Fair is Foul and Foul is Fair:
Chapter One: To Dream, Perchance... to live:
"Things are never as they seem... No truth is absolute, are the lessons learn't in this dark tale of familial values." Bear with me! I'm new to this but this is going to be some sort of Severitus though don't expect my characters to change overnight! Please read and review!!!!
Harry was dreaming. Long corridors of black, seemingly endless shadows stretched before his tired eyes. Some hidden depth of his imagination knew this was wrong. He was not supposed to be here. He should ignore the distorted images in his mind. Shut off his emotions. Suppress his desire to play the hero'. He swerved round a corner, breathless and wincing in pain- there was the sight he could not attempt to ignore. The memory to plague his every every waking moment, and yet still torment his night time slumbers: the image of his Godfather, Sirius, tumbling to his death through the veil.
Harry woke up with a start. Beads of sweat were dripping down his forehead. Automatically, he rubbed his scar- once again trying to force out the constant twinge that reminded him of everything he was trying to avoid. That scar, that hideous blemish was what marked him apart from his peers. It connected him to Voldemort- the monster who had caused so much devastation to the wizarding world. Yet ultimately, the scar reminded Harry of his inescapable destiny- to kill or be killed. Death through death. It was his future.
All thoughts or murder and magic seemed strangely surreal in Privet Drive. This ordinary house was far removed from Hogwarts, or even 12 Grimmauld Place- where magic was considered as normal as it was abnormal in Harry's Guardians' muggle abode. This did not appease him. Harry did not feel any relief from the protection running through his veins. His breathing was haphazard, big gasps of breaths filled his lungs as he tried to control his emotions. He could still see Sirius' face. His aristocratic blue eyes transfixed on Harry, who once again was overcome by vicious cocktail of guilt and self-loathing. The eyes, which had once given Harry such pleasure and comfort were now cold and unforgiving.
Another death, another regret to add to my list, the people I destroyed', murmured Harry softly, thinking of his parents, Quirrel and Cedric. Anyone close to him was at danger. Harry remembered some of the first cryptic words that Professor Dumbledore had said to him, in front the Mirror of Erised in his first year at Hogwarts- something about not dwelling on dreams lest you forget to live. Dumbledore hadn't counted on one thing- the fact that it had been ground into Harry by the Dursleys, that he, Harry Potter- the Boy Who Lived- did not deserve to live. He was a freak- outside of Hogwarts he was nothing. He could never forgive Dumbledore for sentencing him to those years of rejection.
***************************************************************************
Harry was a boy with a plan. He knew that number four Privet Drive was the safest place for him- Oh boy, he knew that. He was only human, and no human could survive it- it just wasn't fair. The anger was boiling up inside him- he was soon to explode or cause physical harm to something... or more likely someone. He thought of Aunt Marge, and grimaced. She was staying with the Dursleys this summer, and the sight of her piggy face filled him with utter disgust. Her memory had been modified after that incident in his third year, but she knew- that great ugly animal that she was, she could probably sense his guilt and wariness around her. He refused to stay in the hell hole any longer, and with a studying frenzy that would do Hermione proud, Harry had found the perfect potion to award him sanctuary. Potions did not involve wands, Harry smirked as he thought of Snape's tirade against foolish wand-waving', and hoped the evil git would never realised that once, just once, Harry agreed with him.
The potion, known as Sanctus Tranquillium, was a draft which offered complete and absolute protection. Albeit for only a matter of weeks after taken, but weeks were all Harry needed, as it had taken him the first month of the holiday to create this complex ancient potion. He let out a bitter laugh, at the thought of Snape's reaction to this Griffindor potion success. The bitter laugh turned quickly to bitter thoughts when he pondered why none of the Hogwarts staff had suggested making Harry potion. He knew Snape hated him, with an enmity that surpassed any sense of reasoning but he thought that McGonogall.. or Dumbledore- even Hermione, damn it, would have given him this one consolation- this one escape from Dudley's taunts, Petunia's murderous glares, Vernon's slaps and Marge's... well... Marge and Ripper's violence. Especially considering... especially considering the events before summer.
Indeed Potter, I am aquatinted with your.... failings broke Harry's despondent thoughts, but alas, I assumed that even remedial students such as your self possessed the ability to read simple instructions, finished the silken tones Severus Snape.
Harry looked up from the glittering vial of potion, he stated simply. I was expecting you..............................