Author: Feles Magica

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters (those belong to J. K. Rowling), nor the idea of fem!Harry or a good, well better, not so evil, Severus Snape. I don't know who owns them. If I would, I would ask for borrowing them. But nevertheless I definitely own my plot and the vis annihilo.

Summary: Sometimes one wrong word can change the whole world. Poor Harry Potter has to find out the hard way. When a curse goes wrong, will Severus Snape really be the only one able to help him cope? slightly Severitus

Genre: Angst/ Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: This story might contain graphic violence and very bad language. Although there might be some scene that create a bad feeling. And finally if you don't like the idea of gender changing, then please don't read further. It might offend you. You have been warned, I don't want any flames!

The life changing curse:

Harry cursed under his breath. He should have known it. Something as stupid as this could only happen to him. He tried to loose the ties that bind his hands but they weren't moving a bit. He scowled. He really should have listened to Dumbledore or even Snape. The times they had warned him should really have been enough to prevent him from doing this. But nevertheless he now was here.

Harry had tried to sleep, but sleep just wouldn't do him the favor and claim him. So, long past midnight he had got up, had put his school robes on and had left the Gryffindor rooms. His mind was full of things, he didn't know what to do with them that kept him from relaxing and thinking properly. That was why he decided to wander of around the castle. As it had been a spontaneous idea, he had left his invisible cloak and his map in the tower. But it shouldn't be a problem as no other normal person would be up at four o'clock in the morning on a Saturday in the winter holidays.

He had wandered aimlessly around the corridors of the castle, trying out some of the newly discovered secret passages, until he finally reached a dead end with a huge portrait at its end. He had never been in this part of the castle before. Curious, as why a portrait would hang at the end of a dead end, he came nearer and observed the portrait.

At first there was nothing to be seen. The painter had created a wonderful and realistic looking potions lab. There were a lot of shelves, filled with bottles of differnt size, form and colour. On the left a dark wooded door could be seen, next the open fireplace. In the front there was a cauldron, yellowish vapour erupting from its inside, creating an atmosphere of uneasiness. He didn't get it. Why would someone create a portrait of a potions lab, when no one was in there?

He turned to go when his gaze noticed a small movement in the right corner of the portrait. There, far in the background of the picture, there was a person working on something. Harry got nearer. A woman was obviously working there, chopping some ingredients and from time to time throwing them into the cauldron next to her, lazily stirring them. He only could determine the hair colour of the woman, as she was working with her back turned to him. She had long wavy hair of a brilliant red colour, yet quite different from the hair colour of the Weasleys' . Hers was darker, looking exactly like the fire in the Gryffindor common room. He wanted to call out to her, to get her attention and to ask for her name, when she suddenly turned to him to get something from the bench next to her.

Harry froze. The woman was beautiful. Her face was that of an angel, perfect features and gentleness he wouldn't have thought possible on a human face. But that wasn´t what let him forget his surroundings and his need to breathe. It was her eyes. The woman, now that he could see her face properly, had huge, beautiful green eyes. Emerald green eyes to be precisely. His eyes.

Harry's mind went wild. If he hadn't known it better, he would have sworn that the woman working in the portrait was Lily Evans Potter, his deceased, beloved mother. But how could this be? Why would someone paint her and then hang her up in a dead end? And why had nobody ever told him about her portrait?

He was so engrossed in the picture in front of him and his thoughts, that he forgot all things around him. Time passed by, but he didn't notice. He was staring at the red haired woman in the picture and couldn't care less what happened around him. He didn't even notice footsteps coming nearer, hushed voices arguing agitated with each other and a high pitched suppressed laugh.

"Catch, Potter!" The unexpected shout let him spin around. He didn´t saw, who had been calling him, but in the corner of his eyes he saw the movement of something flying towards. Out of a reflex, six years of playing as a seeker did this to you, he caught the object with one. At that moment he realised his mistake. He heard the other person's laugh at the exact moment when he felt the usual and yet feared tucking behind his navel, when the world disappeared around him and he was pushed far away.

He had landed in a dark, small room. As soon as his feet hit the floor, someone had called Stupefy and had effortlessly stunned him. When he regained consciousness the next time, he was gagged, his hands tied up and his wand was missing. He had tried to get up and after many failed attempts, he was finally standing on his feet. The door on the other side of the room was locked and nevertheless he knew it was fruitless, he kicked as hard as he could against the door; but it wouldn't move an inch. After some minutes he gave up and sat down again on the floor.

He had been stupid. Dumbledore, Snape and each and every of the other Order members had told him to be extremely careful, to never leave the common room without company, to never speak or meet with one of the Slytherins, to trust nobody and to constantly watch his surroundings, especially his back. But no, he was Harry Potter, the boy who acted before thinking, the boy who got into trouble even while avoiding it, the boy who yet again had to be rescued by somebody.

At that moment a movement on the other side of the door could be heard. Robes were rustling, someone was muttering something and than, slowly, the high warded door opened.

Harry tensed. He knew what to expect, but yet he was a little affraid. Three cloaked figures, all in black, black hoods and silver masks hiding their faces and wands threatingly pointed at him, entered the room. Harry desperately tried to get up, to regain some composure. Two of the hidden men entered the room and slowly walked to where Harry was still struggling with his tied up hands and feet. The third of the Death Eaters stayed at the door, watching his every move.

To seem them come nearer, made it horribly clear for Harry, that there was no way he now would be able to avoid the upcoming events. They would force to come with them, would drag him the huge and dark hidden meeting room, where he finally would meet Lord Voldemort. He would be laughing maniacally, enjoying every moment of their meeting. Then he would torture him, not only once or twice but so often until Harry would finally beg with all his might for a release, for his death. But Voldemort wouldn´t kill him with just a single Avada Kedavra, he would do something special, brutal and hurting like hell. Yes, now that Harry was thinking about it, he couldn´t await it to meet his dear, old friend again. Now please don´t forget the sarcasm.

When the two Death Eaters had reached, Harry was soaked into sweat. His throat was so dry, that it hurt to gulp. But nevertheless he didn´t seem to be able to stop it. His eyes were twitching so badly, he nearly wasn´t able to see clearly. The beat of his hearth had increased so badly that it started to really hurt him. Well, there goes his strength and his composure.

Two strong hands gripped his bruised shoulders in a firm grip and lifted him from the floor effortlessly. Harry tried to stand up to walk on his own effort, but because of the lack of food and water, and his grim tied up feet and hands he was unable to move his legs properly. A strangled moan escaped his lips, when the hands lifted him even more up and then dragged him, his legs being pulled over the dirty floor, to the third Death Eater at the door.

The few corridors through which the three hooded men were dragging him seemed endless. It was dark, quiet and very clam. Sometimes he could see glimpses of bars, faint screams of terror angony could be heard from far away. The calmness began to creep Harry out. His breathing, the shuffling of the black robes and the silent footstep nearing an unknown yet already well known destination were adding to the incredible spooky environment.

Suddenly they stopped. When Harry was lifting his horribly throbbing head, he came face to face with a huge, black wooden door. Gargoyles were positioned on either side of the door, looking evilly at them. The doorknob was of silver, a finely handmade dragonhead, his mouth angrily opened. Around the doorframe there were several serpents intertwined into each other, slithering around and hissing at them.

The Death Eaters straighten up and lifted Harry even more from the floor, before one of them went ahead to the door. With a hesitant yet firm motion he knocked three times at the door, and then waited. A low, hissing voice errupted from the other side of the room. "Enter", it ordered them and the two wings of the huge door opened on its own accord.

When they finally entered, Harry's breath hitched. There in the gigantic hall were dozens of Death Eaters. They formed a two lined circle with two open ends. On the other side of the rooms there was sitting Voldemort in his overly dimensioned throne. Nagini, his familiar and beloved snake, slithered around the floor next to the throne before she opted for wrapping herself around his neck, letting her head rest lazily on his left arm and starring evilly at them.

They passed the first open end of the circle. The two Death Eaters who until now had held his shoulders hard gripped, threw him in the middle, before returning to their respective places. In a slow, yet well practiced motion the first end of the circle closed, leaving Harry to face the Voldemort on his throne. There he was now kneeling on the floor, breathing heavily and still tied up at hands and feet. With a lot of effort he finally managed to set up and then to face Voldemort.

The Dark Lord had been sitting quietly, while enjoying the sight before. Potter was clearly having grave problems breathing and sitting straight up. He needed more then one attempt and when he than had reached his goal and kneeling heavily on the floor, the glare he tried to sent him, didn´t held any force and fire at all. It seemed that dear, little Potter had already given up.

A dark, evil and whole heartily maniacal laughter errupted from Voldemorte's thin, white lips. He directed his blood red eyes directly at Harry, before standing up in a smooth motion and making his way to the centre of the circle. He lazily rounded the kneeling boy a few times, and then came to a stop and smirking evilly at him. With a swift movement he raised his hands, his gaze never wandering from his prey.

"Welcome, Potter, to my humble halls." Voldemort's voice was booming, demanding respect and loyalty. "It seems we finally will be able to have a little conversation."

Harry's head spun around, wide eyes were starring daggers at the Dark Lord right in front of him. Conversations?! The Dark Lord just didn´t do any conversation! Whatever it was, it was going to be painfully, torturing and embarrassing as hell. Add lethal to the list of that Voldemort would surely be going to order right now and you would get a very fair insight of Harry's nightly visions. Perhaps now it would be great to start and get really angsty. It wouldn´t be inappropriate.

"I was thinking for a long, long time, dear little Harry, what the best way to finish you off would be. Would it be a simple Avada Kedavra, quick and reliable? Or would it be a long round of Crucios, torturing and slowly killing your sanity while you would be wishing desperately to die immediately? I really couldn't decide. But then I found something, Fortuna was on my side, and finally I found the perfect way to save me of all my problems and your little annoying presence. Secure, painfully and even slower than Crucio."

Voldemort's grin grew and the look in his eyes changed from cruel to absolutely crazy. Shiffers ran down on Harry's back. Whatever Voldemort had planned for him, it seemed to be even more evil than his two favorite curses and what could be more torturing and secure than the good old killing curse and the tried, tested and approved pain inflicting curse? There was something even worse?!

Harry tried in vain to let the fear he felt not be visible on his face. But it really was in vain. Voldemort had a mind connection to him; he was able to nearly feel everything that Harry was feeling at the moment, and that definitely wasn´t happiness or contentment. It wouldn´t even surprise him, if dear, old Voldie would be able to read his mind and hear his thoughts.

A sinister and through and through evil laugh brought him back to reality. He was still kneeling in front of Voldemort, surrounded by two circles of black clothed Death Eaters; he was still gagged, bound and cursed. There was no way out of this.

"Vir annihilo!"

A bright yellow lightning errupted from the tip of Voldemort's wand. With high speed, unavoidable and unmissable it chased at Harry, hitting his chest with full force. A bright, shining light errupted from Harry, blinding everybody standing in the gigantic hall. Slowly, inch by inch, it finally faded away, leaving a group of stunned Death Eaters, a smugly smirking Voldemort and an insecure looking Harry Potter.

At first the Griffindor boy thought, that whatever effects the curse should have had, it had been missing it. Yes, he was panting and yes, bright, yellow light had been erupting from each and every part of his body, but he was living, he was uninjured and what was the biggest mystery of it all, he wasn´t hurting. There only was a little tickling. Hadn't the situation been so badly, he would have started to laugh.

Voldemort, like every of his Death Eaters, were watching the boy carefully. Unlike them Voldemort knew what to expect and therefore wasn't disappointed, when said Griffindor boy wasn't writhing in pain and angony at the first moment. The effects would start and they wouldn't be pleasant, no, not at all. An evil smirk plastered on his face, when he was thinking about what damage the curse would cause.

Just when Harry Potter saw the horrible smirk on Voldemort's face and he opened his mouth to ask him, what the hell was so obviously funny, as his curse seemed to have failed, it started. A white, searing, hot pain shot through his body. A pained gasp errupted from his open mouth, as the pain got more intense. He could feel every part of his body, every freaking nerve and cell. They were twitching and burning, spasms shot through his legs and arms. His vision began to fade, the pain was just too much to be able to withstand. Slowly, painfully slowly his body titled to the right, crashing to the floor with a loud, dumb thud.

Had Harry been able to see correctly, he probably would have pissed his pants at the sight of Voldemort. The Dark Lord was happy, unbelievably and incredibly happy. A smile, a true, meaning smile had crossed his features, his eyes sparkling with joy. Yes, for the first time one of his perfectly invented plans containing the holy boy-who-lived had finally succeeded. Dumbledore would be damned. In his high mood he ordered before he would forget it:

"Get him back to Hogwarts. Let Dumbledore deal with him."

Voldemort's cruel and high pitched laugh rang in his ears. His vision began to blur completely, and the feeling in his legs began to disappear. Suddenly someone shoved a small and cold object into Harry's trembling hands, which were barely able to contain what was given to them, when the familiar pull behind his navel transported him away.