Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

While Ron, Hermione and the rest of the school were taking the Hogwarts Express back home, I learned about the Floo-system. As in, Snape and I floo’d from the Headmaster’s office.

“Spinner’s End,” I shouted as instructed, stepped into the green fire, and, to my surprise, didn’t burst into flames. Not that I would have cared had I done so. Forgetting to close my mouth, I watched a dizzying whirl of hearths pass me by until one grabbed me and shoved me out. Snape caught my collar, saving me from a fall, and clapped me between the shoulders until I stopped coughing up soot.

“Well done, Mr. Potter. You managed to not get lost.”

“I could have been lost?” Probably good I didn’t know that, or I might’ve. The room we were in looked dingy, wallpaper was peeling off in places, and dust lay in thick layers over everything; it did not look as if anybody had lived here in ages. Probably because Snape lived in Hogwarts most of the year. Still, a bit of a clean, and it would be fine. Better than with the Dursleys, that was for sure. “Where are we, sir?”

Sir. I was following Hermione’s advice and trying for politeness, but the word nearly stuck in my throat. I felt my ears heat up as soon as I said it, and, of course, Snape’s eyebrows raised in obvious surprise at hearing it. I tried not to scowl at him but he didn’t afford me the same pleasure. So I tried not to cower under his scowl instead. 

“My home,” Snape said, sounding as if he was talking about a Gryffindor student who had dared to breathe in his Potions class. “Don’t worry your special little head, Mr. Potter, we are not staying.” He removed a small matchbox-sized cube from his pocket and tossed it on the floor. It turned into my trunk. “If you have anything other than school clothes to wear, change into it now. You have five minutes.”

“Yes, sir!" Forgetting my good intentions, I saluted smartly, but thankfully he had already turned on his heels and I saluted his back. God, I really had to get it together or he'll drop me home before the end of the day. My options we’re trying to get along with Snape or suffering at the Dursleys. I had already chosen the former so why was it so difficult to suck it up and behave? 

A year in Potions class had taught us that the wizard gave not a second extra when he told you to get something done, so I opened my trunk and got busy. Muggle or magical clothes? Snape hadn’t said. I would look silly if we went to a Muggle area in a robe, but the opposite would be fine, so I chose jeans and a jumper, thanking the twins for their help in fixing my clothes. Experts in wearing second-hand clothes from their older brothers, they did it in my first week in Hogwarts, and afterwards I was happy to worship the ground Ron’s brothers walked on. It was still Dudley’s castoffs and would never look new, but at least now they fitted properly.

When Snape returned, I felt my jaw sag. What would the bat of the dungeons be without his flaring cloak? He would be a normal person in blue jeans and grey jumper very similar to what I chose. He had even tied his hair back, making it look sleek instead of oily. The only thing recognisable was his nose… 

“Close your mouth, Potter.”

It was a shame I had to leave Hedwig behind. Ron would have loved to have seen this—I bet he wouldn’t believe me. Did Snape have an owl I could borrow? I had promised Ron and Hermione I would write from wherever I ended up. Which was where exactly? “If we’re not staying here, Professor, where are we going?”

“The North Atlantic,” Snape said and held a green, peacock-feather patterned sock out. “Take that and hold on tight.”

That was how I learned about portkeys.

Iceland. Reykjavík. The North Atlantic.

Having had no warning that I was going to be ripped from the world, yanked through my navel, and spat out 1888 kilometres away, I had a wild moment where I thought it was the assassination attempt Ron had warned me about, so it was a relief to appear in the lobby of a hotel and not hell. A family with kids my age skirted us without a twitch while I tried not to lose my breakfast.

At Snape's exasperated sigh, I hurriedly pulled myself together and looked at our surroundings. Everything gleamed. Everything gleamed. We were in a hotel! My first ever! I marvelled at all the gleaming stuff while Snape went to sign us in, and I marvelled some more when we followed a porter down the gleaming hallways to our rooms. And some more inside the gleaming rooms. The bed was the softest I had ever felt. There were towels and bathrobes and slippers. Lights and water turned on before I reached for it and best of all was the ceiling, charmed to look like the sky outside. There was even a muggle phone with a twenty-four-hour room service menu. I doubted Snape would like it if I used it, but it was nice to think I could. I spent a good while just looking and touching everything.

I was unpacking my stuff and folding my clothes into the drawers when Snape entered my bedroom after a sharp knock.

“Take this,” he said, holding a leather-bound book out.

“What’s it, sir?” I asked, rightfully hesitant to take it after the sock.

“A book, Mr. Potter. You’ve seen one before, I presume. Our Mediwitch suggested you might like to start a journal over the summer and write down your… feelings.”

Madam Pomfrey had said the same to me. After the thing with Quirrell. And here was where I made my mistake. I should have just accepted the book, said ‘Thank you, sir,’ and dumped it in my trunk — he would never have known. Instead, the idea of writing about Quirrell and what happened on the third floor was so horrid that I tried to give it back and said, "I’d rather not."

“We are not giving you an option, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, scowling down at me. “The last thing I’m interested in is teenage angst, so I will not be looking at the content, but I expect to see one page a day. What I will be following you on is your homework; you will not start the next year as unprepared as your first.”

That was still a sore point. The first day in Potions class I had completely failed to impress him and cost Gryffindor the loss of two points. From there on we never got on. Was it too much to think we could work it out this summer? It would probably help if I tried to do as he asked instead of throwing a Dudley-sized tantrum about it. “Yes, sir,” I said with that in mind, and, gritting my teeth, I set the book on my bed.

Snape had already forgotten it, he was staring with a blank face at the threadbare sweatshirt I was holding which was one of Dudders' and not the best. I hurriedly stuffed it in the drawer while he told me about the RULES.