fell so easily from his lips. Perhaps it wasn't too much to hope for? Perhaps the Professor would come for him...

Harry squeezed himself further against the wall when a prickly sensation tickled his spine. That feeling of fear he had felt earlier was back, and it sent heaps of shivers running down his body. His eyes were wide, trying to see everything in the midst of the night and dread welled in his chest when he saw a recognizable hunched form making its way towards him.

Eyes like a cat's peered brightly and directly at him - red with slits of black running down the middle of the eerie pupils. He could almost taste and smell the smirk of victory as the woman who sang her words sauntered closer with the air of triumph swirling about her.

"Why did you run, my pet?" she whispered and her voice soared by like soothing summer breezes, yet Harry felt the black coldness of ice within the depths of her tone. A hand slipped free of the pure darkness that seemed to be her cloak and it reached towards him. The paleness of it was staggering and the child, captivated by her voice, could only stare as she loomed closer. She grasped onto his shoulder with a force that snapped Harry from his trance and he bit down on his lip. It seemed as if every ache and pain he felt just after Mr. McKinnon had given him a thrashing after dropping the plates was multiplied by the thousands. His scream of pain reverberated down the alley and ricocheted off the brick walls.

In a flash Harry had jumped up, the woman releasing him in her surprise, and pushed past the garbage cans that had been a momentary asylum from his terrible reality. He raced away but felt as if he was getting nowhere, for the melodic tinkle of laughter from the woman who sang her words was always just at his feet.

"You needn't be frightened," he thought he heard her say, but he wasn't sure. All he could hear was the loud thumping of his heart; it was beating so hard that he thought it might burst against the chest on which it pulsed so painfully. He didn't notice the tears that slipped down his dirt caked face, nor did he detect the still clanging trashcans he had knocked so hastily aside.

All that Harry could discern was that he was running - running for his life.

~*~

Professor Snape had only been fifteen minutes into his search when the idea of leaving the blasted Potter child in Knockturn Alley had assaulted his already vexed mind. The thought did well in putting a smirk upon his face (take that James Potter!), but his inner Albus swiped the spiteful scheme away in a flash.

Quite reluctant of reporting his failure to the only person he trusted and respected, he languidly pulled a pad of parchment from one of his many pockets, and a quill to match. His eyes scanned the street and landed upon a familiar store. It was simply named 'Owlery'. Severus walked in with a purposeful stride, writing his note quickly. He demanded Jerold's fastest owl and being a known man in this end of town, he was served at once. With an owl to Dumbledore on its way, the potions professor let a sigh of fatigue escape his lips as he left the owlery.

He was tired and his potions book was still idle from disuse in the dungeons. Now he would have to have either a night tossing and turning, thinking of the unmade potion, or he would simply have to spend those same hours making the potion he had been deprived of brewing earlier.

Both seemed like unappealing choices and he owed them both to Harry bloody Potter.

It seemed like hours on end that he trotted through Knockturn Alley. The point me spell was good for one thing - bringing the wielder into a more general area in which to search. Severus nearly growled with frustration and could tell that the spell would do no more. He had used it to the point of exhaustion and once the peak was reached, it would fail to accomplish its task in confusion - the magic pushed so fully to its length. Once when he was a boy, this was still a lesson unlearned and he had gotten himself into a further maze of his manor's forest than he had started in.

So it was that Severus walked dejectedly about, his ill-tempered aura even more pronounced than usual. In his wandering, he seemed to have overlooked that the sun had disappeared past the horizon and only a blanket of darkness covered the city with almost indecipherable specks of light twinkling down at him as if in a taunting manner. The moon was a weak crescent that barely emitted its usual luster of luminescence. It seemed as if it was disheartened by the overwhelming cloak of black that was the midnight sky.

He sighed, on the verge of giving up his search for the insolent brat called Harry Potter when he heard a scream pierce the night and a clang of trashcans a distance away. Metal clashed against metal and he heard the bustle of what sounded like a frightened animal scurrying away.

What he found was a child racing down the street as if from Satan himself.

Severus took an involuntary step backwards and stared past the figure he recognized as Harry at the surreally glowing Specter that glided behind him. He brandished his ebony wand. "Potter, move!" he yelled and saw the boy fall upon the ground before he let loose the words that would destroy a dark shadow creature - however powerful - from the mortal world. Instead of the green light that the child was used to seeing, crimson light, deep as the color of blood, jetted from the end of his wand.

A shriek even worse than the first cry he had taken to be Harry's exploded from the phantom's lips as the crimson light seemed to eat away at the glowing brilliant white light that she was made of. He grasped his wand tightly, willing himself to ignore the tantalizing Specter's Shriek, and forced more of his power into the spell. Her eyes so red sparkled malevolently at him and she cut her scream off to curse him in her banishment, but the blood red light crawled into her mouth. Her horrible eyes widened and she seemed to grow brighter before Severus' spell of crimson death exploded within her, splintering her glowing white image into sheer splinters of her former form. Only the echo of the Specter's Shriek was left in her wake.

Professor Snape wiped sweat from his brow from the effort of holding such a spell in place for how long he did - though only a minute did it take up. His breaths were ragged but still he made his way down the street to check on the boy.

Harry still lay upon the ground, unmoved from the position from whence he fell. Severus knelt down and shook the boy's shoulder roughly, whatever tranquility left within his person dispersed at the sight of the Specter. The boy was limp to touch and the man was surprised to see the child's face purple with bruises. With slow gasps escaping his lips, Severus could tell that Harry was alive. Magical residue was left around the boy and the elder man's eyes rose in a mixture of astonishment and wonder.

"Concealment charms," he muttered to himself, confusion plain in his voice. He sighed and shook his head before slipping his hands under the boy and hoisting him up with a grunt. Near weightless, Harry was not a burden to carry to the nearest floo sector.

The duo soon arrived within the headmaster's office. Severus saw Albus stand quickly in surprise as the normally twinkling blue eyes dimmed once they were set upon the unconscious boy in his former student's arms. Agreement was flashed in their eyes and they left the room, their destination the Hospital Wing.

Once there, Albus rushed to awaken Madam Pomfrey as Severus gently placed Harry upon the bed. The child was as white as the sheets on which he lay and his breathing seemed to be even more labored than they had been when he lay unmoving upon the cobblestones of Knockturn Alley. Poppy Pomfrey was quick to get to work in a dire situation - she was one of the best healers in the magical community and didn't ask questions until after a patient was stabilized. With a stern look shot towards the two men standing anxiously to the side (one more obviously distressed than the other), she began drawing sigils of power in the air and runes of healing as well. Dumbledore and Severus walked together out of the room.

Albus looked to his ex-pupil with grief swelling in the depths of his sapphire blue eyes. "How could I have let this happen, Severus?" he wondered, shaking his head. "Was I so blind in my search for the boy?"

Severus, as much as he wanted to comfort his mentor, had urgent news. "He has practiced magic, Albus," said the man softly. The headmaster looked up quickly. "I hadn't seen any of his injuries at first glance at the orphanages - only when he collapsed later. He used concealing charms to hide his wounds."

The elder man sighed and looked as if the weight of the world hung upon his shoulders. "Some children see things in the fire or levitate their pets when their magic awakens within them...Harry Potter hides all traces of a beating," he murmured solemnly, almost to himself.

It was a hard thing to hear, even for Severus, in spite of his rough upbringing. Needless to say, he responded curtly. "I've a potion to brew in the dungeons, headmaster," said the potions master. "If you'll excuse me...?"

Albus looked at him blankly for a moment before the corners of his eyes creased with the hints of a smile. "At least some things always stay constant, eh, Severus?" It was more of a relieved statement than a curious question and the younger man smiled one of his rare smiles.

And with that, in a swirl of billowing black robes, Professor Severus Snape, potions master of Hoggerts School of Crafts and Wizardry, turned and walked away.