Book Two: Snape's Memories

Chapter Twenty-five

Tim woke up, not where he expected to be. It was dark, but he knew by the feel of the blankets covering him that he was not at the Potter's. Someone had been drinking some sort of booze. Tim could smell it, stale and familiar, so it wasn't the hospital.

Keeping very still, as he always did when this sort of thing happened, he lay trying to make his mind catch up to his body. Where was he?

The last thing he remembered had been one of the healers giving him a thick potion and his parents (all right, they weren't his parents, but he liked to pretend), telling him that they'd be there when he woke up.

He heard a light click on. Not a wizard lamp, but an electric light, with a switch. For one mad moment, Tim wondered if he could have dreamed the whole Wizarding World. Perhaps his mum wasn't really dead and she was going to come in and tell him to go to sleep. It wouldn't be the first time his mum had taken him to one of her friend's places and stuck him asleep in the bedroom.

Or even better, perhaps Nana was going to come in and tell him the same thing, but more gently. Perhaps he'd fallen asleep at one of her friend's while they played whist?

No, if it were Nana, he wouldn't be smelling booze. At most, it would be wine or sherry.

The light came in through the half open door of the bedroom he was in, yellow and sickly. He heard the noise of the television. The bed he lay on was wide enough for two, with a few thin blankets. At the bottom of the bed was an old wardrobe. Threadbare brown curtains hung from the windows. The room smelled musty, as if the carpets had gotten wet and not dried out properly.

He could see the loo was through the other door.

He suddenly needed to use it very badly. Stealthily, he slipped off the bed to make use of the toilet.

Whoever was in the next room must have heard him when he flushed, "Boy?" a familiar voice called from the other room.

Tim's blood turned to ice water.

"That you creeping around in there, boy?" The man demanded.

"Y-yes." Tim whispered, deciding it was safest to jump back into bed.

The man opened the door, "Well, 'bout time you woke up." he said heartily, his smile wide, false, and oily. The man dressed like a muggle, but Tim knew, now, that the stick he carried was a wand, and meant he was a wizard.

He was taller than Mr. Potter and Tim knew that his mum had thought the man's blue eyes and dark hair handsome. His dirty jeans and shirt were what he normally wore he came to visit Tim and his mum. Tim used to wonder why the man didn't have more clothes, but Tim now wondered if the rest of his clothes were wizard robes that would stick out too much.

"Took them a while to find me after your mum's accident." he continued cheerfully, "I was away. But they said they told you all about wizards because you had magic. It must have just showed up, then. I thought sure you were a squib."

Tim nodded cautiously, the man seemed happy with the prospect that Tim had magic.

"Well, good. They said it would be best if I picked you up straight from the hospital. Your foster family didn't want a scene, you see." The man went on.

Tim's breath caught in his chest. So, the Potters had gotten tired of him, after all. They had sent a message to his father to come get him. Tim would have preferred an orphanage. Or a squat. Or the street. But no one had ever asked what he'd wanted. Ever.

Tim could feel his breathing speeding up in that alarming way that left him giddy and nauseous. Auntie Ginny wouldn't be coming to rub his back and tell him to slow down. Mr. Potter wouldn't come and wrap him in his arms and sing to him as if he were still little. He should have known better. They had gotten him to trust them, just a little and...