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A Different Path: The Sorcerer's Stone

By Dishonorable

Chapter Three: The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round

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AN: If you are here, then you have decided that Harry will try the door from Chapter One. Thank you for your reviews!

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Harry twisted the door knob anxiously, but, alas, it stopped short.

“You're dead, Potter!” came Pierce's voice. He sounded as if he was just around the corner.

Harry jerked the knob frantically once more and, to his surprise and glee, there was a click and the door swung open. Without a moment of hesitation, he dashed in, pulling it shut behind him.

The air inside was cool, a nice relief from the hot air outside that caused him to sweat heavily from running. His adrenal started to slow down as he looked around the mercifully empty hallway. A sign declared a nearby bathroom out of order.

“Hey!” cried a boy, falling back on a tiled wall, “This is out of order!”

Harry regarded him wryly; he certainly wasn't big enough to be a threat to him. “Then why are you here?”

“Got special instructions from Miss Rose to get some toilet tissue,” replied the boy easily, trying to look impressively important. “They're all out in the girls'.”

“You're hiding out here, aren't you?”

“ 'course not,” he said irritably, “Holton Himmers does not hide out in broken toilets.”

Harry just raised his eyebrows before going over to a sink.

“What are you doing?”

“Hiding,” Harry said shortly as he wiped his face with a wet paper towel, “I upset my cousin and he and his friends are after me now.”

“Oh,” said Holton, pretending to look disinterested, “Is that all? Your cousin mustn't be very big then, if he's got to have his friends help him.”

“You don't know Dudley,” retorted Harry, “He's-”

“Dudley Dursley? In fifth grade?” Harry nodded, “He's your cousin?” Harry nodded again and Holton whistled, “My sympathies, we hear all the time about how Dursley always beats up on everyone, but especially on his orphan cousin.”

“Yup,” said Harry, trying to sound light, “That's Dudders alright.”

“And you live with him, correct?”

“Yeah. Real tight living.”

Holton grinned, before going solemn, “I don't think I could stand living with Dursley, I'd go crazy. One time, he took my lunch money and one time was enough. I almost went blind; he's uglier than a rat's ass.”

Harry laughed.

Brrrriiiinnnng!

Recess was over; the other students would be spilling in.

“You're alright, Dursley's cousin,” said Holton.

“Harry,” he interrupted, the noises of rowdy children coming from the hallway, “My name's Harry Potter.”

“Oh,” Holton said, “Anyways, you're alright. If I were you, I wouldn't put up with Dursley and if he's anything like his parents I wouldn't put up with them for guardians.”

“What can I do? They put a roof over my head and feed me at least.”

“Is it worth it though?” said Holton lightly, though his brow was furrowed, “Is it worth putting up with 'em? Wouldn't you rather be rid of them and hungry?”

“Well-”

“Leave, I say,” Holton said, “Escape while you can.”

He had thought of leaving the Dursleys, but he never really got the courage to do so. The stories about life outside of your home, no matter how horrible, were always frightening.

“I can't leave, especially not right now. I've got no money, food-”

“Here,” said Holton, handing Harry a paper sack from his book bag, “My lunch for today.”

“I can't-”

“Window's unlocked,” he pointed at the dusty window above, “Watch out for bobbies and pervs. Laura'll help you at 15 Krystal Lane, if you ever happen to get to Weybridge.”

Harry just stood there.

“Well go on,” said Holton, smiling, “They'll start looking for you soon once you don't show up to school.”

“Err, thanks,” Harry's mouth was dry. With a glance at Holton, he climbed up on a sink and pushed the window open with a creak.

“Goodbye,” called Holton, still grinning madly.

“Goodbye,” and Harry was out the window, unaware that the boy known as Holton had turned into a one-legged figure of smoke.

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“Dumbledore's office,” cried Mrs. Arabella Figg, throwing some powder into her fireplace. Normally, this would be quite odd, but as she was a squib this was quite a usual form of communication.

The fire turned green and a head of a very old man appeared.

“Hello, Arabella,” said the head pleasantly, “What can I do for you?”

“Harry,” said Mrs. Figg anxiously, “He's gone missing from school.”

“I'll be right over,” the head said, suddenly quite grave.

Mrs. Figg quickly stepped back and the man's head and the rest of his body came out of the fireplace. He had an impossibly long silver beard and blue eyes behind half-moon glasses. His nose looked like it had been broken more than once and he was wearing blue robes with orange stars on them. He was Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy and one of the most powerful people on Earth.

“He disappeared at recess before lunch hour,” said Mrs. Figg without prompting, “The muggle police are out searching right now, they think he's run away.”

“Run away?” repeated Dumbledore, looking quite old.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Figg impatiently, giving him a pointed look, “Away from those awful muggles.”

Dumbledore sighed, but did not retort and drew his wand, “Point me Harry Potter.”

His wand leapt from his and smacked him squarely in the nose.

“Albus?” Mrs. Figg said as Dumbledore caught his wand before it hit the ground. He had quite remarkable reflexes for a man his age. “What's wrong?”

“The only reasons why that spell would have failed if Harry was in a location under the Fidelius Charm or...” he hesitated, but Mrs. Figg gave him a look and he continued, “The Boy-Who-Lived does not live any longer.”

Around an hour and thirty minutes earlier...

Alecto Carrow was just having tea with his unpleasant sister when something began to burn. Exchanging a wicked smile, he and she disappeared with a small pop. All around England and somewhere in Germany, there similar pops and cracks as Death 

Eaters answered their Master's call. Severus Snape penned a hurried letter to Albus Dumbledore before hurrying outside the grounds and apparating away, wearing a previously neglected white mask.

Unfortunately, Hitch the house elf wasn't all that able to fend off a poisoned dagger from behind. He would be discovered a long while later in a pool of blood, clutching an unbroken letter. Snape had made a grave mistake by closing off his quarters to all elves, but his own personal one.

Meanwhile...

Harry hit the pavement and glanced about for anyone before starting to walk away rapidly, trying to look inconspicuous while clutching a paper sack. He never did make it to Weybridge, but that was just as well. There was no telling what would have happened at 15 Krystal Lane; a Hinkypunk never keeps good company.

Later...

“How much is a ticket to the next city, or preferably Weybridge?” asked Harry nervously and was shot down by the clerk's tart reply. There had only been fifty pence in Holton's lunch sack along with an orange, a juice box, and a ham sandwich.

He turned away and started toward a map on the bus station's wall. The next person in line spoke loudly and clearly enough so nearly all the station could hear, “Two tickets to Weybridge, please.”

It was a girl with midlength dark brown hair, gray eyes, and a pointed nose. She was wearing the oddest dress Harry had ever seen and a smile as she handed the clerk the money and received the tickets and change.

With a shake of his head, he turned back to the map, tracing a path to Weybridge with his finger. He had nowhere else to go after all; he might as well take Holton's reference.

“Excuse me,” came a smooth voice behind him. Harry turned and saw the girl holding up a ticket, “I've seem to have bought an extra ticket.”

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“My name's Daphne,” she said properly once they were seated, “What's yours?”

“Harry,” he replied, not quite believing he had just gotten on a bus with a strange girl, “Harry Potter.”

She smiled, but wrinkled her nose when a man sat across from them.

“Isn't it lucky that we were both going to Weybridge?” said Daphne happily, “I was afraid that I was going to have to travel alone. You see, I'm going home after visiting my cousin, Theodore. Why are you headed that way?”

“Oh,” said Harry as the man suddenly got up and went to the front of the bus, getting scolded by the driver in the process, “I'm going to visit my grandmother. She's ill and needs help around the house.”

“Really?” Daphne smiled coyly, “You know what?” Harry shook his head curiously, “I think you're running away.”

“H-how'd you know that?” Harry asked, his eyes wide.

Daphne leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “Magic.”

Harry's brow furrowed. Uncle Vernon, whom he lived with along with Dudley and Aunt Petunia, had always vehemently spat on anything unusual and angrily insisted that there was no such thing as magic.

“There's no such thing as magic,” said Harry finally, “That's what my uncle says.”

“But what about you, Harry?” Daphne breathed excitedly, “Hasn't anything ever strange happened you when you felt a strong emotion? C'mon, something's got to have happened; it's in your blood.”

“My blood?” Harry choked out, remembering all those strange times that caused him to be punished severely.

“Yes,” she said, “Your parents, they were a witch and wizard! You're a wizard, Harry!”

“H-how-”

“I'm a witch,” Daphne replied proudly, “And I've found you to help you to your rightful place, -in the world of magic.”

“Is it in Weybridge?” Harry asked, his mind still whirling.

Daphne's nose wrinkled again, but she smiled soon thereafter, “No, silly. That's a muggle, -a nonmagic-, town.”

“Then where?”

“I'll show you,” said Daphne happily, “Just wait until the next stop.”

Miraculously the bus stopped a minute later and the two children hurried off. Daphne pulled Harry along until they got to an out of the way alley.

“Do you trust me, Harry?” she whispered. Did he? He only met her a little while ago...but then again, she was like him...strange...a freak...magical. What did he have to lose anyways?

“Yes,” Harry said, clutching the paper sack tighter.

She grabbed his hand and he felt something hard in smooth in hers. He looked at her confusedly, but she merely said, “Magic.”

And then he felt the strangest sensation at his navel.

Present.

"So there's pureblood, where he or she comes from a long line of only pure witches and wizards," Harry said and Daphne nodded proudly, "Then halfblood, which is me. One parent or grandparent is muggle. And last is mudblood, where he or she is born from nonmagical people, -muggles."

"Exactly," beamed Daphne. She was perched on the arm of the antique pink couch Harry sat on and was dressed in her usual clothes, which were stranger than the ones she wore before. Apparently they were called robes and were the traditional clothing of witches and wizards, though styles differed.

"Why is Pureblood the best?" Harry asked curiously. Just for a second, Daphne's nose wrinkled again.

"Because," she replied patiently, "Their ancestry of magic gives them a better aptitude for magical arts...well, usually. Some wizards' and witches' magical heritage don't come through enough, but that's really infrequent."

"Oh, are you Pureblood, Daphne?"

"Yup," she said, more proud than ever, "And your children will be second generation Pureblood if you marry right," she averted her eyes than and a light blush was on her cheeks. Harry just stared at her, bewildered. It must be a girl thing. He could've sworn he saw her scowl for a second, but it was gone in a flash  as she looked away demurely. There was an awkward pause, (at least for Harry), and he changed the subject.

"So what's this about broomsticks?"

Daphne smirked while rolling her eyes as if she hadn't acted very strange a moment ago, "Boys."

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"Dinner, darlings," said Mrs. Greengrass charmingly. She had the same eyes as Daphne, but had curly blonde hair. The dark blue robes she was wearing seemed especially tailored for and trailed on the floor, giving the expected image of the mistress of such a manor.

"C'mon, Harry," Daphne said, leaping from the couch, "Our house elves make the best rosemary potatoes."

Harry got up a little less enthusiastically. He had yet to meet Mr. Greengrass, who had been at work when he and Daphne had arrived at Greengrass Manor. Mrs. Greengrass had greeted them without batting an eye and had helped explained magic with Daphne before departing to attend to matters of the household.

"Your father's done with work," Mrs. Greengrass said as they walked down a set of stairs, "But he's stayed for a late meeting and won't be home until late."

"Darn," said Daphne disappointedly, "Daddy would've loved to meet you, Harry. He practically worships Quidditch."

"Yes," Mrs. Greengrass said, shaking her head, "Quidditch is your father's life. He had even wanted to get married on a Quidditch pitch."

Daphne giggled and whispered to Harry, "She always brings that up whenever they get in a row over the sport."

Mrs. Greengrass pretended not to hear as she led them to a heavy door and opened it, revealing a large, luxurious dining hall. At one end of the polished table were three place settings along with a small buffet set out, aromas drifting over temptingly. Harry followed the two ladies as if on air and took the seat opposite of Daphne. His hunger suddenly twisted along with anxiety. There was a lot more silverware than he was used to and he had no idea whatsoever how to use any of them. Perhaps he could simply copy Daphne...?

"Oh dear," said Mrs. Greengrass, as she noticed his stare directed at the silverware, "Those awful muggles didn't teach you proper table manners, did they?"

"No, ma'am," Harry said, not at all bothered by Mrs. Greengrass referring to his relatives as "those awful muggles".

"Just use whatever," replied Mrs. Greengrass, waving her hand with a smile, "We'll teach you later."

Harry grinned, "Thanks Mrs. Greengrass."

"No problem, dear. Those muggles are at fault, not you...you see, Harry, this is one example of why muggles are beneath us magical folk," said Mrs. Greengrass, suddenly more serious, "They have no sense of propriety, nor none of knowledge, reason, skill, or even real love."

Harry nodded in agreement; the Dursleys didn't show any of those qualities.

"Mum," Daphne half-whined, "Harry doesn't want to talk about anything of his past life. He's a proper wizard now; not a muggle."

"Sorry, dearest," conceded Mrs. Greengrass, "You're correct. There shall be no more talk of muggles; today is a day to celebrate Harry's entrance into the wizarding world."

"Err, thanks," said Harry, embarrassed, "It's not that necessary-"

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Greengrass, smiling, "This is one of the most important days of your life..."

...

"You'll sleep in Daphne's room tonight," Mrs. Greengrass said after dinner, "The guest room will take a while to get ready."

Harry suddenly realized that he was intruding upon the Greengrass's hospitality, "I don't want to intrude-"

"Don't be stupid, Harry," Daphne said, cuffing him lightly on the back, "Your ours now. You've signed the contract when you came on the bus with me."

Harry laughed, before saying, "Are you sure...?"

"Of course," Mrs. Greengrass replied, putting an arm around him, "You're a wizarding hero, not to mention a very sweet boy."

"Hero?"

"Daphne'll explain it later," Mrs. Greengrass dismissed, "Right now it's time for bed, there's a big day ahead of us tomorrow."

"Alright," agreed Harry after a pause. The Greengrasses hadn't led him astray before, in fact, Harry even considered them great friends, the first he had ever had.

"Goodnight," said Mrs. Greengrass, hugging Daphne and kissing her on the forehead. She turned and before Harry could even comprehend, did the same to him.

"Goodnight, mum," said Daphne.

"Goodnight," Harry muttered. He hadn't remembered ever being kissed goodnight before; it was quite nice he decided.

Mrs. Greengrass disappeared behind a door down and Daphne led Harry by the hand down the hallway a ways. Finally they came to a door that had Daphne in silver letters on it.

"This is my room," said Daphne, though it was obvious. She pulled open the door to reveal a large bedroom decked in green, mahogany, and silver. There were two queen beds next to each with some room apart that looked comfortable enough to lie in forever. It was apparent by now that the Greengrasses were wealthy. Harry couldn't even imagine what the master suite would be like.

"You get the left," called Daphne, going to her large wardrobe, "A set of pajamas are on it." She pulled out a silk pink nightgown before disappearing into a doorway that Harry assumed led to her bathroom. He dressed fast, lest Daphne walked in on him changing. He was thankful because she was a quick dresser and reappeared soon, quickly grabbing a fat pillow and nailing him in the chest, initiating a long, drawn out fight 'til the death.

Later that night...

"Why couldn't Tracey Davis or Pansy Parkinson have taken care of him?" Daphne asked irritably in a typical childlike manner.

"The Davises' loyalty are being questioned," said Mrs. Greengrass patiently, "And Pansy Parkinson looks like a cow besides being promised to Draco, Daphne. You should be honored that you are serving Our Master."

Daphne sighed, "I am, -Draco's in a fit of jealousy...he's just so annoying."

"I know, Daph, I know," Mrs. Greengrass soothed, "But perhaps he'll grow more tolerable with time."

"I hope so," said Daphne, wrinkling her nose, "He's such a little curious goody-goody. I don't see why Our Master couldn't just kill him."

Crack!

"Never question Our Lord," said Mrs. Greengrass angrily as Daphne held her smarting cheek, "Never."

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"How does it go with Potter, Greengrass?"

"Very well, my lord. My wife reports that Daphne has successfully befriended the boy and implanted the beginnings of our beliefs. He is even going to be staying with us."

"Excellent, Lucius will take care of the paperwork so Dumbledore cannot interfere."

...

"It is a wonder...what a friendly hand and a compulsion charm can do to a mere boy."

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AN: I took advantage of Hinkypunks and added to their powers and habits. 

Please go to Chapter Five once it is up.