Beware of Greeks

Summary: Hopelessly lost in the labyrinthine streets of Knockturn Alley, young Harry Potter runs into the absolutely last person he might ever want to help him. Chamber of Secrets AU. Harry/Snape gen fic.

Disclaimer: I don't steal, I borrow. Harry Potter is the sole property of J.K. Rowling.

Chapter I: It Never Rains, It Pours

It had all started simply enough. The plan had been a quick trip to Diagon Alley, an essential part of Wizarding London for all students in attendance at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They were to collect the new school things that would be needed for the upcoming year and return safely back to The Burrow to await the arrival of the first of September with the least amount of unnecessary excitement as possible. But twelve year-old Harry Potter was quickly learning that things rarely turned out as they should.

He was currently sitting behind a pile of overflowing dustbins, the only place he could find to escape the leering gazes of the passing witches and wizards that roamed these crooked, narrow streets. It seemed unusually dark here despite the time of day, as though a thick smog was blotting out the light of the sun, giving the passers-by an eerie, sickly look. Harry didn't like the feel of this grim place. And as though the oddity of the shrunken heads and withered, severed hands that made up some of the wares at Borgin and Burkes hadn't been enough of an indication that this was a grimy, disreputable section of the Wizarding world that Harry wanted no part in, as he had left the shop he was confronted by a veiled witch who smelled vaguely of sickly chimney smoke, sweat and aniseed. He was quick to turn down her offer of only five Knuts to every pound of pickled gnome's liver as he hurried down the street in the hopes of finding anything that might be even vaguely familiar.

He had had little success and instead settled upon simply escaping her and some of the other more disconcerting members of the public he had skirted by. But now Harry was entirely at a loss as to what he could do to rectify his current situation. His mind was still too fuelled with his suspicions concerning Malfoy and his father. He couldn't even begin to imagine what sorts of items pertaining to the Dark Arts they must have had hidden at their manor, particularly if they were coming to such a disgusting and dingy place as this to sell them. Harry glanced nervously from behind the bins, as though hoping he might suddenly be confronted with the solution to his predicament rather than having to come up with a plan himself.

At the mouth of the alley he was crouched in was a crooked wooden sign that read Knockturn Alley.

Brilliant, he thought dryly, shoulders slumping in disappointment as he leaned back against the cold, grimy wall, the damp seeping through his overly large Muggle clothes. This new information didn't help him anymore than the sign for Borgin and Burkes had. He'd never so much as heard about a Knockturn Alley, let alone have any idea how to get away from it. He supposed he could try finding a fireplace somewhere and return to The Burrow but Harry didn't really fancy attempting another journey by Floo powder in case he ended up in an even worse place than this, though he was having a difficult time imagining one.

He took his broken glasses from his nose to clean them, a familiar gesture that gave him at least a little comfort in such a strange and dreary place. Trying to wipe away some of the soot with the sleeve of his jacket but with little success, Harry didn't notice the three pairs of eyes that crept slowly closer.

"Lost, my dear?"

Harry jumped, fumbling with his glasses as he hurried to put them back on his nose. Peering over the top of the bins were the gnarled and twisted beaks of a two-headed vulture, both of which seemed to leer at him through black, beady eyes. For a second Harry thought that it had been the one to speak to him before he noticed the round, blood-shot eyes that stared at him from beneath the rim of a large black hat. A witch, wild grey hair spilling out from beneath her strangely decorated hat, smiled sourly at him.

"Why don't I help you find your way back?" She squawked at him, her voice as hoarse as the crow of the deformed bird sitting atop her head.

"N-no, uh, thank you," he stammered, quickly climbing to his feet and taking a few cautious steps back, moving deeper into the alley. "I was just -"

"Come, come, dear. We'll take care of you." She inched closer, tattered, moth-eaten cloak wrapped tightly around bony shoulders. She reached a grizzled hand towards him. It held a disturbing resemblance to the dismembered one Mr Borgin had kept inside the glass case.

"No, please," he said quickly, hand instinctively reaching for the wand in his back pocket. "I'm not lost, I -"

"Potter!"

Harry's heart leapt and the witch quickly retracted her hand, turned and pushed herself back out of the narrow alleyway, squeezing past a furious mass of black robes so suddenly that Harry barely caught another glimpse of her. He might have sighed in relief had it been anyone else striding towards him just then, no matter how angry they might have looked. Just when he thought he'd already managed to avoid the very last person he wanted to meet in this place while he was lost, filthy and wearing a pair of broken glasses - namely, the Malfoys - Harry found himself completely mistaken. He'd never even considered that he might meet someone as loathsome and unfavourable as Snape here but the more he considered, the more Harry believed that it made sense.

The Potions Master glared down his overly large nose at him, the greasy curtains of his hair framing his sallow face. His cold, black eyes darted quickly to the witch as he passed her, who quickened her pace, clutching a dirty brown purse to her chest. She disappeared around the corner and out of sight but not before Harry noticed that the two heads of the thing on her head had twisted around to eye him longingly as they left. He repressed a small, disturbed shudder.

"Professor, I - I was just -" He couldn't finish so much as a sentence before Snape was bearing down upon like some great black bat.

"Can't you spend even a few weeks without getting yourself into a complete mess?" His Professor hissed angrily at him. He grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and gave him a push towards what Harry had by then concluded was the main street. "This is no place for children."

"I wasn't -" Harry hastily began before his shoulder was given another shove.

"None of your excuses, Potter. Move!"

Harry was quick to comply, tripping over his own feet in his haste as he dodged over the rubbish littering the floor. Without another word, Snape grabbed him by the upper arm, keeping him close as he steered him through the mess of streets, passed vendors with the most disturbing items for sale, most of which Harry was sure were illegal. Edging around a witch carrying a tray of what appeared to be whole human fingernails, Harry dug in his heels slightly, trying to wriggle free of his teacher's tight grasp.

Snape gave him an impatient shake, his fingers tightening their grip.

"Potter," he snarled quietly, giving Harry's arm a warning squeeze. "If you do not begin to move at a pace that is marginally faster than that of a flesh-eating slug I will be more than happy to drag you the rest of the way. Is that understood?"

"But Professor," Harry tried again, wanting to make his situation clear given how badly Snape seemed to be reacting to what must have appeared to be a deliberate course of action. It was typical of the Potions Master to reach such a conclusion, Harry thought bitterly. The man delighted in depicting him in the very worst of lights.

"I wasn't - Weasleys - Floo powder - got lost," he stammered breathlessly as Snape continued to march him through the street, doing his best to keep up with Snape's long strides. There seemed to be greater number of people here though the thought was of little comfort to Harry. It was just as dark in this part of Knockturn Alley, if that was indeed where they still were, than it had been behind the dustbins.

"No excuses," Snape spat again. "You have no business being here, Potter. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply but was cut off as his Professor continued derisively, "I expect your Gryffindor courage could hardly resist the temptation of such a challenge."

"What are you doing down here then?" He retorted heatedly, his growing anger coupled with the humiliation of being escorted out of the Alley in such a manner making him forget precisely who it was he was speaking to. Summer holidays or not, Snape was still his Professor. At this rate Gryffindor would be in the minuses before the new term had even had a chance to start.

"Don't take that tone with me, Potter," Snape said, finally releasing his grip on Harry as they turned a corner and were suddenly met with the almost blinding radiance of the sun, the warmth of it washing over them both. Blinking in the sudden light, Harry could just make out a huge building of shining white stone in the distance. Gringotts Bank.

Snape had dragged him back onto the winding street of Diagon Alley.