Title: Petroselinum

Genre: Action/Adventure/Drama

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Post-OotP. Harry's surging powers leave him sick and drained, and also with a side effect; while sick, he's lost his ability to speak anything but Parseltongue. The Dursleys throw him out, afraid, and Voldemort uses the unwitting, delirious, and incredibly ill Harry to overthrow the world...

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Hopefully, this will be at least partially original. I'm trying! I appreciate any and all reviews you have to offer me, but now, please read and enjoy. :-)

Petroselinum

Chapter One: An Emerging Affliction

"I know I have the ability to do so much more than just stand in front of the camera the rest of my life." - Jennie Garth

"Ugh…" Harry groaned, rolling over in his bed. The metal springs in the mattress creaked as he moved, and one or two dug into his back no matter how he lay. He tentatively opened his eyes and groaned again as the light assaulted his dilated pupils. Hedwig gave a concerned hoot from where she sat perched on the dresser, and Harry sent a forced smile that looked more like a grimace her way.

"It's okay girl… I'm… I think I'm okay…" He muttered, but his teeth were clenched. He'd been feeling under the weather for more than a week now, and Tylenol and aspirin weren't helping. A constant headache beat at his skull, and whenever his scar would sear with pain, it seemed to double.

"POTTER!" A voice screeched from the bottom of the stairs. "It's 10:30 in the morning! You've slept in too late!"

Harry winced as his Aunt Petunia's piercing voice cut into his already aching head like a drill, and sat up. He regretted the fast motion instantly as his head began to spin. He fell back down onto the bed and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply before slowly sitting upright. Sure, his head was still aching, but it wasn't as bad as his sudden start before.

Blindly, still squinting in the morning sun, his hand shuffled over the table beside the bed for the familiar bent metal frame of his glasses. The found them and impatiently shoved them up the bridge of his nose just as his Aunt gave another yell. He stood up a bit shakily and headed down the stairs.

As he skidded into the kitchen, his aunt was there waiting for him, an impatient look on her pinched features.

"Finally!" She said, eyeing him with distaste. "And what's wrong with you today, you look all flushed."

Harry merely shrugged. Petunia gave him a suspicious look.

"Well, when you talk to those friends of yours, make sure you tell them it had nothing to do with us, you hear?"

Harry sighed. His head was pounding, his eyes were feeling a bit gooey and dazzled, and his neck had crick in it. Deciding he didn't exactly have the strength to fight this morning, he just nodded and shrugged again. He pulled his neck to one side and listened as he felt the satisfying crack. Aunt Petunia made a face.

"Disgusting habit," She commented with a look of revulsion.

Harry smirked humorlessly.

"Well, I'm not forcing you," Aunt Petunia continued, but paused here, and her look said that he would do it whether or not she gave him the choice. "But I would like you to do these chores while I'm gone today. Dudley and Vernon have already left… We're going to the International Cheese Fair today and Vernon and Dudders needed to save us some good seats. They throw mozzarella into the crowd, you know."

Harry fought down the urge to roll his eyes, both because it would enrage his aunt into unnecessary anger and because his head was pounding rather badly, and that action would probably just increase the ache. Aunt Petunia shoved a piece of paper into his hands, and he glanced down at it. Neatly written in smooth black ink was a list of things he was expected to complete by the end of the day.

1. Dust the house

2. Sweep the kitchen

3. Weed the garden

4. Wash the windows

5. Clean the cupboards…

Harry looked in disbelief at the list in his hands, then at the blonde woman before him. She had her back turned to him, and she was stuffing something in her purse, and from here the gray streaks in her hair were more visible. Harry cleared his throat loudly.

"'Scuse me, Aunt Petunia," He said with false sweetness, ignoring the throbbing in his forehead. "But, there seems to be a problem with this list."

His aunt turned and snatched the list back, scanning it twice. She scowled.

"Look, boy, I don't know what you're playing at, but I need to go. There is nothing wrong with this list, and I expect these done." She said sourly.

"Yes, well, sorry, but I do see something wrong." Harry responded lightly, almost flippantly.

"Well?" Petunia demanded. "What's your complaint this time, boy?"

"How about the fact that you want me to work like a slave for you!" Harry cried, raising his voice. 'Well, there goes not yelling...'

Petunia stared at him and then paled, grasping the chair for support.

"What?" Harry challenged, staring back at his aunt and trying harder to block out the horrible migraine. "What? Shocked that I don't want to be your personal chore boy? After what they said to you at the station you still want me to do all this?"

Petunia looked terrified now, and though her mind was telling her to run, her feet were glued to the floor. Blankly she pulled the chair out and sat down hard, looking as if she was making sure that if she fainted, she would at least be already sitting down. Harry frowned, his anger seeping out of him, and he looked down at his hands. He gasped.

They were glowing.

With wide eyes he held his hands out in front of him, watching as they let off a strange golden light that traveled up his arms and down his body. Horrified, he shook his hands, trying to scatter the radiance. His skin was tingling and his headache was returning twice-fold, making his eyesight blurry despite the fact that he was wearing his glasses. Still moving backwards and desperately trying to remove the light from his skin, his back suddenly hit the wall. He spun and bolted for the stairs, hurtling up them two at a time and rushing into the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror, holding up his shining appendages.

The glow was gone.

He blinked.

What?

Harry turned on the water and splashed his face repeatedly before glancing at his reflection again. His hair was just as messy as it had always been, probably more so, and his face was gaunt and pale. He was thinner than he'd been the summer before, but, Harry had mused with a humorless half-smile, then Sirius had been alive.

Harry's pupils were large and dark, and the famous emerald color he'd inherited from his mother was just a thin strip of iris around the dark circle. There were purple crescents under his eyes again. But they hadn't ever left, had they…

Harry splashed his face with water again, and pulled open the mirror to reveal a medicine cabinet. Carefully he grabbed a bottle of aspirin, shaking out two pills and tossing them into his mouth. Cupping his hands he washed them down with a mouthful of tap water.

As he walked dizzily out of the bathroom, suddenly stiff and exhausted, he had a fleeting thought that maybe he should owl Dumbledore. But the very name still made him white-hot with anger inside, and he was feeling so heavy... The pain wasn't just in his head now; it was in his chest as well. Tired beyond belief, he fell with a thud onto his bed, and was out like a light before he'd even closed his eyes.

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When Severus Snape entered the Headmaster's office, he looked around in shock. The delicate silver instruments and trinkets that Dumbledore had so prized were gone, and the spindly tables were bare and few in number now. The large chair behind Dumbledore's desk was facing the opposite direction, and Snape was vaguely concerned that his former teacher hadn't seen or acknowledged him entering.

"Ahem."

The chair spun around, and there was the aged wizard, sitting in the leather seat and looking entirely au courant. He smiled and placed his elbows on his desk, steepling his fingers.

"Why, hello Severus. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked pleasantly.

"What happened to your office, Headmaster?" Snape said, ignoring the preamble.

"I'm afraid young Mr. Potter was a bit carried away at the end of last term…"

"I do hope you're not being serious, Headmaster." The Potions Master said disdainfully, swooping forward and sitting himself down in the chair in front of the desk. "You actually let Potter throw a temper tantrum and destroy your belongings? You really must be going senile – if I were you he would have been expelled in a heartbeat."

"Yes, well, Severus," Dumbledore said gently. "I'm sure we all know that if you were me, you would do many things differently."

Snape frowned.

"What was it you needed to tell me, Severus?" Dumbledore said, moving away from the more personal, though not necessarily dangerous, waters.

"Yes," Snape began, voice crisp and businesslike. "The Dark Lord is more desperate for revenge than ever now. At the meetings he's been ruthless, Headmaster, and he's killed at least three Death Eaters because of their incompetence. McNair is dead, as well as Karkaroff. I'm not sure about who the third was. The Dark Lord is determined to kill Mr. Potter."

"This is not unexpected." Dumbledore sighed. "I fear that the boy's life is in more danger than it ever has been."

"When is his life not in danger?" Snape snorted.

Dumbledore frowned, brow furrowed.

"Yes…" He murmured sadly.

"Also," Snape continued, not feeling as much sympathy for the Boy-Who-Lived as he probably should have. "It is rumored amongst the Dark Lord's ranks that he knows the boy's location – or at least, he knows that Potter is somewhere in Surrey, but he can't pinpoint it. Bastard doesn't want to destroy an entire city to get to Potter, though why not, I don't know.

"I'm also not sure how long my cover will last. Voldemort has been suspicious of me lately. I need to reaffirm my allegiance to him with more of the Order's information, so I'll be visiting the werewolf soon to see what is and is not expendable..." He finished.

Dumbledore merely nodded. Snape frowned again.

"Albus." He said forcefully, causing Dumbledore to look up. "I'm sure that the Golden Boy is perfectly fine in his relative's house. You should stop worrying and concentrate on the more urgent matters at hand. You need sleep, I can see it."

Dumbledore let out a soft chuckle.

"You're not one to talk, my boy." He said in a soft voice, waving his wand once. A glamour charm was removed from Snape's face, revealing dark circles under bloodshot eyes. Snape glared daggers, pulling out his own wand and recasting the spell. The two sat in silence for a moment.

"Well," Dumbledore said abruptly. He stood, his creaky old frame still imposing even in his old age. "I trust that I shall hear from you as soon as more is uncovered?"

Snape stood as well.

"Yes." He said curtly, and swept from the room.

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Author's Note: Next chapter coming very soon. :-)

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