A/N: I've been asked by a ton of people so I'll clarify. partially. Harry
Potter is now known as Nero Andrews. Why, I won't explain just yet. He'll
explain it, eventually. I know that it's a little hard to understand, but
hang with me. Only a few people know that he's actually Harry. Snape is
obviously one of them. Just hang with me and it'll all become clear.
Facing the Past
Chapter Four: Bleeding
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Harry was still lost in thought when Sev came and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You've got a visitor, Nero."
"Who is it?"
"You'll have to see for yourself." Together Harry and Sev walked out of the library and to the main room. Upon seeing whom his visitors were Harry nearly fainted.
After gaining his composure, Harry threw a fit. He started a monologue that just kept going, and going and going. Every other word out of his mouth was one of those "four letter words" that little kids aren't allowed to utter. Question after question came pouring out. Why are you here? What do you think you're doing? How do you know who I am? How can two bloody muggles even BE here? Why bother coming? Did something happen? Do you honestly think I would CARE if something happened? It was a full 20 minutes before Harry had calmed down and shut up enough for anyone to get a word in edgewise.
Harry's aunt and uncle looked confused. Who was this man that was standing there screaming at them? "Who. who are you?" Uncle Vernon finally was able to ask.
"The god damn kid who grew up in your god forsaken house for 17 years. That's who I am!"
"But, you look so different."
"Vernon," Petunia was tugging on his sleeve. "Vernon, its him. Its Harry."
Harry resisted the urge to childishly mimic his aunt and contended him self with asking a few questions. "I don't even want to speak with you. I don't understand why you're here. And frankly, I don't give a damn. Get out!"
"Well see here young man," the fat cow that Harry had once known as Uncle Vernon began- and would have continued had Harry not cut him off.
"No, you see here! This is MY Home, this is MY grounds, and I am NOT a 15 year old boy any more. I am a grown man who is going to stand his place. YOU listen to ME. I do not want you to be here. I don't care why you're here. You are no longer a part of my life. I don't dread what you'll do to me over the summer. I don't give a flying fuck if you're about to go bankrupt. I will not give you money. I wouldn't even bat an eye to wipe a way a tear if you told me that someone was dieing. You did NOTHING for me. And for that, I have absolutely no respect for you or any one else in your bleeding family."
"We raised you Harry. can't you just-" came the small squeak of a reply from Aunt Petunia.
"NO, get the fuck out of my house. GO AWAY. I DO NOT WANT TO SEE YOU." Harry bellowed.
"Nero," came the soft comment from the man seated in a corner, "perhaps you should hear them out? Find out why they're here, at very least."
"Nero?" Uncle Vernon asked quietly. "Who the bloody hell is Nero?" He didn't get an answer as Harry and Sev bantered about listening to the muggles.
"Hear them out! Sev, are you out of your mind? Do you know what they did to me when I was a boy?"
"No.at least not entirely. but I will soon, I hope."
"Yes, you will. but I don't intend on talking to them." Harry gestured roughly at his aunt and uncle.
"For me?" Sev batted his eyelashes playfully. "I must admit, I am a little curious."
After running a hand through his hair, and sending fluttering flakes of white dried gel onto his shoulders Harry sighed. "Fine, for you." Muttering under his breath "I do too much for that man. Why do I even bother?" Aloud, once more "You have 5 minutes. Go." Harry looked at his watch and held his wrist up, clearly counting the minutes that his aunt and uncle would be in his presence.
Aunt Petunia chose to waste the precious little time that Harry had given her. "Are you two er. involved." She glanced between the two men, "or are you just friends?"
Harry had just begun to reply when Sev cut in. "Yes, we're involved" the taller man moved to stand behind Harry and rested his hands on his shoulders. "Not that it matters, but we are. Now, that's a good 30 seconds wasted, please, tell us why you're here."
Harry leaned back against Sev, drawing comfort, as his Aunt and Uncle explained why they were there.
"Its my duddykins" Petunia began. "He's sick-"
"Stomach Cancer. Doctors say-"
"It can't be cured. He's gunna-"
"Suffer until he dies, unless we get some help."
"The normal doctors-"
"They can't fix it, say its inoperable-"
Harry stared at his Aunt and Uncle in disbelief. After everything they'd done to him they honestly thought that he'd help them? Were they out of their minds? Even as the thought this Harry asked, "Are you out of your minds? Why should I help you? You did more harm to me then you did good." Harry pulled up his sleeves and put his wrists out so his Aunt and Uncle to see the thin white scars that ran vertically up his arm. His Aunt gasped. Harry shrugged. Sev covered his lovers wrists with his palms, gently rubbing them. "I wouldn't have those scars if it weren't for you," Harry spat at the only blood family he had living. "I nearly died because of you. I have no intention of involving myself with you for any reason. Ever again. I don't even know how I would help you take care of the cancer. Its not my specialty. I don't know the first thing about medi-magic."
Aunt Petunia sniffed, "My mother, your grandmother, died of cancer, you know. While you mother was here. She would have lived if your mum had gotten her the magical help. It was the only thing that would have helped her. You're just like her. Selfish to the core. She wouldn't save the life of her mother and you won't save the life of your cousin. I can't believe you. All of you are the same. Selfish. You won't share your magic unless there's something it for YOU."
"I won't help you because I have not forgiven you for the harm you did me. Your son was worse, yet he only learned it from his parents so I don't entirely blame him, although he is not blameless. Now, before you leave, I have a question to ask you."
"Why should we answer it?"
"Because this is my bloody house and I listened to your twaddle. Now its your turn to answer my question. How in the name of the 9 gates of death did you find me?"
Petunia answered before her husband could shut her up, "Easy, I just followed the string that's always been connected to you." Petunia pointed to a some spot in the air.
"String," Harry asked, confused, "what string?"
"Nero, love," Sev cut in, "remember that potion I taught you about years ago. the one that would allow you to see when magic's present?"
"Yes. of course. I know spells that do the same."
"You may wish to try one of them."
"Why would I want to do that?"
"Just do it, I think you'll understand what your Aunt is saying a little better."
Harry sighed reluctantly and reached for the wand in his pocket, but drew his hand out when he noticed his Aunt and Uncle draw away in fear. "I'm not going to bloody hurt you. Calm down before you have a heart attack."
Pressing the tip of his wand to the tip of his eyelids Harry murmured a spell under his breath. When he opened his eyes again he saw a faint green line that lead directly from his hear to his aunts. "Bloody hell." Harry whispered, shocked.
"I had thought you always knew Harry."
"My. Name. Is. Not. Harry. It. Is. Nero." Harry ground through his teeth. He couldn't stand having them call him Harry. After taking yet another calming breath Harry continued. "I did not always know about it. How did you get that thing?"
"I always assumed it was from whoever left you on our doorstep when you were a baby."
Silently Harry affectionately cursed Dumbledore. "Enough of how you found me. I think this conversation is over and you should leave." After pulling himself away from Sev; Harry walked across the room and gestured to the open doorway, waiting for his Aunt and Uncle to leave.
"Ha-Nero, you won't reconsider will you? You're our last hope. our last chance." Harry's Aunt was trying yet again to get him to help her.
"Absolutely not. Now, please, leave. I will walk you to the entrance so there will be no risk of you getting lost." Harry strode silently from the room, his miserable Aunt and Uncle trailing behind him; if they were puppies their tales would have been between their legs.
Fifteen minutes later Harry returned to his rooms and sat on the couch next to Sev. "It was nice meeting them," came a casual, yet amused, murmur from next to him. "Rather interesting to see your reaction. I don't believe I've ever seen you that upset."
"You asked once, when and why I got these scars. You know now."
"Yes," Sev mused, "I know the general idea, and can piece together more, but I would still like to hear it in your words, the real story."
"Of course you would. I'll get around to it. I swear, but."
"But you're scared and its hard."
"Yes, you know me entirely too well, lover."
Sev groaned. "I hate it when you call me that!"
"What? Lover?" Harry asked playfully.
Again Sev groaned. "Yes, that."
"What, ashamed of it, lover?"
"Nero."
"Yes.?" came the innocent reply.
"Stop it."
"Stop what, lover?"
"Calling me lover!" Oh how Harry loved to tease the man who really was his love.
"Only if you stop calling me Nero when no one else is around."
"What, you don't like being called Nero all of a sudden?"
"I like it just fine, it is my name. but you know my real name, and I like to hear you say it."
"Just minutes ago you yelled at your Aunt and Uncle for calling you Harry and now you're telling me to call you Harry? Make up your mind, would you?"
"I have made up my mind. I want them to not address me at all, but if they must, by Nero. I want you to call me Harry whenever we're alone."
"That could be rather confusing."
"Oh? Why'd you say that?"
"Seems to me that you're connected to you Aunt. Are you ever really alone?"
Harry groaned, "Don't remind me. I don't want to think about the old biddy when I'm in the shower."
Sev laughed softly and leaned over to kiss Harry's cheek. "Then don't think about it. Just go write, you looked lost when I came in to tell you that they were here. Writing will help, you know it will."
"Of course it will. its just. it means I have to find words for everything inside of me. Have you ever noticed that you don't think in only words, but in pictures and smells and tastes. there aren't words to describe everything. I want to tell the story as best I can, but sometimes it just doesn't seem possible."
"Its hard, but I have faith that you'll do better on your story then you ever did on you potions essays."
Harry mad a face and Severus chuckled softly. When Harry stood to walk out of the room, Sev slapped his bum playfully. "Get done for the night, before its too late, if you don't mind."
"I do mind, thank you very much. I will take my time," was the mockingly haughty reply from the green eyed Harry. That said, Harry turned and walked to the library where he firmly shut and locked the door.
After resuming his seat at the desk, Harry lifted a quill from the stand and began to write.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Fifth year went by with out my even realizing it. All of my everyday activities were a blur to me. I went back through archives to find out what happened while I wasn't a part of the world. Gryffindor won the House cup and the Quidditch cup. I suppose that I must have helped win the Quidditch cup, but I can't for the life of me remember a thing. I passed all of my classes with top marks, so I suppose that I must have done some work, sometime. Honestly though, I probably couldn't tell you a think I learned during my fifth year at Hogwarts.
I was like a zombie, a body walking around with no mind of my own. I got by all year long with just over 4 hours of sleep, on average, each night. I'm surprised no one noticed and forced me to take a nap. Then again, maybe they did and I just didn't realize it. It wouldn't be like Hermione to not see something like that.
Nothing amazing happened that year. For the first time, since my introduction to the Wizarding World, no one had directly tried to kill me. Of course, there was always Voldemort to worry about. The ministry still was adamant about refusing to believe that Voldemort could possibly be back. But as a whole, Voldemort didn't even try to kill me. I had no death threats, I wasn't abducted, no one evil was on school grounds. nothing. It was just so normal that it was almost boring. The only thing I had to worry about, on top of my classes and O.W.Ls, was Quidditch.
I think back now, and try to understand all of the little mistakes that could have been why we were forced to fight Voldemort alone. How could we have possibly missed the signs. Fudge was obviously under Voldemort's thumb. It's amazing how such an idiot survived as long as he did. I would think that Voldemort would have no reason to keep such an idiot alive, then again, I'm not a Dark Wizard. I can't even begin to fathom the way their minds work. How is it that Voldemort can twist an idiots mind into his own demented purposes.
On some levels, Dark Wizards have to be respected. They're not stupid. They have a knowledge of their trade and they use it to their advantage. Of course, they don't do the best things with their magic, but they're good at what the do. We respect master painters, and business men, lawyers, and music artists. yet we give absolutely no credit to the Dark Wizard. I'm not saying that its our place to encourage them to do what they do, but we need to understand that they are good at what they do. They're amazingly good at manipulating everyone and everything to get their ways. Some have even been good enough to manipulate prophecies to their own advantage.
Back to my story, and away form my ill formed thoughts.
This summer was far different from my old ones. Everything in the Dursley household was quiet and subdued. Dudley was off at Fat Camp for the summer. The bloke had embarrassed himself by bending over and ripping a hole in the seat of his pants, reviling to all of his class mates that they didn't even make underwear big enough for him. As Aunt Petunia was upset at not being able to be with her "precious duddy-wuddy-kins," everyone was forced to tip toe around. If she was so much as disturbed she went off. For once it wasn't just me that her anger was directed towards. Her husband was put under fire as well. He felt her wrath as she forced him to clean, and clean silently. I should have enjoyed this sight. but I didn't. I was still in a haze and still wishing I could sleep more.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was months before Harry could bring himself to write more. It had been helping him, he knew, but the next part of the story was painful.
Time past and Christmas break came around. It was far too cold to go outside, and Harry felt that it was the perfect time to catch up on some grading. He had just started essays that had been composed by the 5th years on Manticores, when Sev banged into the room and immediately went through to the bedroom. After closing the red ink well, and setting the quill into its holder, Harry got up and walked to the bedroom. Leaning against the doorframe he watched as Sev threw clothing into a bag, hurriedly packing. "Sev, what's wrong? Where are you going?"
Severus paused in his packing for a moment to look at Harry. "You know Kissandra Kyros? Kizzy? She's a 6th year. very smart, but doesn't do any of the work?"
"Yes. Of course." Earlier that morning Harry had read an article in the Daily Profit about the Kyros family. Kizzy's father had just been murdered. He was prominent man Ministry. Surprising, seeing as the Kyros's were a family known for their production of Dark Wizards. Harry had met the man on several occasions, and had always found him to be loving and cheerful. Always the optimist and always supporting of the Ministry. "What about her?"
"She's been arrested."
"What!? Why?"
Sev resumed his packing, but answered Harry's question. "They believe she killed her father."
"Do you think that?"
"No, I know Kizzy. She wouldn't kill her father, and even if she had, his manner of death is far from being anything she'd use. She's very strong in the magic area. no muggle ways for her."
"How was the man killed?"
"Half hung then drawn and quartered. Yet the ministry isn't sure that that was how he died."
"How can you NOT die after you've been drawn and quartered?"
"Its not that. they just don't think that that he was alive when it all started."
"So why do you need to go to her anyway?"
"I just received a letter from Brynn. You know her too. Apparently, Kizzy had been planning on staying with her for Christmas break. She requested that I help get Kiz out so that she can be back in time for school to start."
"I see. and you're going to get Kizzy out. Just how do you intend on doing that?"
"Speed it along, say she needs to be back in time for classes. She's not doing well in all of her classes, and missing school will only hurt her."
"Of course. I don't think she's even passing ONE class."
Sev smiled and nodded before gently flicking his cloak over his shoulders and lifting his bag. "I'll see you when I get back, love. Keep writing." After kissing Harry gently, Sev disappeared through the door and down the hall.
The next couple of hours Harry spent lost in thought, occasional jotting down a few words on the parchment in front of him.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Yes, I was surviving. I was trying. I was challenged. Life was never boring, but sometimes it just gets to be too much. Sometimes life just isn't worth living. When you feel like you're the only one fighting against an evil thing, life just seems like too much. Its overwhelming.
Every moment of ever day, there's something you feel like you should be doing. Some new spell you should be learning. A new way of fighting, another language. Anything, anything that might give you even a slight edge over your enemy. I became obsessed.
I spent hours pouring over text, and getting extra tutoring. The library started to feel more like my home then Gryffindor tower. Every waking minute was spent there. until, one day, I lost it. I couldn't look at the place anymore. Even looking at book made me ill. My eye sight had gotten worse. The Visions from the Dark Lord had continued relentlessly. I'd grown muscles from climbing ladders and lifting books.
I'd read more books and more accounts of deaths and the spells and curses that cause them, then any one person should ever read in a life time. I'd done research. Read all the articles and books and magazines and pamphlets and tablets and anything I could possibly find, on the subject. The stories I read weren't just about Lord Voldemort, oh no, they went back hundreds of years. They went back past the Roman era. I learned Latin so I didn't have to rely on an interpretation. The deaths just might not be as gruesome in the interpretation as they were in the original text. The detail may have been lost. Gods know that English is an unspecific language.
When the day came that I couldn't take it anymore. I just snapped. Suddenly, nothing mattered. I went through life, day by day, one step at a time. I didn't do anything extra. I quit Quidditch, I quite doing homework, I stopped researching, I didn't even bother to tell Dumbledore about my Visions anymore.
By the time all of this came around it was already winter break. Ron had gone home to be with his family. Hermione had volunteered to stay, but I said it'd be a waste of time. After all, the only things I did were, sleep, eat, and read.
During that break, I started to find. destructive ways to demonstrate what I had learned in those books. Those books had made me believe that death was such a free place.
What kind of world is it that we live in when so many terrible things had happened? Men had been half hung and left to dangle from a tree. Criminals had been tied to four horses and the horses set running. Women were burned at the stake because milk curdled in a pail that had been left in the sun. Whole hands had been crushed in a small device that fit over the hand. Feet had been soaked in salt water for 24 hours and then Goats were set free to lick the feet until the feet, bones and all, were gone and the person died from blood loss. Arms and legs were strapped to a manacles and then the chains tightened until the person "stretched." Helpless victims were trapped inside of standing coffins that had been studded with rusty bits of metal and shards of glass and left to stand there. Even the simple act of breathing might cause them to be skewered by the sharp points that protruded from their entrapment. People were hung (inverted) from a pole and a jagged tooth saw was used to saw them in half, the long way. The kinds of tortures and punishments that I found out about continued with out end.
Who wants to live in a world where things like that happened on a regular basis. With the Dark Lord coming back into power there was every possibility that some of those devices would be reimplemented. I came to realize that the depth of human cruelty is endless. We're always trying to out do ourselves with ways to torture others.
If something is slowly introduced to you, you don't realize how just how bad they are. WWII and Hitler's style are a prime example of this. Hitler was not a stupid man. He didn't just jump up on a table and announce, "Alright everyone. Here's what we're going to do, now that I'm in power. First, I'm going to take all the Jews. Yeah, that's right, the doctors and the lawyers, the kids and the grandmas, your best friends even. and we're gunna pack them onto a train. eh, maybe 150 to a single cattle care 200 if we can fit them. We'll lock the door and take them for a trip for maybe three days. They won't get food, they won't get water, they don't even get to get out and go to the bathroom. After they've been on the train and moved to where we need to get them, we'll get them off as quickly as possible. If that means we whip them to move them faster, we whip them. Once they're inside the camps, we'll make them build these huge crematoriums, then we'll have them dig their own mass graves. They'll get a little food (an amount our great nutritionist says they couldn't survive on for more then 3 months). And slowly, we'll kill them all. They might even be able to throw their living mother into the oven themselves. Hey, it'll be a party. What'd you say? Lets get started!"
No, Hitler took his time. Slowly he introduced anti-Semitic ways to his people. He got them to hate the Jews. He made them think that the Jews weren't even human. Then he started his Final Solution. The steps he took were so gradual that people didn't even realize what they were doing. When Hitler was ready to start his mass destructions, cross race relationships were no more. If you were Aryan, you didn't even know a Jew.
That's the way this world is. We're so susceptible to anything that we'll do anything with just a small amount of persuasion.
After all my reading and studying, I realized I didn't want to be a part of that. I didn't want to even risk the small possibility that Voldemort would find that tiny seed of dark that is in my heart, and he would water it until it grew into a vine that took over my entire body, my mind, and my soul.
I was all too human, and I hated it.
Christmas day of my sixth year, I went down to the huge picture of fruit that hid the entrance to the kitchen and tickled the pare. Immediately it opened and I was surrounded by House Elves. I had only one request. A knife, a large knife. They gave it with out question and I escaped. I made the long trek all the way up to Gryffindor tower and hid the knife under my mattress. I wasn't ready to use it, not yet.
I went through the motions, putting on a face, for the rest of Winter break. No one even noticed that something was wrong. Not even a passing glance. The term started again, and my so-called-friends remained oblivious to it. Ron was hardly ever around anyway. He was always busy, with girls he said. Generally, I suffered through the details of his dates. I think back now. and doubt that all of those nights he was with girls, but I can't prove anything, and I don't give damn.
The year wore on, and things got worse. Some days, I didn't even bother to get dressed. I threw my robes on over my pajamas in class. When we started studying poisons in Potions, I lost it. (I'm sorry Sev, its not your fault, you weren't trying to hurt me.) After brewing my first batch of poison I couldn't take it anymore. What kind of monsters are we that we learn these things. Why do we need to kill each other? I didn't want to be a part of it. I wanted OUT.
That night, when everyone was asleep, I slid out of my bed. Sliding my hand under the mattress, I felt around for the knife. Grasping the handle I walked into the bathroom and shut the door. Several quick spells were murmured. Now no one could hear in, and more then "alohamora" would be needed to get in.
I grasped the wooden handle of the knife and ran my thumb slowly across the dull gray blade. A slight gasp escaped my lips as red blood welled out of my thumb and over the cutting edge. I smiled grimly and remember thinking "Now that is beautiful." I ran the blade in criss-crosses over my palms and watched the blood drip into the sink, leaving shimmering scarlet paths that ran toward the drain.
That was enough for the first night. I washed the blade off, and cleaned out the sink. After staring at my hands for a moment, I lifted my wand and muttered simple healing spells over them. The beauty of those marks was gone, but the memory remained.
I was punishing the world by punishing myself.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Years later a journalist, named Marion Johnson, would interview Harry, and put it this way.
"The world relied on their Harry Potter. He was their savior. The world had sinned and he took it upon himself to take the punishment they deserved."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A/N: I realize there was a lot of actually story happening, not Harry remembering in this chapter. Do you like it, or should I have more remembering?
A/N: Many of the torture devices mentioned are explained in more depth (incase any of you are actually interested in it) at www.corkscrew-balloon.com .
Facing the Past
Chapter Four: Bleeding
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Harry was still lost in thought when Sev came and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You've got a visitor, Nero."
"Who is it?"
"You'll have to see for yourself." Together Harry and Sev walked out of the library and to the main room. Upon seeing whom his visitors were Harry nearly fainted.
After gaining his composure, Harry threw a fit. He started a monologue that just kept going, and going and going. Every other word out of his mouth was one of those "four letter words" that little kids aren't allowed to utter. Question after question came pouring out. Why are you here? What do you think you're doing? How do you know who I am? How can two bloody muggles even BE here? Why bother coming? Did something happen? Do you honestly think I would CARE if something happened? It was a full 20 minutes before Harry had calmed down and shut up enough for anyone to get a word in edgewise.
Harry's aunt and uncle looked confused. Who was this man that was standing there screaming at them? "Who. who are you?" Uncle Vernon finally was able to ask.
"The god damn kid who grew up in your god forsaken house for 17 years. That's who I am!"
"But, you look so different."
"Vernon," Petunia was tugging on his sleeve. "Vernon, its him. Its Harry."
Harry resisted the urge to childishly mimic his aunt and contended him self with asking a few questions. "I don't even want to speak with you. I don't understand why you're here. And frankly, I don't give a damn. Get out!"
"Well see here young man," the fat cow that Harry had once known as Uncle Vernon began- and would have continued had Harry not cut him off.
"No, you see here! This is MY Home, this is MY grounds, and I am NOT a 15 year old boy any more. I am a grown man who is going to stand his place. YOU listen to ME. I do not want you to be here. I don't care why you're here. You are no longer a part of my life. I don't dread what you'll do to me over the summer. I don't give a flying fuck if you're about to go bankrupt. I will not give you money. I wouldn't even bat an eye to wipe a way a tear if you told me that someone was dieing. You did NOTHING for me. And for that, I have absolutely no respect for you or any one else in your bleeding family."
"We raised you Harry. can't you just-" came the small squeak of a reply from Aunt Petunia.
"NO, get the fuck out of my house. GO AWAY. I DO NOT WANT TO SEE YOU." Harry bellowed.
"Nero," came the soft comment from the man seated in a corner, "perhaps you should hear them out? Find out why they're here, at very least."
"Nero?" Uncle Vernon asked quietly. "Who the bloody hell is Nero?" He didn't get an answer as Harry and Sev bantered about listening to the muggles.
"Hear them out! Sev, are you out of your mind? Do you know what they did to me when I was a boy?"
"No.at least not entirely. but I will soon, I hope."
"Yes, you will. but I don't intend on talking to them." Harry gestured roughly at his aunt and uncle.
"For me?" Sev batted his eyelashes playfully. "I must admit, I am a little curious."
After running a hand through his hair, and sending fluttering flakes of white dried gel onto his shoulders Harry sighed. "Fine, for you." Muttering under his breath "I do too much for that man. Why do I even bother?" Aloud, once more "You have 5 minutes. Go." Harry looked at his watch and held his wrist up, clearly counting the minutes that his aunt and uncle would be in his presence.
Aunt Petunia chose to waste the precious little time that Harry had given her. "Are you two er. involved." She glanced between the two men, "or are you just friends?"
Harry had just begun to reply when Sev cut in. "Yes, we're involved" the taller man moved to stand behind Harry and rested his hands on his shoulders. "Not that it matters, but we are. Now, that's a good 30 seconds wasted, please, tell us why you're here."
Harry leaned back against Sev, drawing comfort, as his Aunt and Uncle explained why they were there.
"Its my duddykins" Petunia began. "He's sick-"
"Stomach Cancer. Doctors say-"
"It can't be cured. He's gunna-"
"Suffer until he dies, unless we get some help."
"The normal doctors-"
"They can't fix it, say its inoperable-"
Harry stared at his Aunt and Uncle in disbelief. After everything they'd done to him they honestly thought that he'd help them? Were they out of their minds? Even as the thought this Harry asked, "Are you out of your minds? Why should I help you? You did more harm to me then you did good." Harry pulled up his sleeves and put his wrists out so his Aunt and Uncle to see the thin white scars that ran vertically up his arm. His Aunt gasped. Harry shrugged. Sev covered his lovers wrists with his palms, gently rubbing them. "I wouldn't have those scars if it weren't for you," Harry spat at the only blood family he had living. "I nearly died because of you. I have no intention of involving myself with you for any reason. Ever again. I don't even know how I would help you take care of the cancer. Its not my specialty. I don't know the first thing about medi-magic."
Aunt Petunia sniffed, "My mother, your grandmother, died of cancer, you know. While you mother was here. She would have lived if your mum had gotten her the magical help. It was the only thing that would have helped her. You're just like her. Selfish to the core. She wouldn't save the life of her mother and you won't save the life of your cousin. I can't believe you. All of you are the same. Selfish. You won't share your magic unless there's something it for YOU."
"I won't help you because I have not forgiven you for the harm you did me. Your son was worse, yet he only learned it from his parents so I don't entirely blame him, although he is not blameless. Now, before you leave, I have a question to ask you."
"Why should we answer it?"
"Because this is my bloody house and I listened to your twaddle. Now its your turn to answer my question. How in the name of the 9 gates of death did you find me?"
Petunia answered before her husband could shut her up, "Easy, I just followed the string that's always been connected to you." Petunia pointed to a some spot in the air.
"String," Harry asked, confused, "what string?"
"Nero, love," Sev cut in, "remember that potion I taught you about years ago. the one that would allow you to see when magic's present?"
"Yes. of course. I know spells that do the same."
"You may wish to try one of them."
"Why would I want to do that?"
"Just do it, I think you'll understand what your Aunt is saying a little better."
Harry sighed reluctantly and reached for the wand in his pocket, but drew his hand out when he noticed his Aunt and Uncle draw away in fear. "I'm not going to bloody hurt you. Calm down before you have a heart attack."
Pressing the tip of his wand to the tip of his eyelids Harry murmured a spell under his breath. When he opened his eyes again he saw a faint green line that lead directly from his hear to his aunts. "Bloody hell." Harry whispered, shocked.
"I had thought you always knew Harry."
"My. Name. Is. Not. Harry. It. Is. Nero." Harry ground through his teeth. He couldn't stand having them call him Harry. After taking yet another calming breath Harry continued. "I did not always know about it. How did you get that thing?"
"I always assumed it was from whoever left you on our doorstep when you were a baby."
Silently Harry affectionately cursed Dumbledore. "Enough of how you found me. I think this conversation is over and you should leave." After pulling himself away from Sev; Harry walked across the room and gestured to the open doorway, waiting for his Aunt and Uncle to leave.
"Ha-Nero, you won't reconsider will you? You're our last hope. our last chance." Harry's Aunt was trying yet again to get him to help her.
"Absolutely not. Now, please, leave. I will walk you to the entrance so there will be no risk of you getting lost." Harry strode silently from the room, his miserable Aunt and Uncle trailing behind him; if they were puppies their tales would have been between their legs.
Fifteen minutes later Harry returned to his rooms and sat on the couch next to Sev. "It was nice meeting them," came a casual, yet amused, murmur from next to him. "Rather interesting to see your reaction. I don't believe I've ever seen you that upset."
"You asked once, when and why I got these scars. You know now."
"Yes," Sev mused, "I know the general idea, and can piece together more, but I would still like to hear it in your words, the real story."
"Of course you would. I'll get around to it. I swear, but."
"But you're scared and its hard."
"Yes, you know me entirely too well, lover."
Sev groaned. "I hate it when you call me that!"
"What? Lover?" Harry asked playfully.
Again Sev groaned. "Yes, that."
"What, ashamed of it, lover?"
"Nero."
"Yes.?" came the innocent reply.
"Stop it."
"Stop what, lover?"
"Calling me lover!" Oh how Harry loved to tease the man who really was his love.
"Only if you stop calling me Nero when no one else is around."
"What, you don't like being called Nero all of a sudden?"
"I like it just fine, it is my name. but you know my real name, and I like to hear you say it."
"Just minutes ago you yelled at your Aunt and Uncle for calling you Harry and now you're telling me to call you Harry? Make up your mind, would you?"
"I have made up my mind. I want them to not address me at all, but if they must, by Nero. I want you to call me Harry whenever we're alone."
"That could be rather confusing."
"Oh? Why'd you say that?"
"Seems to me that you're connected to you Aunt. Are you ever really alone?"
Harry groaned, "Don't remind me. I don't want to think about the old biddy when I'm in the shower."
Sev laughed softly and leaned over to kiss Harry's cheek. "Then don't think about it. Just go write, you looked lost when I came in to tell you that they were here. Writing will help, you know it will."
"Of course it will. its just. it means I have to find words for everything inside of me. Have you ever noticed that you don't think in only words, but in pictures and smells and tastes. there aren't words to describe everything. I want to tell the story as best I can, but sometimes it just doesn't seem possible."
"Its hard, but I have faith that you'll do better on your story then you ever did on you potions essays."
Harry mad a face and Severus chuckled softly. When Harry stood to walk out of the room, Sev slapped his bum playfully. "Get done for the night, before its too late, if you don't mind."
"I do mind, thank you very much. I will take my time," was the mockingly haughty reply from the green eyed Harry. That said, Harry turned and walked to the library where he firmly shut and locked the door.
After resuming his seat at the desk, Harry lifted a quill from the stand and began to write.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Fifth year went by with out my even realizing it. All of my everyday activities were a blur to me. I went back through archives to find out what happened while I wasn't a part of the world. Gryffindor won the House cup and the Quidditch cup. I suppose that I must have helped win the Quidditch cup, but I can't for the life of me remember a thing. I passed all of my classes with top marks, so I suppose that I must have done some work, sometime. Honestly though, I probably couldn't tell you a think I learned during my fifth year at Hogwarts.
I was like a zombie, a body walking around with no mind of my own. I got by all year long with just over 4 hours of sleep, on average, each night. I'm surprised no one noticed and forced me to take a nap. Then again, maybe they did and I just didn't realize it. It wouldn't be like Hermione to not see something like that.
Nothing amazing happened that year. For the first time, since my introduction to the Wizarding World, no one had directly tried to kill me. Of course, there was always Voldemort to worry about. The ministry still was adamant about refusing to believe that Voldemort could possibly be back. But as a whole, Voldemort didn't even try to kill me. I had no death threats, I wasn't abducted, no one evil was on school grounds. nothing. It was just so normal that it was almost boring. The only thing I had to worry about, on top of my classes and O.W.Ls, was Quidditch.
I think back now, and try to understand all of the little mistakes that could have been why we were forced to fight Voldemort alone. How could we have possibly missed the signs. Fudge was obviously under Voldemort's thumb. It's amazing how such an idiot survived as long as he did. I would think that Voldemort would have no reason to keep such an idiot alive, then again, I'm not a Dark Wizard. I can't even begin to fathom the way their minds work. How is it that Voldemort can twist an idiots mind into his own demented purposes.
On some levels, Dark Wizards have to be respected. They're not stupid. They have a knowledge of their trade and they use it to their advantage. Of course, they don't do the best things with their magic, but they're good at what the do. We respect master painters, and business men, lawyers, and music artists. yet we give absolutely no credit to the Dark Wizard. I'm not saying that its our place to encourage them to do what they do, but we need to understand that they are good at what they do. They're amazingly good at manipulating everyone and everything to get their ways. Some have even been good enough to manipulate prophecies to their own advantage.
Back to my story, and away form my ill formed thoughts.
This summer was far different from my old ones. Everything in the Dursley household was quiet and subdued. Dudley was off at Fat Camp for the summer. The bloke had embarrassed himself by bending over and ripping a hole in the seat of his pants, reviling to all of his class mates that they didn't even make underwear big enough for him. As Aunt Petunia was upset at not being able to be with her "precious duddy-wuddy-kins," everyone was forced to tip toe around. If she was so much as disturbed she went off. For once it wasn't just me that her anger was directed towards. Her husband was put under fire as well. He felt her wrath as she forced him to clean, and clean silently. I should have enjoyed this sight. but I didn't. I was still in a haze and still wishing I could sleep more.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was months before Harry could bring himself to write more. It had been helping him, he knew, but the next part of the story was painful.
Time past and Christmas break came around. It was far too cold to go outside, and Harry felt that it was the perfect time to catch up on some grading. He had just started essays that had been composed by the 5th years on Manticores, when Sev banged into the room and immediately went through to the bedroom. After closing the red ink well, and setting the quill into its holder, Harry got up and walked to the bedroom. Leaning against the doorframe he watched as Sev threw clothing into a bag, hurriedly packing. "Sev, what's wrong? Where are you going?"
Severus paused in his packing for a moment to look at Harry. "You know Kissandra Kyros? Kizzy? She's a 6th year. very smart, but doesn't do any of the work?"
"Yes. Of course." Earlier that morning Harry had read an article in the Daily Profit about the Kyros family. Kizzy's father had just been murdered. He was prominent man Ministry. Surprising, seeing as the Kyros's were a family known for their production of Dark Wizards. Harry had met the man on several occasions, and had always found him to be loving and cheerful. Always the optimist and always supporting of the Ministry. "What about her?"
"She's been arrested."
"What!? Why?"
Sev resumed his packing, but answered Harry's question. "They believe she killed her father."
"Do you think that?"
"No, I know Kizzy. She wouldn't kill her father, and even if she had, his manner of death is far from being anything she'd use. She's very strong in the magic area. no muggle ways for her."
"How was the man killed?"
"Half hung then drawn and quartered. Yet the ministry isn't sure that that was how he died."
"How can you NOT die after you've been drawn and quartered?"
"Its not that. they just don't think that that he was alive when it all started."
"So why do you need to go to her anyway?"
"I just received a letter from Brynn. You know her too. Apparently, Kizzy had been planning on staying with her for Christmas break. She requested that I help get Kiz out so that she can be back in time for school to start."
"I see. and you're going to get Kizzy out. Just how do you intend on doing that?"
"Speed it along, say she needs to be back in time for classes. She's not doing well in all of her classes, and missing school will only hurt her."
"Of course. I don't think she's even passing ONE class."
Sev smiled and nodded before gently flicking his cloak over his shoulders and lifting his bag. "I'll see you when I get back, love. Keep writing." After kissing Harry gently, Sev disappeared through the door and down the hall.
The next couple of hours Harry spent lost in thought, occasional jotting down a few words on the parchment in front of him.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Yes, I was surviving. I was trying. I was challenged. Life was never boring, but sometimes it just gets to be too much. Sometimes life just isn't worth living. When you feel like you're the only one fighting against an evil thing, life just seems like too much. Its overwhelming.
Every moment of ever day, there's something you feel like you should be doing. Some new spell you should be learning. A new way of fighting, another language. Anything, anything that might give you even a slight edge over your enemy. I became obsessed.
I spent hours pouring over text, and getting extra tutoring. The library started to feel more like my home then Gryffindor tower. Every waking minute was spent there. until, one day, I lost it. I couldn't look at the place anymore. Even looking at book made me ill. My eye sight had gotten worse. The Visions from the Dark Lord had continued relentlessly. I'd grown muscles from climbing ladders and lifting books.
I'd read more books and more accounts of deaths and the spells and curses that cause them, then any one person should ever read in a life time. I'd done research. Read all the articles and books and magazines and pamphlets and tablets and anything I could possibly find, on the subject. The stories I read weren't just about Lord Voldemort, oh no, they went back hundreds of years. They went back past the Roman era. I learned Latin so I didn't have to rely on an interpretation. The deaths just might not be as gruesome in the interpretation as they were in the original text. The detail may have been lost. Gods know that English is an unspecific language.
When the day came that I couldn't take it anymore. I just snapped. Suddenly, nothing mattered. I went through life, day by day, one step at a time. I didn't do anything extra. I quit Quidditch, I quite doing homework, I stopped researching, I didn't even bother to tell Dumbledore about my Visions anymore.
By the time all of this came around it was already winter break. Ron had gone home to be with his family. Hermione had volunteered to stay, but I said it'd be a waste of time. After all, the only things I did were, sleep, eat, and read.
During that break, I started to find. destructive ways to demonstrate what I had learned in those books. Those books had made me believe that death was such a free place.
What kind of world is it that we live in when so many terrible things had happened? Men had been half hung and left to dangle from a tree. Criminals had been tied to four horses and the horses set running. Women were burned at the stake because milk curdled in a pail that had been left in the sun. Whole hands had been crushed in a small device that fit over the hand. Feet had been soaked in salt water for 24 hours and then Goats were set free to lick the feet until the feet, bones and all, were gone and the person died from blood loss. Arms and legs were strapped to a manacles and then the chains tightened until the person "stretched." Helpless victims were trapped inside of standing coffins that had been studded with rusty bits of metal and shards of glass and left to stand there. Even the simple act of breathing might cause them to be skewered by the sharp points that protruded from their entrapment. People were hung (inverted) from a pole and a jagged tooth saw was used to saw them in half, the long way. The kinds of tortures and punishments that I found out about continued with out end.
Who wants to live in a world where things like that happened on a regular basis. With the Dark Lord coming back into power there was every possibility that some of those devices would be reimplemented. I came to realize that the depth of human cruelty is endless. We're always trying to out do ourselves with ways to torture others.
If something is slowly introduced to you, you don't realize how just how bad they are. WWII and Hitler's style are a prime example of this. Hitler was not a stupid man. He didn't just jump up on a table and announce, "Alright everyone. Here's what we're going to do, now that I'm in power. First, I'm going to take all the Jews. Yeah, that's right, the doctors and the lawyers, the kids and the grandmas, your best friends even. and we're gunna pack them onto a train. eh, maybe 150 to a single cattle care 200 if we can fit them. We'll lock the door and take them for a trip for maybe three days. They won't get food, they won't get water, they don't even get to get out and go to the bathroom. After they've been on the train and moved to where we need to get them, we'll get them off as quickly as possible. If that means we whip them to move them faster, we whip them. Once they're inside the camps, we'll make them build these huge crematoriums, then we'll have them dig their own mass graves. They'll get a little food (an amount our great nutritionist says they couldn't survive on for more then 3 months). And slowly, we'll kill them all. They might even be able to throw their living mother into the oven themselves. Hey, it'll be a party. What'd you say? Lets get started!"
No, Hitler took his time. Slowly he introduced anti-Semitic ways to his people. He got them to hate the Jews. He made them think that the Jews weren't even human. Then he started his Final Solution. The steps he took were so gradual that people didn't even realize what they were doing. When Hitler was ready to start his mass destructions, cross race relationships were no more. If you were Aryan, you didn't even know a Jew.
That's the way this world is. We're so susceptible to anything that we'll do anything with just a small amount of persuasion.
After all my reading and studying, I realized I didn't want to be a part of that. I didn't want to even risk the small possibility that Voldemort would find that tiny seed of dark that is in my heart, and he would water it until it grew into a vine that took over my entire body, my mind, and my soul.
I was all too human, and I hated it.
Christmas day of my sixth year, I went down to the huge picture of fruit that hid the entrance to the kitchen and tickled the pare. Immediately it opened and I was surrounded by House Elves. I had only one request. A knife, a large knife. They gave it with out question and I escaped. I made the long trek all the way up to Gryffindor tower and hid the knife under my mattress. I wasn't ready to use it, not yet.
I went through the motions, putting on a face, for the rest of Winter break. No one even noticed that something was wrong. Not even a passing glance. The term started again, and my so-called-friends remained oblivious to it. Ron was hardly ever around anyway. He was always busy, with girls he said. Generally, I suffered through the details of his dates. I think back now. and doubt that all of those nights he was with girls, but I can't prove anything, and I don't give damn.
The year wore on, and things got worse. Some days, I didn't even bother to get dressed. I threw my robes on over my pajamas in class. When we started studying poisons in Potions, I lost it. (I'm sorry Sev, its not your fault, you weren't trying to hurt me.) After brewing my first batch of poison I couldn't take it anymore. What kind of monsters are we that we learn these things. Why do we need to kill each other? I didn't want to be a part of it. I wanted OUT.
That night, when everyone was asleep, I slid out of my bed. Sliding my hand under the mattress, I felt around for the knife. Grasping the handle I walked into the bathroom and shut the door. Several quick spells were murmured. Now no one could hear in, and more then "alohamora" would be needed to get in.
I grasped the wooden handle of the knife and ran my thumb slowly across the dull gray blade. A slight gasp escaped my lips as red blood welled out of my thumb and over the cutting edge. I smiled grimly and remember thinking "Now that is beautiful." I ran the blade in criss-crosses over my palms and watched the blood drip into the sink, leaving shimmering scarlet paths that ran toward the drain.
That was enough for the first night. I washed the blade off, and cleaned out the sink. After staring at my hands for a moment, I lifted my wand and muttered simple healing spells over them. The beauty of those marks was gone, but the memory remained.
I was punishing the world by punishing myself.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Years later a journalist, named Marion Johnson, would interview Harry, and put it this way.
"The world relied on their Harry Potter. He was their savior. The world had sinned and he took it upon himself to take the punishment they deserved."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A/N: I realize there was a lot of actually story happening, not Harry remembering in this chapter. Do you like it, or should I have more remembering?
A/N: Many of the torture devices mentioned are explained in more depth (incase any of you are actually interested in it) at www.corkscrew-balloon.com .