The Child of the Seventh Month

5. Wolves without Teeth

The children had their final school supplies delivered by the snow-haired man. Even the wands, to the utter disappointment of Neville, though brand new, were given to them by him - they didn't feel good as the chosen ones would have (according to the books they had read on the matter, at least). But the children understood that they couldn't visit any wandmaker for all of them were aligned with the foul Dumbledore.

On the final day, when the boys were to be inspected and instructed for the last time before their departure, the Lord joined them and the snow-haired man in the entrance hall of the Manor.

"What is this?" he demanded upon entering and seeing Harry pull his trunk behind himself, trying and failing to obscure it from the Lord's view. Neville stopped a foot away from the snow-haired man, fidgeting nervously. He tried to keep his distance from Harry as well - as though fearing collective punishment.

A snake slithered out of Harry's hastily closed trunk, covered in spilled ink, leaving ugly marks on Harry's neatly packed new robes.

"S-snake, My Lord," he answered timidly, in turn stepping closer to Neville who took a tentative step back.

"Show me your Hogwarts letter," said the Lord, looking down at the child, deceptively calm.

Harry reached deep into the pocket of his robe and pretended to struggle to find it. Eventually, noticing the way the Lord's eyes darkened, he took it out and held out the letter. The Lord made no move to take it.

"Now, show me where you see 'snake' on the list of the gear."

Harry mumbled something unintelligible.

"Indeed," the Lord said in a rare display of patience, "no snakes are allowed. Now let them out."

"But," Harry sulked, reaching to open his trunk, painfully slowly, "but-"

"Let them out, I won't repeat myself," the usual threat was back in his voice.

"What if I die?" Harry asked, his eyes cast on the floor, his hand tightening on the handle of the trunk. "What if Dumbledore-"

"You won't die. Dumbledore doesn't kill his students," the Lord said, then added as if in an afterthought, "If I wanted you dead, I'd kill you myself."

Those were the last words the Lord would speak to him before the next Summer.

. . .

.

. . .

For someone who had never seen a real crowd before, King Cross station on the first of September appeared akin to hell.

Wherever Harry looked he saw people, figures passing him in a hurry, a mass of old tickets and rubbish laying on the ground, and heavy luggage he tried his best to avoid stumbling on. Neville winced and grabbed his hand when someone run their suitcase over his toes.

The snow-haired man was with them, although this fact didn't provide them any sense of security. He was forcing his way through the crowd as if he hoped he could get away from the children, the look on his face whenever he was near them reminded them of the expression one would make when smelling something very unpleasant. Harry and Neville kept following him like little ducklings, frightened at the prospect of losing the only familiar person in this place.

He finally stopped near the barrier between the platforms nine and ten, rounded on the children, glanced around warily, and addressed them in an undertone, "Run into the wall and you'll be on the platform. Board the train. Don't talk to anyone on your way. Don't speak to me. You've never seen me, understand?" he instructed, turned back around, and walked into the wall.