Devils and Angels

Take care of Thyself


Sleep did not come easily to Harry that night, and when it did, his dreams were riddled with vague and obscure images, which were far different than the usual tone his nightmares took. The dreams began with Severus holding him, making Harry feel safe and secure, then suddenly the strong and reassuring arms disappeared, and he was left alone surrounded by swirling mists. Faint voices echoed throughout the vapour, and he could not discern from which direction they came, and he began to walk, unsure if he were taking the right path. The fog cleared, and images of those long dead, and long lost merged from one to the next. He saw his parents metamorph into the sparkling-eyed visage of Dumbledore, who merged into the sorrowful sight of a weeping, and devastated Severus Snape. He awakened with a slight start, and lay staring into the darkness of his room. His ears caught faint conversation coming from below, and creeping from the bed, he cracked open the door and listened intently.

“It is not Harry’s fault! It never has been!” The soft male voice whispered fervently.

The other voice that rasped abrasively belonged to Bill Weasley, who had been ravaged by the vicious child-hating Fenrir Greyback. “I know that! What I am saying is, if Harry had not been blinded by his misplaced feelings, he might have been able to see that Snape was up to something.”

The silence that ensued was nearly deafening. He continued, with a harsh edge creeping into his voice, “Who’s to say that Snape won’t come here looking for him, or for that matter lead other Death Eaters here, or maybe even You-Know-Who himself? It is not safe for us to continue have him here.”

The other voice rose slightly, “I will not force Harry to leave this house!”

“Dad don’t you understand? Harry is a magnet that is bound to attract trouble sooner or later.”

“And it may never happen as well. For Merlin’s sake Bill, would you have me turn him out just to make you feel better without the benefit of friends, or family? Can’t you have some compassion for him?”

In the next tense silence that followed, the two men glared at one another, which was finally broken by Bill’s rasping voice, “He’s not family Dad, and that is exactly who you should be thinking of. It’s not just me that feels this way as well – Ginny and Percy feel the same as I do.”

“Percy!” Arthur Weasley spat the name as if it had a bitter taste. He could no longer keep his voice restrained and bellowed loudly, shattering what little peace the night still contained at the mention of his third eldest son, who had obviously turned his back on his humble beginnings. “He has no say over this – he doesn’t even speak to your mother and me any more! As for Ginny, if it weren’t for Harry, she would have died long ago! How dare you children even think such? I won’t have it!”

The patriarch’s outburst roused the rest of the family, and Harry heard several feet thumping, bumping and rushing down the narrow stairs amid murmured exclamations of astonishment. The young man quietly shut the door, and dressed then packed a canvas knapsack. Donning his jacket, he briskly descended the stairs, and was immediately noticed by Mrs. Weasley.

“No Harry! You can’t - I forbid you to leave!” Molly, with tears glittering brightly in her eyes, hastened to him with her worn dressing gown flapping about her ankles, and plucked at his jacket to stay his departure.

“That’s right! You are to stay here. This is where you belong,” Arthur Weasley emphasized his point by stabbing his finger in the general direction of the floor between his slippered feet. His face was a myriad of emotions that he struggled to keep in check, and he was doing quite a poor job of it.

“He doesn’t need to be here – he needs to leave. He’s going to get us all killed, or worse,” Bill asserted from his position on the sofa.

“Shut your gob, or I’ll shut it for you!” Ron retorted hotly, his cheeks flaming nearly as brightly as his tousled red hair, and then turned with wide eyes to Harry as he barred the way to the door. “Mate, have you lost your bloody mind?”

“Look Ron, I can’t stay here any longer.” Turning his sad eyes to the elder Weasley’s, Harry’s voice trembled ever so slightly, “I’m sorry Mr. Weasley – Mrs. Weasley, but it’s not right that I stay: I mean I know you want me too, but I don’t want to be the cause of all this.” With a final look at Ron standing barefoot in rumpled striped pyjamas, he stepped around and opened the door then walked out into an unknown future as Fred and George commented in unison, “Just bloody, effin’ fantastic!”

“I hope…” George began.

“You’re satisfied…” Fred continued.

"You great blast-ended skrewt!” They finished together, and turned as one to glower at their older brother as their mother began to sob piteously upon her husband’s shoulder.

Harry didn’t really have a clear idea of where he would go, but he knew what he was going to do, and nothing short of Voldemort popping up through the ground in front of him would prevent it. Walking along in the moonlight, the cool air ruffled his already untidy mop of hair, and he shivered slightly. Adjusting his pack, he finally made the narrow road, and followed it for sometime. The wind began to blow the surrounding trees in a fitful manner. He looked around then smiled wistfully as he realized what was in the making.

With a forceful pop, the appearance of the Knight Bus startled him nearly as much as it had on its first appearance, even though this time he was expecting it. The doors whooshed open to reveal a rather scrawny looking elderly woman, dressed in a very odd assortment of clothes. She wore a pair of overly patched dungarees, hobnailed boots, a blouse that was much too large for her frame that sported a wild purple paisley print, and a chartreuse cardigan that was nearly too small, topped off with a shocking blue scarf wrapped about her thin neck. She reached up with be-ringed fingers and tucked back a wayward strand of steel-grey hair that had managed to pull free from the tight bun on the back of her head.

“Well, we ain’ got all night yer know. Are yer coming, or not?” She peered over her horn-rimmed glasses at him with twinkling blue eyes.

Surprised at the sight before him, Harry asked, “Who are you?”

“Abergail Smuntz at yer service, young Mister Potter,” she replied, her eyes twinkling faster than ever.

“How do you know who I am?”

“Well young man, I make it a point ter know just who I am pickin’ up. Can’t be too careful these days, and besides, yer picture has been in all the papers. Now if’n yer want a ride, then get on. I’ve got other displaced witches an’ wizards ter be seein’ after, an’ its goin’ ter be a long night.”

No sooner had he stepped aboard, the doors snapped shut and the old woman was quickly behind the wheel. Harry grabbed desperately at the nearest stable object, and unfortunately missed and landed smartly on his rear as the bus swiftly lurched into gear and sped off into the night.

“Where’s Ernie?” Harry asked from the floorboards.

“Ahhh, that balmy half-blind ol’ coot is in a far better place than drivin’ the Knight Bus.”

“I’m sorry.”

Turning her eyes sharply to the young wizard, her voice had raised at least an octave and was full of indignation, “Sorry fer what?” She stared at him for a split second, and then she realized what Harry had meant and she cackled merrily, “Yer think the ol’ blighter passed on? Why ‘e’s up and went ter Edinburgh ter live with ‘is daughter – claimed ‘is ‘ealth was turnin’ sour. The ol’ sod is stronger’n a bull, and in fine fettle too; if’n yer ask me.”

Harry grinned up from his seat at her, thinking she definitely reminded him of his two favourite people, Hagrid and Albus Dumbledore, except he would never see his old mentor again. After a few moments of silence in between the squeal of tires, the rattle of the oddly arranged cots, and the tinkle of out-of-place chandeliers, she finally asked him, “Now seein’ as yer ‘aven’t told me where yer wantin’ ter go, maybe you’ve ‘ad enough time now ter make up yer mind about it.”

Suddenly coming to a decision, Harry stated simply, “Manchester.”

“An’ where in Manchester do yer want ter be?”

Without hesitation he answered, “Just a little street called Spinner’s End.”

After a few seconds, the old woman asked, “So it’s true, eh?”

“What do you mean? Harry asked, beginning to feel an uneasy lump in his stomach starting to form.

“Ohhhh, about you and Snape,” She pursed her lips, and looked down her nose at the street ahead.

Harry didn’t respond for a few minutes as the sinking feeling began to intensify. He just knew if he confirmed anything, he would be forced to get off the bus, and seeing as he forgot to take his broom it would be a very long time before he reached his destination. Even though he had his apparition license, he really didn’t want to take a chance of splinching himself trying to apparate over the long distance he was considering. He stared glumly at his shoes, chewing his lip, and wishing for the thousandth time that horrible night had never occurred.

“Oh now, don’t yer fret abou’ a thing. Yer can’t ‘elp who yer love, no one can, even if’n it was him. I’ll get yer ter Manchester; even take yer right to the door if’n yer want,” she pulled hard on the wheel as she rounded a corner sending Harry grasping and clutching for support.

“I ‘ad a frien’ once, a long time ago; ‘e was never the same when ‘is lover was taken from ‘im. It was a sad end to ‘em both. Not a soul accepted ‘em, accusations were made, an’ no one ‘ad pity fer the one left behin’,” she explained gently as she glanced over at Harry. “I take it yer wantin’ ter fin’ ‘im, but from the look on yer face, yer ain’ out ter be drawin’ yer share o’ blood.”

Her words began to make him feel completely at ease for the first time in a very long while, and much to his surprise and relief, he found himself freely divulging his inner thoughts. “No, I ain’ – er, I mean no I’m not. You see, I saw him do it, and I know he did it, and I was angry for a long time. I can’t find it in myself to keep trying to hate him – I just can’t. One of my best friends – his family – some of them hate me for being with him, some of them feel sorry for me, and the other part is nearly as confused as I am.” He paused and took a deep breath then continued, “All I know, is I that I’m completely miserable.”

“O’ course yer are! Love ain’ no easy battle ter win, an’ it might prove harder ter do than defeatin’ You-Know-Who, ‘cause yer got more folk ter deal with on one ‘and, an’ on the other, only one enemy.”

Before Harry knew it, they were turning onto a cobblestone street, and passing by rows of darkened boarded up brick houses, and the dark towering factory chimney that loomed overhead stood like an abandoned and brooding sentinel from another long-forgotten era. The Knight Bus crept to a halt in front of the very last house on Spinner’s End, its motor sounding ridiculously loud in the midst of the surrounding thick darkness. The house was detached from the others, and was dark with its windows broken out and gaping like the blind eyes of some beast that had surrendered to its fate, and the front door hung drunkenly on its battered hinges. Harry disembarked with his pack slung over his shoulder. He pulled out his wand and cast Lumos, and he could see errant weeds struggling for existence pushing up through the cracks in the pavement in front. Cast-off wrappers and other bits of garbage had blown up against the stoop, and Harry shivered again despite the fact that he was warm.

With wand in had, Abergail had followed him off, and said, “I don’ think yer goin’ ter find ‘im ‘ere.”

“I know he’s not here – I plan on living in it, and for once I don’t give a damn what the wizarding world thinks about it.”

“Yer goin’ ter live in that?” The old witch asked incredulously as she pointed her wand at the dilapidated structure.

“Yes,” Harry nodded, and then turned to face her. “I thought you said you had others to pick up, and that it was going to be a long night.”

“I did say that, didn’ I?” She peered at him with the good-natured amusement of one that had been caught in a mild falsehood.

“Yeah, you did.”

“Well, if’n there are, and I’m not sayin’ there ain’, they can wait just a bit longer. At leas’ until I know there’s no one hidin’ in there ter do yer harm.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know that, but two wands are better’n one in my book.”

“Right,” he replied and drew in a deep breath then led the way inside.

Since the modest house was only two up, and two down, it was a relatively short-lived search, with nothing much to see except the place had nearly been cleaned of its contents by vandals and curiosity seekers alike. It grieved Harry to find that nearly all of Snape’s precious books had been stolen, and what few that remained had been ripped to shreds, and his shoulders slumped at the sight.

Resting her hand on his shoulder, Abergail said in a motherly tone, “Chin up now, yer can’t be mopin’ around like a lost pup. Yer bound ter find a way ter make things right with the ol’ place, and then some.” She looked meaningfully into his face, and for a fleeting moment, that simple act screamed a tantalizingly elusive familiarity that Harry could not name. “I best be off. Got ter be pickin’ up a young witch over in Derbyshire. Yer take care of yourself, promise?”

Shaking off the feeling of déjà vu, Harry replied, “I promise.”

“I won’ leave until yer say it.”

“I will take care of myself – I promise.”

“Good lad,” the old witch’s blue eyes began to twinkle again as she turned and walked out the door, tossing him a final wave over her shoulder.

Harry smiled as he heard the Knight Bus rattle to life, the nearly deafeningly shift of gears, and the squeal of the tires that gradually faded into the distance allowing the silence that shrouded the area to resume its silent reign.