Warnings: Abusive!Dursleys, noncon!, manipulative!Dumbledore, smart!Harry
What little color there was left in Harry's face had drained away and he shut his eyes. He felt as though he would black out at any second. Dumbledore is alive. I didn't get him killed...His emotions couldn't seem to decide whether he was relieved or...well, not disappointed exactly. More like upset. Upset that he really wasn't free from the Headmaster's manipulations and schemes. No, you have no reason to be upset, idiot! He told himself scathingly. You should be overjoyed that the wizarding world didn't really lose its leader. Now quit feeling sorry for yourself!
When he again opened his eyes, his features were schooled into an indifferent expression. "Well, in that case, I guess you really won't be taking me to a Death Eater meeting, since you obviously are loyal to Dumbledore. Rather a clever plan, really."
But Snape had seen the boy's indecision. What in Merlin's name happened to Potter being Dumbledore's adoring "Golden Boy"? I thought he would be a bit more enthusiastic, since Dumbledore will certainly avenge him for what Potter let that ...harpy...do to him. Ignoring the small voice in the back of his head that insisted that Potter really hadn't had a choice, Snape sneered at the figure still sprawled on the floor in front of him. By Merlin, he's not even that much larger than I am in this child's body!
"Yes, well, Potter, your elders do normally come up with more intelligent plans than you and your juvenile cohorts can."
Harry flinched at the reference to the Ministry fiasco. He knew that Snape would probably expect some sort of attitude, an angry retort or accusation, but he couldn't...he hadn't been expecting to put that mask back on for at least another month—the mask he wore at school, where he put on a brave face and did heroic deeds and was an obnoxious pain in the arse to any and all authority figures who stood in the way of what he wanted. He wasn't allowed to show any weakness when he was in the public eye, and especially not in Potions class. It was drilled into him. If he wasn't confident and fearless, then people who might otherwise have sided with the Light would turn to Voldemort. His peers wouldn't respect him if he didn't stand up for himself against the "tyrannical" adults. He had to do dangerous and daring things, so as to prove that he wasn't afraid and he could handle whatever was thrown at him. He had to be a superhero, untouchable and invincible.
He hated it. There were days at Hogwarts when he was so anxious and stressed that it made him sick. Sometimes at night, he would sneak out just to lock himself in an abandoned room to try and get away from it all. But he kept up the facade and no one had ever noticed that he wasn't really who he pretended to be. Until now, as he found himself unable to put the mask back on in front of the small boy who he had taken care of for the past two weeks. The boy who also, by some terrible twist of fate, happened to be the last teacher to whom he would ever have shown his true self.
So he curled in on himself just the slightest bit and didn't respond.
"What, no response, Potter?" Snape jeered, even as he took in the protective posture of the hunched figure before him. He's scared of you, you moron! He ignored the obnoxious voice once again. Merlin, he's probably waiting for you to strike him! Give the child a break, he's obviously not who you thought he was. But Snape viciously suppressed his sympathetic thoughts and continued with his taunts.
"Do you still disagree, boy? Think that you know better than those of us with more experience? But of course you do! I'm sorry, you're the Boy who Lived! So obviously you must know more than the rest of us!"
"No, sir," Harry responded softly, fighting valiantly to control the tremor in his voice. "I'm sorry, sir. You're right." He couldn't bring himself to look up.
Snape could feel his temper rising as the brat – Child! cried his conscience– refused to rise to his bait. He turned away and continued speaking.
"Of course I'm right. Now listen carefully as I tell you how we're going to fix the mess you've gotten yourself into. If you screw this up in somehow, I swear you'll regret it!"
"Yes, Professor," came the distant reply.
"Now, the curse the Dark Lord employed will terminate exactly twelve hours from the time at which I entered the house. Now, when I crossed the last layer of wards to get inside, I regained my memories, which should have rendered me unconscious for two of those hours, which indicates that I should regain my body within ten hours. The Dark Lord expects me to bring down the wards within thirty-six hours of that occurrence. I shall bring down the wards, which will alert the Dark Lord and bring him and his followers to the premises, but before doing so, you will be given a portkey. You must activate the portkey precisely when I tell you, which will coincide with the destruction of the outer ward. This way, I shall be able to report that there was a further safeguard to the wards around your house which caused you to be transported to an unknown location as soon as the first ward fell. Do you understand?" he ended sharply.
"Yes, sir," came the awaited answer. "But..."
"But what, Potter?!"
"I...that is...he won't be pleased with you if he finds you here without me," came the stammered reply.
"What an astute observation, Potter," Snape drawled sarcastically. "That is none of your concern. He will not kill me, so long as it appears to have been a safeguard within the wards. So you must activate the portkey exactly when I say. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Now get up off the floor and into some clothes, boy! I instructed you to do so at least fifteen minutes ago!"
Harry's face colored with embarrassment. He attempted once again to stand up, but without the support of anything, he swayed dangerously and paled far too rapidly as his vision began to tunnel. "Prof--" he began, before his knees started to buckle.
With a grimace of extreme distaste and, though he refused to acknowledge it, a fair amount concern for the obviously starving boy, Snape swept forward and grabbed onto him. "Steady, there, Potter. Take it easy. Here, hold onto the bed."
He stepped across the room to where Harry's trousers had been discarded in a pile. "Here, boy, put these on now. Where's your shirt?"
Harry took the proffered clothing and started to dress shakily. "It's not in here, sir," he responded finally, staring at the floor.
"You normally walk around--"
"No, sir! I—she – I mean, Marge..."
"Ah. I see. No matter, then. Where has that...woman... gone?"
"Downstairs, sir. She'll probably be eating lunch soon. But if she finds me...and you...not, er, where she left us..."
"If you think I'm going to sit tied up to that chair all day for fear of some stupid Muggle woman, you had better reconsider quickly, Mr. Potter. Where is your room?"
"Er...the room I stay in is down the hall, sir. But, really, it's probably nicer in here..."
Snape noted the boy's wording and filed it away for later consideration.
"No, take me there, Potter," he continued. "You need a shirt. You do have one in there, don't you?" But the boy misinterpreted his jest as an insult and flushed.
"Yes, sir."
"Come on, then. Show me where it is." Snape sighed, holding out an arm so that Harry could support himself.
Harry hesitated, but at a glare from Snape, consented. "Okay, sir."
When they entered the room, Snape barely held back his disgust and rather horrified astonishment. It was absolutely threadbare, not counting the few articles of clothing scattered across the floor, and he could see dark stains on the floor and walls that looked suspiciously like blood. The battered furniture looked like it would topple over at any moment. He swore under his breath.
"For Merlin's sake, Potter, what is wrong with your relations?!"
"Where would you like me to start? Sir?" Harry replied, looking up with a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. But then he remembered who he was talking to, and the smile disappeared, to be replaced by an embarrassed flush.
Snape felt a pang of – no, NOT regret! – when Harry's tentative lightheartedness disappeared. Oh, shut up already would you? He told the obnoxious voice. The stupid brat got himself into this situation! Why didn't he just go to Dumbledore? I'm sure the old coot would have been falling over himself in an attempt to rectify the situation.
"I told you it's not as comfortable as the guest room…"
"Never mind that, Potter. Get a shirt on and take a seat. I think we have some things to discuss."
