Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor anything that JK Rowling has written or created. So don't sue me, please!

A/N: The last chapter didn't really end as a cliffie, did it? I didn't mean it to. It just ended there. Things start to look up just a little now that Harry's getting free of his slightly evil relatives. Please read on and then review. I'll only write more if I get enough reviews to convince me that my efforts are worth it at least a little.

00000000000000000 Chapter 4: Whisked Away 000000000000000000

Harry dodged the first swing of the club, and the second. His aunt was too upset to aim properly, and if he rolled on his bed he could avoid the blows. The third landed on his leg, up on his thigh, and left behind a searing pain. "Stop it!" he shouted. "Stop hitting me!" His voice was hoarse from screaming in his dreams, but loud now as he shouted at his aunt.

Petunia did stop, breathing heavily and holding the club up. "What did you do, freak?" she demanded. Harry glared at her.

"I didn't do anything!" he snapped. "You're the one that tried to kill me!"

"Finally, someone has the guts to try," she spat back. Harry blinked, taken aback. His relatives really did want him dead, he realized. Despite how he hated them and they hated him, he'd always figured that they'd never really want him dead. It hurt a little to know that his only living family wanted him dead. It was slightly disconcerting as well. He had never done anything to warrant their hate…except almost get Dudley killed, blow up Aunt Marge, have a nutter house-elf running around…a traitorous part of his brain told him.

"Well, I'm glad to know no one cares," he told her sarcastically. She raised the club again, but just then Vernon moaned. Petunia dropped the club, running to her husband.

And in that instant the member of the Order promised to Harry appeared.

"Well, well, well. What a wonderful predicament you've created, Potter," came the sour voice.

Harry groaned weakly. Snape. They'd sent him Snape. Perhaps his note had been intercepted…perhaps this had all been planned out by Voldemort…perhaps he was going to be dead in just a little bit… "Please tell me it was Riddle that sent you," he begged.

"Shut your stupid mouth, Potter," Snape told him. The lights suddenly flicked on, and Harry cringed away from the bright light, covering his slightly light-sensitive eyes. Probably an after-effect of the nightmare, he figured, along with everything else. "Albus has sent me to keep an eye on you until he can finish preparing your special little trip."

"Uhhnnn," he managed. He was too distraught now to want to say anything to the sour man watching him so hatefully. He really wished his aunt was back over him with the golf club. That would be better than this. Anything would be better than Snape. Anything at all.

"While you may have lost all memory of the English language, Potter, others have not," Snape told him. Harry fumbled around near his head and found his glasses. He slipped them on, managing not to drop them from his weak, shaking fingers, and looked around. He could now see that the man was standing in the doorway of the room, leaning against the frame with his wand on his fingertips.

Petunia was still kneeling by Vernon, a look of pure horror on her face. Finally, there seemed to be someone that could put a little fear into her, Harry thought grimly.

Vernon was awake now, but looked woozy and was holding a hand to the back of his head. There was a spot of blood on the wall from where he had connected. "Why you?" he finally croaked. Snape sneered.

"You may not care, Potter, but everyone's been scrambling to cater to your pathetic little wishes. Every plan and important mission was put on hold just so they could take care of your selfish needs. I was the only one that could not do anything to create the charms for your moving. It would be too suspicious," Snape explained in a superior tone. Harry blinked a few times, sighing.

"I didn't realized everyone was that busy," he admitted. "But—er," he ended. He did not want to say anything in front of Snape.

"What happened here?" the greasy Potions Master asked. Harry blinked, ready to answer, but then Petunia was on her feet, finger pointed accusingly at Harry.

"Him!" she screeched. "That brat has done nothing but torture us this summer with his glares and talking back and rude behavior! After all we've done for him!" She stalked a few steps closer to him, narrowing her eyes angrily. "Acting as if we all owe him something, even after he almost got Dudley killed!"

"Aunt Petunia made m—" Harry started to say angrily, but Petunia cut him off.

"That's Mrs. Dursley to you, boy!" she snapped. Harry sighed.

"Fine. Mrs. Dursley," he added in a sarcastic tone. "You decided you'd get my defensive magic to react, and it bloody well did. He hit the wall when she was knocked back into him, I think, and was knocked out. That little owl showed up and I sent off my note. And then Auntie here started in on me again!"

He was angry now, temper flaring. "You ungrateful brat!" his aunt screamed. She was coming closer now, and he knew soon she'd strike him. She was at that point.

But he didn't care anymore. "I'm not bloody ungrateful, you old bat!" he shouted back. He could see Snape watching now, eyebrow raised and a sneer on his face. "I'm bloody grateful that someday soon I'll never have to see your stupid horse-face ever again!"

CRACK!

The fast backhand hit him hard. It was her left, and her wedding ring slashed across his cheek, leaving behind a bloody red trail from the top of his cheekbone almost down to the corner of his mouth. "Brat!" she shouted.

"Bitch!" he shouted back. He'd never said that before, but he was too angry to stop himself now. His aunt had pushed him to the limit. "All you ever do—" he started to shout, but then suddenly his words dissolved out from under him, like the world was crumbling away beneath him.

Pain, agonizing pain was burning through his body. He'd never felt this…and then he realized with a pang of terrible fear that he had…and very recently, as well. It was Voldemort. Voldemort was trying to possess him. He'd gotten too angry, too hateful of his aunt, and now he was vulnerable.

He convulsed on the bed, barely registering his aunt's scream as she stumbled back. He thought he saw Snape approaching. "Voldemort!" he managed to croak out. Snape couldn't be here. He couldn't be found out. He would be if he stayed here.

Snape didn't seem to get it. He was standing there now, arms folded and smiling down at him. It was a cold, sour smile. It was calculating and sarcastic and superior all in one.

Harry convulsed again, his back bending into a sharp curve as he lifted partially off the bed, hands clasping at the sheets wildly. He tried to focus on repelling Voldemort. He tried thinking of happy memories…but it wasn't working. There was too much pain, too much agony coursing through his body…

And then he saw something out the window that made his heart a little warmer. Hedwig was fluttering just outside, golden eyes on her master. Somehow, she had known he was in trouble.

He focused on her white form as he convulsed again, this time whipping back the other way, as if a giant snake were squeezing him and contorting him. The pain was numbing him, numbing his mind. He had to get free of this now, or he would lose control.

He watched Hedwig flutter. His friends probably were worried now, wondering what had happened to Hedwig.

His friends.

He clung onto the memories he had of them like a drowning man, struggling against the convulsions and pain as he tried to regain control of his head and body. Ron. Hermione. Last year…they had stood by him, all through to the end…and then he suddenly remembered that last day, in the station. When they had all stood up for him against the Dursleys as best they could…except there had been no Sirius.

With a heart-wrenching pang, he felt the coils around his body loosening. He clung to the thought of Sirius now, clutching at it while the pain began to recede. He could feel Voldemort's anger now, burning through his mind. Tom had been so close to achieving his goal. So close to forcing his consciousness into Harry's body.

Sirius, he thought. I miss you so much, Sirius. I wish you could help me. Sirius…

There was something warm dripping down his face, and his left eye lost sight as red liquid pooled inside it. He was too weak to even blink it away.

One last burning agony through his body…and everything went red.

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He woke up with something cold on his forehead. He could see again, his glasses still on his face. There was no more red clouding his vision.

"You idiotic brat." Snape. He groaned. He was still with Snape. "You could have been taken, and yet you still let yourself get angry. How stupid do you have to be?"

"Nnnnhh," he groaned. His mouth was paper-dry, his throat sticky. He felt terrible. His back ached, his arms ached, his legs ached, his neck, his head, his scar, everything.

"Still can't speak a word of English to me," Snape growled. "Foolish boy. First you want out because your aunt and uncle don't like you, and then you almost let the Dark Lord possess you!"

"Tom," Harry rasped out.

"What." Snape's voice was flat, as if he couldn't care a less as to what Harry meant.

"Name," Harry gasped. "His name. Tom, Tom Riddle. Not Dark Lord," he tried to explain. Snape sneered at him.

"As you wish, Potter," Snape said. "I suppose anything must be done to appease the little Golden Boy," he added nastily. Harry turned his head a little away, blushing slightly. He hated that title most of all. It was so stupid. "Don't move your head, Potter," Snape said sharply. Harry moved his head back.

"Why?" he managed. Snape frowned at him angrily, certainly meaning he'd rather be anywhere than where he was at that moment.

"Your scar seems to have started bleeding, and it is taking its time stopping. You've lost some blood," he said. "Which would not have happened if you had not lost control of your temper."

"Well, excuse me," Harry growled. "How much longer are they going to be?" he asked. He didn't care anymore if Snape thought he was being spoilt. He just need to get out of here. Now.

"Perhaps another hour," Snape said. "If our little hero can wait that long, that is," he added. Harry figured the man couldn't do more than one or two sentences towards him without making sure that the next was some sort of insult.

"Good," Harry said flatly. "What happened to Petunia and Vernon?" he asked.

"Your relatives are currently in their room. Cowering, I suppose. What exactly did you do to them?" Snape asked accusingly. Harry glared at the man as best he could.

"I didn't do a bloody damn thing! If she hadn't tried—well, then he wouldn't have gotten knocked into the wall!" he protested.

"Calm down, Potter, unless you wish to have a repeat episode?" Snape commented.

Harry swallowed his anger and continued. "Fine, Snape," he snapped.

"Professor Snape, Potter," Snape growled warningly. Harry glared some more.

"Professor, then. Vernon hit the wall and got knocked out when Petunia was knocked back into him because she made my magic react. The owl arrived, etcetera, etcetera…" he finished sardonically.

"Don't take that tone with me, Potter," Snape said icily. "What did your aunt do to make your magic react?"

Harry did not want to answer that. He'd tell Dumbledore, Lupin, anyone else. Not Snape. "She got too close to me. I—I was angry. She got too close," he repeated.

"Come now, Potter, you expect me to—" Snape began, when there was a bang sound. Suddenly, there were four new people in the room.

"Remus!" Harry said with relief, recognizing the sandy hair. The man smiled. With him was Bill Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Professor McGonagall.

"You all right there, Harry?" Bill asked. Harry nodded.

"I'll be fine," he said.

"He let himself get upset and the Dark Lord tried to take him again," Snape commented. Harry glared at him.

"I wouldn't have gotten upset if Petunia—" he started. For what seemed like the millionth time, he was interrupted by someone else.

"We have to get going, Mr. Potter," Shacklebolt said. He kept looking around nervously, as if expecting someone to jump out at any moment.

"Do you have your belongings together?" McGonagall asked.

"No, Professor," he admitted. "I—there's some stuff under the floorboard," he told her, pointing it out from where he lay. He wasn't totally sure he could stand up yet. "I'm not sure where the rest of my stuff is," he added. "Vernon took it."

"I'll look," McGonagall offered. She was gone in an instant, while Bill pried up the board and got out the photo album, cloak, and glass lily.

"You're looking ill, Harry," Remus said concernedly. "You've gotten thinner since I last saw you."

"Er—I haven't been eating well," he said. He did not feel comfortable saying more with Snape's black eyes on him like they were. "I'll gain it back."

"You'd better," Bill said as he straightened up, holding the three items in his arms. "Or mum will be after you."

"Harry, why is your window bolted shut?" Remus asked. His voice was meant to sound curious, Harry thought, but instead he sounded a little overly concerned.

"Vernon did that," he said. "Didn't want owls getting in."

McGonagall came back before Remus could respond. "I couldn't find anything," she admitted. "And we can't wait any longer."

Harry frowned, worried about his belongings. "They should be under the—" he started, but Remus cut him off hurriedly.

"We'll come back later, if it's still safe," Remus decided. "Come on, Harry. We're using a special portkey to get out of here."

Harry didn't want to admit how weak he was, so he bit his tongue hard while he pushed himself up. He thought perhaps he'd pass out from the pain and dizziness that enveloped him, but he made it to his feet and tottered over to the others.

He hadn't used a portkey since the end of fourth year. He definitely didn't want to use one again. But he didn't have much choice.

Remus saw his hesitation, though. "Trust me, Harry, it'll be fine," he promised. Harry nodded and touched the portkey as the others did.

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'Wands out, you reckon?'

'Yeah.'

'Kill the spare….'

'Avada Kedavra!'

'Cedric!'

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He hadn't remembered that so vividly in a while, he thought groggily. He was on the floor, shivering. He didn't remember much of the trip by portkey, but he remembered touching down in the dark. That had been too much…too much like that night.

He thought perhaps he'd gotten past that. The first death. No, the third death…his parents had been the first and second. Sirius…the fourth…well, perhaps more like the tenth or so. Others had died at Voldemort's request as well…so many others…

But Cedric had been the worst, that curse, the body, the shadow that had spoken to him. It was too much that night, and it was still too much. No one had thought it odd that he didn't seem to have any trouble getting over Cedric's death. That it didn't bother him.

But it did. And small things, little things, brought it back. This had been the worst.

He would never, ever use a portkey again. Never, not even if his life depended on it.

Some time had passed, he realized. The room was dimly lit now, though he was still on the floor. It was quiet as well, as if he were alone.

He rolled over on his side as he heard the words in his mind again, and the next second he threw up, vomiting up little more than stomach acid and blood onto the wooden floor. "Harry?"

It was Remus's voice. "Uhh," he groaned.

"Harry, I didn't want to move you until I knew you were uninjured. You were moaning and shivering, Harry. The others left so you could have a little privacy. They understand."

"Uhh," he groaned again. His mouth burned from the acid, and he dry-heaved a few times, ribs aching at the sharp contractions.

He felt hands on him now, helping to pull him up into a sitting position. "Scourgify," Remus murmured, and the mess was gone off the floor and his face and hands. "Shh, Harry," Remus said.

Harry snuffled, trying to keep back tears. He was almost sixteen, dammit, he told himself. Sixteen year old boys…men…don't cry. But too much had happened in too short of a time. He felt so weak, so beaten down…he didn't want to go anywhere, to do anything, until the ache and the weakness went away. "Merlin, Harry, you're nothing but bones!" Remus exclaimed, as Harry felt his fingers along his shoulders and side.

"Not…much…to eat," he got out. His mouth was dry and burning. "Water," he asked.

There was a swish sound, and then a cool glass was pressed against his lips. He drank the cold water slowly, working at clearing his mouth of blood and acid and phlegm. He almost finished the glass before his stomach started to protest, its shrunken size only able to hold so much liquid. "Is that enough, Harry?" Remus asked. Harry nodded.

"Better," he said more clearly, forcing the tears away. "Much better. I'm sorry I panicked like that," he added.

"I understand, Harry. Considering what happened with the last portkey you used…"

"Every little thing," Harry said softly. "Portkeys, Hufflepuffs, tournaments, dragons, everything reminds me…it hasn't gone away…"

"It won't, Harry," Remus said. "It doesn't."

"Sirius…" Harry sobbed. He felt stupid and weak. Almost sixteen, and he was lying on a wooden floor in the arms of his dead father's last living friend. Crying and carrying on like a ten year old. Except Harry had never cried as a child. Never. Certainly not as a ten year old, nor really until he'd been in his third year at Hogwarts.

He felt the arms tighten around him. "It's going to be all right, Harry," Remus said reassuringly. "I miss him too."

"I…I don't want to lose anyone else," he said, the words garbled by the knot in his throat and the tears rolling down the back of his throat. "I lose everyone…"

"I'm not going anywhere, Harry," Remus said softly. "I'll stay right here with you as long as you need me to."

Harry clung to those words just as tightly as he clung to Remus, lying on the wooden floor and weeping himself dry. He'd never cried like this, not since he was just a few years old, wondering why everyone despised him so much. Not even at the beginning of the summer…he had cried a little, but he had not been so beaten down, so weak and tired and aching.

Everything had not seemed so terribly set against him. So hopeless.

He wept harder, shaking with the sobs as they tore out of his throat, one by one.

And Remus held onto him tightly, hugging him against his chest and whispering soothing words into his hair.

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A/N: End of Chapter four!!! Wow! I'm on a roll right now, I've got…up to chapter seven or eight all planned out, and I wrote two chapters tonight. I think the average length is going to be about ten pages, but I'll work on that. I want to have consistent-length chapters, and I'm one of those people that prefers long chapters to short. Thanks for reading and please please please review! --Miss Laine