The Prince and The Crow - The Year of the Dragon

The first day at Grimmauld Place is pretty awkward. Sirius shows Harry around the house, then to his room, which is one of the few that has been cleaned up.
‘This used to be my brother’s room. Sorry it’s so old fashioned.’ Sirius says, hanging in the doorway.
‘I don’t mind that.’ Harry says honestly. ‘Reminds me of home.’
‘Home?’ Sirius looks a little confused.
‘Blishwick Manor. It was a bit of a mess when we moved in. Sev’s always wanting to refurbish things and Petra’s always trying to make him leave them alone cause she likes it as it is. Characterful she calls it, and then he says only privileged people call broken things characterful. They’re pretty funny.’ Harry chuckles, then suddenly stops, thinking perhaps he’s said too much.

Sirius looks a little bemused but doesn’t comment further, and Harry fiddles with his bag.
‘You want help unpacking?’ Sirius asks.
‘No, that’s ok.’ Harry smiles.

They end up eating a late lunch of canned soup, sitting at the kitchen table in silence for a while.

‘It was never my intention to cause you any harm Harry.’ Sirius says at last. ‘I have only ever wanted what’s best for you.’
Harry says nothing and stares into his soup.
‘As you’ve probably gathered, Sn- your parents and I have not always got on.’ Sirius smiles.
‘I think that’s what one calls a vast understatement.’ Harry raises a brow.
‘Yes, well…’ Sirius chuckles. ‘I have… had… a certain impression of Snape, and it was quite a shock after twelve years to find that he had… I couldn’t help but think the worst. Snape and James were mortal enemies last I knew. So of course I assumed his intentions towards you were less than honourable. That’s why I tried to get custody.’

‘So what changed your mind?’ Harry asks cautiously.
‘You did.’ Sirius smiles with such sincerity that Harry cannot help feeling flattered. ‘You made it very clear how you feel, and I couldn’t go against your wishes.’ His face drops then, and becomes very serious. ‘Obviously you had a bad time of it with your aunt and uncle, and I cannot tell you Harry how much it pained me to hear it. You see, I didn’t exactly have the best childhood myself, and it was your father, James, who helped me to escape from that – from here.’ He flashes a wry smile. ‘He gave me a home, he was the family I never had, so I understand wanting that – craving it. I just…’

‘Please just leave it at that for now.’ Harry interrupts, not wanting to hear any more about why Sirius hates Severus right now. ‘Look, I’m here because I have to be. And I’ve determined to make the best of it. I’m willing to get to know you, but you need to understand and accept that Severus and Petronella are my parents. Nothing you say is going to change that. If you want to be a part of my life you have to respect that.’

Sirius doesn’t say anything else and they finish eating in silence, but once they are done he clears the dirty dishes into the sink, and suddenly brightens.
‘Hey, how about a little one on one in the back garden?’ He suggests. ‘There’s all sorts of wards, no one can see in – you did bring your firebolt right?!’
‘Er, actually I left that at home…’ Harry feels a bit bad when faced with Sirius’ excitement, but he doesn’t seem to mind too much.
‘That’s alright, I’m sure we’ve got some old brooms knocking about here somewhere.’ Sirius disappears through a door which seems to lead to a basement, and appears a few minutes later with a couple of dusty brooms and a few cobwebs in his hair. His expression is rather like a dog who has just fetched a stick and Harry can’t help but smile. Plus a little game of Quidditch seems like quite a good idea right now.

The garden is terribly overgrown, but Sirius clears enough space for them to launch their brooms, and they hover over the brambles, tossing the quaffle back and forth casually to start with. It turns out that Sirius has quite a competitive streak, and before long they have decided on two goal posts – a large shrub and a holly bush – and are streaking about, dodging each other, shouting and laughing as they try to score as many points as possible.

Eventually they both land on the patio, panting and grinning, Harry having just about reached the hundred point target first.
‘It seems I’m a little out of practice.’ Sirius says, gulping for air. ‘Fifteen years ago I’d have had you.’
‘Maybe, but I don’t usually play chaser. I’m a seeker. It’s an entirely different skill set.’ Harry responds with a slight cheeky smile.
‘Well, then I bow to your superior skill.’ Sirius actually takes a low bow, and Harry can’t help but laugh.

The rest of the week passes fairly easily, and Harry begins to think he might get through it alright after all. He helps to clear out some of the rooms, displacing spiders, bats, and pixies, and narrowly avoiding a cursed rug. Then they come across an entire room which is infested with Doxies. Sirius just closes and wards the door on that room, saying he’ll deal with it later. There is friction every time Severus’ name comes up, but Harry tries to just let it go because Sirius is obviously making a lot of effort, and keeps worrying that Harry is not having fun.

Not having any particular negative association with the house himself, Harry actually finds it quite interesting. The library is marvellous, and when Sirius finds him in there one afternoon, he chuckles and comments that Petra would always try and sneak in there when she visited. Then he gets all worried about the Dark Arts books, and starts pulling things off the shelves and threatening to burn them. Harry protests, and lies that he is not at all interested in them, he was just making a start on his homework, and then Kreature turns up and starts arguing with Sirius, calling him all sorts of awful names for trying to get rid of precious family heirlooms.

Apart from that though, it’s not so bad. He even finds himself enjoying Sirius’ company at times. They play Quidditch most days, Harry persuades Sirius to let Kreature prepare a couple of meals, and then persuades Kreature to let him wash up, which the elf seems to grudgingly appreciate. Harry misses his parents, and writes to Severus and Petra every day. They write back with news from the Manor; Draco seems to be behaving himself, Sev’s lab is coming along, Petra has a new tattoo to show him, Sid is fine, Filly and Petra are sorting through the loft, and the residents have all got involved in a little gardening. Harry is looking forward to getting back to see it all for himself. Nearly halfway through now.

Harry is writing another letter. Sirius leans in the doorway of his godson’s bedroom, and watches for a moment in concern. He has only been here a week and he must have written to them at least three times already. Surely that wasn’t normal?

‘Another letter?’ Sirius tries to sound light hearted. ‘Are you under orders to write twice a day without fail!’ He quips.
Harry sighs audibly, and ties the note around Hedwig’s leg.
‘I don’t want them to worry.’ He says. He considers adding that he missed them, but he thinks Sirius might consider that weird. Other kids didn’t seem to miss their parents like he did. Maybe he is weird. But all the best people are Petra’s voice whispers in his head.

‘I thought we might go out today.’ Sirius decides to change the subject. ‘We could both use a bit of fun don’t you think?’
‘Out?’ Harry frowns. ‘Like, to Diagon Alley?’
Sirius smirks.
‘Well, we could go there I guess, but it’s a bit dull isn’t it? Wouldn’t you like to go somewhere new?’ Sirius smiles.
Harry is already nervous about where this conversation is going.
‘We don’t have to go far.’ Sirius shrugs. ‘But there’s a ton of stuff to do around London. We could go to the Natural History Museum, the Cutty Sark, go shopping on Oxford Street…’
‘Muggle London you mean?’ Harry frowns.
‘Merlin, he hasn’t turned you into a muggle hater already has he?’
‘No.’ Harry scowls. ‘But don’t you think that’s a bit dangerous?’
‘Not when you’ve got your best godfather here to protect you.’ Sirius smiles, twirling his wand. ‘I’d never let anything bad happen to you. Unless you think mother and father would not approve…’
‘No, it’s fine.’ Harry says, realising a second later he had been tricked into agreeing.
‘Excellent!’ Sirius claps. ‘We’re going to have a great time. And don’t worry it’ll all be fine. I promise.’

When Harry had found out he was a wizard it was like discovering a whole new universe. Now it was the muggle world that felt like the alternate version, and the magical world was the real one. He realises a little why Mr Weasley was so intrigued with muggle things. Oxford Street is far too crowded and noisy for Harry’s liking, but he enjoys visiting the Cutty Sark, an old sailing ship in Greenwich, and learning about the history. It’s a shame that the History lessons at Hogwarts aren’t a bit more interesting, and he wonders if there used to be wizarding ships and pirates too.

Sirius takes them to a pub for lunch, then suggests they head up to Camden Town. Harry loves it there, and it makes him think of Petra. He buys her a t-shirt, but can’t find anything he thinks Sev would like apart from a long vintage army coat, that’s way out of his budget. They go to another pub and Sirius buys them a couple of pints – coke for Harry, larger for himself.

They chat about lots of things and Harry’s actually having a great time, but he hadn’t realised how quickly Sirius was drinking until there is quite a collection of glasses on the table. Sirius is relaxed and merry, and seems to have forgotten he was trying not to say things about Severus. At first it is just the odd jibe, dropped into the conversation, but gradually he becomes more honest and less polite.

As the conversation deteriorates, Harry becomes increasingly angry and upset. He doesn’t want to ruin what had otherwise been a pretty good day, and he certainly doesn’t think it would be a good idea to cause a scene in public, but he cannot sit and listen to Sirius any more.
‘I’m a bit tired, could we go home now?’ Harry asks.
Sirius frowns, but then beams.
‘Of course Harry, whatever you want. Home it is.’
Sirius decides he is too drunk to apparate them, which Harry is not sure whether to class as responsible or irresponsible, so they have to take the tube. He sits there seething the entire time, and as soon as they are through the door Harry turns on his godfather.

‘You didn’t change your mind at all did you?!’ Harry shouts. ‘You still don’t accept Severus and Petra as my parents. So why did you drop the case? Was it all some sort of trick to get me here? Pretend to be my buddy?’

Sirius had never responded very well to conflict, and he has to make a concerted effort not to shout back. Still, he can’t help from defending himself, and trying to persuade Harry to his side.
‘I know that you believe that they care about you. But Harry, you don’t know everything. You don’t know what Snape was like, the things he did…’
‘Was like, Sirius. Was. And how about you? What were you like in school huh? What was James like?’
‘We might have made a few mistakes but that was just normal teenage stuff, boys mucking about, Snape’s always been bad. Evil. He joined Voldemort for Merlin’s sake!’
‘I know. But that’s not who he is now.’
‘Are you sure Harry? Are you really so sure? I bet he hasn’t told you why your parents died, who is really responsible…’
‘Yeah, he has actually. It’s the biggest regret of his life. And I forgave him.’
‘What?’ Sirius staggers backwards. ‘Harry how could you…’

‘It doesn’t matter how or why. Lily and James were my parents. They died protecting me. I get to say if he deserves to be forgiven. And I say he does. A hundred times over.’ Harry scowls at his godfather. ‘I’m going to bed.’ He huffs, turning away. Then he runs up the stairs, slams his bedroom door, and throws himself onto the bed.

It had all been going so well up until today. Well, up to this evening really. Sirius is confusing, he’s so nice, and fun, and charming, it’s easy to get swept up with whatever ideas and plans he has, but then he can unexpectedly be so hurtful and thoughtless.

Suddenly being here for another whole week feels like forever. Harry lies awake for a long time wondering what to do. Should he tell his parents what had happened? Should he ask them to come and get him – there’s a good chance they would do that anyway if they knew Sirius had taken him for a jaunt about the city. He can just picture their faces, and imagine what they might say; “foolish, irresponsible, dangerous” probably accompanied by a string of swear words. Part of him would love it if they came storming in here, read Sirius the riot act, and took him home, but would that cause further problems? Nothing bad had actually happened. They hadn’t been attacked by Death Eaters, or mobbed by the press. No one even knew who he was, which had been nice really. Just doing normal things like a normal person.

Harry decides to wait and see how things are in the morning. Maybe Sirius will apologise. Maybe he’ll be on best behaviour again for a few days. It’s only one more week now. He could just pretend to be doing his homework if he wants some time alone – maybe even actually do some of it.

It still takes him a while to get to sleep, and when he does eventually drift off his sleep is anything but restful.

Sirius pulls his heavy legs up the old wooden stairs. It had been a good day for the most part. Once they were out and about Harry couldn’t help but be interested in all the things they saw. He’d really enjoyed the Cutty Sark, and they’d had a pub lunch in the Dog and Whistle nearby, then took the tube up to Camden Town. Harry kept saying how much Petra would love it there, and bought her a Black Sabbath t-shirt from one of the market stalls. Eventually Sirius persuaded him to pick out a few things for himself, reluctantly allowing his godfather to pay for them.

It had all been going so well. They got some burgers from a food truck, then went to another pub… that might have been when things started to go wrong come to think of it. Sirius can’t remember exactly what he had been talking about, he tends to start running his mouth after a couple of pints, but at some point Harry had gone quiet and sullen, and wanted to come home. It was nearly ten by the time they got back to Grimmauld Place. That’s when the argument had happened.

He probably shouldn’t have pushed it, should have just let it be and chalked the day up to a win, but he’d been a little bit drunk, and even when sober restraint and forethought were not Sirius’ strong points. Harry had stormed off to bed very angry, leaving Sirius to stew. Regret had turned quickly to despair, which in turn led back to more alcohol. A half empty bottle of Firewhiskey this time.

An hour later some deep down voice of reason suggests that perhaps being hung over in charge of his godson tomorrow would not be a good idea, and that perhaps he should take himself to bed. The thought of letting down James is enough to motivate him, so he drinks a glass of water and heads upstairs.

Lingering outside Harry’s room he can hear some muffled noises, so stops to listen. There is a shuffling of sheets, and a quiet murmur, followed by a strange sort of hissing noise. Sirius suddenly feels alert, and puts his hand on the door nob, then pauses. Perhaps barging in when Harry was already annoyed with him would not be wise. He had learned – eventually – that Remus needed to be left alone when he was pissed off, and something tells him that Harry would be the same.

Suddenly Harry cries out, and Sirius forgets all of that, rushing straight in. Harry is sitting up in bed, ruffled and sweaty, tangled in the sheets, his hair sticking out, and a wild look in his eyes.

‘It’s alright Harry. It was just a bad dream.’ Sirius says, striding over to the bed.
Harry winces and puts his hand to his head, then flinches backwards.
‘Stay back!’ He cries out, grabbing his wand from the bedside table.
‘Harry, it’s alright. It’s me. Sirius.’ Sirius holds up his hands, edging forward slowly.
‘Prove it!’ Harry demands, one hand on his forehead, and a rather Snape like scowl on his face.

The clever thing to do would probably have been to transform into Padfoot, but Sirius was still quite drunk actually, and not really thinking straight.
‘Er, well, I’m the idiot who keeps insulting your parents…’ He huffs nervously. ‘Your real dad’s best friend… Shit, I mean, you know what I mean…’ This is clearly not helping. Harry has backed out of bed and is standing on the opposite side, still pointing his wand at Sirius.

‘I want to go home.’ He states.

‘Alright.’ Sirius tries to placate, still with his hands raised. ‘Look, I was a twat earlier, I’m sorry. I’m not gonna make you stay here if you don’t want to.’ He sighs. ‘That’s the last bloody thing I want. But let’s just sleep on it hey, and if you still want to leave in the morning I’ll take you to the floo myself alright?’

‘No. I want to go now. I need to go home!’ Harry is looking even more agitated, and he pulls his hand away from his head.
‘Harry! You’re bleeding!’ Sirius exclaims. ‘What happened? Did you hit your head?’ He tries to approach, but Harry points his wand again.
‘Stay back!’ He cries.
‘Hey, I’m not going to hurt you alright. Merlin that must have been some nightmare. I just want to make sure you’re ok…’

Harry begins to grab his clothes and shove them into his bag. He takes his book and night light from the bedside table, and zips it closed. He’s not sure if he has everything, but that doesn’t really matter right now. Hedwig is already out hunting, and is sure to find his own way home.

‘Accio shoes.’ Harry says, and they slide over from the corner. He starts putting them on with one hand, while keeping his wand pointed at Sirius.
‘Harry, it’s the middle of the night, and you’re hurt…’ Even a drunk and very confused Sirius can see that letting Harry go out right now would not be sensible, but what should he do? The thought of actually having to physically stop him, trap him here as he had been himself is abhorrent, but he can’t let Harry go outside on his own, in his pyjamas, in the middle of the night. This might be the first time Sirius has been on the other end of the famous Gryffindor foolhardiness, and he is not enjoying it.

‘Alright, alright, just wait, just calm down a moment. You at least need to put some clothes on… what time is it…’ Perhaps if he can show that he’s not going to trap him here Harry will calm down a bit. Sirius isn’t sure what time the Leaky Cauldron closes these days, and certainly not the Crow’s Rest, but if he has to apparate them and then walk the rest of the way so be it. As long as he stays with Harry, and doesn’t let anything bad happen to him that’s the most important thing.

Harry had stopped listening to Sirius around the point he had said “calm down”. Not that he had been listening too closely in the first place. The argument earlier had been horrible, and he vaguely wonders if that had been the cause for the awful nightmare, though the two didn’t seem connected.

There had been some sort of weird baby Voldemort, an old man, bloody Peter Pettigrew and some other bloke, a massive snake, and then… he shudders, not really wanting to remember that bit.

He had been relieved to wake up and find it had been a dream, but Sirius was there, and his scar was hurting – bleeding – and he panicked. The last time his scar hurt like that it turned out one of his teachers had the Dark Lord on the back of his bloody head. Was this even really Sirius?

All he knows is he needs to get out of here. He needs to go home. And Sirius is not listening.

The clever thing to do would probably have been to use his pendant to signal his parents, but at first he is too panicked to even think of it. Some part of him is trying to tell him that he’s having a meltdown, and that he should take a moment to slow down, calm his breathing, and think this through, but it feels like Sirius is stalling and trying to stop him from leaving, and Harry does not trust him right now, and he needs to go. He needs to go now.

‘Harry wait.’

The hand on his arm is too much, and he pushes back with all his might – and apparently his magic.

‘Get off me!!’ He cries, and Sirius goes flying backwards across the room.

Harry grabs his bag and runs.

He runs out of the room, down the stairs, out of the front door and down the street. He doesn’t know which direction he runs in nor where is going until he hits a main road and suddenly stops.
Come on Harry, this is stupid. Where are you going?
Home.
How are you going to get there?
Well, if he can get to the Leaky Cauldron he can take the floo to the Crow’s Rest. Easy. Except how does he get to the Leaky Cauldron? There is a church on one side of the road, a pub on the other, and next to it a bus stop. Alright. He’s never used a bus before, but how hard can it be?

Harry strolls over. There aren’t many people around being a week night, but he tries to look casual and like he knows what he’s doing, even though he’s wearing his pyjamas. Nobody seems to notice, or at least they don’t pay any attention. There is a map, and a timetable with a lot of numbers in tiny print, behind a plastic panel which is scratched and misty.

It begins to dawn on Harry how reckless he has been, and he gets a sinking feeling in his stomach. Maybe he should just use the charm to call his parents. Or go back to Grimmauld Place – if he can find the way. Petra and Sev are going to be really disappointed with him.
They’ll be even more disappointed – and maybe angry – if you get yourself lost in London in the middle of the night.
And they’re going to be pretty mad with Sirius too. Oddly Harry feels kind of bad for him. Despite their earlier argument, and his annoying habit of putting Harry’s adoptive parents down, they have had a good time. Sirius is fun. And he does care, Harry thinks. He’s starting to feel a bit bad about shouting at him and running off like that. Oh Merlin, he’s really messed up.

He looks again at the bus timetable, but it’s too dark to see. There’s nobody around now, apart from a couple of blokes staggering away from the pub in the opposite direction, so he pulls out his wand. One little lumos couldn’t hurt could it? Unfortunately the light doesn’t help greatly, and it still just looks like a confusing list of numbers. Severus sometimes uses the twenty four hour clock, so he manages to figure out that bit, but as Harry has no idea what time it is, that doesn’t help him very much.

Suddenly there is a boom, and two bright headlights appear to his left, almost blinding him. He is relieved that a bus has turned up, but surprised that he hadn’t noticed it coming, and afraid it is going to fly straight past as it is hurtling so fast down the road. Instead it screeches to a halt right next to him.

Only then is Harry able to properly take in the bus, and he begins to think that perhaps this is not a standard muggle transportation device. For a start it has three decks. And it is bright purple.

‘Good evening, thank you for calling the Knight Bus, the premium service for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Stan Turnpike, I’ll be your conductor for this evening.’

Harry gawps at the scrawny young man who has hopped off the back of the bus.
‘But I didn’t…’ Harry stops himself. This might be the solution to his problems. ‘I mean er thanks. Good evening to you too. Um, do you happen to stop near the Leaky Cauldron at all?’ He asks.
Stan snorts.
‘Do we happen to stop near the Leaky Cauldron?!’ He chuckles. ‘Ere, Ernie, lad here wants to know do we stop near the Leaky Cauldron!’ He shouts into the bus, and there is a chortle from the driver’s seat.

‘We is stoppin anywhere you wants.’ Stan boasts proudly. ‘Aint you never taken the Knight Bus before?’
‘Er, no, sorry.’ Harry cringes.
‘Well, are you getting on then or what?’ Stan hops back up and ushers Harry aboard.
For a second Harry wonders if Severus would class getting aboard a magical bus one has never seen before as foolhardy, but it seems fairly legit, and he really doesn’t have a lot of options right now.

As soon as his feet are both inside, the bus lurches forwards and starts racing through the London streets. Harry has to grab hold of one of the nearby polished chrome poles in order not to fall straight back out again.
‘Leaky Cauldron was it?’ Stan asks. ‘We’ll be there in no time. Just got to make a quick stop in Dover on the way. Eleven sickles, or fifteen including ‘ot chocolate, an ‘ot water bottle, an a toofbrush.’ He says, with one hand on an old fashioned ticket machine hanging round his neck.

Ah. He hadn’t thought of that. He had swapped his Galleons for pounds this morning, and besides only had about 50p left.

‘Um. I seem to have left my wallet…’ Harry mutters, but another plan is forming in his mind. ‘Could I possibly pay when we get there – that’s if I mean… did you say you go anywhere in the country?’
Stan is frowning at him, but also looking him up and down as if he only just noticed he is a child out on his own after dark wearing only pyjamas.
‘Where is it you’s wantin to go son?’ Stan asks.
‘Do you know Blishwick Manor? It’s in Much Wenlock.’

‘Blishwick Manor? Yeah, we knows it. Aint been there for a long time ‘as we Ern? Watchoo need to get there for?’ Stan looks at him queryingly.
‘It’s my home.’ Harry states.

Suddenly the bus screeches to a halt, sending Harry, who had not been paying attention, flying backwards onto one of the beds. A set of footsteps comes clumping down the narrow staircase, followed by a… person (at least they seem vaguely human shaped) who appears far too large for the staircase.

‘Night then Bob!’ Stan calls to the figure who seems to be made up more of coats than body, including at least three hoods which cover their face. ‘Ah, what a woman.’ Stan sighs as Bob steps off the bus and seems to almost float away. Then he pulls a bell and the bus leaps away again. This time Harry watches out of the window as streets and houses rush past in a blur, then melt into hedges and trees, lit only momentarily by the headlights of the bus as it twists and lurches through winding country lanes at breakneck speed.

‘So you live at Blishwick Manor?’ Stan asks.
‘Yeah, and I’m sure my parents would pay for my fare when we get there. If that’s ok?’ Harry responds. Several internal voices are telling him that it would have been better just to call them in the first place, or go back to Grimmauld Place, or to have not run away at all, but it’s a bit late for all that, so he staunchly ignores them.
‘Wot’s your name then?’ Stan asks, frowning and rubbing his chin.
‘Er, well, it’s Blishwick.’ Harry says, not sure if he should disclose exactly who he is. ‘Petronella Blishwick is my mum.’

‘Petra?! Oh! Ernie it’s Petra’s boy!’ Stan calls out. The driver looks over his shoulder, causing the bus to heave to one side, and he has to correct himself quickly in order to avoid crashing straight into an oak tree. ‘You must be Harry then! It’s a pleasure to meetcha sir!’ Stan grabs his hand and starts shaking it vigorously, which along with the swaying of the vehicle is really far too much being shaken about. ‘We aint seen Petra for years has we Ern? But we read about her an that chap adoptin you we did. Petra used to be a regular on the Knight Bus. Picked ‘er up in all sorts of odd places we has. And bad ways too, I hope you don’ mind me sayin. Remember that time she bled right through the sheets?’ He calls towards the front. ‘Ernie ‘ad to stop the bus an’ bandage ‘er up on the hard shoulder of the M25. Seems like you take after ‘er.’ Stan nods at Harry’s head, and he reaches up to touch his forehead.

The bleeding has stopped, but he can feel something crusty – he assumes dried blood. Stan hands him a wet flannel with which to clean himself up.
‘I aint never got too good at the first aid bit.’ Stan frowns. ‘Luckily we don’ ‘av too much call for it these days.’ He says, riffling through an ancient looking tin box with a red cross on the front. He pulls out a bandage and wraps it rather haphazardly around Harry’s head.
‘That’ll ‘ave to do.’ He tilts his head.
‘Thanks.’ Harry mutters with a smile. He wonders how old the conductor is. Stan looks barely older than a teenager, but the way he talks is as if he has been doing the job for decades.

The bus stops again, back in London it seems like, and another wizard gets on, buys a fifteen sickle ticket, is presented with a hot water bottle and toothbrush, then climbs up the stairs.
‘Much Wenlock next Ern!’ Stan calls out, then winks at Harry. ‘I gotta to take round the ‘ot chocolate now. D’you want one?’
‘No thanks.’ Harry replies. How anyone could drink a hot chocolate on this carnival ride of a bus without spilling it or being sick is more of a mystery than how the vehicle is travelling so fast.

Stan disappears, and Harry scoots along the bed to look out of the window. They are hurtling along residential streets, frightening foxes and cats, and rattling bin lids, then suddenly they come to a roundabout and Harry holds on for dear life as the bus leans dangerously to the left, almost up on two wheels. It takes an exit, then leans all the way in the other direction as the road turns steeply to the right. The beds all slide towards the other side of the bus, and Harry simply grips onto the bed railing, hoping not to be thrown to the floor. Stan hops down the stairs whistling merrily, seemingly able to defy gravity – or at least momentum – leaning naturally and easily with the movements of the bus.

They are on a motorway now, and the bus continues to race along, weaving it’s way between the other cars, and swerving around lorries. At one point they pass a police car with it’s sirens blaring, but it seems not to notice them.

A minute later Ernie screeches across all three lanes to take an exit, and they are back on narrow country lanes, the headlights casting trees and hedges into stark silhouettes.
‘Low bridge Ern!’ Stan calls out.
Harry leans to look out of the front window, and sees they are approaching a small brick railway bridge. The top inner edge of the arch sports a very clear black and yellow chevron sign stating 2.4m. There is no way even the bottom two decks would fit under there.
‘I see it.’ The driver grumbles back, reaching down to pull a lever on his left.

The feeling is little like the beginning of a portkey, except that instead of being pulled by his bellybutton it’s more like being flattened like a pancake. The whole bus and everything in it shrinks downwards, but not inwards, and Harry wonders if this is what it is like being a toasted marshmallow squished between two biscuits. They pass under the low bridge and spring up the other side with a pop.

If Harry was not feeling sick before, he definitely is now. Thankfully they soon pass the sign to Much Wenlock, and screech to a halt right by the entrance to the driveway leading down to Blishwick Manor.

‘Can’t go down no private roads I’m ‘fraid.’ Stan says. ‘You’ll be alright from ere?’
‘Yes, but what about the money?’ Harry asks, a mixture of relieved, and nervous to be home.
‘Ah, don’t worry bout that.’ Stan shrugs. ‘Tell Petra we said hi, an we’re even now.’ He says, ushering Harry off the bus.
Harry wants to ask even for what, but Stan just doffs his cap.
‘Take ‘er away Ern!’ He calls out, and the Knight Bus lurches away into the dark.

Harry takes a breath, wondering what his parents are going to say about all this, but then realises he doesn’t care, and runs down the driveway.

The gates swing open without him having to touch them, and he steps inside, feeling immediately better. He’s home. He’s safe.

He sees Petra come running around the side of the house in a baggy old t-shirt, her feet slapping on the stone path. She stops a few feet away, scowling at him intensely, her eyes taking in every inch of his frame.

‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t stay there. I just couldn’t.’ He says, a lump in his throat and eyeballs stinging.
Petra sweeps him into her arms and holds him tight.

‘It’s alright Harry. You’re home.’