A/N Well, Harry is going to be having a lot of inner monolog, which is pretty entertaining. So yep!
Disclaimer: Not I do potter own harry. Rowlings am JK not I.
Destroy Me
Chapter 3
Harry felt like he was being squeezed through a colorful tube, a strange feeling of electricity flowing through him.
Then they stopped, and the younger man fell, shocked by the sudden return if gravity. His professor stepped away, as if scared he would be sick on his shoes.
Which, at the moment, was a definite possibility.
After a few calming breaths, the boy sat up to look at his surroundings.
They were on a cobblestone street, surrounded by tall, looming brick houses. Street lights were flickering, big moths swarming the golden areas
A bolt of lightning suddenly lit the coal black sky, which displayed a far off mill near a violent sea.
A roll of thunder made the boy jump to his feet.
"It storms all the time here. Get used to it," his professor growled, walking up to one of the tall dilapidated buildings on the end.
The building was much like Grimauld Place, small, but tall, in need of some serious refurbishing.
"Do you WANT to be spotted by Death Eaters?" Snape ground out, as he opened the door.
"Uh, too late, or did you forget so soon?" Harry asked sarcastically.
Snape was swooping down on him in a second. "Get. In."
Not wanting to push his already strained luck, the boy who lived quickly entered the house.
Once in, Snape flicked his wand dim candle-shaped lights sprang to life to show the entryway. The walls were pitch black, along with the tiled ceiling and floor.
Severus chuckled darkly at his expression. "To ward off unwanted guests. Like those imbecilic Christmas carolers."
Harry tried to imagine people brave enough to approach Snape and sing cheery songs, and couldn't imagine them doing it; even without the foreboding interior.
The teenager looked impatiently at Snape. 'Why are we still in the damn entrance. I want to shower and go to bed.'
But the man was waving his wand around, muttering and weaving beams of light Blue light together. Harry had never taken Ancient Runes, but he could tell thats what Severus was making. 'Wards,' his mind supplied. 'Of course, they'd have to be strengthened. With me being number one on Voldemort's hit list, and all.'
Finally, the man tucked his wand away, the lights fading away.
As he pulled out a Muggle key, stuffing it into the keyhole, Snape murmured, "You are keyed to the wards, you will not be seen as a threat. But a word of warning: Do not leave this house. I would rather not have you delivered to Albus in a match box, via the Dark Lord. Am I clear?"
"Yeah," the boy muttered, as the man escorted him in.
"You will refer to me as Sir, or Professor during these holidays. None of that, how you say, 'Greasy Git' shit. You will treat me with the utmost respect, as well as my home... And I guess I will return the favor... Potter! Are you even listening?"
In all truth, he WAS listening, but was too distracted by the house to respond.
The floors were mostly dark wood, as was the furniture. Faded dusty rugs were almost everywhere, and there were so many bookcases he lost track. And they were STUFFED! with anything from old tomes done in Greek, to Muggle fiction novels.
The kitchen was small, in need of a definite scrub down. The dining room, like the other room Harry had seen, was small, the long table and its seats barely contained in the minuscule amount of space.
The last room was also on the small side, but that was due to the many pieces of furniture: An over-stuffed couch, a winged-back armchair, a coffee table, two end tables, more bookcases, and a large sooty fireplace.
Despite the dark, dingy, and worn look of everything, it seemed at least semi-comfortable.
"If you're quite done gawking, Potter, then shall I lead you upstairs?" Severus sneered at the gobsmacked look on Harry's face.
"Er... There are no stairs..." the boy observed, but the older man merely tapped a book (Potions Masters Through the Ages) with his wand, and the shelf swung out, like on one of those spy movies Dudley always watched.
"Wicked!" the boy breathed, though that caused a coughing fit (due to displaced dust).
Snape swept past him up the creaky wooden stairs, leaving Harry to practically run after him.
The second floor he only saw briefly: There were three doors, and the hallway and landing were done in a reddish brown color.
The third floor actually surprised him.
The walls in the main area were a storm-cloud-grey color, and the flooring was, again, dark wood.
There were two doors, no doubt their bedrooms. Snape lead him to the one facing the street they entered, opened the door, and unceremoniously shoved him in. "These will be your rooms. You don't like them? To bad." And with that, Harry's enlarged possessions were tossed in as well, before the door slammed shut. "Don't leave your room!" came the shout through the door.
'Great, prisoner here as well,' the boy thought, rubbing his now bruised arm. 'At least him hurting me was unintentional.'
'Hurting?' came a Malfoy sounding drawl. 'You call that hurting? You've had worse, way worse.'
'I know, I know.'
'Don't use that tone with me, young man!' Mrs. Weasley scolded.
Feeling angry about being chastised in his own mind, Harry turned from the dark door to survey his 'room'.
It was beautiful. The walls were painted in a beige color, the carpet a darker brown to match the door. The furniture (a bed, night table, dresser, desk, and chair) was oak, the earthy smell confirming it. The heavy curtains that enclosed the tall windows were sky blue, like the comforter on his small bed.
The room was small, though bigger than Dudley's second bedroom, and especially bigger than his cupboard. Everything, like the rest of the house, was well worn, though comforting.
Biting his lip (trying to ignore the twinge of gratitude towards Snape), Harry quickly tucked his broom under his bed and sat Hedwig's cage on his dresser.
Harry went over to the other door in his room and opened it. His own private bathroom! It was nice, having chocolate brown tiled floors and walls. A sink, counter space, a toilet... Thats when his heart sunk.
A bath tub. No shower. Harry HATED baths, absolutely HATED them. But he was too tired (and if he admitted it to himself, a little scared) to ask Snape if he had a shower. So after stripping off his faded blue jeans, too big sweatshirt, socks, shoes, and undershorts, Harry wet a washcloth giving himself a firm scrubbing down, making sure to run his wet fingers through his greasy curls.
Feeling slightly refreshed, the boy pulled on his too big, grimy, grey sweatpants, and went over to his bed.
It looked too perfect: The overstuffed pillow fluffed, the creamy sheets folded over the down comforter. He touched it. Everything was fleece.
He blinked furiously. 'Why am I getting so worked up over this? Its just a bed!'
'But your family never gave anything this nice to you. Snape did. And he's your enemy!' Hermione trilled off.
'But crying over a bed? God, maybe I am over emotional, or sentimental, or whatever Snape said during Occlumency.'
'Well, we can't blame you. Nobody has ever cared about you enough to provide you with a real bed or room,' Remus's voice of reason stated.
'Snape doesn't care about me.' Then Harry added, 'Sirius would have given me a room. And a bed. And so much more. Sirius cares about me! ...cared. Cared about me.'
Slowly peeling back the soft, cool blankets, Harry slowly climbed into the bed. He fell into a fitful sleep as soon as his still damp head hit the mashy pillow.
A/N Poor Harry! The bath thing will be explained in due time, so yeah. Reviews make me =-D
