No Rest for the Wicked (2/??)

[supreme_mugwump]

Title: No Rest for the Wicked (2/??)
Pairing: Various
Characters: Severus Snape
Length: 2600 words
Rating: Teen
Creator: supreme_mugwump
Summary: The club's official name was the Defence Association. That was what Professor Makepeace called it, anyway. Sometimes, however, when Severus was in the corridors or in the library, he overheard those select students who had been chosen to attend – Black and Potter prominent amongst them – calling it something different. It was a stupid nickname, made up by children who didn't understand the severity of their actions, but still, the name persisted, whispered behind hands, written on notes passed between them in class.

Dumbledore's Army.

The railway terminus of Greater Cokeworth was small and uninspiring. It consisted of a concrete island between the two railway tracks, a small under-cover enclave and a kiosk, from behind which a bored looking woman dispensed tickets to a queue of waiting commuters.

The passenger at the head of the queue was a young man. His dark hair was slightly longer than the fashions of the time, reaching well past his shoulders. His clothes also had a slight hint of the unorthodox (or perhaps it was merely shabbiness). The coat was too old-fashioned, and the soles of his shoes were peeling away from the uppers. He seemed to be having trouble paying for his train fare, for he stared at the pile of coins in his hand with a slight narrowing of the eyes that implied confusion.

If anyone of the other passengers had taken an interest, they might have wondered about the strange, scowling boy. But they didn't take an interest, and for that the young man was grateful. At sixteen, Severus Snape's one aim in life was to be left alone.

He'd only caught the Muggle train once before, and he found it as confusing now as he had then. The woman selling tickets gave him a suspicious look as he pushed the pile of coins towards her. Severus glared back, and accepted his ticket in resentful silence.

He waited for perhaps ten minutes before the train arrived, amongst the shuffling Muggle passengers. They were like cattle, he thought, content to be herded this way and that. He grinned at his joke, but had no-one to share it with.

The train was crowded, but Severus spied a free pair of seats and headed for them. He slipped into the seat quietly, so as not to disturb the Muggle on the opposite side of the Formica table. The man was hidden behind his newspaper, and showed no sign that he had noticed Severus sit down. Severus could just make out the green-brown cuff of his suit.

Severus hunched his shoulders and pulled out his book. It was an old textbook of his mother's that he'd found in the attic. It would take around forty-five minutes to get to London. After that, it would be around an hour's walk to the Leaky Cauldron... unless he caught the underground Muggle train. But Severus didn't know how those trains worked. Would he have enough money? He would have to talk to strangers, and ask Muggles for help. It was better if he walked, even if it took twice as long.

Severus was roused from his reverie by the man across from him, who gave a deep-felt sigh and let his newspaper fall with a rustle.

What followed was a very strange and awkward moment. It seemed to last a very long time, though in retrospect Severus knew that only a few seconds could have passed.

The man, for his part, gaped at him as though he had seen a ghost. He looked both terrified and dumbfounded. "What-" he said. "How-"

Severus, for his part, was realising why no-one else had sat here, on the otherwise crowded train. The left-hand side of the stranger's face appeared perfectly normal. The only slight peculiarity was the gold-rimmed monocle affixed to his eye. He had shaggy, greying hair, which clashed with his neatly trimmed auburn beard and sideburns.

But the rest of his face... On the right-hand side, the man's skin was shiny and crinkled, like a balloon. He had no eyebrow or eyelashes on that side, and his eye – his right eye – was milky-white, and stared blankly at nothing. A curse scar, thought Severus, stupidly, before remembering that the man was a Muggle.

Severus realised he'd been staring, and flicked his eyes downwards. Had he already looked too long?

The man was speaking now, and Severus twisted his book in his hands in awkward embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," the man said. "You startled me."

Severus didn't want to talk to him, so he mumbled something, and pretended to be reading. He let his hair fall forward, so it would hide his face. The only person whom he had ever liked talking to was no longer speaking to him, and he loathed idle conversation, especially with strangers. He rubbed his left forearm absent-mindedly. As the train clattered on through Essex, he sneaked glances at the man though the curtain of his hair. He had the strangest feeling that the man was sneaking glances back at him, though he never caught him at it. He resolved to leave the train quickly when he arrived in London, and hoped the man would get off before that.

The rest of the journey was largely uneventful, except for when a smiling, overweight Muggle woman came stomping down the aisle to check their tickets. The man across from him greeted her warmly, and offered her his ticket while engaging in the usual bantering small talk that Severus had never gotten the hang of. Severus could tell that the ticket inspector was disturbed by the man's deformity, and he despised her for it.

"And your son?" she asked, her bright manner unshaken. Severus realised she meant him.

"I'm not his son," he said, deeply insulted. He thrust her ticket at her, and her smile flickered and died.

Upon arrival at Liverpool Street Station, he did indeed leave the train as quickly as possible. Something about the whole experience had put his teeth on edge, and he wanted to put the train and the strange man behind him. He walked briskly through London, but try as he might, he couldn't shake his slight feeling of unease. The back of his neck was prickling, and he was glad when he finally arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, forty-five minutes later.

He changed into wizard's robes in the bathroom of the pub, and felt more comfortable for doing it. Though his robes were patched and battered, he liked that they hid his body so completely. He would have happily worn them all the time, except that he couldn't bear to endure the stares and whispers that would have surely dogged him from Cokeworth if he had left his home wearing a full set of wizard's robes.

With his shoulders hunched and his head low, he crossed the portal that separated Muggle and wizarding London.

Severus headed for Gringott's first. He had scavenged a ten pound note from his father's wallet, but he doubted that it would be sufficient for the supplies he needed. He could have possibly taken more, but his father might have noticed, and asked questions.

Since the departure of his mother, ten months previously, their small household had deteriorated alarmingly. He had spoken only a handful of words to his father over the summer, and was glad to be returning to school. He was already scraping the back of the cupboards to find something to eat, and that morning, several angry-looking red envelopes had been pushed through the letterbox.

He was thinking about that as he presented the note at the counter, pressing it flat. The goblin eyed him suspiciously. Severus glared back.

After examining the note against the light, the goblin presented him with a single galleon, and a handful of silver and bronze coins. He felt eyes on the back of his neck, and knew that he was being judged. His clothes were tattered and slightly damp, and his hair stuck together in greasy strands. He'd washed it only yesterday, but already it had returned to its usual oily state.

Severus walked quickly back past the brightly painted, cheerful shops of Diagon Alley. There was a crowd in the pre-school rush to get supplies, such that it was almost a relief to turn into the quieter streets of Knockturn. There were fewer people here, and everyone minded their own business.

He stopped first at the apothecary. It was essential that he replenish his stores, but he knew that he could find most of the ingredients for half price at this down-market shop. They were of the same quality as those sold in Diagon, if one was prepared to overlook their questionable origin.

Severus visited the bookshop next. It was one of his favourite places. The wrinkled squib who owned it always seemed supremely unconcerned by his grouchy manner, and secretly, Severus was grateful. The owner read through his book-list, before weaving his way through the stacks.

"I have the third edition. It'd be two decades out of date by now, mind you, but..." The old man's face creased into a smile. "The subject doesn't change that much, my boy."

Severus hoped that it was true. His books never properly matched the official syllabus, often leaving him scrambling to find the correct page for homework in his mismatched edition.

Despite this, Severus felt pride in his books. He felt that his worn, pre-studied copies were superior to the freshly-minted tomes his classmates would be reading from. Of course, that wouldn't stop Them noticing, and commenting on it, but that couldn't be helped.

After five minutes of haggling, he bought his entire book-list for eight sickles. The owner had thrown in a battered Muggle textbook as well, which was titled Trigonometry. He put it on the bottom of the pile, so no-one would see it as he walked back through the wizarding streets.

This had left no money for new robes. Severus thought about that as he trudged back to the main road. He hadn't grown much over the summer. Perhaps he could patch the ones he already had.

Severus was passing Borgin and Burkes when he became aware that someone was following him. He realised that he had felt his pursuer for some time, but had only now registered his presence on a conscious level. He didn't turn to look – that would have given the game away. Without altering his pace, he wandered casually over to one of the narrow alleys that branched off the main road. As soon as he was in the shadow of the alley, he broke into a run.

He didn't know why the man was following him, and had no interest hanging around to find out. Severus felt more confident in himself after what had happened last month, but he still wasn't keen on meeting a potential adversary in one of the dodgier streets of wizarding London. He wasn't even supposed to do magic. He pushed past a toothless, babbling old woman who tried to grab his coat, skidding around a corner and -

- ran straight into a trip jinx. He fell heavily, his books and potion ingredients skidding over the dirty cobbles. His wand slipped from his fingers, clattering away across the cold stone. He could hear laughter, and he scrambled for his wand, but it was dark and he couldn't see it. He looked up, instead, his heart beating fast.

There were four men gathered lazily around the back door of a shop. One was sitting on the stoop, and the rest were leaning against the wall. They appeared to be drinking from a single steaming flask. The largest picked up something from the ground.

"Looking for this?"

Severus reached for his wand, and the man held it out of his reach. "Nu-uh. What might you be doing down here, sonny-jim?"

He flushed. They were teasing him, but they probably wouldn't hurt him. Probably.

"I took a wrong turn," he said. "Can I please have my wand back?"

They all laughed again. "Sit with us," said the smaller one. He was missing both his front teeth. "Have a drink."

Severus felt completely out of his element. Their manner reminded him of Black and Potter, teasing him. 

He didn't understand the game they were playing, or what he was expected to do.

One of them picked up the Muggle textbook. It had skidded out of his bag onto the filthy ground. "What's this?" Severus felt his heart skip a beat. This could get bad…

There was a cough from behind him. It was such a pointed, powerful cough that Severus immediately spun around to see who had made the noise, even though that put the other four enemies at his back.

It was the man from the train. Severus stared, open mouthed. He couldn't have been more surprised, but it was definitely the same man. That scar was too unique. He even wore the same battered, three piece suit, although it was rendered somewhat incongruous by the wand clutched firmly in his right hand.

Severus's head flicked from the man, back to four drinkers.

"My apologies, gentlemen. My young friend merely took a wrong turn." Severus saw the flick of a wand out of the corner of his eye, and his belongings flew back towards him. Severus caught the books and package under one arm, and his wand with the other. "Right. We'll be going." An iron grip encircled Severus's arm. He resisted for a moment, before letting the stranger drag him from the alley. He thought the drinkers would protest, but they merely leered at him in silence.

Severus felt betrayed by his body, which had begun to tremble. He felt unable to speak. His mind was filled with unpleasant and frightening thoughts. He had a vague idea of what strange men did to teenage boys behind Knockturn Alley, and he clutched his wand tightly in his left hand, his heart beating fast. Could he make a run for it?

But the man made no attempt to touch him, aside from the hand on his arm. They walked quickly back to the main road, the newcomer frequently glancing over his shoulder. They took a slightly different path out of the back-streets, arriving back on Diagon, rather than Knockturn. They'd walked briskly, and in silence, but when Severus was out in the bright, open air, he finally found his voice again.

"Piss off, you creep," he said, struggling to get free. "Why were you following me."

The man's grip was implacable, and he actually shook Severus slightly as he spoke to him. "What were you doing down there."

Severus gave a particularly strong wrench, managing to free his arm at last. The nerve of him. He was tempted to run, but eyed the wand in the man's hand, and thought better of it. "What were you doing, following me?"

"I was concerned for your well-being. Rightly so, it seems."

"My well-being is none of your business. I wouldn't have ever gone that way if you weren't following me." 

His desire to shout was battling with his desire to remain inconspicuous in the busy street.

"If I see a sixteen-year-old wizard walking alone through the Knockturn Alley, I consider it my business."

"I'm seventeen," he lied. The stranger's tone had greatly nettled him, but there were other questions that needed answering. "What are… why are you wearing… Why would a wizard catch a Muggle train?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"I'm-" underage, but he had realised his mistake. The man smirked at him. "It's none of your business. I can look after myself." With that, he turned his back on the man, striding back towards the Leaky Cauldron.

"Severus," the man called out from behind him. He turned.

The stranger was holding out his trigonometry text-book. The binding – already cracked and ageing – had split from the book completely. With a wave of his wand, the man reattached the cover.

Severus snatched it back from him. "Thanks for nothing," he spat. He was in such a hurry to leave that the obvious question did not occur to him until he was nearly at the Leaky Cauldron, but by that time, the man had disappeared into the crowd.