Chapter Text
Harry Potter was running for his life.
In Harry’s mind, this statement was not hyperbolic in the slightest. After all, with Dudley and his gaggle of thugs on his tail, Harry was at risk of being beaten to a pulp if he couldn’t escape his cousin in time. Dudley had been in a particularly bad mood today. Harry had burned his breakfast bacon, which Dudley couldn’t eat while watching the television because he’d smashed the screen with a toy in a fit of temper the previous night. Worst of all, he’d been seated too far away to cheat off of Harry in the spelling test before lunch. All of it combined to make one incredibly cross cousin.
Harry, of course, was the handy punching bag whenever Dudley was in that foul of a mood, but he couldn’t afford for his glasses to be broken yet again. Harry was starting to worry that even duct tape couldn’t hold together the snapped bridge for much longer…
Unfortunately for him, Harry was really struggling to outrun his cousin today, given the sorry state of his school shoes. Not only were they filled with holes that soaked his socks with rainwater, they were also two sizes too small and pinched terribly. Harry now spent most of his time limping around Little Whinging, waiting for the moment where his aunt and uncle would finally deign to dig out new ones for him. Since Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon refused to do anything for Harry unless it was an absolute necessity, he was stuck with the tattered things until they disintegrated.
Suddenly, the cursed shoes struck again, and Harry stumbled. The December cold had left the concrete playground incredibly icy, so he skidded across the ground, arms wheeling about, and crashed spectacularly to the floor. His skinned palms and knees began to smart furiously, but Harry couldn’t focus on the pain of his injuries with his cousin still lurking in the background. He had to push through.
Unfortunately, that stumble was all Dudley needed to cut Harry’s lead. As he turned himself around, grimacing in pain, he was met with the sight of Dudley looming above him, eyes glinting with malice.
“Caught you, cousin!” Dudley jeered.
Piers, Gordon and Malcolm cracked their knuckles, grinning at one another. Harry’s heart started pounding against his ribcage, and his stinging, scraped palms grew damp with sweat. This part of the playground was obscured from the view of the teachers who patrolled around at lunchtime. He had no way of escape, and no one would be able to intervene before Harry was beaten to a bloody pulp...
This was going to be bad. Really bad.
Harry tensed, preparing for the first blow to land. He hated himself for being scared, but couldn’t help it. Growing used to pain didn’t make it hurt any less, and this attack from Dudley was certain to be worse than usual.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and wished, as hard as he possibly could, that he could be anywhere else in the world but here, in horrid Surrey with his insufferable cousin and his foul gang… Harry wished and wished, filled with desperation, even though he knew it was pointless. He just had to grit his teeth and get on with the beating.
And speaking of, the first blow hadn’t landed. That was odd - Dudley wasn’t one to dither. He liked to get his punches in while he still had Harry cornered… so why hadn’t he hit Harry yet?
And, more importantly, where had the chilly December wind that had pierced through Harry’s ragged coat gone? Where were the faint screams of the other children in the playground, shot through with the occasional shrill whistle of a lunchtime supervisor?
Confused, Harry opened his eyes and discovered he wasn't even outdoors anymore. Instead, he appeared to be in a cramped, dark room. How odd… maybe Dudley had locked Harry into one of the school cupboards again? He liked to do that as a nasty jab about Harry's living situation, even though he wouldn't dare to actually mention the cupboard in public. Uncle Vernon made it clear to his son that discussing Harry’s ‘bedroom’ was strictly forbidden.
Why wouldn't Harry remember getting put in the cupboard, though? As far as he could tell, he'd been outside just moments ago.
Maybe Dudley had hit him really hard in the head, so Harry was having trouble remembering. He gingerly raised a hand and ran it across his skull, but couldn't feel any painful lumps building. In fact, none of him was bruised or bloodied, except for his skinned hands and knees.
What on earth was going on?
As Harry's eyes adjusted, he realised that the door to the cupboard was slightly ajar. He pressed it until it swung open a little more, and peered through the gap.
It looked quite a lot like a classroom, with several workbenches set up in front of a large, imposing desk and blackboard. That was where the resemblance to any schoolroom Harry was familiar with ended, though. For one thing, it was far darker than any of the classrooms at St Grogory's, like all the windows in the room had been bricked up. Strangely enough, there were also what could only be cauldrons set up at the benches.
The only other conclusion Harry could draw was that he'd somehow gotten himself into Stonewall High, the local comprehensive. Harry didn't think students there used cauldrons, but there was still a lot he didn't know about secondary school. Harry similarly didn't have an answer to the question of how he'd have managed to get all the way to the secondary school without remembering the journey, but was forced to dismiss it for later. Strange things often happened around Harry, after all.
He was just about to push the door open further to investigate his surroundings when there was a loud bang. Harry scuttled back into the shadows of the cupboard as the noise of dozens of feet hitting cobblestone filled the room. He didn't want to be seen just yet, especially since he was in a place that he probably wasn't supposed to be.
Harry crouched behind a tall stack of cauldrons. He felt certain he'd be hidden from view if someone looked inside of the cupboard, but he could still see out if he tilted his head in a particular way. From here, Harry could make out some students settling in at the front workbenches, as well as the desk before a blackboard which a tall man was sweeping over to.
Harry immediately felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he regarded the imposing person at the front of the classroom. He had a large, hooked nose, greasy hair and wore flowing black robes alongside a fierce scowl. He reminded Harry immensely of a vampire; he wouldn’t have been surprised to see white fangs protruding from the man’s thinly-pressed lips.
He stared out into the sea of students, eyes dark and unreadable.
“You will be continuing with your Wit-Sharpening Potions,” the vampire-man said in a low, ominous voice. “Goodness knows that the vast majority of you are in desperate need of a decently brewed one, given your appalling end of term exam performances! And let it be known that any of last week's disruptions will not be tolerated today, or it’ll be fifty points from Hufflepuff. Begin.”
Several whispers drifted through the air, but were silenced instantly by a quelling look from the man. He waved one hand, and Harry could have sworn writing suddenly appeared on the chalkboard behind him. A trick of the light, he supposed. Harry certainly didn’t have the greatest eyesight in the world, so he might have just missed it earlier.
There was the scraping of benches against stone as the students rose from their seats and began to mill about the classroom to collect the things that they needed. Harry took this as an opportunity to examine them more closely, and quickly decided that he couldn’t be at primary school anymore. The greater height and stronger features of the teenagers before him once again suggested that Harry had somehow ended up in Stonewall High. Still, the uniforms they wore were very different to the ones of the local comprehensive. The students Harry was watching were wearing long, black robes like their teacher, but these ones were trimmed with different colours, either green and silver or yellow and black. It was a far sight away from the grey blazers and navy ties of the Stonewall High pupils.
Feeling decidedly unnerved, Harry decided that the best course of action was to stay back and continue to keep watch from his cupboard. The teacher in charge seemed very scary, and Harry doubted that he was the kind of man who would appreciate being interrupted by a displaced nine-year-old. Besides, Harry really didn’t want it getting back to the Dursleys that he’d done something abnormal again. The last thing Harry needed was to spend all of the Christmas holidays locked in his cupboard without meals, especially since he’d be missing out on the school-provided ones over the break…
A spotty boy briefly obscured the view from Harry’s hiding spot as he nervously approached the front of the room.
“Professor Snape, my potion’s missing!” he complained.
“Then you must have misplaced it, Stebbins,” he snapped. “An unsurprising development, since you so often seem to misplace your brain when you come to my lessons! A zero for today’s assignment. Return to your desk.”
The boy’s face fell, and he scurried away to his desk without another word. Professor Snape’s eyes scanned the room, and Harry could have sworn they lingered on his cupboard for a moment longer than was necessary. The teacher darted forward, and vanished from Harry’s narrow frame of view.
He spent a fair bit of the next half an hour or so trying to work out what class he was possibly watching. Was this some sort of Science lesson? All of the students were measuring things out into vials with puzzled frowns, or chopping up all sorts of strange products. The blonde girl closest to Harry appeared to be slicing into an animal heart, with a thoroughly squeamish look on her face. She prodded it with the silver tip of her knife, made a groaning noise, then turned to her desk partner.
“I can’t wait for Christmas, can you?” she whispered. Harry could just about make out what she was saying if he strained his ears. “No more of this disgusting stuff for two glorious weeks…”
“Just three more days until we’re on the Hogwarts Express,” her pinch-faced friend said, smiling distantly. “Are you doing anything nice over the holidays?”
“I’m going skiing in Switzerland,” the blonde said proudly.
Her friend frowned. “What on earth is skiing?”
“Oh, right. You wouldn’t know. Basically, it’s a Muggle sport where you strap these wooden planks to your feet…”
Harry, who couldn’t fathom how that girl didn’t know what skiing was, found his focus on the conversation slipping as he tried to puzzle out the meaning of the word ‘Muggle’. Perhaps it was some sort of descriptor for skiing that Harry hadn’t heard of?
Harry’s eyes darted from the girls to the cauldron they were using. Something quite strange seemed to be happening to it. There was some purple foam forming at the top, gradually expanding over the lip of its container. The two teens were far too busy with their conversation to notice whatever they were making was starting to bubble over, so Harry alone witnessed some of the purple foam overflow the cauldron rim, trickle down the pewter, then drip into the small flame beneath the cauldron.
The reaction was instantaneous. The moment the potion made contact, the fire exploded upwards, consuming the cauldron in an instant. It rose in a great, crimson red plume, reaching all the way to lick at the cobbled ceiling. Harry could have sworn he saw twisted, screeching faces in the blaze…
“AGUAMENTI!”
At the very edge of Harry’s rather narrow plane of view, he noticed Professor Snape dart directly before the flame, holding out some sort of wooden stick. A great jet of water shot out of the stick with the power and force of a fire hose, dousing the explosion and reducing the inferno to a flickering fire, then to steaming ash. The cauldron was a twisted hunk of metal; the desk was scorched and charred; the girls were crying and clutching each other.
None of this registered with Harry. He was staring at Professor Snape, slack-jawed, as the water finally stopped flowing from his stick. What had Harry had just witnessed? There was no way to conjure up water out of nothing like that…
But this strange man had just done it, like magic.
Nobody else seemed to react to this perversion of the natural order. The two girls were far too busy staring at Professor Snape, the terror on their faces obvious even through the gloom of the classroom. The blonde had immediately succumbed to hysterics, which were only worsened when a snarling Professor Snape exploded at her and her friend.
“You foolish girls!” he shouted, towering over them. “I didn’t think I was remiss in assuming that a group of third-years would have two brain cells to rub together, but I am obviously mistaken! When will you both learn to pay attention? Twenty points from Hufflepuff! Miss Heathcliff, get yourself to Madam Pomfrey to have that burn seen to. Escort her, Miss Mayhew.”
The pinch-faced girl quickly escorted her hysterical friend out of the room, casting fearful looks over her shoulder at the irate professor as she fled. The resounding thud of the door slamming shut seemed to double in volume in the silent classroom, where every single student was staring at Professor Snape, obviously terrified.
He snapped around to scowl at the rest of the students. “Unless you want a repeat of that sorry affair, get back to your potions now!”
The students all exploded into action, reaching to chop things or stir their cauldrons with frenzied enthusiasm. As Professor Snape stalked between their desks, barking insults with even more venom than he had employed previously, Harry couldn’t stop staring at the strange man with his mouth hanging open.
Potions? Real life wands, capable of dousing huge explosions of flames without any water source? There was only one explanation for all of this: magic.
Harry had long since stopped believing in magic and the supernatural. Even uttering the words in the presence of his aunt and uncle warranted a week in the cupboard, as a matter of fact. Still, sceptical though he was, Harry wasn’t stupid enough to overlook the bare-faced facts set out in front of him. The terrifying Professor Snape was some sort of magician… and judging by the terror of his students, a very evil one.
The tale of Hansel and Gretel suddenly came to Harry with alarming relevance. In that sorry story, a scheming witch had attempted to bake Hansel and Gretel in an oven… that seemed like the kind of thing Professor Snape would do, if Harry wasn’t careful.
Cold terror washed over him. Perhaps that was how he’d ended up in the castle! Had Snape summoned him to be eaten, or to be chopped up and deposited into one of his strange potions? What would he do to Harry if he was caught hiding in this cupboard?
As Harry didn’t fancy being eaten or otherwise dismembered, he decided the best course of action was to remain wedged in the darkest, dustiest corner of the cupboard until he had a chance to sneak out of this place. Harry didn’t know what was beyond the classroom doors, but he fancied his chances better with that than with the vampire-man who reigned supreme over this part of the building.
Luckily for Harry, Professor Snape saw fit to leave his classroom before even his students did, so he was able to hide in his cupboard until the students all vacated the room, grumbling under their breaths about the various shortcomings of their teacher.
Even once the last snatches of chatter died from the air, Harry remained crouched behind a cauldron, too scared to leave. He liked cupboards. They were dark, tight and safe, too small for Uncle Vernon to fit into, and filled with his ever-constant companions, the spiders. This cupboard, however, could easily be entered by Professor Snape if he needed to retrieve one of these cauldrons. Harry needed to get out of here before he was caught.
Heart in his throat, Harry rose to his feet and crept to the door, gently pushing it open. He almost scuttled right back to the cauldron pile when the hinges squealed, but the small noise didn’t cause anybody to come running. Thanking his luck, Harry hurried through the deserted classroom and pushed his way out into the corridor beyond.
This was just as dark and intimidating as the Potions classroom. The whole hallway was made of stone, lit by a few sputtering torches. They cast odd, unnerving shadows across the ground, which Harry did his best to dodge past. The corridor was also very chilly, and Harry wrapped his arms around himself, trying to suppress a set of shivers. He found himself wishing, yet again, that he had a better winter coat than this ratty old thing…
Hoping to escape the dungeons, Harry decided it was his best bet to follow the corridors up. He quickened his pace, eyes lowered to the floor, hoping and praying to find daylight to escape Professor Snape’s domain. He was so nervous and focused on speed that Harry didn’t register the footsteps approaching him until he nearly collided with the person rounding the corner.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing, boy?!”
Harry willed himself to run, but couldn’t find it in himself to move an inch as he stared up at one very angry Professor Snape. He felt rooted in place, like his legs were made up of the same stone that the dungeons consisted of. Harry lowered his eyes to the floor, trying his hardest not to tremble. This was it - this was how Harry died…
“You shouldn’t be running in the corridors!” Professor Snape said severely. “Five points from… what house are you in?”
Harry’s mind drew a blank, until he finally remembered a similar statement from earlier. What was the thing that Professor Snape had removed points from when the girls set that fire? “Er - Huff… Huff… er -”
“Five points from Hufflepuff!” he snapped, scowling at Harry. “And an additional five points for not being in uniform. Now, go!”
Not wanting to chance his current luck, Harry scrambled down the corridor at as quick of a pace as he could manage without it being considered running. Once he was out of view, though, Harry did run; in fact, he sprinted like Dudley was hot on his heels until he was out of the depths of the dungeon and into a far sunnier corridor on an upper floor.
Harry had gotten lucky. The professor hadn’t known that he wasn’t supposed to be here - clearly he mustn’t have summoned Harry specifically to eat or kill, after all - but that luck certainly wouldn’t hold out if Harry stayed this exposed! In fact, he was running the risk of bumping into even more people the longer he stayed in this corridor. Harry could hear voices in the distance, rapidly approaching. He spotted the doors of some kind of utility cupboard which was mercifully unlocked, and ducked inside. He crouched on the floor, where a small knothole let out a stream of faint light. It was just at eye level for him, so he was able to watch as clusters of students made their way down the corridor, chattering inanely.
“...Absolutely starving…”
“No more History of Magic until January, thank God!”
“I definitely failed that quiz McGonagall set…”
Harry allowed the snippets of conversation to wash over him, and began to try and piece together his situation. From what he’d gathered so far, this was definitely some sort of school. Not any normal school - after all, what typical comprehensive taught History of Magic?! The most magical thing Harry had encountered in his history lessons was a brief mention of witch burnings while they were taught about the Tudors.
That strange comment, coupled with the creation of magical potions, that spectacular and unnatural fire and the jet of water that had propelled itself from Professor Snape’s wand? There was only one conclusion that could be drawn - this was a magic school. Harry’s conclusion was only proven further when his knothole provided a perfect view as a ginger boy flicked his wand, which began to shoot a huge cluster of pink bubbles at an equally redheaded teenager walking somewhat ahead.
“Fred!” he bellowed. “How many times - stop hexing me!”
“Leave your brother alone, Mr Weasley,” A bespectacled woman in brilliant green robes and a pointed witch’s hat ordered. “Five points from Gryffindor for using magic in the corridors - now get to dinner before I make it detention!”
“Alright, miss,” he said with a cheeky grin, racing away down the hallway with an identical boy in tow.
Yep, definitely a magic school. As he crouched in his cupboard, Harry couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. This was a far shot above Little Whinging - in fact, he wasn’t concerned at all about getting back to his relatives with this to amuse himself with. This might be the most interesting place that Harry had ever encountered, and he was certainly not going to exchange a magic school to be chased around the playground by his vindictive cousin…
No, Harry was going to stay in this place for as long as he possibly could.
Severus strolled down the corridor at a sedate pace. He was lost in thought.
Why couldn’t he place that first-year who had barreled into him? It was obviously a first-year, Severus knew, as no other student at Hogwarts could possibly be that small. Severus certainly wouldn’t have pegged him for a child of eleven - more like one of seven or eight, really… they just got smaller every year, didn’t they?
But why wouldn’t Severus recall teaching the boy? As a rule, he couldn’t care less about students that weren’t in his own house, but Severus tended to work out their names by Christmas at the very latest. He almost felt like he’d never seen the boy before… probably because he was a Hufflepuff. The Gryffindors annoyed their ways into the forefront of Severus’ mind, and the Ravenclaws usually had the brains to put on a half-decent show at Potions and distinguish themselves, but Hufflepuffs tended to blur into a homogenous mass of tears and incompetence.
A pair of Gryffindors hurtled past, distracting Severus from his musings as they nearly knocked him over.
“Ten points from Gryffindor for running in the corridors!” he shouted after them, feeling his temper flare as they didn’t so much as glance over their shoulders to apologise. They ought to know better than to ignore Severus! At least that first-year had the decency to look appropriately terrified…
He would have to really crack down after the Christmas holidays to knock some of the arrogance out of the lions. Making their lives appropriately miserable in Potions would certainly remind them of their place.
Severus shook his head and started wandering through the hallways again, straight to the Great Hall. Just two more days, he reminded himself. Two more days before the little snots were packed onto the Hogwarts Express to become somebody else’s problem.
In the meantime, he’d keep an eye out for that first-year. After all, Severus did love a good mystery.