"Welcome to the Knight Bus, the emergency transport for stranded witches and wizards. Just stick out your wand and step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I am your conductor."(TN: Seems we have an immortal on our hands. Plot twist, Stan Shunpike is actually Nicolas Flamel. But seriously, why couldn't the original author just used a different name cause Stan wasn't around back then.)
On the Knight Bus, a thin, middle-aged conductor finished his opening speech and welcomed Sherlock and Snape aboard.
"What are your names?" Shunpike asked, raising an eyebrow at them.
The injuries on Snape's face had already healed by now. He carried a wide variety of Potions on his person, and as long as he still had a breath left, he could ensure he wouldn't die, let alone from minor bruises like these.
"John Watson." When introducing himself, Sherlock didn't forget to glance at Snape, signalling for him to come up with a pseudonym as well.
Snape clearly noticed Sherlock's gaze. With a cold, gloomy expression, he spoke a name.
"Tobias Prince."
"Oh, John and Tobias. So where do you two plan on going?" Shunpike didn't notice the small interaction between Sherlock and Snape; he simply felt that the relationship between the two men in front of him was a bit strange.
"Cokeworth," Sherlock said.
Shunpike took a moment to recall the place.
"The fare is 16 Sickles per person, 1 Galleon and 15 Sickles for both of you. Of course, if you need two cups of hot cocoa, that'll be an extra 6 Sickles, or if you want hot water bottles and toothbrushes, that's another 4 Sickles."
Snape kept his face cold and remained silent, while Sherlock ordered a cup of hot cocoa. His body was exhausted, and he needed to warm himself up.
When it came time to pay, Sherlock and Snape stared at each other, neither of them reaching for their money at first.
After staring at each other for a long time, Sherlock finally took out his money pouch and counted out two Galleons and two Sickles, muttering to himself,
"Fine, consider it something I owe you. The fare will count as medical expenses."
When they boarded the bus, they saw the driver sitting behind the wheel, an elderly wizard.
There were no seats inside the bus. Behind the curtains were six brass-posted beds. This was exactly what Sherlock wanted, as he was mentally exhausted and wanted to find a bed to lie down on.
However, once the bus started, it proved that Sherlock's desire to rest was purely wishful thinking.
A loud bang rang out, and Sherlock, who hadn't even sat down on the bed yet, was sent flying backwards. Fortunately, there was a soft pillow behind him, so he didn't suffer any physical harm.
They were currently travelling through a wheat field, but they weren't following the paths. Instead, they drove straight through the crops. The wheat seemed to come alive; before the bus could run it over, it bent aside on its own, clearing a path for the vehicle.
Shunpike brought over Sherlock's hot cocoa, but with the bus speeding along, he sat on the edge of the bed, not daring to drink it immediately.
The Knight Bus didn't travel using its wheels; it was more like a rabbit, leaping a certain distance every time it moved. With every jump, the scenery around them changed instantly.
Snape's mood seemed somewhat complicated. He lay on the bed next to Sherlock, staring blankly out of the window.
Waiting until the bus landed again, Sherlock finally dared to take a quick sip of hot cocoa while chatting with the conductor, Shunpike.
"Where are we going next?"
Shunpike, who was reading a newspaper, looked miserable.
"Taking Mr Shippuka to Wales. That area's a hotbed of activity for those people right now, and I hope we don't run into any trouble."
Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock saw the headline on the front page of The Daily Prophet.
Four Aurors Dead! Fierce Battle in Denbighshire!
"It's getting more and more chaotic lately," a wizard on another bed chimed into the conversation.
Shunpike's face looked rather pale.
"Even The Daily Prophet has started changing its tune. Previously, if something like this happened in Wales, their editors would've definitely criticised and condemned those people in their reports. But now? What are they saying? We need to think about different ideologies and reflect on the future of wizards through constant turmoil. What are they trying to do?"
The wizard sighed.
"What are they trying to do? It's just that they feel the Ministry of Magic can't hold on much longer, and with Dumbledore staying inside Hogwarts and refusing to come out, they think the Wizarding World might be about to change."
"Dumbledore is still doing things. The number of people from the Order of the Phoenix who have died over the years is no fewer than the Aurors."
"When will these days end? I originally wanted my son to take over my job in the future, but now it seems being a conductor isn't safe at all," Shunpike said worriedly. "Last time we carried some of that man's followers. I didn't even dare ask them for the fare, nor did I dare report it to the Ministry of Magic. Ernie was terrified; he almost drove the bus into the sea that day."
Listening to them talk, Sherlock silently finished the hot cocoa in his cup. He could tell that the situation in the Wizarding World during this era was far from peaceful.
The prophecy about the Chosen One had not yet been spoken by Trelawney, and Lord Voldemort and his Death Eater followers were at the height of their power in the Wizarding World, almost rivaling the Ministry of Magic. Even mainstream newspapers like The Daily Prophet were showing signs of changing their tone.
The time he and Snape had returned was extremely unfortunate. Not only did they have to figure out how to get back, but they also had to remain vigilant at all times to ensure their own safety.
The sky outside gradually grew dark.
Lying on the bed, Sherlock gradually adapted to the constant jolting. He closed his eyes and slept for about two or three hours before being woken up.
"You've arrived, you two."
After getting a hot towel from Shunpike to wipe his face ("Eleven Knuts, thank you for your patronage."), Sherlock and the pale-faced Snape got off the bus.
This was a grey city. The most conspicuous features were the several large chimneys visible from almost anywhere, which, even in the middle of the night, continued belching out rolling black smoke.
The city lay beside a filthy river, and the banks were littered with fish-and-chip wrappers. The river water was so black that no sign of life could be seen within it.
It was a typical industrial city with an exceptionally poor living environment. Simply living here would probably put anyone in a bad mood.
Snape seemed a bit travel-sick. His physical condition didn't look very good, but his spirits were remarkably high.
"Let's go. We'll find your younger self first."
"What do you want to do?" Snape asked, looking at him.
Sherlock sighed.
"Even if you want to see her, you can't do it looking like you do now, can you? A man in his thirties, wailing and crying while hugging a teenage girl—you'd scare her to death."
"We'll find your younger self, pluck a few hairs from him, use Polyjuice Potion to make you young again, and then go see the girl of your dreams. That way, it won't seem so abrupt."
Snape pursed his lips, having no objections to Sherlock's arrangement.
Led by him, the two arrived at Snape's old home, a dilapidated Muggle alley called Spinner's End.
The alley was lined with rows of crumbling brick houses, their windows pitch-black in the night, devoid of any sign of life.
That filthy river ran beside Spinner's End, but the stench coming from it wasn't particularly noticeable because the alley itself already smelled foul enough.
Snape led Sherlock to the last two-storey house at the end of the alley, and the two stopped there.
"You do it, or should I?" Sherlock asked.
Snape stood outside the door, looking very reluctant to face the house.
"You do it."
Sherlock looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
"Don't you want to sneak a peek at your parents again?"
"Shut up! Do your job! I'm living in the room on the far left of the second floor right now!" Snape's voice was low, but his tone was harsh.
Sherlock was long used to that attitude. He shrugged, aimed at the window on the far left of the second floor, and extended one hand.
He expanded his field of Control Magic. Snape's room was within ten metres of Sherlock, and he could clearly sense the young Snape fast asleep inside.
Snape was only seventeen at this time. His hair wasn't greasy, and not only was he not old, he was actually quite handsome.
But Sherlock was in no mood to appreciate Snape's sleeping face.
He turned a book on Snape's desk into a small pair of scissors. This kind of simple Transfiguration was something Sherlock could perform directly using Control Magic, even without a wand.
Then he controlled the scissors to quietly snip off a few strands of young Snape's hair before reversing the Transfiguration. Finally, he guided the strands through the gap in the window until they floated into his hand.
The whole process took less than three minutes. Snape simply watched from the side as Sherlock held out one hand and the hair floated out through the second-floor window.
But he was in no mood to care what kind of strange magic Sherlock was using. He was too excited—so excited that his heart felt as though it were about to leap out of his chest.
Sherlock handed him the hair and watched as he dropped it into the Polyjuice Potion.
"Are we going to find Lily now, or wait until tomorrow morning?"
Snape clearly couldn't wait another moment. He impatiently walked out of Spinner's End.
"Let's go now."
Sherlock looked at him and couldn't help sighing as he shook his head.
The once arrogant, cold, and ruthless Snape was no different from an ordinary person when facing the one he loved.
Having known him for a year at Hogwarts, Sherlock had often wondered whether his heart was made of stone. Now it seemed it had only turned to stone because the person capable of making it beat had already died.
Lily Evans's home was near Spinner's End.
After leaving the alley and walking only a short distance, they arrived in front of a detached two-storey house with a small front garden. This was the Evans family home.
Snape stared blankly at the house before him. Now that he had truly arrived at Lily's doorstep, he found himself hesitating instead.