A/N: This is a bit of a Harry-centric chapter, but lots of Snape is on the way soon, along with lots more violence and some drugs.

Chapter 2: Grimmauld Place

Harry sat still at the table, shifting every now and then to keep his ribs from becoming too agonizing. Pain shot through his chest with every breath as he waited for Snape to return from…wherever it was he had gone.

He fished around in his pockets for a joint and a lighter; he lit up.

It took a few hits, but the pain faded, leaving Harry to fly while he waited for Snape. The door opened softly half an hour later, and Snape shrugged out of his leather jacket to dump it on the kitchen table. The Dark Mark was clearly visible on his forearm. "Borgin and Malfoy are in the Headmaster's custody. All that remains now is Lucius and what he knows – but he is in Azkaban."

He sniffed the air and glanced at Harry. "Up, Potter. I need to see those ribs to fix them." Harry didn't move.

"Ah…I think it just glanced off me, actually," he said casually.

Snape sneered. "Nonsense, Potter, I heard your ribs break." Harry had gone pale, and Snape stopped twirling his wand to look at him. "What are you not telling me, Mr. Potter?" Harry glanced down at the floor, and opened his mouth to begin weaving his lie – then he made the biggest mistake of his life: he looked up.

"Legilimens!"

"Mikey fucked up! He said the car was on the corner!"

"It is, fuckwit," answered Harry. "Let me get my tool." So saying, he seized the brick off the floor and hopped out of the car, pulling his hood up as he did so. He took a small run-up and hurled the brick.

It smashed through the back window of the Volvo to loud swearing from inside. Harry whipped out his switchblade as his mates piled out of the car he had come from, yelling.

The startled occupants of the Volvo were getting out as well, swearing loudly, knives gleaming in the moonlight.

"What the fuck d'you think you're doing, Sparky? This is our turf – or didn't Tamberlaine get that?" Harry spat at him and moved in, slashing out with his knife and ducking under a swing at the same time.

He heard the crack of a baseball bat on bone from behind him and swiped up at Johnny with his blade, opening his cheek and then the back of his hand in turn.

Johnny's knife fell from nerveless fingers and Harry's elbow shattered his nose. Jasper was beside him now, and he smashed the baseball bat brutally into Johnny's abdomen. As he doubled over Harry brought his knee up into his face, and Mercutio clubbed him over the back with a plank.

He went down without a sound, just as Mercutio flew forwards from the impact of a hockey stick over his head. A second blow caught Harry's face as he turned to his assailant, and he heard his nose break. He hurled himself forwards and tackled the other boy to the ground.

Straddling his chest, he pounded his fists down into him with all his strength until he went limp.

Standing up, he staggered and cracked his nose back into place – and vomited all over his last opponent.

Mercutio was sitting on the blood-slick tarmac looking dazed, and Jasper and Toby were flipping through the wallets of Johnny and his three friends, who lay broken and bloodied on the road.

Harry bent to pick up his dropped knife and cleaned it off on his tatty grey hoodie. Wiping the blood from his nose he spat on Johnny, then gave him a kick for good measure.

Turning to Toby, he said, "Let's get the coke." Toby handed him a crowbar as Marcus, the only one old enough to drive, hopped out of the car to join them by the battered Volvo. It took Harry a moment, but he managed to prize open the boot.

The others were busy heaving Johnny and his mates back into the car, and Harry passed the bags of coke to Marcus. Harry moved round the car to the front seat and pulled Johnny's head back roughly.

"It's our turf now, shit-head."

He was high and drunk when he got home, but that didn't matter – it made the beatings less painful. He had a tidy sum stashed under the floorboards from selling the coke and last week's scag.

He lay on his stomach on his bed, feeling the blood from his torn back run over his sides. It was painful to stand, but after two lines of coke he felt better. He pulled on a hoodie, not bothering with a shirt, and shoved two knives and some cash in a pocket, before making his way downstairs and out.

"Drop it, Sparky. Drop it now." Tamberlaine was on his knees in, head pulled back by Johnny. Harry's hand trembled around his own knife as he watched the one pressed against Tamberlaine's throat.

The fourteen-year-old was shaking. "He didn't know this was your turf, Johnny. Let him go." He spoke with confidence he didn't feel.

"He shouldn't have fucking been here, Sparky. Now drop it or his tongue'll be a new fucking necklace!" He jerked the dark-haired boy's head back, drawing a line of blood over his larynx. Harry stepped back.

"Ok," he said, "Ok, just take that away from his neck, would you?" So saying, he dropped his own knife and backed further away. Johnny smiled; Harry felt both his arms grabbed roughly from behind.

"What the fuck are you doing?" A foot impacted hard with the back of his knee, sending him down. "Johnny, just let him go." But Johnny was smiling and Tamberlaine was crying, grey eyes locked with Harry's. He was going to kill him.

"Johnny! Johnny! I can flog anything you want! I can get anything! I've got scag!" he shouted desperately. "Please, Johnny! Please!"

In the instant before it happened he knew it would. Johnny grinned and drew the knife back, ramming it into Tamberlaine's back. He did it again, and again, and Tamberlaine arched away from the knife, a ragged cry escaping him.

Then blows were raining down on him as he screamed himself hoarse, fighting madly to get loose. Something heavy cracked over the back of his skull, throwing him forwards, and then there was a sharp, piercing pain in his side as he was stabbed.

Feet thudded into him amid laughter and his own terrible screaming, lifting him off the ground.

At last he lay still, his cheek pressed against the wet concrete, staring into Tamberlaine's grey eyes as he choked on his own blood and died.

The present returned with a sickening lurch, and he found himself on all fours, gasping, tears streaming down his face. Snape's dragon-hide boots were before him, unmoving.

"You son of a bitch," he spat. He pushed himself up and staggered to the opposite side of the kitchen, scrubbing at his face with the sleeve of his favourite tattered grey hoodie.

"Mr. Potter-"

"Fuck you. Fuck off."

Snape moved forwards and Harry flinched back. "I apologize, Mr. Potter. But I warned you. Now take off your shirt."

Harry backed away around the kitchen table, and suddenly his wand was in his hand. Snape spoke before he could. "This is our secret, Mr. Potter – providing you allow me to treat your injuries." Snape raised one elegant black eye-brow. "Or would you rather go straight to Hogwarts?"

Deflating completely, Harry swore softly under his breath. "Flying fuck." He tossed his wand onto Snape's leather jacket and struggled out of his hoodie and shirt; the pain was excruciating.

Reversing a chair he sat down slowly, and Snape moved up behind him, muttering an incantation.

TBC