Leaky Cauldron Crisis
When Severus Snape woke up it was in a haze of nothing at all, every one of his senses dissolved into nothing more than a funny fuzzy feeling, and then that delightful illusion was broken by the sudden onslaught of noise and sensation. Really, no one could blame him for the scream of agony he let out, hands automatically racing up to cover his ears at the loud ringing coming from the multiple alarm clocks he had so smartly set.
Of course, the moment he moved even one (remember, newly formed ) muscle he almost wished he’d died in the process instead, if not solely to spare him the excruciating agony that coursed through his body so quickly he was sure he had he had blacked out again on accident (Merlin, he hoped getting the dark mark hurt nowhere near as bad as this because he didn’t know of he’d be able to through this again, and if it did… (according to what his housemates had been saying (read: bragging )) then at least he already had practice… right?).
It took another couple moments for him to come to (again), pausing before he moved once more to take stock of his surroundings and…his ability to do just about anything without accidentally pulling his (likely) barely healed (external and internal) wounds and bleeding out ( again ). Especially since he didn’t actually know how much time he had before they arrived in London, a quick glance out the window doing nothing to help him in judging properly (he’d only been good at reading moon phases (specifically, after a certain incident on a full moon), never the sun’s).
Salazar, he was exhausted. Apparently, less than three hours to have your body deconstruct and then reconstruct (or at least that was what he was guessing (more or less) had happened. Like sure, he knew like- the how’s and what’s but, well let’s just say, it made him a little…queasy to pay too much attention to the exact details) was not enough (whowould’ve guessed, really? Totally not him. Severus Snape, the one who planned this whole thing, made and did the ritual himself, had no clue that two and a half hours wasn’t enough time to heal his entire body. Absurd, truly.
…
Yes, he was being sarcastic , you finger licking nifflers. Congrats ).
But, back to the point, he might’ve, sort of, accidentally forgotten to factor in the possibility that he would be pretty much immobile for an indiscernible amount of time.
…Oops .
…
Whatever. Not like he could go back and change it (time turners were not only more expensive than his selling his soul, they were also ministry (I know, that thing again, ugh) administered and moderated, incredibly annoying really) so might as well try and figure out what in Godric Hallows he was going to do now considering he (as tentatively and slowly (which wasn’t very much considering how impatient he was) as possible) managed to pick up his wand from where it’d fallen from his hand right next to him (and thankMerlin for that because he would not have been able to move far, also, hallelujah it hasn’t accidentally broken during the something amount of time he’d been out, he could not afford a replacement (whether in time or money), and the wand maker truly freaked him out, there was absolutely something weird going on with that…guy) and in the most minuscule movement possible that could still somehow count as a spell cantation, cast a quick tempus charm.
…
The sudden reminder of one of his alarms going off ( again ) snapped him back to reality and ( forcefully ) made him acknowledge the fact that if he didn’t turn them off he was going to go deaf (but also if he did there was a high chance he would fall asleep and never wake up again. Great. Just his fucking luck).
With a groan (and an internal eye roll because Merlin knew how painful that would be if he actually did it while still… reforming ) he grit his teeth and braced himself as he haphazardly (and nowhere near as carefully as he should’ve ) extracted himself from the puddle of…liquid substances pooling around him, wincing painfully at the sound of multiple cracks in his body (he wasn’t sure if they are from his body resetting after not moving for a while or the (probably) temperamental new skeleton breaking under his movements) and ( somehow ) pulling himself off of the wall he was slumped against.
( Ha! You thought he was going to make it into one of the seats didn’t you? Crazy person. If he managed to do that then that would mean that he wasn’t in nearly as much pain as he said he was now was he? ‘Sides. He was pretty sure he might physically be unable to lift himself off the ground even if he tried… )
Instead (of doing everything he just made fun of you for thinking) he grabbed around half blindly for his bag and pulled out another one of his enhanced potions, this one being of wound mending and more pain relief, Salazar knew he needed it if he wanted to be able to even stand much less walk when they needed to deboard the train (that seemed to almost shock him awake, unfortunately reminding him of where he was and the suddenly much more urgent and pressing time limit he was dealing with).
With a half sigh half snarl (at himself firstly, partially regretting just about everything in his (pretty) pitiful existence, at Lady Fate for being a cruel motherfucker (ya he said it. He wasn’t afraid considering there was literally nothing worse that could happen in his life. Also, keeping in mind who his mother had ended up marrying and then the life she (and he) had lived, ya, he could say She fucked her (honestly more like them both at this point)) and then at everyone else and the world for being shit ) he barely repressed the suddenly apparent (it had always been there, it was just much more prominent at this horrendous moment) need to throw himself out the moving train window and onto (what he hoped was) the sharp pointy rocks of the beach (if you could even call it that, Britain did not have nice beaches, at least, nowhere close to where he lived) side.
He also stifled the want to scream at the top of his lungs (both in pain and annoyance) as the movement to drink the potion set just about every.single.bloody. (ha, literally) nerve ending (that hadn’t been more or less burned off in overstimulation) on fire in his entire arm and side of his torso. Pleasant. Truly.
(…He was going to kill himself.)
Breathing in through his nose much harder than necessary or then he should’ve (he probably hacked up a lung which- considering he was not a hundredpercent sure they were even still connected in his body, was suddenly a very real thing to fear) he relaxed his body as much as feasibly possible, hissing at the sting of the potion working, and let it flow through him as quickly and effectively as it could. He waited a few moments, just to make sure it had sufficiently sunk in and been (mostly) absorbed before accio-ing a small bottle of water he had packed that was too far to reach in his incredibly (as much as he hated to say it) weakened state.
Luckily the cool temperature (thanks to the auto regulation of the train cabins) soothed his throat and cleaned the abhorrent taste of potions and bodily… discharge (he’d decided to call it merely for lack of a better choice), ridding him of the (previously) ever present need to vomit. Well, at least that was finally solved and done (and hallelujah , he wasn’t sure his much longer he would’ve been able to handle it before he gave in, no matter how determined he was, even he had limits), now he could focus his attention on a different part of his suffering. How fun.
Really, as a testament to how badly he wanted to get this over with, he placed (tossed) his wand onto one of the seats (trying to leave it still in a fairly close range just in case (he failed that by the way, aiming horribly in his still mostly delirious haze and practically throwing it to the other side of the compartment. Great) he needed it for something ( too late )) and braced himself (physically and mentally) with the help of the two seats.
There were two ways he could go about picking himself up, one , slowly and carefully to ensure he not only didn’t accidentally hurt himself even more but also so he wouldn’t (maybe, possibly ) faint again from the sudden influx of pain, or, two , where he could try to stand as quickly and abruptly as possible, essentially attempting to trick his mind and body by moving too quickly for it to register the pain it should be feeling and by the time it caught up he would’ve already arrived at his determined destination (aka, sitting on one of the seats instead of a puddle of himself on the floor).
Of course, being a proper slytherin, cunning in nature, he would not choose the incredibly gryffindor choice. …That being said, he was also getting extremely sick and tired of being in constant pain (and it haven’t even been that long (it had been his entire gods damned (because he knew they’d been involved, there was no other reason as to why it was so bad otherwise) life) since it had stated). So… with a quick one, two, three, muttered under his breath so he wouldn’t use up all his air before it got sucker punched out of him, he hauled his ass up, blatantly ignoring the increasinglyloud ringing in his ears, the very woozy and lightheaded feeling pounding at his head, begging him to submit and fall back to the ground, and the absolute rainbow of colors blocking his vision and practically threw himself into one of the seats, hitting his head on the wall on accident with a shout as it all went black for a brief moment (really, the sorting hat would be wondering if it’d sorted him into the wrong house if it saw him now, how disgraceful).
Something that was starting to get steadily more and more annoying and old with each time it happened in increasingly worse ways. Merlin, he wanted to take a nap uninterrupted, not by bullies, trauma, school, his asshole dad (not that he considered him as much), life, the world, the universe itself, or anything and everything .
Instead, upon returning to consciousness ( again ) through the means of one of his alarms ( also , again), the first thing he did was sigh . Because really, what else was there to do in this situation. He was bloody exhausted , had just gone through some of the possibly most excruciating pain of his entire life, was still reeling from said event, had a list of things to do that would take longer than Dumbledore's sodding welcoming speech , and wanted absolutely and completely nothing to do with anyone or anything in life currently.
…
Of course, because Lady Fate despised and most certainly had something out for him, he could not take the pleasure and luxury or relaxing for even one fucking minute and instead had to stretch (incredibly painfully mind you) over to grab where his wand had fallen previously and pull back regretting everything twice over.
Even one look at the cabin, a mix of multiple liquids that he knew had come from his body and yet had no idea (nor interest in finding out) what they were covering the floor and one of the walls, the rusted smell of iron (and faintly of rotting- no, burnt flesh) permeated in the air, and not even including how horrible and disgusting he likely looked, made him want to be swallowed up by the floor (even more then when he’d called Lily that disastrous word) and never seen again (fairly close to what he was going for in reality, to a certain degree at least).
Instead of that happening like he so wished it would, he just let his gaze trail across the wooden pattern of the opposite wall for a good minute or so until one of the alarms sounded again and he groaned, dragging a mental hand down his face (he didn’t have that much strength back yet thank you very much) and finally, finally , turning it off and casting a quick tempus charm once more to see how long he had.
…
Someone tell him why in Merlin’s bloody name he had three and a half minutes to not only clean everything up (him included) so it didn’t look like a murder scene (and like he’d been killed and then decided to stand up and walk away like nothing was wrong (not the strangest thing ever seen in the wizarding world though he supposed)) but also figure out how to move without passing out the moment he so much as stood up properly.
He wanted to die.
Surely, surely , hell would be much more comforting than this. Surely…
Whatever. That wasn’t an option so he might as well make the most of what he could.
Sighing in annoyance and pure exhaustion he cast a scourgify onto just about every inch of the train compartment (and himself, clothes and hairincluded), closely followed by just about every other cleaning spell in his reservoir that he knew or had read about (whether having ever cast them before or not, maybe if one went wrong he could avoid what came next, no matter if it was entirely of his own violation and planning, he could still not want to do it).
By the time he was done it looked cleaner then when he had stepped inside, his skin looking like he’d practically bleached it (again), and the only thing that showed he had even stepped foot in the cabin much less half killed himself was the smell of burnt magic that for some reason seemed to be stuck in the air despite multiple attempts to clear it. Popping open the window with a quick flick of his wrist (one he tried not to look too hard at) he slumped back into his seat with a soft sigh, at least it didn’t hurt as much now, more of a never going away dull aching sensation (though he was used to that, unnaturally so really, so it didn’t cause too much of a problem).
Another quick check of the time showed he had exactly forty two seconds before the train docked, and, if he was being honest , he was sure he’d set a record for how fast he’d cleaned everything (and while heavily…injured (would that be the right word? He wasn’t sure…maybe debilitated was better…)). At the very least, a small win in his opinion, he didn’t have to change into muggle clothing before deboarding as he had to stay in the wizarding world for a… pit stop , you could say.
Aka , he had to stop by Diagon Alley real quick before he could go “home” (if you could even call it that and if he was lucky, he never would have to again!). A small smile pulled at his lips as he began removing the wards and charms he’d set up, rest of his body limp as he moved his wand lazily in the series of motions to counter the spells (he still can’t really figure out how in Salazar slytherin’s name he was going to actually move and be able to leave but whatever, he was smart, he supposed he’d figure something out …eventually ).
Finally , much to his equal pleasure and annoyance , the train sputtered to a slow stop, the sound of cabin doors opening ringing in his ears as he levitated his (now shrunken (because Merlin knew he was not going to not only carry that in his now incredibly weakened body but also that shit was big and bulky and annoying as hell )) luggage into his pocket and braced himself against the wall as he stood, forcing the darkening edges of his vision back as he (pretty much (though he’d never admit it)) hobbled to the door and pulled it open (silently cursing under his breath that they didn’t open automatically and why the fuck were they so heavy ??), decidedly ignoring everyone and everything around him as he focused on just getting to his necessary destination, the open use floo.
He pushed away the thoughts of bullies, of red and green tie alike, of flowing and (although she’d never admit it) curly auburn hair, of crumbling homes and peeling wallpaper, of sickly coughs hidden by a layer of cruel apatheticness. He pushed it all behind his walls of occlumency, every emotion and spark of pain that coursed through him as he kept his head down as he left the train, weaving between excited (and not) students reuniting with families (he couldn’t stop the way his heart beat quickly in his throat when he saw her , her family glancing around looking for something or some one (him) before their face fall dramatically at whatever their daughter said (at what she had told them, of what he’d done )).
He pushed everything down until there was nothingleft but a vague determination to continue, to push through, to create a future for himself that wouldn’t be shadowed by everything he didn’t and would never have, by his own self inflicted problems, by his regrets. Instead, he moved forward, navigating the crowds and using billowing robes in the harsh wind to hide his existence from those with bad intentions (from the twitching of an eye of a certain gryffindor’s slytherin mother (that likely promised suffering (and yet, despite his promises to be different from his family had been almost worse in the long run to those who had it just as bad)) to the excited chattering of a boy who had everything he could ever want in his life without even trying and yet still decided to look down on those who didn’t, prejudice hidden behind a wall of false heroism).
He had to escape before anyone noticed him (and it wasn’t like anyone was waiting for him here anyway, Merlin knew his mother would rather try to kill herself (an unpleasant memory he had no interest in revisiting) then willingly interact with the wizarding world after cutting it off), though, with the limited glimpses he’d allowed himself of his new appearance, he likely doubted anyone would recognize him now with just a glance (not that that couldn’t also be a problem, if he was stopped by someone because they had never seen him before, what a fiasco that would end up being (and one he had no intent in letting happen)).
He breathed a soft sigh of relief when he finally reached the point of travel, reaching into the small pot of provided floo powder (it wasn’t the good kind, it was the type that made the journey rocky and nauseating , and, from the research they had attempted to smother that he had still found and read, was much more likely to malfunction or burn you alive (better than splinching from mal-apperating, but not much better in the long run)) and throwing it onto the flickering flames (it wasn’t like he had a lot of choices anyway, that stuff cost a disconcerting amount and he wasn’t about to spend what little money he had on such an unimportant spend) before stepping in with a sigh, visualizing his destination as best he could with his swimming vision and croaked out the needed words.
“Leaky C-cauldron…” shit. He hoped that wouldn’t affect anything-
…
He glanced around quickly, eyes widening as he took in where the flying fuck he was. Why, in Merlin’s name , was he in a sex shop?!
Oh you have got to be kidding him right now.
(Leaky C-cauldron is pronounced leaky cuckauldron and would so be a sex shop someone had made, I refuse to listen to any arguments otherwise.)
Before anyone could notice him or his frankly incredibly red (and continuously darkening with each passing second) face he grabbed some of the nearby powder and muttered the destination as clearly as possible this time. “Leaky Cauldron .”
Sure enough, and halle- fucking -lujah , he almost cried at the sight, he was dropped off in the middle of the pub, stumbling his way out of the fireplace and almost collapsing against the wall (and then, by consequence, the floor ). He took a deep breath to calm his nerves (and not throw up on the floor (which would’ve been bad ‘cause it was rude and also because he did not feel like testing whether his newly settling organs could handle that yet)) before almost running out of the establishment.
He had no reason to stay longer than necessary (definitely didn’t have the money to either) and he needed to get to Gringotts before the lines got too out of hand by returning kids wanting to splurge after OWLs and NEWTs (and every other version that existed for the other years under the sun). Quickly, he rushed through the crowded streets, dodging possible scammers and pick pockets with terrifying efficiency (he knew the tells like he did the contents of his potion book, growing up in the “bad part” of town did that to you he supposed, though in retrospect it was a fairly useful skill) until he finally broke through to the main street.
From there, and with a quick glance to make sure he hadn’t been tailed (because you really never knew), he kept to the edges, the shadows cast by building in the midday sun, and made his way to the bank, keeping his head down and ignoring anyone’s attempt to interact with him (not that there were many but he supposed his appearance might draw some attention from pure bloods. If his hypothesis was correct, he looked like an almost exact carbon copy of his mother when she was younger only as an androgynous looking guy, so ya, he supposed it was fair enough some of them might do a double take).