Song: Revised version of Never Again by Nickelback.

If you or someone you know is being abused, please call 1-800-4-A-CHILD (USA) or 0808-800-5000 (UK). Child abuse is wrong and a stop must be put to it!

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

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He's drunk again, it's time to fight
He must have done something wrong tonight
The living room becomes a boxing ring
It's time to run when you see him
Clenching his hands
He's just a child
Never Again

Dudley Dursley's head shot up from the English homework it had been resting upon when he heard the door slam open with force on the floor below him. He listened carefully to every sound, having grown cautious around his father ever since his mother left him for another man during Dudley's Christmas break. The man had been rightfully angry about his wife's abandonment but had failed to let the situation go, and had since become cruel and detached; even a little violent towards the freak when he was home for the holidays.

The footsteps he heard were not manicured and even, instead unsteady and stumbling. That only meant one thing: his father was drunk. Alcohol never led to good things for the freak and he had to admit, he was feeling a little sorry for him right about now.

Grimacing, Dudley jumped in his seat when he heard what could only being the cupboard under the stairs' door being whipped open by a drunken hand. Potter had been evicted from Dudley's second bedroom when he returned this year as punishment for "putting a wretched curse upon Petunia to cause her abandonment of the family".

"Boy!" He heard his dad scream in slurred words.

Dudley did not hear the freak's reply, if he had even managed to stutter a pitiful one into what he knew to be a very frightening face. While his dad had never struck him like he did the freak, he often went on terrifying vocal tirades. As cruel as it was to think this, Dudley was quite happy the freak had returned to Privet Drive. Potter was an outlet for his father that was, well, not him and it was a pleasant break from his father's rants.


I hear his scream, from down the hall
Amazing he can even talk at all
Dad yells to me, Go back to bed
I'm terrified that he'll wind up
Dead in his hands, he's just a child
Never Again

A pained, terrified scream broke Dudley's thoughts. His eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped. What is dad doing to him? Harry never uttered a sound when his dad hit him previously.

What could his father be doing?

Dudley decided that it would be best to make sure the freak was still alive and quietly slipped into the hall. As he tip toed down the stairs, what he heard frightened him. He could hear the swishing of an object, then the sound of the object striking something, and then the freak would let out a cry.

He wouldn't…he couldn't be…he wouldn't…whip him would he?

Dudley's fears were confirmed when he peaked around the corner of the living room, and saw the horror taking place there. His father was red in the face, spittle flying as he whipped Potter's shirtless back with his leather belt.

Regretfully, Dudley noticed the fading bruises of different ages littering the freak's body. Sure, he knew his dad often hit Potter. He hadn't known it had been as often as it looked, or that his strikes had left this many bruises.

Shuddering, he realized he had to but a stop to this. Yeah, Harry was a freak. But he was just a kid and no kid deserved this.

With wobbly legs, Dudley stepped into the living room and stuttered, "D-d-dad, you should s-stop."

Vernon's face grew to an even darker shade as he whispered menacingly, "Go to bed Dudley."

The fat teenage boy stumbled backwards but didn't leave, watching as Vernon swung the belt down on Harry (who let out a hiss and a moan), then threw the belt to the side.


Been there before, but not like this
Seen it before, but not like this
Never before have I ever
Seen it this bad
He's just a child
Never Again

Dudley let out a sigh of relief. It looked like his father was heeding his advice and stopping his malicious attack.

Just as soon as that though crossed his mind, he realized just how wrong he was.

Vernon wound up his leg and kicked Potter hard in the stomach, who gasped and moaned in response. That kick seemed to have been the instigator, for Vernon soon started all out beating the freak, kicking and hitting everything he could.

His presence seemingly forgotten, Dudley stood transfixed in the doorway of the living room, too caught up in the horror of the atrocity taking place in his living room to put an end to it.

As he stared, his heart and stomach both twisted into knots, both sick with pain and guilt when he saw bright green eyes, shining with tears, staring at him, pleading. Harry had opened the eyes he had previously clenched so tightly to look at him, to plead with who he knew was his only chance.

Dudley did not react to the heartfelt plea, but what happened immediately after. His mammoth father climbed on top of Harry's skinny frame and grabbed a hold of his neck. His dad was so much bigger than Harry that he could almost circle the boy's neck with one hand.

Harry'e eyes bugged out when his dad squeezed, and Dudley's eyes went wide. Vernon then proceeded to smash Harry's head onto the ground multiple times, where blood then started to pool.

It was then that Dudley realized what was happening: his dad was not just teaching the freak a lesson; he was trying to kill him.

Deciding he had had enough, Dudley sprinted as fast as his large body would carry him to the front hall closet. Adrenaline pumping, his fingers closed around the cool metal of the gun as he pulled it from the closet and ran back towards the living room.

Harry will not the person dying tonight, he vowed to himself as he rounded the corner of the living room, gun in hand.


He's drunk again, it's time to fight
Same old shit, just on a different night
He grabs the gun, he's had enough
Tonight he'll find out how fucking
Tough is this man
Pulls the trigger as fast as he can
Never Again

His father's head whipped around in anger, his hands still strangling Harry, when he heard Dudley noisily run into the room. Vernon's eye then grew wide and his mouth dropped open in a perfect "O" as he stared down the barrel of the gun.

"He is just a kid, Dad," Dudley whispered as he clenched his eyes shut tightly and pulled the trigger on his father.

He opened his eyes quickly, worried that he had been too late to save Harry. His fear was not without reason, for what he saw was sickening. Harry was lying in a pool of his own blood, unconscious. His obese father was lying on top of the malnourished fourteen year old; blood gushing from a bullet would in his head.

I just killed my father. My only father. I just killed him. Dudley was horrorstruck at his actions. His father may have turned nasty when his mother left, but he had raised him for thirteen previous years, years filled with love and attention. And how had he repaid him for his troubles? Murder.

The thoughts of guilt were banished when he looked at Harry again. He looked as good as dead. Dudley quickly ran over and pushed his father off of Harry, making it easier for him to breathe.

Bending over the broken body, he quickly checked for his pulse and breathing. Both were weak, he realized worriedly. Harry needed help fast and Dudley had no idea what to do. He couldn't call the police or an ambulance: he had just committed murder.

His decision was difficult but quick as he got up and sprinted towards the kitchen. I need to write to the freaks. He knew no freaks, he then realized. Who was he going to send it to?

He sighed, realizing he was going to have to talk to a bird. He had seen Potter talking to the dumb animal before and only hoped the bird could actually understand humans and would know where to take it.

After quickly scribbling a letter onto some lined paper, Dudley ran out to the shed, where the bird had been kept that summer. He ripped open the door to the small shed, then the door to the bird's cage.

Frantically, he handed the bird the note.

Recognizing this was Harry's muggle cousin who didn't have a clue about owl post; Hedwig took the letter in her beak rather than having it tied to her leg. The muggle looked absolutely terrified and she could smell blood on the boy.

Her worry for her master grew steadily when the fat boy panted out, "Take this to the nearest freak!", before bolting out the door and into the house, leaving the shed door open for her upcoming flight.

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Meanwhile, Professor Severus Snape was in a meeting with another prominent potions master a few towns over from Little Whinging. He would be lying if he were to say he had not been looking forward to this meeting for quite some time. He and his colleague were to be discussing the later effects of wolfsbane potion over tea.

Their meeting had just started after exchanging pleasantries. As he bent over to retrieve his notes from his bag, he saw the owl flying quickly and with what looked like urgency towards his present location.

With a slight sigh, he decided to ignore the incoming animal, for it wasn't his house so the post was almost certainly not for him. Turning back around, he precariously placed his precious notes on the table between him and his peer.

Almost immediately after he let his hands fall from the parchment, the bird soared in through an open window and landed directly in front of him, on top of his notes.

Bubbling with rage, he glared at the offending bird. After a moment of scrutinizing it, he realized it was Potter's bird. The beautiful snowy owl was unmistakably his. Potter. The spoiled brat. What is he doing owling me in the summer?

The anger still filling him, he glanced again at the bird. She was flapping her wings agitatedly, a muggle piece of paper in her beak. What the…what is Potter playing at?

Somewhat worried (though he would never show it), he glanced apologetically at his friend, all the while grabbing the letter from the bird. The other potions master smiled understandably and nodded towards the letter.

Though visibly, Snape looked as sour as ever, inside his heart was thumping against his ribcage quite rapidly. With steady hands, he unfurled the muggle notebook paper:

Dear freak,

Harry is hurt really bad. Like if you and your freakishness don't come right now he's going to die. My dad is dead too. We live at number 4 privet drive, little whinging, surrey. Please hurry or the freak will die.

You better come.

Thank you,

Dudley Dursley.

Severus Snape's mouth dropped open as he let the words sink in. Potter is dying? Shit. If he dies it will be my fault now. Shit. Fuck Potter and his death stunts. He probably has a paper cut.

Sighing with frustration, Snape looked up at his colleague.

Standing quickly, the other potions master walked towards him and said, "You are distressed. You should go; I can tell you are needed more urgently elsewhere."

Snape stood slowly and quizzically, and as soon as he was on his feet his friend was poking him the back, towards the door. He growled a little and he could practically feel the other man smiling.

"Go now. I will send you your notes and we can reschedule at a later date."

And with that, Snape was promptly pushed out of the front gate, crunched letter still in hand.

Standing on the other side of the gate, the man smiled and waved him off.

With a huff, Snape turned on the spot and apparated towards Privet Drive.


Seen it before, but not like this
Been there before, but not like this
Never before have I ever
Seen it this bad
he's just a child
Never Again

With all the wards surrounding the bloody boy-who-lived, Snape had to apparate to the corner of Privet Drive and Magnolia Crescent, only increasing his irritation.

In his trademark bat-like swoop, he set off at a brisk pace towards number four. If Potter was going to die, it wasn't going to be on his watch.

After approximately a minute of walking, he was on the front step of number four. It was deathly quiet inside the house and the silence only unnerved him further.

With his usual stealthy, first-year cry worthy attitude, he decided against knocking and alerting people of his entry. Instead, he alohomora'd the door and walked in quietly, only to be met with a sight he would never forget, a sight he would have nightmares about until his dying day.

In the living room, there were three people. A fat boy, who he could only assume was Potter's cousin, was kneeling over what must be Potter. The boy looked dead. There was blood pooled around his head, bruises on his face, handprints around his small neck, and vivid bruises and welts covering his torso. The scene was so repulsive; Snape had to actively work to keep both his cool and his lunch.

To make matters worse, behind Potter and his cousin lie a disgustingly obese man with what looked like a bullet through his head, his blood mixing with Potter's and staining the white carpet. And next to the cousin lie what was most probably the offending weapon of death.

With his mask in place he said in a deadly whisper, "What, pray tell, is going on here?"

The fat boy jumped up from the ground next to Potter.

He began to stutter, "Y-y-you're here! You're a freak! I d-d-didn't think you were going to c-come!" He motioned towards Potter's unconscious body.

Snape quickly strode over the injured wizard, whipping out his wand and muttering a diagnostic spell. While the parchment beside his head recorded Potter's injuries, he said, "Why must you insist on calling me a freak?"

"I-I-you are a f-freak though. You just did m-m-ma- the m word."

Snape turned to face the muggle boy, surprise and anger written on his face. He was too busy keeping Potter alive to put his mask in place.

"You think magic is freakish?"

Dudley nodded quickly, looking away.

Snape snorted in disgust and looked back to the diagnostic parchment. The list was frighteningly long and he had little time to work. Reaching deep into the pocket of his robes, he pulled out a little pouch labeled Healing Potions and dumped them rather unceremoniously on the floor. Picking up a red blood replenisher potion, he dumped it into Harry's mouth and massaged his bruised throat so he would swallow.

"So, what exactly happened here?" He questioned in an angry voice. Potter would be lucky to survive the night, he decided.

"My dad…he came home drunk. Harry must have not done all of his chores…or maybe Dad had a bad day at work…" Dudley muttered quietly. This sucks.

Snape stopped momentarily looking through his meager stock of healing potions. Lifting his head, he growled out in a quiet whisper, "Your father beat Potter to within an inch of his life?"

Nodding miserably, Dudley continued, figuring he might as well let all of the cats out of the bag at once. "He never used to hit him…that only started this summer. He even put him back in the cupboard under the stairs-"

"Back?" Snape questioned as he massaged the boy's throat into swallowing another potion.

"He lived in there until he was 11…"

Snape growled and muttered, "Continue."

"Well…so he started hitting this year. But it was only a few smacks or punches. But today…he really beat him. He was trying to kill him. I couldn't let him die. No matter if he was a freak, I couldn't let him die. He's just a kid and my…my dad is an adult. So I shot him."

"You shot him?"

At this, Dudley looked to be on the verge of tears. The tears were filling his eyes, threatening to spill over as he whispered, "I had to. He would have killed Harry."

To say that Severus Snape was beyond shocked was an understatement. He felt like he was in an alternate dimension, all these crazy things happening were hard to keep up with. Breaking free of his utter surprise (so much for spoiled brat, he thought), he said slowly, "It's fine…you did the right thing." He dumped another potion into Harry's mouth.

Dudley looked unconvinced and old beyond his years, standing in his bloodstained living room. Sighing for what seemed like the millionth time that day, Snape tried to make the kid feel better. He was in a way a hero, after all, saving the boy-who-wouldn't-die's life.

"Did you know Harry is the most famous wizard of our world?"

Dudley looked surprised and shook his head.

"He has defeated our Dark Lord-I suppose you could call him the Hitler of our world- many times. He is said to be the one that will vanquish him. If he succeeds, he will save both our world and yours. You did the right thing, saving him." Another potion was tipped into Harry's mouth.

Dudley looked shell shocked. Harry was a hero? And to think of how they had treated him his whole childhood…

"I didn't know," he whispered to the man in black. They both knew that those words were a disguised apology for the hell Harry's home life had been since he was a year old.

Snape nodded, "I know."

Getting onto the balls of his feet, he gently picked Harry up off the ground. The boy was as stable as he could make him here and frighteningly light. He needed the expertise of Madam Pomfrey as soon as possible. As he walked towards the door, he heard a small voice from behind him, "You're leaving?"

Think! Snape commanded himself, what to do with the muggle? I can't bring him to Hogwarts and I can't leave him here…Arabella!

"Do you know who Mrs. Figg is?" Snape asked.

"Yeah," Dudley started, "the old lady on Magnolia Crescent."

"Go there. She is a squib. She will make sure our world can protect you and keep you updated on Harry if you wish." Snape was nearing the street outside number four.

"Squib…?"

"Mrs. Figg will explain," Snape said briskly. He was practically running down the streets-Harry condition was very serious.

As soon as he reached the edge of the wards, he turned to the muggle, Dudley, and said, "You did the right thing. Now go, I will take care of Potter." He then turned on the spot and disapparated, leaving a stricken, frightened boy on the corner of Privet and Magnolia.

Never again.

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Please review…not only because I appreciate it, but because I know I probably can't end it here. I DEFINITELY need ideas from you guys if you don't want this to be the end.