capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: Harry and Snape
When: 9 February, sometime in the early morning
Where: A shop downtown.
Summary: Harry has just arrived to the City and has no idea what to do. Snape is obviously the best person to advise him.
Warnings: N/A
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Harry did not post to the Network when he arrived. This is because he first wanted to find out where he was before having to notify any adult who would, no doubt, return him to the Dursleys. Which was something Harry wished to put off for as long as humanly possible.

So, he left the Porter Tower and began asking questions. Within the span of a few hours, he had determined that he was in The City, New York. He was most certainly not in Surrey anymore. It was one thing to transport oneself onto the roof of a school building, but to an entirely different country? Well, that was just a little more unusual than was normal for him.

Certain that Aunt Petunia would see to it that he never left his cupboard again for this particular trick - even if it were entirely the Porter's fault and not his - Harry decided that he would not use the communicator at all.

It wasn't until he had made it another two blocks that Harry remembered the pieces of mail that he had been looking at before being brought here. Stepping inside a nearby shop, he tucked both the bill and postcard into the pockets of his trousers and began to open the letter that had been addressed to him.

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There is a grocer that Snape prefers, not far from his brownstone. He goes there with a fair bit of regularity, and while he is not a social man they know him, know what he likes, and speak to him with respect. The presence of the brooding imPort wizard in then neighborhood has given them a strange bit of appeal - a bit of uniqueness. Not everybody can say that they live in the same neighborhood as Severus Snape, after all-- and there's more then a few 'fans' in the neighborhood now. After all, this is New York, and New York by any name loves it's oddities.

The grocer's daughter is one of them. She, however, is a college student, and apparently not a daft one -- she gave up on fandom about the time the City took it from her, but she has a fondness for a bit of her childhood coming to shop there. They acknowledge each other, nod once, and Snape goes about his business-- before she points out the boy to him.

It is only then that Snape startles, and chides himself for a moment for having missed the kid tucked in a nook by the magazine rack. He pays for his groceries, arranges delivery -- and then approaches.

"Harry Potter?" he says, though he already knows it to be true. Just one look from those eyes will cinch it, but first he needs the boy's attention.

The letter made very little sense. Not only did he not know who Albus Dumbledore or Minerva McGonagall were and he most certainly did not recognize any school called Hogwarts. He did not notice the man come in, too busy looking over the two pieces of parchment.

That is, until someone says his name.

Harry starts, dropping the letter and watching it slide under a nearby stand. The man, dressed all in black with eyes to match, is staring directly on him.

"Er... yes."

Snape did not bother to kneel, not to reach-- he just lifted a hand and crooked his fingers, beckoning the fallen missive to his hand. He doesn't even hide the gesture, nor the magic. A glance confirms his suspicion, both with the boy and the letter.

Then, and only then, does he kneel, bringing himself to Harry's level. Black eyes seek green, and he deftly slips himself into the boy's mind with a barely murmured, "Legilmens." Not strictly necessary, certainly not at Snape's level of expertise, but it makes it easier all the same.

It only takes a moment; he's gentle about it, at least, letting memories sift through his senses like water over his fingertips. Then, he breaks the contact and with draws.

"This complicates everything," he says, to no one in particular. "I am Severus Snape, once a professor and briefly Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You have wandered far afield, Mr. Potter, and it is not safe for you to do so. Give me your hand."

There is the briefest of hesitations, before he extends his own. The boy won't enjoy sidealong Apparation, but it must be done. He needs to get Harry to a safe, controlled environment before anybody else notices he's here.

Harry stared in amazement as the letter seemed to fly up from the ground. There had been no breeze and definitely no strings attached to them either, which meant the man had done something strange. Perhaps as strange as the things Harry had done in the past?

This distraction and lack of knowledge as to what is happening, makes him an even easier target for the "mind reading" that follows. It's an odd sensation and Harry finds it suddenly easier to recall the last few hours after the man speaks. A pity what he said made no sense.

"How did you do that with the paper?" he asks, taking Professor Snape's hand with only a moment of hesitation.

He has already proven himself to be a great deal stranger than Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would have ever approved and Harry takes this as a very good sign.

"Magic," he says without an ounce of pretense-- or deception. "Just as this is magic, Mr. Potter. Apparate." His Hand briefly tightens on Harry's, and for a moment, there is only a brief moment of disorientation--

--and then they are no longer at the grocers. They are well appointed home, if a dark one; books on shelves, a sitting room. The tabby cat Draco gave him, Rockselena -- or 'the cat' as Snape hardly bothers with the name -- has slipped out from where she lurks, bumping up against Snape's legs for a moment before she primly marches in Harry's direction.

"Sit down," he says. "I will explain to you what has happened, to the best of my ability." Snape does not relinquish his position of power of standing over the boy; no, he simply looms and begins to speak. "You have been taken from your world by something called "the porter"; a machine of some malevolence. However, it has disrupted you from your timeline-- there are people from your past and your future here, Mr. Potter, including myself, who know you quite well."

He draws forth his own communicator and lays it on the table.

"You are a young wizard, that's why you received the letter. No doubt you have manifested some strangeness, not unlike the way I drew the letter to my hand. Your family-- as you know it, however, is not in the City; Petunia and Vernon are not able to reclaim you."

But the Potters were.

That's-- he's going to have to work on that.

"Stay there. I'm going to set tea on."

Harry doesn't quite have the time to ask any questions as Snape sweeps out of the room, leaving him to find a place to sit. He chooses a nearby chair and reaches out to pet the cat that has chosen to greet him. Sitting helps alleviate some of the dizziness from what he could only assume was a much more interesting version of his trick that had gotten him up onto the roof of the school back in Surrey.

Unfortunately, the idea that he can use the communicator doesn't go nearly as well as he'd hoped, Harry turning it off quickly and looking a bit concerned that he may have done something wrong.

"What celebrity? Why would anyone know who I was?" he asks, thinking over what Snape had said earlier about people from his past *and future* being here.

Did he mean to say that Harry had friends or was it something more than that?

"Because they know who you are; they went to school with you--" or were your friends, family, Godfather. "It is a situation that will take some explaining."

He greatly wished Albus was here to do so, or even that bear of man, Hagrid. Snape doesn't quite know what is too much and what is too little to tell the boy.

"You received your letter," he said, each word bittern off sharply. "You're a wizard-- a person possessed of magic, like my own. This alone makes you different. There is other things, but they will be explained to you in due time. Now is not that time."

Harry doesn't look quite pleased with this answer, but he's quite used to being kept in the dark, which is precisely what he feels it happening here. However, Snape is much nicer about it than Aunt Petunia would have been and has not yet told him not to ask questions.

"But I'm not different," he insists, standing up and frightening the cat from where she had perched herself on the arm of the chair. "I'm just - just me."

He doesn't quite know what to make of this and the addition of being brought to this place is even worse. Glancing down at the communicator still clutched tightly in his hand, he sees that he had managed to post to this Network and people have already started to reply.

"How I wish you had retained that attitude through your school days," Snape grumbled as he went back to the kitchen. The damage was done; a moment's trust burned. Ah well, it was what it was. At least, it wasn't the whole of the wizarding world.

He sets up cups for tea, getting cups out and bags prepared. He considers what to say, how to phrase this.

"Your mother, your father, they were wizards," he replies. "Your Aunt Petunia-- resented your mother for her magic and specialness, so she fears the same comes from you." Something he knew well enough-- having seen Petunia up close and personal... as well as having dealt with his own father's loathing of him for his magical gifts.

How to handle the business with James and Lily -- oh, lord. That'd be a devil of a thing...

"She knows that I'm wizard?"

He almost looks angry, disappointed that Aunt Petunia isn't here to explain herself, because for a brief moment, Harry feels very much in the right to demand answers instead of accepting that he won't get them.

"That's why so many strange things happen around me, isn't it? And why she gets so mad about it?" Snape might not be the most forthcoming, but he's more honest than anyone else has ever been.

It's still an improvement.

"Suspects, at least," he says with a frown. "But are you correct. Either way, it's immaterial. She is not here and you are--" he considers where or not to invoke this particular word, "...safe."

He starts pouring tea a moment later, and brings it over. It's mint, at least. He sips his own cup, and then says, "There are people in the City who know you, or the person you will become in time. When I last saw you you were nearly eighteen. There are others, wizards and witches like you, who will also know you. They are going to tell you thinks about your future, your family, that you may not understand. If you need clarification, you must ask me. I will--" he's going to regret this, knowing eventually, like Albus, he will break this promise, "not lie to you about what you should know."

But he might lie about a lot of other things. So, at least, he gave himself that Slytherin out.

"You are a wizard. Your parents died in a wizarding war, and died so that you might live. Anything your aunt has told you is rubbish, so discount that now," Snape added, not wanting to deal with any of that angst. He-- knew it would come swiftly to his doorsteps when the Potters came to claim their boy, but all the same, he could at least make sure the boy understood certian things without Lily and James mucking it up with emotional 'parenting' brouhaha.

At the word safe, Harry's shoulders relax and he cradles the communicator between both of his hands, slowly sitting back down in the chair, putting aside the communicator to take the tea when it's offered, saying, "Thank you," without hesitation.

And he listens and while it's tempting to say what story his aunt had given him, it feels like it would only irritate Snape and that is something Harry isn't particularly interested in doing. However, the offer to answer his questions spurs him back into voicing the ones that have been bubbling up.

"But it's not my future yet. What good would telling me anything do?" he asks, because really, that's seven years of growing up that he isn't even prepared to do, let alone hear about.

...he has on idea how to feel about being thanked, let alone by Harry Potter. Well, that was weird.

"Because they care about you, and caring makes people stupid. Especially--" Gryffindors, which means nothing to him, "certain people."

He paused to sip his tea, considering, and then said, "THey will also tell you I am a bad man, a monster, or perhaps some other fanciful thing. But I will tell you this. I will not harm you, and there is only one other person who will not lie to you. His name is Ronald Weasley. You can trust him implicitly."

Ronald was older, had been a parent. He'd understand, and he would do right by his friend and future brother-in-law. But he was old enough and removed enough to not be a total knob about it.

Harry nods. Considering everything that's happened since he arrived, this isn't that horrible. He can deal with all of this and maybe this Ron person can help some too. Especially if he's being recommended to him by Professor Snape.

A sip of tea and he frowns.

"Why would they say you were bad?"

"Because I have done bad things." Things he might even regret now, but he is never telling the boy that. "And they are not entirely incorrect. But they are also quick to ask me to do bad things for them, too. That is the way of lions, I suppose."

He sips his tea.

"You have been told, however, that your father and mother were irresponsible, or bad people; Petunia never could stomach Lily's good fortunes to be -- well, Lily." He smirks a bit, but sips his tea. "So when you think of that, when you learn the truth of them, think the same of me. There is some truth to what Petunia says, though not much. And there will be truth to what they say-- but not enough for it to matter."

He pauses, and says, "The porter takes from all times. You could know your parents, here, if you wish to. Like you, they were taken away. Not by choice," he leaves Voldemort and the war out entirely. "They will want to know you and see you. Do you understand?"

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