The swings were erected dangerously close to the road. There have been numerous complaints about its proximity for children had the penchant of testing the boundaries of gravity while drivers around the area pitted themselves against the speed limits. The number of grouses about the road, however, could not compare to the amount of criticism that the boy who was currently perched on the swing received.
To the denizens of Little Whinging, Harry Potter was walking trouble. His scrawny build and innocent enough features was a façade for a callous gangster that prowled the streets every summer for victims in his reign of terror. He was bold and fearless, and was said to boast arrogantly about the punishments he received at the St. Brutus' Institution for Criminally Incurable Boys in front of his family whenever he returned. The neighbours shunned this hopeless case and it was a cause of celebration when he left once again for school.
If someone were to have looked out of their window and sneak a glance at the playground that windy night, however, they would have been forced to reconsider.
Harry was using his trunk as a launch pad as he oscillated back and forth on the squeaky swings. Tears of frustration and anger fell from his startlingly green eyes as he forced the swing to its limits. He needed an avenue of escape. The anger at himself roared in his ears as he berated himself for taking Aunt Marge's bait like a clueless fish. He knew how his parents died and that they were hardworking people that gave their lives to protect their little boy.
What does that fat arse know? he thought savagely as he thrust himself further into the air. It was enough to hear Snape insult his father during the school year. He didn't need to hear it during the summer too. A sudden thought struck him and he wondered idly why Snape never talked about his mother too. He seemed like the sort that would hate whoever was associated with James Potter. He hates me enough, Harry smirked.
A faint rustling in the deathly quiet night brought him out of his reverie. Alert, he dug his trainers into the loamy ground and skidded to a halt as he watched his surroundings warily. His hand flew to his wand as a soft growl reached his ears. His heartbeat increased as the bushes in front of him parted slightly. Holding his wand aloft, Harry muttered a quiet lumos. The sudden bright light stunned him. His left hand shaded his eyes as a groan escaped his lips.
That proved a big mistake for Harry never saw it coming.
He was suddenly assaulted by a mass of black fur and he could feel sharp claws tearing a deep cut into his chest as his vision flickered. Harry identified the creature as an enormous hound as he found himself face to face with its gaping maw. Sharp teeth glittered in the pale moonlight and its hot breath fogged up his glasses which were miraculously still on. Fighting the rising pain and panic, Harry kicked the dog hard in the stomach and it soared through the air, landing with a loud and satisfying thump. Harry clambered to his feet and lunged for his wand just as the dog recovered. It bounded towards him and before Harry could cast anything to protect himself, he heard a sickening crunch and felt something in his shoulder give way as he connected with the asphalt. Pain exploded and jarred his entire arm as he cried out.
His vision started to tunnel in and he was only vaguely aware of a familiar voice calling his name just as the darkness became absolute.
Harry crawled slowly to consciousness and as such, only caught snatches of a hushed conversation that was being held behind the partition that surrounded his bed.
Flooed to the Hospital Wing… Arabella's house… Too much blood… Black got away…
Black? That's the dog's name?
Harry started to push himself upright and was almost there before the partition flew open.
"Mr. Potter!" snapped Madam Pomfrey irritably as she rolled her bloodstained sleeves up. "What do you think you are doing?" Harry cringed at the realisation that the blood on her sleeves belonged to him. The matron glared at him pointedly. Rather than incense the witch further, Harry lowered himself into bed gently and winced as his sore shoulder came into contact with the mattress.
"Dislocated shoulders tend to hurt, Potter," drawled a voice from a corner. Harry felt his stomach plummet. The last person he wanted to him in this state was Snape. "Of course," he continued maliciously, "Our precious Gryffindor Prince wouldn't know, would he, if he was so pampered and protected?" Harry felt his anger rise and he opened his mouth to fire back a retort but Madam Pomfrey beat him to it. "Severus Snape! Act your age, for God's sake," she admonished as she bustled to the Potions cabinet. "I need more Blood Replenisher, my stock is cleaned out."
"I wonder why," Snape remarked sarcastically and he strode towards the door. Just then, a hair-raising wail rent the air. Every glass item in the Hospital Wing started to frost as cold crept in through the open windows. Snape stopped in his tracks like a startled deer and exchanged a horrified look with Madam Pomfrey. A sense of depression and hopelessness engulfed Harry suddenly and he floundered in the unexpected attack. Madam Pomfrey pulled out her wand and that was all Harry saw as a terrible scene played in his mind.
"Stand aside, you silly girl!" drawled a cold, cruel voice.
"No! Not Harry, anything but Harry!" screamed another, a female voice. Desperate and pleading. "Please, anything but Harry!"
"Then you leave me no choice. Avada Kedavra."
A horrible flash of green light as the woman screamed. A high, demonic laugh and his world went dark.
Harry didn't even realise that he was crying.
Severus felt the creeping cold and despair and all of a sudden, he was back in the dank and dismal cell on the accursed island of Azkaban. Familiar hopelessness tapped him on the shoulder and welcomed him with open arms. He struggled to turn around as he battled the negative emotions associated with the Dementors. Madam Pomfrey was staring at him with a petrified expression. Both of them drew their wands. Severus racked his brain for a happy memory but before he could, he succumbed to the spiralling influence.
He was in a bleak place. Leaves fluttered in the non-existent breeze from dead and decaying trees as a raven squawked noisily from its perch on a rock. Before him was a wall. A large, flawless solid gold wall that emanated a soft glow. It seemed to beckon him. He approached it warily and a sudden feeling of revulsion and fear so great hit him with the impact of a bullet train. He staggered as his breath hitched. The wall seemed to close in on him, locking him to the spot.
Severus immediately started Occluding. He never was so glad to see Reality again.
Severus realised just as he returned to himself that although the windows were now closed, it was getting frigid. The windows were completely covered with the Dementors' black presence, their rattling breaths creating a macabre symphony. Severus latched onto the first happy memory that came to him and poured his efforts to channelling it.
"Expecto Patronum!" he yelled as a silvery doe sprang gracefully from his wand. It ran through the solid stonewalls like they were gentle waterfalls. Screeches filled the air as the Dementors fought to escape. It was futile, however, for they vanished, engulfed in a brilliant white light. Severus stood, slack-jawed and shocked.
He hadn't been able to cast a Patronus in years, let alone one strong enough to actually kill Dementors. Not ever since Lily married Potter. He searched his mind for the memory he used but it was like catching the final wisps of fog as they vanished into the night. Confused he glanced towards Madam Pomfrey who was bent over her only patient. Harry was tangled in the blankets, face scrunched up in evident pain and tears mingling with sweat as he struggled against an invisible tormentor.
"Severus," she cried. "Help!"
Severus rushed over and as he did, he thought he felt a spasm of deep worry pass through him. He shook his head to clear it.
I'll ask Albus later. I've got more important things to do now, he thought and with that, he rushed forward to aid the matron.
