© Anna-Karin 2004
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR Rowling. The song Runaway Train belong to David
Pirner, Soul Asylum and Sony Music Entertainment. I am not making any money from this and
no copyright infringement intended.
Warnings: Spoilers for Philosophers's Stone through Order of the Phoenix.
It rained that evening, a saturday in June. A steady grey downpour smattered against the roofs of Surrey and ran down the drains. A boy was standing on the sidewalk outside n:o 4 Privet Drive. He was standing perfectly still, with his face turned ut to the sky. The hard rain beat against his face like so many lashes, but he didn't care. Then he pulled out his wand and said "Lumos".
A huge triple-decker bus came buzzing down the road. It screeched to a halt just in front of
the boy. The door folded open and a pimply face peeked out.
"Hullo", Stan Shunpike said and continued on his oft-repeated line, "welcome to the Knight
Bus..." Then he stalled, seeing who it was that was standing on the sidewalk.
"Blimey, if that isn't Harry Potter."
Harry Potter nodded.
"May I come onboard?"
"Oh yes! Welcome onboard."
Mundungus Fletcher, who had guard duty that night, had been off on one of his small business ventures. He returned to Privet Drive just in time to see Harry step onboard the Knight Bus. The conductor helped The-Boy-Who-Lived with the heavy trunk. Within seconds the doors had closed and the bus had driven away. The old wizard groaned. He had just turned his back for a short while, a couple of hours, and then this had to happen. Well, there was only one thing to do. A moment later Mundungus apparated to n:o 12 Grimmauld Place. He did not want to tell the other members of the Order that he had fouled up -again. Molly Weasley would definitely not like this. They already had enough to do this night. Most of the members were in the Hebrides on a rescue mission. They were to save a family from a Death eater attack. The heads-up had come half a day ago, and he had been the only one they could spare to watch Harry Potter.
Harry sat down on a bed as Stan pushed his trunk up on the shelf above the bus window. The frail shelf construction, made of basically net and wire changed its width and strength to make room for the big heavy trunk.
"Sleep well," said Stan, "we won't reach Diagon Alley until sunrise. We have to make pick up
people over at the Hebrides. A house was burnt down and the family will be staying at the
Leaky Cauldron for a while."
"Death Eaters?"
"Could be," nodded Stan and looked uncomfortable.
Stan saw how tired Harry was. It was not a good kind of tiredness. He may be a bit clueless, but
he could see the signs of a racing mind inside an exhausted body. The boy would not be able to
sleep, and he seemed to need that sleep something awful.
"Hey," he said, "mind if I turn on the radio? It's Muggle Music Hour, and some of the songs are
really good. Muggles may not know much, but they make good music."
Harry nodded. He really didn't care.
Draco Malfoy, the only son of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy, was standing in front of the fireplace in the great hall of Malfoy Manor. He was clad in the most muggle-style clothes he could find, and had a walkman in his backpack. Some of the clothes he had bought from the muggleborn students in Slytherin house. Others had been obtained on small secret outings to Muggle London. But the walkman he'd bought from a dealer in Knockturn Alley. He could play those things known as tapes on it, but he was more interested in hearing the news on the radio.
Right now there was no news on though. Just a silly radio show called Muggle Music Hour. Draco
put on the headphones and listened anyway. If he was going to leave his old life behind, he
could as well ge a head start on his new one.
"I am David Morewood and this is Muggle Music Hour with all the top hits from the Muggle world!
To-night we have some really good stuff. Just sharpen your ears and listen! First out are Soul
Asylum with Runaway Train!"
The Malfoy heir took some Floo powder from the ornate china jar on the mantle. Then he stepped into the fire. He threw the powder and said "Diagon Alley."
Severus Snape lied in his bed at the Leaky Cauldron. He was trying to sleep, but his thoughts kept the sandman at bay. At a Death eater meeting earlier that day, he had heard that an editor for the North Sea Weekly, who lived in the Hebrides, were to be punished for a couple of articles that stated that the current state of the Wizarding World was the fault of centuries of pure-blood isolationism. The dark lord had not been amused. Snape had managed to alert the Order to the danger. The editor and her family had been rescued in the nick of time, but their house was burnt down. Now they were coming to the Leaky Cauldron.
Snape knew that he should feel pleased that his work had managed to save a family. Instead he worried that he might have given himself away. If he was revealed as a double spy against the dark lord he was as good as dead. He had told them that Dumbledore had called, and that it would be suspicious if he didn't answer. They had at least seemed to believe his ruse. But he'd have to watch his back in the future. He wished that the boy-who-lived would hurry up and kill Voldemort.
He spotted an old wireless in a corner. If he couldn't sleep, then at least he could listen to the news. But what he heard when he turned on the radio was not news, but a pulsing drum beat, soon joined by a guitar. Then a male American voice began to sing. Snape closed his eyes and listened.
A tired boy on a bus curled up in his bed as he listened to the music, tapping his fingers on the pillow to the beat.
A disgruntled aristocrat checked in at the Leaking Cauldron as he swayed slightly to the beat pumping out of his headphones.
Call you up in the middle of the night
Like a firefly without a light
You were there like a blowtorch burning
I was a key that could use a little turning
So tired that I couldn't even sleep
So many secrets I couldn't keep
Promised myself I wouldn't weep
One more promise I couldn't keep
It seems no one can help me now
I'm in too deep, there's no way out
This time I have really led myself astray
Runaway train, never going back
Wrong way on a one way track
Seems like I should be getting somewhere
Some how I'm neither here nor there
Can you help me remember how to smile
Make it somehow all seem worthwhile
How on earth did I get so jaded
Life's mystery seems so faded
I can go where no one else can go
I know what no one else knows
Here I am just drownin' in the rain
With a ticket for a runaway train
Everything is cut and dry
Day and night, earth and sky
Somehow I just don't believe it
Runaway train, never going back
Wrong way on a one way track
Bought a ticket for a runaway train
Like a madman laughin' at the rain
Little out of touch, little insane
Just easier than dealing with the pain
Runaway train, never comin' back
Runaway train, never going back
Wrong way on a one way track
Runaway train, tearin' up the track
Runaway train, burnin' in my veins
Runaway, but it always seems the same
The Knight bus screeched to a halt outside the Leaky Cauldron. Some of the passengers were thrown out of their beds. Since most of them were going to the inn, nobody objected much. It was too early in the morning to do any whining anyway.
Harry Potter stepped off the bus. He saw the familiar sign over the dark door, but was too drowsy to actually move towards it. Inside his head the lines "a little out of touch, a little insane, just easier than dealing with the pain" repeated themselves over and over again. He swayed a little. Then he shook himself and walked inside.
The family that had been rescued from the Death Eater attack had already gotten inside and were busy moving their luggage up the stairs. Harry saw that Tonks and Shacklebolt were with them, and wondered why he hadn't seen them stepping onboard the bus. He realized as soon as he had finished the thought that he'd been asleep then. Then he was surprised at how relieved he felt about them not seeing him. He felt a pang of bad conscience at the fact that he had felt that. Tonks and Kingsley deserved better from him he thought. Then he yawned and let the tiredness wash over him like a lukewarm wave.
Too tired to actually think about anything further than sleeping in a bed, he walked up to the desk and asked for a room. Soon he and his trunk were hauled up the stairs and put in a small room. There was a bed, and Harry sank down on it, not even bothering to take off his shoes.
Draco sat in his bed and watched the sun rise above the rooftops of London. He'd slept a few hours, but had woken up early and then not been able to get back to sleep. Not that he'd wanted to sleep anyway. The nightmares made insomnia much more attractive than sleep. Sometimes he dreamed about his father, lying on a dirty floor in the deep bowels of Azkaban, or about taking the Dark Mark. Softly he hummed to himself. "I'm into deep, there's no way out, this time I have really led myself astray. Ru-u-unaway train, never going ba-a-ck, wrong way on a one way track. Seems like I should be getting somewhere, somehow I'm neither here nor there."
Now the heir of Malfoy was a runaway from something he had wanted before his father was arrested. Before he met Lord Voldemort. He felt the bile rise in his throat. A Malfoy who never bowed to anyone had been expected to kiss the hem of the half-blood's robes. How could his father have degraded himself to perform such an act? Draco knew that he himself was too proud of his own pure-blood line that could be followed back for fifteen centuries. But that pride had made him ask for a week to think about it before he committed himself. He'd flattered the dark Lord by telling him that he wanted to join out of his own free will and not because his father had expected him to. He'd said that he'd needed a week to make sure of that.
Crabbe and Goyle had said the same thing and gotten the same reprieve. Currently they were on their way to the Leaky Cauldron, where they were to join Draco in his exile. The oath they had sworn to him before starting at Hogwarts was clearly more important than the loyalty they owed their parents. Besides, they didn't want the Dark Mark either. His two vassals might seem stupid, but they were clever, if naive and violent.
Draco looked at the clock on the wall. Breakfast was being served now, but he wasn't hungry. Still, it could be a good idea to go down and see if he could make himself eat something. At the very least he could wait for Crabbe and Goyle there.
Snape sat at a table in a corner of the dining room and had tea and porridge for breakfast. He was reading the Daily Prophet. The rescue of the family from the Hebrides were front-page news. Kingsley and Tonks had fabricated a story in which they had been keeping surveillance over the more vocal of the Dark Lords opponents, and thus been able to appear so conveniently at the editor's house. It was a good cover story, thought Snape, as it should be, since it was he who had made it up in the first place. The Ministry would not be able to say anything to the contrary in public, and would probably want to sweep the whole matter under the carpet.
Folding the paper, he began to sing softly under his breath. That song that he'd been listening to the other night had somehow managed to etch itself into his memory. It was that wistful tone of the song, he supposed, or perhaps that pleading note. That song had put words to his feelings. He closed his eyes. "Can you help me remember how to smile, make it somehow all seem worthwhile. How on earth did I get so jaded, life's mystery seems so faded. I can go where no one else can go, I know what no one else knows."
It was true. He knew so much that no one else knew, and he went where no one else wanted to go. And still he wondered if it was worth it at all. All the sacrifices and all the deaths, and for what? A chance at redemption? A different life? It did sound good, didn't it, but when and where? And what was he supposed to do until then? Keep trying to pound some knowledge into the heads of school children that didn't want to learn anything that wasn't flashy? Keep looking after the son of the bane of his existence, though the boy didn't want any protection at all and who preferred to throw himself into all sorts of idiotic hare-brained schemes?
The mere thought of the boy-who-lived made want to snarl in anger. He pushed away the thought and concentrated on the lunar harvesting schedule of August.
Kingsley and Tonks made their way through the breakfast crowd to Snape's table. They didn't
waste any time on social niceties but went straight to business.
"Harry Potter left his home this night," said Tonks.
"Mundungus Fletcher saw him going onboard the Knight Bus," added Kingsley.
Snape nodded.
"Any idea where he might have gone to?"
"We think that he is here at the Leaky Cauldron," replied Tonks.
"Very well", said Snape, "if I see him I'll tell the Order immediately."
"Good."
The other members of the order might think highly of the boy-who-lived, but Snape knew better. Harry Potter was just as arrogant and as uncaring like his father. That Pensieve incident only proved that the boy didn't think twice about other people's feelings, just like his father. The small glimpses that he'd gotten through the Occlumency lessons were probably memories of when Potter's arrogance had been too much for his family.
A few minutes after the two Aurors had left Draco walked into the dining area. He spotted Snape immediately. Snape saw him as well, and motioned to him to take a seat. Draco did so and a menu popped into his hands. He tapped on the items that he wanted for breakfast. A cup of hot cocoa and a plate with fried eggs, bacon and beans in tomato sauce appeared in front of him, together with a glass of orange juice.
Harry woke up after an uneasy sleep. The nightmares had gone back and forth like a pendulum inside his mind. But at least they weren't real. There were no traces of Voldemort in them, just the usual nightmare stuff that was made out of memories, fears and desires. And somewhere in the midst of the nightmares, between being chased by Death Eaters over fields of rocks and heather, and the image of a house burning down with the Dark Mark hovering over it, there had been a very tranquil moment.
Seven children on a walk across a heath. The oldest seemed to be about twenty years old, and the youngest was just a toddler carried in the arms of his sister, or was it brother? Harry couldn't tell since they all looked like very boyish girls, or very girly boys.
Harry could only remember when he woke up, that there were seven children that would never be born if he lost against Voldemort. And the one he'd talked to had said that there were another three and two that also wanted to be born.
Shaking his head Harry laughed. Imagine that, he thought. Twelve children wanting to be born. He had liked them though, in the dream. Perhaps those children were worth fighting for. Not for Dumbledore, nor for the Wizarding world, but for those children. Harry nodded. Yes, he thought, for a future in which those children could exist.
Then Sirius' death would not have been in vain, nor Kreacher's treachery a blow to the movement against Voldemort. But he needed alliances. People who would not lie to him, or try to spare him from the nasty things he needed to know about. "A little out of touch, a little insane." Yes, a little insanity, just to see things from a little different angle.
The breakfast crowd were leaving the dining room by the time Harry had gotten himself in order. He didn't mind. Less people who would gawk at him. He entered the grand room and looked around. A lone Witch sat in a corner, drinking tea while solving a crossword puzzle. In another corner sat two Wizards, one in Muggle clothes and the other in proper robes. He looked at them, blinked and looked again. It was Snape and Malfoy!
Snape had looked up from his talk with Draco to check out the newcomer. He wasn't surprised to see that it was Harry Potter. The brat looked as if he'd like to bolt, but Snape lifted a hand and motioned to him to come over. Draco looked up, and did a small double take when Harry walked towards them.
Harry, on the other hand, was rather apprehensive at the lack of animosity on Snape's face. No hatred nor displeasure, just a vague annoyance at the fact that Harry was there instead of at Privet Drive. And Malfoy's face was just a mask of polite disinterest, with some curiosity showing in the eyes.
"Sit down, please," said Snape.
Harry did so, and jumped a little when the menu appeared in front of him.
"Tap with your finger, or your wand, on the items you would like to have for breakfast," Snape
explained.
Harry chose tea, porridge with milk and cinnamon, and toast with butter and marmalade. Then he
ate his breakfast in silence, while Snape and Draco read the Daily Prophet. He noticed that
they were holding the newspaper so that he would be hidden from the eyes of the other people in
the room. Although he didn't know why they did it, he appreciated it anyways.
Draco began to hum "light you up in the middle of the night."
"Like a firefly without a light," Snape chimed in.
Harry was surprised, but added the next line " you were there like a blowtorch burning."
"I was a key that could use a little turning," Draco continued.
"So tired I couldn't even sleep," said Harry.
"So many secrets I couldn't keep," said Snape.
"Promised myself I wouldn't weep," said Harry and Draco at the same time.
Then there was a surprised silence at the table.
"We like the same song," said Harry.
"Yes," said Snape.
"At last something we have in common," said Draco to Harry.
TO BE CONTINUED