Chapter 156: Turbulent Times
Chapter 156: Turbulent Times
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, an emergency transport service for witches and wizards in distress. Just extend your wand and step aboard, and we'll take you wherever you need to go. My name is Gibbs Sampark, and I'll be your conductor."
On the Knight Bus, a thin, middle-aged conductor welcomed Sherlock and Snape aboard with his standard greeting.
"What are your names, gentlemen?" Sampark asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at them.
Snape's face, which had been injured earlier, had already healed. He always carried a variety of potions, ensuring he could survive any situation, let alone a minor bruise.
"John Watson", Sherlock introduced himself, glancing at Snape and subtly prompting him to choose an alias.
Snape, noticing Sherlock's look, responded with a cold, grim expression.
"Tobias Prince."
"Ah, John and Tobias, so where are you two headed?" Sampark didn't catch the subtle exchange between Sherlock and Snape, but he sensed a peculiar dynamic between them.
"Cokeworth", Sherlock replied.
Sampark recalled the location after a moment.
"The fare is 16 Sickles per person, so that's 1 Galleon and 15 Sickles for both of you. If you'd like two cups of hot cocoa, that's an additional 6 Sickles, or 4 Sickles more if you want a hot water bottle and a toothbrush."
Snape remained silent, but Sherlock requested a cup of hot cocoa. He was exhausted and needed some warmth.
When it came time to pay, Sherlock and Snape exchanged a look, neither willing to reach for their money first. After a long moment, Sherlock pulled out his money bag, counted out 2 Galleons and 2 Sickles, and muttered under his breath.
"Fine, consider it a debt. Let's call the fare medical expenses."
As they made their way inside, they saw the driver, an older wizard, sitting at the wheel. The bus had no seats; instead, behind the drawn curtains were six brass-posted beds, which suited Sherlock just fine. He was mentally drained and wanted to lie down.
However, once the bus started moving, Sherlock's hopes for rest turned out to be a fantasy.
A loud bang echoed as the bus jolted, sending Sherlock flying backward. Fortunately, the soft pillow behind him prevented any physical harm.
They were traveling through a wheat field, but not on a path. The bus cut straight through the field, and the wheat stalks seemed to come to life, leaping to the sides to clear a path for the vehicle.
Sampark brought Sherlock his hot cocoa, but the bus's rapid, jerky movements made it difficult for him to drink it while sitting on the bed.
The Knight Bus didn't move like a regular vehicle; it more resembled a rabbit, hopping along and changing the scenery with each jump.
Snape, who looked somewhat troubled, lay on the bed next to Sherlock, staring out the window.
Once the bus landed, Sherlock seized the opportunity to take a sip of his hot cocoa and struck up a conversation with Sampark.
"Where are we headed next?"
Sampark, who was reading a newspaper, looked worried.
"To Wales to drop off Mr. Shipka. That area is a hotspot for those people's activities. I hope we don't run into any trouble."
Sherlock caught a glimpse of the front page headline of the Daily Prophet in Sampark's hands.
"Four Aurors Dead! Fierce Battle in Denbighshire!"
"Things are getting worse", another wizard on a nearby bed interjected.
Sampark's face paled.
"Even the Daily Prophet is starting to change its tone. In the past, they would harshly criticize such incidents in Wales, but now they talk about ideological reflection and the future of the wizarding world. What are they trying to do?"
The wizard sighed.
"What are they thinking? They probably feel the Ministry of Magic is struggling to hold on, and Dumbledore is holed up in Hogwarts, not coming out. They sense the magical world might be on the brink of change."
"Dumbledore is still doing his part. The Order of the Phoenix has lost as many members as the Aurors over the years."
"When will this end? I was hoping my son would take over my job, but now it seems being a conductor isn't safe at all", Sampark lamented. "Last time, we picked up one of those people's followers. I didn't dare ask for the fare or report it to the Ministry of Magic. Earn was terrified; we almost drove the bus into the sea that day."
Listening to their conversation, Sherlock silently finished his hot cocoa. It was clear that the wizarding world was in a state of turmoil.
The prophecy about the Chosen One, yet to be revealed by Sybill Trelawney, had not been spoken. Voldemort and his Death Eaters were at the height of their power, nearly on equal footing with the Ministry of Magic. Even the Daily Prophet, a mainstream newspaper, was showing signs of changing its stance.
The timing of their return with Snape was far from ideal. Not only did they need to figure out how to get back, but they also had to remain vigilant to ensure their safety.
The sky outside was gradually turning dark.
Sherlock had gradually adapted to the jolting of the vehicle and managed to fall asleep for about two or three hours. He was eventually woken up.
"You've arrived, gentlemen."
Sherlock and the pale-faced Snape took a hot towel from the driver to wipe their faces ("Eleven Knuts, thank you for your custom.") before stepping out of the vehicle.
This was a gray city, most notable for the large chimneys that could be seen from anywhere in the city, continuously belching thick black smoke even at night.
The city was situated next to a dirty river, with the riverbank strewn with fish and chip wrappers. The river itself was so black that no signs of life could be seen in its waters.
A typical industrial city, with living conditions that were abysmal. Just living here would likely put one in a bad mood every day.
Snape seemed to be suffering from motion sickness, and his physical condition was not good, but his spirit was remarkably strong.
"Let's go. We need to find your younger self first."
"What do you plan to do?" Snape asked, looking at him.
Sherlock sighed.
"Even if you want to see her, you can't do it looking like this. A thirty-something-year-old man crying and wailing to a teenage girl would scare her to death."
"We'll find your younger self, take a few strands of his hair, and use the Polyjuice Potion to make you look younger. Then we can go see your dream girl without seeming too abrupt."
Snape pursed his lips but had no objections to Sherlock's plan.
Snape led the way, and the two of them arrived at a dilapidated Muggle alley called Spider's Tail Alley, his old home.
The alley was lined with rows of old brick houses, the windows appearing as dark, lifeless holes in the night.
The dirty river ran alongside Spider's Tail Alley, its foul odor not as strong as the stench already present in the alley.
Snape led Sherlock to the last two-story house at the end of the alley, and they stopped there.
"Shall I do it, or will you?" Sherlock asked.
Snape stood outside the door, seemingly reluctant to see the house.
"You do it."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"Don't you want to sneak a peek at your parents?"
"Shut up! Just do your job! I live in the room on the left side of the second floor!" Snape's voice was low, but his tone was harsh.
Sherlock was already used to Snape's attitude. He shrugged and aimed at the left window on the second floor, extending his hand.
His magical control expanded, and he could clearly sense the young Snape, who was sound asleep, within ten meters of him.
This Snape was only seventeen, with less greasy hair and a rather handsome face.
But Sherlock had no time to admire the sleeping Snape.
He transformed a book on the younger Snape's desk into a small pair of scissors, a simple transfiguration that Sherlock could perform without a wand using his magical control.
He then controlled the scissors to quietly cut a few strands of hair from the young Snape's head, then reversed the transfiguration and directed the strands to pass through the window's gap, finally landing in his hand.
The entire process took less than three minutes. From Snape's perspective, he only saw Sherlock extend his hand, and then hair flew out from the second-floor room.
But Snape was too agitated to care about the strange magic Sherlock used. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might leap out of his chest.
Sherlock handed him the hair, watching as Snape placed the strands into the Polyjuice Potion.
"Shall we go see Lily now, or wait until morning?"
Snape clearly couldn't wait a moment longer and eagerly headed out of Spider's Tail Alley.
"Let's go now."
Sherlock watched him, sighing and shaking his head.
The once proud, cold, and unfeeling Snape was no different from a normal person when it came to the one he loved.
After a year of knowing him at Hogwarts, Sherlock had often wondered if Snape's heart was made of stone. Now it seemed that it had only turned to stone because the person who made it beat was no longer alive.
Lily Evans's house was near Spider's Tail Alley. They walked out of the alley and soon arrived at a yard with a two-story house. This was the Evans family home.
Snape stared at the house, dazed. Standing in front of Lily's home, he hesitated, his resolve faltering.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
