Number 4 Privet Drive. In an unassuming neighborhood, where all the houses looked the same, it was home to a rather famous individual. To look at it, one wouldn't be off in mistaking it as just your average home. After all, nothing seemed to speak out loud that this was home to someone who had the fate of two worlds resting upon his shoulders. However, it was true. Within those walls was one of the most powerful people in the world, both Wizarding and Muggle, and he was currently laying on the floor, blood leaking from his mouth
Vernon was drunk. Drunker than normal. Ever since Harry came back after a rather eventful Fifth Year of Hogwarts, and still reeling from the death of Sirius, he had been at the hands of a constantly drunk Vernon. He had noticed it in the car, when his uncle came by to pick him up from Kings Cross. Normally it had been Petunia that would come and get him at the end of every term at Hogwarts, but as Harry soon found out, his Aunt, and his cousin as well, were no longer in the picture.
Apparently while Harry was busy trying to fight against evil wizards, his Aunt was in a battle of her own. Over the last year she had grown a bit soft-hearted towards her nephew. It had started when she had overheard him talking in his sleep. No, talking wasn't the right word, yelling. Painful cries for someone named Cedric. At first Petunia thought that Harry was crying over losing a boyfriend. Yet, the longer she listened to his nightmares, the more apparent his real trauma became. Ever so often she could hear him calling out for it to be him instead. To kill him and leave Cedric alone. It was in those moments that Petunia understood what life for Harry must be like. If not understood it, at least became a bit more sympathetic. She knew that the way she treated her sister's son was vile. Yet, she never did it out of pure enjoyment, just to save face around her husband. Vernon was oft a scary man, one filled with rage and hate at anything odd or different. Deep down, she knew that the only reason she did what she did to Harry, was fear that Vernon would turn his violent ways on her if she didn't. Or worse, their son. Unlike Vernon, it seemed, Petunia did have some form of a heart, which was why, as Harry left for his fifth year, She sought out help.
Petunia didn't know how to reach Harry's kind. She knew that they had buildings that were often hidden in plain sight, or places that only those with magical blood could get into. What she did know, however, was her neighbors. For years she had watched them, got to know them, and out of all of them, Miss. Fig stuck out like a sore thumb. The overly clean woman was more than just a long neck and shrill voice, she was clever and smart when need be, so it didn't take long to figure out that the old lady was keeping an eye out for her nephew.
The conversation they had didn't start off nice at all. Once Petunia called her out on being a part of the Wizarding World, the old lady unleashed what seemed to be years of anger, and justifiable at that. She listed off events that she had been forced to watch and unable to intervene in. Only able to report to someone who didn't seem to see the problem or understand the severity of what was being done to the savior of the wizarding world. When she was done, Miss. Fig was panting, and Petunia was in tears, feeling disgusted at being faced with the sins she had allowed to happen within her own walls. Swallowing down the emotions as best as she could, Petunia relayed to the Squib her worries for her nephew, and how, despite everything that she did, she was desperate for him to get some help. Miss. Fig listened, watching as Petunia spoke with emotions she thought the woman was impossible of having. While she didn't forgive her for what Petunia did to Harry, she could tell that, for the first time, she was doing something right by the boy. The Squib promised to get Harry the help he needed while he was away for his Fifth Year.
For all intents and purposes, that should have been the end of any contact the two had. Yet Petunia found herself going over to visit the Squib every week. It was nice to have someone to talk to that wasn't wrapped up in gossip like everyone in the neighborhood. Petunia found it easy to talk about her life and how she felt. Eventually conversations went from everyday life, to how Petunia felt. More importantly, how she felt about Vernon.
It was clear, from Figs point of view, that Petunia and her whale of a son were trapped in a house with someone who was rather unsavory. Even though she never said it, Fig could read between Petunia's word about the fact that the only reason she even stayed with the man was for their son. It had been months into their weekly get togethers, when Fig managed to convince Petunia that leaving her husband with their son was in the best interest. The old Squib could see the signs of abuse that were apparent on the skin of the young woman, as Vernon often used her as a punching bag when Harry was away. Miss. Fig managed to help with getting them both out of that house, using a considerable bit of Muggle money she had stashed away, to help get them a small flat.
It was these sequence of events that led to Harry laying on the floor bleeding, and a heavily drunk Vernon standing over his bruised body. He blamed him for Petunia leaving. Then again, Vernon always blamed everything on the boy, though, for once, he wasn't far off. Tossing the glass bottle of whiskey to the side, the bottle shattering against the cage of a silent and furious Hedwig, the beast of a man pulled Harry to his feet, the boy hanging limply from his grasp.
"It's all your fault, you freak" he spat, covering the green-eyed boy in a layer of alcohol laced spittle, "Why Tuney left me. Why she took my son" he reared back and slammed his elbow into the nose of Harry, feeling the bone crack under the strike.
He glared at the boy, looking at his nose, broken for the fourth time since he came back two weeks ago, poured blood like a leaky pipe. How his eyes were swollen shut, his face covered in cuts from being punched multiple times. He enjoyed it, doing what he did, however the one thing that always seemed to put a dampen on his enjoyment was the silence from the freak. How it just let it happen, didn't fight back. For two weeks that Vernon beat, starved, and made Harry's life hell he never spoke a word. Not a cry of help, or a whimper for mercy. Nothing. Had he been in any form of a right mind, it should have worried Vernon with how dead Harry looked behind the eyes. All it did, however, was piss him off even more. Tossing the boy to the ground, his enjoyment having been drained, Vernon stalked off, but not before aiming a kick into the boy's gut, forcing Harry to throw up a vile smelling puddle of bile.
"That better be cleaned up by the time I come back in her boy. Messing up the floor of this room I was so nice to give you" he hissed, gesturing to the room that was bare bones, only a few piles of cloth that Harry used as a bed. With a parting sneer towards Hedwig, the cage having been charmed by Harry to where only he could open it, Vernon snapped the door closed, before locking the half- dozen bolts that kept the wizard trapped.
For a spell, silence filled the room, only broken by the raspy breathing of the broken boy on the floor. Hedwig looked at her Master, hooting woefully at the sight of his broken body. The boy was far to still, unable to move, the pain coursing across his body leaving him locked in place. As he lay there, tears filled his face, splattering onto the blood stained floorboards. For Harry the tears weren't ones of pain, but ones of regret and shame. Not for what happened, but for that fact that he was still alive. Had he not suffered enough? Hadn't those he loved suffered enough because of him? His Mother and Father. Cedric. Sirius. How many others would suffer because he continued to breath? If he died then maybe, just maybe, they would all be spared. Ron and Hermione wouldn't be dragged into any of his misadventures. They could go on to live better lives without him. It was the only thought that eased him into any form of sleep, with the hope that perhaps his injuries were enough to where he wouldn't awake again.
Severus Snape wasn't a man of many emotions. Being a spy made him a master of concealing anything beyond a disgusted sneer or a withering glare. Yet, within the privacy of his Manor he was free to drop his mask, and drop it often did as he sat alone in the dark rooms. Hear, behind wards and shields, he could relax and let all of what his life was pour over him. The Potions Master wasn't sure how much longer he could keep a grip on his sanity, spying on the Dark Lord. Things were getting a bit questionable on the Dark side of things. For one, Voldemort had changed. Ever since he got his body back after that night in the graveyard he had been different. Back before he started spying on the man, Voldemort was far more ruthless and deranged. He would often kill Death Eaters for the smallest of infractions, keeping only those that were smart enough not to step on his toes or make too many waves. Nowadays, things were different. It seemed that gaining a new body had also gained him some form of humanity, to some extent. While he was still a dark wizard through and through, there was something more to his actions. For starters he had put a halt on attacking Muggles. When questioned he made quick work of the one who dared asked, after which no Death Eaters dared bring it up, let alone think about it. Snape, on the other hand, was curious. Why would the Dark Lord suddenly want to put an end to killing Muggles. While it was a great thing, as it made less work for him and less trouble for the Light side, it still troubled him as to why he'd do such a thing.
Then there was that journal. Snape was tending to his Dark Master beloved pet when he came across the black leather book. He had dismissed it at first, not wanting to mess around with any personal affects that belong to the Dark Lord. However it was open, and the nearby light was cast against its pages, almost teasing him to take a glance. The wizard knew better, and should have just let it be, yet on the off chance that whatever was written on those pages could help the light side, he dared a look. Within those pages he read words that he'd never associate with the Dark Lord. Words like regret. Pain. Loss. Sadness. It only took a second for him to memorize the words on the page, and that was all he needed to be left utterly confused by just what was going on in the mind of the Dark Lord. That had been a few weeks ago, right after Voldemort's attempt to get the prophecy from Ministry, since then he hadn't seen hide nor hare of him.
Snape let go of those thoughts as he sunk into his favorite arm chair, casting his wand towards the fireplace, igniting the logs into a warming blaze. He had sometime to think on if the words on the page were worth mentioning to Dumbledore and the rest of the Order, however, he failed to see them being of any real use. Instead Snape summoned a tumblr of his much beloved FireWhiskey, and poured him a bit of the liquid. He was about to tip the drink into his mouth, when he was startled by a sudden appearance.
"Severus, the boy needs help!" were the words that greeted him with.
The words were spoken not by a person, but by a silvery Patronus, a bear of all things. The voice of the speaker was the last person he expected to ever hear from.
"Miss. Fig. I'm sure if Dumbledore's Golden Boy were in any trouble, the old fool would be ready to swoop in with the rest of the order to save him" Severus snapped, before turning his attention away from the floating bear. Potter was the last thing he wanted to think about. He held no love for the boy, and having to hear about him while he was in the middle of his home was enough to infuriate the Potions Master.
"The Headmaster won't listen to me. He never has. I told him what those Muggles do to Harry every Summer, and every time my reports are ignored. You are the only I thought I could get through too about this"
Curiosity pulled Snape forward like quicksand, as he turned to face the Patronus. What was this about Potter's home life? He was always under the assumption that Dumbledore had made sure the savior of the Wizarding world was always comfortable. Sure he knew about the Muggles and how they didn't have a soft spot of magic, however he never gave it much thought beyond that.
"Why contact me. I'm sure McGonagall or that Werewolf would be more than happy to check up on Potter" his words were filled not with malice, but more with wary interest, as it was a fair question, as his dislike of the boy was well known.
"You are the only one who wouldn't take Dumbledore's words at face value. You are the only one who would go behind the Headmaster's words to see the truth for yourself"
The words of the old Squib hit home, and made Snape pause in thought. She wasn't wrong. Even though the man had given him a second chance at life, and he would willingly give his life for the old fool, he never would blindly follow his orders without first seeing what was going on for himself. If Fig was willing to go to him because of his willing to go against Dumbledore's wishes, then there may be something worth investigating here.
"What has happened to Potter. And be quick about it" Snape asked as he got up from his chair and began to gather various items. Including a satchel full of various potions and tinctures.
"I don't know. I just know from what his Aunt has said about her husband, Harry may be in a rather large bit of danger. She told me that her husband loves to beat on the young man, and with her having left him, I fear that he may have gotten off the deep end with hurting Harry"
"What makes you so sure on this" Snape asked, slipping his cloak on and tucking his wand up his sleeve
"I haven't seen either one of them leave that house in almost two weeks. Last I saw Vernon was the day before he got Harry, carrying vast amounts of food and alcohol"
For some reason a pang of fear raced across the mind of Snape, as his thought back to his own past, and the fear of being alone with someone who hated you. Without another word, the Wizard vanished off to Privet Drive, his mind awash with confusion, and the hope that nothing was wrong, and that he could go on hating Potter.
The night air was still when Snape popped into view, standing just before the driveway of Number 4. Nothing made a sound, and the stillness made the man ill at ease. Living as a spy had taught him to hone his senses, to listen to the world around him. He had learned that, when the world was this quiet, then there was always something wrong. He stalked over to the door, his cloak billowing in his wake. Figs words still echoed in his ears. She had been talking to Lily's sister, and from what he could gleam, none of it was good. Was Snape really that oblivious? He, of all people, should have been able to pick up signs of abuse. Then again, when it came to Potter he often cast a blind eye. Then again with most students he often cast a blind eye, however Potter often got the full extent of his ire and dismissiveness. Even then, he trusted that Dumbledore would keep the brat safe and in decent care. Regardless of that, he was here now, and was about to find out if Fig was just having a bit of fun at his expense, or if he was about to walk into something he didn't want to experience.
The Muggle lock was easily undone, as Snape soundlessly slipped into the home. Instantly his nose was attacked by a mixture of putrid smells. He could pick up hints of strong alcohol, by Muggle standards, and human filth, intermingled with festering garbage. He could see, just barely in the darkness, the heaps of trash bags that sat there. If anything, it was clear that the meticulous Petunia had indeed left, which made Snape worry all the more for Potter, even if it was slight. Casting a simple spell, Snape found himself able to peer through the walls of the house, finding a slumbering lump on the sofa which he guessed was a sleeping Vernon. Casting his glance upwards, he found another lump, this one however was far more disturbing the looking upon the fat body of the sleeping Dursley. While he couldn't see the full state that Potter was in, it was pretty clear that he had been in better shape. With little care if Vernon heard him, Snape raced up the steps, leaping over the smaller bags that were upon the steps and for the door that led to where Harry was. It didn't take long to figure out which one was his, as they locks and chains gave away just where the young wizard was kept. Not bothering with magic, he opted for a much more direct method, kicking the door clean off it hinges with strength that one would never guess the wizard had. Snape rushed in, ignoring the smell of human filth and excrement. Instead his focus was on the boy laying in a puddle of blood and bile. Casting a spell to fill the room with light, Snape turned the young man see the extent of his injuries and had to bite back throwing up.
Harry's head seemed to be nothing more than a huge bruise. His head was bleeding in spots where his hair had been yanked out, leaving bare patches of skin. His lip was split almost in half, and several teeth were missing. His nose was all but shattered, looking wrong and disgusting on the face of such a young man. His eyes continued downward, removing the threadbare rags he wore as a shirt, Snape noting that they looked similar to what he worse when he left Hogwarts, where even more damage was to be found. The boy was skin and bones, his ribs, the ones that weren't broken, pressing out against his flesh. The boy looked more like a skeleton than he did human. To top it off, going by the rough sound of his breathing, his lungs weren't in the best shape either. Snape felt something well up inside of him, a combination of rage and sorrow. It burned along the surface of his body, as he held Harry, his mind cast back to that night long ago, when he held Lily in his arms. The boys eyes flicked open, glazed over and bloodshot, though the green still came through. Green eyes just like Lily. Despite himself, a cry was pulled from him, a yell into the darkness, a wail of pain. He wouldn't lose her again. Not like this. He knew that he'd need an experienced healer for this, one whom he could trust, he only hoped that she wouldn't mind house calls.
Gathering up Harry, he prepared to Apparate, but was stopped by the feeling of cold steel pressing into his back.
"Put that freak down and turn around slowly, hands in the air" slurred Vernon, as he pressed the barrel of the shotgun harder into Snape.
The spy wasn't one to take orders from many people. In fact only two people only ever gave him orders he followed, and the vile pile of flesh that called itself Vernon Dursley wasn't one of them. The wizard let his rage build with his magic, the air crackling with the pent up magical energy. THe walls shook and the windows threatened the crack. Vernon tightened his grip on his gun, fully prepared to fire, only to find the weapon suddenly white hot, burning his heads as he dropped it to the floor, where it melted into a puddle of molten slag. Turning to face the man, who stumbled to the floor trying his best to avoid the glare of man who was exuding darkness and hate.
"Dursley, you have no idea the wrath you have brought down on yourself. If I didn't have Potter to care for you'd be suffering far more than he is. I suggest you run. Not because you will escape me, but so you will know fear as I will stalk you to the ends of the Earth and make you pay for the harm you have done here" the words weren't spoke above a whisper, yet it was the anger in Snape's eyes that made it feel like Vernon had just been shouted and cursed beyond belief. Those eyes, those vengeful eyes promises pain and suffering, and as they vanished from sight with a pop Vernon felt his bowels void and his heart pump faster than it ever had in his life.
Narcissa Malfoy sat upon her bed, a cup of fine wine clutched in her hand. Lucius was once again gone from their bedroom, preferring the evening to himself. He had been like this ever since Voldemort all but vanished from his Death Eaters. The Dark mark on her husband's arm hadn't flared to life in sometime. She thought that it meant that maybe they could try and repair their strained relationship. However the head of the Malfoy family felt it was better to avoid any and all conversations that concerned him and the future with his wife. Part of her even wondered if the man still loved her, or if he was off seeing someone else. She tried to push the thoughts away with another sip of wine, only to find its taste a bit unwelcoming. Setting the glass down, she lay on the bed, looking upwards at the vaulted ceiling. She wondered if she should check in on her son, as Draco had been mostly silent since coming home from Hogwarts. Then again he really hadn't talked much at all after his fourth year. There was something different about him, something she couldn't place. It wasn't bad, or she'd be more worried, but it was clear that something had her son's mind in flux for the better part of a year. Maybe he was finally seeing someone and that was why he was so silent. It would be a nice change of pace as, for the longest, her son seemed to be a bit obsessed with Harry Potter. A chuckle left her mouth as she thought back to when her son first went off to Hogwarts, and how he told her he planned to come back with Potter as a friend. It seemed that fate had a different plan in store sadly. SHe oft wondered what her son would have been like had he befriended Potter. Maybe he wouldn't have been so steadfast in following in his father's footsteps, becoming cold and ruthless. Then again, if they were friends, it just would have meant more heartache as Draco would have had to turn him over to the Dark Lord.
Narcissa scoffed at the thought of the moldy Wizard. She held no devotion towards the man and the way he manipulated her husband. Granted, Lucius brought himself down this path, but it didn't mean it hurt any less when he would come home, wracked with pain after having to face the Dark Lord with yet another failure. She often thought about trying to get him to defect from the Dark Lord, to turn spy like she knew Severus was. However she knew that would just bring about more problems than what it would solve. As her thoughts turned to her friendship with the Hogwarts Potion Master, she was shocked when he suddenly appeared in her private quarters, carrying what looked to be a bundle of rags. Knowing that whenever Snape arrived unannounced it was serious, she quickly threw up privacy wards in her room before speaking.
"Severus, to what do I owe this vis-Is that blood" he changed topic, rushing over to the raven-haired man as he laid the rather large bundle of rags upon her bed. She began to fuss over him, pulling out her wand fully prepared to inspect him for injuries.
"No, Cissa, I'm not your patient this time, he is" he gestured towards the mass of rags on her bed, and Narcissa followed his arm, taking a better look at what she thought was just a pile of rags. What she saw, as she pulled away the tattered clothing, made her skin crawl and her hairs on her neck raise.
"Leave Snape. Leave and come back when I'm finished. After which you will tell me everything" her voice was full of power and demanding of respect as she rolled up the arms of her robes and began to mutter various spells, racks of potions floating from her stashes, alongside bandages, ointments, and other medical equipment. Snape didn't need a second prompting, and he quickly left out from her room, taking a glance back as she set about cutting off Potters clothes, the door closing just as she threw up all over her rugs.
Snape awoke with a start at the sound of the door opening. He had taken up residence on one of the many plush chairs that filled the sitting room outside of Narcissa's private room in Malfoy Manor. A quick cast of the Tempus spell revealed it had been five hours since he had fetched Harry and sunrise was rapidly approaching. The Malfoy matriarch said nothing as she walked over to a chair just opposite Snape and slid into its embrace. SHe looked tired, both physically and emotionally. He could see it just beyond her eyes, those gray orbs swimming so much confusion and hurt.
"Talk Severus. What happened to him" she finally spoke, still not looking SNape in his eyes, instead just past him, burning a hole into the wall with her gaze.
"His Uncle happened. I suspect that this isn't a new thing for him to do to Potter, though I have reason to believe that it was never this bad before"
"What makes you say that"
"Harry would have died long ago if it was ever this bad. How is the boy holding up"
Narcissa cast her eyes towards Snape, reading past that mask he often wore, easily able to tell that he was asking not for the sake of his own curiosity or for some ulterior motive, but because part of him was worried about Harry.
"He is alive, though not well. I have fixed what bones I could, though his arm will need to be kept in a cast for a few weeks, it was broken in several places. His lungs had collapsed a few days ago, and it was his magic that was keeping him alive for so long. He is malnutritioned to an almost fatal degree, it's almost as if this boy has never had a proper meal in his life. Draco often said it looked like he never ate much at the Great Hall, unless prompted by his friends that is. His wounds will heal overtime, but the long term damage I couldn't tell you. My question for you, however, is how long has this been going on"
"I couldn't tell you even if I knew. The Squib that watches him, Miss. Fig, said that she had been feeding reports of how Harry's home life was to Dumbledore for years and nothing has ever been done, he still is sent back there every year. I'm willing to bet most, if not all of his life"
"Severus" Narcissa began, before taking a moment to compose herself, "That boy in there, he is barely hanging onto life, and mentally who knows what is going on. He needs more healing than what I can provide. More importantly, when he wakes, he needs to see a familiar face. I suggest keeping an eye on him at your own Manor. I will come by when I can to help with what I can, but right now, there isn't much more I can do for him. Also this may not be the best place to keep him, with Death Eaters popping in and out," The head of Slytherin House made a move to argue, but was moved to silence by a raised hand
"I don't care what type of history you have had with James Potter or this apparent hate you have for that boy in there, but right now none of that matters. What matters is that Lily's son, our friends son, is in there, just brought back from the edge of death. Put aside your bitterness for her, just for awhile, until we get this mess taken care of. If Dumbledore knew about what was going on, I think right now the safest place for Harry to be is in your care"
"What happens when Dumbledore find out I have taken Potter from the protection of his Aunt's home"
"If he really cared, Dumbledore would have never left him there in the first place. Now, take Harry and wait for me to come in the morning. Are there any other members of the Order who aren't as loyal to Dumbledore that you could trust"
Only one came to mind, and he was willing to bet all his gold the Molly Weasley would have a fit and string Dumbledore by his beard for what had transpired.
"Just Molly. She loves Potter like a son, and would care for him no matter what he did. I'll contact her as soon as Harry is awake, she would love to take care of the brat"
If Narcissa was annoyed with the way Snape constantly referred to Harry, she didn't show it, instead she opened the door to her room, where Harry lay upon the bed, breathing normally as he slept.
"He is heavily drugged, so he shouldn't wake when you Apparate out of here. Put him to bed and keep an eye over him until he wakes. When he does, give him three of nutritional potions. Then I want you to do something that may be the hardest thing you have ever done"
"What is that Narcissa"
"I want you to talk with Harry James Potter"