Reviews!

demonpoxxx: Oooo, a dare. But um, I just kind of stop the chapters when I feel like they should stop. Besides, shorter chapters mean sooner updates and less waiting :D

mayoprincess: Thanks for the encouragement!

Liz Merryfeather: I'm gonna do my best to keep it up! *determined face*

Professor Radar: Um... 1. Snape doesn't want to do this, 2. He procrastinates on things he doesn't want to do? and 3. Dumbledore works in strange (and quite unconventional) ways. Besides, Snape ain't seen nothin' yet.

A Discomforting Debacle Part I

Now nearing October, Harry shuffled back inside Number 4. Today had been even more rigorous than normal, what with Dudley trying to sabotage everything he did. He almost broke Aunt Petunia's prized cake platter! Harry shudders to think of the punishment he would receive if he broke that. Or anything, really.

Stifling an annoying cough he had acquired over the day, Harry attempted to sit closer to the fire without looking like he was trying to. If Dudley saw him scooting closer, he would deliberately come over and sit in front of Harry, blocking him from the fire's comforting warmth with his large body.

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon shouts suddenly from his place on the couch.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" Harry quietly replies, seemingly unfazed

"The fire's gone low. Get more wood from the back! And make it snappy!"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

Harry heaved a silent sigh. He had only just thawed himself out after Aunt Petunia had kept him out there trimming the trees. Deciding to do it as quickly as possible, Harry trotted over to the back door and darted outside into the howling wind, making sure to close the door. If he didn't, Aunt Petunia would have a cow over her still pristine kitchen getting dirt and leaves in it.

And then force Harry to clean it for 3 hours.

Reaching the wood pile, Harry piled up as much wood as he could in his stick-thin arms, wobbling slightly from the weight. He darted back over to the door and was able to stretch out his hand and miraculously open it.

Harry carefully placed the wood down own the fireplace's hearth, going out of his way to prevent any specks of dirt falling from the logs onto the pristine carpet. Assuming that his uncle also wanted him to restock the fire itself, Harry began placing one or two logs onto the already roaring fire. He went as slowly as he thought was safe, relishing in the fire's blazing warmth, and dimly noticed that his hands were shaking.

'Simply from the cold,' he thought.

Aunt Petunia came into the living room from the master bedroom and started shrieking something about Harry getting dirt all over the mat next to the back door. Harry frowned to himself. He had thought that those mats were there to get dirty to prevent dirt from getting on other places.

Harry spent the rest of the night hand washing that mat clean.

The next morning, Harry was feeling quite strange. It was as if gravity was pulling down harder on him and him only. His head was pounding and his hands were sweating far more than he thought they should be.

He ignored it all. If he complained then Uncle Vernon would berate him for being a whiny little freak, give him a few good kicks to the gut, then send him off to do more chores for Aunt Petunia. Harry had learned this from experience.

Lots of it.

So Harry went on through the day, trying to ignore the progressively worsening feeling that had started in his stomach and head and had now progressed throughout his body. He finally got the chance to rest and actually sit down for a few minutes in the kitchen. Only now he felt as though he would never be able to pick himself back up.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw his uncle come lumbering into the room. He had just gotten back from work and was, once again, apparently quite irate over something.

What that something was, Harry had never had any desire to find out.

Uncle Vernon continued stomping about the room ranting under his breath about whatever had gotten under his skin this time. He soon stopped pacing and placed himself (quite unceremoniously) into one of the kitchen chairs.

He then started shouting something at Harry.

To Harry, it was quite strange. For some reason he couldn't quite make out what his uncle was saying. He knew that he was shouting, so it was very unusual that he couldn't make out whatever he was being threatened this time. The only reason he knew that he was being threatened and not ordered was because his uncle was increasingly tense over something.

This was only barely noticed through slightly blurry vision, which was also confusing, for Harry knew that he had his glasses on.

Harry now realized that he was so completely drained and exhausted that he couldn't even bother to look or act scared of his uncle, which he was. He saw his now furiously raging uncle get up out of his chair and come over to Harry.

And soon proceeded to punch Harry in the gut.

For some reason, Harry could barely feel what he knew were incredibly painful blows. What he could feel, however, was the vile taste and burning sensation coming up his throat.

His uncle had stopped punching him and was now simply holding him by the scruff of his over-sized shirt and shouting in his face. Harry felt a rush of saliva enter his mouth and desperately tried in vain to stop the muscle contortions in his abdomen.

He then up chucked every morsel of nutritional substance contained in his fragile body onto the floor, just missing his uncle who had barely drawn back in time.

Giving a very painful, drawn-out dry heave, the small boy then blacked out from pure exhaustion.

Severus was quite happy when he finished grading the few written homework pages he had passed out. What he was not happy over was the god-awful work that had been turned in.

He also didn't have any more classes that Friday, with it being around 5:00 in the afternoon. He looked over his office desk and noticed a thick packet of yellowed parchment lying under a mound of scrolls.

Ah yes, fetching Potter, how could he have forgotten? (- Sarcasm!)

He still couldn't see why no one else could have that unpleasant job. Sighing, Severus severely hoped that he could give Harry his letter tonight and be done with it.

With that thought, he once again turned himself invisible, grabbed the packet, and apparated to the boring street known as Privet Drive.

Once again striding up the street of the most boring place to have ever existed, Severus saw that he was in luck. The man that he remembered being known as 'Vernon' was just pulling into the driveway, assumably just returning from work.

Severus noted, as he was slipping inside behind the overly large man, that 'Vernon' was incredibly angered over something. With such boring lives, the only thing he would be angry over was the whole unchanging-ness of it all.

Pausing in the front hall, Severus landed his gaze on that damned cupboard door. He didn't want to simply charge in, no. He had far more tact than that. He also thought it highly improbable that Harry was even in there at the time, seeing as he wouldn't even had had dinner yet.

Vernon was loudly grumbling to himself about something related to 'drills', whatever those might be. Severus resigned himself to following after the man into the kitchen. He quickly halted when he noticed who else was in there.

GAH! Sorry it took so long to get you such a small snippet. My computer decided to disconnect itself from the internet the entire day and my inspiration went away and only just got back. I only put out this small bit to satiate ye beasts.

Btw, updates might be few and far between soon, my bro's coming back from college for a bit, school (and tests) are gonna start again soon so... ya. I'm gonna try to get in a bunch of chapters before Monday but NO PROMISES. NONE!

Review so you can complain about my terrible character portrayal! \^o^/