In the Midst of the Night

In the Midst of the Night

Chapter 6 - Hold My Hand

Severus led the boy past the gate and looked at the broom sitting against the wall, waiting idly for him. He turned his gaze from the broom to Harry who was looking around as if he had never seen such a sight - and, he probably hadn't. As if he felt the stare, the child looked up at him with a light smile playing upon his lips.

"How are we getting to your home? Do you have a real car?" questioned the boy, adjusting his grip on the professor's hand.

The elder man raised a brow. "A car?" he repeated. Harry simply nodded. "Ah, one of those bloody infuriating muggle contraptions," muttered Severus, seemingly to himself. The child looked up at him quizzically confused with the big words, but the man ignored him. He pulled his hand from that of the seven year old's and made his way towards the broom and picked it up, once again looking from it to the boy. "I suppose you've never ridden a broom before, Potter?"

Harry looked at him skeptically and amusement danced in his emerald green eyes. "You can't ride brooms!" he said with a grin. At Severus' glare, however, the grin and building laughter within him died just as quickly as they had appeared. Harry took a hesitant step backwards saying softly, "Sorry, sir."

Severus found himself raising a brow at the sudden change in demeanor, but dismissed it at his yearning for home. "You can indeed, ride brooms...at least, wizards and witches can," he told the boy, settling onto it. Harry continued to look doubtful, but he wisely said nothing. He recalled the man referring to himself as a 'busy wizard' and thought that perhaps one could, in fact, ride brooms.

As the child watched, the professor rose steadily above the ground and was soon hovering, his trunk levitated in a trail behind. "You're going to sit in front of me and hold on tight to the broom, do you understand?" said Severus in the tone he used with students. Harry looked at him, his skeptical expression twisting into one of unmasked horror.

"But it's flying!" exclaimed the boy, stumbling backwards.

Severus felt irritation well within him. Why did things have to be so difficult? He didn't have the time to explain everything about magic to the blasted child at the moment - all he wanted was to get home. "It won't hurt you, Potter," he said with forced patience as he brought the broom upon the ground once more. Underlying his voice was a thread of anger, and Harry, practiced at reading people, noticed this easily.

He bit down on his lip and stared at the broom for only a split second longer before walking towards it as if making his way to death himself. Before he mounted it, however, he looked up at the professor with pleading emerald green eyes, wide behind his glasses. Severus ignored the look and waited impatiently for the child to get on. Harry hopped upon it and grasped the handle tightly as he tried to hide his nervousness. His knuckles turned white with the effort, but he found a bit of comfort when Severus' arms grasped onto the broom above his own hold. When his feet left the ground, Harry stiffened with apprehension and leaned backwards into the warmth and comfort of the familiar man's cloak.

Severus leaned backwards out of contact but the boy refused to take the hint. The professor sighed inwardly and rolled his eyes heavenward.

It was going to be a long summer...

~*~

Is The Boy-Who-Died Really

The Boy-Who-Lived?

By: Fatima Lozenge

Seven-year-old Harry James Potter's disappearing act has been uncovered.

Harry Potter, the son of the revered Senior Auror James Potter and his acclaimed wife Professor Lily Evans-Potter, had been spotted by a witch and her husband yesterday afternoon. Yvonne Heckles was shopping in Diagon Alley with her husband on a tourist trip from Scotland when she apparently stopped in shock. "Jus' froze like one o' them zombies you see in those Africas," said her husband in their native city drawl with a shudder. "Could ha' sworn she was white as a ghost."

"Thas 'cause I saw 'im wiff me own two eyes, I did," Heckles told me. "The ickle chil' was just 'side this scary lookin' man down the street. Runnin' ta keep up 'e was. Swear on me momma's grave the man looked a tad f'mil'ar though." She went on to say, "Took a picture righ' quick I did. Caught the ickle boy in a snap."

So Voldemort's defeater is alive after all? Evidently...but is it really Harry Potter? If so, where has he been for seven years? And who is the man that accompanied him?

I believe that it is the ministry's responsibility to find our precious savior and rescue him from those who wish him ill will. Death Eaters are still about and if one lays a hand upon him, who knows what will happen? Perhaps it is too late and Potter is already in the midst of the darkness. Sincerely, we should all do our best to find this child, so that he may remain the Boy-Who-Lived.

Fatima smiled in satisfaction and laid down her quill. She turned to her pupil with triumph written upon every aged line of her face. "You see, my dear Rita, this is how you write a good article," she said and tied her piece to the awaiting owl's leg, sending him off to her editor.

~*~

Harry shifted on the broom and tried moving backwards so that he was further protected within the older man's cloak. His stomach was doing strange things inside him and it rather tickled. He resisted the urge to laugh, but when they swerved to turn, he giggled in delight as his insides did flip flops. The child glanced downwards in a risky display of bravery and shivered with a bright smile as he saw how far up they were. If Severus noticed, he showed no sign of it.

They flew past numerous villages with men and women bustling around the city with children playing in the streets. Harry looked at them curiously and wondered vaguely why no one seemed surprised to see a man and a boy atop a flying broom. Perhaps they're like the professor, thought the boy, and he nodded decisively to himself.

When he tried touching on of the trees below, his stomach wrenched wildly when his grip loosened on the broom and he began to topple sideways. A large arm and hand gripped him quite suddenly around the waist and held him tightly as the boy shook with abrupt fright.

"Did I not tell you to hold on tight to the broom?" wondered Severus, almost in a growl.

Harry ducked his head in submission and looked to the side. "I'm sorry, sir," he answered almost inaudibly. His voice shook with his frail body's tremors and Severus' hold on the boy loosened slightly. Harry grasped onto the broom with both hands once more and leaned against the elder man's chest for support.

Severus could feel the boy's trembling and felt that infuriating fiber in his chest twang like a guitar string. He hated that bit of himself with a passion and cursed it with every fiber of his being when the boy almost fell of the bloody broom. His stomach was doing loops inside of him even at this moment and a flash of panic had just previously overtaken his mind.

Damn compassion to hell, he thought harshly. Why can't I choose who to feel sorry for? wondered the man morosely.

His thoughts were broken (thankfully) when Harry queried with innocent curiosity, "What's your house like?"

There was a moment of silence before Severus answered. "It's a big mansion," he admitted reluctantly.

Harry looked up at him, tilting his face backwards as to see the professor. "Like a castle? Like Hoggerts?" he asked with a coy smile.

Severus kept his gaze directed forward but noted the pronunciation error with a morsel of satisfaction. That itty bitty teeny tiny bit, however, didn't override the compassion that seemed to be trying to eat his chest from within. "The school is called Hogwarts, Potter. Hog-warts," he said slowly.

The child looked at him with a humored expression and a small laugh escaped his lips as if it were a game. "Hog-Hogerwarts," said Harry and made a face at the slip of his tongue. Why was it so hard to pronounce in the first place?

The potions master asked Merlin to save him from imbeciles and found himself sighing. "Never mind, just stick with Hoggerts, then," said the man in defeat.

Harry looked at him with a funny expression and bit down on his lip to fight a grin.

~*~

Bloody full moon, Remus Lupin thought with uncharacteristic animosity. He sank onto a ragged sofa with a great sigh and closed his eyes as he rested his head against the back cushion. The fire was beginning to die down and in his moment of weakness and frailty, he shivered against the summer breeze. It's summer for Merlin's sake and I'm bloody freezing my arse off, he said to himself bitterly.

It was mid-afternoon and as always, his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of that night. He hastily pushed all thoughts of the full moon away and picked up the Daily Prophet from the stand beside the couch. He took one look at the cover and stood up in shock. "Is The Boy-Who-Died Really The Boy-Who-Lived?" the headline read. The picture was large on the front page and in it, a tiny little boy who looked no older than five years of age was looking around in mystification as he trotted to keep up with an elder man's quick footsteps. His glasses were black and round and taped at the bridge to keep supposedly two snapped parts together. The color of his eyes was imperceptible in the black and white photo, but the unruly hair was familiar enough to send spasms of astonishment throughout the werewolf.

Remus fell back onto the couch with a thump and bounced slightly as the springs settled. He ran his hand through his gray streaked russet brown hair. After reading and rereading the article thrice, he stood up and threw floo powder into the fire.

It was time to have a meeting with Headmaster Dumbledore.

~*~

Draco sat on the couch with a lazy expression upon his face as he stared at his father...well, at the newspaper concealing his father's face. He swung his legs back and forth, enjoying the rhythm of the bumps his feet made on the couch. The silver blonde haired child saw his father's eyes peek atop the paper, a frown making lines between the silver brows, and immediately desisted.

The paper crackled as Lucius snapped it cleanly back into place. Draco tried sitting still for a while, but became bored once more and sighed. When no reaction became of this, he sighed louder and sagged his shoulders, lowering his gaze. He looked past pale lashes, but found himself still gazing at the front of the newspaper. After a few more sighs and many new positions, Draco scowled and stood up felling horribly neglected.

"I think that I will go ride my new broom," he proclaimed stately, as if before hundreds upon hundreds of servants just waiting to do his bidding. He received no response and balled his small hands into fists. Marching up to his father, he stared up at the front page and slowly, his anger was forgotten. "I know that boy!" exclaimed Draco excitedly. "He was a front of the store in Diagon Alley." When Lucius lowered the paper to look at his son, the boy went on, happy to have gotten his father's attention. "And he was crying, and you know what, Father? I told him what you told me, I told him that you said that men shouldn't cry. I told him that and he stopped crying," said Draco proudly, a smug smirk upon his face.

Lucius turned to look at the front of the paper and his brows rose in barely concealed surprise. His icy gray eyes darted back towards the little boy looking up at him with a satisfied smile. "Did you now, Draco?" he said in an unreadable tone.

The boy's smile widened and his cloudy grey eyes sparkled brightly. "Mm hmm, and then P'fessor -," but he was interrupted when a house elf scurried forth with a message.

"Master, a urgent owls come from the Ministry, sir," said Dobby, wringing his hands. Lucius eyed him coldly and quickly the tiny creature began to bang his head upon the side of the table nearby.

Draco frowned and pulled him away roughly. "Stop it!" he exclaimed with a scowl. "That's stupid!"

Lucius ripped through the crimson wax with the Ministry seal and scanned the letter quickly. Abruptly he stood, setting the paper down, and looked to Draco. "We will continue our conversation later," said the man. Then he turned on his heels and marched to the fireplace in which he threw a pinch of floo powder. He was gone in a swirl of blue flames.

Draco looked at Dobby with distaste. "Look what you did, you fool," said the boy with a very childish pout. "Go get me my broom."

And as the house elf scurried away, he sat upon the couch, swinging his legs to and fro, enjoying the rhythm the bumps his feet made on the couch as he waited.

~*~

It wasn't long into their ride when clouds started to rumble above them. Severus looked up and cursed under his breath. "Oh sod it all," repeated Harry, looking up at the familiar man behind him with a bright grin.

The professor glanced down at the child and pursed his lips. "Never say that again," he said coldly, but humor laced his words and the boy, as if he had supernatural hearing, just broadened his grin, evidently recognizing it.

Nevertheless, he said, "Yes, sir." Severus just shook his head and gradually descended. Harry giggled as rain drops began to fall upon them. "I can't see! My glasses are getting wet," he told the elder man. "Can I take my hands off the broom to wipe them?"

Severus said, "Not yet, Potter, wait until we land."

"How long 'till then?"

The potions master scowled. "Not long."

"Five minutes?"

"Less."

"Four minutes, then?"

"No," said Severus coldly.

"Three -"

"Potter, be silent until we land."

Harry opened his mouth to ask how long until then, but thought the better of it and shut it once more with a snap.

In a few more minutes, they landed upon the muddy ground and the rain was falling harder. It was difficult to see just a few feet ahead and Severus led the boy to a pub nearby. They stepped inside and were confronted with a rush of boisterous music and loud chatters from the village people who had come in to seek shelter from the evening rain.

Harry, not used to being in such a crowded area, quickly dashed for Severus' cloak and searched desperately for a hand to grab onto. That found, he sighed and grasped it tightly, looking around with wide emerald green eyes behind his glasses. The elder man brandished his wand and with a simple spell, dispelled all the water from their persons. Harry jumped in surprise and looked down at his suddenly dry new clothes. His eyes darted to Professor Snape who was busy searching for an open table. The boy caught sight of the wand and seemed to shrink within himself, but the potions master didn't notice. He tugged on Harry's hand and led him to a corner booth in which he sat down.

The child peeked almost fearfully atop the table at the people around the pub. A waitress soon came over. She was a plump old woman with a merry expression upon her face and she held a pad and pen at the ready. Her eyebrows rose with the unspoken question and Severus looked at her with apparent familiarity. "Hot chocolate please, Rica," he told the woman with a small smile.

Her grin was bright as she wrote down his order. "Thought you'd stop by sooner than this, my dear," she said, and Harry found himself thinking her voice was rather soothing.

The man shook his head. "I had some errands to run before I left the school," he explained, then looked at Harry expectantly. The woman named Rica turned to look at the tiny boy who quickly scooted closer to the man at her glance. He looked up at the professor who gazed back at him expectantly. "What would you like to drink?" Severus questioned, and Harry dropped his gaze, avoiding the waitress' curious expression.

"Been busy this school year, haven't you, Severus?" said the old woman, a humorous lilt in her voice.

Professor Snape resisted the urge to blush and scowled instead. "Funny," he said simply in a scathing tone, but having known him for years, Rica took no heed to his response.

"Well, my dear," she said, addressing Harry, "we've got lemonade, hot chocolate, milk, and water."

Harry once again looked up at the professor as if asking for permission. Severus, as if he understood, nodded his head in response. "Hot chocolate," said the child in a barely audible voice.

Rica smiled genially down at him and nodded once. "I'll have your drinks out in a short moment. I'll give you time to look over your menus and you can order when I get back," she told them before weaving through the crowd.

Severus picked up his menu and looked through its weathered pages while Harry took his cautiously, watching what the man did. He had never gone to a restaurant like this before. Usually, if he ran away, he wasn't allowed into stores and eateries. Harry opened the menu and looked at it quizzically. It looked strange and the pictures of food were doing strange things - they were moving! He stared at them for a moment, but then his menu was pulled from his grasp. Severus looked down at him with a raised brow and his eyes were twinkling with amusement in their shadowy depths. The elder man handed it back right side up.

Harry blushed to the roots of his raven colored hair and the proceeded to look at the list. "A - puh - puh- apuhpuh..." the child frowned as he sounded out the letters. He hadn't been taught to read very well, but he had learned some words.

"It says 'appetizers', Potter," said Severus in a fatigued tone. Harry looked at him, and then turned his gaze back to the menu with a distressed sort of expression. The elder man rolled his eyes heavenwards and counted to ten as the boy went on to the next word.

"C- cala- mmm - calam...calamari!" and then, as if he felt the professor's gaze upon him, Harry looked up at him. Severus told him what the children's menu offered, and then asked the boy what he wanted. Harry merely looked up at him with wide and disbelieving green eyes. "I can choose anything?" he wondered, his voice soft with awe. At the potions master's curt nod, the child smiled broadly and bit down on his lip, very seriously considering each dish.

By that time, Rica had approached with their mugs of hot chocolate. Freshly whipped cream sat atop the rich chocolate brew like a cloud while steam waved merrily at them as it rose. Harry looked at his drink with something akin to pleasure and tentativeness and Severus found himself once more cursing that fiber of blasted compassion that tugged at his heart. "Don't touch it yet," he told the boy, not willing to say his name in front of anyone, even Rica, "it's still hot."

Harry, who had reached out to take the hot mug into his hands, quickly pulled them back and clasped them tightly in his lap, his cheeks reddening yet again. Rica chuckled at the child's bashful behavior. "So, what can I get you both?" Severus told her that he'd have his usual order of sirloin steak, medium well, if you please and when she turned to Harry, he bit down on his lip and muttered something under his breath. "Sorry, dear, I didn't catch that," she told him with a gentle smile. Severus looked down at the boy who buried his face in the elder man's cloak.

The professor sighed and looked at Rica as if pleading for help. She just smiled at him with an odd light in her eye. "He said that he'd like the chicken tenders and chips from the children's menu," said Severus in a defeated tone of voice.

She laughed and nodded. "It will be out soon enough," she informed them, then in a swish of aprons and skirts, she was off to the kitchen.

Several minutes later, their meals were presented before them and Harry sniffed in the sweet aroma of a freshly cooked meal. Recently, he had been having steady meals, for none had been taken away as punishment. Rica smiled a last time before going on to another table and Harry looked at the plate of golden chicken tenders with the air of someone who expected the chickens to come back alive and fly away once again.

"Aren't you hungry, Potter?" wondered Severus in a falsely gruff voice. Truth be told, he was quite happy to be just a day away from home. In addition to that, a nice warm and familiar meal brought nostalgic feelings sweeping through him.

Harry glanced up at the elder man and smiled shakily. He took a piece and ate it slowly. After two more, he found himself feeling sick. Perhaps he had eaten too quickly. It was true that he had barely been able to eat much of the full meals offered to him in the days he had been in the professor's company. He rather thought that it was habit that made him eat so little, after all, rare meals had probably shrunken his stomach...can stomach's even shrink? he wondered absently as he nibbled on a chip.

Severus glanced down at him and the remainder of uneaten chicken tenders and chips. He himself was long ago finished and now found himself exhausted with the day's flight and solely wished to go to sleep. "Finished yet?" wondered the man and Harry's absent nibbling immediately ceased. The boy put the half eaten chip back onto the plate and nodded up at him. Even to Severus, who was unused to children under ten or eleven years of age, it was easy to see that the child was just as worn out as he was. Their check had already been brought over and Severus placed a number of shiny silver and bronze-copper circles upon the table in payment.

They stood and Severus waved a last goodbye before they made their way to the exit. So tired was the professor that he almost didn't hear the faint cry beside him. There was a thump and as he looked back, he saw a man helping Harry up. The child was looking up at him with undisguised fear and Severus walked back to him. "What's going on?" he inquired in his coldest voice. The man looked up from setting the boy upright and regarded Severus with an assessing expression. The potions master could almost have sworn he had seen the man before, but couldn't place a name to the familiar face.

"Terribly sorry, mate," said the stranger with an amiable baritone voice. For his average build, his voice was low indeed, but his lean yet powerfully built figure made up for his medium size. He nodded to Severus once and winked at Harry, then was off once again.

Harry found himself rushing to Severus' side and clutching at the older man's hand with a piteous desperation that positively wrenched that god-forsaken fiber in his chest once more. Severus led the way out and feeling the tremor that passed from the boy to his hand, squeezed said hand in reluctant reassurance as they left the pub to find a decent inn to spend the night.

They never noticed the malicious twinkle in the stranger's gaze as they walked out...